Lady Cassandra Part 30

The wild words surged on. Did anyone hear? or hearing understand? Even to Teresa herself they seemed for the moment to voice nothing but the cry of her own heart. The shadow of death had obliterated the things of life; nothing counted, nothing mattered, but Ca.s.sandra, and her struggle for breath. With every moment her strength was ebbing, the faint whistling sounds emerged less frequently from her writhing lips, the black tint deepened on her cheeks, even as she gazed, the staring eyes rolled and fixed.

Then Peignton pounced. Like a wild beast leaping on its prey, he pounced upon the prostrate form, and lifting it in his arms he shook and tore, he dragged and bent. The two women shrieked, and hid their faces.

Of all the terrors that had been, the most ghastly and blood-curdling of all was the sight of this maniac figure with its superhuman strength, and the jointless, lifeless form, tossed to and fro; beaten, abused.

The onlookers thought,--if thought were possible,--that Dane had gone mad. It seemed the crowning horror that in death Ca.s.sandra's body should be so outraged; but they had no strength to move or protest.

Suddenly came a cry; a cry of triumph, not grief. Peignton had sunk to the ground, but Ca.s.sandra lay in his arms, and the breath was once more whistling through her lips.

"It has moved!" he cried. "It has moved! She breathes. For G.o.d's sake, _Water_!"

In a second it was in his hand, and Teresa knelt, holding the jug, while he sprinkled drops on the dark brow, and moistened the cracking lips.

The face resting against his shoulder was still unrecognisable, still terrible to see, but momentarily life was flowing back. The brutal wildness of Dane's a.s.sault had done its work in removing the block, and air was rushing back into the flattened lungs. The marvellous intricacy of the machine of life was at work once more...

Peignton bathed, and the two women knelt by his side, watching with fascinated eyes. Gradually as the dark hue faded, other marks came into view, the marks of bruises left by frenzied fingers. There were marks on Ca.s.sandra's brow, on her cheek, on the slim column of her throat, on her hands, on the arms beneath the torn fragments of sleeves.

Everywhere there were bruises. The women held their breath at the sight, Peignton groaned and shuddered as with a nausea of horror, but he went on bathing, his hand resolutely steadied to h.o.a.rd the precious drops. Only once, with an uncontrollable impulse, he bent and pressed his lips against the most cruel of the marks, holding her close the while, crooning over her in a pa.s.sion of tenderness, and as he lifted his head Ca.s.sandra's eyes opened, and looked upward into his face. They were conscious eyes, and the opening of them brought back the first resemblance to that Ca.s.sandra who had so horribly lost her ident.i.ty.

Deeply, darkly blue they stared out of the disfigured face, met Dane's adoring gaze, and gazed back. For a moment it seemed as though the wraith of a smile were dawning in their depths, then pain claimed her once more, and she groaned and winced, lifting a hand to her bruised throat. It was a piteous little action, and Dane's self-possession broke down at the sight. Once more he bent his head to hers. Once more the caressing words burst forth.

"Darling, forgive me! I _had_ to do it!..." Then for the first time Grizel felt a tremor pa.s.s through the figure of the girl by her side, and looked with a pang into a set white face. Through her quick mind flashed the realisation that here was another threatened death,--the death of Teresa's youth... She laid a hand on the girl's shoulder, and spoke in brisk, commonplace tones:

"She must be laid down. Collect the cushions and make a bed. She will come round more quickly lying flat."

Teresa rose and with automatic obedience set about her work. Grizel took advantage of her absence to seize Dane's arm between a vigorous finger and thumb. Her eyes met his with a gleam of anger.

"Pull yourself together! Think what you are saying. Have you forgotten that Teresa is here?"

Apparently he had. Even now when he was reminded, his blank look showed that his mind was incapable of realising her existence. Grizel wasted no more words. Nor indeed was there time, for Teresa came back carrying the piled cushions. Their gay colour accentuated the pallor of her own face, but she was composed as ever, and arranged an impromptu bed on the gra.s.s with firm, capable hands.

"That's right. Perfectly flat; her head must not be raised. Now, Captain Peignton! this way a please! Pacing the sea."

Peignton's answer was to entwine his arms more firmly; it seemed to the watching eyes as if Ca.s.sandra herself nestled closer in response.

Grizel bent downwards, and forcibly unloosed the clasped hands.

"I am accustomed to nursing... you must obey me, please. You are doing her harm, keeping off the air. Lay her down here. At once!"

Grizel had different ways of enforcing her will, but they were invariably successful. The stem tone of command roused Peignton into obedience. With painful effort he rose, laid his burden on the cushions, and stood over her, straightening his cramped arms. The mad output of strength which had saved Ca.s.sandra's life had left him almost as much exhausted as herself, but so far he had had no time to think of himself. Now that his work was over, the realisation would come.

Grizel poured out a gla.s.s of wine, and forced it into his hands.

"Drink it--this moment! You can't afford to break down, there's too much to be done. We will stay with her here. You must go home for help!"

"No!"

"Don't dispute, please... You will do as I say. Nature will help her now; we can only leave her alone. You must go home and telephone,--to the Club House for her husband, to the village for the doctor. They must come straight here. And the car,--it must drive to the nearest point, and wait. Possibly in an hour she may be able to walk. If not, she can be carried."

"I'll carry her!"

"Her husband will carry her, or the men. Tell two men to come, and bring brandy, smelling-salts, anything you think of. If you are wise you will lie down yourself. You are worn out, and can do no good here.

We don't want two invalids. Now, please!"

For a moment Peignton stood gazing down at the motionless figure on the gra.s.s. Then hunching his shoulders, turned inland, and took the field path.

Teresa straightened herself to watch him as he went. She was kneeling by Ca.s.sandra's side, but he had no glance for her. She watched him pa.s.s swiftly down the narrow path between the barley and the oats. The poppies blazed their brightest red; the patches of groundsel shone golden in the sun.

Ca.s.sandra lay motionless, with closed eyes, her breathing growing momentarily more natural and regular. Grizel smoothed the hair from her brow, laid a practised finger on her pulse, and crept away, beckoning Teresa to follow.

"All right! doing well. Leave her alone. The air is her best medicine.

Perhaps she will sleep. Teresa, dear! get me some wine."

She collapsed in a limp little heap on the gra.s.s, and raised a piteous face. To evoke Teresa's pity for herself, not to pity Teresa, that was her inspiration, and to this intent she made the most of the natural exhaustion. Teresa waited upon her deftly, and then quite calmly and sensibly proceeded to wait upon herself. Grizel's eyes widened with amaze as she beheld the girl with a wine-gla.s.s in one hand, and a sandwich, in the other, eating and drinking with as much apparent composure as if the tragic interruption had never occurred.

To the ardent, impulsive nature such composure seemed unnatural, almost brutal. "How _can_ she?" Grizel asked herself blankly. "How can she?

Oh, Martin, dear, to know your love gone, and to sit down quietly to eat sandwiches! Chewing.--Chewing! What can it feel like to be made like that? It's marvellous, it's magnificent, _mais ce n'est pas la femme_!

Poor, poor little Teresa, and my poor, beautiful Ca.s.sandra, and poor Dane Peignton, poor Squire, poor Everybody! G.o.d help us all... We're in a rare muddle! What is to happen next?"

Her breath caught in an involuntary sob, and Teresa put out a protecting arm. Grizel leant against it, careful still to demand, rather than offer consolation, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, hand clasped in hand, while the minutes dragged past. From time to time Grizel rose and tiptoed across the gra.s.s to look at Ca.s.sandra's face. Once she breathed her name, and the blue eyes opened in a recognising glance, but instantly they closed again, and the whole pose of the figure proclaimed an extremity of fatigue.

"But it will pa.s.s; it will pa.s.s!" Grizel whispered to Teresa on her return. "It was a maddening experience. We were all mad, I think. It was enough to make us mad. Millions of people go through life, and never even imagine such a horror. But it was so short... only a few minutes... it will pa.s.s... it will pa.s.s!"

"Oh, yes!" said Teresa steadily, "it will pa.s.s." The healthy colour had come back to her cheeks. Beyond a certain hardness in the set of the lips, the smooth young face showed no sign of the recent conflict.

A quarter of an hour dragged by; half an hour. Ca.s.sandra's breath came in deep, steady respirations, her hands lay slack by her side, she slept the sleep of exhaustion, and the two women sat silently watching her from afar. Three-quarters of an hour, an hour, and then at last, over the shimmer of barley came the sight of hurrying figures,--the Squire and Martin running to the rescue.

Grizel rose, crossed to Ca.s.sandra's side, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She must be prepared for the men's appearance. There must be no more shocks.

"Wake up, dear. It's time. The men will be here in a minute to take us home. Sit up! You are such a dishevelled old dear. Let me tidy you up."

Ca.s.sandra had started painfully at the first touch, but she sat up now, supporting herself on her hands, while Grizel smoothed the straying hair, and gave deft touches to the disordered attire. On the colourless face the bruises stood out with increasing distinctness, the lips were swollen, the eyes seemed to have retreated into the head. Grizel seized a light scarf, tied it hoodwise under the chin, and pulled forward the screening folds. She had a woman's tender commiseration for the loss of beauty, a woman's natural instinct to conceal it from masculine eyes.

Thus the Squire, hurrying forward, beheld his wife sitting erect, orderly in attire, with face discreetly shaded.

"Good G.o.d, Ca.s.s, you gave me a fright! I've run all the way...

Swallowed a bone, eh? Beastly carelessness. Peeling all right now?"

For a moment Grizel felt inclined to repent that shrouding veil!

"She's _not_ at all right, Mr Raynor. It was a terrible time... We must get her home as quickly as possible, and put her to bed."

"Poor old Ca.s.s!" said the Squire kindly. "Feel a bit played out, eh?

It's all over, you know; all over now. We'll soon have you all right.

Think you could walk, if I gave you an arm? The car is waiting, at the end of the field."

Ca.s.sandra rose with unexpected strength, and the Squire tucked her arm in his, with a pat of rea.s.surement. "That's a good girl. Told you you weren't half as bad as you thought! You'll feel A1 after an hour's rest."

The two figures pa.s.sed on in advance, Ca.s.sandra's head bowed low over her breast, and the three who were left, stared after them in dumb amaze. Martin had pa.s.sed his arm round Grizel's shoulder, and she clung to him, trembling with mingled misery and indignation.

"Martin! Martin! she nearly died... she was fighting for her life before our eyes! It was horrible,--the most ghastly horror. We felt as if we should go mad, too. She has been down to the very gates of death, and he smiles, he jokes,--he is as calm as if nothing had happened! Has he _no_ heart?"

"No imagination, dearest. That's the trouble. Nothing is real to him that he hasn't seen. You poor girls! you look worn out yourselves.

Come! there will be room for you in the car, and you will want to look after her when she gets home. I'll come back, and wait till the men arrive for the hampers."

He held out his free hand and slid it through Teresa's arm.