Lady Cassandra Part 37

"It's impossible. The thing could not be worked. The Squire would ask me here. I could not always refuse. I couldn't stand it, Ca.s.sandra; it would be too much for flesh and blood. It must be all or nothing."

"You won't go at once? I must see you again; I must! I must! There is so much to say. I'm going to do what is right, Dane. I'm strong enough for that, but I must have _something_ for myself! You will meet me again, just once, to--to say good-bye--"

Her voice broke, and the tears poured down her cheeks. Dane kissed them away, murmuring pa.s.sionate words, promising everything she asked. If they were to part for a lifetime, fate need not grudge them a short hour. He promised, and Ca.s.sandra lay silent with closed eyes, her hands clinging to his, her cheek touching his own. In both minds was the thought of the barren years to come when they would remember this hour as a treasure s.n.a.t.c.hed from fate. This was the golden time, the fleeting glory,--let them realise, let them make the most!

Neither spoke; it seemed a waste of time to speak. Dane lifted the beautiful hands and gazed at them with adoring eyes; Ca.s.sandra lifted his in her turn, and found their sun-baked strength every whit as beautiful. They looked into each other's eyes, deeply, endlessly, as lovers look who are about to part, and the world and all that is in it has ceased to exist.

Footsteps came along the winding path but they did not hear; light, tripping footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. They reached the summer-house, and halted before the opened door.

"Ca.s.sandra!" said a quiet voice. "It's me. It's Grizel!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

ENTER GRIZEL.

Ca.s.sandra lifted her head and stared blankly, then with cold displeasure, into the intruder's face. There was not the faintest tinge of embarra.s.sment in her mien, nothing but surprise, and anger, and an intolerable impatience. She sat in silence, struggling to collect her thoughts, and the while she stared, Grizel stepped lightly over the threshold, and seated herself on one of the scattered chairs. It was done so quickly that there was no time for protest, if protest had been possible, and Ca.s.sandra, biting her lip, turned towards Dane for support. He had risen to his feet, and looked miserable and embarra.s.sed as a man is bound to do when placed in an awkward situation. Ca.s.sandra looked for signs of an anger corresponding to her own, failed to find it, and in consequence felt angrier than before. Her voice was steely in its hauteur.

"Did you wish to see me?"

"Please!" said Grizel softly. Her hazel eyes met Peignton's with a long, straight glance, whose message he could not misunderstand. He flushed, and held out his hand.

"I'll go... Good-bye--"

"I shall see you again. I am free on Wednesday and on Friday."

Ca.s.sandra spoke in a heightened voice, as though scorning an attempt at deceit. "You will meet me here?"

"Yes. Yes. I'll let you know--"

He dropped her hand, bowed slightly to Grizel, and swung rapidly away, leaving the two women alone.

"Grizel Beverley," said Ca.s.sandra deliberately, "I hate you!"

"Poor darling!" said Grizel, trembling. "Of course you do!" She shook out a minute handkerchief, and wiped the moisture from her face. It dawned on Ca.s.sandra's perceptions that she was deathly pale.

"Why did you come?"

"I don't know."

"Was it just chance?"

Grizel's lip trembled.

"Ca.s.sandra, I loathe to preach; but I don't believe it _was_!"

"How did you get here?"

"I walked. It's the longest walk I've ever taken. I never came in by the north gate before. I've never turned up this path. I just--came!"

"I see. It was a coincidence, which you are trying to turn into a special guidance of Providence on my behalf. I'm sorry that I cannot recognise it in that light. I wish with all my heart that you had stayed away... What good do you suppose you are going to do?"

"The Lord knows," said Grizel, shrugging. The next moment, with a startled air, she continued. "He _does_ know! I said that without thinking, but it's true... Won't you let me help you, darling? I'm not a bit shocked, you see. I knew before, and I'm not a chicken,--I'm twenty-eight. I know that love doesn't work to order. I was horribly afraid for you before that day on the cliff, and then of course I _knew_!"

"How many people have you told?"

Grizel was silent. Ca.s.sandra moved her shoulders with an impatient shrug.

"I beg your pardon. I didn't mean that. But--your husband?"

"Not one word."

"I thought you told him everything?"

"About myself I do. Not about friends."

"Thank you for that, at least," Ca.s.sandra said ungraciously. The next moment she threw out her hands with a gesture of hopeless appeal. "Oh, Grizel, I'll have to forgive you, for I need you so much, but it was hard! You needn't have grudged us that little time... I could have killed you for coming in just then. As you know everything, tell me what we are to _do_?... I feel as if I were going mad... What are we to do?"

"What does he suggest?"

"He asked me to go away with him to-night. I've told you, so now you can go and warn Bernard. Perhaps Providence will throw you up against him on the way home!"

Grizel mopped her eyes with the little handkerchief.

"Why sneer?" she asked softly. "It's bad enough, goodness knows, without that to make it worse... And are you going, dear?"

The voice was so tranquil that Ca.s.sandra started in surprise.

"What would you say, if I said I was?"

"I think--at this moment, I rather expect that you will! I should have said 'Yes' myself at this point."

"Well, I didn't! I am stronger than you. I refused, because of the boy. But you needn't praise me. I deserve no praise. I'm going to do my duty, but I'm not doing it from my heart. I _want to go_, and I told him so. Did you know I was a bad woman? I didn't. I was rather proud of myself for being so unflirtatious all these years. It was only because I had not been tempted. The moment I am tempted, I go to pieces. If we are judged by our thoughts, I'm a wicked woman. I'd give everything I possess in life, if I were free to go to him to-night!"

"So would I, so would I,--if it had been Martin," cried Grizel, sobbing.

"Everything that belonged to myself. And it _isn't_ wrong; it isn't wicked; it's the human nature in us that we can't help. Every consideration for oneself goes down like ninepins before the one big thing. They don't count... It's the _other_ people who block the way!"

"One other person in my case. Bernard doesn't count. I am nothing to him. Why should I ruin my life by staying with a man who doesn't want me? If it were not for the boy, I'd go to-night. You know what my married life has been,--would you think I was doing wrong if I left the pretence to take the reality? It would be a truer marriage, even if it were not blessed by the Church. Yet people would think we were wicked.

Would you think so too?"

Grizel hesitated.

"Sure I may speak straight out?"

"Of course. Of course. I asked you. I'm hurt so much already that you can't hurt me any more."

But for several minutes Grizel sat silently, her hands folded on her knee, her eyes steadily gazing ahead. And as she sat, gradually, surely, the expression of her face changed. The sparkle died out of her eyes and left them soft and grave, the curling lips took on a new tenderness. It was as though she were deliberately banishing the things of this world, gathering to herself a strength to help in time of need.

The little face grew tense with earnestness; when she spoke her voice had a deepened note.