Out of the Primitive Part 59

"Quite the contrary. Yet Tom is in a very bad way, and unless you--"

"Tom ill--ill?" she cried. "And I did not realize it! That I should have been angered--should have left him--because I thought he was in a rage--and all the time it was because of his suffering, his illness! It was despicable of me--selfish! Oh, Tom, Tom!"

She covered her face with her hands, and bent over, quivering with silent grief and penitence.

"You have answered me," said Lord James, regarding her with grave sympathy. "You love him."

She looked up at him, dry-eyed, her face drawn with anxiety. "Where is he? Why aren't you with him? He has a doctor? He must have the best!"

"That rests with you, Genevieve," he replied. "There is one person alone who can save him--if she loves him enough to try."

The truth flashed upon her. She stared at him, her eyes dilating with horror. "It is _that_ you mean! He has failed--again!"

He sought to ease her despair. "Believe me, it is not yet too late--Permit me to explain."

"Explain?" she asked. "What is there to explain? He has failed!" Her voice broke in a sob of uncontrollable grief. "I tried to forget, still hoping he was strong--that he would prove himself strong. How I have hoped and prayed--and now!"

She bent over, with her face on the table, in a vain effort to conceal and repress her grief.

Lord James leaned forward, eagerly insistent. "You must listen to me.

He has not had fair play. Such a gallant fight as he was making! I believe he would have won, I really believe he would have won, had it not been for that woman."

"What woman?" asked Genevieve, half lifting her head.

"Pardon me," he replied. "But your aunt--It was most uncalled for, most unfair. It seems she sought him out--to-night, of all times!--when he was pegged--completely knocked-up. You have seen that yourself. This was after we deserted him."

"Deserted? Yes, that is the word--deserted!"

"At the moment when he tasted the wine, quite unaware of what he was doing. We deserted him at the time when he had utmost need of us. What clearer proof of his great strength than that he fought off the temptation?"

"Yet now you say--?"

"He fought it off then. He proved himself as strong as even you could desire. When I hastened in I found him still where I am sitting, but doubled over, utterly spent--asleep, poor chap. His hand was bleeding.

He had shattered your--he had crushed one of the gla.s.ses with his fist."

"Crushed a gla.s.s! But why?"

"To prevent himself from drinking what was in it. Can't you see? The struggle must have been frightful; yet he won. Had I but foreseen! I fancied he would be undisturbed in here--would get a bit of refreshing sleep to pull him up. But your aunt came in. She took her opportunity--convinced him that you did not love him; that your feeling was only grat.i.tude."

Genevieve bent over, with renewed despair. "And for that he gave up the fight!"

"He fought and won when we left him, when we deserted him in his need.

It was only after your aunt had convinced him that you did not--"

"He foresaw that he would lose!" she cried. "He foresaw! But I--I could not believe it possible!"

"But you do not understand. It was not that he really lost. He did not give way because of weakness. He did it deliberately--"

"Deliberately?" she gasped. Surprise gave place to an outflashing of scorn. "Deliberately! Oh, that he could do such a thing--deliberately!"

"No, no! I must insist. To cut himself off from you, that was his purpose. He thought to save you from sacrificing yourself. However mistaken he was, you must see how high a motive--how magnanimous was his intention."

But the girl was on the verge of hysteria, and quite beyond reason.

"You may believe it--I don't! I can't! He's weak--utterly weak!"

"Genevieve, no! There's still time to save him. A word from you, if you love him."

"Love him!" she cried, almost beside herself. "How can I love him? He did it deliberately! I despise him!"

"You are vexed--angry. Pray calm yourself. I remember what you had to say about him, there on the steamer, coming up from Aden. You loved him then."

"But now--Oh, how could he? How could he?"

The Englishman failed to understand the real cause of her half-frenzied anger and despair--the thought that Blake had ruined himself deliberately. "But don't you see it was not weakness? He proved it when he shattered the gla.s.s. His hand was cut and bleeding. He has proved that he can master that craving. I've sought to explain how it was. It is not yet too late. A word from you would save him, a single word!"

"No. It is too late. I can't see it as you do. It was weakness--weakness! I cannot believe otherwise."

"Yet--if you love him?"

"James, it is generous of you--n.o.ble!--when you yourself--"

"That's quite out of it now. It's of him I am thinking, and of you."

"Never of yourself!" she murmured. She looked down for a short moment.

When she again raised her eyes, she had regained her usual quiet composure. She spoke seriously and with a degree of formality: "Lord Avondale, when you honored me with your offer, you asked me to wait before giving you a final answer."

He was completely taken unawares. "I--I--To be sure. But I cannot permit you--Your happiness is my first consideration."

"It is that disregard of self, that generosity, which enables me to speak. As I told you, I can now give you no more than the utmost of my esteem and affection. But if you are willing to take that as a beginning, perhaps, later on, I may be able to return your love as you deserve."

"But you--I do not know how to say it--In justice to yourself, no less than to him, you should make sure."

"I have never been more sure," she replied. "You have been most generous and patient. It is not right or considerate for me to longer delay my decision."

"Er--very good of you, very!" he murmured, gazing down at his interlocked fingers. "Yet--if you would care to wait--to make sure, y'

know."

"But why should I wait? No, James, I am clear in what I am doing. I know that I can trust you absolutely."

Lord James slowly raised his head and met her gaze, too intent upon repressing the stress of his emotions to perceive the big fur-clad form that stood rigid in the doorway beyond Genevieve.

"Miss Leslie," he said, speaking in the same formal and serious tone that she had used in giving her decision, "I am then to understand that you accept my proposal--you will marry me?"

"Within the year, if you desire," she responded, without any sign of hesitancy.

"It's very good of you!" he replied. "I shall devote myself to your happiness."

If his voice lacked the joyful ring and his look the ardent delight of a successful lover, she failed to heed it. He rose and bent over the table with grave gallantry to kiss the hand that she held out to him.