Prince Charlie Part 18

Self-blame just then she was very full of; bitterness for not having gone to him in the first instance herself. Tortured herself with the thought that it might now be too late. Wondered if G.o.d would forgive her obstinate pride. Still be merciful to her: still let her keep her child.

She bent over the bed and spoke close into the little ear. Made spasmodic but unavailing attempts to control her emotion: could not bring herself to utter the words more than just audibly:

"You'll be quite still, darling, won't you, whilst mother goes to fetch him?"

The face turned upwards. The mother kissed it pa.s.sionately, tenderly, again and again. The wasted little arms went round her neck and clung there gratefully. Mother was going to fetch Prince Charlie!

From the adjoining room the woman who a.s.sisted in the child's nursing came; posted herself by the bedside. Then the mother--staggering as if the unknown gaped before her--left the room. In the hall slipped on the cloak which, she remembered, he had b.u.t.toned.

She spent no time in seeking a hat. Swung the hood up from behind over her head. So hurried out of the house.

So, into the night.

CHAPTER XV

ON HER KNEES TO HIM

Wivernsea was asleep. Like its blacksmith, it believed in the theory of early rising. Not a light was to be seen in one of the windows she pa.s.sed. Not until she came to the end of the Marine Terrace. There she saw an illuminated window: her beacon.

It was but a short distance from her own place; not ten minutes' walk.

She seems to have spent as many hours in covering it. Despite the proverb, time does not always fly.

The house which Masters lodged in was known to her. He had described the quaintness of its old-fashioned bay window; the only one in the row. She would have known it as his place without even the beacon light for identification. He was a slave of the lamp: consumed the midnight oil.

As she made towards the light she prayed, almost aloud. Prayed for a conquering power--over her pride. That she might be humble. For the framing of words to move this man when she besought him to come.

Soulfully prayed that G.o.d would incline his heart to hear her prayer.

Three steps--she faltered up them; proximity to her goal rendered her invertebrate--brought her to the level of the door. If she put her hand over the rails she could tap at the window. It would be better so than disturbing the household by knocking. She tapped.

Her actions elicited no response! She waited, with a hard-beating heart.

Still no reply: dead silence! Had he expected this--this visit of hers--and resolved to remain obdurate?

The window blind was not pulled down to its full length. Through the lace edging she could see the man calmly writing; writing as if thoroughly engrossed in his work. Evidently the thought of his cruelty did not trouble him in the least.

In desperation, there seemed nothing else to do, she used her fingers again: loudly. Masters looked up; started in astonishment. Heard a distinct tapping on the gla.s.s of his window!

He walked to the cas.e.m.e.nt; pulled the cord attached to a spring roller, and in a moment the blind had shot up. Outside all was moonlight brightness. At first he looked straight away; saw only the sea with the intervening roadway. Then, suddenly, at the side, on the steps, saw a woman with a ghastly white, haggard face looking at him! The Woman He Loved!

Start? He almost jumped in his amazement! Was he dreaming? Was it his phantasy? Then he came plump to earth; lost no further time in surmises; went to the door.

The room opened on to the hall; the street door was but a couple of yards away. He had gripped its handle and opened it in a moment. The woman was there--no phantasy--flesh and blood, clinging to the railings.

"My G.o.d! What has happened to bring you at this hour?"

"Just--a--moment!"

The answer given weakly; breathlessly. A swerve, and she would have fallen, but for an almost nerveless clutch at the railings--but that he was by her side in a moment, with a strong upholding arm round her waist.

There was unconsciousness of his clasp; things were all going round with her.... She had a feeling of being lifted; then set down again.

Then--then a blankness: consciousness left her.

For a brief moment Masters held her in his arms; her whole weight. For a brief moment the blood coursed wildly through his veins; surged brainwards. A wild, mad impulse seized him: to press his lips to hers, helpless, pa.s.sive as she lay there.

With difficulty he restrained himself. Laid down his burden reverently; her angel's face seemed eloquent of innocence. Once, surely once on a time, it had spoken truth. Ah! What Might Have Been.

She opened her eyes. Found herself lying on a sofa. Masters standing by her side, holding brandy. She tried, feebly, to push it away; but his now full-of-authority voice commanded:

"Drink!"

She was constrained to do so by reason of a hand which went under and lifted her head; another which placed the gla.s.s to her lips....

Struggling to a sitting position, pa.s.sing her hand across her eyes, with a pitiful little drooping at the corners of her mouth, she said:

"I beg your pardon for--for--Was I silly? Did I--I felt a little faint."

He remained watching her. His own face had grown almost the colour of hers. He had touched her, had had her hand in his, had felt the softness of her hair! It seemed to him as if the noise of the beating of his heart drowned the ticking of the clock.

"Tell me," he inquired, still supporting her, "what brings you here so late?"

She shook her head. Womanlike, answered his question by another:

"Didn't the girl tell you?"

"What girl?" He asked in surprise. "Didn't the girl tell me what?"

"About Gracie. I--I sent to you half-an-hour ago. She--they tell me--I think--Oh, my G.o.d!--I am so--so afraid!--is dying. She asked for you again and again. You sent a message that you would come tomorrow."

"I!"

His astonished look, the blaze of suddenly aroused anger in his eyes, frightened her. Could he be even now deceiving her? His kindness--was it falsity? She hurried on with her explanation; in her embarra.s.sment the words tumbled from her lips.

"Yes. You did--did you not? Ah! Don't tell me there was any mistake--the girl saw you herself! I ought to be with Gracie now, but you wouldn't come when I sent for you. She--I--thought if I came for you, you wouldn't be so hard. You could not--oh, you could not--if you knew that perhaps her very life depended on you."

In speaking she had fallen on her knees; knelt to him in her entreaty.

It hurt; he could not bear to see her--a woman--in this att.i.tude of supplication to him. Almost roughly he raised her to her feet.

When erect, not seeing through her tear-streaming eyes, choked with her emotion, she plucked at his coat sleeve. The action horrified him; recalled the night he had stood beside his mother's death-bed; the dying woman had plucked at the counterpane in just such a way. Roughly--to hide his aroused emotion--he shook himself free.

Then she seized on and took his hand in her own burning hot shaking ones. Continued to plead, sobs breaking her utterance:

"It is a child; a little child dying! She wanted to see you so much! The doctor said we were to gratify her, soothe her, and perhaps get her to a sleep which will save her life. You will come back with me--oh, you will, will you not? She knows I have come to fetch you. She was so confident you would come! I--I have annoyed you, or done something to displease you, I know that, but I am all humility now, Mr. Masters; humble, oh, so humble!"

She had slid to her knees again before he could stop her; continued;

"Humbly begging your pardon for whatever I have done. Praying you, for my little child's sake, to come back with me, please.... Please....

Please!"