The Moving Finger Part 27

"It shall not," she answered. "I would go there myself first. It is well for you to talk, Bertrand, but you and I are neither of us fond of simple things. We must live. We must have money."

"We live extravagantly," he said.

"All my life I have lived extravagantly," she answered. "Why should I change now? I have but a few years to live. I cannot bear small rooms, or cheap servants, or bad cooking."

"We have some money left," he said. "Come with me into the country. We can live there for very little. Soon my book will be ready. Then the lectures will begin. There will be money enough when people begin to understand."

"No!" she said. "There is only one way. I have spoken of it to you before. You must marry that foolish girl Lois Champneyes."

"What do you know about her?" he asked, looking up, startled.

"I have made inquiries," Rachael answered. "It is the usual thing in the countries I know of. She will be of age in a short time, and she will have one hundred and seventy thousand pounds. Upon that you can live until our time comes, and you can afford to keep this house going."

"I do not want to marry," he said.

Her hand shot out towards him--an accusing hand; her eyes flashed fire as she leaned forward, gripping the arm of the chair with her other fingers.

"Listen," she said, "I took you from the gutter. I saved you from starvation. I showed you the way to ease and luxury. I taught you things which have set your brain working, which shall fashion for you, if you dare to follow it, the way to greatness. I saved your life. I planted your feet upon the earth. Your life is mine. Your future is mine. What is this sacrifice that I demand? Nothing! Don't refuse me.

I warn you, Bertrand, don't refuse me! There are limits to my patience as there are limits to my generosity and my affection. If you refuse, it can be but for one reason, and that reason you will not dare to tell me. Do you refuse? Answer me, now, I will have no more evasions."

"She would not marry me," he said. "I have not seen her for days."

"Where is she?" Rachael demanded.

"In the country, at Beauleys," he answered. "The Rochesters have all left town yesterday or to-day, and she went with them."

"Then into the country we go," she declared. "It is an opportune time, too. We shall be out of the way if troubles come from these interfering people. I do not ask you again, Bertrand, whether you will or will not marry this girl. For the first time I exercise my rights over you. I demand that you marry her. Be as faithless as you like.

You are as fickle as a man can be, and as shallow. Make love to her for a year, and treat her as these Englishmen treat their housekeepers, if you will. But marry her you must! It is the money we need--the money! What is that?"

The bell was ringing from a telephone instrument upon the table. Saton lifted it to his ear.

"There is a trunk call for you," a voice said. "Please hold the line."

Saton waited. Soon a familiar voice came.

"Who is that?" it asked.

"Bertrand Saton," Saton answered.

"Listen," the voice said. "I am Huntley. I speak from Folkestone. I am crossing to-night to Paris. Dorrington is already on ahead. Someone has been employing detectives to track us down. It commenced with that letter--the one for which you settled terms yourself. You hear?"

"I hear," Saton answered. "Was it necessary for you, too, to go?"

"I cannot tell," Huntley answered. "All I know is that I have done pretty well the last two years, and I am not inclined to figure in the police courts. If the thing blows over, I'll be back in a few weeks.

Every paper of importance has been destroyed. I believe that you and Madame are perfectly safe. At the same time, take my tip. Go slow! I'm off. I've only a minute for the boat."

Saton laid down the receiver on the instrument.

"If it must be," he said, turning to Rachael, "I will go down to Blackbird's Nest to-morrow."

CHAPTER XX

FIRST BLOOD

Lois came walking down the green path that led to the wood, her head a little tilted back to watch the delicate tracery of the green leaves against the sky, her thoughts apparently far away. Suddenly she came to a standstill, the color rushed into her cheeks, her eyes danced with pleasure. Saton had come suddenly round the corner, and was already within a few feet of her.

"You?" she exclaimed. "Really you? I had no idea that you had left London."

He smiled as he took her hands.

"London was a desert," he said. "I have finished my work for a few days, and I have brought my writing down here."

"When did you come?" she asked.

"Last night," he answered. "I was just wondering how I could send a note up to you. Fortunately, I remembered your favorite walk."

"Did you really come to see me?" she murmured.

He laughed softly, and bent towards her. All her hesitation and mistrust seemed to pa.s.s away. She lay quietly in his arms, with her face upturned to his. He kissed her on the lips. All the time his eyes were watching the path along which he had come.

"Let us sit down," she said at last, gently disengaging herself from him. "There are so many things I want to ask you."

"And I too," he answered. "I have something to say--something I cannot keep to myself any longer."

He led the way to a fallen tree, a little removed from the footpath.

They were scarcely seated, however, before he turned his head sharply in the direction from which he had come. His whole frame seemed to have become suddenly rigid with an intense effort of listening. He raised his finger with a warning gesture.

"Sit still," he whispered. "Don't say anything. There is someone coming."

Her hand fell upon his. They sat side by side in an almost breathless silence, safely screened from observation unless the pa.s.sers-by, whoever they might be, should be unusually curious.

It was Pauline and Rochester who came--Pauline in a tailor-made gown of dark green cloth--Pauline, slim, tall and elegant. Rochester was bending toward her, talking earnestly. He wore a tweed shooting suit, and carried a gun under either arm.

"You see who it is?" Lois whispered.

Saton nodded. His face had darkened, his cheeks were almost livid. His eyes followed the two with an expression which terrified the girl who sat by his side.

"Bertrand," she whispered, "why do you look like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, without moving his eyes from the spot where those two figures had disappeared.

She shivered a little.

"You looked as though you hated Mr. Rochester. You looked angry--more than angry. You frightened me."