The Obstacle Race Part 44

That Sat.u.r.day night concert at High Shale entailed a greater effort on d.i.c.k's part than any that had preceded it. He forced himself to make it a success, but when it was over he was conscious of an overwhelming weariness that weighed him down like a physical burden.

He said good-night to the men, and prepared to depart with a feeling that he was nearing the end of his endurance. It was not soothing to nerves already on edge to be waylaid by Ashcott and made the unwilling recipient of gloomy forebodings.

"We shan't hold 'em much longer," the manager said. "They're getting badly out of hand. There's talk of sending a deputation to Lord Wilchester or--failing him--Ivor Yardley, the K.C. chap who is in with him in this show."

"Yardley!" d.i.c.k uttered the name sharply.

"Yes, ever met him? He took over a directorship when he got engaged to Lord Wilchester's sister--Lady Joanna Farringmore. They're rather pinning their hopes on him, it seems. Do you know him at all?"

"I've met him--once," d.i.c.k said. "Went to him for advice--on a matter of business."

"Any good?" asked Ashcott.

"Oh yes, shrewd enough. Hardest-headed man at the Bar, I believe.

I didn't know he was a director of this show. They won't get much out of him."

"I fancy they're going to ask you to draw up a pet.i.tion," said Ashcott.

"Me!" d.i.c.k turned on him in a sudden blaze of anger. "I'll see 'em d.a.m.ned first!" he said.

Ashcott shrugged his shoulders. "It's your affair. You're the only man who has any influence with 'em. I'm sick of trying to keep the peace."

d.i.c.k checked his indignation. "Poor devils! They certainly have some cause for grievance, but I'm not going to draw up their ultimatum for them. I've no objection to speaking to Yardley or any other man on their behalf, but I'm hanged if I'll be regarded as their representative.

They'll make a strike-leader of me next."

"Well, they're simmering," Ashcott said, as he prepared to depart.

"They'll boil over before long. If they don't find a responsible representative they'll probably run amuck and get up to mischief."

"Oh, man, stop croaking!" d.i.c.k said with weary irritation and went away down the hill.

He took the cliff-path though the night was dark with storm-clouds.

Somehow, instinctively, his feet led him thither. There were no nightingales singing now, and the gorse had long since faded in the fierce heat of summer. The sea lay leaden far below him, barely visible in the dimness. And there was no star in the sky.

Heavily he tramped over the ground where Juliet had lingered on that night of magic in the spring, and as he went, he told himself that he had lost her. Whatever the outcome of to-day's happenings, she would never be the same to him again. She had pa.s.sed out of his reach. Her own world had claimed her again and there could be no return. He recalled the regret in her eyes at parting. Surely--most surely--she had known that that was the end. For her the midsummer madness was over, burnt away like the glory of the gorse-bushes about him. With a conviction that was beyond all reason he knew that they had come to a parting of the ways.

And there was no bond between them, no chain but that which his love had forged. She had pleaded to retain her freedom, and now with bitter intuition he knew wherefore. She had always realized that to which he in his madness had been persistently blind. She had known that there were obstacles insurmountable between them and the happy consummation of their love. She had faced the fact that the glory would depart.

Again he felt the clinging of her arms as he had felt it only that afternoon. Again against his lips there rose her quivering whisper, "Just for to-day, d.i.c.k! Just for to-day!" Yes, she had known even then. Even then for her the glory had begun to fade.

He clenched his hands in sudden fierce rebellion. It was unbearable. He would not endure it. This stroke of destiny--he would fight it with all the strength of his manhood. He would overthrow this nameless barrier that had arisen between them. He would sacrifice all--all he had--to reach her. Somehow--whatever the struggle might cost--he would clasp her again, would hold her against all the world.

And then--like a poisoned arrow out of the darkness--another thought pierced him. What if she were indeed of those who loved for a s.p.a.ce and pa.s.sed smiling on? What if the fatal taint of the world from which she had come to him had touched her also, withering the heart in her, making true love a thing impossible? What if she had indeed been fashioned in the same mould as the worthless woman whom she sought to defend?

But that was unthinkable, intolerable. He flung the evil suggestion from him, but it left a burning wound behind. There was no escape from the fact that she was on terms of intimacy with the man with whom that woman's name had been shamefully a.s.sociated. And--remembering the discomfiture she had betrayed at their meeting--he told himself bitterly that she would have given much to have concealed that intimacy had it been possible.

But here his loyalty cried out that he was wronging her. Juliet--his Juliet of the steadfast eyes and low, sincere voice--was surely incapable of double dealing! Whatever her life in the past had been, however frivolous, however artificial, it had been given to him--perhaps to him alone--to know her as she was. A great wave of self-reproach went over him. How had he dared to doubt her?

The sea moaned with a dreary sound along the sh.o.r.e. A few heavy drops of rain fell around him. Mechanically he quickened his pace. He came at length down the steep cliff-path to the gate that led to the village.

And here to his surprise a shuffling footstep told him of the presence of another human being out in the desolate darkness. Dimly he discerned a bulky shape leaning against the rail.

He came up to it. "Robin!" he said sharply.

A low voice answered him in startled accents. "Oh, d.i.c.ky! I thought you were never coming!"

"What are you doing here?" d.i.c.k said.

He took the boy by the shoulder with the words and Robin cowered away.

"Don't be cross! d.i.c.ky, please don't be cross! I only came to look for you," he said with nervous incoherence. "I didn't mean to be out late. I couldn't help it. Don't be cross!"

But d.i.c.k was implacable. "You know you've no business out at this hour,"

he said. "I warned you last time--when you went to The Three Tuns--" He paused abruptly. "Have you been to The Three Tuns to-night?"

"No!" said Robin eagerly.

d.i.c.k's hand pressed upon him. "Is that the truth?"

Robin became incoherent again. "I only came to meet you. I didn't think you'd be so late. And it was so hot to-night. And my head ached." He broke off. "d.i.c.ky, you're hurting me!"

"You have told me a lie," d.i.c.k said.

Robin shrank at his tone. "How did you know?" he whispered awestruck.

d.i.c.k did not answer. He shifted his hold from Robin's shoulder to his arm and turned him about. Robin went with him, shuffling his feet and trembling.

d.i.c.k led him in grim silence down the path to the village-road, past the Ricketts' cottage, now in darkness, up the hill beyond that led to the school.

Robin went with him submissively enough, but he stumbled several times on the way. As they neared the end of the journey he began to talk again anxiously, propitiatingly.

"I didn't mean to go, d.i.c.ky, but I was so hot and thirsty. And I met Jack and I went in with him. There were a lot of fellows there and Jack treated me, but I didn't have very much. My head ached so, and I sat down in a corner and went to sleep till it was closing time. Then old Swag made me get out, so I came to wait for you. I didn't hit him or anything, d.i.c.ky. I was quite quiet all the while. So you won't be cross, will you,--not like last time?"

"I am going to punish you if that's what you mean," d.i.c.k said, as he opened the garden-gate.

Robin shrank again, shivering like a frightened dog. "But, d.i.c.ky, I only--I only--"

"Broke the rule and lied about it," his brother said uncompromisingly.

"You know the punishment for that."

Robin attempted no further appeal. He went silently into the house and blundered up to his room. There was only one thing left to do, and that was to pay the penalty--of which d.i.c.k's wrath was infinitely the hardest part to bear.

He crouched down on the floor by the bed to wait. The light from the pa.s.sage shone in through the half-open door and the great lamp at the lodge-gates of the Court opposite, which was kept burning all night, glared in at the unblinded window, but there was no light in the room.

There was something almost malignant to Robin's mind about the searching brilliance of this lamp. He hid his eyes from it, huddling his face in the bed-clothes, listening intently the while for d.i.c.k's coming but hearing only the dull thumping of his own heart.

There was no one in the house except the two brothers. A woman came in every day from the village to do the work of the establishment. Now that Jack had found quarters elsewhere there was not a great deal to be done since Robin was accustomed also to making himself useful in various ways. It occurred to him suddenly as he crouched there waiting that d.i.c.k had been too hurried to eat much supper before his departure for High Shale that evening. The thought had been in his brain before, but subsequent events had dislodged it. Now, with every nerve alert and p.r.i.c.king with suspense, it returned to him very forcibly. d.i.c.ky was hungry perhaps--or consumed with thirst, as he himself had been. And he would certainly go empty to bed unless he, Robin, plucked up courage to go down and wait upon him.

It needed considerable courage, for his instinct was always to hide when he had incurred d.i.c.k's anger. Judicial though it invariably was, it was the most terrible thing the world held for him. It shook him to the depths, and to go down and confront it again with the penalty still unpaid was for a long time more than he could calmly contemplate. But as the minutes crept on and still d.i.c.k did not come, it was gradually borne in upon him that this, and this alone, was the thing that must be done.

It was his job, forced upon him by an inexorable fate. d.i.c.k would probably be much more angry with him for doing it, but somehow in a vague, unreasoning fashion he realized that it had got to be done.