The Obstacle Race Part 45

Even then it took him a long time to screw himself up to the required pitch of nervous energy required. He ached for the sound of d.i.c.k's step on the stairs, but it did not come. And so at last he knew there was no help for it. Whatever the cost, he must fulfil the task that had been laid upon him.

With intense reluctance he uncovered his face, flinching from the stark glare of the lamp across the road, and dragged himself to his feet. It was difficult to move without noise, but he made elaborate efforts to do so. He reached the head of the stairs and hung there listening.

Had he heard a movement below he would have stumbled headlong back to cover, but no sound of any sort reached him. The compelling force urged him afresh. He gripped the stair-rail and crept downward like a stealthy baboon.

The stairs creaked alarmingly. More than once he paused, prepared for precipitate retreat, but still he heard no sound, and gradually a certain desperate hope came to him. Perhaps d.i.c.ky was asleep! Perhaps the power that drove him would be satisfied if he collected some things on a tray and left them in the little hall for d.i.c.ky to find when he finally came up! If this could be done--and he could get back safe to the sheltering darkness before he found out! He would not mind the subsequent caning, if only he need not meet d.i.c.ky face to face again beforehand. d.i.c.ky's eyes when they looked at him sternly were anguish to his soul. And they certainly would not hold any kindness for him until the punishment was over. So argued poor Robin's anxious brain as he reached the foot of the stairs and stood a moment under the lamp dimly burning there, summoning strength to creep past the open door of the dining-room.

A candle was flickering on the table, so he was sure d.i.c.k must be there.

Would he see him pa.s.s? Would he call him in? Robin's heart raced with terror at the thought. But no! The urging force drove him in sickening apprehension past the door, and still there was no sound.

He was at the kitchen-door at the end of the pa.s.sage, his fingers fumbling at the latch when suddenly he remembered that he had no candle.

There was no candle to be had! The only one available downstairs was the one d.i.c.k had taken into the dining-room. He could not go upstairs again to get another. He had no matches wherewith to explore the kitchen. He stood struck motionless by this fresh problem.

But d.i.c.ky was doubtless asleep or he must have heard those creaking stairs! Then there was still a chance. He might creep into the room and take the candle without waking him. He was gaining confidence by the prolonged silence. d.i.c.ky must certainly be fast asleep.

With considerably greater steadiness than he had yet achieved he returned to the open door and peeped stealthily in.

Yes, d.i.c.k was there. He had flung himself down at the table on which he had set the candle, and he was lying across it with his head on his arms.

Asleep of course! That could be the only explanation of such an att.i.tude.

Yet Robin in the act of advancing, stopped in sudden doubt with a scared backward movement, his eyes upon one of d.i.c.k's hands that was clenched convulsively and quivering as if he were in pain. It certainly did not look like the hand of a man asleep.

The next moment Robin's ungainly form had knocked against the door-handle and d.i.c.k was sitting upright looking at him. His face was grey, he looked unutterably tired, his mouth had the stark grimness of the man who endures, asking nothing of Fate.

"Hullo, boy!" he said. "Why aren't you in bed?" Then seeing Robin's unmistakably hang-dog air, "Oh, I forgot! Go on upstairs! I'm coming."

Robin turned about like a kicked dog. But the driving force stopped him on the threshold. He stood a second or two, then turned again with a species of sullen courage.

"May I have the candle?" he said, not looking at d.i.c.k.

"What for?" said d.i.c.k. "Haven't you got one upstairs?"

Robin stood a moment or two debating with himself, then made a second movement to go. "All right. I'll fetch it."

"Wait a minute!" d.i.c.k's voice compelled. "What do you want a candle down here for?"

Robin backed against the door-post with a kind of heavy defiance. "Want to get something--out of the kitchen," he muttered.

"What do you want to get?" said d.i.c.k.

Robin was silent, stubbornly, insistently silent, the fingers of one hand working with agitated activity.

"Robin!"

It was the voice of authority. He had to respond to it. He made a lumbering gesture towards the speaker, but his eyes remained obstinately lowered under the s.h.a.g of hair that hung over his forehead.

d.i.c.k sat for a few seconds looking at him, then with a sudden sigh that caught him unawares he got up.

"What did you come down for? Tell me!" he said.

His tone was absolutely quiet, but something in his utterance or the sigh that preceded it--or possibly some swiftly-piercing light of intuition--seemed to send a galvanizing current through Robin. With clumsy impulsiveness he came to d.i.c.k and stood before him.

"I was going--to get you--something to eat," he said, speaking with tremendous effort. "You must be--pretty near starving--and I forgot." He paused to fling a nervous look upwards. "I thought you were asleep. I didn't know--or I wouldn't have done it. I--didn't mean to get in the way." His voice broke oddly. He began to tremble. "I'll go now," he said.

But d.i.c.k's hand came out, detaining him. "You came down to get me food?" he said.

"Yes," muttered Robin, with his head down. "Thought I'd--put it in the hall--so you'd find it--before you came up."

d.i.c.k stood silent for a s.p.a.ce, looking at him. His eyes were very gentle and the grimness had gone from his mouth, but Robin could not see that.

He stood humped and quivering, expectant of rebuke.

But he recognized the change when d.i.c.k spoke. "Thought you'd provide me with the necessary strength to hammer you, eh?" he said, and suddenly his arm went round the misshapen shoulders; he gave Robin a close squeeze.

"Thanks, old chap," he said.

Robin looked up then. The adoring devotion of a dumb animal was in his eyes. He said nothing, being for the moment beyond words.

d.i.c.k let him go. A clock on the mantelpiece was striking twelve. "You get to bed, boy!" he said. "I don't want anything to eat, thanks all the same." He paused a moment, then held out his hand. "Good-night!"

It was tacit forgiveness for his offence, and as such Robin recognized it. Yet as he felt the kindly grasp his eyes filled with tears.

"I'm--I'm sorry, d.i.c.ky," he stammered.

"I'm sorry too," d.i.c.k said. "But that won't undo it. For heaven's sake, Robin, never lie to me again! There! Go to bed! I'm going myself as soon as I've had a smoke. Good-night!"

It was a definite dismissal, and Robin turned away and went stumblingly from the room.

His brother looked after him with a queer smile in his eyes. It was Juliet who had taught Robin to say he was sorry. He threw himself into an easy-chair and lighted a pipe. Perhaps after all in his weariness he had exaggerated the whole matter. Perhaps--after all--she might yet find that she loved him enough to cast her own world aside. Recalling her last words to him, he told himself that he had been too quick to despair. For she loved him--she loved him! Not all the fashionable cynics her world contained could alter that fact.

A swift wave of exultation went through him, combating his despair.

However heavy the odds,--however formidable the obstacles--he told himself he would win--he would win!

Going upstairs a little later, he was surprised to hear a low sound coming from Robin's room. He had thought the boy would have been in bed and asleep some time since. He stopped at the door to listen.

The next moment he opened it and quietly entered, for Robin was sobbing as if his heart would break.

There was no light in the room save that which shone from the park-gates opposite and the candle he himself carried. Robin was sunk in a heap against the bed still fully dressed. He gave a great start at his brother's coming, shrinking together in a fashion that seemed to make him smaller. His sobbing ceased on the instant. He became absolutely still, his claw-like hands rigidly gripped on the bedclothes, his face wholly hidden. He did not even breathe during the few tense seconds that d.i.c.k stood looking down at him. He might have been a creature carved in granite. Then d.i.c.k set down his candle, went to him, sat on the low bed, and pulled the s.h.a.ggy head on to his knee.

"What's the matter, old chap?" he said.

All the tension went out of Robin at his touch. He clung to him in voiceless distress.

d.i.c.k's heart smote him. Why had he left the boy so long? He laid a very gentle hand upon him.

"Come, old chap!" he said. "Get a hold on yourself! What's it all about?"

Robin's shoulders heaved convulsively; his hold tightened. He murmured some inarticulate words.

d.i.c.k bent over him. "What, boy? What? I can't hear. You haven't been up to any mischief, have you? Robin, have you?" A sudden misgiving a.s.sailed him. "You haven't hurt anybody? Not Jack, for instance?"