The Obstacle Race Part 46

"No," Robin said. But he added a moment later with a concentrated pa.s.sion that sounded inexpressibly vindictive, "I hate him! I do hate him! I wish he was dead!"

"Why?" d.i.c.k said. "What has he been doing?"

But Robin burrowed lower and made no answer.

d.i.c.k sat for a s.p.a.ce in silence, waiting for him to recover himself. He knew very well that he had good reason for his rooted dislike for Jack.

It was useless to attempt any argument on that point. But when Robin had grown calmer, he returned to the charge very quietly but with determination.

"What has Jack been doing or saying? Tell me! I've got to know."

Robin stirred uneasily. "Don't want to tell you, d.i.c.ky," he said.

d.i.c.k's hand pressed a little upon him. "You must tell me," he said. "When did you meet him?"

Robin hesitated in obvious reluctance. "It was after supper," he said.

"My head ached, and I went outside, and he came down the drive. And he--and he laughed about--about you coming home alone from Burchester, and said--said that your game was up anyhow. And I didn't know what he meant, d.i.c.ky--" Robin's arms suddenly clung closer--"but I got angry, because I hate him to talk about you. And I--I went for him, d.i.c.ky." His voice dropped on a shamed note, and he became silent.

"Well?" d.i.c.k said gravely. "What happened then?"

Very unwillingly Robin responded to his insistence. "He got hold of me--so that I couldn't hurt him--and then he said--he said--" A great sob rose in his throat choking his utterance.

"What did he say?"

There was a certain austerity in d.i.c.k's question. Robin shivered as it reached him.

With difficulty he struggled on. "Said that only--a fool--like me--could help knowing that--you hadn't--a chance--with any woman--so long as--so long as--" He choked again and sank into quivering silence.

d.i.c.k's hand found the rough head and patted it very tenderly. "But you're not fool enough to take what Jack says seriously, are you?" he said.

Robin stifled a sob. "He said that--afterwards," he whispered. "And he took me along to The Three Tuns--to make me forget it."

"You actually drank with him after that!" d.i.c.k said.

"I didn't know what I was doing, d.i.c.ky," he make apologetic answer.

"It--knocked the wind out of me. You see, I--I'd never thought of that before."

He began to whimper again. d.i.c.k swallowed down something that tried to escape him.

"A bit of an a.s.s, aren't you, Robin?" he said instead. "You know as well as I do that there isn't a word of truth in it. Anyhow--the woman I love--isn't--that sort of woman."

Robin shifted his position uneasily. There was that in the words that vaguely stirred him. d.i.c.k had never spoken in that strain before. Slowly, with a certain caution, he lifted his tear-stained face and peered up at his brother in the fitful candle-light.

"You do--want to marry Miss Moore then, d.i.c.ky?" he asked diffidently.

d.i.c.k looked straight back at him; his eyes shone with a sombre gleam that came and went. For several seconds he sat silent, then very steadily he spoke.

"Yes, I want her all right, Robin, but there are some pretty big obstacles in the way. I may get over them--and I may not. Time will prove."

His lips closed upon the words, and became again a single hard line. His look went beyond Robin and grew fixed. The boy watched him dumbly with awed curiosity.

Suddenly d.i.c.k moved, gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him upwards.

"There! Go to bed!" he said. "And don't take any notice of what Jack says for the future! Don't fight him either! Understand? Leave him alone!"

Robin blundered up obediently. Again there looked forth from his eyes the dog-like worship which he kept for d.i.c.k alone. "I'll do--whatever you say, d.i.c.ky," he said earnestly. "I--I'd die for you--I would!" He spoke with immense effort, and all his heart was in the words.

d.i.c.k smiled at him quizzically. "Instead of which I only want you to show a little ordinary common or garden sense," he said. "Think you can do that for me?"

"I'll try, d.i.c.ky," he said humbly.

"Yes, all right. You try!" d.i.c.k said, and got up, more moved than he cared to show. He turned to go, but paused to light Robin's candle from his own. "And don't forget I'm--rather fond of you, my boy!" he said, with a brief smile over his shoulder as he went away.

No, Robin was not likely to forget that, seeing that d.i.c.k's love for him was his safeguard from all evil, and his love for d.i.c.k was the mainspring of his life. But--though his development was stunted and imperfect--there were certain facts of existence which he was beginning slowly but surely to grasp. And one of these--before but dimly suspected--he had realized fully to-night, a fact beyond all questioning learnt from d.i.c.k's own lips.

d.i.c.k's words: "The woman I love," had sunk deep--deep into his soul. And he knew with that intuition which cannot err that his love for Juliet was the greatest thing life held for him--or ever could hold again.

And the driving force gripped Robin's soul afresh as he lay wide-eyed to the smothering gloom of the night. Whatever happened--whoever suffered--d.i.c.ky must have his heart's desire.

CHAPTER VI

THE SISTER OF MERCY

For five days after that burning afternoon of the flower-show Juliet scarcely left Vera Fielding's side. During those five days Vera lay at the point of death, and though her husband was constantly with her it was to Juliet that she clung through all the terrible phases of weakness, breathlessness, and pain that she pa.s.sed. Through the dark nights--though a trained nurse was in attendance--it was Juliet's hand that held her up, Juliet's low calm voice that rea.s.sured her in the Valley of the Shadow through which she wandered. Often too spent for speech, her eyes would rest with a piteous, child-like pleading upon Juliet's quiet face, and--for Juliet at least--there was no resisting their entreaty. She laid all else aside and devoted herself body and soul to the tender care of the sick woman.

Edward Fielding regarded her with reverence and a deep affection that grew with every day that pa.s.sed. She was always so gentle, so capable, so undismayed. He knew that her whole strength was bent to the task of saving Vera's life, and even when he most despaired he found himself leaning upon her, gathering courage from the resolute confidence with which she shouldered her burden.

"She never thinks of herself at all," he said once to Saltash between whom and himself a friendship wholly unavoidable on his part and also curiously pleasant had sprung up. "I suppose in her position of companion she has been more or less trained for this sort of thing. But her devotion is amazing. She is absolutely indispensable to my wife."

"_Juliette_ seems to have found her vocation," observed Saltash with a lazy chuckle. "But no, I should not say that she was specially trained for this sort of thing, though certainly it seems to suit her pa.s.sing well. All the same, you won't let her carry it too far, will you? Now that Mrs. Fielding is beginning to rally a little it might be a good opportunity to make her take a rest."

"Yes, you're right. She must rest," Fielding agreed. "She is so marvellous that one is apt to forget she must be nearly worn out."

It was the fifth day and Vera had certainly rallied. She lay in the sombre old library, that had been turned into the most luxurious bedroom that Saltash's and Juliet's ingenuity could devise, listening to the tinkle of the water in the conservatory and watching Juliet who sat in a low chair by her side with a book in her lap ready to read her to sleep.

There was a couch in the conservatory itself on which sometimes on rare occasions Juliet would s.n.a.t.c.h a brief rest, leaving the nurse to watch.

Columbus regarded this couch as his own particular property, but he always gave his beloved mistress an ardent welcome and squeezed himself into as small a compa.s.s as possible at the foot for her benefit.

Otherwise, he occupied the middle with an arrogance of possession which none disputed. The door into the garden was always open, and Columbus was extremely happy, being of supremely independent habits and quite capable of trotting round to the kitchen premises of the castle for his daily portion without disturbing anyone en route. How he discovered the kitchen Juliet never knew. Doubtless his exploring faculty stood him in good stead. But his appearance there was absolutely regular and orderly, and he always returned to the conservatory when he had been fed with the bustling self-importance of one whose time was of value. He never entered the sick-room except on invitation, and he never raised his voice above a whisper when in the conservatory. It was quite evident that he fully grasped the situation and accommodated himself thereto. All he asked of life was to be near his beloved one, and the snuffle of his greeting whenever she joined him was ample testimony to the joy of his simple soul. Just to see her, just to hear her voice, just sometimes to kiss and be kissed, what more could any dog desire?

Certainly an occasional scamper after rabbits in the park made a salutary change, but Columbus was prudent and he never suffered himself to be drawn very far in pursuit. A sense of duty or expediency always brought him back before long to the couch in the conservatory to lie and watch, brighteyed, for the only person who counted in his world.

He was watching for her now, but without much hope of her coming. She seldom left Vera's bedside in the afternoon for it was then, in the heat of the day, that she usually suffered most. But to-day she had been better. Today for the first time she was able to turn her head and smile and even to murmur a few sentences without distress. Her eyes dwelt upon Juliet's quiet face with a wistful affection. She had come to lean upon her strength with a child's dependence.

"Quite comfortable?" Juliet asked her gently.

"Quite," Vera made whispered reply. "But you--you look so tired."