The Way of an Eagle Part 38

For he knew that the man from whom Muriel had sought his protection was more worthy of her than he, and his heart cried bitter shame upon him for that knowledge.

It was with considerable difficulty that he responded to Nick's airy nothings during the half-hour that followed, and the unusual alacrity with which he seized upon his host's suggestion that he might care to see the garden, testified to his relief at being released from the obligation of doing so.

They went out together on to the wide lawn and sauntered down to a summer-house on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the whole mighty expanse of sea. It lay dreaming in the sunlight, with hardly a ripple upon the long white beach below. And here they came upon Muriel and Olga, sitting side by side on the gra.s.s.

Olga had just finished pulling a daisy to pieces. She tossed it away at Nick's approach, and sprang to meet him.

"It's very disappointing," she declared. "It's the fourth time I've done it, and it always comes the same. I've been making the daisies tell Muriel's fortune, and it always comes to 'He would if he could, but he can't.' You try this time, Nick."

"All right. You hold the daisy," said Nick.

Muriel looked up with a slightly heightened colour. "I think we ought to be going," she remarked.

"We have just ordered the horses for four o'clock," Grange said apologetically.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist--half-past three. Nick, seated cross-legged on the gra.s.s in front of her, had already, with Olga's able a.s.sistance, begun his game.

Swiftly the tiny petals fell from his fingers. He was very intent, and in spite of herself Muriel became intent too, held by a most unaccountable fascination. So handicapped was he that he could not even pull a flower to pieces without a.s.sistance. And yet--

Suddenly he looked across at her. "He loves her!" he announced.

"Oh, Nick!" exclaimed Olga reproachfully. "You cheated! You pulled off two!"

"He usually does cheat," Muriel observed, plucking a flower of gra.s.s and regarding it with absorption.

"So do you," retorted Nick unexpectedly.

"I!" She looked at him in amazement. "What do you mean?"

"I sha'n't tell you," he returned, "because you know, or you would know if you took the trouble to find out. Grange, I wish you would give me a light. Hullo, Olga, there's a hawk! See him? Straight above that cedar!"

All turned to look at the dark shape of the bird hovering in mid-air.

Seconds pa.s.sed. Suddenly there was a flashing, downward swoop, and the sky was empty.

Olga exclaimed, and Nick sent up a wild whoop of applause. Muriel gave a great start and glanced at him. For a single instant his look met hers; then with a sick shudder, she turned aside.

"You are cold," said Grange.

Yes, she was cold. It was as if an icy hand had closed upon her heart.

As from an immense distance, she heard Olga's voice of protest.

"Oh, Nick, how can you cheer?"

And his careless reply. "My good child, don't grudge the poor creature his dinner. Even a bird of prey must live. Come along! We'll go in to tea. Muriel is cold."

They went in, and again his easy hospitality overcame all difficulties.

When at length the visitors rode away, they left him grinning a cheery farewell from his doorstep. He seemed to be in the highest spirits.

They were more than half-way home when Muriel turned impetuously to her companion, breaking a long silence.

"Blake," she said, "I am ready to marry you as soon as you like."

PART IV

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE FACE IN THE STORM

Muriel saw very little of her _fiance_ during the weeks that followed their visit to Redlands. There was not indeed room for him at the cottage at Brethaven which she and Daisy had taken for the summer months. He had, moreover, several visits to pay, and his leave would be up in September.

Muriel herself, having once made her decision, had plenty to occupy her. They had agreed to adhere to Sir Reginald Ba.s.sett's plan for them, and to be married in India some time before Christmas. But she did not want to go to Lady Ba.s.sett's sister before she left England, and she was glad when Daisy declared that she herself would go to town with her in the autumn.

A change had come over Daisy of late, a change which Muriel keenly felt, but which she was powerless to define. It seemed to date from the arrival of Nick though she did not definitely connect it with him.

There was nothing palpable in it, nothing even remotely suggestive of a breach between them; only, subconsciously as it were, Muriel had become aware that their silence, which till then had been the silence of sympathy, had subtly changed till it had become the silence of a deep though unacknowledged reserve. It was wholly intangible, this change. No outsider would have guessed of its existence. But to the younger girl it was always vaguely present. She knew that somewhere between herself and her friend there was a locked door. Her own reserve never permitted her to attempt to open it. With a species of pride that was largely composed of shyness, she held aloof. But she was never quite unconscious of the opposing barrier. She felt that the old sweet intimacy, that had so lightened the burden of her solitude, was gone.

Meanwhile, Daisy was growing stronger, and day by day more active. She never referred to her baby, and very seldom to her husband. When his letters arrived she invariably put them away with scarcely a glance.

Muriel sometimes wondered if she even read them. It was pitifully plain to her that Will Musgrave's place in his wife's heart was very, very narrow. It had dwindled perceptibly since the baby's death.

On the subject of Will's letters, Nick could have enlightened her, for he always appeared at the cottage on mail-day for news. But Muriel, having discovered this habit, as regularly absented herself, with the result that they seldom met. He never made any effort to see her. On one occasion when she came unexpectedly upon him and Olga, shrimping along the sh.o.r.e, she was surprised that he did not second the child's eager proposal that she should join them. He actually seemed too keen upon the job in hand to pay her much attention.

And gradually she began to perceive that this was the att.i.tude towards her that he had decided to a.s.sume. What it veiled she knew not, nor did she inquire. It was enough for her that hostilities had ceased.

Nick apparently was bestowing his energies elsewhere.

Midsummer pa.s.sed, and a July of unusual heat drew on. Dr. Jim and his wife and boys had departed to Switzerland. Nick and Olga had elected to remain at Redlands. They were out all day long in the motor or dogcart, on horseback or on foot. Life was one perpetual picnic to Olga just then, and she was not looking forward to the close of the summer holidays when, so her father had decreed, she was to return to her home and the ordinary routine. Nick's plans were still unsettled though he spoke now and then of a prospective return to India. He must in any case return thither, so he once told her, whether he decided to remain or not. It was not a pleasant topic to Olga, and she always sought to avoid any allusion to it. After the fashion of children, she lived in the present, and enjoyed it to the full: bathing with Muriel every morning, and spending the remainder of the day in Nick's society. The friendship between these two was based upon complete understanding. They had been comrades as long as Olga could remember.

Given Nick, it was very seldom that she desired any one besides.

Muriel had ceased to marvel over this strange fact. She had come to realise that Nick was, and always must be, an enigma to her. In the middle of July, when the heat was so intense as to be almost intolerable, Daisy received a pressing invitation to visit an old friend, and to go yachting on the Broads. She refused it at first point-blank; but Muriel, hearing of the matter before the letter was sent, interfered, and practically insisted upon a change of decision.

"It is the very thing for you," she declared. "Brethaven has done its best for you. But you want a dose of more bracing air to make you quite strong again. It's absurd of you to dream of throwing away such an opportunity. I simply won't let you do it."

"But how can I possibly leave you all alone?" Daisy protested. "If the Ratcliffes were at home, I might think of it, but--"

"That settles it," Muriel announced with determination. "I never heard such nonsense in my life. What do you think could possibly happen to me here? You know perfectly well that a couple of weeks of my own society would do me no harm whatever."

So insistent was she, that finally she gained her point, and Daisy, albeit somewhat reluctantly, departed for Norfolk, leaving her to her own devices.

The heat was so great in those first days of solitude that Muriel was not particularly energetic. Apart from her early swim with Olga, and an undeniably languid stroll in the evening, she scarcely left the precincts of the cottage: No visitors came to her. There were none but fisher-folk in the little village. And so her sole company consisted of Daisy's _ayah_ and the elderly English cook.

But she did not suffer from loneliness. She had books and work in plenty, and it was even something of a relief, though she never owned it, to be apart from Daisy for a little. They never disagreed, but always at the back of her mind there lay the consciousness of a gulf between them.