Till the Clock Stops Part 33

"Everything I need know, Doris. I wish you wouldn't distress yourself.

It's going to be all right, you know. How is your father to-night?"

"I think he will be well enough to see you to-morrow," she replied, and went on to ask a number of questions very painful to her. When he had answered the last of them in the affirmative, she sighed and said: "Then, Alan, I think, I hope, you do know nearly all, and I can only beg you to believe that father never meant to injure _you_ in any way. It was not until there was no hope left of your being alive that he--"

"Doris, I implore you not to talk about it. Mr. Lancaster was my good friend in the old days, and I trust he is that still. When I see him to-morrow I shall have to depend on that friendship, because, you see, Doris, I shall want--with your permission--to ask a great favour of him."

On the girl's tired lovely face a flush came--and went. "Alan, this is no time for misunderstandings," she said bravely, "and when you have a talk with father, I wish you to--to try to forget me."

"Forget you! ... Ah! you mean you do not wish me to refer to your part in helping him--"

"Oh," she cried hastily, "I was afraid, after all, Teddy would not tell you one thing--"

"It can't matter in the least, dear Doris. What I want to ask your father is simply his blessing on us both in our engage--"

"For pity's sake, no! Listen, Alan; and don't think too unkindly of me, for I have promised to marry Mr. Bullard--"

"Doris!"

"--a year from now." She bowed her head.

He was on his feet, standing over her. "Bullard!" he exclaimed at last, "Bullard! Good Lord, Doris! Had that fat successful gambler actually the impudence to ask you to marry him?"

"Oh, hush!" she whispered. "The fact remains that I gave my promise."

He drew a long breath. "Of course you gave your promise, and the reason's plain enough to me! You gave it for your father's sake!" As in a flash he saw what she had suffered. Teddy's story had told him much, but this! ...

His heart swelled, overflowed with that which is so akin to love that in the moment of stress it is love's double.

And this young man, casting aside his doubts of himself, caught in a pa.s.sion evoked by beauty in distress and hot human sympathy, fell on his knees, murmuring endearments, and took this young woman, with all her doubts of herself, to his breast.

And Doris let herself go. Doubts or no doubts, right or wrong, it was sweet and comforting, after long wearing anxiety and and loneliness, to find refuge in the strong, gentle arms of one who cared. But it was a lull that could not last.

"Dear," he was saying when she stirred uneasily, "you shall never marry him! Why, you don't even need to break your promise, for we will see to it that he shall never dare to ask you to fulfil it. Leave Mr. Francis Bullard to Teddy and me."

"Alan, this is madness!" She drew away from him. "How could I forget?

Father is so completely in his power."

"But we are going to rescue him, you and I, thanks to good old Teddy."

She shook her head. "Ah, no, Alan, you are too hopeful."

Alan was puzzled. "Didn't you and he understand my message to him in Teddy's wire?" he asked at length.

"We understood that you--you forgave everything. Oh, it was kind and generous of you!"

"Was that all?" Alan got up and stood looking down at the fire. "I didn't want to say a word about it," he said presently. "I hoped Mr. Lancaster at least, would take my meaning. It's horrid having to discuss it with you, Doris, but Teddy mentioned something about a--a debt--"

"Oh!" It was a cry of pain. "Teddy must have misunderstood me. I never meant--"

"Teddy did it for the best, you may be sure, and I'm grateful to him. Let me go on, dear. It is this debt that gives Bullard the upper hand--is it not? Twenty-five thousand, Teddy mentioned as the amount."

"Don't!--don't!" She hid her face.

"And so--and so I just brought the money along with me." He cleared his throat. "And Mr. Lancaster will be a free man to-morrow. Doris, for G.o.d's sake, don't take it like that!"

She was not weeping, but her slim body seemed rent.

"Doris, since you are going to marry me, what could be more natural than that I should want to help your dearest one out of his trouble? I've more money than I need--honestly." He laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Dear little girl," he continued, with a kindly laugh, "you've no idea how difficult it is to speak about it. And I can't carry the thing through myself; simply couldn't open the subject to him and offer the money. I want you to help me--and at once. I suppose he is strong enough to bear a small surprise. So I want you to go now and tell him, and--and give him these. I brought notes, you know, because they are more private." His free hand dropped a packet into her lap. Amazing how little s.p.a.ce is required for twenty-five thousand pounds in Bank of England notes! "Doris!"

She did not raise her head, but her hands went up to her shoulder and took his hand between them. Hers were cold.

"My dearest!" he cried softly.

"Oh, Alan, Alan," she said in a dry whisper. "I shall never get over this, I will never forget your goodness. But I can't--I _can't_ do it."

"Yes, you can, dear. I know it's hard. I know it means sinking your pride--"

"Pride!--have I any left?"

"Plenty--and plenty to be proud of! Help me to remove your father's trouble, and we shall all be happy again. Just think that you are putting freedom into his hand--"

"Have mercy, Alan!"

"Dearest, is it too hard? Well, well, I must do it myself, after all.

Only that will mean so many more troubled hours for him.... Doris, you will do it, for his sake and mine? After all, what does the whole affair signify? Simply that you and I will have so much less to spend later,--and do you mind that?"

He had won, or, at all events, filial love had won. It is the other sort of love that pride may withstand to the last.

She did a thing then that he would remember when he was an old man: drew his hand to her lips. The colour rushed to his face. "Not that, dear!"

She rose and he supported her, for she was a little _dizzy_ with it all.

"What am I to say to him, Alan?"

"Just say that it is merely what my Uncle Christopher would have done, had he known. And tell him to get well quickly, because I want him to come to Grey House for a change, at the earliest possible day. I want you and Mrs. Lancaster also, Doris. Will you come?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid--"

"Never mind now. I'll write to Mrs. Lancaster to-night, and perhaps I may see her to-morrow."

"You--you won't tell her about this, Alan?"

"Certainly not. I've forgotten about it," he said, with a smile intended to be encouraging. "And I'll go at once. Perhaps that will make it a little easier for you. As soon as you've seen your father, you ought to turn in. Will you?"

She attempted to smile, but her voice was grave. "I will do anything you wish--now and always. I can't thank you, Alan dear, but G.o.d knows--" She could say no more.

"You dear little girl," he said, rather wildly, "there's just one thing you must be quite clear about. This miserable money may buy your father's peace of mind, but it has not bought one hair of your beautiful head." He took her in his arms and kissed her. "Sleep well ... till to-morrow!"

Her mind was still in turmoil as she went up the broad staircase, clutching against her bosom the precious packet, but her eyes were wet at last. Her father was saved! For herself she had no thought.