CHAPTER XXV
IN THE LIBRARY
Henry Thresk took Mrs. Pettifer in to dinner that night and she found himpoor company. He tried indeed by fits and starts to entertain her, buthis thoughts were elsewhere. He was in a great pother and trouble aboutStella Ballantyne, who sat over against him on the other side of thetable. She wore no traces of the consternation which his words had causedher a couple of hours before. She had come dressed in a slim gown ofshimmering blue with her small head erect, a smile upon her lips and abright colour in her cheeks. Thresk hardly knew her, he had to tellhimself again and again that this was the Stella Ballantyne whom he hadknown here and in India. She was not the girl who had ridden with himupon the downs and made one month of his life very memorable and one daya shameful recollection. Nor was she the stricken creature of the tent inChitipur. She was a woman sure of her resources, radiant in her beauty,confident that what she wore was her colour and gave her her value. Yether trouble was greater than Thresk's, and many a time during the courseof that dinner, when she felt his eyes resting upon her, her heart sankin fear. She sought his company after dinner, but she had no chance of aprivate word with him. Old Mr. Hazlewood took care of that. One momentStella must sing; at another she must play a rubber of bridge. He at allevents had not laid aside his enmity and suspected some understandingbetween her and his guest. At eleven Mrs. Pettifer took her leave. Shecame across the room to Henry Thresk.
"Are you staying over to-morrow?" she asked, and Thresk with alaugh answered:
"I wish that I could. But I have to catch an early train to London.Even to-night my day's work's not over. I must sit up for an hour ortwo over a brief."
Stella rose at the same time as Mrs. Pettifer.
"I was hoping that you would be able to come across and see mylittle cottage to-morrow morning," she said. Thresk hesitated as hetook her hand.
"I should very much like to see it," he said. He was in a very greatdifficulty, and was not sure that a letter was not the better if the morecowardly way out of it. "If I could find the time."
"Try," said she. She could say no more for Mr. Hazlewood was at her elbowand Dick was waiting to take her home.
It was a dark clear night; a sky of stars overarched the earth, butthere was no moon, and though lights shone brightly even at a greatdistance there was no glimmer from the road beneath their feet. Dickheld her close in his arms at the door of her cottage. She was verystill and passive.
"You are tired?" he asked.
"I think so."
"Well, to-night has seen the last of our troubles, Stella."
She did not answer him at once. Her hands clung about his shoulders andwith her face smothered in his coat she whispered:
"Dick, I couldn't go on without you now. I couldn't. I wouldn't."
There was a note of passionate despair in her voice which made her wordssuddenly terrible to him. He took her and held her a little away fromhim, peering into her face.
"What are you saying, Stella?" he asked sternly. "You know that nothingcan come between us. You break my heart when you talk like that." He drewher again into his arms. "Is your maid waiting up for you?"
"No."
"Call her then, while I wait here. Let me see the light in her room. Iwant her to sleep with you to-night."
"There's no need, Dick," she answered. "I am unstrung to-night. I saidmore than I meant. I swear to you there's no need."
He raised her head and kissed her on the lips.
"I trust you, Stella," he said gently; and she answered him in a lowtrembling voice of so much tenderness and love that he was reassured."Oh, you may, my dear, you may."
She went up to her room and turned on the light, and sat down in herchair just as she had done after her first dinner at Little Beeding. Shehad foreseen then all the troubles which had since beset her, but she hadseemed to have passed through them--until this afternoon. Over there inthe library of the big house was Henry Thresk--the stranger. Very likelyhe was at this moment writing to her. If he had only consented to comeover in the morning and give her the chance of pleading with him! Shewent to the window and, drawing up the blind, leaned her head out andlooked across the meadow. In the library one of the long windows stoodopen and the curtain was not drawn. The room was full of light. HenryThresk was there. He had befriended her this afternoon as he hadbefriended her at Bombay, for the second time he had won the victory forher; but the very next moment he had warned her that the end was not yet.He would send her a letter, she had not a doubt of it. She had not adoubt either of the message which the letter would bring.
A sound rose to her ears from the gravel path below her window--the soundof a slight involuntary movement. Stella drew sharply back. Then sheleaned out again and called softly:
"Dick."
He was standing a little to the left of the window out of reach of thelight which streamed out upon the darkness from the room behind her. Hemoved forward now.
"Oh, Dick, why are you waiting?"
"I wanted to be sure that all was right, Stella."
"I gave you my word, Dick," she whispered and she wished himgood-night again and waited till the sound of his footsteps hadaltogether died away. He went back to the house and found Thresk stillat work in the library.
"I don't want to interrupt you," he said, "but I must thank you again. Ican't tell you what I owe you. She's pretty wonderful, isn't she? I feelcoarse beside her, I tell you. I couldn't talk like this to any one else,but you're so sympathetic."
Henry Thresk had responded with nothing more than a grunt. He satslashing at his brief with a blue pencil, all the while that DickHazlewood was speaking, and wishing that he would go to bed. Dick howeverwas unabashed.
"Did you ever see a woman look so well in a blue frock? Or in a black oneeither? There's a sort of painted thing she wears sometimes too. Well,perhaps I had better go to bed."
"I think it would be wise," said Thresk.
Young Hazlewood went over to the table in the corner and lit his candle.
"You'll shut that window before you go to bed, won't you?"
"Yes."
Hazlewood filled for himself a glass of barley-water and drank it,contemplating Henry Thresk over the rim. Then he went back to him,carrying his candle in his hand.
"Why don't you get married, Mr. Thresk?" he asked. "You ought to, youknow. Men run to seed so if they don't."
"Thank you," said Thresk.
The tone was not cordial, but mere words were an invitation to DickHazlewood at this moment. He sat down and placed his lighted candle onthe table between Thresk and himself.
"I am thirty-four years old," he said, and Thresk interposed withoutglancing up from his foolscap:
"From your style of conversation I find that very difficult to believe,Captain Hazlewood."
"I have wasted thirty-four complete years of twelve months each,"continued the ecstatic Captain, who appeared to think that on the veryday of his birth he would have recognised his soul's mate. "Just joggingalong with the world, a miracle about one and not half an eye to perceiveit. You know."
"No, I don't," Thresk observed. He lifted the candle and held it out toDick. Dick got up and took it.
"Thank you," he said. "That was very kind of you. I told you--didn'tI?--how sympathetic I thought you."
Thresk was not proof against his companion's pertinacity. He broke into alaugh. "Are you going to bed?" he pleaded, and Dick Hazlewood replied,"Yes I am." Suddenly his tone changed.
"Stella had a very good friend in you, Mr. Thresk. I am sure she stillhas one," and without waiting for any answer he went upstairs. Hisbedroom was near to the front in the side of the house. It commanded aview of the meadow and the cottage and he rejoiced to see that allStella's windows were dark. The library was out of sight round the cornerat the back, but a glare of light from the open door spread out over thelawn. Hazlewood looked at his watch. It was just midnight. He went to bedand slept.
In the library Thresk strove to concentrate his thoughts
upon his brief.But he could not, and he threw it aside at last. There was a letter to bewritten, and until it was written and done with his thoughts would not befree. He went over to the writing-table and wrote it. But it took a longwhile in the composition and the clock upon the top of the stable wasstriking one when at last he had finished and sealed it up.
"I'll post it in the morning at the station," he resolved, and he wentto the window to close it. But as he touched it a slight figure wrappedin a dark cloak came out of the darkness at the side and stepped past himinto the room. He swung round and saw Stella Ballantyne.
"You!" he exclaimed. "You must be mad."
"I had to come," she said, standing well away from the window in thecentre of the room as though she thought he would drive her out. "I heardyou say you would be sitting late here."
"How long have you been waiting out there?"
"A little while...I don't know...Not very long. I wasn't sure that youwere alone."
Thresk closed the window and drew the curtain across it. Then he crossedthe room and locked the doors leading into the dining-room and hall.
"There was no need for you to come," he said in a low voice. "I havewritten to you."
"Yes." She nodded her head. "That's why I had to come. This afternoon youspoke of leaving your pipe behind. I understood," and as he drew theletter from his pocket she recoiled from it. "No, it has never beenwritten. I came in time to prevent its being written. You only had anidea of writing. Say that! You are my friend." She took the letter fromhim now and tore it across and again across. "See! It has never beenwritten at all."
But Thresk only shook his head. "I am very sorry. I see to-night thestricken woman of the tent in Chitipur. I am very sorry," and Stellacaught at the commiseration in his voice. She dropped the cloak from hershoulders; she was dressed as she had been at the dinner some hoursbefore, but all her radiance had gone, her cheeks trembled, her eyespleaded desperately.
"Sorry! I knew you would be. You are not hard. You couldn't be. You mustcome close day by day in your life to so much that is pitiful. One cantalk to you and you'll understand. This is my first chance, the firstreal chance I have ever had, Henry, the very first."
Thresk looked backwards over the years of Stella Ballantyne's unhappylife. It came upon him with a shock that what she said was the baretruth; and remorse followed hard upon the heels of the shock. This washer first real chance and he himself was to blame that it had come noearlier. The first chance of a life worth the living--it had been in hishands to give her and he had refused to give it years ago on Bignor Hill.
"It's quite true," he admitted. "But I don't ask you to give it up,Stella." She looked at him eagerly. "No! You would have understood thatif you had read my letter instead of tearing it up. I only ask you totell your lover the truth."
"He knows it," she said sullenly.
"No!"
"He does! He does!" she protested, her voice rising to a low cry.
"Hush! You'll be heard," said Thresk, and she listened for a momentanxiously. But there was no sound of any one stirring in the house.
"We are safe here," she said. "No one sleeps above us. Henry, he knowsthe truth."
"Would you be here now if he did?"
"I came because this afternoon you seemed to be threatening me. I didn'tunderstand. I couldn't sleep. I saw the light in this room. I came to askyou what you meant--that's all."
"I'll tell you what I meant," said Thresk, and Stella with her eyesfixed upon him sank down upon a chair. "I left my pipe behind me in thetent on the night I dined with you. Your lover, Stella, doesn't knowthat. I came back to fetch it. He doesn't know that. You were standingby the table--" and Stella Ballantyne broke in upon him to silence thewords upon his lips.
"There was no reason why he should know," she exclaimed. "It had nothingto do with what happened. We know what happened. There was a thief"--andThresk turned to her then with such a look of sheer amazement upon hisface that she faltered and her voice died to a murmur of words--"a leanbrown arm--a hand delicate as a woman's."
"There was no thief," he said quietly. "There was a man delirious withdrink who imagined one. There was you with the bruises on your throat andthe unutterable misery in your eyes and a little rifle in your hands.There was no one else."
She ceased to argue; she sat looking straight in front of her with astubborn face and a resolution to cling at all costs to her chance ofhappiness.
"Come, Stella," Thresk pleaded. "I don't say tell every one. I do saytell him. For unless you do I must."
Stella stared at him.
"You?" she said. "You would tell him that you came back into the tentand saw me?"
"Oh, much more--that I lied at the trial, that the story which securedyour acquittal was false, that I made it up to save you. That I told itagain this afternoon to give you a chance of slipping out from animpossible position."
She looked at Thresk for a moment in terror. Then her expression changed.A wave of relief swept over her; she laughed in Thresk's face.
"You are trying to frighten me," she said. "Only I know you. Do yourealise what it would mean to you if it were ever really known that youhad lied at the trial?"
"Yes."
"Your ruin. Your absolute ruin."
"Worse than that."
"Prison!"
"Perhaps. Yes."
Stella laughed again.
"And you would run the risk of the truth becoming known by telling it toso much as one person. No, no! Another, perhaps--not you! You have hadone dream all your life--to rise out of obscurity, to get on in theworld, to hold the high positions. Everything and every one has beensacrificed to its fulfilment. Oh, who should know better than I?" and shestruck her hands together sharply as she uttered that bitter cry. "Youhave lain down late and risen early, and you have got on. Well, are youthe man to throw away all this work and success now that they touchfulfilment? You are in the chariot. Will you step down and run tied tothe wheels? Will you stand up and say, 'There was a trial. I perjuredmyself'? No. Another, perhaps. Not you, Henry."
Thresk had no answer to that indictment. All of it was true exceptits inference, and it was no news to him. He made no effort todefend himself.
"You are not very generous, Stella," he replied gently. "For if I lied, Isaved you by the lie."
Stella was softened by the words. Her voice lost its hardness, shereached out her hand in an apology and laid it on his arm.
"Oh, I know. I sent you a little word of thanks when you gave me myfreedom. But it won't be of much value to me if I lose--what I amfighting for now."
"So you use every weapon?"
"Yes."
"But this one breaks in your hand," he said firmly. "The thing you thinkit incredible that I should do I shall do none the less."
Stella looked at him in despair. She could no longer doubt that he reallymeant his words. He was really resolved to make this sacrifice of himselfand her. And why? Why should he interfere?
"You save me one day to destroy me the next," she said.
"No," he replied. "I don't think I shall do that, Stella," and heexplained to her what drove him on. "I had no idea why Hazlewood asked mehere. Had I suspected it I say frankly that I should have refused tocome. But I am here. The trouble's once more at my door but in a newshape. There's this man, young Hazlewood. I can't forget him. You will bemarrying him by the help of a lie I told."
"He loves me," she cried.
"Then he can bear the truth," answered Thresk. He pulled up a chairopposite to that in which Stella sat. "I want you to understand me, ifyou will. I don't want you to think me harsh or cruel. I told a lie uponmy oath in the witness-box. I violated my traditions, I struck at mybelief in the value of my own profession, and such beliefs mean a gooddeal to any man." Stella stirred impatiently. What words were these?Traditions! The value of a profession!
"I am not laying stress upon them, Stella, but they count," Threskcontinued. "And I am telling you that they count because I am going toadd that I
should tell that lie again to-morrow, were the trial to-morrowand you a prisoner. I should tell it again to save you again. Yes, tosave you. But when you go and--let me put it very plainly--use that lieto your advantage, why then I am bound to cry 'stop.' Don't you see that?You are using the lie to marry a man and keep him in ignorance of thetruth. You can't do that, Stella! You would be miserable yourself if youdid all your life. You would never feel safe for a moment. You would behaunted by a fear that some day he would learn the truth and not fromyou. Oh, I am sure of it." He caught her hands and pressed themearnestly. "Tell him, Stella, tell him!"
Stella Ballantyne rose to her feet with a strange look upon her face. Hereyes half closed as though to shut out a vision of past horrors. Sheturned to Thresk with a white face and her hands tightly clenched.
"You don't know what happened on that night, after you rode away to catchyour train?"
"No."
"I think you ought to know--before you sit in judgment"; and so at lastin that quiet library under the Sussex Downs the tragic story of thatnight was told. For Thresk as he listened and watched, its terrors livedagain in the eyes and the hushed voice of Stella Ballantyne, the darkwalls seemed to fall back and dissolve. The moonlit plain of far-awayChitipur stretched away in front of him to the dim hill where the oldsilent palaces crumbled; and midway between them and the greensignal-lights of the railway the encampment blazed like the clusteredlights of a small town. But Thresk learnt more than the facts. Thesprings of conduct were disclosed to him; the woman revealed herself,dark places were made light; and he bowed himself beneath a new burdenof remorse.
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