CHAPTER XVI
THE REVELATION
The autumn dusk was falling as the Fairharbour train crawled at lengthinto the station. A sea-fog hung clammily along the shore, and a smellof burning weeds was in the air.
Maud shivered with cold and weariness as she descended to the platform.It had been a long, long journey. Her whole body ached with fatigue.
There were not many travellers, and they had all disappeared before shehad collected her luggage and made her way out into the dank chill ofthe station-yard where a rickety cab stood waiting.
She shivered afresh as she got into it. The dampness and the coldseemed to penetrate to her very bones. She sat huddled in a corner.
"Where to, miss?" The porter thrust a cheery face in upon her, and,albeit she was veiled, she shrank back with an instinctive desire toavoid recognition.
"The Anchor Hotel," she said, through teeth that chattered in spite ofher.
She heard him give the order, and in a moment the ramshackle conveyancewas on its way. They clattered forth over the stones into the clingingbillows of mist.
The cold caught and pierced her anew as they neared the dreary front.She heard the muffled roar of the sea splashing dully against the wall.The mist became a wet drizzle beating in through the window. She triedto close it, but the strap was broken. She could only draw her wrapmore closely about her.
The cab horse stumbled, and was dragged up by his driver with a curse.They were nearing the Anchor Hotel. She wished she had prepared hermother for her advent. She had not dared to do so in case--just incase--it should come to Jake's knowledge, though she believed that Jakemust be well on his way to Liverpool by now, if he had not alreadyarrived there. It was possible that he had not been able to leave at amoment's notice, and she had not dared to take the chance of any rumourof her coming reaching him. But now that she was so nearly at the end ofher journey, she wished earnestly that her mother were expecting her.The thought of meeting Giles Sheppard, asking his hospitality, washateful to her.
It would not be for more than that one night. Of that she wasconvinced. Charlie would be swift to answer her summons, if indeed hehad returned to the Castle. But he was so erratic in all his ways thatshe had some doubt on this point. If he had not returned--! But shecould not think of that possibility. She turned from it with a sickforeboding. Surely Fate could not play her so hideous a trick!
They lumbered on.
Suddenly the light from the swinging lamp that hung in the porch of "TheAnchor" burst across their path. The horse stumbled again, recovereditself, jolted on a few yards, stopped. They had arrived.
Maud gathered her energies for one supreme effort though she felt almosttoo stiff with cold to move. The cabman shambled down and opened thedoor.
"No one about seemin'ly," he remarked.
She controlled her quivering nerves. "Perhaps you will get down mytrunk," she said. "You can leave it in the porch."
The man grumbled to himself, but proceeded to comply, she standing onthe step to watch him.
The mist was beating in from the sea. Her face was wet with it. Andyet her dread of entering that house was such that she could hardlybring herself to open the swing door, debating with herself if even thenshe might not run up the hill to the house in which they had lodged ayear before--only a year before--and obtain shelter for the night there.
The darkness and the rain deterred her. Her courage seemed to havequite left her. In the end she turned with a species of drearydesperation and pushed back the heavy door.
The entrance-hall was empty, vaguely lit by one flaring gas-jet roundwhich the fog-wreaths curled and drifted in the draught, cold as avault, and smelling of stale tobacco-smoke. The place looked bare andpoverty-stricken, almost squalid. The rugs were gone from the floor,the pictures from the walls.
The door swung closed behind her, and she felt as if she stood inside aprison. The office-window was shut, and no sound came from any quarter.Only through the desolate silence there came the sullen thump of the seaagainst the wall, like the waning struggle of a giant grown impotentwith long and fruitless striving.
The utter solitude of the place began to possess her like an evil dream.She stood as one under a spell, afraid to move. And then, quitesuddenly, she heard a step.
The impulse came to her then to flee, but she did not obey it. Shestood stiffly waiting. Even if it were Giles Sheppard himself, shewould meet him before she went out into the dripping dark outside.
It was not Giles Sheppard. A man in a tweed suit and black gaiters,square-shouldered, rather short than tall,--a man of bull-dogstrength--came suddenly upon her from the interior of the house. Sheheard the jingle of spurs upon the stones of the hall, caught one glanceof a sunburnt, dominant face and hair that shone like burnished copperin the light; and then she was tottering blindly backwards, groping,groping for the door by which she might escape.
He came to her ere she could open it, and in a moment she became rigid,as one fascinated into passivity. He took her ice-cold hands and heldthem.
"Why, Maud! Maud!" he said, in the tone of one who would comfort achild.
A great shiver went through her at his touch; but she stood speechless.His face swam before her shrinking vision. She felt sick and faint.
"Snakes!" he said. "You're perished with cold. Say, why didn't youtell me you were coming?" Then, as still she could not speak: "Comealong into the office! There's no one there; and I'll soon have a firefor you. You lean on me, my girl! It'll be all right."
His arm went round her; he supported her strongly. The warmth of hisbody sent a faint glow through her. Almost without knowing it, sheleaned upon him.
He took her into the deserted office, put her into a chair by the emptyfireplace, lighted the gas, then knelt to kindle the fire. The wood wasdamp; he coaxed it to burn, blowing at the unwilling flame, his head inthe smoke.
"Say, that's better," he said softly at length. "Now I'm going to giveyou something you'll hate, but I reckon you'll take it to please me.Won't you?"
He still knelt beside her, but there was no hint of authority, nopossessiveness, in his bearing. Rather there was about him a curioussomething that was almost like humility.
She watched him dumbly as he pulled a small glass flask out of hispocket and withdrew the cork. He turned to her as he did it, and for aninstant she met his eyes. The old hot glow was wholly gone from them.She missed it with an odd sense of shock. Only kindness shone out ather; only friendliness was in the clasp of the hand he laid on hers.
"You'll take it?" he said, in his voice of soft persuasion, "It's rawspirit; but it's not going to do you any harm. Just a drop, and thenI'll feel easier about you! There now, if that's not real good of you!"
He was pressing it gently upon her; and she could not refuse. She tookthe flask from him and drank a burning drain.
"Has it gone?" said Jake.
She nodded silently, feeling the glow of the spirit spreading throughher veins and the deadly coldness at her heart giving place to it.
He smiled upon her, his pleasant, sudden smile, and took the flask backinto his own keeping. Then he bent again to the fire, blowing at itpersistently, patiently, till it shot up into a blaze.
She watched him as one in a dream--a dream from which all nightmarehorror had been magically banished. This--this was the old Jake to whomshe had once turned in trouble, in whose arms she had sobbed out hermisery and despair. This was Jake the friend into whose keeping she hadgiven her life.
He straightened himself again, coughing a little. She caught again thegleam of the red-brown eyes, seeking hers.
"Better now?" he asked her.
She bent her head. "Yes, I am all right now. You--you--I didn't expectto see you here."
"Guess it was a mutual surprise," said Jake. "What brought you anyway?"
Her heart gave a sudden quick throb of dismay.
Actually she had
forgotten the desperate resolution that had urged herfor so long. She turned her face quickly from him. "I--came--to--tosee my mother," she faltered.
He raised his brows momentarily. "She wasn't expecting you, sure," hecommented.
"No," she felt her cheeks burning, and strove still further to avoid hislook. "No. It--it was a--surprise visit."
There fell a brief silence upon her words, and while it lasted, she satin tense suspense, waiting--waiting for him to pounce upon her secretand drag it to the light. She dared not look at him kneeling therebeside her, dared not meet the awful scrutiny of those lynx-eyes. Suchwas her agitation that she scarcely dared even to breathe.
And then an amazing thing happened. Jake's hand was suddenly laid uponher knee, pressing it reassuringly. "Well," he said in his casual drawl,"I reckon you've come in the nick of time so far as your mother isconcerned. Your amiable step-father has cleared out bag and baggage, andleft her to face the music. He pawned everything he could lay his dirtyhands on first, and the place is empty except for the old ostler who isserving behind the bar till further orders."
"Oh Jake!" Startled, Maud turned back to him. "And what is my motherdoing?"
There was a faintly humorous twist about Jake's lips as he made reply."Your mother has gone to bed in hysterics. I can't get out of her whatexactly she means to do. P'raps you will be more successful. I camedown this morning as soon as I got the news of Sheppard's departure, andtried to persuade her to come along to the Stables; but she wouldn'thear of it. She's got some idea at the back of her mind, I gather; ormaybe the Stables aren't aristocratic enough. Anyway, there was nomoving her. I've been up at Tattersall's all day. Only got back half anhour ago. I thought I'd look in again here, and see how things weregoing before I went home. But they haven't moved any since thismorning, and she is still in bed with hysterics."
He had not been home all day; he had received no message. The thoughtdarted through Maud with a suddenness that nearly made her gasp withrelief. He did not know of Uncle Edward's summons. And then sheremembered that it must be awaiting him, and her heart sank again.
"You're shivering still," said Jake gently.
"It's nothing," she made answer. "It's nothing." And then desperately:"You--you didn't get--a telegram from Uncle Edward--last night?"
"I?" said Jake. "No. What should he wire to me for?"
She hesitated a second, then feverishly faced the danger that menacedher. "You--I expect you will find a message waiting for you. We--wehad a disagreement yesterday. That's why I came away."
Jake's brows met abruptly. "Hasn't he been treating you properly?"
"Oh, it's not that. I--I can't tell you what it was. But--he said heshould wire to you--to go to Liverpool."
Maud's hands clasped each other very tightly. She was striving with allher strength for composure. But she could not bring herself to look himin the face.
"And so you came away," Jake said slowly.
She nodded, swallowing down her agitation. "I didn't want to meetyou--like that. I didn't know what was in the telegram."
Jake's fingers patted her knee gently. "And so you came back here forrefuge! All right, my girl! You needn't be afraid. Uncle Edward maygo to blazes. I shan't read that telegram."
He stooped with the words, picked up a fragment of burning stick thathad fallen at her feet, and tossed it back into the flames.
Maud uttered a sharp exclamation. "Jake! You'll be burnt!"
He looked up at her with a smile. "I guess not," he said. "And now thatthat matter is disposed of, you'll maybe like to go and see yourmother."
She met his eyes with a feeling that she could do no less. "You're verygood," she said, with an effort.
His smile broadened. "Then it's the cheapest form of goodness I know,"he said. "If your Uncle Edward were a little younger, I'd give myselfthe pleasure of accepting his invitation just for the sake ofadministering the kicking he deserves. However, we won't waste timediscussing him. Are you going to spend the night here along with yourmother?"
He seemed bent upon making things easy for her. His attitude amazedher. She kept asking herself again and again if this could be the manfrom whom she had fled in bitterness of spirit all those weeks ago.
She hesitated to answer his question. She was painfully uncertain ofthe ground beneath her feet. Almost she expected it to cleave asunderat any moment and reveal the raging fires that once had scorched hersoul.
But Jake did not suffer her to remain in suspense. Very quietly hefilled in her hesitation. "Maybe you'd sooner stay here," he said, inhis soft, rather sing-song voice. "It's up to you to decide. Guess Ishan't interfere any with your movements."
His one hand still lay on her knee. It pressed upon her a little asthough seeking to convey something that she was slow to grasp.
Her doubt subsided under the steady touch. She suddenly knew beyond allquestioning that she stood on solid ground. Yet it was not withoutdifficulty that she answered him. "I think--perhaps--for to-night--Iwill stay with her."
Jake nodded with his face to the flames. "It's up to you," he saidagain.
She looked at his bent head, conscious of a new distress. How was shegoing to repay him for this his goodness to her? He was trusting herblindly. He had refused to let his eyes be opened. For she knew hewould keep his word about that telegram. Jake always kept his word.
Her distress grew, became almost unbearable. She saw herself in a newand horrible light, and shrank in anguish of soul from the revelation.It was as if upon that downward path she had suddenly caught a glimpseof the precipice at the end, the cruel rocks, the dreadful fall, theblack, seething whirlpool below. And her whole being revolted. Allthat was pure in her made swift outcry.
If Jake--Jake--had climbed back to the old high ground, surely she coulddo the same! Surely she could do no less. He trusted her--he trustedher! How could she go on?
The wild tempest of feeling rushed through her, and passed. She wasleft very cold, striving desperately to suppress a fit of shudderingthat threatened to overwhelm her.
Jake was not looking at her. He seemed unaware of her agitation. Aftera moment he took his hand away, and rose.
He began to feel in his pockets, produced his clay pipe andtobacco-pouch; then suddenly paused. "Do you mind if I light up? I'mjust going."
"Oh, please do!" she said.
He began to fill the pipe with minute care. "Don't let your mother taketoo much out of you!" he said. "Have a meal and turn in as early as youcan! Guess you're needing a good rest."
She leaned her head on her hand. "Yes. I am tired."
Jake was silent again for a space. Finally he put the pipe into hismouth and shook the tobacco back into his pouch. Then in a curiouslyhesitating voice, he spoke. "Say,--Maud!"
She gave a start, and raised her head. He was looking down at her witha faint smile in his eyes, a smile that struck her as being whimsicaland yet curiously wistful also.
"I just want to tell you, my girl," he said, "that you're not to bescared of me any more. Reckon you've had a hell of a time all yourlife, but it's to come to an end right now. For the future, you do theasking and I the giving. You're boss, and don't you forget it! I'm yourman, not your master, and I'll behave accordingly. Guess I'll even liedown and let you kick me if it'll make you happy any."
Maud was gazing at him in open amazement long before he had finished hisastounding speech. The slow utterance, half-sad, half-humorous, wasspoken with the full weight of the man's strength of purpose. Everyword came with the steady force of unwavering resolution. There was atouch of the superb about him even with that unlighted pipe between histeeth. And every word seemed to pierce her with a deeper pain, painthat was well-nigh unendurable.
As he uttered the last deliberate sentence, she rose quickly with agesture of protest. She could bear no more.
"Jake, you--you--you hurt me!" she stammered incoherently.
He put out a hand
to her. "No--no!" he said. "That was not myintention."
It was almost as though he pleaded with her for some species ofclemency. She was sure she read entreaty in the red-brown eyes. Butshe could not lay her hand in his. She could not--she could not! Shestood before him panting, speechless, shaken to the very foundations ofher being.
His hand fell. "I just want you to be happy, my girl, that's all," hesaid gently; "happy after your own notions of happiness. Maybe thereain't room for me in the general scheme of things. If that's so,--Ireckon I'll stay outside."
He turned aside with the words and struck a match to kindle his pipewith the air of a man who has said his say. Then while she still watchedhim, he puffed a great cloud of smoke into the air, straightenedhimself, and made her an odd, clumsy bow.
"I'm going now. So long!" he said.
And so, without further parley, he left her, striding away in hissquare, purposeful fashion without a backward glance.
Only when he was gone did it flash upon her that this--this--was herdream come true. All unknowing, wholly without intention, he had openedher eyes. And she knew that he loved her--he loved her!
The Hundredth Chance Page 53