The Hundredth Chance

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE POISON FRUIT

  It was curiously like the old days to see Jake enter the parlour on thefollowing morning with Chops the red setter at his heels. But forChops' delighted welcome of her, Maud could almost have felt that theintervening weeks had been no more than a dream.

  She sat in her accustomed place and fondled him. Them, as Jake passedher, she put out a detaining hand.

  "Good morning, Jake!"

  Her face was burning; yet she lifted it. He stood a second, only asecond, behind her chair; then bent and touched her forehead with hislips.

  "You're down early," he said. "Have you slept?"

  She nodded, feeling her agitation subside with thankfulness. "Howis--The Hundredth Chance?"

  Jake went to the fire. "I think he'll be all right; but I won't trustanyone else to look after him. By the way, here's a letter for you!"

  He held it out to her behind his back. She took it. Her fingers closedupon a crest.

  She got up sharply, went to his side, and with a passionate movementdropped it straight into the flames.

  "Shall we have breakfast now?" she said.

  "Here's another letter!" said Jake.

  The grim smile was hovering about his mouth; but he made no commentwhatever upon her action.

  She took the second letter. "Is this all?"

  "That's all," said Jake.

  "It's from Uncle Edward." She opened it, and began to read.

  Suddenly she glanced up and found his eyes upon her. They fellinstantly.

  "You can read it too," she said, and held the letter so that he mightshare it with her.

  He stood at her shoulder and read.

  It was a very brief epistle, written in evident distress of mind.

  "MY DEAR GRAND-NIECE,

  "Will you permit me to tender to you my very humble apology for thegross behaviour by which I drove you from the shelter of my roof? Thefact that you have returned to your husband's house convinces me of thebase injustice of my suspicions. I ought to be old enough to know thata woman cannot be judged by her friends. If you find that you possesssufficient magnanimity to extend a free pardon to a very lonely andpenitent old sinner, will you of your charity return--for however briefa period--and give him an opportunity to demonstrate his penitence?

  "Yours humbly and hopefully, "EDWARD WARREN."

  "Oh, poor old man!" Maud looked up quickly. "But how did he know I washere?"

  "I wired to him of your safe arrival," Jake said, "in reply to a wirefrom him which I didn't read. I thought he might come posting down hereif I didn't."

  "Poor old man!" she said again. And after a moment, "Thank you, Jake."

  He looked at her. "For keeping my word? I generally do that. Say,what are you going to do?"

  "I'll write to him," she said.

  He moved round to his place at the breakfast-table. "You're not wantingto go back then?"

  She hesitated.

  "What is it?" he said. "Money? I can let you have some if you're shortof it."

  She flushed. "No, Jake, no! I think--I think I'll stay here for thepresent. I will make him understand."

  "Please yourself!" said Jake, and opened the morning paper.

  A faint sense of disappointment went through her. She had fancied herdecision would have evoked approval if not open pleasure from him. Shepoured out his coffee in silence.

  As she brought it to him, he glanced up at her. "Don't stay on myaccount if you feel you'd sooner go!" he said. "I get along very wellalone."

  She stiffened ever so slightly. "Thank you," she said. "I'll thinkabout it."

  Jake fell to work upon his breakfast with his usual business-likerapidity. She did not attempt to keep pace with him. Somehow the ideathat he really wished her to go had robbed her of all desire to eat.

  After a time he glanced across at her again. "Are you going down to seeyour mother?"

  She answered him somewhat listlessly. "Yes, I suppose so."

  "She'll have to decide on something soon," he observed.

  Maud bit her lip. The thought of going to her mother again was whollyrepugnant to her. She marvelled that he did not see it.

  "I am sure she won't come and live in this place," she said, after amoment,

  "She can please herself," said Jake imperturbably.

  That was to be his attitude then. They were to please themselves. Hehad withdrawn his control over her actions. An evil spirit suddenlywhispered to her that he would even have left her in Saltash's keepinghad she not called to him to deliver her. She shook off the poisonousthought; but it had been there. He had been kind--more than kind--toher. She forced herself to dwell upon his kindness. But his presentindifference was even more obvious. He was engrossed in his work. Hehad thought only for his animals. Plainly it was a matter of smallimportance to him if she went or stayed.

  He finished his breakfast and got up. "Well, so long!" he said. "I maynot get back before nightfall. I have to go over to Graydown."

  She scarcely acknowledged his words, and he did not wait for anyacknowledgment. He took up his riding-whip and went out. Chops lookedround at her doubtfully and followed him.

  The door closed upon them. And suddenly Maud leaned upon the table andhid her face. This was to be her life then--the unspeakable drearinessof a loveless home. She had thought he loved her. She had thought!She had thought! And now she saw that it began and ended with merekindness, and possibly a sense of duty. His passion for her--thatfiery, all-mastering desire--had burnt itself out, and there was nothingleft. An unutterable weariness came upon her. Oh, she was tired--shewas tired of life!

  It was then that in some mystic fashion that voice which she had onceheard spoke again in her soul. "The spark is ours for the kindling--thepower to love--the power to create love...."

  Was she indeed capable of kindling this lamp in the desert? Out ofthose dead ashes of passion, could Love the Immortal indeed be made torise?

  She sat for a long time and pondered--pondered.

  When, an hour later, she went down the hill to the town, the day wasbrilliant and the sky without a cloud. The sea was one glorious sheet ofblue that seemed to stretch away limitless into Infinity.

  Down by the quay a white yacht rocked at her moorings. She marked itwith a throbbing heart. Why, oh why, did he linger? She yearned tothrust him for ever out of her life.

  She reached the Anchor Hotel and entered. The bareness of the placesmote cold upon the senses. She passed through it quickly and went upto her mother's room.

  "Oh, my dear, at last!" Querulously Mrs. Sheppard greeted her. "Shutthe door and come in! Charlie is watching for you. He will be overdirectly."

  She was clad in an old pink wrapper, and kneeling before a half-filledtrunk.

  Maud stood still in the doorway, every spark of animation gone out ofher. "Mother, what are you doing? What do you mean?"

  Her voice sounded frozen and devoid of all emotion. Her fingers wereclenched rigidly upon the handle of the door. She stared at her motherwith eyes that were suddenly stony.

  "What do you mean?" she repeated.

  Mrs. Sheppard looked up at her smiling. "I mean, dear, that while yougo for your Mediterranean cruise, I am going back to London. Dear me,why did I ever leave it? I have never been happy since. Fairharbournever suited me. I was saying so to Charlie only last night. He toldme all about it, dear. Poor child, I hope that horrible cowboy personwasn't very cruel to you. I couldn't help letting out where you hadgone yesterday afternoon. He came in only a few minutes after you left,and was so insistent. But, thank goodness, you've broken away. You hadCharlie's letter, did you? I told him I was sure you would comedirectly you knew he was waiting. Dear Charlie! He really is verygood. I quite see his point of view about the poor old 'Anchor,' and Ireally think it is all for the best. Giles is gone anyway, and I amreleased from any obligations in tha
t direction. Charlie hated Gilesfor some reason, though I can't discover that he ever met him. Come in,child! Why do you stand there looking so tragic? Surely all's wellthat ends well?"

  Maud turned stiffly as though her limbs had become automatic. "I amgoing," she said. "I am going."

  "Oh, wait till Charlie comes for you, dearest! Don't be too impetuous!I am sure he will come immediately. He would be watching the shore fromthe yacht. Such a lovely morning for a cruise too! You will be wantinga few little necessaries, dear. I have put them up for you in thatleather bag. I knew you would never think of that for yourself. Ibelieve he means to take you straight to Paris, you lucky child. Theyacht will go round and wait for you at Marseilles. Charlie always doesthings so royally, doesn't he? He has been most kind, most generous, tome."

  Mrs. Sheppard was talking into the trunk, a smile of happy anticipationabout her lips that made her almost comely again.

  "Really," she said, "it is quite wonderful how things always turn outfor the best. I only wish I had known a year ago how happy you and dearlittle Bunny were going to be. It would have saved me so much anxiety.When you are Lady Saltash, of course you will make a home for him at theCastle. And there may be just a corner sometimes for me too, darling.What a happy party we shall all be!"

  She threw a smile over her shoulder, and then suddenly turned andstared. The door was closed, and she was alone.

  Down the wide staircase Maud ran like a wild thing seeking freedom, downinto the bare, echoing hall. But the moment she reached it, shestopped--stopped dead as one suddenly turned to stone.

  He was waiting for her, there in the sunny open doorway, a smile ofarrogant satisfaction on his ugly face, and triumph, open triumph, inhis eyes.

  He came to meet her like a king, carelessly gracious, royallyself-assured.

  "Ah, Maud of the roses!" he said. "Free at last!"

  He reached her where she stood, rigidly waiting. He opened his arms totake her. And then--as though there had been the flash of a daggerbetween them--he stopped.

  She had not moved. She did not move. But the blazing blue of her eyesgave him check. For the space of many seconds they stood, notbreathing, not stirring; and in those seconds, as by the light of apiercing torch, each read the other's soul.

  It was Saltash who gave ground at last, but insolently with a smile ofbitter mockery. "This scene is called 'The Unmasking of the Villain,'"he observed. "The virtuous heroine, having descended from her pedestalto expose his many crimes, now gathers her mud-stained garments abouther and climbs back again, in the confident hope that the worthycow-puncher who owns her will conclude that she has never left herexalted position and that the mud was all thrown by the villain. Now, Iwonder if the worthy cow-puncher is quite such a fool as that."

  Her face was quite colourless, but she heard his gibe without a sign ofshrinking. Only as he ceased to speak, she lifted one hand and pointedto the open door.

  "Go!" she said.

  Just the one word, spoken with a finality more crushing than anyoutburst of anger! If it expressed contempt, it was involuntary, sheuttered only what was in her soul.

  He looked at her, and suddenly the derision in his eye flamed intofierce malignancy. "Oh, I am going," he said. "You will never kick mefrom your path again. You shall tread it alone--quite alone except forthe cow-puncher who no doubt will see to it that you walk on the stonyside of the way. And I warn you it will be--very stony, especially whenhe comes to realize that his lady wife has been his ruin. A trampacross the world with Jake Bolton under those conditions will at leastdestroy all illusions as to the stuff of which he is made. And I wishyou joy of the journey." He made her a deep, ironical bow, and swungupon his heel.

  But as he went she spoke, suddenly, passionately, as though the wordsleaped forth, compelling her. "Jake Bolton is a man--a white man!"

  Saltash laughed aloud, lifting his shoulders as he sauntered away."With the heart of a beast, _chere reine_," he said. "For that causealso, I wish you joy."

  He went. The sun smote through the empty doorway. She put up both handsto her eyes as though to blot out some evil vision.

  And presently--like a creature that has been sorely wounded--she alsocrept away, fleeing ashamed by another door, that no one might observeher going.

  No, Jake was no fool. He saw only what he chose to see, believed onlywhat he willed to believe. He had been generous to her--ay, generouspast all understanding. But he was no fool. He had refused the muteoffer of her lips only that morning. Wherefore? Wherefore?

  The answer lay in Saltash's mocking words, and all her life she wouldremember them. The poison plant had borne its bitter fruit indeed, andshe had been forced to eat thereof. It burned her now with a cruelintensity, consuming her like a darting flame. But she knew by its veryfierceness that it could not last. Very soon her heart--her soul--wouldall be burnt away; and there would be only dead ashes left--only deadashes from which no living spark could ever be kindled again.

  No, Jake was no fool--no fool! He would not blame her, that was all;because she was a woman.