CHAPTER XXV
DROSS
In the morning they hired horses and went towards the mountains. The daywas cloudless, but Sir Beverley would not be persuaded to accompany them.
"I'm not in the mood for exertion," he said to Piers. "Besides, I detesthired animals, always did. I shall spend an intellectual morninglistening to the band."
"Hope you won't be bored, sir," said Piers.
"Your going or coming wouldn't affect that one way or another," respondedSir Beverley.
Whereat Piers laughed and went his way.
He was curiously light-hearted again that morning. The soft Southern airwith its many perfumes exhilarated him like wine. The scent of theorange-groves rose as incense to the sun.
The animal he rode danced a skittish side-step from time to time. It wasimpossible to go with sober mien.
"It's a good land," said Crowther.
"Flowing with milk and honey," laughed Piers, with his eyes on theolive-clothed slopes. "But there's no country like one's own, what?"
"No country like England, you mean," said Crowther.
"Of course I do, but I was too polite to say so."
"You needn't be polite to me," said Crowther with his slow smile. "AndEngland happens to be my country. I am as British--" he glanced at Piers'dark face--"perhaps even a little more so--than you are."
"I plead guilty to an Italian grandmother," said Piers. "But you--Ithought you were Colonial."
"I am British born and bred," said Crowther.
"You?" Piers looked at him in surprise. "You don't belong toAustralia then?"
"Only by adoption. I was the son of an English parson. I was destined forthe Church myself for the first twenty years of my life." Crowther wasstill smiling, but his eyes had left Piers; they scanned the horizoncontemplatively.
"Great Scott!" said Piers. "Lucky escape for you, what?"
"I didn't think so at the time," Crowther spoke thoughtfully, sittingmotionless in his saddle and gazing straight before him. "You see, I waskeen on the religious life. I was narrow in my views--I was astonishinglynarrow; but I was keen."
"Ye gods!" said Piers.
He looked at the square, strong figure incredulously. Somehow he couldnot associate Crowther with any but a vigorous, outdoor existence.
"You would never have stuck to it," he said, after a moment. "You'd haveloathed the life."
"I don't think so," said Crowther, in his deliberate way, "though I admitI probably shouldn't have expanded much. It wasn't easy to give it up atthe time."
"What made you do it?" asked Piers.
"Necessity. When my father died, my mother was left with a large familyand quite destitute. I was the eldest, and a sheep-farming uncle--abrother of hers--offered me a wage sufficient to keep her going if Iwould give up the Church and join him. I was already studying. I couldhave pushed through on my own; but I couldn't have supported her. So Ihad to go. That was the beginning of my Colonial life. It wasfive-and-twenty years ago, and I've never been Home since."
He turned his horse quietly round to continue the ascent. The road wassteep. They went slowly side by side.
Crowther went on in a grave, detached way, as though he were telling thestory of another man's life. "I kicked hard at going, but I've lived tobe thankful that I went. I had to rough it, and it did me good. It wasjust that I wanted. There's never much fun for a stranger in a strangeland, sonny, and it took me some time to shake down. In fact just for awhile I thought I couldn't stand it. The loneliness out there on thoseacres and acres of grass-land was so awful; for I was city-bred. I'dnever been in the desert, never been out of the sound of church-bells."He began to smile again. "I'd even got a sort of feeling that God wasn'tto be found outside civilization," he said. "I think we getultra-civilized in our ideas sometimes. And the emptiness was almostoverpowering. It was like being shut down behind bars of iron withoccasional glimpses of hell to enliven the monotony. That was when onewent to the townships, and saw life. They didn't tempt me at first. Iwas too narrow even for that. But the loneliness went on eating andeating into me till I got so desperate in the end I was ready to snatchat any diversion." He paused a moment, and into his steady eyes therecame a shadow that made them very human. "I went to hell," he said. "Iwaded up to the neck in mire. I gave myself up to it body and soul. Iwallowed. And all the while it revolted me, though it was so sickeninglyeasy and attractive. I loathed myself, but I went on with it. It seemedanyhow one degree better than that awful homesickness. And then one day,right in the middle of it all, I had a sort of dream. Or perhaps itwasn't any more a dream than Jacob had in the desert. But I felt as ifI'd been called, and I just had to get up and go. I expect most peopleknow the sensation, for after all the Kingdom of Heaven is within us;but it made a bigger impression on me at the time than anything in myexperience. So I went back into the wilderness and waited. Old chap, Ididn't wait in vain."
He suddenly turned his head, and his eyes rested upon Piers with theserenity of a man at peace with his own soul. "That's about all mystory," he said with simplicity. "I got the strength for the job, and socarried it through. When my uncle died, I was left in command, and I'vestuck to it ever since. But I took a partner a few years back, and nowI've handed over the whole thing to him and I'm going Home at last to myold mother."
"Going to settle in England?" asked Piers.
Crowther shook his head. "Not now, lad. I couldn't. There's too much tobe done. No; I'm going to fulfil my old ambitions if I can. I'm going toget myself ordained. After that--"
He paused, for Piers had turned to stare at him in open amazement. "You!"he ejaculated.
Crowther's smile came over his face like a spreading light. "You don'tthink much of parsons, I gather, sonny," he said.
Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "Not as a tribe, I admit. I can'tstand any man who makes an ass of himself, whatever his profession. Butof course I don't mean to assert that all parsons answer to thatdescription. I've met a few I liked."
Crowther's smile developed into a laugh. "Then you, won't deprive me ofthe pleasure of your friendship if I become one?"
"My dear chap," said Piers forcibly, "if you became the biggestblackguard in creation, you would remain my friend."
It was regally spoken, but the speaker was plainly so unconscious ofarrogance that Crowther's hand came out to him and lay for a moment onhis arm. "I gathered that, sonny," he said gently.
Piers' eyes flashed sympathy. "And what are you going to do then? You sayyou're not going to settle in England?"
"I am not," said Crowther, and again he was looking out ahead of him witheyes that spanned the far distance. "No; I'm going back again to the oldhaunts. There's a thundering lot to do there. It's more than a one-manjob. But, please God, I'll do what I can. I know I can do a little. It'sa hell of a place, sonny. You saw the outside edge of it yourself."
Piers nodded without speaking. It had been in a sense his baptism offire.
"It's the new chums I want to get hold of," Crowther said. "They getdrawn in so devilishly easily. They're like children, many of 'em, tryingto walk on quicksands. They're bound to go in, bound to go under, and abig percentage never come up again. It's the children I want to help. Ihate to think of fresh, clean lives being thrown on to the dust-heap.It's so futile,--such a crying waste."
"If anyone can do it, you can," said Piers.
"Ah! I wonder. It won't be easy, but I know their temptations so awfullywell. I've seen scores go under, I've been under myself. And that makes alot of difference."
"Life is infernally difficult for most of us," said Piers.
They rode in silence for awhile, and then he changed the subject.
It was not till they returned that Crowther announced his intention ofleaving on the following day.
"I've no time for slacking," he said. "I didn't come Home to slack. Andthere's the mother waiting for me."
"Oh, man," Piers said suddenly, "how I wish I had a mother!"
And then half-ashamed, he t
urned and went in search of his grandfather.
Again that evening Crowther accepted Sir Beverley's invitation to dine attheir table. The old man seemed to regard Piers' friend with a kind ofsuspicious interest. He asked few questions but he watched him narrowly.
"If you and the boy want to go to the Casino again, don't mind me!" hesaid, at the end of dinner.
"We don't, sir," said Piers promptly. "Can't we sit out on the terraceall together and smoke?"
"I don't go beyond the lounge," said Sir Beverley, with decision.
"All right, we'll sit in the lounge," said Piers.
His grandfather frowned at him. "Don't be a fool, Piers! Can't you seeyou're not wanted?" He thrust out an abrupt hand to Crowther. "Good-nightto you! I shall probably retire before you come in."
"He is leaving first thing in the morning," said Piers.
Sir Beverley's frown was transferred to Crowther. He looked at himpiercingly. "Leaving, are you? Going to England, eh? I suppose we shallmeet again then?"
"I hope so," said Crowther.
Sir Beverley grunted. "Do you? Well, we shan't be moving yet. But--ifyou care to look us up at Rodding Abbey when we do get back--you can;eh, Piers?"
"I tell him, he must, sir," said Piers.
"You are very kind," said Crowther. "Good-bye sir! And thank you!"
He and Piers went out together, and walked to and fro in the garden abovethe sea. The orchestra played fitfully in the hotel behind them, and nowand then there came the sounds of careless voices and wandering feet.They themselves talked but little. Piers was in a dreamy mood, and hiscompanion was plainly deep in thought.
He spoke at length out of a long silence. "Did your grandfather sayRodding Abbey just now?"
"Yes," said Piers, waking up.
"It's near a place called Wardenhurst?" pursued Crowther.
"Yes," said Piers again. "Ever been there?"
"No," Crowther spoke slowly, as though considering his words. "Someone Iknow lives there, that's all."
"Someone you know?" Piers stood still. He looked at Crowther sharplythrough the dimness.
"I don't suppose you have ever met her, lad," said Crowther quietly."From what I know of society in the old country you wouldn't move in thesame circle. But as I have promised myself to visit her, it seems betterto mention the fact."
"Why shouldn't you mention it? What is her name?" Piers spoke quickly, inthe imperious fashion habitual to him when not quite at his ease.
Crowther hesitated. He seemed to be debating some point with himself.
At length, "Her name," he said slowly, "is Denys."
Piers made a sudden movement that passed unexplained. There fell a fewmoments of silence. Then, in a voice even more measured thanCrowther's, he spoke.
"As it happens, I have met her. Tell me what you know about her,--if youdon't mind."
Again Crowther hesitated.
"Go on," said Piers.
They were facing one another in the darkness. The end of Piers' cigar hadceased to glow. He did not seem to be breathing. But in the tense momentsthat followed his words there came to Crowther the hard, quick beating ofhis heart like the thud of a racing engine far away.
Instinctively he put out a hand. "Piers, old chap,--" he said.
"Go on!" Piers said again.
He gripped both hand and wrist with nervous fingers, holding them almostas though he would force from him the information he desired.
Crowther waited no longer, for he knew in that moment that he stood inthe presence of a soul in torment. "You'll have to know it," he said,"though why these things happen, God alone knows. Sonny, she is the widowof the man whose death you caused."
The words were spoken, and after them came silence--such a silence ascould be felt. Once the hands that gripped Crowther's seemed about toslacken, and then in a moment they tightened again as the hands of adrowning man clinging to a spar.
Crowther attempted nothing in the way of sympathy or consolation. Hemerely stood ready. But it was evident that he did not need to be toldof the tragedy that had suddenly fallen upon Piers' life. His attitudesaid as much.
Very, very slowly at last, as if not wholly sure of his balance, Pierslet him go. He took out his cigar with a mechanical movement andlooked at it; then abruptly returned it to his lips and drew itfiercely back to life.
Then, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke. "Crowther, I made you a promiseyesterday."
"You did," said Crowther gravely.
Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be afraid," he said. "I'mnot going to cry off. It's not my way. But--I want you to make me apromise in return."
"What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety in Crowther's tone.
Piers made a reckless, half-defiant movement of the head. "It is that youwill never--whatever the circumstances--speak of this thing again toanyone--not even to me."
"You think it necessary to ask that of me?" said Crowther.
"No, I don't!" Impulsively Piers made answer. "I believe I'm a cur toask it. But this thing has dogged me so persistently that I feel like ananimal being run to earth. For my peace of mind, Crowther;--because I'm acoward if you like--give me your word on it!"
He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's shoulder, and impelledhim forward. His voice was low and agitated.
"Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. "And understand, if you can. It's allyou can do to help."
"My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and reassuring came Crowther'sreply. "If you want my promise, you have it. The business is yours, notmine. I shall never interfere."
"Thank you--thanks awfully!" Piers said.
He drew a great breath. His hand went through Crowther's arm.
"That gives me time to think," he said. "What an infernal tangle thisbeastly world is! I suppose you think there's a reason for everything?"
"You've heard of gold being tried in the fire," said Crowther.
Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "I'm not gold, my dear chap, but thetinniest dross that ever was made. Shall we go and have a drink, what?This sort of thing always makes me thirsty."
It was characteristically abrupt. It ended the matter in a trice. Theywent together to the hotel _buffet_, and there Piers quenched his thirst.It was while there that Crowther became aware that his mood had whollychanged. He laughed and joked with the bright-eyed French girl who waitedupon them, and seemed loth to depart. Silently, but with a growinganxiety, Crowther watched him. There was certainly nothing forced abouthis gaiety. It was wildly, recklessly spontaneous; but there was about ita fevered quality that set Crowther almost instinctively on his guard.He did not know, and he had no means of gauging, exactly how deeply theiron had pierced. But that some sort of wound had been inflicted he couldnot doubt. It might be merely a superficial one, but he feared that itwas something more than that. There was a queer, intangible species ofmockery in Piers' attitude, as though he set the whole world at defiance.
And yet he did not look like a man who had been stunned by an unexpected,sledge-hammer blow of Fate. He was keenly, fiercely alive to hissurroundings. He seemed to be gibing rather at a blow that had glancedaside. Uneasily Crowther wondered.
It was he who finally suggested a move. It was growing late.
"So it is!" said Piers. "You ought to be turning in if you really mean tomake an early start."
He stood still in the hall and held out his hand. "Good-night, old chap!I'm not going up at present."
"You'd better," said Crowther.
"No, I can't. I couldn't possibly turn in yet." He thrust his hand uponCrowther. "Good-night! I shall see you in the morning."
Crowther took the hand. The hall was deserted. They stood together undera swinging lamp, and by its flaring light Crowther sought to read hiscompanion's face.
For a moment or two Piers refused to meet his look, then with suddenstubbornness he raised his eyes and stared back. They shone as black andhard as ebony.
"Good-night!" he said again.
Cr
owther's level brows were slightly drawn. His hand, square and strong,closed upon Piers' and held it.
For a few seconds he did not speak; then: "I don't know that I feel liketurning in yet either, sonny," he said deliberately.
Piers made a swift movement of impatience. His eyes seemed to growbrighter, more grimly hard.
"I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me in any case," he said. "I'm goingup to see if my grandfather has all he wants."
It was defiantly spoken. He turned with the words, almost wresting hishand free, and strode away towards the lift.
Reaching it, some sense of compunction seemed to touch him for he lookedback over his shoulder with an abrupt gesture of farewell.
Crowther made no answering sign. He stood gravely watching. But, asthe lift shot upwards, he turned aside and began squarely to ascendthe stairs.
When Piers came out of his room ten minutes later with a coat over hisarm he came face to face with him in the corridor. There was a certaingrimness apparent about Crowther also by that time. He offered noexplanation of his presence, although quite obviously he was waiting.
Piers stood still. There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes that cameand went. "Look here, Crowther!" he said. "It's no manner of use yourattempting this game with me. I'm going out, and--whether you like it ornot, I don't care a damn--I'm going alone."
"Where are you going?" said Crowther.
"To the Casino," Piers flung the words with a gleam of clenched teeth.
Crowther looked at him straight and hard. "What for?" he asked.
"What do people generally go for?" Piers prepared to move on as heuttered the question.
But Crowther deliberately blocked his way. "No, Piers," he said quietly."You're not going to-night."
The blood rose in a great wave to Piers' forehead. His eyes shonesuddenly red. "Do you think you're going to stop me?" he said.
"For to-night, sonny--yes." Quite decidedly Crowther made reply."To-morrow you will be your own master. But to-night--well, you've had abit of a knock out; you're off your balance. Don't go to-night!"
He spoke with earnest appeal, but he still blocked the passage squarely,stoutly, immovably.
The hot flush died out of Piers' face; he went slowly white. But theblaze of wrath in his eyes leaped higher. For the moment he lookedscarcely sane.
"If you don't clear out of my path, I shall throw you!" he said, speakingvery quietly, but with a terrible distinctness that made misunderstandingimpossible.
Crowther, level-browed and determined, remained where he was. "I don'tthink you will," he said.
"Don't you?" A faint smile of derision twisted Piers' lips. He gatheredup the coat he carried, and threw it across his shoulder.
Crowther watched him with eyes that never varied. "Piers!" he said.
"Well?" Piers looked at him, still with that slight, grim smile.
Crowther stood like a rock. "I will let you pass, sonny, if you can tellme--on your word of honour as a gentleman--that the tables are all youhave in your mind."
Piers tossed back his head with the action of an angry beast. "What thedevil has that to do with you?"
"Everything," said Crowther.
He moved at last, quietly, massively, and took Piers by the shoulders."My son," he said, "I know where you are going. I've been there myself.But in God's name, lad, don't--don't go! There are some stains that nevercome out though one would give all one had to be rid of them."
"Let me go!" said Piers.
He was breathing quickly; his eyes gazed fiercely into the elder man'sface. He made no violent movement, but his whole body was tensely strungto resist.
Crowther's hands tightened upon him. "Not to-night!" he said.
"Yes, now!" Something of electricity ran through Piers; there came as itwere the ripple of muscles contracting for a spring. Yet still he stoodmotionless, menacing but inactive.
"I will not!" Sudden and hard Crowther's answer came; his hold became agrip. By sheer unexpectedness of action, he forced Piers back against thedoor behind him.
It gave inwards, and they stumbled into the darkness of the bedroom.
"You fool!" said Piers. "You fool!"
Yet he gave ground, scarcely resisting, and coming up against the bed satdown upon it suddenly as if spent.
There fell a brief silence, a tense, hard-breathing pause. Then Piersreached up and freed himself.
"Oh, go away, Crowther!" he said. "You're a kind old ass, but I don'twant you. And you needn't spend the night in the corridor either. See?Just go to bed like a Christian and let me do the same!"
The struggle was over; so suddenly, so amazingly, that Crowther stooddumbfounded. He had girded himself to wrestle with a giant, but there wasnothing formidable about the boy who sat on the edge of his bed andlaughed at him with easy ridicule.
"Why don't you switch on the light," he jeered, "and have a good lookround for the devil? He was here a minute ago. What? Don't you believe indevils? That's heresy. All good parsons--" He got up suddenly and went tothe switch. In a second the room was flooded with light. He returned toCrowther with the full flare on his face, and the only expression it worewas one of careless friendliness. He held out his hand. "Good-night,dear old fellow! Say your prayers and go to bed! And you needn't have anymore nightmares on my account. I'm going to turn in myself directly."
There was no mistaking his sincerity, or the completeness of hissurrender. Crowther could but take the extended hand, and, in silentastonishment, treat the incident as closed.
He even wondered as he went away if he had not possibly exaggerated thewhole matter, though at the heart of him he knew that this was only whatPiers himself desired him to believe. He could not but feel convinced,however, that the danger was past for the time at least. In his owninimitable fashion Piers had succeeded in reassuring him. He was fullysatisfied that the boy would keep his word, for his faith in him wasabsolute. But he felt the victory that was his to be a baffling one. Hehad conquered merely because Piers of his own volition had ceased toresist. He did not understand that sudden submission. Like Sir Beverley,he was puzzled by it. There was about it a mysterious quality that eludedhis understanding. He would have given a good deal for a glimpse of themotive that lay behind.
But he had to go without it. Piers was in no expansive mood. Perhaps hemight have found it difficult to explain himself even had he so desired.
Whatever the motive that had urged him, it urged him no longer, or it hadbeen diverted into a side-channel. For almost as soon as he was alone, hethrew himself down and scribbled a careless line to Ina Rose, advisingher to accompany her father to Mentone, and adding that he believed shewould not be bored there.
When he had despatched Victor with the letter, he flung his window wideand leaned out of it with his eyes wide opened on the darkness, and onhis lips that smile that was not good to see.
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