The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XXX

  THE CONFLICT

  Stanbury Cliffs was no more than a little fishing-town at the foot of thesandy cliff--a sheltered nest of a place in which the sound of the waveswas heard all day long, but which no bitter wind could reach. The peaceof it was balm to Avery's spirit. She revelled in its quiet.

  Jeanie loved it too. She delighted in the freedom and the warmth, andalmost from the day of their arrival her health began to improve.

  They had their quarters in what was little more than a two-storeycottage belonging to one of the fishermen, and there was only a tinygarden bright with marigolds between them and the shore. Day after daythey went through the little wicket gate down a slope of loose sand tothe golden beach where they spent the sunny hours in perfect happiness.The waves that came into the bay were never very rough, though theysometimes heard them raging outside with a fury that filled the wholeworld with its roaring. Jeanie called it "the desired haven," andconfided to Avery that she was happier than she had ever been in herlife before.

  Avery was happy too, but with a difference; for she knew in her secretheart that the days of her tranquillity were numbered. She knew with awoman's sure instinct that the interval of peace would be but brief,that with or without her will she must soon be drawn back again intothe storm and stress of life. And knowing it, she waited, strengtheningher defences day by day, counting each day as a respite while shedevoted herself to the child and rejoiced to see the change so quicklywrought in her. Tudor's simile of the building of a sea-wall oftenrecurred to her. She told herself that the foundation thereof should beas secure as human care could make it, so that when the tide came backit should stand the strain.

  The Vicar would have been shocked beyond words by the life of completeindulgence led by his small daughter. She breakfasted in bed every day,served by Avery who was firm as to the amount of nourishment taken butcomfortably lax on all other points. When the meal was over, Averygenerally went marketing while Jeanie dressed, and they then went to theshore. If there were no marketing to be done, Avery would go down to thebeach alone and wait for her there. There was a sheltered corner thatthey both loved where, protected by towering rocks, they spent many ahappy hour. It was just out of reach of the sea, exposed to the sun andsheltered from the wind--an ideal spot; and here they brought letters,books, or needlework, and were busy or idle according to their moods.

  Jeanie was often idle. She used to lie in the soft sand and dream, withher eyes on the far horizon; but of what she dreamed she said no wordeven to Avery. But she was always happy. Her smile was always ready, thelines of her mouth were always set in perfect content. She seemed to haveall she desired at all times. They did not often stray from the shore,for she was easily tired; but they used to roam along it and search thecrevices of the scattered rocks which held all manner of treasures. Theyspent the time in complete accord. It was too good to last, Avery toldherself. The way had become too easy.

  It was on a morning about a week after their arrival that she went downat an early hour to their favourite haunt. There had been rain in thenight, and a brisk west wind was blowing; but she knew that in thatsheltered spot they would be protected, and Jeanie was pledged to joinher there as soon as she was ready. The tide was coming in, and the sunshone amidst scudding white clouds. It was a morning on which to be happyfor no other reason than lightness of heart; and Avery, with her work-bagon her arm, sang softly to herself as she went.

  As usual she met no one. It was a secluded part of the shore. The littletown was out of sight on the other side of a rocky promontory, and theplace was lonely to desolation.

  But Avery did not feel the loneliness. She had had a letter only thatmorning from Crowther, the friend of those far-off Australian days, andhe expressed a hope of being able to pay her a flying visit at StanburyCliffs before settling down to work in grim earnest for theaccomplishment of his life's desire. She would have welcomed EdmundCrowther at any time. He was the sort of friend whose coming could neverbring anything but delight.

  She wondered as she walked along which day he would choose. She wasrather glad that he had not fixed a definite date. It was good to feelthat any day might bring him.

  Nearing her destination she became aware of light feet running on thefirm sand behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, but the sun shonefull in her eyes, and she only managed to discern vaguely a man's figuredrawing near. He could not be pursuing her, she decided, and resumed herwalk and her thoughts of Crowther--the friend who had stood by her at atime when she had been practically friendless.

  But the running feet came nearer and nearer. She suddenly realized thatthey meant to overtake her, and with the knowledge the old quick dreadpierced her heart. She wheeled abruptly round and stood still.

  He was there, not a dozen yards from her. He hailed her as she turned.

  She clenched her hands with sudden determination and went to meet him.

  "Piers!" she said, and in her voice reproach and severity wereoddly mingled.

  But Piers was unabashed. He ran swiftly up to her, and caught herhands into his with an impetuous rush of words. "Here you are at last!I've been waiting for you for hours. But I was in the water when youfirst appeared, and I hadn't any towels, or I should have caught youup before."

  He was laughing as he spoke, but it seemed to Avery that there wassomething not quite normal about him. His black hair lay in a wet plasteron his forehead, and below it his eyes glittered oddly, as if he wereputting some force upon himself.

  "How in the world did you get here?" she said.

  He laughed again between his teeth. "I tell you, I've been here forhours. I came last night. But I couldn't knock you up at two in themorning. So I had to wait. How are you and Jeanie getting on?"

  Avery gravely withdrew her hands, and turned to pursue her way towardsher rocky resting-place. "Jeanie is better," she said, in a voice thatdid not encourage any further solicitude on either Jeanie's behalf orher own.

  Piers marched beside her, a certain doggedness in his gait. The laughterhad died out of his face. He looked pale and stern, and fully asdetermined as she.

  "Why didn't you tell us to expect you?" Avery asked at last.

  "Were you not expecting me?" he returned, and his voice had the sharpnessof a challenge.

  She looked at him steadily for a moment or two, meeting eyes that flungback her scrutiny with grim defiance.

  "Of course I was not expecting you," she said.

  "And yet you were not--altogether--surprised to see me," he rejoined, afaint jeering echo in his voice.

  Avery walked on till she reached her sheltered corner. Then she laid herwork-bag down in the accustomed place, and very resolutely turned andfaced him.

  "Tell me why you have come!" she said.

  He gazed at her for a moment fiercely from under his black brows; thensuddenly and disconcertingly he seized her by the wrists.

  "I'll tell you," he said, speaking rapidly, with feverish utterance."I've come because--before Heaven--I can't keep away. Avery, listen tome! Yes, you must listen. I've come because I must, because you are allthe world to me and I want you unutterably. I don't believe--I can'tbelieve--that I am nothing to you. You can't with honesty tell me so. Ilove you with all my soul, with all there is of me, good and bad.Avery--Avery, say you love me too!"

  Just for an instant the arrogance went out of his voice, and it sank topleading. But Avery stood mute before him, very pale, desperately calm.She made not the faintest attempt to free herself, but her hands werehard clenched. There was nothing passive in her attitude.

  He was aware of strong resistance, but it only goaded him to furthereffort. He lifted the clenched hands and held them tight against hisheart.

  "You needn't try to cast me off," he said, "for I simply won't go. I knowyou care. You wouldn't have taken the trouble to write that letter if youdidn't. And so listen! I've come now to marry you. We can go up to townto-day,--Jeanie too, if you like. And to-morrow--to-morrow we will bemarried by specia
l licence. I've thought it all out. You can't refuse. Ihave money of my own--plenty of money. And you belong to me already.It's no good trying to deny it any more. You are my mate--my mate; and Iwon't try to live without you any longer!"

  Wildly the words rushed out, spending themselves as it were upon uttersilence. Avery's hands were no longer clenched. They lay open against hisbreast, and the mad beating of his heart thrilled through and through heras she stood.

  He bent towards her eagerly, passionately. His hands reached out to claspher; yet he paused. "Avery! Avery!" he whispered very urgently.

  Her eyes were raised to his, grey and steady and fearless. Not by thesmallest gesture did she seek to escape him. She suffered the hands uponher shoulders. She suffered the fiery passion of his gaze.

  Only at last very clearly, very resolutely, she spoke. "Piers--no!"

  His face was close to hers, glowing and vital and tensely determined. "Isay 'Yes,'" he said, with brief decision.

  Avery was silent. His hands were drawing her, and still she did notresist; but in those moments of silent inactivity she was stronger thanhe. Her personality was at grips with his, and if she gained no ground atleast she held her own.

  "Avery!" he said suddenly and sharply. "What's the matter with you? Whydon't you speak?"

  "I am waiting," she said.

  "Waiting!" he echoed. "Waiting for what?"

  "Waiting for you to come to yourself, Piers," she made steadfast answer.

  He laughed at that, a quick, insolent laugh. "Do you think I don't knowwhat I'm doing, then?"

  "I am quite sure," she answered, "that when you know, you will be moreashamed than any honourable man should ever have reason to be."

  He winced at the words. She saw the hot blood surge in a great wave tohis forehead, and she quailed inwardly though outwardly she made no sign.His grip was growing every instant more compelling. She knew that he wasbracing himself for one great effort that should batter down the strengththat withstood him. His lips were so close to hers that she could feelhis breath, quick and hot, upon her face. And still she made no strugglefor freedom, knowing instinctively that the instant her self-controlyielded, the battle was lost.

  Slowly the burning flush died away under her eyes. His face changed, grewsubtly harder, less passionate. "So," he said, with an odd quietness,"I'm not to kiss you. It would be dishonourable, what?"

  She made unflinching reply. "It would be despicable and you know it--tokiss any woman against her will."

  "Would it be against your will?" he asked.

  "Yes, it would." Firmly she answered him, yet a quiver of agitation wentthrough her. She felt her resolution begin to waver.

  But in that moment something in Piers seemed to give way also. He criedout to her as if in sudden, intolerable pain. "Avery! Avery! Are you madeof stone? Can't you see that this is life or death to me?"

  She answered him instantly; it was almost as if she had been waiting forthat cry of his. "Yes, but you must get the better of it. You can if youwill. It is unworthy of you. You are trying to take what is not yours.You have made a mistake, and you are wronging yourself and me."

  "What?" he exclaimed. "You don't love me then!"

  He flung his arms wide upon the words, with a gesture of the most utterdespair, and turned from her. A moment he stood swaying, as if bereft ofall his strength; and then with abrupt effort he began to move away. Hestumbled blindly, heavily, as he went, and the crying of the wheelingsea-gulls came plaintively through a silence that could be felt.

  But ere that silence paralysed her, Avery spoke, raising her voice, forthe urgency was great.

  "Piers, stop!"

  He stopped instantly, but he did not turn, merely stood tensely waiting.

  She collected herself and went after him. She laid a hand that trembledon his arm.

  "Don't leave me like this!" she said.

  Slowly he turned his head and looked at her, and the misery of that lookwent straight to her heart. All the woman's compassion in her throbbed upto the surface. She found herself speaking with a tenderness which amoment before no power on earth would have drawn from her.

  "Piers, something is wrong; something has happened. Won't you tell mewhat it is?"

  "I can't," he said.

  His lower lip quivered unexpectedly and she saw his teeth bite savagelyupon it. "I'd better go," he said.

  But her hand still held his arm. "No; wait!" she said. "You can't go likethis. Piers, what is the matter with you? Tell me!"

  He hesitated. She saw that his self-control was tottering. Abruptly atlength he spoke. "I can't. I'm not master of myself. I--I--" He broke offshort and became silent.

  "I knew you weren't," she said, and then, acting upon an impulse whichshe knew instinctively that she would never regret, she gave him herother hand also. "Let us forget all this!" she said.

  It was generously spoken, so generously that it could not fail to takeeffect. He looked at her in momentary surprise, began to speak, stopped,and with a choked, unintelligible utterance took her two hands with theutmost reverence into his own, and bowed his forehead upon them. Theutter abandonment of the action revealed to her in that moment howcompletely he had made her the dominating influence of his life.

  "Shall we sit down and talk?" she said gently.

  She could not be other than gentle with him. The appeal of hisweakness was greater than any display of strength. She could not butrespond to it.

  He set her free and dropped down heavily upon a rock, leaning his head inhis hands.

  She waited a few moments beside him; then, as he remained silent, shebent towards him.

  "Piers, what is it?"

  With a sharp movement he straightened himself, and turned his faceto the sea.

  "I'm a fool," he said, speaking with an odd, unsteady vehemence. "Factis, I've been out all night on this beastly shore. I've walked miles. AndI suppose I'm tired."

  He made the confession with a shamefaced laugh, still looking away tothe horizon.

  "All night!" Avery repeated in astonishment. "But, Piers!"

  He nodded several times, emphatically. "And those infernal sea-birds havebeen squawking along with those thrice-accursed crows ever sinceday-break. I'd like to wring their ugly necks, every jack one of 'em!"

  Avery laughed in spite of herself. "We all feel peevish sometimes," shesaid, as one of the offenders sailed over-head with a melancholy cry."But haven't you had any breakfast? You must be starving."

  "I am!" said Piers. "I feel like a wolf. But you needn't be afraid to sitdown. I shan't gobble you up this time."

  She heard the boyish appeal in his voice and almost unconsciously sheyielded to it. She sat down on the rock beside him, but he instantlyslipped from it and stretched himself in a dog-like attitude at her feet.

  His chin was propped in his hands, his face turned to the white sand onwhich he lay. She looked down at his black head with more than compassionin her eyes. It was horribly difficult to snub this boy-lover of hers.

  She sat and waited silently for him to speak.

  He dropped one hand at length and began to dig his brown fingers into thepowdery sand with irritable energy; but a minute or more passed beforevery grumpily he spoke.

  "I've had a row with my grandfather. We both of us behaved like wildbeasts. In the end, he thought he was going to give me a caning, and thatwas more than I could stand. I smashed his ruler for him and bolted. Ishould have struck him with it if I hadn't. And after that, I cleared outand came here. And I'm not going back."

  So with blunt defiance he made the announcement, and as he did so, itcame to Avery suddenly and quite convincingly that she had been thecause of the quarrel. A shock of dismay went through her. She had notanticipated this. She felt that the suspicion must be verified orrefuted at once.

  "Piers," she said quickly, "why did you quarrel with your grandfather?Was it because of your affair with Miss Rose?"

  "I never had an affair with Miss Rose," said Piers rather sullenly. Hedug up a smal
l stone, and flung it with vindictive force at the face ofthe cliff. "Ask her, if you don't believe me!"

  He paused a moment, then went on in a dogged note: "I told him--of acertain intention of mine. He tackled me about it first, was absolutelyintolerable. I just couldn't hold myself in. And then somehow we gotviolent. It was his fault. Anyway, he began it."

  "You haven't told me--yet--what you quarrelled about," said Avery, with asinking heart.

  He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her. "It doesn't matter,does it?"

  She made answer with a certain firmness. "Yes, I think it does."

  "Well, then,"--abruptly he raised himself and faced round, his dark eyesraised to hers,--"I told him, Avery, that if I couldn't marry the woman Iloved, I would never marry at all."

  There was no sullenness about him now, only steadfast purpose. He lookedher full in the face as he said it, and she quivered a little before themastery of his look.

  He laid a hand upon her knee as she sat above him in sore perplexity."Would you have me do anything else?" he said.

  She answered him with a conscious effort. "I want you to love--andmarry--the right woman."

  He uttered a queer, unsteady laugh and leaned his head against her. "Oh,my dear," he said, "there is no other woman but you in all the world."

  Something fiery that was almost like a dart of pain went through Avery athis words. She moved instinctively, but it was not in shrinking. After amoment she laid her hand upon his.

  "Piers," she said, "I can't bear hurting you."

  "You wouldn't hurt a fly," said Piers.

  She smiled faintly. "Not if I could help it. But that doesn't prove thatI am fond of flies. And now, Piers, I am going to ask a very big thing ofyou. I wonder if you will do it."

  "I wonder," said Piers.

  He had not moved at her touch, yet she felt his fingers close tenselyas they lay upon her knee, and she guessed that he was still striving tocontrol the inner tumult that had so nearly overwhelmed him a fewminutes before.

  "I know it is a big thing," she said. "Yet--for my sake if you like--Iwant you to do it."

  "I will do anything for your sake," he made passionate answer.

  "Thank you," she said gently. "Then, Piers, I want you--please--to goback to Sir Beverley at once, and make it up."

  He withdrew his hand sharply from hers, and sat up, turning his back uponher. "No!" he said harshly. "No!"

  "Please, Piers!" she said very earnestly.

  He locked his arms round his knees and sat in silence, staring moodilyout to sea.

  "Please, Piers!" she said again, and lightly touched his shoulder withher fingers.

  He hunched the shoulder away from her with a gesture of boyishimpatience, and then abruptly, as if realizing what he had done, heturned back to her, caught the hand, and pressed it to his lips.

  "I'm a brute, dear. Forgive me! Of course--if you wish it--I'll go back.But as to making it up, well--" he gulped once or twice--"it doesn't restonly with me, you know."

  "Oh, Piers," she said, "you are all he has. He couldn't be hard to you!"

  Piers smiled a wry smile, and said nothing.

  "Besides," she went on gently, "there is really nothing for you toquarrel about,--that is, if I am the cause of the trouble. It isperfectly natural that your grandfather should wish you to make asuitable marriage, perfectly natural that he should not want you to runafter the wrong woman. You can tell him, Piers, that I absolutely see hispoint of view, but that so far as I am concerned, he need not beanxious. It is not my intention to marry again."

  "All right," said Piers.

  He gave her hand a little shake and released it. For a second--only asecond--she caught a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to her almost likea gleam of mockery. And then with characteristic suddenness he sprangto his feet.

  "Well, I'd better be going," he said in a voice that was perfectly normaland free from agitation. "I can't stop to see the kiddie this time. I'mglad she's going on all right. I wonder when you'll be back again."

  "Not at present, I think," said Avery, trying not to be disconcerted byhis abruptness.

  He looked down at her whimsically. "You're a good sort, Avery," he said."I won't be so violent next time."

  "There mustn't be a next time," she said quickly. "Please Piers, thatmust be quite understood!"

  "All right," he said again. "I understand."

  And with that very suddenly he left her, so suddenly that she satmotionless on her rock and stared after him, not believing that he wasreally taking his leave.

  He did not turn his head, however, and very soon he passed round thejutting headland, and was gone from her sight. Only when thathappened did she draw a long, long breath and realize how much of herstrength had been spent to gain what after all appeared to be but avery barren victory.