The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER VIII

  A FRIEND IN NEED

  "Why, Avery dear, is it you? Come in!" Mrs. Lorimer looked up with asmile of eager welcome on her little pinched face and went forward almostat a run to greet her.

  The brown holland smock upon which she had been at work fell to theground. It was Avery who, after a close embrace, stooped to pick it up.

  "Who is this for? Baby Phil? You must let me lend a hand," she said.

  "Ah, my dear, I do miss you," said Mrs. Lorimer wistfully. "The villagegirl who comes in to help is no good at all at needlework, and you knowhow busy Nurse always is. Jeanie does her best, and is a great help inmany ways. But she is but a child. However," she caught herself up, "Imustn't start grumbling the moment you enter the house. Tell me aboutyourself, dear! You are looking very pale. Does the heat try you?"

  "A little," Avery admitted.

  She was spreading out the small garment on her knee, looking at itcritically, with eyes downcast. She certainly was pale that morning. Theonly colour in her face seemed concentrated in her lips.

  Mrs. Lorimer looked at her uneasily. There was something not quite normalabout her, she felt. She had never seen Avery look so statuesque. Shemissed the quick sweetness of her smile, the brightness and animation ofher glance.

  "It is very dear of you to come and see me," she said gently, after amoment. "Did you walk all the way? I hope it hasn't been too much foryou."

  "No," Avery said. "It did me good."

  She was on the verge of saying something further, but the words did notcome.

  She continued to smooth out the little smock with minute care, while Mrs.Lorimer watched her anxiously.

  "Is all well, dear?" she ventured at last.

  Avery raised her brows slightly, but her eyes remained downcast. "I wentto the wedding yesterday," she said, after a momentary pause.

  "Oh, did you, dear? Stephen went, but I stayed at home. Did you see him?"

  "Only from a distance," said Avery.

  "It was a very magnificent affair, he tells me." Mrs. Lorimer wasbecoming a little nervous. She had begun to be conscious of somethingtragic in the atmosphere. "And did you enjoy it, dear? Or was the heattoo great?"

  "It was hot," Avery said.

  Again she seemed to be about to say something more, and again she failedto do so. Her lips closed.

  Mrs. Lorimer remained silent also for several seconds. Then softly sherose, went to Avery, put her arms about her.

  "My darling!" she said fondly.

  That was all. No further questioning, no anxious probing, simply her lovepoured out in fullest measure upon the altar of friendship! And it movedAvery instantly and overwhelmingly, shattering her reserve, sweeping awaythe stony ramparts of her pride.

  She turned and hid her face upon Mrs. Lorimer's breast in an anguish oftears.

  It lasted for several minutes, that paroxysm of weeping. It was the pentmisery of hours finding vent at last. All she had suffered, all thehumiliation, the bitterness of desecrated love, the utter despair of hersoul, was in those tears. They shook her being to the depths. They seemedto tear her heart asunder.

  At last in broken whispers she began to speak. Still with those scaldingtears falling between her words, she imparted the whole miserable story;she bared her fallen pride. There was no other person in the world towhom she could thus have revealed that inner agony, that laceratingshame. But Mrs. Lorimer, the despised, the downtrodden, was as an angelfrom heaven that day. A new strength was hers, born of her friend's utterneed. She held her up, she sustained, her, through that the darkest hourof her life, with a courage and a steadfastness of which no one had everdeemed her capable.

  When Avery whispered at length, "I can never, never go back to him!" heranswer was prompt.

  "My dear, you must. It will be hard, God knows. But He will give youstrength. Oh Avery, don't act for yourself, dear! Let Him show the way!"

  "If He will!" sobbed Avery, with her burning face hidden against herfriend's heart.

  "He will, dearest, He will," Mrs. Lorimer asserted with conviction. "Heis much nearer to us in trouble than most of us ever realize. Only letHim take the helm; He will steer you through the storm."

  "I feel too wicked," whispered Avery, "too--overwhelmed with evil."

  "My dear, feelings are nothing," said the Vicar's wife, with a decisionthat would have shocked the Reverend Stephen unspeakably. "We can't helpour feelings, but we can put ourselves in the way of receiving help. Oh,don't you think He often lets us miss our footing just because He wantsus to lean on Him?"

  "I don't know," Avery said hopelessly. "But I think it will kill me togo back. Even if--if I pretended to forgive him--I couldn't possiblyendure to--to go on as if nothing had happened. Eric--my firsthusband--will always stand between us now."

  "Dear, are you sure that what you heard was not an exaggeration?" Mrs.Lorimer asked gently.

  "Oh yes, I am sure." There was utter hopelessness in Avery's reply. "Ihave always known that there was something in his past, some cloud ofwhich he would never speak openly. But I never dreamed--never guessed--"She broke off with a sharp shudder. "Besides, he has offered noexplanation, no excuse, no denial. He lets me believe the worst, and hedoesn't care. He is utterly callous--utterly brutal. That is how I knowthat the worst is true." She rose abruptly, as if inaction had becometorture to her. "Oh, I must leave him!" she cried out wildly. "I amnothing to him. My feelings are less than nothing. He doesn't really wantme. Any woman could fill my place with him equally well!"

  "Hush!" Mrs. Lorimer said. She went to Avery and held her tightly, as ifshe would herself do battle with the evil within. "You are not to saythat, Avery. You are not to think it. It is utterly untrue. Suffering mayhave goaded him into brutality, but he is not wicked at heart. And, mydear, he is in your hands now--to make or to mar. He worships youblindly, and if his worship has become an unholy thing, it is because thethought of losing you has driven him nearly distracted. You can win itback--if you will."

  "I don't want to win it back!" Avery said. She suffered the arms abouther, but she stood rigid in their embrace, unyielding, unresponding. "Hislove is horrible to me! I abhor it!"

  "Avery! Your husband!"

  "He is a murderer!" Avery cried passionately. "He would murder me tooif--if he could bring himself to do without me! He hates me in his soul."

  "Avery, hush! You are distraught. You don't know what you are saying."Mrs. Lorimer drew her back to her chair with tender insistence. "Sitdown, darling! And try--do try--to be quiet for a little! You are wornout. I don't think you can have had any sleep."

  "Sleep!" Avery almost laughed, and then again those burning, blindingtears rushed to her eyes. "Oh, you don't know what I've been through!"she sobbed. "You don't know! You don't know!"

  "God knows, darling," whispered Mrs. Lorimer.

  Minutes later, when Avery was lying back exhausted, no longer sobbing,only dumbly weeping, there came a gentle knock at the door.

  Mrs. Lorimer went to it quickly, and met her eldest daughter upon thepoint of entering. Jeanie looked up at her enquiringly.

  "Is anyone here?"

  "Yes, dear. Avery is here. She isn't very well this morning. Run andfetch her a glass of milk!"

  Jeanie hastened away. Mrs. Lorimer returned to Avery.

  "My darling," she said, "do you know I think I can see a way to helpyou?"

  Avery's eyes were closed. She put out a trembling hand. "You are verygood to me."

  "I wonder how often I have had reason to say that to you," said Mrs.Lorimer softly. "Listen, darling! You must go back. Yes, Avery, you must!You must! But--you shall take my little Jeanie with you."

  Avery's eyes opened. Mrs. Lorimer was looking at her with tears in herown.

  "I know I may trust her to you," she said. "But oh, you will take careof her! Remember how precious she is--and how fragile!"

  "But, my dear--you couldn't spare her!" Avery said.

  "Yes, I can,--I will!" Mrs. Lorimer hastily rubbed her eye
s and smiled--aresolute smile. "You may have her, dear. I know she will be happy withyou. And Piers is so fond of her too. She will be a comfort to you--toyou both, please God. She comforts everyone--my little Jeanie. It seemsto be her _role_ in life. Ah, here she comes! You shall tell her, dear.It will come better from you."

  "May I come in?" said Jeanie at the door.

  Her mother went to admit her. Avery sat up, and pushed her chair backagainst the window-curtain.

  Jeanie entered, a glass of milk in one hand and a plate in the other."Good morning, dear Avery!" she said, in her gentle, rather tired voice."I've brought you a hot cake too--straight out of the oven. It smellsquite good." She came to Avery's side, and stood within the circle of herarm; but she did not kiss her or look into her piteous, tearstained face."I hope you like currants," she said. "Baby Phil calls them flies. Haveyou seen Baby Phil lately? He has just cut another tooth. He likeseverybody to look at it."

  "I must see it presently," Avery said, with an effort.

  She drank the milk, and broke the cake, still holding Jeanie pressedto her side.

  Jeanie, gravely practical, held the plate. "I saw Piers ride by a littlewhile ago," she remarked. "He was on Pompey. But he was going so fast hedidn't see me. He always rides fast, doesn't he? But I think Pompey likesit, don't you?"

  "I don't know." There was an odd frozen note in Avery's voice. "He has togo--whether he likes it or not."

  "But he is very fond of Piers," said Jeanie. "And so is Caesar." She gavea little sigh. "Poor Mikey! Do you remember how angry he used to be whenCaesar ran by?"

  Avery suppressed a shiver. Vivid as a picture flung on a screen, thererose in her brain the memory of that winter evening when Piers and Mikeand Caesar had all striven together for the mastery. Again she seemedto hear those savage, pitiless blows. She might have known! She mighthave known!

  Sharply she wrenched herself back to the present. "Jeanie darling," shesaid, "your mother says that you may come and stay at the Abbey for alittle while. Do you--would you--like to come?"

  Her voice was unconsciously wistful. Jeanie turned for the first time andlooked at her.

  "Oh, Avery!" she said. "Stay with you and Piers?"

  Her eyes were shining. She slid a gentle arm round Avery's neck.

  "You would like to?" Avery asked, faintly smiling.

  "I would love to," said Jeanie earnestly. She looked across at hermother. "Shall you be able to manage, dear?" she asked in hergrown-up way.

  Mrs. Lorimer stifled a sigh. "Oh yes, Jeanie dear. I shall do all right.Gracie will help with the little ones, you know."

  Jeanie smiled at that. "I think I will go and talk to Gracie," she said,quietly releasing herself from Avery's arm.

  But at the door she paused. "I hope Father won't mind," she said. "But hedid say I wasn't to have any more treats till my Easter holiday-task wasfinished."

  "I will make that all right, dear," said Mrs. Lorimer.

  "Thank you," said Jeanie. "Of course I can take it with me. I expect Ishall get more time for learning it at the Abbey. You might tell himthat, don't you think?"

  "I will tell him, darling," said Mrs. Lorimer.

  And Jeanie smiled and went her way.