*CHAPTER XV*
The north wind blew keen and lusty over the Norfolk marshland, bendingthe lush grass and sedge and ruffling the surface of dyke and pool.Overhead there was a sky of pale blue dappled with white and grey, fromwhich shone forth the yellow ball of a December sun.
Tossed in the wind, flocks of screaming plover and white kittiwake flewaimlessly over the green flat; the plaintive cry of a lonely curlew rangeerily as he scudded swiftly along the foreshore. Now and again asturdy mallard could be seen stoutly battling his way against the windtowards some rush-covered sanctuary, quacking triumphantly as he hungfor a moment over it, and then, dropping, was lost to view. Away to theeast a low, ragged line of sandhills broke the green monotony, beyondwhich lay a foam-flecked jade-coloured sea, streaked and mottled withever-shifting shadows of purple and ultramarine.
Some two miles inland the square, white shape of a house could be seennestling in a clump of trees, an unpretentious-looking place, despiteits appellation of Hall--Cuddingfold Hall, to give it its fulltitle--but solidly built and comfortable, nevertheless. This was thehome of which Lucy had written to her husband, and here for the lastfour months she had been installed, living now in one room, now inanother, for painters, paperers and their kind had been plying theirrespective trades, and life had been full of discomforts.
Their work had been at last completed, and even to Lucy's exacting mindCuddingfold Hall had been transformed from a ramshackle human warreninto an almost perfect dwelling-place. In spite of the somewhatextensive improvements carried out, it was only for twelve months shehad rented the Hall, but she had the option of taking it on at the endof that time for seven, twenty-one, or ninety-nine years, if she wished.
That, however, was for her husband to decide--the husband who wasarriving that evening after more than three years' absence. Of hisdecision she had no doubt whatever, but Lucy, in her own way, was wise,and refrained from signing any lease; she knew that to do so without hisconsent would be more than likely to inspire him with an instantdistaste for the place--partridges and ducks notwithstanding. To bindHector, meant for him to chafe against his bonds and the certain ruptureof them.
She would leave him to do it, and, if she knew him aright, that verynight would see a letter, nay, a telegram, despatched to the land agent,to the effect that Colonel Graeme would take Cuddingfold Hall for a termof ninety-nine years. Take it? No, he would certainly insist on buyingit, and rush up next morning to his bankers, for the purpose of raisingthe necessary sum. She could hear him say, "What's the good of payingrent, Lucy? Much better buy; it's always cheaper in the end."
Well, if he wanted to, why not? He must certainly not be allowed toraise the money, for that would not be cheaper in the end. It wouldonly result in a financial crisis, as had happened once before, and anignominious abandonment of their new home before the year was out; andhere, at the thought of her husband's business capacity, anirrepressible smile stole over Lucy's face.
No, she had her plan, that being to buy the place herself and give it tohim as a present. She had a little money of her own, which had come toher from her mother, and already Lucy had approached the trustees on thesubject of reinvestment. They had demurred, it is true, her uncle, theGeneral, being strongly averse to any scheme giving Hector control overhis wife's property; but Lucy, as once before, had conquered, andeventually he, with his co-trustee, had agreed. After all, theydecided, it was house property, this proposed new investment, and assuch allowable under the trust; and, at any rate, the General would takegood care that the place was settled upon his niece and that thatfellow, as he always designated Hector, should have no chance of layinghis hands on it. And so the matter had been left till Graeme's arrival.
On the afternoon of that event, Lucy was sitting on a rush-covered bank,happily dreaming of the time when this estate of marsh and sandhillwould be their own. Here, she thought complacently, watching thewheeling birds, they would settle down for life, and partings and warscares would be nightmares of the past. She would have her rose garden,Hector his shooting, and later, she hoped, a seat in the House, andperhaps in time they might--oh Heaven, how she prayed for it--be given ason. Here Lucy's smile died and the blue eyes clouded. A son, astrong, straight-limbed boy, not like Ruby; and at the thought of her,their only child, a sudden passionate feeling of revolt came over Lucyand her eyes filled with angry tears.
"Why," she thought bitterly, "should such a thing have happened to me?I was so looking forward to her coming too, and was so very verycareful. It was not my fault, or that of my ancestry; we have alwaysbeen strong and healthy. Oh, my God, how am I to tell him? I was madto keep it from him, but it looked so awful in a letter. What will hesay when he sees her--he so intolerant of weakness and dislikingchildren at any time? And all these years I expect he's been wonderingwhat she's like, picturing her as a round, rosy child, who'll want toromp with him and pull his hair. Ruby, romping! Oh," a suddenrevulsion of feeling coming over her, "what a brute I am, wicked andunnatural. It's not her fault, poor mite; and if I, her mother, run herdown, who's to take her part? And perhaps Hector won't take it sohardly; he'll be kind to her, even if he can't love her--Hector couldnever be anything else. And he won't see much of her; she'll be in hernursery all day; this cold would kill her at once, poor child."
With a sigh, she rose from the bank and made her way back to the house,when for the hundredth time that day she ran through the preparationsfor her husband's coming, and then, after a short visit to the nursery,went to her room to dress. The sudden chiming of the clock startledher, and hurrying over the last stages of her toilet she flewdownstairs, impatiently calling for the pony-cart, though it was not duefor a quarter of an hour. Rapidly her anxiety was becoming a fever fromwaiting when at length the trap appeared. Hastily mounting, she tookthe reins, and, whipping up the white pony, sent him along at his bestpace to the station.
Here, as she might have known, had excitement not rendered reflectionimpossible, she arrived a good half-hour too soon, a time of waitingthat would certainly be prolonged to at least one hour--the trains onthat line being remarkable for a monotonous unpunctuality. However,with the aid of a little conversation with the station-master, athorough perusal of the texts decorating the one dingy waiting-room, andsome twenty minutes of sentry-go up and down the platform, the time wasat length got through.
The sharp tinkling of a bell broke the silence, the sound of wirerustling at her feet was followed by the clack of a falling signal, andthen a faint humming growing gradually louder. Far down the line ayellow point could be seen, another shot out beside it, the hummingswelled to a roar, and with the rush of a whirlwind the train dashedpast Lucy, a flare of yellow lights flying giddily by.
"Heavens, it's going on!" she gasped, dismayed; "they've forgotten tostop it. No, it isn't, though," as the rattle died down and the mass ofwood and iron came to a rest at last. "There he is," and Lucy, dignityforgotten in joy, ran up the platform to where a man was standing gazingvacantly about him.
"Hector, darling, oh, Hector, at last, after all these years!" shebegan, and then stopped suddenly, an icy finger seeming to touch herheart, for this man who stood before her, though bearing her husband'sfeatures, was surely a stranger; yet, no, he was speaking to her,addressing her by name, though the voice too was unfamiliar.
"Oh, Lucy," he said, "is that you, how are you?"
"Hector ... what on earth's the matter, aren't you glad to see me? Oh,darling, you're ill; you look half dead," and conviction gaining uponher as she looked, the sudden terror of the unknown died in Lucy's heartand was replaced by a rush of protecting tenderness. She took his arm,her face looking up into his, a world of loving anxiety in her eyes.
"It's nothing, Lucy. I'm only tired; I've been up since dawn."
"Of course you have, dear, I forgot; and I know I was the same,Hector--so excited. I thought the daylight would never come. And thenthe day, how it's dragged; but it's all over at last
, and your..."Again a sudden stop, again the icy finger at her heart, for her husbandhad turned sharply away, and a ghastly silence followed.
"Porter--where's the porter?" muttered Hector. "Oh, there you are, getmy things out, will you? Not that one, you fool, where to? Godknows--I don't, when's the next train back to town?"
"Ain't no more to-night, sir, Colonel, that is, beg pardon, sir," saidthe man, staring at him and then questioningly at Lucy, whom he knew andliked well, as did already all the natives of Cuddingfold village.
"Take them to the luggage cart, Sims," said Lucy, her voice becomesuddenly level; "the Colonel's tired with his long journey; and you,"smiling at Hector, "come with me. That's our trap standing over therewith the white pony. Get in; I'll drive you; he knows my hand, and he'salways a little playful at starting. Good-night, Sims; tell your wifeI'll be round to see the new baby soon. Steady boy," to the dancingpony; "that's right," and the two drove away. For the first mile therewas silence, and then, like a pistol-shot, words burst from Hector'slips.
"What's his name, Lucy?" he asked, the triviality of the question beingin odd contrast to the voice that asked it. But triviality was now whatHector was fighting for with all his power, conversation on purelyordinary matters; for in that way only, he knew, could he keep off thenumbing sense of unreality that was creeping over him--a nightmarefeeling rapidly sapping the strength of purpose that till then had burntso strong and steadily.
"I have come to do this thing, and I will; I'll be firm, firm, firm," herepeated to himself, and the word mingled with the rattle of the flyingwheels and were flung back at him in meaningless echo. Apparently milesaway, he heard Lucy's voice answering some question he had put, andwhich now he could not for his life remember.
"His name, dear?" she said cheerfully. "I call him Whiting, becausehe's white; and when he's fresh his head and his tail come together.Not very clever, I fear; but then I'm not clever, as I told you once..."She broke off, a sudden stab at her heart. When had she said this verysame thing before? Ah, she remembered, at Chillata, that last night;what thousands of years ago it seemed now. "It made Tom laugh," sheadded hurriedly.
"Tom?"
"He's the groom, and the gardener and hoot-boy and the keeper and allsorts of other things. He's rather a treasure, really, though not muchto look at. He's so looking forward to your coming; we--we all are,Hector."
"How--how is----?" God, he'd forgotten his own child's name!
"Ruby?"--a pause. "Oh, you'll see her presently, and I--I hope youwon't be disappointed, Hector. A baby, you know, very often at firstis--is not ... But I want to tell you about the shooting. It's whatyou've always wanted: miles of marsh, and such a lot of ducks, you canhear them quacking every night; and to-day a flock of widgeon passedover the house, within shot too. And there are partridges andpheasants, though not many; and the house--oh, Hector, you'll like thehouse," and here Lucy launched out into a description of her property,though truth to tell, she had very little idea of what she was saying.
Only on two points was she clear: one, that at all hazards silence mustnot again be allowed to fall; the other, that she must hold back for thepresent from any questioning of her husband as to what had brought aboutthis change in him. God knew what the thing was that had come betweenthem, but, whatever it was, she would hear in time, that was certain;for, thank heaven, whatever her husband's other failings might be, thatof deceit was not among them. Till then she must wait as best shecould, and, when it came, face and fight it with all the strength in herpower. A great crisis was at hand, she knew instinctively, oneinvolving her whole life's happiness; and Lucy was not going to givethat up without a struggle.
She might not be clever--she knew she was not--but she was the possessorof a fund of sound common sense and the pluck and staying power of ahundred. And so, as if unaware that there was anything amiss, shechatted on cheerfully, the light trap flying through the country lanes,till at length a pair of white wooden gates were reached. Passingthrough these, they rattled along a short carriage drive, finallypulling up in front of the house, through the open doors of which astream of light shone out into the darkness.
At the sound of the wheels a rosy-cheeked maid came bustling out, allsmiles and anxiety to help; while from the stables close by aqueer-looking creature hastened, wiping his mouth with his sleeve--hehad been disturbed in the middle of his tea--and, having touched his capand grinned sheepishly at Graeme, seized the pony by the bridle and ledhim away to stable and oats. This person was Tom, of whom Lucy hadspoken, a Norfolk man born and bred, and a stranger to towns and theirways. Not a gentleman's servant in appearance possibly--hismultitudinous duties forbade that--but an honest and devoted creaturenevertheless, and one who had already identified himself withCuddingfold Hall and its interests.
The arrival of his new master was an event in Tom's life, one he hadlooked forward to for many weeks; for though contented enough--as wereall Lucy's servants--in his present post, he had felt that a man waswanted about the place, one who would be up and after those feathereddenizens of marsh and pool, the thought of whose undisturbed serenityhad of late begun to get on Tom's nerves. But now that the master hadarrived, the master of whose prowess with the gun he had heard so muchand often, he felt, strangely enough, a bitter sense of disappointment.This was not the hero he had expected, this white-faced haggard man, whohad not so much as looked at him or noted his greeting, but without aword had descended from the cart and walked stiffly into the house.
Something was also wrong with the mistress; the brightness had gone fromher face, and she had also omitted her usual "good-night." Tom was notgiven to fancies, but, like most of those whose natural instinct has notbeen stifled by a smattering of education, he, in common with the beastsand birds he loved, knew things intuitively, and that intuition made himaware of a strong feeling of repulsion towards his new master. In vaindid he fight against it--it remained; and Tom's ruddy face was strangelyovercast as he unharnessed the white pony and shook out his evening feedof oats; nor was his whistle quite so shrill and cheerful as itgenerally was when performing that operation.
Hector, meanwhile, was left standing alone in the black-and-white tiledhall, for Lucy, on their entrance, had disappeared and the maid wasalready busy on her knees upstairs with the unpacking of portmanteaux.But now that he was alone and had time to marshal his thoughts, forwhich he had been praying all through that nightmare drive, the samedeadening sense of unreality descended on his mind like a pall, and hestood there, his brain a whirling chaos. Only a few hours before he hadfelt himself to be of steel, inflexible of will and insensible to allhuman emotions save that of love; he had even gloried in what he meantto do, as marking him out as a man above his fellows, in that for himconventional scruples had no meaning, and bonds deemed unbreakable hecould tear asunder without a pang.
He had told Stara--and had believed what he said--that this was nothingto him. But in the exaltation of that moment he had overlooked twothings: the one, the power of old associations over the human mind; theother--the curse of natures such as his--nerves, a legacy bequeathed tohim, amongst other things, by his mother, and the revolt of which meansparalysis to the strongest will. In vain did Hector call upon thatwill, it would not answer; in vain did he repeat that this was nothing;old associations told him he lied, and bade him look around and see whatthis thing was he was about to do.
They pointed to the thousand and one evidences of womanly love andforethought: the spotless cleanliness and comfort of the old firelithall, the gleam of brass and pewter ornaments, the polish on oak andmahogany. The scales fell from Hector's eyes, and he knew that thissame nothing was in reality a horror, growing in intensity with thepassing of the minutes, and at the thought of which his coward nervesnow quivered and shrank.
Only too well did he realise, standing here, what his homecoming meantto Lucy; the care she had lavished on this place to make it a home, suchas he would like; the pride with which she had looked forward towelcoming him to
it. All this was his; he was the master here whom allwere anxious to serve; no longer was he a mere irresponsible officer ofcavalry, but the head of a household--a man to be looked up to andrespected. Respected? He? Why, the very servants who now waited sosmilingly upon him would turn from him with loathing did they know hispurpose; and soon they must know it, and to-morrow all would be changed.
At the thought, a sudden wave of hatred of himself came over him, andwith it a sense of moral uncleanness and unfitness to be in thisinnocent, harmless household. He bowed his head and shuddered where hestood. Nevertheless, despite his present tortures, he knew that do thisthing he would; for his will was but paralysed for the moment byshattered nerves, and it remained the while unchanged; only it washarder, infinitely, immeasurably harder than he had thought. Then heheard the sound of Lucy's voice from above, and, looking up, he saw herfrom the gallery overhead smiling down upon him, and there was somethingin her smile that made Hector wince.
"Come up here, will you, Hector?" she said, and the cheerfulness in hervoice rang false; "I have something to show you." Without a word,Hector mounted the stairs and joined her.
"What is it, Lucy?" he said dully.
"It--it's Ruby; I want you to see her now, at last; and--and, Hector,you will try not to be disappointed, won't you? She--she's not a verystrong child, and there's something ... wrong."
"Wrong, what do you mean?"
"Oh, I know I ought to have told you, and I tried to many times, but ...couldn't. Go in now and see for yourself, and please try and not showyou ... you notice, Hector."
"Where is she?"
"That door there. No, no, I won't come in with you; don't ask me,Hector, for I can't," and Lucy hurried away, leaving Hector standingbefore a red baize-covered door. Faintly curious, he knocked, and avoice said, "Come in." He entered, and then stood staring. In a highchair, drawn up close to the fire, a small pale-faced child was sitting,holding in her arms a yellow plush monkey, to which she was softlysinging. As Hector entered, she turned quickly, and at the sight of hereyes the new-comer muttered "Good God!" and clutched at a chair.
"Yes, sir," said the nurse, watching him, "she can't see you; she wasborn like that. It's your father, Miss Ruby, come to see you and saygood-night to you. I think, sir," turning again to Hector, who wasstill standing motionless, "perhaps you had better go now; she's notvery strong, sir, and if distressed..." But the nurse stopped,astonished; for Hector, unheeding, had suddenly stumbled forward, and,picking up the little child, whose thin arms closed round his neck, wascrying over her like a woman.
Hastily the nurse rose up, thimbles, needles, and work falling unheededon the floor, and rushed headlong from the room and downstairs to thekitchen, where she was soon sobbing loudly in the cook's arms.
"I'll never forget it, Martha, not if I live to be a hundred. Himdisappointed, him not love the child! Why, from the moment he set eyeson her, he just made one rush and--and ... Oh, he's a good sort is thatman, Martha, a right down good fellow," and again she sobbed aloud, thecook also weeping in sympathy. Nor, may it be here remarked, did thenurse ever subsequently change her opinion, but, deaf to all argumentand blind to proof, maintained always that the master was a good master,let them say what they liked, and, if some folk weren't rightly able tounderstand him, that was their fault, not his.
Above, in the firelit nursery, father and daughter made friends; for theincredible had happened, and Hector had taken to this poor weakling ashe would never have done to the sturdy, healthy romp prayed for by Lucy.Perhaps in little blind Ruby he recognised the physical incarnation ofhis own twisted soul, perhaps in some dim way he knew that to him andhim only her infirmities were owing, but, be this as it may, his heartwent out to her and hers to him.
Here, where he had least expected one, he had found a friend, andforthwith his tortured nerves were calmed and his working brain at rest;and he opened out his mind to this baby as to one his equal in years andknowledge. And the blind eyes were kept fixed on his own, and the thinhands stroked his face, as she murmured words of sympathy, possiblywondering what all this might mean and possibly comprehending, for Godand his angels alone know what little children do understand.
An hour passed and still the two sat there, though in silence now, forthe sightless eyes were closed and Ruby was happily dreaming; then thedoor opening noiselessly, the snuffling nurse stood on the threshold,and behind her Lucy, her eyes wide with wonderment and a certain awe atthe marvel Heaven had brought to pass. In silence she followed Hectorfrom the room, and when the door had closed behind them, and they stoodin the passage outside, she turned and laid her hands on his breast.
"Hector," she said very low, "you have taught me a lesson. I have beenso wicked about her, dearest, so unnatural; but from to-night I--I willmake amends." She leaned towards him, but Hector started back, his eyeswild. For a moment he stood staring at her, and then sharply turningleft her, and a minute afterwards was lying face downwards on the bed inhis dressing-room, his hands gripping the iron frame-work and his facerigid with pain.
Here Lucy, entering half an hour later, all pale blue and white lace,found him, but paid no heed, only rallied him gently for being late thefirst night of his return, and said, "Do you like my present? Oh, nevermind; to-morrow will do, it isn't much really, only, oh, Hector, doplease look at them," and Lucy flew to a large brown paper parcel lyingignored on the floor, and on which was inscribed in large letters: "ToHECTOR, WITH LUCY'S LOVE." "They're something you've always wanted,"she ran on, her slender fingers busy with knots as she spoke, "and I'vealways wished to give you, but never been able to till now. There--" asthe last wrapping of paper was torn off and the lid of a brown leathercase revealed and lifted--"don't--don't you like them?" looking ratheranxiously at Hector, who was staring silently down at a pair of shiningPurdy guns, delights which in the past he had often longed for but hadnever been able to afford. At least three years of close saving onLucy's part did this gift represent, for well he knew that not one pennyof the price had been taken from his own money; out of her own smallincome alone had these toys been bought.
"They're all right, Hector, aren't they? They're ejectors, you see,"fingering the barrels of one as she spoke; "and there are plenty ofcartridges downstairs--Kynochs brass. No. 6, the ones you always usedto use. And to-morrow we'll try them, won't we? Oh, I'm so lookingforward to to-morrow, I do hope it will be fine, and then you and I andTom..." She stopped suddenly, for Hector had again turned away from herand was leaning against the mantelpiece, staring into the fire.
"Hector," touching his shoulder, "won't you, can't you tell me now,dear?"
"No--no, not now--later. Leave me, Lucy; I'll join you in a minute."And Lucy without a word left him.
* * * * *
Dinner was over, and wrath reigned in Martha's ample bosom, for theskill and knowledge of a life-time had gone to the preparing of thisnight's repast, and bitterly she felt that all her talent had beenwasted. "Mark my words, Eliza," she said to the kitchen maid, "there'ssomething wrong with a man as don't relish a beautiful dinner like this.There's that vol-o-vong, the souffly too, came down untasted. It ain'tin nature, Eliza--it ain't; and 'im too just back from furrin parts.Oh, I've not patience with him, nor yet with the Missus either," and sheshut the oven door with a bang.
Upstairs, in the softly-lighted drawing-room, Lucy and her husband weresitting looking into the fire. Silence had fallen, for the woman'schatter, sustained uninterruptedly during the meal, had ceased at last,and the time had come for the one to hear and the other to tell. Nowshe sat waiting, with nerves braced and every faculty alert and readyfor battle.
The minutes ticked away, but still the silence remained unbroken, for bynow all coherence of thought had left Hector, and, strive as he would,no sequence of thought would come. In vain did he try to call upStara's face to strengthen him; in vain did he repeat that this was mereweakness, and that carry this thing through he must; he could say thew
ords as much and as often as he liked, but no resolution lay behindthem--they were but as ghosts.
The exaltation of the night before; the long train journey; the meetingwith Lucy; and then the final blow dealt by a pair of thin babyhands--all had told; and now, when he had most need of them, strength ofpurpose and clearness of thought were gone.
Suddenly Lucy rose, and, moving swiftly across to him, knelt on thehearth at his feet, her bright eyes fixed on his.
"Dear, tell me," she whispered, "as you promised; I am your wife,remember, and have the right to know. I don't mind what it is, Hector,so that you tell me."
"Lucy, I can't, I meant to, God knows; but now the time's come, I can'tthink--my head's whirling. Give me till to-morrow, Lucy, I will tellyou then, I swear."
"And you think, Hector, I could wait till to-morrow," said Lucypassionately, "oh, how can you be so inhuman? Surely, surely, it can'tbe so hard a thing as this, that you can't tell me, your wife of tenyears. Oh, my dearest," and Lucy put her arms round his neck, "we havenever had secrets from each other, like most husbands and wives."
"This is different, Lucy."
"Is it money ... gambling? If so, I can help you. I have----"
"It's not money, Lucy."
"Something you've done in the regiment, then, have--have they cashieredyou, Hector? If that's it, I don't mind a bit. I always hated theregiment; it was never a good enough one for you."
"It's nothing of that sort, Lucy."
Lucy stared at him, her brow knit in thought; then suddenly her armsfell from his neck and she sank, a huddled heap, on the hearth-rug.
"It's ... another ... woman, Hector?"
"Yes."
Silence, and then the bowed figure straightened itself, and the light ofbattle once more came into her eyes. She would fight this out to theend.
"Tell me about it, Hector," she said steadily, "everything, please. Iwant the whole story, nothing kept back whatever."
Hector began, a recital very different from that arranged in his mindonly a few hours before. "Lucy, when I left South Africa, three weeksago, I could say, what very few husbands can to their wives, that I hadnever been unfaithful to you."
"You needn't tell me that; I know it. Go on."
"But on the ship--the--the--I can't think of the name--I met her ...and----"
"Her, who?"
"Never mind that, Lucy; it would do no good telling it ... and we--sheand I got to care for each other, and--and--that's all, Lucy. Oh, forGod's sake, don't let's go on now."
"_Is_ that all, Hector? Was she--this woman--good? There was no--nowickedness, you understand me, Hector, don't you?"
"There was none."
"Thank God!" she breathed, and then a pause followed.
"Where is she now, dear?"
"I don't know--in London somewhere, I believe; she returns to Africa ina few days."
"And you, Hector, what do you mean to do, to go back with her? If so,tell me now, and--and..." Lucy paused, and then went on, "if that'swhat you really want, Hector, if it--it's not only a passinginfatuation, and you feel you cannot live without this woman, I--I willhelp you, dear."
"What do you mean?"
"This, that I am too proud, Hector, to keep you tied to me against yourwill. I--I don't look upon marriage as some do, as a chain whichnothing can break. Love's the only chain I recognise, and if that isbroken between us I will set you free, Hector."
"You want to get rid of me, is that it, Lucy?"
"Oh, my God, Hector, if there is but a chance, the merest atom of hope,I would cling to it, but I--I don't think there is, somehow. Hector, isthere?"
Here was the way made easy, here were the obstacles lying down of theirown free will to let him pass, and yet, strangely enough, it was thisvery ease that conquered Hector now and dealt the final blow toresolution.
Had Lucy opposed him, had she but hinted that the bond between them wasindissoluble, Hector's soul would have risen in instant rebellion, andwith rebellion would have come strength to act. But Lucy's love foronce had made her subtle, and so, there being no opposition and nothingto fight, the sword remained useless in the scabbard.
"Hector," she went on, and her lips were now set in a firm straightline, "tell me, are you going back with this woman to South Africa ornot?"
Hector's groping hands snatched at the dangling rope and held on. "Sheis going back alone," he muttered; "there was never any thought of ourreturning together."
For a full minute Lucy knelt looking at him, her blue eyes searching hissoul; then again her arms went around his neck, and she broke into apassion of weeping.
"Thank God, oh, thank God!" she murmured; "you're my Hector still;forgive me, dearest, for having doubted you. I ought to have known thatyou, of all men, would never be guilty of dishonour or treachery to me.Oh, it was hateful of me, hateful."
"Lucy, wait. I--I----"
"No, you've been brave and true, Hector; you've fought temptation andconquered it, and I honour you for it and love you a thousand times morethan before. And--and she, oh, don't turn away; I wouldn't speak ill ofher for the world. I will pray for her, and ask God to comfort her, forshe--she must be a good woman, Hector, far--far better than I am. Iwould never have given you up had I been her."
"For God's sake stop, Lucy; you--you're wrong."
"No, Hector, I won't; my heart's too full of gratitude to God and her,and--and, dear----"
"Well?"
"I should like some time, if you'll let me, to write to her and send hersome little thing from me and Ruby to show her I know and sympathise;for we, Ruby and I, owe her so much--so much. And you, you poor boy,I'll help you through. I will be patient and tactful, dear, and won'texpect things ... yet. But it will all come back again, won't it--yourlove, I mean--and I haven't taken it so badly, have I? Oh, for God'ssake, dearest, don't you break down," for Hector's head had fallenforward on his hands and his whole body was quivering. "Come upstairsnow and sleep. To-morrow the sun will be shining and we'll startafresh, Hector, you and I and ... Ruby."
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