CHAPTER XIII
THE JESTER'S INFERNO
Between the two men who were left not a word passed for many minutes. Napprowled to and fro with his head back and his own peculiarly insolentsmile curving the corners of his mouth. There was a ruddy glare in hiseyes, but they held no anger.
Lucas, still leaning on his crutch, stood with his back turned, his faceto the fire. There was no anger about him either. He looked spent.
Abruptly Nap ceased his pacing and came up to him. "Come!" he said. "Youhave had enough of this. I will help you to your room."
Slowly Lucas lifted his heavy eyes. "Send Hudson to me," he said.
Nap looked at him sharply. Then, "Lean on me," he said. "I'll help you."
"No. Send Hudson." The words ended upon a stifled groan.
Nap turned swiftly and dragged forward the settee. "Lie down here for aminute, while I fetch him. Don't faint, man! You will be easierdirectly. You have been on your feet too long. There! Is that better?"
Lucas drew a long, shuddering breath and slowly suffered his limbs torelax. His face was ghastly though he forced himself to smile.
"Yes, I am better. Don't call Hudson for a minute. Nap!"
Nap bent.
"Put your hand under my shoulders. Ah! That's a help. I always like yourtouch. Say, Boney," the words came gaspingly, the sunken eyes were heavywith pain, "you'll think me a mean brute. I am, dear fellow, I am; acoward, too, from the same point of view. But--ill or well, I've got tosay it. You've been running amok to-day, and it's been altogether toolively to be just pleasant. You've got to pull up. I say it."
Nap's smile had utterly departed. It was some other impulse that twitchedhis lips as he made reply.
"Whatever you say is law."
"Thanks! I'm duly grateful. Do you mind wiping my forehead? I'm too lazyto move. Boney, old chap, he's a well-behaved youngster on the whole.What do you want to bait him for?"
"Because I'm a jealous devil," Nap said through his teeth.
"Oh, rats, dear fellow! We are not talking in parables. You're a bit of asavage, I know, but--"
"More than that," threw in Nap.
"No--no! You can hold yourself in if you try. And why jealous, anyway?We're all brothers. Say, Boney, I'm going to hurt you infernally. You hitthe youngster below the belt. It was foul play."
"What can you expect?" muttered Nap.
"I expect--better things. If you must be a beast, be a clean beast. Ifyou must hit out now and then, give him a chance to hit back. It's kindof shabby--the game you played today."
"Are you going to make me apologise?" asked Nap grimly.
"Shucks, no; He would think you were laughing at him. Clap him on theback and tell him not to be a fool. He'll understand that."
"And wish him luck with the parson's daughter?" said Nap, with a sneer.
"Why not, old chap?"
"You really mean to let him marry the first girl who runs afterhis dollars?"
"It isn't the dollars," said the millionaire gently. "And she isn'trunning after him either. She's running away."
"Same thing sometimes," said Nap.
"Oh, don't be cynical, Boney! It's so damned cheap! There! I've doneswearing at you for the present. It's wonderful how you fellows bear withme. Find Hudson, will you? And then go and tell Lady Carfax that I amafraid I can't visit her this evening as I had hoped."
"Do you know she talks of leaving tomorrow?" said Nap.
"Yes, I know. Guess she is quite right to go."
"She's not fit for it," said Nap, in a fierce undertone. "It's madness. Itold her so. But she wouldn't listen."
"She is the best judge," his brother said. "Anyway, she is in anintolerable position. We can't press her to prolong it. Besides--whateverhe is--her husband has first right."
"Think so?" said Nap.
"It is so," Lucas asserted quietly, "whether you admit it or not."
Nap did not dispute the point, but his jaw looked exceedinglyuncompromising as he departed to find the valet.
When a little later he asked for admission to Anne's presence, however,his bitter mood seemed to have modified. He entered with the air of onewell assured of his welcome.
"Are you in a mood for chess tonight?" he asked.
"Now, you're not to plague her, Nap," put in Mrs. Errol. "She isn't goingto spend her last evening amusing you."
"Oh, please," protested Anne. "It is your son who has had all theamusing to do."
Nap smiled. "There's for you, alma mater!" he remarked as he sat down.
"Lady Carfax is much too forbearing to say anything else," retortedMrs. Errol.
"Lady Carfax always tells the truth," said Nap, beginning to set thechess-board, "which is the exact reason why all her swains adore her."
"Well," said Mrs. Errol very deliberately, though without venom, "I guessthat's about the last quality I should expect you to appreciate."
"Strange to say, it is actually the first just now," said Nap. "Are yougoing, alma mater? Don't let me drive you away!"
He rose, nevertheless, to open the door for her; and Mrs. Errol went,somewhat with the air of one complying with an unspoken desire.
Nap came softly back and resumed his task. "P'r'aps you will be goodenough to refrain from referring to me again as the august lady's son,"he said. "She doesn't like it."
"Why not?" said Anne in astonishment.
He glanced up at her as if contemplating something. Then, "You see, thebenign mother is not over and above proud of me," he drawled. "If it wereBertie now--well, I guess even you will admit that Bertie is the flowerof the flock."
His manner mystified her, but it was not her way to seek to probemysteries. She smiled as she said, "I have yet to discover that you areso very despicable."
"You have yet to discover--many things," said Nap enigmatically. "Willyou be pleased to make the first move?"
She did so silently. They had played together several times before. Hehad formed a habit of visiting her every evening, and though her skillat the game was far from great, it had been a welcome diversion from theconstant anxiety that pressed so heavily upon her. Nap was an expertplayer, yet he seemed to enjoy the poor game which was all she had tooffer. Perhaps he liked to feel her at his mercy. She strongly suspectedthat he often deliberately prolonged the contest though he seldom allowedher to beat him.
To-night, however, he seemed to be in a restless mood, and she soon sawthat he was bent upon a swift victory. He made his moves with a quickdexterity that baffled her completely, and but a very few minutes elapsedbefore he uttered his customary warning.
"You would do well to beware."
"Which means that I am beaten, I suppose," she said, with a smile ofresignation.
"You can save yourself if you like," he said, with his eyes on the board,"if you consider it worth while."
"I don't think I do," she answered. "The end will be the same."
His eyes flashed up at her. "You surrender unconditionally?"
She continued to smile despite the sadness of her face. "Absolutely. I amso accustomed to defeat that I am getting callous."
"You seem to have great confidence in my chivalry," he said, lookingfull at her.
"I have--every confidence, Mr. Errol," she answered gravely. "I thinkthat you and your brother are the most chivalrous men I know."
His laugh had a ring of harshness. "Believe me, I am not accustomed tobeing ranked with the saints," he said. "How shall I get away from yourhalo? I warn you, it's a most awful misfit. You'll find it out presently,and make me suffer for your mistake."
"You haven't a very high opinion of my sense of justice," Anne said, withjust a tinge of reproach in her gentle voice.
"No," he said recklessly. "None whatever. You are sure to forget whofashioned the halo. Women always do."
Anne was silent.
He leaned suddenly towards her, careless of the chessmen that rolled inall directions. "I haven't been living up to the halo to-day," he said,and there was that in his voice
that touched her to quick pity. "I'vebeen snapping and biting like a wild beast all day long. I've been inhell myself, and I've made it hell wherever I went."
"Oh, but why?" Half involuntarily she held out her hand to him as one whowould assist a friend in deep waters.
He took it, held it closely, bowed his forehead upon it, and so sattensely silent.
"Something is wrong. I wish I could help you," she said at last.
He lifted his head, met her eyes of grave compassion, and abruptlyset her free.
"You have done what you could for me," he said. "You've made me hate myinferno. But you can't pull me out. You have"--she saw his teeth for asecond though scarcely in a smile--"other fish to fry."
"Whatever I am doing, I shall not forget my friends, Nap," she said, withgreat earnestness.
"No," he returned, "you won't forget them. I shouldn't wonder if youprayed for them even. I am sure you are one of the faithful." There wasmore of suppressed misery than irony in his voice. "But is that likely tohelp when you don't so much as know what to pray for?"
He got up and moved away from her with that noiseless footfall that wasso like the stealthy padding of a beast.
Anne lay and silently watched him. Her uncertainty regarding him had longsince passed away. Though she was far from understanding him, he hadbecome an intimate friend, and she treated him as such. True, he wasunlike any other man she had ever met, but that fact had ceased toembarrass her. She accepted him as he was.
He came back at length and sat down, smiling at her, thoughsomewhat grimly.
"You will pardon your poor jester," he said, "if he fails to make a jokeon your last night. He could make jokes--plenty of them, but not of thesort that would please you."
Anne said nothing. She would not, if she could help it, betray to anyhow much she was dreading the morrow. But she felt that he knew it inspite of her.
His next words revealed the fact. "You are going to purgatory," hesaid, "and I am going to perdition. Do you know, I sometimes wonder ifwe shouldn't do better to turn and fly in the face of the gods whenthey drive us too hard? Why do we give in when we've nothing to gainand all to lose?"
She met his look with her steadfast eyes. "Does duty count asnothing?" she said.
He made an impatient movement, and would have spoken, but shestopped him.
"Please don't rail at duty. I know your creed is pleasure, but thepursuit of pleasure does not, after all, bring happiness."
"Who wants pleasure?" demanded Nap fiercely. "That's only the anestheticwhen things get unbearable. You use duty in the same way. But what weboth want, what we both hanker for, starve for, is just life! Who caresif there is pain with it? I don't, nor do you. And yet we keep onstunting and stultifying ourselves with these old-fashioned remedies fora disease we only half understand, when we might have all the world andthen some. Oh, we're fools--we're fools!" His voice rang wildlypassionate. He flung out his arms as if he wrestled with something."We've been cheated for centuries of our birthright, and we still put upwith it, still bring our human sacrifices to an empty shrine!"
And there he broke off short, checked suddenly at the height of hisoutburst though she had made no second effort to stop him.
Her quiet eyes had not flinched from his. She had made no sign ofshrinking. With the utmost patience she had listened to him. Yet by somemeans intangible the fiery stream of his rebellion was stayed.
There fell a brief silence. Then he rose. "I am afraid I am not fit forcivilised society to-night," he said. "I will say good-bye." He held herhand for a moment. "You will let me see you sometimes?"
"I hope to come now and then to Baronmead," she answered quietly. "Butyou will not--please--come to the Manor again."
He looked down at her with eyes that had become inscrutable. "I shall notcome against your will," he said.
"Thank you," she answered simply.
And so he left her.
The Knave of Diamonds Page 13