She raised her head quickly. There were tears in her eyes. "Noel, how strange that you should say that!"
"Say what, dear?"
"That old song," she said rather incoherently. "It—it has memories for me—memories that hurt."
"What memories?" he asked.
But she could not tell him, and he passed the matter by.
The man in the conservatory drew back with his hands deep in his pockets, and went back by the way he had come.
CHAPTER XXVI
A FOOL'S ERRAND
Dr. Jim's expectations, so far as Olga was concerned, were fulfilled.
When he went back to Weir, she remained in town with Nick and Muriel.
But he did not go back alone. Will, Daisy, and Peggy went with him.
Daisy's love for Dr. Jim was almost as great as her love for Nick, and
Will had spent his boyhood under his care.
There was a cottage close to the doctor's house which Daisy had tenanted seven or eight years before when she had been obliged to come Home for her health and Will had been left behind in India. Dr. Jim had managed to secure this cottage a second time, and here they were soon installed with all the joy of exiles in an English spring.
"But we are not going to forego the honeymoon," Will said on their first evening, as he and Daisy stood together in the ivy-covered porch.
She laughed—that little laugh of hers half-gay, half-sad, that seemed like a reminiscence of more mirthful days. "Isn't this romantic enough for you?"
He slipped his arm about her waist. "I'm not altogether sure that I did right to let you come here," he said.
"Oh, nonsense!" She leaned her head against him with a very loving gesture. "I am not so morbid as that. I love to be here, and close to dear old Jim. He hasn't altered a bit. He is just as rugged—and as sweet—as ever."
Will laughed. "How you women, do love a masterful man!"
"Oh, not always," said Daisy. "There are certain forms of mastery in a man which to my mind are quite intolerable. Max Wyndham for instance!"
"What! You've still got your knife into him? I'm sorry for the man myself," said Will. "It must be—well, difficult, to say the least of it, to see his brother come home in possession of his girl and to keep smiling."
"He doesn't care!" said Daisy scathingly. "Geniuses haven't time to be human."
"I wonder," said Will.
He knew, and had never ceased to regret, his wife's share in the accomplishment of Max's discomfiture; and he fancied that secretly, her antipathy notwithstanding, she had begun to regret it also.
He changed the subject, and they went on to talk of Noel.
"Olga tells me that they think of operating next Sunday," Daisy said.
"How anxious she will be, poor girl! I am thankful she has Nick and
Muriel to take care of her. It has been a terrible time for her all
through."
"Poor child!" said Will compassionately.
He shrewdly suspected that the time that lay ahead of Olga would be harder to face than any she had yet experienced.
Olga herself had already begun to realize that. Noel's refusal to consider her suggestion had surprised and disappointed her. She had not anticipated his refusal, though she fully understood it and respected him for it. But it made matters infinitely more difficult for her. She longed for the time when Max's part should be done and he should have passed finally out of her life. Not that he intruded upon her in any way. He scarcely so much as glanced in her direction; but his very presence was a perpetual trial to her. She had a feeling that the green eyes were watching continually for some sign of weakness, even though they never looked her way.
Nick was a great comfort to her in those days, but she felt that even he did not wholly grasp the difficulties of the situation. He supported her indeed, but he did not realize precisely where lay the strain. And it was the same with Dr. Jim. He had accepted her engagement without demur after a gruff enquiry as to whether she loved the fellow. But he had not asked for any details, and had made no reference to her former engagement. She supposed that he found out all he wanted to know on this subject from Nick; and she was grateful for his forbearance, albeit, after a woman's fashion, slightly hurt by it.
She had not, however, much time for reflection of any sort during those first days in town. Noel occupied all her thoughts.
On the day before that fixed for the operation, he went into a private nursing-home. He was extremely cheery over all the preparations, and made himself exceedingly popular with his nurses before he had been more than a few hours in the place.
Even Max was somewhat surprised by the boy's fund of high spirits, and
Sir Kersley openly expressed his admiration.
"You Wyndhams are a very remarkable family," he said to Max that night.
Max smiled sardonically in recognition of the compliment. "But the boy has more backbone than I thought," he admitted. "I don't think he will give us much trouble after all, thanks to Olga."
"Ah!" Sir Kersley said. "You think this is due to her?"
"In a great measure," said Max.
Sir Kersley's face was grave. "I am afraid the strain is telling upon her," he said.
"You think she looks ill?" Max shot the question with none of his customary composure.
"No, not actually ill," Sir Kersley said, without looking at him. "But she is too thin in my opinion, and she looks to me very highly strung."
"She always was," said Max.
"Yes; well, she mustn't have a nervous break-down if we can prevent it," said Sir Kersley gently.
"No," Max agreed curtly. "She has got to keep up for Noel's sake."
That seemed to be his main idea just then—his brother's welfare. Very resolutely he kept his mind fixed, with all the strength of which it was capable, upon that one object, and he was impatient of every distraction outside his profession.
Late that night he went round for a last look at Noel, and was told by a smiling nurse that he had "gone to sleep as chirpy as a cricket." He went in to see him, and found him slumbering like an infant. The pulse under Max's fingers was absolutely normal, and an odd smile that had in it an element of respect touched Max's grim lips. Certainly the boy had grit.
The first sound he heard when he arrived at the home on the following day was Noel's heartiest laugh. He was enjoying a joke with one of the nurses who was Irish herself and extremely gay of heart. But the moment Max entered, he sobered and asked for Olga.
Olga was in the building with Nick, but they had thought it advisable to keep visitors away from him on the morning of the operation. Noel, however, was absolutely immovable on the point, refusing flatly to proceed until he had seen her. So for five short minutes Olga was admitted and left alone with him.
More than once during those minutes his cheery laugh made itself heard again. He had a hundred and one things to say, not one of which could Olga ever remember afterwards save the last, when, holding her close to him, he whispered, "And if I don't come out of it, sweetheart, you're to marry another fellow; see? No damn' sentimental rot on my account, mind! I never was good enough for you, God knows! There! Run along! Good-bye!"
His kiss was the briefest he had ever given her, but there was something in the manner of its bestowal that pierced her to the heart. Her own farewell was inarticulate. She was only just able to restrain her tears.
But she mastered her weakness almost immediately, for Max was waiting in the passage outside. He was talking to a nurse, and she would have slipped past him without recognition; but he broke off abruptly and joined her, walking back with her to the room where Nick was waiting.
"Look here!" he said, "I don't think you need be so anxious, I give you my word I believe the operation will be a success."
It was so contrary to his custom to express an opinion in this way that
Olga raised her eyes almost involuntarily to gaze at him.
His eyes met and held them instantly. He looked at her with a species of stern kindness that seemed to thrust away all painful memories.
"Even if it isn't a success," he said, "I won't let him die, I promise you. Now, will you follow my advice for once?"
"Yes," she murmured, wondering at her own docility.
He smiled upon her with instant approval, and her heart gave a wild leap that almost made her gasp. "That's wise of you," he said in that voice of cool encouragement that she remembered so well—so well! "Then get Nick to take you for a walk that'll last for an hour and a half. Go and look at the frogs in the Serpentine! Awfully interesting things—frogs! And have a glass of milk before you start! Good-bye!"
Strong and steady, his hand closed upon hers, gave it a slight admonitory shake and set it free.
The next moment he had turned and was striding back along the corridor.
Olga stood and watched him out of sight, but he did not turn his head.
* * * * *
The search for frogs in the Serpentine was scarcely as engrossing a pastime as Nick could have desired for the amusement of his charge on that sunny April morning, but he did his valiant best to keep her thoughts on the move. He compelled her to talk when she yearned to be silent, and again in a vague, disjointed fashion Olga wondered at his lack of penetration. Yet, since he was actually obtuse enough to misunderstand her preoccupation and to be even mildly hurt thereby, she exerted herself for his sake to respond intelligently to his remarks. So, with cheery indifference on his part and aching suspense on hers, they passed that dreadful interval of waiting.
On the return journey Olga's knees shook so much that they would scarcely support her; and then it was that Nick seemed suddenly to awake to the situation. He gave her a swift glance, and abruptly offered his arm.
"There, kiddie, there!" he said softly. "Keep a stiff upper lip! It's nearly over."
She accepted his help in silence, and in silence they pursued their way. Nick looked at her no more, nor spoke. His lips were twitching a little, but he showed no other sign of feeling.
So they came at last to the tall building behind its iron railings that hid so many troubles from the world.
The door opened to them, and they went within.
Silence and a curious, clinging perfume met them as they entered.
Olga stood still. She was white to the lips. "Nick," she said, in a voiceless whisper, "Nick, that is—the pain-killer!"
And then, very quietly from a room close by, Max came to them. He glanced at Nick and nodded. There was an odd, exultant look in the green eyes. He took Olga's hands very firmly into his own.
"It's all right," he said.
She stared at him, trying to make her white lips form a question.
"It's all right," he said again. "Well over. As satisfactory as it could possibly be. Now don't be silly!" Surely it was the Max of old times speaking! "Pull up while you can! Come in here and sit down for a minute! I am going to take you to see him directly."
That last remark did more towards restoring Olga's self-control than any of the preceding ones. She went with him submissively, making strenuous efforts to preserve her composure. She even took without a murmur the wineglass of sal volatile with which he presented her.
Max stood beside her, still holding one of her hands, his fingers grasping her wrist, and talked over her head to Nick.
"Absolutely normal in every way. Came round without the least trouble. He'll be on his legs again in a fortnight. Of course we shan't turn him loose for a month, and he will have to live in the dark. But he ought to be absolutely sound in six weeks from now."
"And—he will see?" whispered Olga.
Max bent and laid her hand down. He looked at her closely for a moment. "Yes," he said. "There is no reason why he shouldn't make a complete recovery. Are you all right now? I promised to let him have a word with you."
She stood up. "Yes, I am quite all right. Let us go!"
Her knees still felt weak, but she steadied them resolutely. They went out side by side.
In silence Max piloted her. When they reached the darkened room he took her hand again and led her forward. The cheerful Irish nurse was at the bedside, but she drew away at their approach. And Olga found herself standing above a swathed, motionless figure in hushed expectancy of she knew not what.
The hand that held hers made as if to withdraw itself, but she clung to it suddenly and convulsively, and it closed again.
"All right," said Max's leisurely tones. "He's a bit sleepy still.
Noel!" He bent, still holding her hand. "I've brought Olga, old chap, as
I promised. Say good-night to her, won't you?"
The voice was the voice of Max Wyndham, but its tenderness seemed to rend her heart. She could have wept for the pain of it, but she knew she must not weep.
The figure in the bed stirred, murmured an incoherent apology, seemed to awake.
"Oh, is Olga there?" said Noel drowsily. "Take care of her, Max, old boy! Make her as happy as you can! She's awfully—fond—of you—though I'm not—supposed—to know."
The voice trailed off, sank into unconsciousness. Max's hand had tightened to a hard grip. He straightened himself and spoke, coldly, grimly.
"He isn't quite himself yet. I'm afraid I've brought you on a fool's errand. You can kiss him if you like. He probably won't know."
But Olga could not. She turned from the bed with the gesture of one who could bear no more, and without further words he led her from the room.
CHAPTER XXVII
LOVE MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE
"I've been prayin' for you, dear Noel," said Peggy importantly, with her arms round her hero's neck.
"Have you, though?" said Noel. "I say, little pal, how decent of you!
How often?"
"Ever so many times," said Peggy. "Every mornin', every evenin', and after grace besides."
"By Jove!" said Noel. "What did you say?"
"I said," Peggy swelled with triumph, "'Lighten Noel's darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord!'"
"Why, that's what I said!" ejaculated Noel.
"Did you?" cried Peggy excitedly. "Did you really? Oh, Noel, then that's how it was, isn't it?"
"Quite so," said Noel.
He sat on the sofa in Daisy's little drawing-room with his small playfellow on his knee. They had not seen each other for six weeks. And in those weeks Noel had been transformed from a blind man to a man who saw, albeit through thick blue spectacles that emphasized the pallor of illness to such an alarming degree that Daisy had almost wept over him at sight.
Peggy, more practical in her sympathy, had gathered him straightway to her small but ardent bosom, and refused to let him go.
So they sat in the drawing-room tightly locked and related to each other all the doings of their separation.
"I wonder you're not afraid of me in these hideous goggles," Noel said once.
To which Peggy replied with indignation. "I'm not a baby!"
"And Olga has gone to Brethaven, has she?" he asked presently.
"Yes," said Peggy wisely. "Dr. Jim said she must have some sea air to make her fat again. So Captain Nick came yesterday and took her away. And d'you know," said Peggy, "I'm goin' there too very soon?"
"What ho!" said Noel. "Are they going to let you stay there all by yourself?"
Peggy nodded. "Daddy and Mummy are goin' away all by theirselves, so I'm goin' away all by myself."
"And who's going to slap you and put you to bed when you're naughty?"
Noel enquired rudely. "Nick?"
"No!" said Peggy, affronted, "Captain Nick's a gentleman!"
"Is he though? Nasty snub for Noel Wyndham Esquire!" observed Noel. "Sorry, Peggy! Then unless Mrs. Nick rises nobly to the occasion, I'm afraid you'll go unslapped. Dear, dear! What a misfortune! I shall have to come down now and then and see what I can do."
Peggy embraced him again ecstatically at this suggestion. "Yes, dear
Noel, yes! Come often, won't you?"
"Rather!" said Noel cheerily. "I believe I'm going to be married some time soon by the way," he added as an afterthought.
Peggy's face fell. "Oh, Noel, not really!"
"Why not really?" said Noel.
Peggy explained with a little quiver in her voice. "You did always say that when I was growed up you'd marry me."
"Oh, is that all?" said Noel. "That's easily done. I'll get permission to have two. Whom does one ask? The Pope, isn't it? I'll go and cultivate his acquaintance on my honeymoon."
"What's a honeymoon?" said Peggy.
Noel burst into his merriest laugh and sprang to his feet. "It's the nicest thing in the world. I'll tell you all about it when we're married, Peg-top! Meantime, will you take me to see the great Dr. Jim? I want to inveigle him into lending me his motor."
"Oh, are you goin' to Brethaven?" asked Peggy eagerly. "Take me! Do, dear Noel!"
"What for?" said Noel.
"Reggie lives there," said Peggy. "And Reggie's got some rabbits—big, white ones."
"But suppose they don't want you?" objected Noel.
"S'pose they don't want you?" countered Peggy, clinging ingratiatingly to his hand. "Then—you can come and play with me and the rabbits—and Reggie."
Noel stooped very suddenly and kissed her. "What an excellent idea, Peg-top!" he said. "There's nothing more useful when the road is blocked than to secure a good line of retreat."
Peggy looked up at him with puzzled eyes, but she did not ask him what he meant.
* * * * *
It was on that same afternoon that Olga found herself wandering along the tiny glen in the Redlands grounds that had been her favourite resort in childhood. It was only two days since she had left town, urged thereto by Dr. Jim who insisted that she had been there too long already. Nick, moreover, who had patiently chaperoned her for the past five weeks, was wanting to rejoin his wife who had returned to Redlands soon after Noel's operation. And Noel himself, though still undergoing treatment at his brother's hands, had so far recovered as to be able to leave the home and take up his abode temporarily with Sir Kersley Whitton and Max. He had cheerily promised to follow her in a day or two; and Olga, persuaded on all sides, had yielded without much resistance though not very willingly. She had a curious reluctance to return to her home. Something—that hovering phantom that she had almost forgotten—had arisen once more to menace her peace. And she was afraid; she knew not wherefore.
She was happier in Noel's society than in any other. To see him daily growing stronger was her one unalloyed pleasure, and, curiously, when with him she was never so acutely conscious of that chill shadow. Of Max she saw practically nothing. He was always busy, almost too busy to notice her presence, it seemed—a fact that hurt her vaguely even while it gave her relief.
There was another fact that imparted the same kind of miserable comfort, and that was that Noel, though impetuous and loving as ever, never made any but the most casual allusions to their marriage. She could only conclude that he was waiting to make a complete recovery, and she would not herself broach the subject a second time. She did not actually want him to speak, but it grieved her a little that he did not do so. She did not for a moment doubt his love, but she felt that she did not possess the whole of his confidence, and the feeling made her vaguely uneasy. She had been so ready to give all that he had desired. How was it he was slow to take?
These thoughts were running persistently in her mind as she moved along the edge of the stream. It was a day in the end of May, fragrant with many perfumes, crystallized with spring sunshine—such a day as she would have revelled in only last year. Only last year! How many things had happened since then! She was almost afraid to think.
There came the sound of feet on the drive above, and a cracked voice hailed her. "Hullo, Olga mia! How are you amusing yourself?"
She looked up with a smile. Last year she would have sprung to meet him; but she seemed to have outgrown all her impulsiveness lately. She moved to meet him indeed, but he was at her side before she had moved a couple of yards.
He caught her hand in his, and drew her to the water's edge. His eyes flickered over her and went beyond.
"Hullo! There goes the green dragon-fly!" he said.
She looked round startled. "Oh, Nick, where?"
"Gone away!" said Nick unconcernedly. "He'll come back again, I'll wager. What's the programme for this morning, kiddie? Anything special?"
"Nothing," said Olga.
Again rapidly his eyes comprehended her. "I'm going up to the Priory myself," he announced unexpectedly. "Care to come?"
She started again, coloured, then went very white. "I—don't know,
Nick," she faltered.
"Might as well, dear," said Nick persuasively. "There's no one there. Did I tell you about the landslip? There was a bad one last February, and the old place is beginning to crack in all directions. It's been condemned as unsafe, and Campion is going to clear out bag and baggage. He hasn't lived there, you know, since last summer. They've taken to travelling. Wouldn't you like to come and see it once more before it is dismantled?"
Olga was standing very still. She did not seem to be breathing; only the hand Nick had taken vibrated in his hold.
"Don't come if you don't like!" he said. "But it's your last chance. They are going to start clearing it to-morrow. I've got to go myself to fetch poor old Cork. You remember Cork? Campion has handed him over to me."
Yes, Olga remembered Cork. She drew in a deep breath and spoke. "Dear old dog! I'm glad you are going to have him. Yes, Nick, I'll come. But is the place really doomed? What will happen to it?"
"It will probably fall in first," said Nick, "and the next big landslide it will go over the cliff."
"How—dreadful!" said Olga, and added half to herself, "Violet was wondering only that morning if she would—would—live to see it."
"Ah!" said Nick. He was leading her through the glen that led down to the shore. "It was bound to happen some time," he said, "but they didn't think it would be so soon."
Olga went with him as one moving in a dream, submitting though not of her own conscious volition.
Nick said no more. He had chosen the shortest route, and his main object was to accomplish the distance without disturbing her thoughts.
They came out at length upon the shore, where the stream from the glen gurgled and fell in bubbling cascades into its channel on the beach. The sun poured full over a sea of blue and purple, threaded with silvery pathways here and there.
Olga paused for a moment, as it were instinctively, because from her earliest childhood she had always paused in just that spot to drink in the beauty of the scene.
Nick waited beside her, alert but patient. When she turned along the beach, he turned also, walking close to her over the stones, saying no word.
They came to the hollow in the rocks where she and Violet had rested on that summer morning, and again Olga paused with her face to the sea. A curious little spasm passed across it as she looked. Far away a white sail floated over the blue, and the cries of circling gulls came to them over the water. There was no other sound but the long, long roar of the sea.
Again, in utter silence, Olga turned, pursuing her way. They reached the cliff-path that still remained intact, and began to climb.
The way was steep, but she did not seem aware of it. Nick, lithe and agile, followed her step for step. His yellow face was full of anxious wrinkles. He looked neither to right nor left, watching her only.
Olga never paused in the ascent. She went unswervingly, as though drawn by some magnetic force above. Reaching the summit of the cliff, she turned at once from the Redlands ground, and struck across towards the boundary of the Priory. Nick fell into pace beside her again, vigilant as an eagle guarding its young in the first terrifying flight, not offering help, but ready to give it at the first sign of weakness.
But Olga gave no such sign. Only as they came in sight of the old grey building, standing stark and gaunt above them, she uttered a sudden sigh that seemed to break from her in spite of rigid restraint. And a moment later she quickened her pace.
They passed at length around a buttressed corner and so on to the yew-lined drive that led to the front of the house. The Gothic archway gaped wide to the spring sunshine. Olga came swiftly to it, and there stood suddenly still.
"Nick!" she said. "Nick!"
Her voice was vibrant, her eyes widely staring into the gloom within.
He slipped his arm about her, that wiry arm of great strength that had served her so often. "I am here, darling," he said soothingly.
Olga turned to him in piteous appeal. "Nick," she whispered, "where is she? Where? Where?"
He answered her steadfastly, with the absolute conviction of one who knew. "She is there beyond the Door, dear. You'll find her some day, waiting for you where it is given to all of us to wait for those we love."
But Olga only trembled at his words. "What door, Nick?" she asked. "Do you—do you mean Death?"
"We call it Death," he said.
She scarcely heard his answer. She was shaking from head to foot. "Oh,
Nick," she gasped, "I'm frightened—I'm frightened! I daren't go on!"
His arm encircled her more strongly still. He almost lifted her forward over the threshold into the cold and gloomy hall. "Don't be frightened, darling! I'm with you," he said.
She would have hung back, but her strength was gone. She tottered weakly whither he led. In a moment she was sitting on the old oak chest with her face to the sunshine, just as she had sat on that golden afternoon when she had come to summon Violet to her aid.
She covered her face and shivered. Surely the place was haunted—haunted! In a grim procession memories began to crowd upon her. With shrinking vision she beheld, and all the while Nick stood beside her, holding her hand, sustaining even while he compelled.
"Do you remember?" he said, and again, as she shrank and quivered, "Do you remember?"
There was something ruthless about him during those moments, something she had never encountered before, something against which she knew she would oppose herself in vain. For the first time she saw the man as he was, felt the colossal strength of him, quivered beneath his mastery. He was forcing her towards an obstacle from which every racked nerve winced in horror. He was driving her, and he meant to drive her, into conflict with a force that threatened to overwhelm her utterly.
"Oh, let me go, Nick! Let me go!" she cried in agonized entreaty. "It's more than I can bear."
He knelt beside her; he held her close. "Darling," he said, "face it—face it just this once! It's for your own peace of mind I'm doing it."
And then she knew that no cry of hers would move him. He was ready to help her—if he could; but he would not suffer her to flee before that dread procession that had begun to wind like a fiery serpent through her brain. So, in a quivering anguish of spirit such as she had never before known, she sat and faced it, faced the advancing phantom from the shadowy presence of which she had so often shrunk appalled. And the beat of her heart rose up in the silence above the sound of the sea till she thought the mad race of it would kill her.
Slowly the seconds throbbed away, the torture swept towards her. She was as one who, fascinated, watches a forest-fire while he waits to be engulfed.
Presently, from the shadows behind, the great dog Cork came like a ghost and gave them stately welcome. He licked Olga's quivering hands, standing beside her in earnest solicitude.
Nick rose to his feet and moved a little away. His hand was hard clenched against his side. He could not help, it seemed. He could only look on in impotence, while she suffered.
Slowly at last Olga raised her head and looked at him with tragic eyes. Her face was white and strained, but she had in a measure regained her self-control.
"I am going upstairs," she said, "just for a little while. Don't come with me, Nick! Wait for me! Wait for me!"
She rose with the words, swayed a little, then recovered herself, and, with her hand on Cork's head, moved slowly away down the great hall.
Dumbly Nick stood and watched the slim young figure with the wolf-hound pacing gravely beside it. At the end, immediately below the east window, she paused, and he saw her drawn face upraised to the dreadful picture above her; then, still slowly, she turned, and, with the dog, passed out of sight under the southern archway.
For a long, long space he waited in the utter stillness. He had faced a good many difficulties in his life and endured a good many adversities, but this thing stood by itself, unique in his experience, with a pain that was all its own. He would have given much to have gone with her, to have held her up while the storm raged round her, to have borne with her that which, it seemed, she could only bear alone. But, since this was denied him, he could only wait with set teeth while his little pal went through that fiery trial of hers, wait and picture her agonizing in solitude, wait till she should come back to him with all the gladness gone for ever from her eyes,—a woman who could never be young again.
Slowly the minutes dragged on till half an hour had passed. He fell to pacing up and down in a fever of anxiety. Would she never come back? She had begged him to wait for her, but he began to feel he could not wait any longer. The suspense was becoming intolerable.
Desperately he marked another quarter of an hour crawl by leaden-footed, moment by moment. And still she did not come. He went for the last time to the open door and looked forth restlessly. The warmth of the spring sunshine spread everywhere like a benediction. It was only within those walls of crumbling stone that it found no place. A sudden shiver went through him. He turned abruptly inwards. She should not stay alone in the vault-like solitude any longer. Surely anything—anything—must be better for her than that!
With quick strides he went down the old dim hall that once had been the chapel of the monks, turned sharply through the second archway, and approached the staircase beyond. And then very suddenly he stopped. For there above him at the open staircase-window that looked upon the sea stood Olga.
The afternoon sunshine streamed in upon her, and she seemed to be stretching out her hands to it, basking in the generous glow. Her face was upturned to the splendour. Her eyes were closed.
For a moment or two Nick stood narrowly watching her, then as suddenly as he had come he withdrew. For Olga's lips were moving, and it seemed to him that she was no longer alone….
He went back to the porch and stood in the sunshine waiting with renewed patience.
Ten minutes later a moist nose nozzled its way into his hand. He looked down into Cork's eyes of faithful friendliness. Then, hearing a light footfall, he turned. Olga had come back to him at last.
Straight to him she came, moving swiftly. Her face was still pale and very wan, but the strained look had utterly passed away. Her eyes sought his with fearless confidence, and Nick's heart gave a jerk of sheer relief. He had expected tragedy, and he beheld—peace.
She reached him. She laid her hands upon his shoulders. A tremulous smile hovered about her lips. "Nick—Nick darling," she said, "why—why—why didn't you tell me all this long ago?"
He stood before her dumb with astonishment. For once he was utterly and completely at a loss.
She slipped her hand through his arm, and drew him out. "Let us go into the sun!" she said. And then, as the glow fell around them, "Oh, Nick, I'm so thankful that I know the truth at last!"
"Are you, dear?" he said. "Well, I certainly think it is time you knew it now."
"I ought to have known it sooner," she said. "Why did you—you and
Max—let me believe—a lie?"
He hesitated momentarily. "We thought it would be easier for you than the truth," he said then.
"You mean Max thought so," she said quickly. "You didn't, Nick!"
"Perhaps not," he admitted.
"I'm sure you didn't," she said. "You know me better than that." Again she stood still in the sunshine, lifting her face to the glory. "Love conquers so many things," she said.
"All things," put in Nick quickly.
She looked at him again. "I don't know about all things, Nick," she said.
"I have proved it," he said.
She shook her head slowly. "But I haven't." She passed from the subject as if it were one she could not bear to discuss openly. "What made you think the truth would hurt me so, I wonder? It was only the first great shock I couldn't bear. That nearly killed me. But now that it is over—and I can see clearly again—Nick, tell me,—as her friend—her only friend—could I have done anything else?"
Nick was silent. He had asked himself the same question many times, and had not found an answer.
"Nick," she said pleadingly, "none but a friend could have done it. It was—an act of love."
"I know it was," he said.
"And yet you blame me?" Her voice was low, full of the most earnest entreaty.
"You blamed Max," he pointed out.
"Oh, but Max didn't love her!" He heard a note of quick pain in her voice. "Oh, don't you see," she said, "how love makes all the difference? Surely that was what St. Paul meant when he said that love was the fulfilling of the law. Nick, you must agree with me in this. It was utterly hopeless. Think of it! Think of it! If she had been living now!" A sudden hard shiver went through her. "Nick, if I had been in her place—wouldn't you have done the same for me?"
"I don't know," he said.
But she clung to him more closely. "You do know, dear! You do know!"
And then Nick did a strange, impulsive thing. He suddenly flung down his reserve and bared to her his inmost soul.
"Yes, Olga mia, I do know," he said. "I would have done the same for you. I nearly did the same for Muriel when we were in a tight corner long ago at Wara. But whether it's right or whether it's wrong, God alone can judge. It may be we take too much upon us, or it may be He means us to do it. That is what I have never yet decided. But I solemnly believe with you that love makes all the difference. Love is the one extenuating circumstance which He will recognize and pass. It isn't the outward appearance that counts. It's just the heart of things."
He stopped. Olga was listening with earnest attention, her pale face rapt. For a moment, as he ceased to speak, their eyes met, and between them there ran the old electric current of sympathy, re-connected and entire.
"Oh, Nick," she said, "you never fail me! You always understand!"
But Nick shook his head in whimsical denial. "No, not always, believe me,—being but a man. But I've learnt to hide my ignorance by taking the difficult bits for granted. For instance, I didn't expect you to take this thing so sensibly. If I had, I should have acted very differently long ago."
"Do you call me sensible, Nick?" she said, with a wistful smile.
"Not in all respects, dear," said Nick. "But you have shown more sense than I expected on this occasion."
"Did you expect me to be very badly upset?" she asked. "Nick, shall I tell you something? You'll think me fanciful perhaps. Yet I don't know. Very likely you will understand. I've had a feeling for such a long, long time that she—that Violet—was calling to me, and I could never hear what she wanted to say. To-day—at last—I have been in touch with her, and I know that all is well." She turned her face up to the sun again, speaking with closed eyes. "I know that she is safe. I know that she is happy. And—Nick—Nick—" her voice thrilled on the words—"I know that she loves me still."
Nick bared his head with reverence. His face was strangely moved, but the restless eyes were steadfast as he made reply: "That, dear, is just the Omnipotence of Love. You can't explain it. It's too great a thing to grasp. You can only feel the pull of the everlasting Chain that binds us to those beyond."
"It is wonderful," she whispered, "wonderful!"
"It is Divine," said Nick.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A SOLDIER AND A GENTLEMAN
When Nick returned to Redlands, he was alone. Olga had gone down again to the shore. She wanted to be by herself a little longer, she said. He didn't mind? No, Nick minded nothing, so long as all went well with her; and, on her promise that all should be well, he left her with Cork for guardian.
He went back to Redlands over the cliffs, entering his own grounds by a low wire fence, and thence turning inwards towards the garden. The sounds of gay voices reached him as he approached, and he speedily found himself caught in a lively ambush that consisted of Peggy, Reggie, and Noel. He naturally fled for his life, but was overtaken by the latter and held down while the two accomplices rifled his pockets. By the rules of the game all coppers found therein were confiscated, and this regulation having been duly observed, the prisoner was allowed to sit up and converse with his principal captor while the rest of the gang divided the spoils.
"Have a cigarette?" said Noel.
"Thanks! Mighty generous of you!" Nick righted his tumbled attire and accepted the proffered weed. "If it isn't a rude question, what are you doing here?"
Noel's eyes laughed across at him gaily through the blue spectacles. "I should have thought you might have guessed that I'm spending a night or two with the Musgraves, but I am under a solemn oath to return to Max by noon on Friday in order to have another dose of some infernal stuff with which he is peppering my eyes. He didn't much want me to come away, as it meant postponing the torture for a few hours. But I managed to get on the soft side of him for once, though he is holding himself in preparation for an immediate summons in case my vision should take advantage of my absence from him to play any nasty tricks."
"I see," said Nick. "And how is the vision?"
"Oh, all right, so far as it goes. Gives me beans upon occasion, for which Max always swears at me as if it were my fault. I'm not allowed to see by artificial light at all, so after sunset I join the bats. Lucky for me the sun sits up late just now. By the way, I had a positively gushing epistle from old Badgers this morning. He seems almost hysterical at the thought of getting me back again; says that married or single, I've got to go." Noel stopped to take in a long breath of smoke; then, very abruptly, "Where's Olga?" he demanded.
Nick nodded in the direction whence he had come. "Down on the shore."
Noel was on his feet in a second. "All right. You can be nurse for a bit now. See you later!"
He would have swung away with the words, but Nick had also risen, and with a swift word he detained him. "I say, Noel!"
Noel stopped. "Hullo!"
"Look here!" said Nick rapidly. "She isn't wanting anyone just yet. We
have just been to the Priory, she and I—in accordance with Sir
Kersley's advice, of which I told you. She is having a quiet think.
Don't disturb her!"
Noel stood still. He had stiffened somewhat at the words, but there was no dismay discernible about him. He faced that which had to be faced without flinching.
"You mean she knows?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," said Nick. "But I didn't tell her."
"Did she remember, then?"
"Yes. It all came back to her."
"What effect did it have? Was she—is she very badly upset?" The sharp falter in the words betrayed more than the speaker knew.
Nick turned away from him, grinding his heel into the turf. "No. She took it remarkably quietly on the whole—seemed relieved to know the truth."
"And Max—did she mention him?"
"Yes. She seemed glad to know that he was not responsible, but rather hurt that he had thought it necessary to concoct a lie for her benefit."
"Exactly what I should have felt myself," said Noel. He paused a moment; then: "It was decent of you to let me into that secret," he observed.
"Oh, that was Sir Kersley's doing." Nick still spoke with his back half-turned. "He tackled me on the subject, said you ought to know, but that Max was averse to it. Then I told him why. It seems that he hadn't the vaguest notion till then as to why the engagement was broken off."
Noel nodded. "Just like Max! He's a bit too clever sometimes. Well, what did he say when he knew?"
"He said that if Max wouldn't take the responsibility of setting matters right, he would. And he advised me to tell you everything straight away; which I did," said Nick, "at peril of my life. I don't know how Max will take it, but it will doubtless be on my devoted head that his wrath will descend."
"You'll survive that," said Noel. "But look here! Tell me more about
Olga! Wasn't she horribly shocked—just at first?"
"It was touch and go," said Nick. "I followed Sir Kersley's advice throughout. He didn't want me to tell her outright, and I didn't. The whole thing came to her gradually. Yes, it was a bit of a strain to begin with. But she has come through it all right. Give her time to settle, and I don't think she will be any the worse."
"I see," said Noel. He relaxed very suddenly, and passed a boyishly familiar arm around Nick's shoulders. "Well, that cooks my goose, quite effectually, doesn't it? Lucky it's come to me gradually too. I shouldn't have relished it all in a lump. The only person who is going to have a shock over this little business is Max. And you'll admit he deserves one."
"What are you going to do?" asked Nick.
"Do? Send him a wire of course."
"Who? Max?"
"Yes, Max. And I shall say, 'Come at once. Urgent. Noel.' That'll fetch him," said Noel with a twinkle. "He's making a speciality of me just now. He ought to be here before eight."
"And what about Olga?"
"Leave Olga to me!" said Noel.
Nick glanced up at him, and abruptly did so. "You're a sportsman, my son," he observed affectionately. "But to return to Max, doesn't it occur to you that it may not be precisely convenient for him to come posting down here at a moment's notice? He's an important man, remember."
But Noel here displayed a touch of his old imperious spirit. "Who the devil cares for Max?" he demanded. "He's just got to come; and if he doesn't like it, he can go hang. Surely a fellow may be permitted to settle who is to be asked to his own funeral!"
"Oh, if you put it like that—" said Nick.
"Well, it is like that; see?" There was a comic touch to Noel's tragedy notwithstanding, and Nick divined with a satisfaction that he was careful to conceal that the rôle he had taken upon himself was not altogether distasteful to him. The funeral arrangements obviously had their attractive side.
"Well, my boy, fix it up as you think best!" he said, giving him as ample a squeeze as his one arm could compass. "You're a soldier and a gentleman, and whatever you do will have my full approval."
"What ho!" said Noel, highly gratified.
They parted then, going their several ways. Noel to send his message, Nick in pursuit of the two children. And so the rest of the afternoon wore away.
Muriel had tea laid in the old oak-panelled dining-room, and thither Nick presently marshalled his charges, to find his wife serenely waiting for them in solitude.
"Hasn't Olga come in yet?" he asked.
"Yes, dear, some time ago. But she looked so tired, poor child!" said Muriel. "I persuaded her to go up to her room and lie down. She has had some tea."
"She will be all right?" asked Nick quickly.
"I think so. She looks quite worn out. She seems to need a sleep more than anything," said Muriel.
He gave her a quick look. "You saw Noel?"
"Yes. He came in and talked for a few minutes after he left you. He seems a very nice boy." A faint smile touched Muriel's lips.
Nick laughed, pulling her hand round his neck as she brought him his tea. "Lost your heart to him, eh? It's quite the usual thing to do. Where has he gone?"
"He came over in Jim's motor, and has gone away in it again. He didn't say where he was going."
"Gone away without me!" ejaculated Peggy in consternation.
"He'll come back again, my chicken. Don't you worry!" said Nick. "Here!
Have a jam sandwich!"
"I want Noel," said Peggy. "Where is Noel?"
"He has gone out on business," said Nick. "Which reminds me," he added to Muriel. "His brother Max will probably be here this evening to spend the night."
"Max!"
"Yes. Don't mention it upstairs! Noel is pulling the wires, so be prepared for anything."
"What wires is Noel pullin'?" Peggy wanted to know.
"Telegraph wires," said Reggie brightly.
"Yes, telegraph wires," chuckled Nick. "I think I'll just go up for a second, Muriel. I shan't wake her up if she's asleep."
He was gone with the words, swift and noiseless as a bird on the wing, and five seconds later was scratching very softly at Olga's door.
Her voice bade him enter immediately, and he went in.
She was lying on her bed, but the blind was up and the windows wide. She held out her arms to him.
"Nick—darling!"
"Ever yours to command!" said Nick. He went to her, stooping while the arms wound round his neck.
She held him tightly. "Nick," she whispered, "is Noel still here?"
"No, darling. Do you want him?"
She drew a sharp breath. "I—I'm afraid I—dodged him a little while ago. I simply couldn't meet him just then. Has he been looking for me? Did he wonder where I was?"
"Don't think so," said Nick. "He was playing with the kids. He is spending a couple of nights with the Musgraves, and he brought Peggy over."
"And he has gone again?" Faint wonder sounded in her voice.
"Only temporarily. He wanted to send a message to someone from the post-office; but he is coming back—presumably—for Peggy."
"I see." She was silent for a few moments, and Nick sat down on the edge of the bed. "Nick," she said at length, speaking with obvious effort, "will he—will he be very hurt, do you think, if—if I don't see him to-day?"
"Shouldn't say so, darling," said Nick.
She slipped her hand into his. "I've got to do a lot of thinking, Nick," she said rather piteously.
"Can I help?" said Nick.
She shook her head with a quivering smile. "No, dear. It's a—it's a one-man job. But, if you don't mind, tell Noel I'm rather tired, but I'll come over to Weir in the morning. I'm going to tell him everything," she ended, squeezing his hand very tightly.
"Quite right, dear," said Nick.
"Yes, but—before I tell him—I want to—to write to Max." Olga's voice was very low. "I must put things right with him first. I must ask him to forgive me."
"Forgive you, sweetheart!"
"Yes, for—for being very unkind to him." Olga's lips quivered again, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "I feel as if—as if I've been running into things in the dark, and doing a lot of harm," she said. "Of course everything is quite over—quite over—between us. He will understand that. But I want—I want to be friends with him—if—he—will let me. Nick dear, that's all. Hadn't you better go and have your tea?"
"And leave you to weep?" said Nick, with his face screwed up. "No, I don't think so."
"I'm not going to," she assured him. "I'm going to be—awfully sensible.
Really I am. Kiss me, Nick darling, and go!"
He bent over her. "You mustn't cry," he urged pathetically.
She clasped him close. "No, I won't! I won't! Nick—dearest, you're the very sweetest man in the world. I always have thought so, and I always shall. There!"
"Ah, well, it's a comparatively harmless illusion," said Nick, with his quizzical grimace. "I'll endeavour to live up to it. Sure you want me to go?"
"Yes. You must go, dear. I'm sure Muriel is wanting you. I've monopolized you long enough. You—you'll tell Noel, won't you? Is he all right?"
"At the very top of his form," said Nick.
She smiled. "I'm so very glad. Give him my love, Nick, my—my best love."
"I will," said Nick. He stood up. "He's a fine chap—Noel," he said. "He deserves the best, and I hope—some day—he'll get it."
With which enigmatical remark, he wheeled and left her.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE MAN'S POINT OF VIEW
That letter to Max was perhaps the hardest task that Olga had ever undertaken. She spent the greater part of three hours over it, oblivious of everything else; and then, close upon the dinner-hour, tore up all previous efforts in despair and scribbled a brief, informal note that was curiously reminiscent of one she had written once in a moment of impulsive penitence and pinned inside his hat.
"Dear Max," it ran, "I want to tell you that everything has come back to me, and I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me and let us be friends for the future? Yours, Olga."
This letter she addressed and stamped and took downstairs with her, laying it upon the hall-table to be posted. Thence she passed on to the library to find a book she wanted.
The glow of sunset met her on the threshold, staying the hand she raised to the electric switch. She moved slowly through the dying light to the window and stood before it motionless, gazing forth into the glory. It poured around her in a rosy splendour, lighting her pale, tired face. For several minutes she stood drinking in the beauty of it, with a feeling at her heart as of unshed tears.
Then at last with a long sigh she slowly turned, and moved across to a row of bookshelves. Perhaps there was light enough for her purpose after all. She began to search along the backs of the books with her face close to them.
"Are you looking for Farrow's Treatise on Party Government by any chance?" asked a leisurely voice behind her.
She sprang round as if a gun had been discharged in the room. She stared widely, feeling back against the bookshelves for support.
He was lounging on the edge of the table immediately facing her—a square strong figure, with hands in his pockets, the red light of the sunset turning his hair to fire.
"Because if you are," he continued, a note of grim humour in his voice, "I'm afraid you won't find it—to-night. What's the matter with you, fair lady? You don't seem quite pleased to see me."
"I am pleased," she whispered. "I am pleased."
But her voice was utterly gone. Her throat worked spasmodically. She put up both hands to it as if she were choking.
He stood up abruptly and came to her. He took her hands and drew them gently away. "I shall begin to think I'm bad for you if you do that," he said. "What's the matter, child? Did I frighten you?"
"No!" she whispered back. "No! It was only—only—"
"Only—" he said. "Look here! You mustn't cry. It's one better than fainting, I admit; but I'm not going to let you do either if I can help it. Come over here to the window!"
He led her unresisting, one steady arm upholding her.
"Do you know," he said, "a curious thing happened just now? I'd only been in the house twenty minutes or so when, coming downstairs to look for you, I discovered a letter in the hall addressed to me. I took the liberty of opening and reading it, in spite of the fact that it was plainly intended for the post." He paused. "I thought that would make you angry," he observed, looking down at her critically.
She uttered a desperate little laugh and tried to disengage herself from his arm. "No, I'm glad you've got it," she said rather breathlessly.
"It was a very silly letter," remarked Max, calmly frustrating the attempt. "It didn't say half it might have said, and what it did say wasn't to the point."
"Yes, it was," she maintained quickly. "It—it—I meant to say just that."
"Then all I can say is that you have quite missed the crux of the situation," said Max. "Why are you very, very sorry? Why do you want me to forgive you? And why in the name of wonder do you suggest that we should become friends when you know that we are so constituted as to be incapable of being anything but the dearest of enemies?"
He looked down again suddenly into her quivering, averted face. "Still I shall value that letter," he said, "if only as a sample of the sweet unreasonableness of women. Are you still very sorry, Olga?"
She moved at the utterance of her name, moved and made a more decided effort to free herself.
"Not a bit of good," said Max. "Don't you know I'm waiting for the kiss of peace?"
"I can't!" she protested swiftly. "I can't!"
"Can't what?" said Max.
Her lips were trembling, but she shed no tears. He seemed in some magic fashion to keep her from that.
"I can't kiss you, Max, really—really!" she said.
"Why not?" said Max.
She was silent, but he persisted, still holding her pressed to him.
"Tell me why not! Is it because you don't want to Or you think you ought not to? Or because you are just—shy?"
She caught the smile in his voice and pictured the cocked-up corner of his mouth. "I think I ought not to," she murmured, with her head still turned from him.
"Conscientious objections?" suggested Max.
"Don't laugh!" she whispered.
"My dear child, I'm as serious as a judge. What are the objections?"
"There is—Noel," she said.
"You will have to chuck Noel," said Max coolly.
That vitalized her very effectually; she turned on him with burning cheeks. "Max, how dare you—how dare you suggest such a thing!"
His eyes met hers, green and dominant. She saw again that old mocking gleam of conscious mastery with which he had been wont to exasperate her. He answered her with a directness almost brutal.
"Because you don't love him."
"I do love him!" she declared fiercely. "I do love him!"
"Better than me?" said Max.
She shrank visibly from the question. "I love him too well to throw him over," she said.
His lips twisted cynically. "That is curious," he said.
She winced again from that which he left unsaid. "Oh, Max, don't hurt me!" she pleaded. "Try—try to understand!"
It was an appeal for mercy. But Max would not hear. He took her by the shoulders, compelling her to face him. "So you really mean to marry Noel," he said. "Do you think you will be happy with him?"
"I could never be happy if I didn't," she answered rather incoherently.
Max frowned. "Look here!" he said. "It's no good expecting me to understand if you won't even answer my questions."
She quivered in his hold. "You ask such—impossible things," she said.
"They are only impossible," Max said relentlessly, "because you are afraid to tell me the truth. You are afraid to tell me that you are sacrificing yourself. You are afraid to be honest—even with yourself."
"I am not!" she protested fierily. "Max, you have no right——"
"I have a right." He broke in upon her sternly. "I have the first and foremost right. Remember, you were mine before you were his. You gave yourself to me because you loved me. You only threw me over because of a fancied unworthiness. Now I am cleared of that, do you think you owe me nothing more than an apology?"
"Oh, but, Max," she pleaded, "think of Noel! Think of Noel!"
"Well?" said Max, "then think of him! Don't you think he can make a better bargain for himself than marriage with a woman who doesn't love him best? Why, nearly every woman he meets falls in love with him, and could offer him more than you do. You women who are so keen on sacrificing yourselves never look at the man's point of view, and so the only thing he really wants, you make it impossible for him to get."
"Max! Max!" she cried in distress.
"Well, isn't it so?" said Max. "Just admit that, and p'raps I won't bully you any more. You know he doesn't come first with you—and never would."
"But I could make him happy," she said.
"Oh, could you? And suppose his happiness depended upon yours? Suppose he were man enough to want you to be happy too? Could you do that for him?"
She hesitated.
He pressed on without mercy. "Could you drive me utterly out of your thoughts, your dreams? Could you stifle every regret, every secret longing? Could you empty your heart of me and put him in my place? Tell me! Could you?"
But she could not tell him. She only turned her face from him and wept.
He set her free then, just as he had set her free on that day long ago when her will had first bruised itself against the iron of his. He went away from her, went to the door as if he would leave her; then stood still, and after a space came back.
She trembled at his coming. She had a feeling that he had armed himself with another, stronger weapon to overcome her resistance.
He stopped in front of her. "Olga," he said, "have you thought about me at all?"
She made a sharp gesture—the involuntary wincing of the victim from the knife.
He went on, very quietly, as if he had not seen. "Do you think I'm going to be happy without you? I've got my career, haven't I, and all my brilliant successes? How much do you think they are worth to me? How far do you think they are going to satisfy me—make up for that which you have taken away?"
He paused, but she could not answer him, could not so much as lift her eyes to his.
He went on. "A little while ago you appealed to my love, and—I don't claim to be more than human—it stood the strain. I appealed to yours, and you sent me about my business. You had some excuse. I had deceived you. But this time—this time—are you going to do the same this time, Olga?"
"I can't help it!" she whispered through her tears.
He came nearer to her, but he did not touch her. "Is that the truth?" he said. "Don't you love me well enough? Is that it? Is my love so little to you that you can afford to throw it away? You know I love you, don't you? You believe in my love?" His voice suddenly vibrated; his hands clenched. "It's stood a good deal," he said. "But, by Heaven! I don't think it will stand this!"
She lifted her face suddenly. "Max, stop! I can't bear it!"
"Neither can I!" He flung back fiercely. "It's too much to ask—too much to give! Olga, you shall come to me! You shall! You shall!"
He caught her to him with the words, holding her mercilessly in a grip that was savage. She felt the hard, passionate beat of his heart against her own. And she gasped and gasped again, as one suddenly immersed in deep waters.
She did not resist him, for she could not. He had her a helpless captive before she could even begin. Perhaps she might not have done so in any case. It was a point she never was able to decide. But from the moment his lips met hers the battle was over. With or without her will her lips clung to his; the flame of his passion kindled an answering flame in her; and the love which she had striven so desperately to restrain leaped forth to him in wild, exultant freedom, so that she forgot all the world beside.
* * * * *
"So that's settled!" said Max a little later into the flushed face that lay against his shoulder. "It's taken a mighty long time to make you see reason."
"It isn't reason," said Olga faintly. "And oh, Max, what—what am I to say to Noel?"
Max's one-sided smile appeared. "I should just say, 'Thank you kindly, sir,' if it were me. There's nothing else left to say."
"Oh, but there is!" she protested.
"There isn't," said Max. "He is coming over to congratulate us to-morrow."
"Max!" She opened her eyes wide and lifted her head. "Max, you don't mean——"
"Yes, I do," said Max imperturbably. "Why do you suppose I came tearing down here to-night, leaving Kersley to kill all my patients as well as his own?"