"I HAVE WON YOU!"
The alarm and concern felt by Grace Suffield on the return of the trio,
Roden with his arm in a sling, and looking rather pale and, as he
jocosely put it, interesting, almost beggars description; and the way in
which her concern found expression in rating, womanlike, the person
whose chief _raison d'etre_ was to be rated--viz., her husband, was
beautiful to behold.
Why had he allowed his guest to ran such risks--to go into dangerous
places by himself? He could not be expected to know the country as they
did; and so on, and so on. And Roden listening, stared and then
laughed--first, as he looked back to a few experiences of "dangerous
places" that would make them open their eyes wide did he choose to
narrate them; secondly, at the idea that he needed to be taken out in
leading-strings. And this idea brought him promptly to Suffield's aid.
The accident was his own fault entirely, he declared, and it was lucky
it was no worse. And then, glad of the opportunity, he launched out at
length upon the topic of Mona's courage in the emergency, and how he
owed his life entirely to her. A new light seemed to dawn upon Grace as
she listened to this recital, and she glanced narrowly at Mona, who,
however, lost no time in taking herself out of the room, remarking
rather petulantly that there was no need to trumpet her praises quite so
loudly.
Roden's injuries, when carefully examined, were found to consist of a
severe sprain of the left wrist, which was not broken as he at first
believed; a bruise on the side of the head, which had had not a little
to do with his incapacitation at the time of the occurrence; and a
contused knee. He vigorously, however, opposed the idea of sending for
Lambert. The whole thing was simple enough, he declared. A mere
question of bandages and fomentation. He would be all right in the
morning.
"You ought to say, `See what comes to wicked people who go out
buck-shooting on Sunday,' Mrs Suffield," he concluded.
"I won't strike a man when he's down," she answered. "I'm waiting until
you're well again. Then the lecture is coming. Don't flatter yourself
you are going to escape it."
The bandaging and fomentation were most effectually carried out.
Strangely enough, however, Mona held aloof. She seemed in no way
anxious to do anything for the sufferer now. She was abnormally silent,
too, throughout the evening; but that might be due to reaction from the
shock and fright she had received.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Although at bedtime Roden had made light of his injuries, yet they were
sufficiently painful to keep him awake during the best part of the
night. After a couple of hours of unrestful slumber he started up,
feeling feverish and miserable. A burning thirst was upon him, together
with a strange sinking sensation, begotten of the constant throbbing of
his sprained wrist, and the dull, dead ache of his bruised knee. He
would have given much for some brandy-and-water, but it was unobtainable
by any means short of disturbing the household in the dead of midnight,
and this he did not care to do. Stay, though! There was his flask. It
might still contain a little of the ardently desired stimulant. Quickly
he found it, and a shake resulting in a grateful gurgle, announced that
it was nearly half full.
But alas for the uncertainty of human hopes! The stopper was jammed,
and flatly refused to be unscrewed. With both hands he might have
managed it, but with the use of only one the thing was impossible. In
vain he tried every conceivable device for holding the flask, while with
his uninjured hand he twisted frantically at the stopper. It would not
yield.
"Tantalus, with a vengeance," he growled wearily. "If it were made of
glass instead of this infernal metal, I'd knock the head off."
Faint and sick, he staggered back to bed, feeling about as miserable as
a man can under the circumstances. It was a cool night, almost a cold
one, still, in his feverish unrest, Roden had thrown the window wide
open. As he lay, he could see the loom of the great hills against the
star-gemmed vault, which was cloudless now, and there floated ever and
anon the cry of a night-bird, or prowling animal from the wild
mountain-side. The sight, the sounds, carried his meditations back to
the strange and well-nigh tragic events of the day. A kind of fate
seemed to have overhung them from the very beginning. Why had Mona
suddenly and unexpectedly insisted upon joining the party? But for her,
he would have met with a terrible death, crushed to atoms at the foot of
the great cliff. There had been no exaggeration in his statement to
that effect, and now, lying there in the darkness and silence of night,
when the mind, in a state of wakefulness, is most active, he realised it
more fully than ever. But for her strong courageous handgrip, he could
not have maintained his position two minutes. Had she been of the kind
of women who faint and scream, and altogether lose their heads, his fate
had been sealed. But no. She had behaved grandly, courageously,
heroically. Was it ruled that her fate was to be bound up with his? he
wondered, as he reflected upon the strangely spontaneous manner in which
her secret had escaped her. And here the inherent cynicism, the
verjuice drop of suspiciousness engendered by a life of strange
experiences, injected itself upon his reflections, and he began steadily
to review all the circumstances of their acquaintanceship.
He remembered how she had first attracted, then repelled him; how she
had first been disposed to make much of him, only to turn suddenly, in
the most capricious and irresponsible manner, to lavish her favour upon
Lambert. Well, that had in no way troubled him. Lambert was a newer
arrival; Lambert was young, and he himself was not exactly young, but a
tolerably jaded and experienced victim of circumstances; and while
disliking him, never for a moment had he dreamed of regarding the doctor
in the light of a rival. He had merely stood by and watched this new
development of her preferences with a whole-hearted amusement not
undashed with contempt. To-day, however, his eyes were opened. She had
merely been resorting to the stale device of playing off Lambert against
himself. But now--? The better, truer, nobler side of Mona's nature
had flashed forth in that moment of peril. She had displayed a glimpse
of her true self in yielding up possession of the secrets of her
innermost heart; and up till that day he would not have believed that
she had a heart.
But the enlightenment? What was to be the upshot of it? She had saved
his life--could she not therefore claim it? _Would_ she not therefore
claim it? And at the thought his mind stirred uneasily. For he did not
return her love.
How should he? Again drawing upon the stores of his experiences he
could recall that same look in other eyes, could recall even the same
utterances--the latter far more impassioned, far more self-oblivious
than hers had been--all perfectly genuine at the moment. _At the
moment_! For how had it ended? A year or two of absence, of
separation--new interests surrounding--the gradual dimming effects of
time, and all that warm, real, live passion had cooled down into the dry
ashes of worn-out memories--had faded into extinction. How should he,
we repeat, credit with any more lasting properties the fervour of this
latest instance?
He tossed restlessly from side to side, the same feverish thirst
tormenting him. Suddenly his room grew light--he could distinguish
objects quite plainly. The moon had risen, suffusing the heavens and
the black loom of the mountain-top across the vista of the open window
with golden light. Wearily, hopelessly, he flung himself out of bed and
made another attempt at unscrewing the flask. Once more in vain. Well,
he did not want to disturb the household, but even consideration had its
limits. He would go and knock up Suffield.
Sick with pain and exhaustion, he made for the door; but before he
reached it, to his surprise it opened--opened softly.
"Roden, darling! Where are you?" whispered a voice.
"Good God!--Mona!" was all he could ejaculate, in his unbounded
astonishment.
"Something told me you were in pain, and wretchedly ill," she whispered,
her voice shaking with a thrill of tenderness. "And you are. I came to
see what I could do for you."
"Just this, Mona," was the firm reply. "Go back to your room at once.
Good God! Only think! Supposing any one were to hear you! Heavens! it
would be too awful."
In the light of the newly risen moon he could distinguish the soft,
velvety gleam in her eyes, that wondrous kindling of her face into a
love-light which rendered it strangely beautiful. She wore a white
clinging dressing-gown, which set off the lines of her splendid form,
and as she stood thus before him, Roden Musgrave would not have been
human if he had remained unmoved.
"Mona, Mona, why are you doing this?" he whispered, his voice slightly
thrown off its balance. Then encircling her with his uninjured arm, he
kissed the lips uplifted to his. And at the same time, while her eyes
closed, and she nestled against him with a long, shuddering sigh of
contentment, he recognised that on his part this was not love.
"But--how selfish I am, keeping you standing like this!" she said
suddenly. "I can tell by your very voice that you are in pain."
"I am that. But go back at once to your room."
"Not yet. I am here now; and I want to do something for you, and I
will."
"Then see if you can unscrew this infernal flask. I've been trying hard
at it all night, but can't do anything with only one hand."
She took the recalcitrant flask. A firm hold, a vigorous grip with her
strong, lithe fingers--the stopper came off in the most provokingly easy
manner.
"Ah, I feel better now!" he said, after a liberal admixture of its
contents with a little water. "And now, Mona, having done guardian
angel to very considerable purpose, you must go."
"Not even yet. I am going to do guardian angel to more purpose still.
You must try and get some sleep. You are hot and feverish; but see, I
have brought a fan. I am going to sit by you and cool your forehead.
You will soon drop off then."
"Mona, you are too self-sacrificing," he whispered. "Do you think I
could sleep knowing the ghastly risk you are running? Now, to please
me, do go back at once. It is still safe, but you can't tell how long
it may remain so. One of those brats of Suffield's might wake at any
moment and yell, and set the house generally agog. Go while it is safe.
You have already done a great deal for me, and I feel immensely the
better for it."
But his adjurations fell on deaf ears, and he was really feeling very
feverish and exhausted; far too much so to continue to urge the point.
So she sat by his bedside, softly fanning his burning and aching brow,
and presently he dropped off into a delicious state of restfulness and
ease, such as he had not known since first receiving his injuries. Was
it the helplessness engendered by weakness and suffering and exhaustion
that rendered his mind more amenable to her sway? Was there a
languorous, all-pervading mesmerism in the very force and power of her
love, which drew him beneath its spell in spite of himself? Whatever
the cause, he was soon sleeping soundly and peacefully.
For upwards of an hour Mona sat there watching him, but he never
stirred. At last she rose, and gazing intently for a few moments upon
the sleeping face, she bent down and imprinted a long kiss upon the
unconscious forehead.
"Darling love--_my_ love! I have won you from Death, and I claim you,"
she murmured passionately. "You _shall_ be mine. You _are_ mine."
And still turning to look at him as though she could not tear herself
away, she moved to the door, and was gone--gliding forth as softly and
silently as she had come.