CHRISTMAS MORNING
Christmas morning broke with a sprinkle of snow, and an icy wind that
blew from the north, promising a heavier fall ere the day was over.
Jeff was late in descending, and he saw that the door of Doris's room
was open as he passed. He glanced in, saw that the room was empty, and
entered to lay a packet that he carried on her dressing-table. As he did
so, his eyes fell upon an envelope lying there, and that single glance
revealed the fact that it was addressed to him.
He picked it up, and, turning, cast a searching look around the room.
Across the end of the great four-poster bed hung the black lace gown she
had worn the previous evening, but the bed itself was undisturbed. He
saw in a moment that it had not been slept in. Sharply he turned to the
envelope in his hand, and ripped it open. Something bright rolled out
upon the floor. He stopped it with his foot. It was her wedding-ring.
An awful look showed for a moment in Jeff's eyes and passed. He stooped
and picked up the ring; then, with a species of deadly composure more
terrible than any agitation, he took out the letter that the envelope
contained.
It was very short--the first letter that she had ever written to him.
"Dear Jeff," it ran, "after what happened last night, I do not
think you will be surprised to hear that I feel I cannot stay
any longer under your roof. I have tried to be friends with you,
but you would not have it so, and now it has become quite
impossible for me to go on. I am leaving for town by the first
train I can catch. I am going to work for my living, and some
day I shall hope to make good to you all that I know you have
spent on my comfort.
"Please do not imagine I am going in anger. I blame myself more
than I blame you. I never ought to have married you, knowing
that I did not love you in the ordinary way. But this is the
only course open to me now. So good-bye!
"Doris."
Jeff Ironside looked up from the letter, and out across the grey
meadows. His face was pale, the square jaw absolutely rigid; but there
was no anger in his eyes, only the iron of an implacable determination.
For several seconds he watched the feathery snowflakes drifting over the
fields; then, with absolute steadiness, he returned both letter and ring
to the envelope, placed them in his pocket, and, turning, left the room.
Granny Grimshaw met him at the foot of the stairs. "Oh, Master Jeff,"
she said, "I am that worried. We can't find Mrs. Ironside."
Jeff paused an instant and turned his grim face to her. "It's all right,
Granny. I know where she is," he said. "Keep the breakfast hot!"
And with that he was gone.
He drove out of the yard a few minutes later in his dog-cart, muffled in
a great coat with the collar up to his ears.
At the station, Doris sat huddled in a corner of the little waiting-room
counting the dreary minutes as she waited for her train. No one beside
herself was going by it.
She had walked across the fields, and had made a _détour_ to leave a
note at the Manor for Hugh. She could not leave Hugh in ignorance of her
action.
She glanced nervously at the watch on her wrist. Yes, Jeff probably knew
by this time. How was he taking it? Was he very angry? But surely even
he must see how impossible he had made her life with him.
Restlessly she arose and went to the window. It had begun to snow in
earnest. The road was all blurred and grey with the falling flakes. She
shivered again. Her feet were like ice. Very oddly her thoughts turned
to that day in September when Jeff had knelt before her and drawn off
her muddy boots before the great open fire. A great sigh welled up
within her and her eyes filled with quick tears. If only he would have
consented to be her friend. She was so lonely--so lonely!
There came the sound of wheels along the road, and she turned away.
Evidently someone else was coming for the train. A little tremor of
impatience went through her. Would the train never come?
The wheels stopped before the station door. Someone descended, and there
followed the sound of a man's feet approaching her retreat. A hand was
laid upon the door, and she braced herself to meet a possible
acquaintance. It opened, and she glanced up.
"Oh, Jeff!" she said.
He shut the door behind him and came forward. His face was set in
dogged, unyielding lines.
"I have come to take you back," he said.
She drew sharply away from him. This was the last thing she had
expected.
Desperately she faced him. "I can't come with you, Jeff," she said. "My
mind is quite made up. I am very sorry for everything, especially sorry
that you have taken the trouble to follow me. But my decision is quite
unalterable."
Her breath came fast as she ended. Her heart was throbbing in thick,
heavy strokes. There was something so implacable in his attitude.
He did not speak at once, and she stood before him, striving with all
her strength to still her agitation. Then quite calmly he stood back and
motioned her to pass him. "Whatever you decide to do afterwards," he
said, "you must come back with me now. We had better start at once
before it gets worse."
A quiver of anger went through her; it was almost a sensation of hatred.
She remained motionless. "I refuse," she said in a low voice, her grey
eyes steadily raised to his.
She saw his black brows meet, but he gave no sign of impatience. "And
I--insist," he said stubbornly.
She felt the blood receding from her face. It was to be open conflict,
then. She collected all her resolution to oppose him, for to yield at
that moment was out of the question.
It was then, while she stood summoning her forces, that there came to
her ears the distant hum and throb of an approaching train. It was
coming at last. A porter ran past the window that looked upon the
platform, announcing its approach with a dismal yell. Doris straightened
and turned to go.
Jeff turned also. An odd light sprang up in his gipsy eyes. He went
straight to the door ere she could reach it, locked it, and withdrew the
key.
That fired Doris. Her composure went in a single instant. "Jeff," she
exclaimed, "how dare you?"
He turned to the dingy window overlooking the line. "You compel me," he
said.
She sank back impotent against the table. He stood staring grimly forth,
filling the window with his bulk.
Nearer came the train and nearer. Doris felt the hot blood drumming in
her brain. Something that was very nearly akin to frenzy entered into
her. She stood up with sudden, fierce resolution.
"Jeff," she said, "I will not be kept here against my will! Do you hear?
I will not! Give me that key!"
He took no more notice of the command than if it had been the buzzing of
a fly. His attention apparently was caught by something outside. He
leaned forward, watching intently.
Something in his attitude checked her wrath at its height. It was as
though a cold hand had been laid upon her heart. What was it he was
looking at? She felt she must know. As the train thundered into the
station she went to his side and looked forth also.
The next moment, with a shock that was physical, she saw the object of
his interest. Hugh Chesyl, with a face of grave perturbation, was
standing on the platform, searching this way and that. It was evident
that he had but just arrived at the station, and in a flash she divined
the reason of his coming. Quite obviously he was looking for her.
Sharply she withdrew herself from the window, and in the same moment
Jeff also turned. Their eyes met, and Doris caught her breath.
For it was as if a sword had pierced her. In a single, blinding instant
of revelation she read his thought, and sheer horror held her silent
before him. She stood as one paralyzed.
He did not utter a word, simply stood and looked at her, with eyes grown
devilish in their scrutiny. Then very suddenly and terribly he laughed,
and flung round upon his heel.
In that instant Doris's powers returned to her, urged by appalling
necessity. She sprang forward, reached the door, set her back against
it, faced him with the wild courage of agonizing fear.
"Jeff! Jeff!" she panted. "What are you going to do?"
The train had come to a standstill. There was a commotion of voices and
running feet. Jeff, still with that awful look in his eyes, stood still.
"You will miss your train," he said.
"What are you going to do?" she reiterated.
He smiled--a grim, dreadful smile. "I am going to see you off. You can
go now. Your friend Chesyl can follow by the next train--when I have
done with him."
He had the key in his hand. He stooped to insert it in the lock. But
swiftly she caught his wrist. "Jeff, stop--stop!" she gasped; and, as he
looked at her: "I'm not going away now!"
He wrung his hand free. "You had better go--for your own sake!" he said.
She flinched in spite of herself from the blazing menace of his eyes,
but again necessity spurred her. She stretched out her arms, barring his
way.
"I won't! I can't! Jeff--Jeff--for Heaven's sake--Jeff!" Her voice
broke into wild entreaty. He had taken her roughly by the shoulders,
pulling her from his path. He would have put her from him, but she
snatched her opportunity and clung to him fast with all her quivering
strength.
He stood still then, suddenly rigid. "I have warned you!" he said, in a
voice so deep with passion that her heart quailed and ceased to beat.
"Let me go!"
But she only tightened her trembling hold. "You shan't go, Jeff! You
shan't insult Hugh Chesyl! He is a gentleman!"
"Is he?" said Jeff, very bitterly.
She could feel his every muscle strung and taut, ready for uncontrolled
violence. Yet still with her puny strength she held him, for she dared
not let him go.
"Jeff, listen to me! You must listen! Hugh is my very good friend--no
more than that. He has come here to say 'Good-bye.' I left a note for
him on my way here, just to tell him I was going. He is my friend--only
my friend."
"I don't believe you," said Jeff.
She shrank as if he had struck her, but her hands still clutched his
coat. She attempted no further protestations, only stood with her white
face lifted and clear eyes fixed on his. The red fire that shone
fiercely back on her was powerless to subdue her steady regard, though
she felt as though it scorched her through and through.
From the platform came the shriek of the guard's whistle. The train was
departing.
Doris heard it go with a sick sense of despair. She knew that her
liberty went with it. As the last carriage passed she spoke again.
"I will go back with you now."
"If I will take you back," said Jeff.
Her hands clenched upon his coat. An awful weakness had begun to assail
her. She fought against it desperately.
Someone tried the handle of the door, pulled at it and desisted. She
caught her breath. Jeff's hand went out to open, but she shifted her
grasp, and again gripped his wrist.
"Wait! Wait!" she whispered through her white lips.
This time he did not shake her off. He stood with his eyes on hers and
waited.
The man on the other side of the door, evidently concluding that the
waiting-room had not been opened that day, gave up the attempt and
passed on. With straining ears Doris listened to his departing
footsteps. A few seconds later she saw Jeff's eyes go to the farther
window. Her own followed them. Hugh Chesyl, clad in a long grey ulster,
was tramping away through the snow.
He passed from sight, and Doris relaxed her hold. Her face was white and
spent. "Will you take me home?" she said faintly.
Slowly Jeff's eyes came back to her, dwelt upon her. He must have seen
the exhaustion in her face, but his own showed no softening.
He spoke at last sternly, with grim mastery. "If I take you back it must
be on a different footing. You tell me this man is no more to you than a
friend. I am even less. Do you think I will be satisfied with that?"
"I have tried to make you my friend," she said.
"And you have failed," he said. "Shall I tell you why? Or can you
guess?"
She was silent.
He clenched his hands hard against his sides. "You know what happened
yesterday," he said. "It had nearly happened a hundred times before. I
kept it back till it got too strong for me. You dangled your friendship
before me till I was nearly mad with the want of you. You had better
have offered me nothing at all than that."
"Oh, Jeff!" she said.
He went on, heedless of reproach. "It has come to this with me:
friendship, if it comes at all, must come after. You tell me Chesyl is
not your lover. Do you deny that he has ever made love to you?"
"Since he knew of my marriage--never!" she said.
"Yet you ride home with him in the dark hand in hand!" said Jeff.
The colour flamed in her face and as swiftly died. "Hugh Chesyl is not
my lover," she said proudly.
"And you expect me to believe you?" he said.
"I do."
He gazed at her without pity. "You will secure my belief in you," he
said, "only by coming to me as my wife."
A great shiver went through her. She stood silent.
"As my wife," he repeated looking straight into her face with eyes that
compelled. She was trembling from head to foot. He waited a moment,
then: "You would sooner run away with Hugh Chesyl?" he asked very
bitterly.
Sheer pain drove her into speech. "Oh, Jeff," she cried passionately,
"don't make me hate you!"
He started at that as an animal starts at the goad, and in an instant he
took her suddenly and fiercely by the shoulders. "Hate me, then! Hate
me!" he said, and kissed her again savagely on her white, panting lips
as he had kissed her the night before, showing no mercy.
She did not resist him. Her strength was gone. She hung quivering in his
arms till the storm of his passion had passed also. Then: "Let us go!"
she whispered: "Let us go!"
He released her slowly and turned to open the door. Then, seeing that
she moved unsteadily, he put his arm about her, supporting her. So, side
by side and linked together, they went out into the driving snow.