THE WAY OUT
"Can it be right to give what I can give?"
--SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
The mild spring weather made strolling in the garden pleasant, even
in the keen air of Fransdale. Carol Mayne strolled accordingly, in
company with Mr. Hall of Ilberston, and forgot manifold
preoccupations in the pleasure of his company.
The last fortnight had been a curious and trying period in his life.
He had become a mere bystander, where he had previously been a
confidant. He was in the position of the trainer who has coached his
man and sent him into the ring, and now has no more that he can do
but to watch the conflict. Bert had stepped down into the arena, and
had ever since ignored Carol to the point of rudeness. He had
refused interviews, shirked even looks; had borne in total silence
the daily rebuffs inflicted by Melicent--the continual pin-pricks of
indifference under which he smarted.
Carol would have liked to hold the sponge between these preliminary
rounds, but this was denied him. Perhaps, when some knock-out blow
was dealt, his champion would have need of him. Just now, he was
nowhere in the scheme of things.
But so deeply had he grown attached to this man that there was an
unexpected degree of suffering entailed by the sight of his pain.
Day by day his eye detected more and more of the old Bert surging up
baffled, dogged, passionate, under the fine bearing of Captain
Brooke. He remembered so well how things had gone in the old
days--how long the big man would endure, and then suddenly, the oath
that showed him goaded past bearing, the brief rage, the wild
repentance. Twice he had seen Melicent--as he believed,
unconsciously--bring things to this point, and Bert only save himself
by immediate departure. But not a word of complaint, or of any kind
of feeling, was to be got out of him afterwards. The thing seemed
too deep, too momentous for comment to be possible. A kind of terror
grew in Mayne as the days went by. What would happen if Bert were
ultimately foiled? He could not foresee it, even dimly. He looked
at the slip of a girl who swayed the man's wild blood, and tried to
choke back his secret fear that tragedy might be the outcome of it
all.
For Bert had encountered a rival on the very threshold of his
enterprise; and the rival was the man whose life he had saved, at
risk of his own, because he knew that through him he could get the
introduction to Millie which he craved.
That Lance should admire Melicent was in itself no bad thing. It was
no doubt well that Bert should not find himself alone in the field.
But as the days went by, it was clear to Carol, who thought of
nothing else, and watched all that went on, that Millie was, by her
own conduct, whether of set purpose or no, leading Lance on to be
serious, where at first he had merely been making holiday.
For Lance she broke through the crystal armour of "stand-offishness"
which she usually wore. She talked to him; as a rule, she listened
only to men, saying little. But she gave to Lance looks, smiles, and
low tones.
To Bert her manner was quite friendly, even cordial, as from an
unknown artist to her first patron. But of good fellowship there was
not a trace. So clever was she that in all this fortnight Carol had
not been able to determine whether it was by accident or design that
she had never for one minute been _tête-à-tête_ with Captain Brooke.
Had he known the girl as thoroughly as he knew the man, the
underlying strain must have been visible to him as it was to two who
loved and understood her--Brenda Helston and Mr. Hall. Brenda
thought she knew its cause--that it was the result of the sudden
fulfilling of the girl's hopes, the terror lest her first great
effort should end in failure, and her professional prospects be
injured by her having undertaken what was beyond her powers.
This was in a measure true. But not the whole truth. Melicent's
real preoccupation lay deeper; it was more complicated. How could
she build Bert's house, and keep clear of Bert himself?
If she meant to have nothing to do with him, as she vehemently did,
was it honest, was it wise, was it even sensible, to go on with the
building?
But pride was at present a far stronger factor with Millie than
self-sacrifice. At the first suggestion that she should design a
really big thing, her ambitions had flown skyward. In spite of her
secret knowledge, she knew that she meant to go on.
"That's a fine fellow, that friend of yours, Captain Brooke," said
Mr. Hall musingly to Carol, as they paused to look at the first game
of tennis that season, now in progress on the Helston's court at Glen
Royd.
"Yes; he's an unusual person," said Mayne. "He says odd things at
times. Last night, up at Ilbersdale, we got talking in the
smoking-room about the different things men mean when they speak of
love. Most of the things said had the materialistic tendency which I
find to be characteristic of English thought to-day. Then suddenly
Brooke, who seldom argues, came out with his opinion. He said that
the difference between passion and love was comparable to the
difference between fact and truth. They asked him to define the
difference between fact and truth, and he answered without a moment's
hesitation that he thought that was obvious; fact is temporal and
truth eternal. How does that strike you?"
"Then he suggested that passion is temporal, and love eternal, just
in the same way?"
"Yes; I have been thinking it out, and there's a deal of truth in it.
One of the men asked him how you were to distinguish between the
temporal thing and the eternal, and he quite simply answered that you
could only tell in the result. They then said much what was said to
Christ on the subject--that it is not good to marry. He replied that
we were in the same case with all big things. We have to take
chances in life. Nobody can say how anything will turn out until
they try. He said, in love, as in religion, as in art, as in all big
business undertakings, you don't have to hold an opinion merely, but
to live a life. They chaffed him tremendously about being a devout
lover, but it had simply no effect at all upon him."
"He must certainly be unusual! I should like to know more of him.
He might be strong enough to tame my wild bird."
"Your wild bird?"
"I mean your ward, Miss Lutwyche. She needs a deal of taming. She
is full of fine qualities, but has no chance to exercise them, all
things being well with her. She is spoilt, as the only child
proverbially is. However, as your friend says, we must leave it to
life to teach her various things that she will have to learn."
As he spoke, Carol's eye was following Melicent, who had finished
playing, and was arranging another sett. She had not once played in
the same sett as Brooke. Now she put him to play with Theo, against
Sybil Ayres and a curate. She was sorry for Theo, who had, after
all, not succeeded in obtaining Gertie Gordon's "crib," and was still
"resting" according to the language of her profession--a euphemism
which ought to have delighted Mr. Cooper.
Lancelot had been Melicent's partner, and was at her heels.
"You promised to show me the latest treasure-trove," he said, "and
I've been waiting all the afternoon."
"We found it at Citta della Piève," she said, "and I really do
believe it is valuable. Pater is wonderful, he has such an eye for
the real thing."
She led the way to a little garden-house which was Harry Helston's
workshop, and lifted a cloth carefully from an object which lay on
the table.
It was the oaken figure of a winged child, with dimpled hands and
feet, and exquisite face. It had evidently been wrenched from a
frieze or mantel-carving of leaves and flowers. Great part of the
surface was still coated in grey mould, but the face and throat had
been skilfully cleansed.
"He is treating it with glass paper, and it's slow work," said
Melicent, touching the angel with soft, appreciative fingers. "It
was broken in two places, but he has mended it perfectly. When it is
polished, it is going to be the finial of the baluster in the hall."
"Jove, he is clever!" said Lance. "What a house this is! One feels
that a mind created it! Brooke's a lucky chap if he's going to have
such another."
Melicent laughed:
"We shan't exploit Tuscany for him, unless we get a special
commission to do so," she said. "But he is so rich, he can have what
he chooses."
"How go the plans?"
"He seems to like them very much. But I have made two alternative
elevations, and he has not yet decided between them. Pater has
helped me tremendously, of course. But I'm afraid I'm neglecting
your father's cottages."
"He is very pleased with the drawings, I can tell you. Who would
have thought you were such a genius? But do you know, I feel very
proud of myself. I said so from the first."
"Said what?"
"That you were something wonderful. Do you remember"--his voice grew
soft--"how you sat up on the Rigg, on Tod's Trush, and we came by,
and you shot a grouse with my gun?"
"Yes; I remember."
"I said afterwards, to Helston, that there was something wonderful
about you, I felt a power in you..."
He broke off mute, like most of his countrymen, in face of an
emotion. Putting his hands in his pockets, he strolled round the
little room, idly taking up bits of carved wood and stone, tools and
drawings, and laying them down again. Melicent neither moved nor
spoke. She stood silent beside the oaken angel.
"It's wonderful," he suddenly began again--"don't you think it's
wonderful, how sometimes one's identity seems to come up against
someone else's, and a response sounds, as if we were two Marconi
instruments, and were in tune with each other. Have you noticed
that?"
"I know what you mean."
He came nearer and stood beside her.
"The thing goes on a long time, before you're conscious of it; at
least, it did with me. When I got to London, I didn't realise why I
wanted to go straight and call upon the Helstons, until--until I saw
you come into the room. Then I knew that all the while I was in
Africa, I had been thinking about you.... Are you angry?" for she
had turned away a little.
"No, I'm not angry. But ... you know very little of me. I ... never
thought about you like that."
"No, I daresay not. But as to knowing--when two people are tuned
together, intimacy comes, one hardly knows how. This Easter has been
the jolliest time I have ever known. I feel like the chap in
Locksley Hall, who thought the grass was greener than usual, and the
birds brighter coloured.... This spring is like that to me, because
of you--because of you! ... _Melicent_!"
The girl looked up. She was of those whom excitement renders pale.
Her cheek was white, but as if a fire shone through the whiteness.
Here was the way definitely open to her, out of the intolerable
strain of the past ten day. But she was honest.
"I'm going to disappoint you," she said slowly. "I must. I don't
feel like that. I don't believe I ever should. My enthusiasm seems
to be for things, not people. I am ambitious and selfish. I
suppose, to be ambitious is always to be selfish."
His voice was uneven and broken now, as if it fell over rough edges.
"You can only disappoint me by saying that you care for ... some
other fellow ... more than for me."
"I like you better than anybody else," said Melicent simply, raising
her eyes to his agitated face.
She was quite unprepared for the result.
Her hands, her waist, were caught, she was in his arms; before she
was fairly conscious of what he was about, he had kissed the
ineffable, smooth rose whiteness of her cheek.
"I'm content," he whispered. "You like me better than anybody else!
Oh, you darling! What is it? Have I frightened you? There, I will
be good, I swear I will! I'm not a brute ... only I lost my head! I
never thought you would, or could, but now--"
She edged away, sick and trembling. To her virginal aloofness, the
fact of his embrace clinched the matter. He had stolen a march on
her. Unless he were her betrothed, how could she face him again? He
would become a second incubus, like Bert Mestaer. Yet still her
honesty fought for liberty.
"You did not let me speak," she cried. "I mean to say--I like you
better than anybody else, but that is not enough!"
"But it is enough," he cried triumphantly. "You say yourself that
you are cold--I don't care a shot for that, I want you as you are.
And if you like me best, what more is there? I'm not as clever as
you, but I can give you money and a title, and I did well in the
campaign.... By the way, I shall be more deeply indebted than ever
to old Brooke! If it hadn't been for him--!"
The mention of the name was opportune. It stiffened up the girl's
resolution.
"Oh, yes; he saved your life! Tell me about it!" she said, with an
idea of gaining time to collect her thoughts, which seemed to be
circling in a kind of whirlpool, nearer and nearer to complete
surrender.
"Would you like to hear?" he cried; and fell to musing for a moment.
"We were crossing the Vaal, you know," he said. "It's celebrated for
its rapid risings. The ford was quite easy when the first chaps went
over, and in half an hour it was impassable. There was a commando
not far behind us, and we knew, if we could get across, they couldn't
follow, so we made a push for it I, as you know, was correspondent,
not combatant; and it so happened that I had been with another column
that morning, and had ridden hard to pick up with Lacy's. My horse
was completely done. I was hardly knee-deep when I knew she would be
washed away. Swimming against that current wasn't possible; I just
grit my teeth and prepared to drown. But by instinct I worked my
feet out of the stirrups, and we worried on, until the poor beast's
foot rolled on a big stone and she slipped away, with an awful,
human-sounding scream. There was a big trooper riding just above me.
His eyes had been on my face, and he had ridden all the way, so as to
try and break the force of the water for my mare. His horse was
magnificent; and, just as I was going under, I found his arm round my
body--Jove, what a grip! I wonder he didn't crack a rib or two.
"'Strike out with the other hand' he said in my ear; 'strike out for
all you're worth, and I can hold you up.' And he did! My head was
mostly under water, but I gave all the support I could, and his horse
got through with us both! It seemed to me as if it went on for days,
the fighting with the current, the struggle for breath; till all at
once the water gave way under me, as it were, and my legs flopped
down, and he literally hauled me out, holding me with his right arm,
and I just clutching on as I best could. I faintly heard the
cheering as we came ashore, and half a dozen chaps rushed to catch
me, and then I fainted. They gave him his commission chiefly for
that, I believe, and jolly well he earned it. And that was the
beginning of our being chums."
She drew a deep breath. The long arm of coincidence had not been
kind to Bert Mestaer. But how could she help that?
For ten days now, she had not known a moment's peace. Her usual
profound, dreamless sleep had changed to white, wakeful nights of
vague, dreadful apprehension of she knew not what. This would put a
stop to her nameless fears. But it had come too suddenly. She was
not ready.
Lance, however, would have no half measures. He had not, it is true,
come there that day with the deliberate intention of clinching
matters; but a fine opportunity had presented itself, and he had
risen to the occasion with a success which bewildered and delighted
him. Melicent's suggestion that he should give her time to think
things over was impetuously scouted. Life was not long enough for
hesitation, he told her, and his intense confidence did to a certain
degree infect her. They would be married in the summer, and go to
Greece, Sicily--India, if she liked, to see the architectural
treasures of the world. Melicent told herself that it would be very
nice indeed. He was already embarked upon an idea for their own
house, if she chose to build one, when voices were heard, and steps
on the gravel, and Captain Brooke and Theo peeped in.
"Oh, here they are, looking at some wonderful relic of the past!"
cried Theo. "What a ridiculous, mouldering thing!" gazing with a
laugh at the oaken angel.
Melicent took up the cloth, without a word, to cover her treasure
from further insult. Captain Brooke arrested her hand.
"Won't you let me look?"
She laid down the cover and moved aside. The atmosphere thrilled
with a sense of something unusual. Brooke had no suspicion of the
truth. He knew Lance, but he thought he also knew Melicent. The
idea of her taking a husband as a weapon of defence against himself
had not as yet occurred to him. He looked quickly, searchingly, into
her eyes, to ascertain what the matter was.
The result was curious. She met his gaze; and there rose up and
revealed itself to him, the feeling always uppermost in her when he
was present, fear. She did not know that she betrayed it: defiance
of his unspoken question was what she meant to convey. But he saw
fear; and the result was a flood of light which fairly dazzled him.
He knew that he was recognised, and his heart rose within him. If
she feared him, it was because she felt him dangerous. For the first
time since he came to England, he saw a chance, a loop-hole for hope
to enter by.
He let his eyes rest upon the angel lest their radiance should betray
him. In the thrill of consciousness which his new knowledge--the
knowledge of their mutual secret--gave him, he could hardly keep from
smiling.
"Is this the treasure you found in Italy?" he asked somewhat hoarsely.
"Yes; do you like it?"
"I think it beautiful! I am learning to know beauty when I see it,
you know."
"Learning to know beauty when you see it, Captain Brooke! Didn't
know gentlemen had to be taught that, as a rule!" cried Theo,
laughing affectedly.
"You make a great mistake, Miss Cooper," said Lance. "Beauty
requires a trained eye. Which do you suppose a ploughman would
rather hang on his cottage wall--a Rembrandt etching, or a
chromo-lithograph of the Royal family on an almanack?"
"Oh, aren't you confusing beauty and art?" said Melicent, finding her
voice again.
Theo, who had never heard of a Rembrandt etching, looked blank.
"Mrs. Helston sent us to fetch you in to tea," she said. "Come, Mr.
Burmester, we had better let Melicent continue her treatise on
beauty."
"She's well qualified to teach, by precept and example," said Lance,
with tender gallantry, standing aside to let his betrothed and
Captain Brooke pass out.
"Yes," said Theo, when she had procured a minute's delay by stooping
down to disentangle slowly a wisp of her flouncing from a splinter of
wood on the table-leg. "It's wonderful how well she's turned out,
isn't it? Does her such credit, poor thing, and the Helstons too.
Mother was obliged to send her away, you know; fortunately Mrs.
Helston had no girls. She seems to be quite all right now, doesn't
she? You would never guess what she came from."
Lance was so astonished that for a moment he could not speak. At
last he said:
"I don't understand. Are you talking of your cousin, Miss Lutwyche?
I thought her mother was the vicar's sister?"
"So she was; but you see, poor Aunt Melicent married a brute. It was
a runaway match, of course. I can't tell you what he did--drank
himself to death, or something of the kind. I believe my aunt died
of a broken heart It's a wretched story. But oh, I forgot! Papa
does not like us to speak of it, on poor Millie's account. He thinks
it would be so bad for her if such a thing got about, so you must try
and forget what I have said! I am so heedless!"
She laughed boisterously. Lance was furious. He had always disliked
the Cooper girls, this turned his dislike to positive rancour. He
felt sure that almost the whole of what he heard was mere ill-natured
calumny. Still, there is no smoke without fire, and his self-esteem
received a jolt. He was the eldest son of a baronet, and though the
Burmester blood was not blue, it was very respectable. What would
his parents say to a bride whose antecedents were shady?
His discomposure was momentary. His eye fell upon the proud,
careless grace of Melicent as she walked along the path before him.
She was giving Captain Brooke a fluent account of the finding of the
oaken angel, which left him no chance to put in a word until they
reached the others.