THE TREACHERY
"Doubt you if, in some such moment
As she fixed me, she felt clearly
Ages past the soul existed,
Here an age 'tis resting merely,
And hence fleets again for ages,
While the true end, sole and single,
It stops here for, is this love-way,
With some other soul to mingle?
"Else it loses what it lived for,
And eternally must lose it;
Better ends may be in prospect,
Deeper blisses (if you choose it);
But this life's end and this love-bliss
Have been lost here; doubt you whether
This she felt, as looking at me,
Mine and her souls rushed together?"
--ROBERT BROWNING.
Melicent only came down to Clunbury for one day the following week;
and Mr. Helston was with her. The week after, she came for two days,
and brought Brenda.
This was not the result of any scheme of self-defence; it simply
happened in the ordinary course of events.
For she no longer disliked Hubert. Her mental attitude had changed.
The enlightenment which his simple and sparing speech had brought to
her had been a veritable shock. She saw herself again as she had
been at the time of his early devotion--the despised Cinderella, the
half-grown slattern, the insolent, self-absorbed little upstart. Her
own dulness of perception and ingratitude began to show themselves to
her in a strong light. She marvelled at his constancy, and stood
amazed at his insight. He had seen her, not as she was, but as she
might be. It was she who had been blind.
So she thought of him: and yet, at the bottom of her mind, lurked a
mysterious reluctance to go down to Lone Ash again.
She wrote to Lance more affectionately than she had ever done. She
told him she meant to be less hard, more unselfish, to do her best to
respond to the affection he lavished upon her.
Time was flowing swiftly past her. In three weeks he would be home!
And it was June.
At last Captain Brooke wrote to say that there was a question in the
builder's mind respecting an additional support at a point where the
thrust of the wall was greater than had been reckoned for. He added
that the builder and the engineer were quarrelling about the
Lee-Simmons man-holes. Moreover, the weathered tiles were beginning
to arrive, and there was a question raised as to the condition of
some of them. There was no doubt that her presence was necessary,
and finally she went down, upon a day that focussed in its heart all
the tender glories of an English summer.
The lilacs were fading now, but pink may and golden laburnum flaunted
in beauty; and Melicent, as she cycled up the lane from the station,
caught the intoxicating fragrance of syringa.
"What a garden this is! I believe it holds a bit of everything in
the world that smells sweet!" she cried, as she greeted Mrs. Barrett.
"It reminds me of the garden in Solomon's Song. How this sunshine
does make the spices flow out!" As she spoke, she gathered a tiny
spray of waxen syringa and a cluster of double pink may, like wee
Banksia roses, and fastened them in her white gown. "After London,
this is so wonderful!" she sighed.
"You look pale, miss. The fresh air'll set you up. The Captain was
round this morning to know if you'd come. He seemed that
disappointed not to find you. I expect now he'll think you're not
coming down till to-morrow."
"Is he up at Lone Ash now, do you think?"
"I believe he will be, miss. Tommy, have you heard the Captain drive
back, down the lane?"
No, Tommy had not; he was sure the Cap'n had not returned.
"I'll have a glass of milk now, please, Mrs. Barrett, and then go up
and find him," said Melicent.
"There's been a gentleman had your rooms this week-end," said Mrs.
Barrett, as she provided refreshment. "Mr. Mayne, a clergyman. They
do say he's to be made a bishop. He was fine and took up with the
building, and as friendly as ever I see. I'm sure we oughter be
grateful to the Lord for sending of the Captain down here. A godsend
to this village he be. There's Carter down the lane, talked of
drowning hisself, he did; wife and three childer, no work to be had,
nowhere to live if he got it. Now he's to have head gardener's
place, and Captain's going to build him a cottage, four rooms and a
kitchen! He just goes about, does the Captain, and finds out truth
about everybody. Nobody's going to get over him, not they! Keeps
his eyes skinned, and no mistake about it. Been into the bar of the
Hearty Welcome night after night since he's been staying there, and
found out all he wants to know about they chaps. He's got the
whip-hand of the lot by now; knows twice as much about 'em as what
vicar does; and it's my belief, he'll be the best served master in
this county."
Melicent drank her milk absently. She wished, yet dreaded to see
Hubert again. Her novel mood of self-abasement craved humiliation.
Since realising how unlovable her conduct had been, she was invaded
by unreasonable desires to let him know that she was really not such
a beast as she seemed. A wish to tell him that she knew who he was,
and would like to be friends, assailed her like a temptation, though
she knew that such confidences would be the very height and apex of
folly.
There was nothing for it, she firmly told herself, as she put on her
shady hat and mounted her bicycle, but to remain upon business terms.
It gave her a little shock of joy, as she neared the gate leading to
the Captain's property, to see the grey walls high enough to be
clearly discerned from the road.
She rode noiselessly over the pasture, dismounted at the hill,
wheeled her bicycle forward among the trees, and propped it against
the trunk of a big beech.
The workmen were gone. She could see Hubert sitting there, on the
pile of planks where she had sat last month. How long ago that
seemed! How far she had travelled since their drive together!
He did not appear to be doing anything but meditating. His arms
rested on his knees, his hands hung down between; he was looking at
the ground. Melicent was taken with a sudden conviction that it
would be wise to turn and run before he saw her. She combated the
feeling with indignation. She remembered how loath she had been to
go that drive. And how glad she now was that she went! It had made
so vast a difference to her, she felt something as Gareth felt when
he unhorsed the dread Black Knight, and found the rosy child within.
Why not go forward?
The alternative no longer remained: he looked up and saw her.
She came towards him from among the trees, in her white gown, wearing
a look he had never seen upon her face before in life, though he had
dreamed of it now and then. Her eyes seemed to have grown larger,
darker, softer. Her face was of that warm rose whiteness which
relieves itself so vividly and strangely against a white dress.
He stood up; but absorbed in the picture she made, he did not advance
to greet her.
"I thought you had not come," he said; and even to say so much was an
effort.
"I had things to do." She smiled. "Some of that shopping you
reminded me of the other day! I came by the later train."
He recollected himself.
"I hope you have good news of Burmester," he said mechanically.
"The best," answered Melicent quietly. "He will be home in less than
three weeks."
He had been staring at the grass, but on that he raised his eyes.
"And when shall you be--married?"
"The day is not fixed; only that it will be at Fransdale." There was
a pause, and to fill it she said: "I hear Mr. Mayne has been here."
"Yes; I suppose you are going to his consecration next week?"
"Oh, yes; he sent us tickets. Do you know how long he stays in
England? He ought to wait for my wedding."
"So I told him," said Captain Brooke slowly, balancing a long
screw-driver with which he was playing across one finger of his left
hand.
"What did he say?"
"Oh!--well, he said several things; but he didn't mean me to repeat
them, so don't ask me, please."
She gave an odd, excited laugh. "I don't ask; I order you to tell
me."
He gazed upon her, so absorbed in his thoughts about her, that the
subject in hand faded out of sight. She could not meet his look.
Tossing her head, she turned a little away.
"So you won't tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"What he said."
"What who said?"
"Captain Brooke, what is the matter with you? We were talking of Mr.
Mayne. We had better leave off if you are not attending, and go and
look at those tiles."
"The more serious matter is the water," he said, shaking off his
preoccupation and sensibly relieved by the change of subject.
He led the way from where they stood to a pit four feet deep, with a
stand-pipe projecting from the newly-turned soil. Kneeling down on
the edge, he bent over, and turned on the union tap, which had been
fixed for connection with a rubber hose. The girl gave a mortified
exclamation:
"Why, it's dry!"
He acquiesced.
"That's where Shepherd's rage against the Lee-Simmons engineer comes
in, and why he wants to wipe up the floor with him. The supply was
all right the first two days, dribbled for two more; then stopped.
The engineer says it is simply that Shepherd's men have fixed the
thing so carelessly that the pipe's blocked down below. I think I'll
get the jointed rod and probe it."
"Oh, my fish-pond, I thought I had secured you!" said Melicent sadly.
"You shall have it, if there's water in Wiltshire," he began; then
stopping dead--"I mean, the thing must be made to act somehow. By
the way, there's Alfred with the cart. I'll send him back for the
rod; he can bring it in a few minutes."
"Lend me your wrench, then, and I'll get the tap right off," said the
girl.
He handed her the tool she asked for, and went off across the field
to give his directions.
She jumped down into the muddy pit, and set herself to unscrew the
tap. It was not very easy, but she managed it at last; and then,
with the thing in her hand, remained in her crouching attitude,
examining it to see if there was any obstruction.
There was a sound like a deep sigh--a rush like heavy rain--a jet of
yellow water flew from the pipe, hit the opposite side of the pit
with great violence, and before she knew what had happened, she was
over her ankles in water. In a calmer moment, she would have scaled
the miry sides of the pit, regardless of appearances; but she was not
calm, and she lost her head. The unexpected nature of the thing
scared her--she had the idea that if once she let the pit fill, they
would be unable to stop the flow; and so, with a spring, she flung
herself upon the pipe, clasping her two hands rigidly about it, and
stanching the most part of the rush. But the strength of the pulsing
water was great, her footing slimy, her purchase feeble. Raising her
voice, regardless of all but the emergency, she cried aloud:
"_Bert! Bert! Bert!_ Quick!"
He had only just dismissed Alfred on his errand, and was hurrying
back, when that sound smote his ear. He broke into a laugh of pure
joy as he heard it, but he ran with all his might.
The moment he got to the brink of the pit, he saw what was happening;
and he, too, lost his head. Instead of calling to her to let go, and
holding down his hands to draw her up, at the expense of a drenching,
he forthwith sprang down, placed himself beside her, and locked his
hands over hers.
The fact of his doing this bereft her of all power of speech.
She was totally unconscious of having called him by name; she did not
know the reason of his kindled, glowing look. Neither, for a few
long-drawn seconds, considered what was to be done. They simply
stood there, so acutely conscious of each other that nothing else in
all the universe seemed real.
She was the first to recall her scattered wits.
"Oh, this is too ridiculous," she said faintly. "We can't hold on!
We can't hold on!"
"Just long enough for Alfred to get back," he whispered. "He can't
be ten minutes. He can have the thing ready to screw on, and save
you a deluge--"
"Nonsense!" she uttered feebly. "We can't hold on here for ten
minutes! We can't, simply."
"I wish we could hold on for ever," he jerked out, his voice sunk to
a note that made her quail.
The force in his hands seemed to be communicating itself to her. She
was dominated, absorbed, had forgotten everything but him. He never
spoke, but she became aware that he wished her to look at him. She
tore away her gaze from the sight of their gripped hands, raised her
head, searched his face with pleading eyes.
Their looks met and mingled.
A dull beat was hammering through her senses. Was it his heart or
hers, or the pulse of Time itself?
Their faces drew nearer, nearer to each other.
Something was going to happen--something that should explain all life
and blaze the answer to every secret ... that was the thought she had
as their lips met.
Was it he who bent to her, or was the impulse that drew them mutual?
The blinding sweetness of that kiss was unmarred by any thought of
treachery. The world and Lance with it, had simply gone out in the
ecstasy of the light that flooded her.
* * * * * * * *
It was over. The world that had stood at gaze like Joshua's moon on
Ajalon, swung on once more her dance among the stars.
Melicent stood there, in the fair June evening, at the side of the
man who had kissed her. The wind came softly over meadows deep in
buttercups, and bent the white lacy sprays of delicate wild parsley
which fringed them. High in the blue sky the lark stormed heaven's
gate with song.
"Let me go!" she cried, with a stifled sob. "I must go! Don't you
see that I must?"
It was a moment before he replied; but when he did, his voice was
perfectly composed and cool.
"As soon as you feel the pressure of my hands relax, slip yours
downwards," he said.
A moment later she was free.
"There! Oh, why couldn't you do that before?" she cried
passionately, as she made a frantic onslaught upon the crumbling side
of the pit.
She was up and away in a minute, her white frock soaked, her feet
caked in pale yellow mud. She ran across the grass, never stopping
to look behind, and met the bewildered Alfred just at the edge of the
plantation.
"Hurry to the Captain," she gasped. "The water has started to run
and he can't stop it. I must go home and change!"
Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak. In feverish, stumbling
haste she mounted her bicycle, and rode down the bumpy grass slope at
a dangerous pace. Mercifully the gate into the lane stood wide, and
she was through it and back at the cottage in a couple of minutes.
Alfred found his master up to the knees in what looked like weak tea
with cream in it. Between them they managed to re-fix the tap,
connect the long hose, and set the liquid flowing into Melicent's
fish-pond.
Emerging from the pit, the Captain looked at his legs--he was wearing
a cool, summer suit of light grey flannel.
"The wash-tub, Alfred, is the place for me," he said resignedly.
"Yessir!" said Alfred, who had prudently removed his own smart
leg-wear before venturing to the rescue.
"Joseph was better off than I am, Alfred. His pit was dry--there was
no water in it."
"Yessir! Miss Lutwyche, she was drenched, sir."
"I hope she won't take cold," said the Captain, with polite
solicitude; "but fortunately the day is warm. Get on your boots,
Alfred. I'll let this thing run all night, and perhaps there'll be
something to show for it in the morning. There must have been
something in the pipe, and the force of the water dislodged it, I
suppose."
Melicent, lying upon her bed with hidden face, heard the cart go past
the cottage. The beat of the hoofs was not interrupted; they passed
by without stopping; and the tension of her strained nerves relaxed.