It was nearly dark that evening when Hope stood again on the veranda of
the Magician's, bungalow, and listened to the water running through the
reeds. She thought it sounded louder than in the morning--- more
insistent, less mirthful. She shivered a little as she stood there. She
felt lonely; her uncle was away for a couple of days, and Ronnie was in
his room. She was bracing herself to go and rouse him to dress for mess.
Slowly, at last, she turned to go. But at the same instant a voice
called to her from below, and she stopped short.
"Ah, don't run away!" it said. "I've come on purpose to see you--on a
matter of importance."
Reluctantly Hope waited. She knew the voice well, and it made her quiver
in every nerve with the instinct of flight. Yet she summoned all her
resolution and stood still, while Hyde calmly mounted the veranda steps
and approached her. He was in riding-dress, and he carried a crop,
walking with all the swaggering insolence that she loathed.
"There's something I want to say to you," he said. "I can come in, I
suppose? It won't take me long."
He took her permission for granted, and turned into the drawing-room.
Hope followed him in silence. She could not pretend to this man that his
presence was a pleasure to her. She hated him, and deep in her heart she
feared him as she feared no one else in the world.
He looked at her with eyes of cynical criticism by the light of the
shaded lamp. She felt that there was something worse than insolence
about him that night--something of cruelty, of brutality even, from
which she was powerless to escape.
"Come!" he said, as she did not speak. "Doesn't it occur to you that I
have been a particularly good friend to you to-day?"
Hope faced him steadily. Twice before she had evaded this man, but she
knew that to-night evasion was out of the question. She must confront
him without panic, and alone.
"I think you must tell me what you mean," she said, her voice very low.
He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and then laughed at her--his
abominable, mocking laugh.
"I have noticed before," he said, "that when a woman finds herself in a
tight corner, she invariably tries to divert attention by asking
unnecessary questions. It's a harmless little stratagem that may serve
her turn. But in this case, let me assure you, it is sheer waste of
time. I hold you--and your brother, also--in the hollow of my hand. And
you know it."
He spoke slowly, with a confidence from which there was no escape. His
eyes still closely watched her face. And Hope felt again that wild
terror, which only he had ever inspired in her, knocking at her heart.
She did not ask him a second time what he meant. He had made her realize
the utter futility of prevarication. Instead, she forced herself to
meet his look boldly, and grapple with him with all her desperate
courage.
"My brother owed you a debt of honour," she said; "and it has been paid.
What more do you want?"
A glitter of admiration shone for a moment through his cynicism. This
was better than meek surrender. A woman who fought was worth conquering.
"You are not going to acknowledge, then," he said, "that you--you
personally--are in any way indebted to me?"
"Certainly not!" The girl's eyes did not flinch before his. Save that
she was trembling, he would scarcely have detected her fear. "You have
done nothing for me," she said. "You only served your own purpose."
"Oh, indeed!" said Hyde softly. "So that is how you look at it, is it?"
He moved, and went close to her. Still she did not shrink. She was
fighting desperately--desperately--a losing battle.
"Well," he said, after a moment, in which she withstood him silently
with all her strength, "in one sense that is true. I did serve my own
purpose. But have you, I wonder, any idea what that purpose of mine
was?"
He waited, but she did not answer him. She was nearly at the end of her
strength. Hyde did not offer to touch her. He only smiled a little at
the rising panic in her white face.
"Do you know what I am going to do now?" he said. "I am going to
mess--it's a guest night--and they will drink my health as the winner of
the Ghantala Cup. And then I shall propose someone else's health. Can
you guess whose?"
She shrank then, shrank perceptibly, painfully, as the victim must
shrink, despite all his resolution, from the hot iron of the torturer.
Hyde stood for a second longer, watching her. Then he turned. There was
fiendish triumph in his eyes.
"Good-bye!" he said.
She caught her breath sharply, spasmodically, as one who suppresses a
cry of pain. And then, before he reached the window, she spoke:
"Please wait!"
He turned instantly, and came back to her.
"Come!" he said. "You are going to be reasonable after all."
"What is it that you want?" Her desperation sounded in her voice. She
looked at him with eyes of wild appeal. Her defiance was all gone. The
smile went out of Hyde's face, and suddenly she saw the primitive savage
in possession. She had seen it before, but till that moment she had
never realized quite what it was.
"What do I want?" he said. "I want you, and you know it. That fellow
Baring is not the man for you. You are going to give him up. Do you
hear? Or else--if you prefer it--he will give you up. I don't care which
it is, but one or the other it shall be. Now do we understand one
another?"
Hope stared at him, speechless, horror-stricken, helpless!
He came nearer to her, but she did not recoil, for as a serpent holds
its prey, so he held her. She wanted to protest, to resist him fiercely,
but she was mute. Even the power to flee was taken from her. She could
only stand as if chained to the ground, stiff and paralyzed, awaiting
his pleasure. No nightmare terror had ever so obsessed her. The agony of
it was like a searing flame.
And Hyde, seeing her anguished helplessness, came nearer still with a
sort of exultant deliberation, and put his arm about her as she stood.
"I thought I should win the trick," he said, with a laugh that seemed to
turn her to ice. "Didn't I tell you weeks ago that I had--Hope?"
She did not attempt to answer or to resist. Her lips were quite
bloodless. A surging darkness was about her, but yet she remained
conscious--vividly horribly conscious--of the trap that had so suddenly
closed upon her. Through it she saw his face close to her own, with that
sneering, devilish smile about his mouth that she knew so well. And the
eyes with their glittering savagery were mocking her--mocking her.
Another instant and his lips would have pressed her own. He held her
fast, so fast that she felt almost suffocated. It was the most hideous
moment of her life. And still she could neither move nor protest. It
seemed as if, body and soul, she was his prisoner.
But suddenly, unexpectedly, he paused. His arms slackened and fell
abruptly from her; so abruptly that she tottered, feeling vaguely for
support. She saw his face change as he turned sharply away. And
instinctively, notwithstanding the darkness that blinded her, she knew
the cause. She put her hand over her eyes and strove to recover herself.