The moments that followed were like a ghastly nightmare to Beryl, for,
struggle as she might, she knew herself to be helpless. Having once
passed the bounds of civilisation, he gave full rein to his savagery.
And again and yet again, holding her crushed to him, he kissed her
shrinking face. He was as a man possessed, and once he laughed--a
devilish laugh--at the weakness of her resistance.
And then quite suddenly she felt his grip relax. He let her go abruptly,
so that she tottered and almost fell, only saving herself by one of the
pillars of the arbour.
A great surging was in her brain, a surging that nearly deafened her.
She was too spent, too near to swooning, to realise what it was that had
wrought her deliverance. She could only cling gasping and quivering to
her support while the tumult within her gradually subsided.
It was several seconds later that she began to be aware of something
happening, of some commotion very near to her, of trampling to and fro,
and now and again of a voice that cursed. These things quickly goaded
her to a fuller consciousness. Exhausted though she was, she managed to
collect her senses and look down upon the spectacle below her.
There, on the edge of the fountain, two figures swayed and fought. One
of them she saw at a glance was Fletcher. She had a glimpse of his face
in the uncanny gloom, and it was set and devilish, bestial in its
cruelty. The other--the other--she stared and gasped and stared
again--the other, beyond all possibility of doubt, was the ancient
snake-charmer of Farabad.
Yet it was he who cursed--and cursed in excellent English--with a
fluency that none but English lips could possibly have achieved. And the
reason for his eloquence was not far to seek. For he was being thrashed,
thrashed scientifically, mercilessly, and absolutely thoroughly--by the
man whom he had dared to thwart.
He was draped as before in his long native garment--and this, though it
hung in tatters, hampered his movements, and must have placed him at a
hopeless disadvantage even had he not been completely outmatched in the
first place.
Standing on the steps above them, Beryl took in the whole situation, and
in a trice her own weakness was a thing of the past. Amazed,
incredulous, bewildered as she was, the urgent need for action drove all
questioning from her mind. There was no time for that. With a cry, she
sprang downwards.
And in that instant Fletcher delivered a smashing blow with the whole of
his strength, and struck his opponent down.
He fell with a thud, striking his head against the marble of the
fountain, and to Beryl's horror he did not rise again. He simply lay as
he had fallen, with arms flung wide and face upturned, motionless,
inanimate as a thing of stone.
In an agony she dropped upon her knees beside him.
"You brute!" she cried to Fletcher. "Oh, you brute!"
She heard him laugh in answer, a fierce and cruel laugh, but she paid no
further heed to him. She was trying to raise the fallen man, dabbing the
blood that ran from a cut on his temple, lifting his head to lie in the
hollow of her arm. Her incredulity had wholly passed. She knew him now
beyond all question. He would never manage to deceive her again.
"Speak to me! Oh, do speak to me!" she entreated. "Ronald, open your
eyes! Please open your eyes!"
"He is only stunned." It was Fletcher's voice above her. "Leave him
alone. He will soon come to his senses. Serves him right for acting the
clown in this get-up."
She looked up sharply at that and a perfect tempest of indignation took
possession of her, banishing all fear.
"What he did," she said, in a voice that shook uncontrollably, "was for
my sake alone, that he might be able to protect me from cads and
blackguards. I refuse to leave him like this, but the sooner you go, the
better. I will never--never as long as I live--speak to you again!"
Her blazing eyes, and the positive fury of her voice, must have carried
conviction to the most obtuse, and this Fletcher certainly was not. He
stood a moment, looking down at her with an insolence that might have
frightened her a little earlier, but which now she met with a new
strength that he felt himself powerless to dominate. She was not
thinking of herself at all just then, and perhaps that was the secret of
her ascendancy. His own brute force crumbled to nothing before it, and
he knew that he was beaten.
Without a word he bowed to her, smiling ironically, and turned upon his
heel.
She drew a great breath of relief as she saw him go. She felt as though
a horrible oppression had passed out of the atmosphere. That fairy haunt
with its bubbling fountain and sapphire lamps was no longer an evil
place.
She bent again over her senseless companion.
"Ronald!" she whispered. "My dear, my dear, can't you hear me? Oh, if
only you would open your eyes!"
She soaked her handkerchief in the water and held it to the wound upon
his forehead. Even as she did it, she felt him stir, and the next moment
his eyes were open, gazing straight up into her own.
"Damn the brute!" said Lord Ronald faintly.
"You are better?" she whispered thankfully.
His hand came upwards gropingly, and took the soaked handkerchief from
her. He dabbed his face with it, and slowly, with her assistance, sat
up.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"He has gone," she told him. "I--ordered him to go."
"Better late than never," said Lord Ronald thoughtfully.
He leaned upon the edge of the fountain, still mopping the blood from
his face, till, suddenly feeling his beard, he stripped it off with a
gesture of impatience.
"Afraid I must have given you a nasty shock," he said. "I didn't expect
to be mauled like this."
"Please--please don't apologise," she begged him, with a sound that was
meant for a laugh, but was in effect more like a sob.
He turned towards her in his slow way.
"I'm not apologising. Only--you know--I've taken something of a liberty,
though, on my honour, it was well meant. If you can overlook that----"
"I shall never overlook it," she said tremulously.
He put the _chuddah_ back from his head and regarded her gravely. His
face was swollen and discoloured, but this fact did not in the smallest
degree lessen the quaint self-assurance of his demeanour.
"Yes, but you mustn't cry about it," he said gently. "And you mustn't
blame yourself either. I knew the fellow, remember; you didn't."
"I didn't know you, either," she said, sitting down on the edge of the
fountain. "I--I've been a perfect fool!"
Silence followed this statement. She did not know quite whether she
expected Lord Ronald to agree with her or to protest against the
severity of her self-arraignment, but she found his silence peculiarly
hard to bear.
She had almost begun to resent it, when suddenly, very softly, he spoke:
"It's never too late to mend, is it?"
"I don't know," she answered. "I almost think it is--at my age."
He dipped her handkerchief again in the fountain, and dabbed his face
afresh. Then:
"Don't you think you might try?" he suggested, in his speculative drawl.
She shook her head rather drearily.
"I suppose I shall have to resign myself, and get a companion. I shall
hate it, and so will the companion, but----"
"Think so?" said Lord Ronald. He laid his hand quietly on her knee.
"Mrs. Denvers," he said, "I am afraid you thought me awfully impertinent
when I suggested your marrying me the other day. It wasn't very
ingenious of me, I admit. But what can you expect from a nonentity? Not
brains, surely! I am not going to repeat the blunder. I know very well
that I am no bigger than a peppercorn in your estimation, and we will
leave it at that. But, you know, you are too young, you really are too
young, to live alone. Now listen a moment. You trust me. You said so.
You'll stick to that?"
"Of course," she said, wondering greatly what was coming.
"Then will you," he proceeded very quietly, "have me for a watch-dog
until you marry again? I could make you an excellent Sikh servant, and I
could go with you practically everywhere. Don't begin to laugh at the
suggestion until you have thoroughly considered it. It could be done in
such a way that no one would suspect. It matters nothing to any one how
I pass my time, and I may as well do something useful for once. I know
at first sight it seems impossible, but it is nothing of the sort in
reality. It isn't the first time I have faked as a native. I am Indian
born, and I have spent the greater part of my life knocking about the
Empire. The snake-taming business I picked up from an old bearer of
mine--a very old man he's now and in the trade himself. I got him to
lend me his most docile cobra. The thing was harmless, of course. But
all this is beside the point. The point is, will you put up with me as a
retainer, no more, until you find some one more worthy of the high
honour of guarding you? I shall never, believe me, take advantage of
your kindness. And on the day you marry again I shall resign my post."
She had listened to the amazing suggestion in unbroken silence, and even
when he paused she did not at once speak. Her head was bent, almost as
though she did not wish him to see her face--he, the peppercorn, the
nonentity, whose opinion mattered so little!
Yet as he waited, still with that quiet hand upon her as though to
assure her of his solidity, his trustworthiness, she spoke at last, in a
voice so small that it sounded almost humble.
"But, Lord Ronald, I--I may never marry again. My late marriage was--was
such a grievous mistake. I was so young at the time, and--and----"
"Don't tell me," he said gently.
"But--but--if I never marry again?" she persisted.
"Then--unless, of course, you dismiss me--I shall be with you for all
time," he said.
She made a slight, involuntary movement, and he took his hand away.
"Will you think it over before you decide?" he said. "I will come to
you, as soon as I am presentable, for your answer. For the present,
would you not be wise to go back to your friends? I am too disreputable
to escort you, but I will watch you to the palace steps."
He got to his feet as he spoke. He was still absently mopping his face
with the scrap of lace he had taken from her.
Beryl stood up also. She wanted to be gracious to him, but she was
unaccountably shy. No words would come.
He waited courteously.
At last:
"Lord Ronald," she said with difficulty, "I know you are in earnest. But
do you--do you really wish to be taken at your word?"
He raised his eyebrows as if the question slightly surprised him.
"Certainly," he said.
Still she stood hesitating.
"I wish you would tell me why," she said, almost under her breath.
"Why?" he repeated uncomprehendingly.
"Yes, why you wish to safeguard me in this fashion," she explained, in
evident embarrassment.
"Oh, that!" he said slowly. "I suppose it is because I happen to care
for your safety."
"Yes?" she murmured, still pausing.
He looked at her with his straight grey eyes that were so perfectly true
and kind.
"That's all," he said, and smiled upon her reassuringly.
Beryl uttered a sharp sigh and let the matter drop. Nonentity though he
might be, she would have given much for a glimpse of his inner soul just
then.
X
For three days after the reception at Farabad Beryl Denvers returned to
her seclusion, and during those three days she devoted the whole of her
attention to the plan that Lord Ronald Prior had laid before her. It
worried her a good deal. There were so many obstacles to its
satisfactory fulfilment. She wished he had not been so pleasantly vague
regarding his own feelings in the matter. Of course, it was a
feather-brained scheme from start to finish, and yet in a fashion it
attracted her. He was so splendidly safe, so absolutely reliable; she
needed just such a protector. And yet--and yet--there were so many
obstacles.
On the fourth day Lord Ronald's card was brought to her. He did not call
at the conventional hour, and the reason for this was not hard to
fathom. He had come for her final decision, and he desired to see her
alone.
She did not know how to meet him or what to say, but it was useless to
shirk the interview. She entered her drawing-room with decidedly
heightened colour, even while telling herself that it was absurd to feel
any embarrassment in his presence.
He was waiting for her on his favourite perch, the music-stool, swinging
idly to and fro, with his customary serenity of demeanour. He moved to
meet her with a quiet smile of welcome. A piece of strapping-plaster
across his left temple was all that remained of his recent
disfigurement.
"I hope my visit is not premature," he remarked as he shook hands.
"Oh, no!" she answered somewhat nervously. "I expected you. Please sit
down."
He subsided again upon the music-stool, and there followed a silence
which she found peculiarly disconcerting.
"You have been thinking over my suggestion?" he drawled at length.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I have." She paused a moment, then, "I--am afraid
it wouldn't answer," she said, with an effort, "though I am very
grateful to you for thinking of it. You see, there are so many
obstacles."
"But not insurmountable, any of them," smiled Lord Ronald.
"I am afraid so," she said.
He looked at her.
"May I not hear what they are?"
She hesitated.
"For one thing, you know," she said, "one pays one's servants."
"Well, but you can pay me," he said simply. "I shall not ask very high
wages. I am easily satisfied. I shouldn't call that an obstacle."
She laughed a little.
"But that isn't all. There is the danger of being found out. It--it
would make it rather awkward, wouldn't it? People would talk."
"No one ever talks scandal of me," said Lord Ronald comfortably. "I am
considered eccentric, but quite incapable of anything serious. I don't
think you need be afraid. There really isn't the smallest danger of my
being discovered, and even if I were, I could tell the truth, you know.
People always believe what I say."
She smiled involuntarily at his simplicity, but she shook her head.
"It really wouldn't do," she said.
"What! More obstacles?" he asked.
"Yes, one--the greatest of all, in my opinion." She got up and moved
across the room, he pivoting slowly round to watch her.
She came to a stand by her writing-table, and began to turn over a
packet of letters that lay there. She did it mechanically, with hands
that shook a little. Her face was turned away from him.
He waited for a few seconds; then, as she still remained silent, he
spoke.
"What is this last obstacle, Mrs. Denvers?"
She answered him with her head bent, her fingers still fluttering the
papers before her.
"You," she said, in a low voice. "You yourself."
"Me!" said Lord Ronald, in evident astonishment.
She nodded without speaking.
"But--I'm sorry," he said pathetically, "I'm afraid I don't quite follow
you. I am not famed for my wits, as you know."
She laughed at that, unexpectedly and quite involuntarily; and though
she was instantly serious again the laugh served to clear away some of
her embarrassment.
"Oh, but you are absurd," she said, "to talk like that. No dull-witted
person could ever have done what you have been doing lately. Major
Fletcher himself told me that day we went to Farabad that it needed
sharp wits to pose as a native among natives. He also said--" She paused
suddenly.
"Yes?" said Lord Ronald.
She glanced round at him momentarily.
"I don't know why I should repeat it. It is quite beside the point. He
also said that it entailed a risk that no one would care to take
unless--unless there was something substantial to be gained by it."
"Well, but there was," said Lord Ronald vaguely.
"Meaning my safety?" she questioned.
"Exactly," he said.
She became silent; but she fidgeted no longer with her papers. She was
making up her mind to take a bold step.
"Lord Ronald," she said at last, "I am going to ask you a very direct--a
horribly direct--question. Will you answer me quite directly too?
And--and--tell me the truth, even if it sounds rather brutal?"
There was an unmistakable appeal in her voice. With an effort she
wheeled in her chair, and fully faced him. But she was so plainly
distressed that even he could not fail to notice it.
"What is it?" he said kindly. "I will tell you the truth, of course. I
always do."
"You promise?" she said, very earnestly.
"Certainly I promise," he said.
"Then--you must forgive my asking, but I must know, and I can't find out
in any other way--Lord Ronald, are you--are you in love with me?"
She saw the grey eyes widen in astonishment, and was conscious of a
moment of overwhelming embarrassment; and then, slow and emphatic, his
answer came, banishing all misgiving.
"But of course I am," he said. "I thought you knew."
She summoned to her aid an indignation she was far from feeling; she had
to cloak her confusion somehow. "How could I possibly know?" she said.
"You never told me."
"I asked you to marry me," he protested. "I thought you would take the
other thing for granted."
She stood up abruptly, turning from him. It was impossible to keep up
her indignation. It simply declined to carry her through.
"You--you are a perfect idiot!" she said shakily. And on the words she
tried to laugh, but only succeeded in partially smothering a sob.
"Oh, I say!" said Lord Ronald. He got up awkwardly, and stood behind
her. "Please don't take it to heart," he urged. "I shouldn't have told
you, only--you know--you asked. And it wouldn't make any difference, on
my honour it wouldn't. Won't you take my word for it, and give me a
trial?"
"No," she said.
"Why not?" he persisted. "Don't you think you are rather hard on me? I
shall never take a single inch more than you care to allow."
She turned upon him suddenly. Her cheeks were burning and her eyes were
wet, but she no longer cared about his seeing these details.
"What did you mean?" she demanded unexpectedly, "by saying to me that
those fight hardest who fight in vain?"
He was not in the least disconcerted.
"I meant that though you might send me about my business you would not
quite manage to shake me off altogether."
"Meaning that you would refuse to go?" she asked, with a quiver that
might have been anger in her voice.
"Meaning," he responded quietly, "that though you might deny me
yourself, it might not be in your power to deny me the pleasure of
serving you."
"And is it not in my power?" she asked swiftly.
He was looking at her very intently.
"No," he said in his most deliberate drawl. "I don't think it is."
"But it is," she asserted, meeting his look with blazing eyes. "You
cannot possibly enter my service without my consent. And--and--I am not
going to consent to that mad scheme of yours."
"No?" he said.
"No," she repeated with emphasis. "You yourself are the obstacle, as I
said before. If--if you had not been in love with me, I might have
considered it. But--now--it is out of the question. Moreover," her eyes
shot suddenly downwards, as though to hide their fire, "I shall not want
that sort of protector now."
"No?" he said again, very softly this time. He was standing straight
before her, still closely watching her with that in his eyes that he had
never permitted there before.
"No!" she repeated once more, and again brokenly she laughed; then
suddenly raised her eyes to his, and gave him both her hands
impetuously, confidingly, yet with a certain shyness notwithstanding.
"I--I am going to marry again after all," she said, "if--if you will
have me."
"My dear," said Lord Ronald, very tenderly, "I always meant to!"
* * * * *