YOU SHALL NOT--!
"I have very sore shame if like a coward I shrink away from battle.
Moreover, my own soul forbiddeth me."--HOMER.
Quite a little party of a quiet kind assembled in the drawing-room for
tea--Frank Olliver, Mrs Conolly, Wyndham, and his subaltern George
Rivers, a promising probationer of a year's standing. The funeral of
the morning, and anxiety as to the fate of Desmond's eyes, gave a
subdued tone to the attempt at cheerfulness that prevailed. But Evelyn
was grateful even for so mild a reversion to a more normal condition
of things.
Each in turn had paid a short visit to the wounded hero in the study;
but now they were grouped round the tea-table, leaving him temporarily
alone. Evelyn had just filled his cup; and being in no mood to
interrupt her exchange of light-hearted nothings with George Rivers,
she glanced across at Wyndham, who promptly understood the situation
and the mute request.
Honor, standing apart from the rest, noted the characteristic bit of
by-play, and with a pang of envy watched Paul receive the cup and
plate destined for Theo's room. It seemed a century since she had left
him in the morning, with words wrung from her bitterness of heart and
regretted as soon as they were uttered; and because of the longing,
that would not be stifled, she refrained from the offer that came
instinctively to her lips.
But, as if drawn by the magnetism of her thoughts, Paul came straight
up to her.
"Won't you take these yourself?" he said in a low tone. "He has seen
plenty of me this afternoon; and when I spoke of you just now he said
you had not been near him since breakfast. Is that your notion of
taking charge of a patient? It isn't mine, I can tell you!"
He spoke lightly, easily; for if life were to be tolerable, the
discovery he had made must be ignored, without and within.
"It is not mine either," she answered, flushing at the unmerited
reproof. "But I am by way of handing over my charge to you. Doesn't
the arrangement suit you?"
"By all means. But Mackay rightly chose you. Besides, I am not so
selfish that I should want to deprive Theo of the pleasure of your
ministrations."
"Deprive him? You are judging him by yourself! It is hardly a question
of deprivation, surely."
Wyndham glanced at her keenly.
"Hullo!" he said, "one doesn't expect that sort of tone from you where
Theo is concerned. What do you mean me to understand by it?"
"Nothing--nothing at all! Only--he happens to prefer _your_
ministrations. He almost told me so. You or he can settle it with Dr
Mackay to-night. But I will take these in to him--if you wish."
"Purely as a favour to me?"
Her face lit up with a gleam of irrepressible humour.
"Purely as a favour to you!"
She took the cup and plate from him, still smiling, and passed on into
the study.
As she bent above the table, Desmond lifted his head in a vain effort
to get a glimpse of her face.
"Thank you--thank you--how good of you!" he said, his constraint
softened by a repressed eagerness, which gave her courage to speak her
thought.
"Why am I suddenly to be discomfited by such elaborate thanks, such
scathing politeness?" she asked in a tone of valiant good-humour.
"I didn't mean it to be scathing."
"Well, it is. Overmuch thanks for small services is a poor compliment
to friendship. I thought you and I agreed on that point."
He answered nothing. He was nerving himself to the effort of decisive
speech, which should set danger at arm's length and end their
distracting situation once for all.
She set the small table closer to his side.
"I will look in again, in case you should want some more," she said
softly, "if you will promise me not to say 'thank you!'"
"I promise," he answered with a half smile; and she turned to go. But
before she had reached the door his voice arrested her.
"Honor,--one minute, please. I have something particular to say."
The note of constraint was so marked that the girl stood speechless,
scarcely breathing, wondering what would come next--whether his words
would break down the barrier that held them apart.
"Well?" she said at length, as he remained silent.
"I have been thinking," he began awkwardly, "over what you said
yesterday--about Evelyn. You remember?"
"Yes."
"And I have been wanting to tell you that I believe you were right.
You generally are. I believe we ought to give her the chance you spoke
of. Besides--I asked too much of you. This may be a slow business; and
really we have no right to trade on your unselfishness to the extent I
proposed. You understand me?"
For the life of him he could not ask her to go outright; his excuse
appeared to him lame enough to be an insult itself. A fierce
temptation assailed him to push up the detested shade and discover
whether he had hurt this girl, who had done so infinitely much for
him. But he grasped the side of his chair, keeping his arm rigid as
steel; and awaited her answer, which seemed an eternity in coming.
Indeed, if he had struck her, Honor could scarcely have been more
stunned, more indignant, than she was at that moment. But when she
found her voice it was at least steady, if not devoid of emotion.
"No, Theo," she said. "For the first time in my life I _don't_
understand you. But I see clearly--what you wish; and if you feel
absolutely certain that you are making the right decision for Evelyn,
I have no more to say. For myself, you are asking a far harder thing
to-day than you did yesterday. But that is no matter, if it is really
best for you both--I don't quite know what Dr Mackay will say. I will
see him about it this evening; and you will please tell
Evelyn--yourself."
He knew now that he had hurt her cruelly; and with knowledge came the
revelation that he was playing a coward's part in rewarding her thus
for all she had done; in depriving Evelyn of her one support and
shield, merely because he distrusted his own self-mastery at a time of
severe mental stress and bodily weakness.
His imperative need for a sight of her face conquered him at last.
Quick as thought his hand went up to the rim of the shade. But Honor
was quicker still. The instinct to shield him from harm swept
everything else aside. In a second she had reached him and secured his
hand.
"You _shall not_ do that!" she said--anger, fear, determination
vibrating in her low tone.
Then, to her astonishment, she found her own hand crushed in his, with
a force that brought tears into her eyes. But he remained silent; and
she neither spoke nor stirred. Emotion dominated her; and her whole
mind was concentrated on the effort to hold it in leash.
For one brief instant they stood thus upon the brink of a
precipice--the precipice of mutual knowledge. But both were
safeguarded by the strength that belongs to an upright spirit; and
before three words could have been uttered Desmond had dropped her
hand, almost throwing it from him, with a decisiveness that might have
puzzled her, but that she had passed beyond the region of surprise.
Still neither spoke. Desmond was breathing with the short gasps of a
man who has ran a great way, or fought a hard fight; and Honor
remained beside him, her eyes blinded, her throat aching with tears
that must not be allowed to fall.
At last she mastered them sufficiently to risk speech.
"What _have_ I done that you should treat me--like this?"
There was more of bewilderment than of reproach in the words, and
Desmond, turning his head, saw the white marks made by his own
fingers upon the hand that hung at her side.
"Done?" he echoed, all constraint and coldness gone from his voice.
"You have simply proved yourself, for the hundredth time--the
staunchest, most long-suffering woman on God's earth. Will you forgive
me, Honor? Will you wipe out what I said--and did just now? I am not
quite--myself to-day; if one dare proffer an excuse. Mackay is right,
we can't do without you--Evelyn least of any. Will you believe that,
and stay with us, in spite of all?"
He proffered his hand now, and she gave him the one that still tingled
from his pressure. He held it quietly, closely, as the hand of a
friend, and was rewarded by her frank return of his grasp.
"Of course I will stay," she said simply. "But don't let there be any
talk of forgiveness between you and me, Theo. To understand is to
forgive. I confess I _have_ been puzzled since--yesterday evening, but
now I think we do understand one another again. Isn't that so?"
"Yes; we understand one another, Honor," he answered without a shadow
of hesitation; but in his heart he thanked God that she did not
understand--nor ever would, to her life's end.
Relief reawakened the practical element, which had been submerged in
the emotional. She was watching him now with the eyes of a nurse
rather than the eyes of a woman.
When he had spoken, his arm fell limply; and he leaned back upon the
pillows with a sigh of such utter weariness that her anxiety was
aroused. She remembered that his hand had seemed unnaturally hot, and
deliberately taking possession of it again, laid her fingers on his
wrist. The rapidity of his pulse startled her; since she could have no
suspicion of all that he had fought against and held in check.
"How _is_ one to keep such a piece of quicksilver as you in a state of
placid stodge!" she murmured. "I suppose I ought to have forbidden you
to talk. But how could I dream that--all this would come of it? You
must lie absolutely quiet and see no one for the rest of the evening.
I will send at once for Dr Mackay; and, look, your tea is all cold.
You shall have some fresh--very weak--it will do you good. But not
another word, please, to me or any one till I give you leave."
"Very well; I'll do my best to remain in a state of placid stodge, if
that will ease your mind," he answered so humbly that the tears
started to her eyes afresh. "Won't you let me smoke, though? Just one
cigarette. It would calm me down finely before Mackay comes."
Without answering she took one from his case and gave it to him. Then,
striking a match, held it for him, till the wisp of paper and tobacco
was well alight; while he lay back, drawing in the fragrant smoke,
with a sigh in which contentment and despair were strangely mingled.
It is to be hoped that, to the end of time, woman's higher development
will never eradicate her delight in ministering to the minor comforts
of the man she loves.
"As soon as I have seen Paul, and sent for Dr Mackay," Honor said, "I
will come back and stay with you altogether for the present."
"Thank you." He smiled directly the word was out. "I forgot! That's
against regulations! But I swear it came straight from my heart."
"In that case you are forgiven!" she answered, with a low laugh.
It was such pure pleasure to have recaptured the old spontaneous Theo,
with whom one could say or do anything, in the certainty of being
understood, that even anxiety could not quell the new joy at her
heart.
Re-entering the drawing-room, she beckoned Wyndham with her eyes and
passed on into the hall. So surprisingly swift are a woman's changes
of mood, that by the time he joined her anxiety had taken hold of her
again, to the exclusion of all else.
"What is it?" he asked quickly.
"Oh, Paul, you did well to reprove me! We must send the orderly for Dr
Mackay at once. He has fever now--rather high, I am afraid. Did you
notice nothing earlier?"
"No; he seemed quiet enough when I was with him."
"I think he has been worrying over something, apart from his eyes and
the Boy; but I can't get at the bottom of it. No need to make the
others anxious yet; only--I won't leave him again. I intend to stick
to my charge after all," she added, with a sudden smile. "There was
some sort of--misunderstanding, it seems. I don't quite know what, but
there's an end of it now."
"Thank God!" The words were no mere formula on Paul Wyndham's lips.
"Misunderstandings are more poisonous than snakes! Go straight back to
him, and I'll send the orderly flying in two minutes."
* * * * *
There was little sleep for either Wyndham or Honor that night.
The girl persuaded Evelyn to go early to bed, merely telling her that
as Theo was restless she would have to sit up with him for a while;
and Evelyn, secretly relieved at not being asked to do the sitting up
herself, deposited a light kiss on her husband's hair and departed
with a pretty air of meekness that brought a smile to Honor's lips.
She had felt mildly happy and oppressively good all day. The tea-party
had helped to lighten the hushed atmosphere of the house; and her last
waking thought was of George Rivers' deep-toned voice and frankly
admiring eyes. She decided that he might "do" in place of Harry
Denvil, who must naturally be forgotten as soon as possible; because
it was so uncomfortable to think of people who were dead.
Desmond's temperature rose rapidly; and the two, who could not bear to
leave his side, divided the night watches between them. Amar Singh,
his chin between his knees, crouched dog-like on the mat outside the
door, presenting himself, from time to time, with such dumb yearning
in his eyes that Honor devised small services for him in pure
tenderness of heart.
Paul took a couple of hours' rest at midnight, on the condition that
Honor should do the same towards morning; and since she was obviously
reluctant when the unwelcome hour arrived, he smilingly conducted her
in person to the threshold of her room.
"Good-night to you,--Miss Meredith! Or should it be good-morning?" he
said lightly, in the hope of chasing the strained look from her face.
"Good-morning, for preference," she retorted, with an attempt at a
laugh. "You can take a horse to the water, but you can't make him
drink! I shan't sleep even for five minutes."
"You think so; but Nature will probably have her way with you all the
same."
He moved as if to go, but she came suddenly nearer; and the hidden
fear leaped to her lips.
"Paul--is there any real danger because of this fever? One is so
afraid of erysipelas with a wound of that kind; and it would
be--fatal. Has Dr Mackay said anything definite? Tell me--please. I
must know the truth."
In the urgency of the moment she laid a light hand upon him; and
Wyndham, bracing the muscles of his arm, tried not to be aware of her
finger-tips through his coat-sleeve.
"You evidently know too much for your own peace of mind," he said.
"But Mackay is as inscrutable as the Sphinx. One could see he was
anxious, because he was ready to snap one's head off on the least
provocation; but beyond that I know no more than you do. We can only
do our poor utmost for him every hour, you and I, and leave the
outcome--to God."
"Yes, yes,--you are right. Oh, Paul, what a rock you are at a bad time
like this!"
Unconsciously her fingers tightened upon his arm, and a thrill like a
current of electricity passed through him. Lifting her hand from its
resting-place, he put it aside, gently but decisively.
"I may be a rock," he remarked with his slow smile, "but I also happen
to be--a man. Don't make our compact harder for me than you can help.
Good-night again; and sleep soundly--for Theo's sake!"
Before she could find words in which to plead forgiveness, he had
almost reached the study door; and she stood motionless, watching him
go, her face aflame with anger at her own unwitting thoughtlessness,
and humiliation at the exquisite gentleness of his rebuke.
Surely there were few men on earth comparable to this man, whose heart
and soul were hers for the taking. A cold fear came upon her lest in
the end she should be driven to retract her decision; to forego all,
and endure all, rather than withhold from him a happiness he so
abundantly deserved.
"_Why_ is it such a heart-breaking tangle?" she murmured, locking her
hands together till the points of her sapphire ring cut into the
flesh. But she only pressed the harder. She understood now how it was
that monks and fanatics strove to ease the soul through torments of
the flesh. A pang of physical pain would have been a positive relief
just then. But there was none for her to bear. She was young,
vigorous, radiantly alive. She had not so much as a headache after her
anxious vigil. The high gods had willed that she should feel and
suffer to the full. There is no other pathway to the ultimate heights.
The soft closing of the study door sounded loud in the stillness; and
she went reluctantly into her own room.