THE ENCHANTED LAND
At ten o'clock that night, Avery went round to bid each child good-night.
She found Gracie sleeping peacefully with her bed pushed close to
Jeanie's. The latter was awake and whispered a greeting. On the other
side of the room Olive slept the sleep of the just. Avery did not pause
by her bed, but went straight to Jeanie, who held her hand for a little
and then gently begged her to go to bed herself.
"You must be so tired," she said.
Avery could not deny the fact. But she had arranged to sleep in Mrs.
Lorimer's room, so she could not look forward to a night without care.
She did not tell Jeanie this, however, but presently kissed her tenderly
and stole away.
She visited the younger boys, and found them all asleep; then slipped up
to the attic in which the elder lads slept.
She heard their voices as she reached the closed door. She knocked softly
therefore, and in a moment heard one of them leap to open it.
It was Ronald, clad in pyjamas but unfailingly courteous, who invited
her to enter.
"I knew it must be you, Mrs. Denys. Come in! Very pleased to see you.
Wait a second while I light a candle!"
He did so, and revealed Julian sitting up in bed with sullen defiance
writ large upon his face. But he smiled at sight of her, and patted the
side of his bed invitingly.
"Don't sit on the chair! It's untrustworthy. It's awfully decent of you
to look us up like this,--that is, if you haven't come to preach."
"I haven't," said Avery, accepting the invitation since she felt too
weary to stand.
Julian nodded approval. "That's right. I knew you were too much of a
brick. I'm awaiting my next swishing for upsetting my cup at breakfast in
your defence, so I hardly think I deserve any pi-jaw from you, do I?"
"Oh, I'm not at all pi, I assure you," Avery said. "And if it was done
for my sake, I'm quite grateful, though I wish you hadn't."
Julian grinned at her, and she proceeded.
"I don't think you need wait any longer for the swishing. Your father has
decided, I understand, not to carry the matter any further."
Julian opened his eyes wide. "What? You've been at him, have you?"
Avery smiled even while she sighed.
"Oh, I'm no good, Julian. I only make things worse when I interfere. No,
it's not due to me. But, all the same, I hope and believe the trouble has
blown over for the present. Do--do try and keep the peace in the future!"
Her weariness sounded in her voice; it quivered in spite of her.
Julian placed a quick, clammy hand on hers and squeezed it
affectionately.
"Anything to oblige!" he promised generously. "Here Ron! Shy over those
letters! She wants something to cheer her up."
"Letters!" Avery looked round sharply. "I had forgotten my
letters!" she said.
"Here they are!" Ronald came forward and placed them in her hand. "I
picked 'em up this morning, and then when you sent me off for the doc, I
forgot all about 'em. I'm sorry. I only came across them when I was
undressing, and you were busy in the mater's room, so I thought I'd keep
them safe till to-morrow. I hope they are not important," he added.
"I don't suppose so," said Avery; yet her heart jerked oddly as she
slipped them into her dress. "Thank you for taking care of them. I must
be going now. You are going to be good?"
She looked at Julian, who, still feeling generous, thrust a rough, boyish
arm about her neck and kissed her.
"You're a trump!" he said. "There! Good-night! I'll be as meek as Moses
in the morning."
It was a definite promise, and Avery felt relieved. She took leave of
Ronald more ceremoniously. His scrupulous politeness demanded it. And
then with feet that felt strangely light, considering her fatigue, she
ran softly down again to Mrs. Lorimer's room.
In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read her letters. One of
them--the one with the Australian stamp, characteristically brief but
kind--was to tell her that the writer, a friend of some standing, was
coming to England, and hoped to see her again ere long.
The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the table unopened
till she was undressed and ready to join Mrs. Lorimer. Then--for the
first time in all that weary day of turmoil--Avery stole a few moments
of luxury.
She sat down and opened Piers' letter.
It began impetuously, without preliminary. "I wonder whether you have any
idea what it costs to clear out without a word of farewell. Perhaps you
are even thinking that I've forgotten. Or perhaps it matters so little to
you that you haven't thought at all. I know you won't tell me, so it's
not much good speculating. But lest you should misunderstand in any way,
I want to explain that I haven't been fit to come near you since we
parted on Christmas Eve. You were angry with me then, weren't you? Avery
in a temper! Do you remember how it went? At least you meant to be, but
somehow you didn't get up the steam. You wished me a happy Christmas
instead, and I ought to have had one in consequence. But I didn't. I
played the giddy goat off and on all day long, and my grandfather--dear
old chap--thought what a merry infant I was. But--you've heard of the
worm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched? The Reverend
Stephen has taken care of that. Do you remember his 'penny-terrible' of a
Sunday or two ago? You were very angry about it, Avery. I love you when
you're angry. And how he dilated on the gates of brass and the bars of
iron and the outer darkness etc, etc, till we all went home and shivered
in our beds! Well, that's the sort of place I spent my Christmas in, and
I wanted to come to you and Jeanie and be made happy, but--I couldn't. I
was too fast in prison. I felt too murderous. I hunted all the next day
to try and get more wholesome. But it was no good. I was seeing red all
the time. And at night something happened that touched me off like an
exploded train of gunpowder. Has Tudor told you about it yet? Doubtless
he will. I tried to murder him, and succeeded in cracking his eye-glass.
Banal, wasn't it? And I have an uneasy feeling that he came out top-dog
after all, confound him!
"Avery, whomever else you have no use for, I know you're not in love with
him, and in my saner moments I realize that you never could be. But I
wasn't sane just then. I love you so! I love you so! It's good to be able
to get it right out before you have time to stop me. For I worship you,
Avery, my darling! You don't realize it. How should you? You think it is
just the passing fancy of a boy. A boy--ye gods!
"I think of you hour by hour. You are always close in your own secret
place in my heart. I hold you in my arms when no one else is near. I
kiss your forehead, your eyes, your hair. No, not your lips, dear, even
in fancy. I have never in my maddest dreams kissed your lips. But I ache
and crave and long for them, though--till you give me leave--I dare not
even pretend that they are mine. Will you ever give me leave? You say No
now. Yet I think you will, Avery. I think you will. I have known ever
since that first moment when you held me back from flaying poor old
Caesar that I have met my Fate, and because I know it I'm trying--for
your sweet sake--to make myself a better man. It's beastly uphill work,
and that episode with Tudor has pulled me back. Confound him! By the way
though, it's done me good in one sense, for I find I don't detest him
quite so hideously as I did. The man has his points.
"And now Avery,--dear Avery, will you forgive me for writing all this? I
know you won't write to me, but I send my address in case! And I shall
watch every mail day after day, night after night, for the letter that
will never come.
"Pathetic picture, isn't it? Good-bye!
"PIERS.
"My love to the Queen of all good fairies, and tell Pixie that I hope the
gloves fitted."
Avery's lips parted in a smile; a soft flush overspread her face. That
costly gift from the children--she had guessed from the beginning
whence it came.
And then slowly, even with reverence, she folded the letter up, and rose.
Her smile became a little tremulous. It had been a day of many troubles,
and she was very tired. The boy's adoration was strangely sweet to her
wearied senses. She felt subtly softened and tender towards him.
No, it must not be! It could not be! He must forget her. She would write
to-morrow and tell him so. Yet for that one night the charm held her.
She viewed from afar an enchanted land--a land of sunshine and singing
birds--a land where it was always spring. It was a country she had seen
before, but only in her dreams. Her feet had never wandered there. The
path she had followed had not led to it. Perhaps it was all a mirage.
Perhaps there was no path.
Yet in her dreams she crossed the boundary, and entered the
forbidden land.