THE MAN ON THE FENCE
Her first feeling, when she knew herself in truth to be alone, was of
thankfulness so intense as almost to amount to pain. He knew! As he
himself had said, thank goodness! Her relief at the knowledge that her
burden was shared, in however slight a degree, was greater than she
could have imagined possible. And of all people in the world--by him!
Now he understood, and understanding had, in one sense, drawn him
closer to her; if in another it had thrust him farther off. Again, to
use his own words, he was at least her friend. And, among all persons,
he was the one whom--for every possible reason--she would rather have
chosen as a friend. In his hands she knew she would be safe. Whatever
he could do, he would do, and more. That ogre who, in a few hours,
would again be issuing from the prison gates, would not have her so
wholly at his mercy as she had feared. Now, and henceforward, there
would be someone else with whom he would have to reckon. One in whom,
she was convinced, he would find much more than his match.
Again as he had said--thank goodness!
For some minutes she remained just as he had left her, standing looking
after him, where he had vanished among the trees. After a while the
restraint which she had placed upon herself throughout that trying
interview, began to slacken. The girl that was in her came to the
front--nature had its way. All at once she threw herself face downward
on the cushioned turf in her own particular nook, and burst into a
flood of tears. It was to enable her to do that, perhaps, that she had
so wished to be alone. For once in a way, it was a comfort to cry; they
were more than half of them tears of happiness. On the grass she lay,
in the moonlight, and sobbed out, as it were, her thanks for the
promise of help which had so suddenly come to her.
Until all at once she became aware, amidst the tumult of her sobbing,
of a disturbing sound. She did not at first move or alter her position.
She only tried to calm herself and listen. What was it which had struck
upon her consciousness? Footsteps? Yes, approaching footsteps.
Had he played her false, and, despite his promise, kept watch on her?
And was he now returning, to intrude upon her privacy? How dare he! The
fountain of her tears was all at once dried up; instead, she went hot
all over. The steps were drawing nearer. The person who was responsible
was climbing the fence, within, it seemed, half a dozen feet of her.
She started up in a rage, to find that the intruder was not Hugh
Morice.
Seated on the top rail of the fence, on which he appeared to have
perched himself, to enable him to observe her more at his ease, was
quite a different-looking sort of person, a much more unprepossessing
one than Hugh Morice. His coat and trousers were of shepherd's plaid;
the open jacket revealing a light blue waistcoat, ornamented with
bright brass buttons. For necktie he wore a narrow scarlet ribbon. His
brown billycock hat was a little on one side of his head; his face was
clean shaven, and between his lips he had an unlighted cigarette. In
age he might have been anything between thirty and fifty.
His appearance was so entirely unexpected, and, in truth, so almost
incredible, that she stared at him as she might have stared at some
frightful apparition. And, indeed, no apparition could have seemed more
frightful to her; for the man on the fence was Robert Champion.
For the space of at least a minute neither spoke. It was as if both
parties were at a loss for words. At last the man found his tongue.
"Well, Vi, this is a little surprise for both of us."
So far she had been kneeling on the turf, as if the sight of him had
paralysed her limbs and prevented her from ascending higher. Now, with
a sudden jerky movement, she stood up straight.
"You!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, my dear--me. Taken you a little by surprise, haven't I? You don't
seem to have made many preparations for my reception, though of course
it's always possible that you've got the fatted calf waiting for me
indoors."
"I thought you were in prison."
"Well, it's not a very delicate reminder, is it? on this the occasion
of our first meeting. But, strictly between ourselves, I've been in
prison, and that's a solid fact; and a nasty, unsociable place I found
it."
"But I thought they weren't going to let you out until to-morrow."
"No? Did you? I see. That's why you were crying your heart out on the
grass there, because you thought they were going to keep me from you
four-and-twenty hours longer. The brutes! I should have thought you'd
have found it damp enough without wanting to make it damper; but
there's no accounting for tastes; yours always were your own, and I
recognise the compliment. As it happens, when a gentleman's time's up
on a Sunday, they let him tear himself away from them on the Saturday.
Sunday's what they call a _dies non_; you're a lady of education, so
you know what that means. You were right in reckoning that the twelve
months for which they tore a husband from his wife wasn't up until
tomorrow; but it seems that you didn't reckon for that little
peculiarity, on account of which I said goodbye to them this morning.
See?"
"But--I don't understand!"
She threw out her arms with a gesture which was eloquent of the
confusion--and worse--with which his sudden apparition had filled her.
"No? what don't you understand? It all seems to me clear enough; but,
perhaps, you always were a trifle dull."
"I don't understand how you've found me! how it is that you are here!"
"Oh, that's it, is it? Now I begin to catch on. That's the simplest
part of the lot. You--the wife of my bosom, the partner of my joys and
sorrows--particularly of my sorrows--you never wrote me a line; you
never took the slightest interest in my hard fate. For all you cared I
might have died. I don't like to think that you really didn't care, but
that's what it looked like." He grinned, as if he had said something
humorous. "But I had a friend--a true friend--one. That friend met me
this morning, where my wife ought to have met me, at the prison gates.
From that friend I learned of the surprising things which had happened
to you; how you had come into a fortune--a fortune beyond the dreams of
avarice. It seems strange that, under the circumstances, you weren't
outside the prison, with a coach and four, waiting to bear me away in
triumph to your gilded bowers. Ah-h!" He emitted a sound which might
have been meant for a sigh. "But I bore up--with the aid of the first
bottle of champagne I'd tasted since I saw you last--the gift of my one
true friend. So, as you hadn't come to me, I came to you. You might
have bungled up the dates or something; there's never any telling. I
knew you'd be glad to see me--your loving husband, dear. My late
arrival is due to no fault of mine; it's that beastly railway. I
couldn't make out which was the proper station for this little shanty
of yours! and it seems I took a ticket for the wrong one. Found myself
stranded in a God-forsaken hole; no conveyance to be got; no more
trains until tomorrow. So I started to walk the distance. They told me
it was about five miles. About five miles! I'd like to make 'em cover
it as five against the clock; they'd learn! When I'd gone about ten I
met an idiot who told me there was a short cut, and set me on it. Short
cut! If there's a longer cut anywhere I shouldn't care to strike it.
Directly I'd seen the back of him it came on pitch dark; and there was
I, in a pathless wilderness, with no more idea of where I was going
than the man in the moon. For the last two hours I've been forcing my
way through what seemed to me to be a virgin forest. I've had a time!
But now I've found you, by what looks very like a miracle; and all's
well that ends well. So give us a kiss, like a good girl, and say
you're glad to see me. Come and salute your husband."
"You're not my husband!"
"Not--I say! Don't go and throw away your character like that. As my
wife, it's precious to me, if it isn't to you."
"What do you suppose you're going to do now?"
"Now?--Do you mean this minute? Well, I did dream of a tender meeting;
you know the kind of thing. As a loving wife you ought to, but,
perhaps, you'd like to put that off till a little later. Now I suppose
we're going up together to the little home of which I've heard, and
have come so far to see; and there--well, there we'll have the tender
meeting."
"I advise you not to set foot upon my ground!"
"Your ground? Our ground, you mean. Really, how you do mix things up."
"My ground, I mean. You have no more to do with it than--than the
jailer who let you out of the prison gate, to prey upon the world
again."
She had evidently learnt her lesson from Mr Morice in the nick of time.
"Don't be silly; you don't know what you're talking about. What's yours
is mine; what's the wife's the husband's."
"That's a lie, and you know it. I know it's a lie, as you'll discover.
This side of that fence is my property. If you trespass on it I'll
summon my gamekeepers--there are always plenty of them about--and I'll
have you thrown off it. What you do on the other side of the fence is
no business of mine. That belongs to someone who is well able to deal
with men like you."
"This is a cheerful hearing, upon my word! Can this virago be the
loving wife I've come all this way to see? No, it can't be--it must be
a delusion. Let me tell you again--don't be silly. Where the wife is
the husband's a perfect right to be. That's the law of England and it's
the law of God."
"It's neither when the husband is such as you. Let me repeat my advice
to you--don't trespass on my ground."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to find a gamekeeper; to warn him that bad characters are
about, and to instruct him how to deal with them."
"Stop! don't talk nonsense to me like that! Have you forgotten what
kind of man I am?"
"Have I forgotten! As if I ever could forget!"
"Then mind it! Come here! Where are you off to? Did you hear me tell
you to come here?"
"I repeat, I'm going to find a gamekeeper. I heard you tell me; but I
pay no more attention to what you tell me than the trunk of that tree."
"By----! we'll see about that!"
Descending from the fence, he moved towards her. She stopped, turned
and faced him.
"What do you think you're going to do?"
"I'm going to see you mind me--that's what I'm going to do."
"Does that mean that you're going to assault me, as you used to?"
He laughed.
"Assault you! Not much! Look here. What's the good of your carrying on
like this? Why can't you behave like a reasonable girl, and talk
sensibly?" She looked him steadily in the face; then turned on her
heel. "You'd better stand still! I'm your husband; you're my wife. It's
my duty to see that you obey me, and I'm going to do my duty. So just
you mark my words!"
"Husband! Duty! You unutterable thing! Don't touch me! Take your hand
from off my shoulder!"
"Then you stand still. I'm not going to have you slip through my
fingers, and leave me here, and have the laugh on me; so don't you make
any mistake, my girl. You've never had the laugh on me yet, and you
never will."
"If you don't take your hand off my shoulder, I'll kill you."
Again he laughed.
"It strikes me that if there's going to be any killing done it's I
who'll do it. You're getting my temper up, like you used to; and when
you've got it fairly up there'll be trouble. You stand still! Do you
hear me? Your eyes-- What's that?" With a sudden, vigorous movement she
broke from his retaining grasp. "Would you! I'll teach you!"
He advanced, evidently meaning to renew his grip upon her shoulders.
Before he could do so she swung out her right arm with all the strength
at her command, and struck him in the face. Not anticipating such
violent measures, taken unawares, he staggered blindly backwards. Ere
he could recover himself she had sprung round, and was rushing at the
top of her speed towards the narrow, winding path along which she had
come. As she gained it the moon passed behind the clouds.