THE SACRIFICE
He lifted her. She knew that he lifted her, but all her powers were
gone. She hung, a dead weight, in his arms.
Over her head she heard his voice, intensely quiet but deeper than
usual; she thought it held a menacing note.
"I'll take her to the window. Thanks, I'm not wanting any help from
you."
She felt the strength of the man as he lifted her bodily, and bore her
across the room. He set her down upon the window-seat, supporting her
with the utmost steadiness while he opened the window. The wintry air
blew in upon her, and she shivered and came to life.
"Don't move!" he said.
The awful weakness was still upon her; she obeyed him because she had no
choice, lying back against his arm in quivering submission.
"I'm--so sorry," she whispered at length. "I--I never did anything so
stupid before."
"That so?" said Jake.
She lifted her eyes with a piteous effort to his. "Please leave me now!
I shall do quite well--by myself."
"That so?" he said again.
His eyes held hers with a piercing, straight regard; but after a moment
his hand came up and rubbed her icy cheek. It was a small act, but it
affected her very curiously. She turned her face quickly to hide a rush
of tears.
Jake's attitude changed on the instant. He stooped over her, his arm
about her. "Say, Maud, my girl, what is it? What is it?" he said. "The
little chap will be all right. Don't you worry any!"
The old kindness was in his voice; he held her to him just as he had
held her on the morning that she had first gone to him for help. For
the moment she yielded herself, scarcely knowing what she did; then she
realized his nearness and began to draw herself away.
"I am foolish," she whispered, "just foolish. Don't take any notice!"
"Guess you're worn out," he said gently.
She shook her head, striving to master herself. "No, it's not that. It
isn't anything. Please leave me alone for a little! I would rather."
He let her go, but he still remained beside her, looking down at her
bent dark head. She leaned against the woodwork of the window, panting
a little.
"I am better," she said uneasily, after a moment. "Please don't worry
about me any more!"
"Who else should I worry about?" he said. "Do you suppose you aren't
first with me every time?"
She quivered at the question, but she made no attempt to answer it.
He went on with a restraint that was somehow eloquent of vehemence
suppressed. "I know well enough that you aren't happy with me. It's
not in nature that you should be. Maybe it's my fault too; maybe it's
not. I've been a damn' fool; I know that. But even so, you've no call
to be afraid of me. You won't come up against me if you play a straight
game."
He paused, and she saw his hands slowly clench. At the same moment she
became aware of someone approaching, and turned her head to see Saltash
coming towards her with a wine-glass in his hand.
"Oh, that's right; you're better," he said. "Here, Bolton! Make her
drink this! It'll put a little life into her."
He gave the glass to Jake who stood a moment as if undecided as to what
to do with it, then bent over Maud.
She drew back. "Oh no, thank you! I never drink brandy. Besides, I am
quite well again now."
She made as if she would get up to demonstrate this fact, but he stopped
her. "Take a little!" he drawled. "Lord Saltash has had the trouble of
fetching it."
"I would rather not," she said. "I would much rather not."
"Let her please herself!" said Saltash sharply.
But Jake's hand, steady as rock, was already holding the glass to her
lips. She drank as one compelled.
Saltash fidgeted up and down in front of the window in evident
dissatisfaction, his ugly face full of lines. "I am infernally sorry
this has happened," he said. "You ought to have had the stuff sooner.
I wish I had ordered champagne. We'll have some presently. Ah, that'll
do, Jake, that'll do! Don't force it on her, for Heaven's sake! Look
here, you and I will clear out now, and let her rest in front of the
fire. You'd like that, Maud, wouldn't you?"
Maud murmured an affirmative.
"Sure?" said Jake.
She looked up at him. "Yes; but not too near the fire. And--and leave
the door open. I want to hear--to know--" Her voice failed, sank into
silence.
"All right," Jake said quietly. "I'm not leaving you till it's over."
The calm decision of his speech silenced all protest. Maud attempted
none. Saltash shrugged his shoulders and flung round on his heel. Jake
bent to offer a steady arm.
She accepted his support in silence. There was that about him that
would not brook resistance just then. She was sure that Saltash was
aware of it also, for after a very brief pause he began to whistle under
his breath and in a very few moments more sauntered from the room.
Jake, very quiet and determined, led her to a settee.
"I won't lie down," she said restlessly. "I want to listen."
Jake was looking round for a chair. Failing to see one, he seated
himself by her side. "I reckon this is the most respectable piece of
furniture in the place," he observed. "Here is a cushion. Lean back and
shut your eyes!"
"I wish you wouldn't wait here," she murmured uneasily.
"I've got to wait somewhere," said Jake.
And then his hand descended upon hers and held it.
She started at his touch, seeking instinctively to free herself, but in
the end she yielded, lying back in a tense stillness in which she knew
the beating of her heart to be clearly audible.
What was he going to say to her? What had he overheard? What must he
think of the agitation she had displayed upon discovering him?
Her breath quivered through her parted lips. The dread of the night
before was upon her, but ten times magnified by her present weakness and
the thought of that which he might have overheard.
But Jake sat in unbroken silence, his hand holding hers in a steady,
purposeful grasp; and gradually, very gradually, her fear began to
subside. He could have heard nothing! Surely he could have heard
nothing! Surely, if he had, he would have spoken, have questioned--or
accused!
A great shiver went through her.
"Cold?" said Jake.
She opened her eyes. "No."
His hand closed more firmly about her own. "Don't be so anxious!" he
said. "It'll be all right."
His voice was kind, she tried to smile.
"Was he--was he very nervous?" she asked, finding relief in speech.
"Game all through," said Jake. "Went off like a baby. Say, Maud, he'll
be a fine man some day."
"He'll never be mine any more," she said, and turned her face aside.
Jake said nothing. He fell into a musing silence that seemed to stretch
and widen to an unknown abyss between them. She closed her eyes, hoping
that he would think her sleeping.
He remained absolutely still by her side while the silence lengthened
and deepened. She wondered for a while if ha were watching her,
wondered if he were actually as free from anxiety on Bunny's account as
he appeared, became finally vaguely aware of a curious hushed sense of
repose stealing over her tired nerves. She drifted away at last into a
state that was not quite slumber, that yet held her trance-like and
unaware of time. She knew that Jake was beside her, never wholly forgot
his presence, but he had ceased to have a disquieting effect upon her.
Somehow he fitted into the atmosphere of peace that surrounded her. She
was even dimly glad that he had not left her alone. She was tired,
unutterably tired, but her mind had ceased to work at the problems that
so vexed her soul; it had become as it were dormant. Even the thought
of Bunny did not disturb her any more. Had not Dr. Capper solemnly
declared that all would be well?
So she sank into an ever-deepening sea of oblivion, unmindful of the
hand that so surely held her own; and so that long, long hour crept by.
When there came at last the opening of a door and the sound of voices
she was too far away in her merciful dreamland to hear. She knew in a
vague fashion that Jake's hand left hers, even murmured a faint protest,
but she did not attempt to rouse herself. She had yielded too
completely to the healing magic of rest.
There followed a space during which all consciousness was entirely
blotted out and she slept like a weary child, a space that seemed to
last interminably, and yet was all too short. Then at length nature or
conscience stirred within her, and her brain began to work once more.
Out of a vague obscurity of dimly registered impressions the light of
understanding began to dawn. She opened heavy eyes upon the red, still
fire that burned so steadily, so unfailingly. It put her in mind of
something--that hot, silent fire--but she could not remember what it
was; something that was vigilant, intense, unquenchable, something that
she could never wholly grasp or wholly elude.
She opened her eyes a little wider, and moved her head upon the cushion.
Surely she had slept for a long, long time!
And then she caught the sound of a voice that whispered--a low, clear
whisper.
"Why don't you take her for a honeymoon, my son? It would do you both
all the good in the world."
There was a pause, and then someone--Jake--murmured something
unintelligible. Maud raised herself slightly and saw him standing
before the fire. His thick-set figure was turned from her. His head
leaned somewhat dejectedly against the high mantelpiece.
Capper was standing beside him, lounging against the carved wood in an
ungainly attitude, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. At Jake's
muttered words he turned and looked at him keenly, with eyes of
semi-quizzical sympathy.
"Say, Jake," he said, "the man who walks his horse along a hedge-side
never gets there. The hedge has a way of getting higher, moreover,
every step he goes. Guess being in love has kind of demoralized you.
You'll never win out this way."
Jake moved a little, straightened himself, stood squarely facing the
great doctor. "I'm going to win out," he said; and with that very
abruptly he wheeled round and came straight to Maud, as though she had
called him.
So sudden was his movement that she was taken wholly by surprise. He
stooped over her and took her hand before she had time to draw back.
"It's all right, my girl," he said, and she heard a note of reassurance
in his voice. "The little chap's come through it finely. There's
nothing to be anxious about. Capper says so; and whatever Capper says
goes."
"Guess that's so," said Capper. He remained at his post by the fire, a
smile of keen satisfaction on his parchment face. "You shall see him
presently; not yet, not for another hour, and then only for a few
seconds. He's got to be kept as quiet as an infant. But I've done just
what I figured to do. In another six weeks he ought to be learning to
walk."
"Bunny--walking!" Maud spoke the words as one dazed. The whole of her
world seemed suddenly to have changed. It was as if she actually
breathed a new atmosphere. She caught her breath, feeling half afraid.
"Is it--is it true?" she said.
Capper laughed. "Seems like a miracle, does it? Never met with a
miracle before? Yet there's quite a lot of 'em to be seen in this
curious old world. Maybe you'll come across some more, now you've
started."
He came quietly to her, bent and took her free hand into his. She felt
his thin, sensitive fingers press her pulse.
"I'm quite well indeed," she said in a tone of protest. "Please tell me
more about Bunny. I want to hear everything."
"My dear lady, you know practically all there is to know," he made
answer. "Bunny is going to be one of my proudest successes. But
there's just one thing to be arranged, I want to have him under my own
eye for a time. It's for his own good, so I know your consent is a
foregone conclusion. No, not yet of course. I will give him a month
here, and then I want to fetch him up to London and keep him in a Home
there belonging to my colleague Sir Kersley Whitton until I am able to
discharge him as cured. Will you agree to that?"
His eyes, shrewd and kindly, looked down into hers. His hand still held
her wrist. She felt the magic of his personality, and found it hard to
resist.
But, "To take him away from me!" she said rather piteously. "Must you
take him away?"
Jake had withdrawn a little as if he did not wish to take part in the
conversation. Capper sat down beside her.
"Mrs. Bolton," he said, "I guess that young brother of yours is just one
of the biggest factors of your existence. Isn't that so? You'd do
anything for him, and never count the cost. Well, here's something you
can do for him, a mighty big thing too. It'll be a very critical time,
and I want to have him under my own eye. I also want to have complete
control of him. I'm not hinting that your influence isn't good. I know
it is. But, for all that, he'll do better with comparative strangers
during that critical time than he would with his own people. I want to
lift him entirely out of the old ruts. I want to start him on an
entirely new footing, to give him self-reliance, to get him into good,
wholesome habits. It'll make all the difference in the world to him or
I shouldn't be urging it so strongly. Say, now, you promised me your
co-operation, you are not going to refuse?"
She could not refuse. She realized it with a leaden heart. Yet she made
one quivering attempt to pierce through the ever-narrowing circle.
"But the cost," she said.
"It won't cost you a single cent," said Capper. "It's just for my
private satisfaction that it will be done."
Her last hope faded. She made a little gesture of helplessness. "He is
in your hands, Doctor," she said. "I--I am much more grateful to you
than I seem."
Capper's hand pressed hers. "You will never regret this sacrifice as
long as you live," he said, looking at her with his keen, kindly eyes.
"I'm even ready to prophesy that you'll one day reap a very considerable
benefit from it."
But Maud's only answer was a dreary little shake of the head.