THE REPRIEVE
"I say, you're magnificent!" said Noel. His hand closed tightly upon
Olga's with the words. He looked her up and down with a free admiration
too boyish to be offensive. "You're an absolute darling in that get-up!"
he told her with enthusiasm.
It was impossible to be indignant. Olga tried and failed. She had not
been aware till that moment that she was making a particularly brave
show in her eighteenth-century costume, with her pink satin finery and
powdered hair. But there was no mistaking the adulation in the boy's
eyes, and even in the midst of her misery she felt a little glow of
gratification. He was looking alluringly disreputable in his
highwayman's dress, and the dark eyes shone upon her with fascinating
audacity as he lifted her hand to his lips.
"So you haven't brought Nick with you?" he said, speaking with laughing
haste to cut short her half-hearted rebuke.
"No, Nick was called away," she said. "He'll come later if he can."
"Called away, was he?" Noel paused, with her programme in his hand. "Is
that what you are looking so worried about?"
She tried to laugh. "Yes, I am rather worried about him. I am afraid he
is taking--big risks."
"Little idiot!" said Noel. "When he's got you to look after. But what
do you mean by risks? Where has he gone?"
"I don't know," she said, with a shake of the head. "I don't know
anything, Noel. He said something about going to see a moonstone, but I
think that was only a blind. He can be rather subtle, you know, when he
likes."
"Confound him!" said Noel. "Why doesn't he turn his attention to taking
care of you? I've been wanting to have a talk to you for days, but I
couldn't work it somehow."
Olga held out her hand for her programme; it shook ever so slightly. "I
don't think we have anything very important to talk about," she said.
"But we have!" he said impetuously. "At least I have. Oh, damn!--a
million apologies! I couldn't help it!--here's that brute Hunt-Goring.
You're not going to dance with him? Say you're full up!"
Hunt-Goring, attired as a Turk, was crossing the room towards them. Olga
cast a single glance over her shoulder, and turned to Noel with panic in
her eyes.
"I've forgotten something," she said in a palpitating whisper. "I must
run back to the cloak-room. Wait for me!"
She was gone with the words, fleeing like a hunted creature, till the
gathering crowd hid her from sight.
Hunt-Goring smiled, and turned aside. He had no pressing desire for a
public meeting. His turn was coming,--the very fact of her flight
proclaimed it,--and he could very well afford to wait. He would make her
pay full measure for that same waiting.
He passed Noel's scowl with a lazy sneer. The young man would pay also,
and that reflection was nectar to his soul. Carelessly he betook himself
to the verandah. The dancing did not attract him--so he had told Daisy
Musgrave earlier in the day, a remark of which she had been swift to
take advantage. For her weariness of her guest was very nearly apparent
by that time, and it was a relief to be able to relax her duties as
hostess for that evening at least.
The dancing began to the strains of the regimental band, and soon the
motley throng were all gathered in the ball-room. It did not look like
an all-British assembly, but the nationality of the laughing voices was
quite unmistakable. All talked and laughed as they danced, and the
hubbub was considerable.
Into it Olga came stealing back, and paused nervously in the doorway to
look on. Daisy, dressed as a water-nymph, waved her a gay greeting over
her husband's shoulder. Olga smiled and waved back, striving to smother
away out of sight the sick fear at her heart.
Someone touched her shoulder, and she started round almost with a cry.
Noel bent to her. "Sorry I made you jump. Look here! There's no one in
the ante-room. Come and sit out with me!"
He offered his arm, and she took it thankfully without a word. They went
away together.
The ante-room was dimly lighted, and comparatively quiet, though the
music and laughter and swish of dancing feet were fully audible there.
Noel found her a comfortable chair, and seated himself upon the arm
thereof.
He did not speak at once, but after a little, as Olga sat in silence, he
turned and looked down at her.
She raised her eyes at once and smiled. "You must think me very
foolish," she said.
"No, I don't," he rejoined bluntly. "That brute is enough to scare any
woman. You hate him, don't you?"
There was insistence in his tone, insistence mingled with a touch of
anxiety. But Olga did not answer him.
"Don't let us talk about him!" she said, with a shiver she could not
repress.
Noel's mouth hardened a little. "I'm very sorry," he said. "But we
must. He's been circulating a lot of lies about--Max." He paused an
instant, looking straight down at her. "Max is a good chap, you know,"
he said. "It's up to me to defend him."
Olga's face quivered, but she kept her eyes lifted. "You can't," she
said, her voice very low.
"Can't I, though?" Hotly he threw back the words. "You don't mean to say
you believe it?"
"I know it is true," she said.
"My dear Olga,--" he began.
But she checked him, her hand upon his arm. "Noel," she said, "truly I
can't talk about this. But that story is--true, in part at least. Max
admitted it--himself--to me."
"Impossible!" ejaculated Noel.
Her fingers closed over his sleeve; her hold was beseeching. "I can't
argue with you, Noel," she said. "But I know it is true. You see, I was
there."
He stared at her in stupefaction. "Olga, I can't believe it!"
"It is true," she said again.
"But--" Noel began to waver in spite of himself--"if you were there, you
must have known all along!"
Her brows drew into the old lines of perplexity. "You see, I was ill,"
she said. "I--I didn't remember. I don't remember all the details even
now. I only know that--it happened. Max told me so--when I asked him."
"Good heavens above!" ejaculated Noel.
She went on drearily, as if he had not spoken. "That was the end of
everything between us; and it's just as well now. For I shouldn't have
been able to marry him even if it hadn't been."
"Why not?" said Noel.
She looked away from him, and was silent.
He leaned down towards her, and spoke quickly, urgently.
"Olga dear, forgive me for asking, but I must know. Don't you really
love him?"
She made a little unconscious gesture of the hands as of pushing
something from her. "No," she said.
"But you did?" he insisted.
She leaned her elbow on her knee, lodging her chin upon her hand. "I
thought I did--once," she said slowly. "But--it was a mistake."
"It couldn't have been," he said.
She nodded slowly two or three times, not turning her head. "Yes," she
said, with the air of one clinching an argument. "It was a mistake."
Noel was silent for a few moments. There was something in her set
profile that hurt him. He longed to see her full face. But she did not
move. She seemed almost to have forgotten that he was there.
He moved at last, bending nearer. "Olga!" he whispered.
"Yes?" Still she did not turn.
He slipped down to his knees beside her. "Olga!" he said again very
pleadingly.
She stirred then, stirred and looked him full in the eyes. And all his
life Noel remembered the awful despair that looked out at him from her
soul "I--can't!" she said.
He clasped her two hands between his own. "Can't you even think of it?"
he urged, under his breath. "You know--you said--you'd have married me
if--if--poor old Max hadn't come first. I wouldn't cut him out for
worlds; but that's happened already, hasn't it? Surely there's no one
else?"
But Olga made no answer. Only the despair in her eyes deepened to a dumb
agony.
"Darling," he whispered, gathering her hands up and holding them against
his face, "I'd be awfully good to you. And I want you--I do want you.
Won't you even consider it?"
A great shiver went through Olga.
"Won't you have my love?" he said.
But still for a little she was silent. It seemed that no words would
come.
Then, as he pressed his lips to the hands he had taken, something seemed
suddenly to break loose within her. With a great sob she leaned her head
upon his shoulder. "Noel! Noel! I--can't!"
His arms clasped her in a moment; he held her close. "Dearest, what is
it? Why can't you?"
She answered him with her face hidden and in a voice so low that he
barely caught the words. "I am--not free!"
"Not free!" Sharply he repeated the phrase. Suspicion, keen-edged as a
rapier, ran swiftly through him. His arms tightened. "Olga, tell me what
you mean! Who is it? Not--not that devil Hunt-Goring!"
She did not answer him, save by her silence and the convulsive shudder
that went through her at his words. But that in itself was answer
enough, and over her head Noel swore a deep and terrible oath.
Only a few yards away the lilting waltz-music was quickening to a
finish. In a few moments more their privacy would be invaded by the
giddy dancers.
"Listen!" said Noel, and his voice fell short and stern. "He shan't have
you! That I swear! It's monstrous--it's unthinkable! Why, he's old
enough to be your father. And he's got the opium-habit. Max told me so.
Olga, I say, haven't you the strength of mind to refuse him? If the
brute pesters you, why don't you tell Nick?"
Slowly Olga raised herself, quitting his support. "I've promised not to
tell anyone," she said dully. "You mustn't know either."
"But, my dear girl, something must be done," he objected. "You can't let
him ride over you roughshod. You don't mean--you can't mean--to let him
marry you?"
"I can't help it," she said.
"Can't help it!" He stared at her. "He really has some hold over you
then? What is it?"
She was silent. The last crashing chords of the first waltz were being
played. Noel got to his feet. His boyish face was set in grim lines.
"Do you want me to go and kill him?" he said.
"No!" She sprang up also, quickened to sudden fear by his words. "You're
not to go near him," she said, "Noel, promise me you won't! Oh, if you
only knew--how much harder--your interference makes things! Don't you
see--I've given him my word to consult no one!" She was panting
uncontrollably; her hands were fast closed upon his arm. "I refused him
once before," she told him feverishly, "and he--he punished me--cruelly.
I can't--I daren't--refuse him again!"
"You'd sooner marry him?" Noel stared at her incredulously.
She flung out her hands with a wide, despairing gesture. "Yes--yes--I
would sooner marry him!"
The music had stopped. There came the sound of approaching voices. Their
privacy was at an end.
Yet for full ten seconds Noel stood widely gazing at the girl before him
with eyes in which surprise, hurt pride, and smouldering passion
mingled; then very abruptly, as the first chattering couple reached the
half-open door, he swung away from her.
"All right!" he said. "Good-bye!"
He went straight out without a glance behind, nearly running into the
gay invaders.
Olga, with the instinct to escape notice, turned as swiftly to the
window. She went out upon the verandah, blindly groping her way,
scarcely aware of her surroundings. And a figure waiting there in the
dimness laughed a cruel laugh and roughly caught her.
"'You'd sooner marry him,' eh?" gibed a voice close to her ear. "My
dear, that's the wisest resolution you ever made in your life!"
She did not cry out or attempt to resist him. She had known that her
fate was sealed. Only, as his lips sought hers, she shrank away with
every fibre of her being in sick revolt, and for the first time in her
life she begged for mercy.
"Please--please--give me to-night!" she pleaded. "Only to-night! Yes, I
will marry you. But don't--don't ask--any more of me--to-night!"
He paused, still holding her in his arms, feeling the wild beat of her
heart against his own, softened in spite of himself by that quivering,
agonized appeal.
"And if I let you go to-night, what will you give me to-morrow?" he
said.
"I shall be--your _fiancée_--to-morrow," she whispered, gasping.
"And you will marry me--when?"
"You shall decide," she murmured faintly.
He laughed rather brutally. "A somewhat empty favour, my dear, since I
should have decided in any case. But if you give me your promise to come
to me like a sensible girl, without any more nonsense of any kind--"
"I will!" she said. "I will!"
"Then--" he released her with the words--"I give you your freedom--till
to-morrow. Go--and make the most of it!"
He had not kissed her. She slipped from his arms, thankful for his
forbearance, and sped away down the veranda like a shadow.
As for Hunt-Goring, he cursed himself for a soft fool and took out his
cigarettes to wile away what promised to be an evening of infernal
dullness.