The Knave of Diamonds - Ethel May Dell (best novels for students txt) 📗

she had left the earth altogether, and was gliding upwards through starland without effort or conscious movement of any sort, simply as though lifted by the hands that held her own. Their vitality thrilled through her like a strong current of electricity. She felt that whichever way they turned, wherever they led her, she must be safe. And there was a quivering ecstasy in that dazzling, rapid rush that filled her veins like liquid fire.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked her once.
And she answered, in a species of breathless rapture, "I feel as if I were caught in a rainbow."
He laughed again at that, a soft, exultant laugh, and drew her more swiftly on.
They left the other masqueraders behind; they left the shimmering lake and its many lights; and at last in the starlight only they slackened speed.
Anne came out of her trance of delight to find that they were between the banks of the stream that fed the lake. The ground on each side of them shone white and hard in the frost-bound silence. The full moon was just rising over a long silver ridge of down. She stood with her face to its cold splendour, her hands still locked in that vital grip.
Slowly at last, compelled she knew not how, she turned to the man beside her. His eyes were blazing at her with a lurid fire, and suddenly that sensation that had troubled her once before in his presence--a sensation of sharp uneasiness--pricked through her confidence.
She stood quite still, conscious of a sudden quickening of her heart. But she did not shrink from that burning gaze. She met it with level eyes.
For seconds they stood so, facing one another. He seemed to be trying in some fashion to subjugate her, to beat her down; but she would not yield an inch. And it was he who finally broke the spell.
"Am I forgiven?"
"For what?" she said.
"For pretending to disbelieve you this morning."
"Was it pretence?" she asked.
"No, it wasn't!" he told her fiercely. "It was deadly earnest. I would have given all I had to be able to disbelieve you. Do you know that?"
"But why, Nap?"
"Why?" he said. "Because your goodness, your purity, are making a slave of me. If I could catch you--if I could catch you only once--cheating, as all other women cheat, I should be free. But you are irreproachable and incorruptible. I believe you are above temptation."
"Oh, you don't know me," she interposed quietly. "But even if I were all these things, why should it vex you?"
"Why?" he said. "Because you hold me back, you check me at every turn. You harness me to your chariot wheels, and I have to run in the path of virtue whether I will or not!"
He broke off with a laugh that had in it a note of savagery.
"Don't you even care to know what was in that letter that you never had?" he asked abruptly.
"Tell me!" she said.
"I told you that I was mad to have missed you that day. I begged you to let me have a line before you came again. I besought you to let me call upon you and to fix a day. I signed myself your humble and devoted slave, Napoleon Errol."
He ceased, still laughing queerly, with his lower lip between his teeth.
Anne stood silent for many seconds.
At last, "You must never come to see me," she said very decidedly.
"Not if I bring the mother as a chaperon?" he jested.
"Neither you nor your mother must ever come to see me again," she said firmly. "And--Nap--though I know that the writing of that letter meant nothing whatever to you, I am more sorry than I can say that you sent it."
He threw back his head arrogantly. "What?" he said. "Has the queen no further use for her jester? Am I not even to write to you then?"
"I think not," she said.
"And why?" he demanded imperiously.
"I think you know why," she said.
"Do I know why? Is it because you are afraid of your husband?"
"No."
"Afraid of me then?" There was almost a taunt in the words.
"No," she said again.
"Why, then?" He was looking full into her eyes. There was something peculiarly sinister about his masked face. She almost felt as if he were menacing her.
Nevertheless she made unfaltering reply. "For a reason that means much to me, though it may not appeal to you. Because my husband is not always sane, and I am afraid of what he might do to you if he were provoked any further."
"Great Lucifer!" said Nap. "Does he think I make love to you then?"
She did not answer him. "He is not always sane," she repeated.
"You are right," he said. "That reason does not appeal to me. Your husband's hallucinations are not worth considering. But I don't propose on that account to write any more letters for his edification. For the future--" He paused.
"For the future," Anne said, "there must be no correspondence between us at all. I know it seems unreasonable to you, but that cannot be helped. Mr. Errol, surely you are generous enough--chivalrous enough--to understand."
"No, I don't understand," Nap said. "I don't understand how you can, by the widest stretch of the imagination, believe it your duty to conform to the caprices of a maniac."
"How can I help it?" she said very sadly.
He was silent a moment. His hands were still gripping hers; she could feel her wedding-ring being forced into her flesh. "Like our mutual friend, Major Shirley," he said slowly, "I wonder why you stick to the man."
She turned her face away with a sound that was almost a moan.
"You never loved him," he said with conviction.
She was silent. Yet after a little, as he waited, she spoke as one compelled.
"I live with him because he gave me that for which I married him. He fulfilled his part of the bargain. I must fulfil mine. I was nothing but his bailiff's daughter, remember; a bailiff who had robbed him--for whose escape from penal servitude I paid the price."
"Great Heavens!" said Nap.
She turned to him quickly, with an impulsiveness that was almost girlish. "I have never told anyone else," she said. "I tell you because I know you are my friend and because I want you to understand. We will never--please--speak of it again."
"Wait!" Nap's voice rang stern. "Was it part of the bargain that he should insult you, trample on you, make you lead a dog's life without a single friend to make it bearable?"
She did not attempt to answer him. "Let us go back," she said.
He wheeled at once, still holding her hands.
They skated a few yards in silence. Then suddenly, almost under his breath, he spoke. "I am not going to give up my friendship with you. Let that be clearly understood."
"You are very good to me," she said simply.
"No. I am not. I am human, that's all. I don't think this state of affairs can last much longer."
She shuddered. Her husband's condition had been very much worse of late, but she did not tell him so.
They were skating rapidly back towards the head of the lake. In front of them sounded the swirling rush of skates and the laughter of many voices.
"I'm sorry I've been a beast to you," Nap said abruptly. "You mustn't mind me. It's just my way."
"Oh, I don't mind you, Nap," she answered gently.
"Thanks!" he said.
And with that he stooped suddenly and shot forward like a meteor, bearing her with him.
They flashed back into the gay throng of masqueraders, and mingled with the crowd as though they had never left it.


CHAPTER XVIII
THE DESCENT FROM OLYMPUS

"Come and say good-bye to Lucas," said Bertie. "He is up and asking for you."
So, with an impetuous hand upon Anne's arm, he whisked her away on the following morning to his brother's room. She was dressed for departure, and waiting for the motor that was to take her home. Of Nap she had seen nothing. He had a way of absenting himself from meals whenever it suited him to do so. She wondered if he meant to let her go without farewell.
She found the master of the house lying on a couch sorting his correspondence. He pushed everything aside at her entrance.
"Come in, Lady Carfax! I am glad not to have missed you. A pity you have to leave so soon."
"I only wish I could stop longer," Anne said. He looked up at her, holding her hand, his shrewd blue eyes full of the most candid friendliness.
"You will come again, I hope, when you can," he said.
"Thank you," she answered gently.
He still held her hand. "And if at any time you need the help--or comfort--of friends," he said, "you won't forget where to look?"
"Thank you," she said again.
"Is Nap driving you?" he asked.
"No," said Bertie. "Nap's skiing."
"Then you, Bertie--"
"My dear fellow," said Bertie, "I'm fearfully sorry, but I can't. You understand, don't you, Lady Carfax? I would if I could, but--" his excuses trailed off unsatisfactorily.
He turned very red and furiously jabbed at the fire with his boot.
"Please don't think of it," said Anne. "I am so used to being alone. In fact, your mother wanted to come with me, but I dissuaded her."
"Then I conclude it is useless for me to offer myself as an escort?" said Lucas.
"Yes, quite useless," she smiled, "though I am grateful to you all the same. Good-bye, Mr. Errol!"
"Good-bye!" he said.
As Bertie closed the door behind her he took up a letter from the heap at his elbow; but his eyes remained fixed for several seconds.
At length: "Bertie," he said, without looking up, "are you due at the Rectory this morning?"
"This afternoon," said Bertie.
He also bent over the pile of correspondence and began to sort. He often did secretarial work for Lucas.
Lucas suffered him for some seconds longer. Then, "You don't generally behave like a boor, Bertie," he said.
"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Bertie, with vehemence. "You don't suppose I enjoyed letting her think me a cad, do you?"
"I don't suppose she did," Lucas said thoughtfully.
"Well, you do anyway, which is worse."
Bertie slapped down the letters and walked to the fire.
Lucas returned without comment to the paper in his hand.
After a long pause Bertie wheeled. He came back to his brother's side and pulled up a chair. His brown face was set in stern lines.
"I don't see why I should put up with this," he said, "and I don't mean to. It was Nap's doing. I was going to drive her. He interfered--as usual."
"I thought you said Nap was skiing." Lucas spoke without raising his eyes. He also looked graver than usual.
"I did. He is. But he has got some game on, and he didn't want me looking on. Oh, I'm sick to death of Nap and all his ways! He's rotten to the core!"
"Gently, boy, gently! You go too far." Lucas looked up into the hot blue eyes, the severity all gone from his own. "It isn't what things look like that you have to consider. It is what they are. Nap, poor chap, is badly handicapped; but he has been putting up a big fight for himself lately, and he hasn't done so badly. Give the devil his due."
"What's he doing now?" demanded Bertie. "It's bad enough to have the whole community gossiping about his flirtations with women that don't count. But when it comes to a good woman--like Lady Carfax--oh, I tell you