The Rocks of Valpre - Ethel May Dell (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

blood to her heart. Aunt Philippa was going to speak to him upon this subject, was going to suggest unspeakable things, was going to talk over her conduct with him and make him furious in earnest. And then it would all come out about her having met Bertrand all those years ago. Trevor would mention that in the natural course of things, and then Aunt Philippa would tell him--would tell him--
"Chris, dear, what is the matter? You are as white as a ghost."
It was Hilda's voice gently recalling her. She came to herself with a start, and the hot blood rose to her cheeks with a rush.
"Are you very tired after yesterday?" her cousin asked. "I am afraid you got up too early."
"Oh, no!" said Chris. "I wasn't early at all. I didn't ride this morning. Jack has promised to come for me this evening instead."
She diverted Hilda's attention desperately. She could not make confidences in the presence of the dressmaker. Moreover, she was not sure that she wanted to talk even to Hilda about her pal from Valpre. It was true Hilda understood most things, but Aunt Philippa had somehow managed to inspire her with a sense of guilt. She knew she could not speak of Bertrand with ease to anyone now.
Besides, there was no time. The moment she was free she must manage somehow to communicate with Trevor. She must warn him of Aunt Philippa's intentions. She must explain to him.
She did not want him to know about that night in the Magic Cave. Everyone who heard of it was shocked, everyone except Max, and he made a speciality of never being shocked at anything. Why, it was even possible--here a new thought leaped up and struck her an unexpected blow--was it not more than possible that it was this self-same event that had given rise to the insult that had led to the duel? Of course that must be it! That was why Bertrand so persistently refused to enlighten her. How was it she had never before thought of it? It was the truth of course! How had she failed to see anything so glaringly apparent?
Yes, it was the truth. She had blundered upon it unawares, and now she surveyed it horror-stricken, remembering Bertrand's warning that the knowledge of evil was a poisonous thing. So must Eve have felt when first her eyes were opened to the wisdom of the gods.
She was free at last, and sped up to her room. The scribbled message that reached her _fiance_ an hour later was only just legible, but it spoke more eloquently of the state of mind of the writer than she knew.
"DEAR TREVOR,--
"Aunt Philippa says you are angry with me. Please don't be. Really there is nothing to be angry about, though she thinks there is, and she is going to try and persuade you to send Bertie away. Trevor, don't listen to her, will you? And, whatever you do, don't tell her about Valpre. I'm very bothered about it. Do be as kind as you always are to
"Your loving CHRIS."
Mordaunt's answering note reached her late in the afternoon just before she set forth for her ride in the Park with Jack.
"MY DEAR LITTLE CHRIS,--
"My love to your Aunt Philippa, and I am just off to Paris for the inside of a week. I shall be back for your cousin's wedding. Ask her to reserve her lecture till then. Our friend Bertrand sends his _amities_. I send nothing, for you have it all.
"Yours, TREVOR."
Chris kissed the note with a rush of tenderness--greater than she had ever managed to bestow upon the writer. That brief response to her appeal stirred her as she had never been stirred before. It was sweet of him to trust her so. She would never forget it, never, as long as she lived.
When Jack appeared to escort her, he noted her radiant face and shining eyes with approval.
"Why, you're looking almost pretty for once," he said. "What has happened to bring it about? It must be a recipe worth having."
"Don't be absurd!" she retorted, beaming upon him. "Who wants to be pretty?"
"It's better to be good certainly," he said. "I know you couldn't be both. But what's the joke? I think you might let me help laugh."
"There isn't a joke," she said. "And I'm not laughing. I've had a letter from Trevor, that's all. And he's going to Paris."
"Oh-ho!" said Jack.
"Now you're horrid!" she protested. "I don't want him to go in the least."
"Of course not," said Jack. "I've observed how remarkably depressed you were by the news."
"I shall be cross with you in a minute," said Chris.
"Heaven forbid!" said Jack. "When is he coming back?"
"In time for Hilda's wedding."
"And does he take the French secretary with him?"
"Oh, no, he can't go to France. I mean--I mean--"
Chris stopped in sudden confusion.
"I know what you mean," said Jack. "They would take too keen an interest in him over there. Isn't that it?"
"How did you know?" said Chris.
He laughed. "The proverbial little bird! I might add that a good many people know by this time."
"Oh, Jack, do they?" Chris looked at him in consternation. "He didn't want anyone to know."
"My dear child, in that case he should not have courted publicity as the guest of the evening last night."
"Jack! He wasn't the guest of the evening! How dare you say such things!"
Chris's rare displeasure actually was aroused now. Her slight figure stiffened, and she tapped her knee with her riding-switch. She never touched her animal with this weapon, whatever his idiosyncrasies, and certainly the horses she rode generally behaved with docility.
Jack surveyed her with amused eyes as they turned up under the trees. "All right," he said imperturbably. "He wasn't. My mistake, no doubt. But where on earth were you hiding during the supper extras? He was missing too. Curious, wasn't it?"
Chris came out of her temper with a winning gesture of appeal. "Jack dear, don't! I've heard such a lot about it from Aunt Philippa already. And why shouldn't I talk to my pals? You wouldn't like it if I didn't talk to you sometimes."
"Is he that sort of pal?" asked Jack.
She nodded. "Just that sort. And Trevor knows all about it and understands. I've just had a line from him to tell me so."
"Have you, though?" said Jack. "Then all I can say is Trevor is a brick--a very special kind of brick--and I hope you realize it."
"He's just the sweetest man in the world," said Chris with enthusiasm. "He is never horrid about things, and he never thinks what isn't."
"Lucky for you!" said Jack.
"Why?" She turned towards him sharply.
He began to smile. "Because, my dear, you have rather an unfortunate knack of making things appear--as they are not."
"I don't know what you mean," she protested. "It's very horrid of people to imagine things, and it certainly isn't my fault. Trevor understands that. He always understands."
"Let us hope he always will," said Jack.
"He would trust me even if he didn't," said Chris.
"At the same time," said Jack, "I shouldn't try his faith too far if I were you. If you ever overstepped it, I have a notion that it might be--well, somewhat unpleasant for you."
He spoke the words with a smile, but the silence with which they were received had in it something that was tragic. Chris was gazing straight before her as they rode. Her expression was curiously stony, as if, by some means, her customary animation had been suspended. Jack wondered a little. After a moment she spoke, without looking round. "Jack!"
"Your humble servant!" said Jack.
"I'm not laughing," she said. "I want you to tell me something. You know Trevor. You knew him years before I did. Have you ever seen him--really angry?"
"Great Jove! yes," said Jack.
"Many times?" There was a little quiver in her voice, but it did not sound exactly agitated.
"No, not many times. He isn't the sort of fellow to let himself go, you know," said Jack.
"No," she said. "But what is he like--when he is angry?"
Jack considered. "He's rather like a devil that's been packed in ice for a very long time. He doesn't expand, he contracts. He emits a species of condensed fury that has a disastrous effect upon the object thereof. He is about the last man in the world that I should choose to quarrel with."
"But why?" she said. "Would you be afraid of him?"
Jack considered this point too quite gravely and impartially. "I really don't know, Chris," he said at last. "I believe I should be."
"He can be terrible, then," she said, as if stating a conclusion rather than asking a question.
"More or less," Jack admitted. "But he is never unreasonable. I have never seen him angry without good cause."
"And then--I suppose he is merciless?"
"Quite," said Jack. "I saw him shoot a Kaffir once for knocking a wounded man on the head. It was no more than the brute deserved. I was lying wounded myself, and he took my revolver to do it with. But it was a nasty jolt for the Kaffir. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him and why, before it happened. Afterwards, when Trevor came back to me, he was smiling, so I suppose it did him good. He's a very deliberate chap. Some people call him cold-blooded. He never acts on impulse. And I've never known him make a mistake."
"I see." Chris swallowed once or twice as if she felt an obstruction in her throat. "I expect he would be like that with anyone," she said. "I mean if he had reason to be angry with anyone, he wouldn't spare them--whatever they were. I always felt he was like that."
"He's one of the best chaps in the world," said Jack warmly.
She assented, but not with the enthusiasm that had marked her earlier eulogy. She seemed, in fact, to have become a little _distrait_, and Jack, remarking the fact, suggested a canter.
They met several people whom they knew before they turned homewards, and it was not until they were leaving the Park that any further conversation was possible.
Then very suddenly Chris reined in and spoke. "Jack, before we go back, I want to ask you something."
"Well?" said Jack.
She made a pathetic little gesture towards him, and touched his knee with her riding-switch. Her blue eyes besought him very earnestly. "Jack, we--we are pals, aren't we? Or I couldn't possibly ask it of you. Jack, I--I've been foolish--and extravagant. And--" she became suddenly breathless--"I want twenty pounds--to pay some debts. Jack, could you--would you--"
"You monkey!" said Jack.
"I couldn't help it," she declared piteously. "I've spent a frightful lot of money lately. I don't know how it goes. It runs away like water. But I--want to get out of debt, Jack. If you will help me just this once, I'll pay you back when--when--when I'm married."
"Good heavens, child!" he said. "You shall have it twice over if you like. But why on earth didn't you tell me before? Don't you know it's very naughty to run up debts?"
She nodded. "Yes, I know. But I couldn't help it. There were things I wanted. And London is such an expensive place. You do understand, dear Jack, don't you?"
Jack thought he did. He was, moreover, too fond of his young cousin to treat her with severity. But he considered it his duty to deliver a brief lecture on the dangers of insolvency, to which Chris listened with becoming docility, thanking him with a quick, sweet smile when he had done.
Jack did not flatter himself