The Bars of Iron - Ethel May Dell (top novels .txt) 📗

suppose. But it leads us sometimes along paths that we could never bear to travel twice. Is there any pain, I wonder, like the pain of disillusionment, of seeing the beloved idol lying in the dust? This is a selfish point of view, I know; but I want you to realize that you have made a mistake. Dear Piers, I am very, very sorry it has happened. No, not angry at all; somehow I can't be angry. It's such a difficult world to live in, and there are so many influences at work. But you must forget this wish of yours indeed--indeed. I am too old, too experienced, too worldly-wise, too prosaic for you in every way. You must marry a girl who has never loved before. You must have the first and best of a woman's heart. You must have 'The True Romance.'
"That, Piers, will always be the wish and prayer of
"Your loving friend,
"AVERY."
Piers' hands were steady enough now. There was something slow and fatalistic in the way they folded the letter. He looked up from it at length with dark eyes that gazed unwaveringly before him, as though they saw a vision.
"You will be late, _Monsieur Pierre_," suggested Victor softly at his elbow.
"What?" Piers turned those dreaming eyes upon him, and suddenly he laughed and stretched his arms wide as one awaking. The steadfast look went out of his eyes; they danced with gaiety. "Hullo, you old joker! Well, let's dress then and be quick about it!"
During the process it flashed upon Piers that all mention of Tudor had been avoided in the letter he had just read. He frowned momentarily at the thought. Had she deliberately avoided the subject? And if so--but on the instant his brow cleared again. No, she had written too frankly for that. She had not mentioned the matter simply because she regarded it as unimportant. The great question lay between herself and him alone. Of that he was wholly certain. He smiled again at the thought. No, he was not afraid of Tudor.
"_Monsieur_ is well pleased," murmured Victor, with a flash of his round black eyes.
"Quite well pleased, _mon vieux!_" laughed back Piers
"_C'est bien_!" said Victor, regarding him with the indulgent smile that he had bestowed upon him in babyhood. "And _Monsieur_ does not want his other letter? But no--no!"
His voice was openly quizzical; he dodged a laughing backhander from Piers with a neat gesture of apology. It had not escaped his notice that the letter Piers had read had disappeared unobtrusively into an inner pocket.
"Who's the other letter from?" said Piers, glancing at it perfunctorily. "Oh, I know. No one of importance. She'll keep till after dinner."
Ina Rose would not have felt flattered had she heard the statement. The fan Piers had promised to send her had duly arrived from Paris with a brief--very brief--note from him, requesting her acceptance of it. She had written in reply a letter which she had been at some pains to compose, graciously accepting the gift and suggesting that an account of any adventures that befell him would be received by her with interest. She added that, a spell of frost having put an end to the hunting, life at Wardenhurst had become extremely flat, and she had begun to envy Piers in his exile. Her father was talking of going to Mentone for a few weeks, and wanted her to accompany him. But she was not sure that she would care for it. What did Piers think?
When Piers did eventually read the letter, he smiled at this point,--a smile that was not altogether good to see. He was just going out to the Casino with Crowther. The latter had gone to fetch a coat, and he had occupied the few moments of waiting with Ina's letter.
He was still smiling over the open page when Crowther joined him; but he folded the letter at once, and they went out together.
"Have you had any luck at the tables?" Crowther asked.
"None," said Piers. "At least I won, eventually, but Fate, in the form of a powdered and bedizened female snatched the proceeds before I got the chance. A bad omen, what?"
"I hope not," said Crowther.
There was a touch of savagery in Piers' laugh. "It won't happen again, anyhow," he said.
They entered the Casino with its brilliant rooms and pushing crowds. The place was thronged. As they entered, a woman with a face of evil beauty, pressed close to Piers and spoke a word or two in French. But he looked at her and through her with royal disdain, and so passed her by.
They made their way to the table at which Piers had tried his luck the previous night, waited for and finally secured a place.
"You take it!" said Crowther. "I believe in your luck."
Piers laughed. He staked five francs on the figure five and lost, doubled his stakes and lost again, trebled them and lost again.
"This is getting serious," said Crowther.
But still Piers laughed. "Damn it!" he said. "I will win to-night!"
"Try another figure!" said Crowther.
But Piers refused. He laid down twenty-five francs, and with that he won. It was the turning-point. From that moment it seemed he could not do wrong. Stake after stake he won, either with his own money, or Crowther's; and finally left the table in triumph with full pockets.
A good many watched him enviously as he went. He refused to try his luck elsewhere, but went arrogantly away with his hand through Crowther's arm.
"He'll come back to-morrow," observed a shrewd American. "And the next day, and the next. He's just the sort that helps to keep this establishment going. They'll pick him clean."
But he was wrong. Though elated by victory, Piers was not drawn by the gambling vice. The thing amused him, but it did not greatly attract. He was by no means dazzled by the spoils he carried away.
They went out to the gardens, and called for liqueurs. The woman who had spoken to Piers yet hovered about the doors. She cursed him through her painted lips as he passed, but he went by her like a prince, haughtily aloof, contemptuously regardless.
They sat down in a comparatively quiet corner, whence they could watch the ever-shifting picture without being disturbed. A very peculiar mood possessed Piers. He was restless and uneasy in spite of his high spirits. For no definite reason he wanted to keep on the move. In deference to Crowther's wish, he controlled the desire, but it was an obvious effort.
He seemed to find difficulty also in attending to Crowther's quiet remarks, and after a while Crowther ceased to make them. He finished his liqueur and sat smoking with his eyes on the dark, sensitive face that watched the passing crowd so indifferently, yet so persistently.
Piers noticed his silence at last, and looked at him enquiringly. "Shall we go?"
Crowther leaned slowly towards him. The place was public, but their privacy was complete.
"Piers," he said, "may I take the privilege of an old friend?"
"You may take anything you like so far as I am concerned," said Piers impetuously.
Crowther smiled a little. "Thank you. Then I will go ahead. Are you engaged to be married?"
"What?" said Piers. He looked momentarily startled; then laughed across the table with a freedom that was wholly unaffected. "Am I engaged, did you say? No, I'm not. But I'm going to be married for all that."
"Ah!" said Crowther. "I thought I knew the signs."
He rose with the words, and instantly Piers sprang up also. "Yes, let's go! I can't breathe here. Come down to the shore for a breath of air, and I'll tell you all about it!"
He linked his arm again in Crowther's, obviously glad to be gone; but when they had left the glittering place behind them, he still talked inconsequently about a thousand things till in his calm fashion Crowther turned him back.
"I don't want you to tell me anything personal," he said, "save one thing. This girl whom you hope to marry--I gather you are pretty sure of her?"
Piers threw back his head with a gesture that defied the world. "I am quite sure of her," he said; and a moment later, with impulsive confidence: "She has just taken the trouble to write at length and tell me why she can't have me."
"Ah?" Crowther's tone held curiosity as well as kindly sympathy. "A sound reason?"
"No reason at all," flung back Piers, still with his face to the stars. "She knows that as well as I do. I tell you, Crowther, I know the way to that woman's heart, and I could find it blindfold. She is mine already."
"And doesn't know it?" suggested Crowther.
"Yes, she does in her heart of hearts,--or soon will. I shall send her a post-card to-morrow and sum up the situation."
"On a post-card?"
Crowther sounded puzzled, and Piers broke into a laugh and descended to earth.
"Yes, in one expressive word--'Rats!' No one else will understand it, but she will."
"A little abrupt!" commented Crowther.
"Yes, I'm going to be abrupt now," said Piers with imperial confidence. "I'm going to storm the position."
"And you are sure you will carry it?"
"Quite sure." Piers' voice held not the faintest shade of doubt.
"I hope you will, lad," said Crowther kindly. "And--that being the case--may I say what I set out to say?"
"Oh, go ahead!" said Piers.
"It's only this," said Crowther, in his slow, quiet way. "Only a word of advice, sonny, which I shouldn't give if I didn't know that your life's happiness hangs on your taking it. You're young, but there's a locked door in your past. Open that door just once before you marry the woman you love, and show her what is behind it! It'll give her a shock maybe. But it'll be better for you both in the end. Don't let there be any locked doors between you and your wife! You're too young for that. And if she's the right sort, it won't make a pin's difference to her love. Women are like that, thank God!"
He spoke with the utmost earnestness. He was evidently keenly anxious to gain his point. But his words went into utter silence. Ere they were fully spoken Piers' hand was withdrawn from his arm. His careless, swinging stride became a heavy, slackening tramp, and at last he halted altogether. They stood side by side in silence with their faces to the moon-silvered water. And there fell a long, long pause, as though the whole world stopped and listened.


CHAPTER XXIV
THE PROMISE

After all, it was Crowther who broke that tragic silence; perhaps because he could bear it no longer. The path on which they stood was deserted. He laid a very steady hand upon Piers' shoulder with a compassionate glance at the stony young face which a few minutes before had been so full of abounding life.
"It comes hard to you, eh, lad?" he said.
Piers stirred, almost made as if he would toss the friendly hand away; but in the end he suffered it, though he would not meet Crowther's eyes.
"You owe it to her," urged Crowther gently. "Tell her, lad! She's bound to be up against it sooner or later if you don't."
"Yes," Piers said. "I know."
He spoke heavily; all the youth seemed to have gone out of him. After a moment, as Crowther waited he turned with a gesture of hopelessness and faced him. "I'm like a dog on a chain," he said. "I drag this way and that, and eat my heart out for freedom. But it's all no use. I've got to live and die on it." He clenched his hands in sudden passionate