The Way of an Eagle - Ethel May Dell (i read books TXT) 📗

"I'm infernally rude, I know. But why put it in that way? Should you say I was 'fond' of her?"
Daisy met his darting, elusive glance with a distinct effort. "I shouldn't say you were fond of any one, Nick. The term doesn't apply where you are concerned. There never were two men more totally different than you and Blake. But he isn't despicable for all that. He's a child compared to you, but he's a good child. He would never do wrong unless some one tempted him."
"That's so with a good many of us," remarked Nick, sneering faintly. "Let us hope that when the account comes to be totted up, allowance will be made."
Daisy's hand upon his banished the sneer. "Be fair, Nick," she urged. "We are not all made with wills of iron. I know you are bitter because you think he isn't good enough for her. But would you think any man good enough? Don't think I wanted this. I was on your side. But I--I was busy at the time with--other things. And I didn't see it coming."
Nick's face softened. He said nothing.
She bent towards him. "I would have given anything to have stopped it when I knew. But it was too late. Will you forgive me, Nick?"
He patted her hand lightly. "Of course, of course. Don't fret on my account."
"But I do," she whispered vehemently. "I do. I know--how horribly--it hurts."
Nick's fingers closed suddenly upon hers. His eyes went beyond her.
"Mrs. Musgrave," he said, "I am gifted with a superhuman intelligence, remember. I know some cards by their backs."
Daisy withdrew her hand swiftly. His tone had been one of warning. She threw him a look of sharp uneasiness. She did not ask him what he meant.
"Tell me some more about Will," she said. "I was thinking of writing to him to-day."
And Nick forthwith plunged into a graphic account of the man who was slaving night and day in the burning Plains of the East for the woman of his heart.


CHAPTER XXX
AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP

It was with unspeakable relief that Muriel learned of Nick's departure. That he had elected to take Olga with him surprised her considerably and caused her some regret. Grange had discovered some urgent business that demanded his presence in town, and she missed the child in consequence more than she would otherwise have done.
Daisy was growing stronger, and was beginning to contemplate a change, moved at last by Jim Ratcliffe's persistent urging. There was a cottage at Brethaven which, he declared, would suit her exactly. Muriel raised no objection to the plan. She knew it would be for Daisy's benefit, but her heart sank whenever she thought of it. She was glad when early in June Blake came back to them for a few days before starting on a round of visits.
He approved of the Brethaven plan warmly, and he and Muriel rode over one morning to the little seaside village to make arrangements. Muriel said no more to him upon the subject of Nick. On this one point she had come to know that it was vain to look for sympathy. He had promised to help her indeed, but he simply did not understand her nervous shrinking from the man. Moreover, Nick had made it so abundantly evident that he had no intention of thrusting himself upon her that there could be no ground for fear on that score. Besides, was not her engagement her safeguard?
As for Blake, her silence upon the matter made him hope that she was getting over her almost childish panic. With all the goodwill in the world, he could not see that his presence as watch-dog was required.
Yet, as they turned from the cottage on the shore with their errand accomplished, he did say after some hesitation, "Of course, if for any reason you should want me when I am away, you must let me know. I would come at once."
She thanked him with a heightened colour, and he had a feeling that his allusion had been unwelcome. They rode up from the beach in silence.
Turning a sharp corner towards the village where they proposed to lunch, they came suddenly upon a motor stationary by the roadside. A whoop of cheery recognition greeted them before either of them realised that it was occupied, and they discovered Nick seated on the step, working with his one hand at the foot-brake. Olga was with him, endeavouring to assist.
Nick's face grinned welcome impartially to the newcomers. "Hullo! This is luck. Delighted to see you. Grange, my boy, here's a little job exactly suited to your Herculean strength. Climb down like a good fellow, and lend a hand."
Grange glanced at Muriel, and with a slight shrug handed her his bridle. "I'm not much good at this sort of thing," he remarked, as he dismounted.
"Never thought you were for a moment," responded Nick. "But I suppose you can do as you're told at a pinch. This filthy thing has got jammed. It's too tough a job for a single-handed pigmy like me." He glanced quizzically up at Muriel with the last remark, but she quickly averted her eyes, bending to speak to Olga at the same instant.
Olga was living in the seventh heaven just then, and her radiant face proclaimed it. "I'm learning to drive," she told Muriel. "It's the greatest fun. You would just love it. I know you would." She stood fondling the horses and chattering while the two men wrestled with the motor's internal arrangements, and Muriel longed desperately to give her animal the rein and flee away from the mocking sprite that gibed at her from Nick's eyes. Whence came it, this feeling of insecurity, this perpetual sense of fighting against the inevitable? She had fancied that Blake's presence would be her safeguard, but now she bitterly realised that it made no difference to her. He stood as it were outside the ropes, and was powerless to intervene.
Suddenly she saw them stand up. The business was done. They stood for a second side by side--Blake gigantic, well-proportioned, splendidly strong; Nick, meagre, maimed, almost shrunken, it seemed. But in that second she knew with unerring conviction that the greater fighter of the two was the man against whom she had pitted her quivering woman's strength. She knew at a single glance that for all his bodily weakness Nick possessed the power to dominate even so mighty a giant as Blake. What she had said to herself many a time before, she said again. He was abnormal, superhuman even; more--where he chose to exert himself, he was irresistible.
The realisation went through her, sharp and piercing, horribly distinct. She had sought shelter like a frightened rabbit in the densest cover she could find, but, crouching low, she heard the rush of the remorseless wings above her. She knew that at any moment he could rend her refuge to pieces and hold her at his mercy.
Abruptly he left Blake and came to her side. "I want you and Grange to come to Redlands for luncheon," he said. "Olga is hostess there. Don't refuse."
"Oh, do come!" urged Olga, dancing eagerly upon one leg. "You've never been to Redlands, have you? It's such a lovely place. Say you'll come, Muriel."
Muriel scarcely heard her. She was looking down into Nick's face, seeking, seeking for the hundredth time, to read that baffling mask.
"Don't refuse," he said again. "You'll get nothing but underdone chops at the inn here, and I can't imagine that to be a weakness of yours."
She gave up her fruitless search. "I will come," she said.
"It's exactly as you like, you know, Muriel," Grange put in awkwardly.
She understood the precise meaning of Nick's laugh. She even for a moment wanted to laugh herself. "Thank you. I should like to," she said.
Nick nodded and turned aside. "Olga, stop capering," he ordered, "and drive me home."
Olga obeyed him promptly, with the gaiety of a squirrel. As Nick seated himself by her side, Muriel saw her turn impulsively and rub her cheek against his shoulder. It gave her a queer little tingling shock to see the child's perfect confidence in him. But then--but then--Olga had never looked on horror, had never seen the devil leap out in naked fury upon her hero's face.
They waited to let the car go first, Olga proudly grasping the wheel; then, trotting briskly, followed in its wake.
Muriel had an uneasy feeling that Blake wanted to apologise, and she determined that he should not have the opportunity. Each time that he gave any sign of wishing to draw nearer to her, she touched her horse's flank. Something in the nature of a revelation had come to her during that brief halt by the roadside. For the first time she had caught a glimpse, plain and unvarnished, of the actual man that inhabited the giant's frame, and it had given her an odd, disturbing suspicion that the strength upon which she leaned was in simple fact scarcely equal to her own.
The way to Redlands lay through leafy woodlands through which here and there the summer sea gleamed blue. Turning in at the open gates, Muriel uttered an exclamation of delight. She seemed to have suddenly entered fairyland. The house, long, low, rambling, roofed with thatch, stood at the end of a winding drive that was bordered on both sides by a blaze of rhododendron flowers. Down below her on the left was a miniature glen from which arose the tinkle of running water. On her right the trees grew thickly, completely shutting out the road.
"Oh, Blake!" she exclaimed. "What a perfect paradise!"
"Like it?" said Nick; and with a start she saw him coolly step out from a shadowy path behind them and close the great iron gate.
Impulsively she pulled up and slipped to the ground. "Take my horse, Blake," she said. "I must run down to that stream."
He obeyed her, not very willingly, and Nick with a chuckle turned and plunged after her down the narrow path. "Go straight ahead!" he called back. "Olga is waiting for you at the house."
He came up with Muriel on the edge of the fairy stream. Her face was flushed and her eyes nervous, but she met him bravely. She had known in her heart that he would follow. As he stopped beside her, she turned with a little desperate laugh and held out her hand.
"Is it peace?" she said rather breathlessly.
She felt his fingers, tense as wire, close about her own. "Seems like it," he said. "What are you afraid of? Me?"
She could not meet his look. But the necessity for some species of understanding pressed upon her. She wanted unspeakably to conciliate him.
"I want to be friends with you, Nick," she said, "if you will let me."
"What for?" said Nick sharply.
She was silent. She could not tell him that her sure defence had crumbled at a touch. Somehow she was convinced that he knew it already.
"You never wanted such a thing before," he said. "You certainly weren't hankering after it the last time we met."
Her cheeks burned at the memory. Again she felt ashamed. With a great effort she forced herself to speak with a certain frankness.
"I am afraid," she said--"I have thought since--that I was rather heartless that day. The fact was, I was taken by surprise. But I am sorry now, Nick. I am very sorry."
Her tone was unconsciously piteous. Surely he must see that if they were to meet often, as inevitably they must, some sort of agreement between them was imperative. She must feel stable ground beneath her feet. Their intercourse could not be one perpetual passage of arms. Flesh and blood could never endure