The Obstacle Race - Ethel May Dell (mobi reader android TXT) 📗

brink of the cliff as he had stood many a time before--as he stood now. That cliff had been the tragedy of his ruined life. And yet he loved it, had never known any fear of it. But she had been afraid for his sake. He had seen the fear leap into her eyes. And the memory of it came to him now as a revelation. He had found the way of escape at last!
The sea was crooning behind him over the half-buried rocks. He stood again on the brink with his poor worn face turned to the sky. He had come to the end of his reasoning. The tired brain had ceased to grapple with the cruel problem that had so tortured it. He knew now what he would do to help Dicky. And somehow the doing did not seem hard to him, somehow he did not feel afraid.
One step back and the cliff fell away behind him. Yet for a space he went neither forward nor back. It was as though he waited for a word of command, some signal for release. The first star was gleaming very far away like a lamp lighted in a distant city. His eyes found it and dwelt upon it with a wistful wonder. He had always loved the stars.
He was not angry or troubled any more. All resentment, all turmoil, had died out of his heart for ever. That strange peace had closed about him again, and the falling night held no terrors. Rather it seemed to spread wings of comfort above him. And always the crooning of the sea was like a voice that softly called him.
It came very suddenly at the last--the sign for which he waited. Someone had begun to mount the cliff-path, and--though he was out of sight--he heard a low, summoning whistle in the darkness. It was Dicky's whistle. He knew it well. Dicky was coming to look for him.
For a second every pulse--every nerve--leaped to answer that call. For a second he stood tense while that surging power within him sprang upwards, and in sheer amazing fire of sacrifice consumed the earthly impulse.
Then it was over. His arms went wide to the night. Without a cry, without a tremor, he flung himself backwards over the grassy edge.
The crooning sea and the overhanging cliff muffled the sound of his fall. And no one heard or saw--save God Who seeth all.


CHAPTER VIII
THE MESSAGE

From the day that Juliet relinquished her perpetual vigil, the improvement in Vera Fielding was almost uninterrupted. She recovered her strength very slowly, but her progress was marked by a happy certainty that none who saw her could question. She still leaned upon Juliet, but it was her husband alone who could call that deep content into her eyes which was gradually finding a permanent abiding-place in her heart. The nearness of death had done for them what no circumstance of life had ever accomplished. They had drawn very close together in its shadow, and as they gradually left it behind the tie still held them in a bond that had become sacred to them both. It was as if they had never really known each other till now.
All Vera's arrogance had vanished in her husband's presence, just as his curt imperiousness had given place to the winning dominance which he knew so well how to wield. "You'll do it for me," was one of his pet phrases, and he seldom uttered it in vain. She gave him the joyful sacrifice of love newly-awakened.
"I wonder if we shall go on like this when I'm well again," she said to him on an evening of rose-coloured dusk in early August when he was sitting by her side with her long thin hand in his.
"Like what?" said Edward Fielding.
She smiled at him from her pillow. "Well, spoiling each other in this way. Will you never be overbearing and dictatorial? Shall I never be furious and hateful to you again?"
"I hope not," he said. "In fact, I think not."
He spoke very gravely. She stirred, and in a moment her other hand came out to him also. He clasped it closely. Her eyes were shining softly in the dusk.
"You are--so good to me, Edward--my darling," she said.
His head was bent over her hands. "Don't!" he muttered huskily.
Her fingers closed on his. "Edward, will you tell me something?" she whispered.
"I don't know," he said.
"Yes, but I want you to. I'd rather hear it from you. The doctors don't think I shall ever be fit for much again, do they?"
She spoke steadily, with a certain insistence. He looked up at her sharply, with something of a glare in his eyes.
"You're not going to die--whatever they say!" he declared in a fierce undertone.
"No--no, of course not!" She spoke soothingly, still smiling at him, for that barely checked ferocity of his sent rapture through her soul. "Do you suppose I'd be such an idiot as to go and die just when I'm beginning to enjoy life? I'm not the puny heroine of a lachrymose novel. I hope I've got more sense. No, dear, what I really meant was--was--am I ever going to be strong enough--woman enough--to give you--what you want so much?"
"Vera--my dear!" He leaned swiftly to her, his arm pillowed her head. "Do you suppose--do you really suppose--I'd let you jeopardize your sweet life--after this--after this?"
He was holding her closely to him, and though a little spasm of breathlessness went through her she gave herself to him with a pulsing gladness that thrilled her whole being. It was the happiest moment she had ever known.
"Oh, Edward," she said, "do you--do you really feel like that?"
His cheek was against her forehead. He did not speak for a few seconds. Then, with something of an effort, "Yes," he said. "It's like that with me now, my dear. I've been through--a good deal--these last days. Now I've got you back--please God, I'll keep you!"
She pressed her face against him. "Ah, but Edward, you know you've always wanted--"
"Oh, damn my wants!" he broke in impatiently. "I don't want anything but you now."
She raised her lips to kiss his neck. "That's the loveliest thing you ever said to me, darling," she said, with a throb in her voice. "I love being an invalid--with you to spoil me. But--if you'll promise--promise--promise--to love me quite as much--if I get well, I will get well--really well--for your sake."
Again she was panting. He felt it as he held her, and after a moment or two very tenderly he laid her back.
"God bless you, my dear!" he said. "You needn't be afraid. I've learnt my lesson, and I shan't forget it."
"The lesson of love!" she murmured, holding his hand against her thumping heart.
"Yes. Juliet began the teaching. A wonderful girl that. She seems to know everything. I wonder where she learnt it."
"She is wonderful," Vera agreed thoughtfully. "I sometimes think she has had a hard life. She says so little about herself."
"She has moved among a fairly rapid lot," observed the squire. "Lord Saltash is intimate enough to call her by her Christian name."
"Does he ever talk about her?" asked Vera, interested.
"Not much," said the squire.
"You think he is fond of her at all?"
"I don't know. He doesn't see much of her. I haven't quite got his measure yet. He isn't the sort of man I thought he was anyway."
"Then it wasn't true about Lady Joanna Farringmore?" questioned Vera.
Fielding hesitated. "I don't know," he said again. "I have a suspicion that that report was not entirely unfounded. But however that may be, she isn't with him now."
"You don't think she is--on board the yacht?" suggested Vera.
"No, I don't. The yacht is being done up for a voyage. A beautiful boat from all accounts. He is very proud of her. I am to go over her with him one of these days, when she's ready--which will be soon."
Vera uttered a short sigh. "I wish we'd get a yacht, Edward," she said.
"Do you? Why?" He was looking at her attentively, a smile in his eyes.
She coloured faintly. "I don't know. It's just a fancy, I suppose--a sick fancy. But I believe I could get well much quicker if I went for a voyage like that."
"You'd be bored to death," said Fielding.
She looked at him through sudden tears. "Bored! With you!" she said.
He patted her cheek gently. "Wouldn't you be bored? Quite sure? Suppose we were to borrow that yacht, do you think you'd really like it?"
Her eyes shone through the tears. "Of course I should love it!" she said. "Is there--is there any chance of such a thing?"
"Every chance," said Fielding. "Saltash most kindly placed her, with the captain and crew, at my disposal only last night."
"Oh, Edward! How tremendously kind!" She looked at him with an eagerness that seemed to transform her. "But--but would you like it too? Wouldn't you--wouldn't you feel it was an awful waste of time?"
"Waste of time! With you!" smiled Fielding.
She lifted his hand with a shy movement and put it to her lips. "Edward--darling, you get dearer every day," she murmured. "What makes you so good to me?"
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I happen to have found out--quite by accident--that I love you, my dear," he said.
She smiled at him. "What a happy accident! Then we are really going for that voyage together? What about--Juliet?"
"Don't you want Juliet?" he said.
"Yes, if she would come. But I have a feeling--I don't know why--that she will not be with us very long. I should be sorry to part with her for we owe her so much. But--somehow she doesn't quite fit, does she? She would be much more suitable as--Lady Saltash for instance."
Fielding laughed. "Saltash isn't the only fish in the sea," he remarked.
"You are thinking of--Mr. Green?" she questioned, with slight hesitation before the name. "You know, Edward--" she broke off.
"Well, my dear?" he said.
She turned to him impulsively. "I'm sorry I've not been nicer about that young man. I'm going to try and like him better, just to please you. But, Edward, you wouldn't want Juliet to marry--that sort of man? You don't, do you?"
Fielding had stiffened almost imperceptibly. "It doesn't much matter what I want," he said, after a moment. "It doesn't rest with me. Neither Dick nor Juliet are likely to consult my feelings in the matter."
"I don't want her to throw herself away--like that," said Vera.
"I don't think you need be afraid," he said. "Juliet knows very well what she is about. And Dick--well Dick's fool enough to sacrifice the heart out of his body for the sake of that half-witted boy."
"How odd of him!" Vera said. "What a pity Robin ever lived to grow up!"
"He's been the ruin of Dick's life," the squire said forcibly. "He's thrown away every chance he ever had on account of Robin. He doesn't fit--if you like. He's absolutely out of his sphere and knows it. But he'll never change it while that boy lives. That's the infernal part of it. Nothing will move him." He stopped himself suddenly. "I mustn't excite you, my dear, and this is a subject upon which I feel very strongly. I can't expect you to sympathize because--" he smiled whimsically--"well, mainly because you don't understand. We had better talk of something else."
Vera was looking at him with a slight frown between her eyes. "I didn't mean to be--unsympathetic," she said, a faint quiver in her voice.
"Of course not! Of course not!" Hastily he sought to make amends. "I don't know how we got on the subject. You