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

I have chosen."
"What have you chosen?" he demanded.
For an instant she hesitated. There was something almost fierce in his manner, something she had never encountered before, something that in spite of her utmost effort made her feel curiously uneasy, even apprehensive. She had always known that there was a certain uncanny strength about Nick, but to feel the whole weight of it directed against her was a new experience.
"What have you chosen?" he repeated relentlessly.
And reluctantly, more than half against her will, she told him. "I am going to the man I love."
She was prepared for some violent outburst upon her words, but none came. Nick heard her in silence, standing straight before her, watching her, she felt, with an almost brutal intentness, though his eyes never for an instant met her own.
"Then," he said suddenly at length, and quick though they were, it seemed to her that the words fell with something of the awful precision of a death-sentence, "God help you both; for you are going to destroy him and yourself too."
Daisy made a sharp gesture; it was almost one of shrinking. And at once he turned from her and fell to pacing the little room, up and down, up and down incessantly, like an animal in a cage. It was useless to attempt to dismiss him, for she saw that he would not go. She moved quietly to a chair and sat down to wait.
Abruptly at last he stopped, halting in front of her. "Daisy,"--he began, and broke off short, seeming to battle with himself.
She looked up in surprise. It was so utterly unlike Nick to relinquish his self-command at a critical juncture. The next moment he amazed her still further. He dropped suddenly down on his knees and gripped her clasped hands fast.
"Daisy," he said again, and this time words came, jerky and passionate, "this is my doing. I've driven you to it. If I hadn't interfered with Grange, you would never have thought of it."
She sat without moving, but the hasty utterance had its effect upon her. Some of the rigidity went out of her attitude. "My dear Nick," she said, "what is the good of saying that?"
"Isn't it true?" he persisted.
She hesitated, unwilling to wound him.
"You know it is true," he declared with vehemence. "If I had let him alone, he would have married Muriel, and this thing would never have happened. God knows I did what was right, but if it doesn't turn out right, I'm done for. I never believed in eternal damnation before, but if this thing comes to pass it will be hell-fire for me for as long as I live. For I shall never believe in God again."
He swung away from her as though in bodily torture, came in contact with the table and bowed his head upon it. For many seconds his breathing, thick and short, almost convulsed, was the only sound in the room.
As for Daisy, she sat still, staring at him dumbly, witnessing his agony till the sight of it became more than she could bear. Then she moved, reached stiffly forward, and touched him.
"You are not to blame yourself, Nick," she said.
He did not stir. "I don't," he answered, and again fell silent.
At last he moved, seemed to pull himself together, finally got to his feet.
"Do you think you will be happy?" he said. "Do you think you will ever manage to forget what you have sacrificed to this fetish you call Love,--how you broke the heart of one of the best fellows in the world, and trampled upon the memory of your dead child--the little chap you used to call the light of your eyes, who used to hold out his arms directly he saw you and cry when you went away?"
His voice was not very steady, and he paused but he did not look at her or seem to expect any reply.
Daisy gave a great shiver. She felt cold from head to foot. But she was not afraid of Nick. If she yielded, it would not be through fear.
A full minute crawled away before he spoke again. "And this fellow Grange," he said then. "He is a man who values his honour. He has lived a clean life. He holds an unblemished record. He is in your hands. You can do what you like with him--whatever your love inspires you to do. You can pull him back into a straight course, or you can wreck him for good and all. Which is it going to be, I wonder? It's a sacrifice either way,--a sacrifice to Love or a sacrifice to devils. You can make it which you will. But if it is to be the last, never talk of Love again. For Love--real Love--is the safeguard from all evil. And if you can do this thing, it has never been above your horizon, and never will be."
Again he stopped, and again there was silence while Daisy sat white-faced and slightly bowed, wondering when it would be over, wondering how much longer she could possibly endure.
And then suddenly he bent down over her. His hand was on her shoulder. "Daisy," he said, and voice and touch alike implored her, "give him up, dear! Give him up! You can do it if you will, if your love is great enough. I know how infernally hard it is to do. I've done it myself. It means tearing your very heart out. But it will be worth it--it must be worth it--afterwards. You are bound--some time--to reap what you have sown."
She lifted a haggard face. There was something in the utterance that compelled her. And so looking, she saw that which none other of this man's friend's had ever seen. She saw his naked soul, stripped bare of all deception, of all reserve,--a vital, burning flame shining in the desert. The sight moved her as had nought else.
"Oh, Nick," she cried out desperately, "I can't--I can't!"
He bent lower over her. He was looking straight down into her eyes. "Daisy," he said very urgently, "Daisy, for God's sake--try!"
Her white lips quivered, striving again to refuse. But the words would not come. Her powers of resistance had begun to totter.
"You can do it," he declared, his voice quick and passionate as though he pleaded with her for life itself. "You can do it--if you will. I will help you. You shan't stand alone. Don't stop to think. Just come with me now--at once--and put an end to it before you sleep. For you can't do this thing, Daisy. It isn't in you. It is all a monstrous mistake, and you can't go on with it. I know you better than you know yourself. We haven't been pals all these years for nothing. And there is that in your heart that won't let you go on. I thought it was dead a few minutes ago. But, thank God, it isn't. I can see it in your eyes."
She uttered an inarticulate sound that was more bitter than any weeping, and covered her face.
Instantly Nick straightened himself and turned away. He went to the window and leaned his head against the sash. He had the spent look of a man who has fought to the end of his strength. The thunder of the waves upon the shore filled in the long, long silence.
Minutes crawled away, and still he stood there with his face to the darkness. At last a voice spoke behind him, and he turned. Daisy had risen.
She stood in the lamplight, quite calm and collected. There was even a smile upon her face, but it was a smile that was sadder than tears.
"It's been a desperate big fight, hasn't it, Nick?" she said. "But--my dear--you've won. For the sake of my little baby, and for the sake of the man I love--yes, and partly for your sake too,"--she held out her hand to him with the words--"I am going back to the prison-house. No, don't speak to me. You have said enough. And, Nick, I must go alone. So I want you, please, to go away, and not to come to me again until I send for you. I shall send sooner or later. Will you do this?"
Her voice never faltered, but the misery in her eyes cut him to the heart. In that moment he realised how terribly near he had been to losing the hardest battle he had ever fought.
He gave her no second glance. Simply, without a word, he stooped and kissed the hand she had given him; then turned and went noiselessly away.
He had won indeed, but the only triumph he knew was the pain of a very human compassion.
Scarcely five minutes after his departure, Daisy let herself out into the night that lay like a pall above the moaning shore. She went with lagging feet that often stumbled in the darkness. It was only the memory of a baby's head against her breast that gave her strength.


CHAPTER XLIII
REQUIESCAT

"I believe I heard a gun in the night," remarked Mrs. Ratcliffe at the breakfast-table on the following morning.
"Shouldn't be surprised," said Dr. Jim. "I know there was a ship in distress off Calister yesterday. They damaged the lifeboat trying to reach her. But the wind seems to have gone down a little this morning. Do you care for a ride, Muriel?"
Muriel accepted the invitation gladly. She liked accompanying Dr. Jim upon his rounds. She had arranged to leave two days later, a decision which the news of Daisy's presence at Brethaven had not affected. Daisy seemed to have dropped her for good and all, and her pride would not suffer her to inquire the reason. She had, in fact, begun to think that Daisy had merely tired of her, and that being so she was the more willing to go to Mrs. Langdale, whose letters of fussy kindliness seemed at least to ensure her a cordial welcome.
She had discussed her troubles no further with Dr. Jim. Grange's letter had in some fashion placed matters beyond discussion. And so she had only briefly told him that her engagement was at an end, and he had gruffly expressed his satisfaction thereat. Her one idea now was to escape from Nick's neighbourhood as speedily as possible. It possessed her even in her dreams.
She went with Dr. Jim to the surgery when breakfast was over, and sat down alone in the consulting-room to wait for him. He usually started on his rounds at ten o'clock, but it wanted a few minutes to the hour and the motor was not yet at the door. She sat listening for it, hoping that no one would appear to detain him.
The morning was bright, and the wind had fallen considerably. Through the window she watched the falling leaves as they eddied in sudden draughts along the road. She looked through a wire screen that gave rather a depressing effect to the sunshine.
Suddenly from some distance away there came to her the sound of a horse's hoof-beats, short and hard, galloping over the stones. It was a sound that arrested the attention, awaking in her a vague, apprehensive excitement. Almost involuntarily she drew nearer to the window, peering above the blind.
Some seconds elapsed before she caught sight of the headlong horseman, and then abruptly he dashed into sight round a curve in the road. At the same instant the gallop became a fast trot, and she saw that the rider was gripping the animal with his knees. He had no saddle.
Amazed and startled, she stood motionless, gazing at the sudden apparition, saw as the pair drew nearer what something within her had already told her loudly before her vision served her, and finally