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

broken down at last. They clung together as sisters long parted.
Daisy, spent by the violence of her emotion, lay for a long time in Muriel's arms without attempting anything further. But at length with a palpable effort she began to speak of other things.
"You know, I have a feeling--perhaps it is morbid--that I am not going to live. I am sure Will thinks so too. If I die, Muriel,--three months from now--you and Nick must help him all you can."
"You are not going to die," Muriel asserted vehemently. "You are not to talk of dying, or think of it. Oh, Daisy, can't you look forward to the better time that is coming--when you will have something to live for? And won't you try to think more of Will? It would break his heart to lose you."
"I do think of him," Daisy said wearily. "I would do anything to make him happier. But I can't look forward. I am so tired--so tired."
"You will feel differently by-and-by," Muriel whispered.
"Perhaps," she assented. "I don't know. I don't feel as if I shall ever hold another child in my arms. God knows I don't deserve it."
"Do you think He looks at it in that way?" murmured Muriel, her arms tightening. "There wouldn't be much in life for any of us if He did."
"I don't know," Daisy said again.
She lay quiet for a little as though pondering something. Then at length hesitatingly she spoke. "Muriel, there is one thing that whether I live or whether I die I want with my whole heart. May I tell you what it is?"
"Of course, dear. What is it?"
Daisy turned in her arms, holding her in a clasp that was passionate. "My darling," she whispered very earnestly, "I would give all I have in the world to know you happy with--with the man you love."
Silence followed the words. Muriel had become suddenly quite still; her head was bent.
"Don't--don't bar me out of your confidence," Daisy implored her tremulously. "There is so little left for me to do now. Muriel--dearest--you do love him?"
Muriel moved impulsively, hiding her face in her friend's neck. But she said no word in answer.
Daisy went on softly, as though she had spoken. "He is still waiting for you. I think he will wait all his life, though he will never come to you again unless you call him. Won't you--can't you--send him just one little word?"
"How can I?" The words broke suddenly from Muriel as though she could no longer restrain them. "How can I possibly?"
"It could be done," Daisy said. "I know he is still somewhere in India though he has left the Army. We could get a message to him at any time."
"Oh, but I couldn't--I couldn't!" Muriel had begun to tremble violently. There was a sound of tears in her deep voice. "Besides--he wouldn't come."
"My dear, he would," Daisy assured her. "He would come to you directly if he only knew that you wanted him. Muriel, surely you are not--not too proud to let him know!"
"Proud! Oh, no, no!" There was almost a moan in the words. Muriel's head sank a little lower. "Heaven knows I'm not proud," she said. "I am ashamed--miserably ashamed. I have trampled on his love so often--so often. How could I ask him for it--now?"
"Ah, but if he came to you," Daisy persisted, "if in spite of all he came to you, you wouldn't send him away?"
"Send him away!" A sudden note of passion thrilled in Muriel's voice. She lifted her head sharply. With the tears upon her cheeks she yet spoke with a certain exultation. "I--I would follow him barefoot across the world," she said, "if--if he would only lift one finger to call me. But oh, Daisy,"--her confidence vanished at a breath--"where's the use of talking? He never, never will."
"He will if you let him know," Daisy answered with conviction. "Don't you think you can, dear? Give me just one word for him--one tiny message that he will understand. Only trust him this once--just this once! Give him his opportunity--he has never had one before, poor boy--and I know, I know, he will not throw it away."
"You don't think he will--laugh?" Muriel whispered.
"My dear child, no! Nick doesn't laugh at sacred things."
Muriel's face was burning in the darkness. She covered it with her hands as though it could be seen.
For a few seconds she sat very still. Then slowly but steadily she spoke.
"Tell him then, Daisy, from me, that 'Love conquers all things--and we must yield to Love.'"


CHAPTER L
EREBUS

Not another word passed between Daisy and Muriel upon the subject of that night's confidences. There seemed nothing further to be said. Moreover, there was between them a closer understanding than words could compass.
The days that followed passed very peacefully, and Daisy began to improve so marvellously in health and spirits that both her husband and her guest caught at times fleeting glimpses of the old light-hearted personality that they had loved in earlier days.
"You have done wonders for my wife," Will said one day to Muriel. And though she disclaimed all credit, she could not fail to see a very marked improvement.
She herself was feeling unaccountably happy in those days, as though somewhere deep down in her heart a bird had begun to sing. Again and again she told herself that she had no cause for gladness; but again and yet again that sweet, elusive music filled her soul.
She would have gladly stayed on with Daisy, seeing how the latter clung to her, for an indefinite period; but this was not to be.
Daisy came out on to the verandah one morning with a letter in her hand.
"My dear," she said, "I regret to say that, I must part with you. I have had a most touching epistle from Lady Bassett, describing at length your many wasted opportunities, and urging me to return you to the fold with all speed. It seems there is to be a State Ball at the palace--an immense affair to which the Rajah is inviting all the big guns for miles around--and Lady Bassett thinks that her dear child ought not to miss such a gorgeous occasion. She seems to think that something of importance depends upon it, and hints that I should be almost criminally selfish to deprive you of such a treat as this will be."
Muriel lifted a flushed face from a letter of her own. "I have heard from Sir Reginald," she said. "Evidently she has made him write. I can't think why, for she never wants me when I am with her. I don't see why I should go, do you? After all, I am of age and independent."
A very tender smile touched Daisy's lips. "I think you had better go, darling," she said.
Muriel opened her eyes wide. "But why--"
Daisy checked the question half uttered. "I think it will be better for you. I never meant to let you stay till the rains, so it makes little more than a week's difference. It sounds as if I want to be rid of you, doesn't it? But you know it isn't that. I shall miss you horribly, but you have done what you came to do, and I shall get on all right now. So I am not going to keep you with me any longer. My reasons are not Lady Bassett's reasons, but all the same it would be selfish of me to let you stay. Later on perhaps--in the winter--you will come and make a long stay; spend Christmas with us, and we will have some real fun, shall we, Will?" turning to her husband who had just appeared.
He stared for an instant as if he thought he had not heard aright, and there was to Muriel something infinitely pathetic in the way his brown hand touched his wife's shoulder as he passed her and made reply.
"Oh, rather!" he said. "We'll have a regular jollification with as many old friends as we can collect. Don't forget, Miss Roscoe! You are booked first and foremost, and we shall keep you to it, Daisy and I."
Two days later Muriel was on her way back to Ghawalkhand. She found the heat of the journey almost insupportable. The Plains lay under a burning pall of cloud, and at night the rolling thunder was incessant. But no rain fell to ease the smothering oppression of the atmosphere.
She almost fainted one evening, but Will was with her and she never forgot his kindly ministrations.
A few hours' journey from Ghawalkhand Sir Reginald himself met her, and here she parted with Will with renewed promises of a future meeting towards the end of the year.
Sir Reginald fussed over her kind-heartedly, hoped she had enjoyed herself, thought she looked very thin, and declared that his wife was looking forward with much pleasure to her return. The State was still somewhat unsettled, there had been one or two outrages of late, nothing serious, of course, but the native element was restless, and he fancied Lady Bassett was nervous.
She was away at a polo-match when they arrived, and Muriel profited by her absence and went straight to bed.
She could have slept for hours had she been permitted to do so, but Lady Bassett, returning, awoke her to receive her welcome. She was charmed to have her back, she declared, though shocked to see her looking so wan, "so almost plain, dear child, if one may take the liberty of an old friend to tell you so."
Neither the crooked smile that accompanied this gentle criticism nor the decidedly grim laugh with which it was received, was of a particularly friendly nature; but these facts were not extraordinary. There had never been the smallest hint of sympathy between them.
"I trust you will be looking much better than this two nights hence," Lady Bassett proceeded in her soft accents. "The Rajah's ball is to be very magnificent, quite dazzlingly so from all accounts. Mr. Bobby Fraser is of course behind the scenes, and he tells me that the preparations in progress are simply gigantic. By the way, dear, it is to be hoped that your absence has not damaged your prospects in that quarter. I have been afraid lately that he was transferring his allegiance to the second Egerton girl. I hope earnestly that there is nothing in it, for you know how I have your happiness at heart, do you not? And it would be such an excellent thing for you, dear child, as I expect you realise. For you know, you look so much older than you actually are that you really ought not to throw away any more opportunities. Every girl thinks she must have her fling, but you, dear, should soberly think of getting settled soon. You would not like to get left, I feel sure."
At this point Muriel sat up suddenly, her dark eyes very bright, and in brief tones announced that so far as she was concerned the second Egerton girl was more than welcome to Mr. Fraser and she hoped, if she wanted him, she would manage to keep him.
It was crudely expressed, as Lady Bassett pointed out with a sigh for her waywardness; but Muriel always was crude when her deeper feelings were disturbed, and physical fatigue had made her irritable.
She wished ardently that Lady Bassett would leave her, but Lady Bassett had not quite done. She lingered to ask for news of poor little Daisy Musgrave. Had she yet fully recovered from the shock of her cousin's tragic death? Could she bear to speak of him? She, Lady Bassett, had always suspected the existence of an unfortunate attachment between them.
Muriel had no information to