The Tidal Wave by Ethel May Dell (mobi reader TXT) 📖

know it."
There was no dismay in his voice, but neither was there exultation. He simply stated the fact with absolute composure. Her heart gave a wild throb of misgiving. Was the man wholly sane?
Again she caught wildly at her failing courage, and drew herself up to her full height. Perhaps she might awe him, even yet.
"Sir," she said, "I am Sir Roland Brooke's wife. And I--"
"Egad!" he broke in banteringly, "that was yesterday. You are free to-day. I have brought you out of bondage. We have found paradise together, and, my pretty Lady Una, there is no way back."
"But there is, there is!" she cried desperately. "And I must find it! I tell you I am Sir Roland Brooke's wife. I belong to him. No one can keep me from him!"
It was as though she beat upon an iron door.
"There is no way out of the magic circle," said the jester inexorably.
A white shaft of light illumined the mist above them, revealing the girl's pale face, making sinister the man's masked one. He seemed to be smiling. He bent towards her.
"You seem amazingly fond of your chains," he said softly. "And yet, from what I have heard, Sir Roland is no gentle tyrant. How is it, pretty one? What makes you cling to your bondage so?"
"He is my husband!" she said, through white lips.
"Faith, that is no answer," he declared. "Own, now, that you hate him, that you loathe his presence and shudder at his touch! I told you I was a magician, Lady Una; but you wouldn't believe me at all."
She confronted him with a sudden fury that marvellously reinforced her failing courage.
"You lie, sir!" she cried, stamping passionately upon the soft earth. "I do none of these things. I have never hated him. I have never shrunk from his touch. We have not understood each other, perhaps, but that is a different matter, and no concern of yours."
"He has not made you happy," said the jester persistently. "You will never go back to him now that you are free!"
"I will go back to him!" she cried stormily. "How dare you say such a thing to me? How dare you?"
He came nearer to her.
"Listen!" he said. "It is deliverance that I am offering you. I ask nothing at all in return, simply to make you happy, and to teach you the blessed magic which now you scorn. Faith! It's the greatest game in the world, Lady Una; and it only takes two players, dear, only two players!"
There was a subtle, caressing quality in his voice. His masked face was bending close to hers. She felt trapped and helpless, but she forced herself to stand her ground.
"You insult me!" she said, her voice quivering, but striving to be calm.
"Never a bit!" he declared. "Since I am the truest friend you have!"
She drew away from him with a gesture of repulsion.
"You insult me!" she said again. "I have my husband, and I need no other."
He laughed sneeringly, the insinuating banter all gone from his manner.
"You know he is nothing to you," he said. "He neglects you. He bullies you. You married him because you wanted to be a married woman. Be honest, now! You never loved him. You do not know what love is!"
"It is false!" she cried. "I will not listen to you. Let me go!"
He took a sudden step forward.
"You refuse deliverance?" he questioned harshly.
She did not retreat this time, but faced him proudly.
"I do!"
"Listen!" he said again, and his voice was stern. "Sir Roland Brooke has returned home. He knows that you have disobeyed him. He knows that you are here with me. You will not dare to face him. You have gone too far to return."
She gasped hysterically, and tottered for an instant, but recovered herself.
"I will--I will go back!" she said.
"He will beat you like a labourer's wife," warned the jester. "He may do worse."
She was swaying as she stood.
"He will do--as he sees fit," she said.
He stooped a little lower.
"I would make you happy, Lady Una," he whispered. "I would protect you--shelter you--love you!"
She flung out her hands with a wild and desperate gesture. The magnetism of his presence had become horrible to her.
"I am going to him--now," she said.
Behind him she saw, in the brightening moonlight, the opening which she had vainly sought a few minutes before. She sprang for it, darting past him like a frightened bird seeking refuge, and in another moment she was lost in the green labyrinths.
* * *


The moonlight had become clear and strong, casting black shadows all about her. Twice, in her frantic efforts to escape, she ran back into the centre of the maze. The jester had gone, but she imagined him lurking behind every corner, and she impotently recalled his words: "There is no way out of the magic circle."
At last, panting and exhausted, she knew that she was unwinding the puzzle. Often as its intricacies baffled her, she kept her head, rectifying each mistake and pressing on, till the wider curve told her that she was very near the entrance. She came upon it finally quite suddenly, and found herself, to her astonishment, close to the terrace steps.
She mounted them with trembling limbs, and paused a moment to summon her composure. Then, outwardly calm, she traversed the terrace and entered the house.
Lady Blythebury was dancing, and she felt she could not wait. She scribbled a few hasty words of farewell, and gave them to a servant as she entered her carriage. Hers was the first departure, and no one noted it.
She sank back at length, thankfully, in the darkness, and closed her eyes. Whatever lay before her, she had escaped from the nightmare horror of the shadowy garden.
But as the brief drive neared its end, her anxiety revived. Had Sir Roland indeed returned and discovered her absence? Was it possible?
Her face was white and haggard as she entered the hall at last. Her eyes were hunted.
The servant who opened to her looked at her oddly for a moment.
"What is it?" she said nervously.
"Sir Roland has returned, my lady," he said. "He arrived two hours ago, and went straight to his room, saying he would not disturb your ladyship."
She turned away in silence, and mounted the stairs. Did he know? Had he guessed? Was it that that had brought him back?
She entered her room, and dismissed the maid she found awaiting her.
Swiftly she threw off the pink domino, and began to loosen her hair with stiff, fumbling fingers, then shook it about her shoulders, and sank quivering upon a couch. She could not go to bed. The terror that possessed her was too intense, too overmastering.
Ah! What was that? Every pulse in her body leaped and stood still at sound of a low knock at the door. Who could it be? gasped her fainting heart. Not Sir Roland, surely! He never came to her room now.
Softly the door opened. It was Sir Roland and none other--Sir Roland wearing an old velvet smoking--jacket, composed as ever, his grey eyes very level and inscrutable.
He paused for a single instant upon the threshold, then came noiselessly in and closed the door.
Naomi sat motionless and speechless. She lacked the strength to rise. Her hands were pressed upon her heart. She thought its beating would suffocate her.
He came quietly across the room to her, not seeming to notice her agitation.
"I should not have disturbed you at this hour if I had not been sure that you were awake," he said.
Reaching her, he bent and touched her white cheek.
"Why, child, how cold you are!" he said.
She started violently back, and then, as a sudden memory assailed her, she caught his hand and held it for an instant.
"It is nothing," she said with an effort. "You--you startled me."
"You are nervous tonight," said Sir Roland.
She shrank under his look.
"You see, I did not expect you," she murmured.
"Evidently not." Sir Roland stood gravely considering her. "I came back," he said, after a moment, "because it occurred to me that you might be lonely after all, in spite of your assurance to the contrary. I did not ask you to accompany me, Naomi. I did not think you would care to do so. But I regretted it later, and I have come back to remedy the omission. Will you come with me to Scotland?"
His tone was quiet and somewhat formal, but there was in it a kindliness that sent the blood pulsing through her veins in a wave of relief even greater than her astonishment at his words. He did not know, then. That was her one all-possessing thought. He could not know, or he had not spoken to her thus.
She sat slowly forward, drawing her hair about her shoulders like a cloak. She felt for the moment an overpowering weakness, and she could not look up.
"I will come, of course," she said at last, her voice very low, "if you wish it."
Sir Roland did not respond at once. Then, as his silence was beginning to disquiet her again, he laid a steady hand upon the shadowing hair.
"My dear," he said gently, "have you no wishes upon the subject?"
Again she started at his touch, and again, as if to rectify the start, drew ever so slightly nearer to him. It was many, many days since she had heard that tone from him.
"My wishes are yours," she told him faintly.
His hand was caressing her softly, very softly. Again he was silent for a while, and into her heart there began to creep a new feeling that made her gradually forget the immensity of her relief. She sat motionless, save that her head drooped a little lower, ever a little lower.
"Naomi," he said, at last, "I have been thinking a good deal lately. We seem to have been wandering round and round in a circle. I have been wondering if we could not by any means find a way out?"
She made a sharp, involuntary movement. What was this that he was saying to her?
"I don't quite understand," she murmured.
His hand pressed a little upon her, and she knew that he was bending down.
"You are not happy," he said, with grave conviction.
She could not contradict him.
"It is my own fault," she managed to say, without lifting her head.
"I do not think so," he returned, "at least, not entirely. I know that there have frequently been times when you have regretted your marriage. For that you were not to blame." He paused an instant. "Naomi," he said, a new note in his voice, "I think I am right in believing that, notwithstanding this regret, you do not in your heart wish to leave me?"
She quivered, and hid her face in silence.
He waited a few seconds, and finally went on as if she had answered in the affirmative.
"That being so, I have a foundation on which to build. I would not ask of you anything which you feel unable to grant. But there is only one way for us to get out of the circle that I can see. Will you take it with me, Naomi? Shall we go away together, and leave this miserable estrangement behind us?"
His voice was low and tender. Yet she felt instinctively that he had not found it easy to expose his most sacred reserve thus. She moved convulsively, trying to answer him, trying for several unworthy