The Top of the World by Ethel May Dell (most inspirational books of all time txt) 📖

Burke hated the long-chair because it creaked at every movement, and she was determined that he should not spend another night on the floor. So, while with trepidation she awaited him, she made such preparations as she could for his comfort.
Joe, the house-boy, was very clumsy in all his ways, and Guy, looking on, seemed to derive considerable amusement from his performance. "I always did like Joe," he remarked. "There's something about his mechanism that is irresistibly comic. Oh, do leave him alone, Sylvia! Let him arrange the thing upside down if he wants to!"
Joe's futility certainly had something of the comic order about it. He had a dramatic fashion of rolling his eyes when expectant of rebuke, which was by no means seldom. And the vastness of his smile was almost bewildering. Sylvia had never been able quite to accustom herself to his smile.
"He's exactly like a golliwog, isn't he?" said Guy. "His head will split in two if you encourage him."
But Sylvia, hot and anxious, found it impossible to view Joe's exhibition with enjoyment. He was more stupid in the execution of her behests than she had ever found him before, and at length, losing patience, she dismissed him and proceeded to erect the bed herself.
She was in the midst of this when there came the sound of a step in the room, and Guy's quick,
"Hullo!" told her of the entrance of a third person. She stood up sharply, and met Burke face to face.
She was panting a little from her exertions, and her hand went to her side. For the moment a horrible feeling of discomfiture overwhelmed her. His look was so direct; it seemed to go straight through her.
"What is this for?" he said.
She mastered her embarrassment with a swift effort. "Guy said you slept on the floor last night. I am sure it wasn't very comfortable, so I have brought this in instead. You don't mind?" with a glance at him that held something of appeal.
"I mind you putting it up yourself," he said briefly. "Sit down! Where's that lazy hound, Joe?"
"Oh, don't call Joe!" Guy begged. "He has already reduced her to exasperation. She won't listen to me either when I tell her that I can look after myself at night. You tell her, Burke! She'll listen to you perhaps."
But Burke ended the matter without further discussion by putting her on one side and finishing the job himself. Then he stood up.
"Let Mary Ann do the rest! You have been working too hard. Come, and have some lunch! You'll be all right, Guy?"
"Oh, quite," Guy assured him. "Mary Ann can take care of me. She'll enjoy it."
Sylvia looked back at him over her shoulder as she went out, but she did not linger. There was something imperious about Burke just then.
They entered the sitting-room together. "Look here!" he said. "You're not to tire yourself out. Guy is convalescent now. Let him look after himself for a bit!"
"I haven't been doing anything for Guy," she objected. "Only I can't have you sleeping on the floor."
"What's it matter," he said gruffly, "where or how I sleep?" And then suddenly he took her by the shoulders and held her before him. "Just look at me a moment!" he said.
It was a definite command. She lifted her eyes, but the instant they met his that overwhelming confusion came upon her again. His gaze was so intent, so searching. All her defences seemed to go down before it.
Her lip suddenly quivered, and she turned her face aside. "Be--kind to me, Burke!" she said, under her breath.
He let her go; but he stood motionless for some seconds after as if debating some point with himself. She went to the window and nervously straightened the curtain. After a considerable pause his voice came to her there.
"I want you to rest this afternoon, and ride over with me to the Merstons after tea. Will you do that?"
She turned sharply. "And leave Guy? Oh, no!"
Across the room she met his look, and she saw that he meant to have his way. "I wish it," he said.
She came slowly back to him. "Burke,--please! I can't do that. It wouldn't be right. We can't leave Guy to the Kaffirs."
"Guy can look after himself," he reiterated. "You have done enough--too much--in that line already. He doesn't need you with him all daylong."
She shook her head. "I think he needs--someone. It wouldn't be right--I know it wouldn't be right to leave him quite alone. Besides, the Merstons won't want me. Why should I go?"
"Because I wish it," he said again. And, after a moment, as she stood silent, "Doesn't that count with you?"
She looked up at him quickly, caught by something in his tone, "Of course your wishes count with me!" she said. "You know they do. But all the same--" She paused, searching for words.
"Guy comes first," he suggested, in the casual voice of one stating an acknowledged fact.
She felt the hot colour rise to her temples. "Oh, it isn't fair of you to say that!" she said.
"Isn't it true?" said Burke.
She collected herself to answer him. "It is only because his need has been so great. If we had not put him first--before everything else--we should never have saved him."
"And now that he is saved," Burke said, a faint ring of irony in his voice, "isn't it almost time to begin to consider--other needs? Do you know you are looking very ill?"
He asked the question abruptly, so abruptly that she started. Her nerves were on edge that day.
"Am I? No, I didn't know. It isn't serious anyway. Please don't bother about that!"
He smiled faintly. "I've got to bother. If you don't improve very quickly, I shall take you to Brennerstadt to see a decent doctor there."
"Oh, don't be absurd!" she said, with quick annoyance. "I'm not going to do anything so silly."
He put his hand on her arm. "Sylvia, I've got something to say to you," he said.
She made a slight movement as if his touch were unwelcome. "Well? What is it?" she said.
"Only this." He spoke very steadily, but while he spoke his hand closed upon her. You've gone your own way so far, and it hasn't been specially good for you. That's why I'm going to pull you up now, and make you go mine."
"Make me!" Her eyes flashed sudden fire upon him. She was overwrought and weary, and he had taken her by surprise, or she would have dealt with the situation--and with him--far otherwise. "Make me!" she repeated, and in second, almost before she knew it, she was up in arms, facing him with open rebellion. "I'll defy you to do that!" she said.
The moment she had said it, the word still scarcely uttered, she repented. She had not meant to defy him. The whole thing had come about so swiftly, so unexpectedly, hardly, she felt, of her own volition. And now, more than half against her will, she stood committed to carry through an undertaking for which even at the outset, she had no heart. For there was no turning back. The challenge, once uttered, could not be withdrawn. She was no coward. The idea came to her that if she blenched then she would for all time forfeit his respect as well as her own.
So she stood her ground, slim and upright, braced to defiance, though at the back of all her bravery there lurked a sickening fear.
Burke did not speak at once. His look scarcely altered, his hold upon her remained perfectly steady and temperate. Yet in the pause the beating of her heart rose between them--a hard, insistent throbbing like the fleeing feet of a hunted thing.
"You really mean that?" he asked at length.
"Yes." Straight and unhesitating came her answer. It was now or never, she told herself. But she was trembling, despite her utmost effort.
He bent a little, looking into her eyes. "You really wish me to show you who is master?" he said.
She met his look, but her heart was beating wildly, spasmodically. There was that about him, a ruthlessness, a deadly intention, that appalled her. The ground seemed to be rocking under her feet, and a dreadful consciousness of sheer, physical weakness rushed upon her. She went back against the table, seeking for support.
But through it all, desperately she made her gallant struggle for freedom. "You will never master me against my will," she said. "I--I--I'll die first!"
And then, as the last shred of her strength went from her she covered her face with her hands, shutting him out.
"Ah!" he said. "But who goes into battle without first counting the cost?"
He spoke sombrely, without anger; yet in the very utterance of the words there was that which made her realize that she was beaten. Whether he chose to avail himself of the advantage or not, the victory was his.
At the end of a long silence, she lifted her head. "I give you best, partner," she said, and held out her hand to him with a difficult smile. "I'd no right--to kick over the traces--like that. I'm going to be good now--really."
It was a frank acceptance of defeat; so frank as to be utterly disarming. He took the proffered hand and held it closely, without speaking.
She was still trembling a little, but she had regained her self-command. "I'm sorry I was such a little beast," she said. "But you've got me beat. I'll try and make good somehow."
He found his voice at that. It came with an odd harshness. "Don't!" he said. "Don't!--You're not--beat. The battle isn't always to the strong."
She laughed faintly with more assurance, though still somewhat shakily. "Not when the strong are too generous to take advantage, perhaps. Thank you for that, partner. Now--do you mind if I take Guy his nourishment?"
She put the matter behind her with that inimitable lightness of hers which of late she had seemed to have lost. She went from him to wait upon Guy with the tremulous laugh upon her lips, and when she returned she had fully recovered her self-control, and talked with him upon many matters connected with the farm which he had not heard her mention during all the period of her nursing. She displayed all her old zest. She spoke as one keenly interested. But behind it all was a feverish unrest, a nameless, intangible quality that had never characterized her in former days. She was elusive. Her old delicate confidence in him was absent. She walked warily where once she had trodden without the faintest hesitation.
When the meal was over, she checked him as he was on the point of going to Guy. "How soon ought we to start for the Merstons?" she asked.
He paused a moment. Then, "I will let you off to-day," he said. "We will ride out to the _kopje_ instead."
He thought she would hail this concession with relief, but she shook her head instantly, her face deeply flushed.
"No, I think not! We will go to the Merstons--if Guy is well