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

apart by that time, too hopelessly estranged, ever to be more to each other than what we are at this moment--master and slave. Through all our lives we shall never be more than that."
She ceased to speak, and the fire went out of her eyes. She drooped in his hold as if all her strength had gone from her.
He turned and put her steadily down into the chair again. He had heard her out without a sign of emotion, and he betrayed none then. He did not speak a word. But his silence said more to her than speech. It was as the beginning of a silence which was to last between them for as long as they lived.
She sank back exhausted with closed eyes. The struggle--that long, fierce battle for Guy's soul--was over. And she had failed. Her prayers had been in vain. All her desperate effort had been fruitless, and nothing seemed to matter any more. She told herself that she would never be able to pray again. Her faith had died in the mortal combat. And there was nothing left to pray for. She was tired to the very soul of her, tired unto death; but she knew she would not die. For death was rest, and there could be no rest for her until the days of her slavery were accomplished. The sand of the desert would henceforth be her portion. The taste of it was in her mouth. The desolation of it encompassed her spirit.
Two scalding tears forced their way through her closed lids and ran down her white cheeks. She did not stir to wipe them away. She hoped he did not see them. They were the only tears she shed.


CHAPTER II
THE SKELETON TREE

"Ah, Mrs. Burke, and is it yourself that I see again? Sure, and it's a very great pleasure!" Kelly, his face crimson with embarrassment and good-will, took the hand Sylvia offered and held it hard. "A very great pleasure!" he reiterated impressively, before he let it go.
She smiled at him as one smiles at a shy child. "Thank you, Mr. Kelly," she said.
"Ah, but you'll call me Donovan," he said persuasively, "the same as everyone else! So you've come to Brennerstadt after all! And is it the diamond ye're after?"
She shook her head. They were standing on a balcony that led out of the public smoking-room, an awning over their heads and the open street at their feet. It was from the street that he had spied her, and the sight of her piteous, white face with its deeply shadowed eyes had gone straight to his impulsive Irish heart. "No," she said. "We are not bothering about the diamond. I think we shall probably start back to Ritzen to-night."
"Ah now, ye might stay one day longer and try your luck," wheedled the Irishman. "The Fates would be sure to favour ye. Where's himself?"
"I don't know." She spoke very wearily. "He left me here to rest. But it's so dusty--and airless--and noisy."
Kelly gave her a swift, keen look. "Come for a ride!" he said.
"A ride!" She raised her heavy eyes with a momentary eagerness, but it was gone instantly. "He--might not like me to go," she said. "Besides, I haven't a horse."
"That's soon remedied," said Kelly. "I've got a lamb of a horse to carry ye. And he wouldn't care what ye did in my company. He knows me. Leave him a note and come along! He'll understand. It's a good gallop that ye're wanting. Come along and get it!"
Kelly could be quite irresistible when he chose, and he had evidently made up his mind to comfort the girl's forlornness so far as in him lay. She yielded to him with the air of being too indifferent to do otherwise. But Kelly had seen that moment's eagerness, and he built on that.
A quarter of an hour later they met again in the sweltering street, and he complimented her in true Irish fashion upon the rose-flush in her cheeks. He saw that she looked about uneasily as she mounted, but with unusual tact he omitted to comment upon the fact.
The sun was slanting towards the west as they rode away. The streets were crowded, but Kelly knew all the short cuts, and guided her unerringly till they reached the edge of the open _veldt_.
Then, "Come along!" he cried. "Let's gallop!"
The sand flew out behind them, the parched air rushed by, and the blood quickened in Sylvia's veins. She felt as if she had left an overwhelming burden behind her in the town. The great open spaces drew her with their freedom and their vastness. She went with the flight of a bird. It was like the awakening from a dreadful dream.
They drew rein in the shadow of a tall _kopje_ that rose abruptly from the plain like a guardian of the solitudes. Kelly was laughing with a boy's hearty merriment.
"Faith, but ye can ride!" he cried, with keen appreciation, "Never saw a prettier spectacle in me life. Was it born in the saddle ye were?"
She laughed in answer, but her heart gave a quick throb of pain. It was the first real twinge of homesickness she had known, and for a moment it was almost intolerable. Ah, the fresh-turned earth and the shining furrows, and the sweet spring rain in her face! And the sun of the early morning that shone through a scud of clouds!
"My father and I used to ride to hounds," she said. "We loved it."
"I've done it meself in the old country," said Kelly. "But ye can ride farther here. There's more room before ye reach the horizon."
Sylvia stifled a quick sigh. "Yes, it's a fine country. At least it ought to be. Yet I sometimes feel as if there is something lacking. I don't know quite what it is, but it's the quality that makes one feel at home."
"That'll come," said Kelly, with confidence. "You wait till the spring! That gets into your veins like wine. Ye'll feel the magic of it then. It's life itself."
Sylvia turned her face up to the brazen sky. "I must wait for the spring then," she said, half to herself. And then very suddenly she became aware of the kindly curiosity of her companion's survey and met it with a slight heightening of colour.
There was a brief silence before, in a low voice, she said, "We can't--all of us--afford to wait."
"You can," said Kelly promptly.
She shook her head. "I don't think by the time the spring comes that there will be much left worth having."
"Ah, but ye don't know," said Kelly. "You say that because you can't see all the flowers that are hiding down below. But you might as well believe in 'em all the same, for they're there all right, and they'll come up quick enough when God gives the word."
Sylvia looked around her over the barren land. "Are there flowers here?" she said.
"Millions," said Kelly. "Millions and millions. Why, if you were to come along here in a few weeks' time ye'd be trampling them underfoot they'd be so thick, such flowers as only grow here, on the top of the world."
"The top of the world!" She looked at him as if startled. "Is that what you call--this place?"
He laughed. "Ye don't believe me! Well, wait--wait and see!"
She turned her horse's head, and began to walk round the _kopje_. Kelly kept pace beside her. He was not quite so talkative as usual, but it was with obvious effort that he restrained himself, for several times words sprang to his eager lips which he swallowed unuttered. He seemed determined that the next choice of a subject should be hers.
And after a few moments he was rewarded. Sylvia spoke.
"Mr. Kelly!"
"Sure, at your service--now and always!" he responded with a warmth that no amount of self-restraint could conceal.
She turned towards him. "You have been very kind to me, and I want--I should like--to tell you something. But it's something very, very private. Will you--will you promise me----"
"Sure and I will!" vowed the Irishman instantly. "I'll swear the solemn oath if it'll make ye any happier."
"No, you needn't do that." She held out her hand to him with a gesture that was girlishly impulsive. "I know I can trust you. And I feel you will understand. It's about--Guy."
"Ah, there now! Didn't I know it?" said Kelly. He held her hand tight for a moment, looking into her eyes, his own brimful of sympathy.
"Yes. You know--all about him." She spoke with some hesitation notwithstanding. "You know---just as I do--that he isn't--isn't really bad; only--only so hopelessly weak."
There was a little quiver in her voice as she said the words. She looked at him with appeal in her eyes.
"I know," said Kelly.
With a slight effort she went on. "He--Burke--thinks otherwise. And because of that, he won't let me see Guy again. He is very angry with me--I doubt if he will ever really forgive me--for following Guy to this place. But,--Mr. Kelly,--I had a reason--an urgent reason for doing this. I hoped to be back again before he found out; but everything was against me."
"Ah! Didn't I know it?" said Kelly. "It's the way of the world in an emergency. Nothing ever goes right of itself."
She smiled rather wanly. "Life can be--rather cruel," she said. "Something is working against me. I can feel it. I have forfeited all Burke's respect and his confidence at a stroke. He will never trust me again. And Guy--Guy will simply go under."
"No--no!" said Kelly. "Don't you believe it! He'll come round and lead a decent life after this; you'll see. There's nothing whatever to worry about over Guy. No real vice in him!"
It was a kindly lie, stoutly spoken; but it failed to convince. Sylvia shook her head even while, he was speaking.
"You don't know all yet. I haven't told you. But I will tell you--if you will listen. Once when Burke and I were talking of Guy--it was almost the first time--he said that he had done almost everything bad except one thing. He had never robbed him. And somehow I felt that so long as there was that one great exception he would not regard him as utterly beyond redemption. But now--but now--" her voice quivered again--"well, even that can't be said of him now," she said.
"What? He has taken money?" Kelly looked at her in swift dismay. "Ye don't mean that!" he said. And then quickly: "Are ye sure now it wasn't Kieff?"
"Yes." She spoke with dreary conviction. "I am fairly sure Kieff's at the back of it, but--it was Guy who did it, thanks to my carelessness."
"Yours!" Kelly's eyes bulged. "Ye don't mean that!" he said again.
"Yes, it's true." Drearily she answered him. "Burke left the key of the strong-box in my keeping on the day of the sand-storm. I dropped it in the dark. I was hunting for it when you came.