The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best short books to read txt) 📖

state, and"--he paused a moment--"I think her husband ought to be with her."
"Ah!" Hilda said, and no more.
He passed the matter over. "Don't let her talk at all if you can prevent it, and reassure her in every way possible. I will send a composing draught, or she will be in a high fever before the morning."
"You fear for the brain?" Hilda hazarded.
"I fear--many things," he answered uncompromisingly.
He took his departure just as Lord Percy and his guest arrived, and Hilda paused upon the step to greet her brother.
He sprang from the car before it came to a standstill, and she saw on the instant that he was in a towering fury. Jack Forest, the kindly, the easy-going, the careless, was actually white with anger.
He scarcely stopped to greet her. "Where is Chris?" he demanded.
"She is in bed," Hilda answered, seeing he had heard the whole story. "No," as he turned inwards, "you can't see her. Indeed you mustn't, Jack. The doctor says--"
"Damn the doctor!" said Jack. "I'm going to see her, in bed or not. Where is she?"
He was half-way upstairs with the words, and Hilda's protest fell upon empty air. She could only follow and look on.
Jack opened the first door he came to, and found himself in Chris's presence. He strode straight across the room, as one who had a perfect right, stooped over her as she lay, and gathered her up into his arms.
"My little sweetheart!" he said, and kissed her fiercely over and over again.
That woke her from her lethargy, as no more tender ministrations could have done. She wound her arms about his neck, and clung to him like a lost child.
"Oh, Jack!" she said. "Oh, Jack!" and burst into an agony of tears.
Hilda closed the door softly, and went away. Jack's treatment seemed the best, after all.
When she saw him again he was quite calm, but there was about him a grimness of purpose with which she was not familiar. He drew her aside.
"Look here! I can't sleep on this. I'm going to see Trevor--at once. If I don't bring him to reason, I shall probably shoot him; but I haven't told her that. All she wants is to be left in peace, and peace she shall have, whatever the cost."
"But, my dear boy, quarrelling with Trevor on her behalf won't make for peace," Hilda ventured to point out.
He acknowledged the truth of this with a brief nod. "All the same, I'm damned if I'll stand by and see him wreck her life. Let me know how she goes on. Send a wire to the club to-morrow. No, don't! I'll wire to you first, and let you know where I am. I'm going straight back to the station now. With any luck I ought to catch the afternoon express. Where's Percy?"
"You must have something to eat," urged Hilda. "You've had nothing whatever."
He frowned impatiently. "Oh, rats! I can feed on board. I shan't starve."
But she knew, with sure intuition, that the moment he was out of her presence all thought of refreshment would leave his mind.
She saw him go, and then returned to Chris.
She found her sitting up in bed, rocking herself to and fro, and crying, crying, crying, the tears of utter despair. But this distress, despite its violence, was better--Hilda knew it instinctively--than her former cold inertia. She gathered her to her breast, and held her close pressed till her anguish had somewhat spent itself.
By degrees and haltingly the story of Chris's tragedy was unfolded.
"I've told Jack everything," she said at last. "And now I've told you, but we won't ever talk about it any more. Jack is going to see Trevor, and--and try to make him understand. I didn't want him to, but he would do it. But he has promised me that Trevor shan't follow me here. Do you think he will be able to prevent him? Do you? Do you?"
She shuddered afresh uncontrollably at the bare thought, and Hilda had some difficulty in calming her.
"Dearest, I am sure he will never come to you against your will," she said, with conviction. "I am sure you needn't be afraid. But oh, Chris, my darling, he is your husband. Always remember that!"
"I know! I know!" Feverishly Chris made answer, and Hilda knew that she must not pursue this subject. "But I can never see him again, never--never--never! I think it would kill me. Besides--besides--" She broke off inarticulately, and Hilda did not press her to finish.
She found that she must not speak much of Bertrand either, though she did venture to ask why the Valpre escapade had ever been kept from Trevor in the first place.
"I really can't quite explain," Chris answered wearily. "When it dawned on me that vile things had been said and actually a duel fought because of it I felt as if I would rather die than let him know. Besides, at the back of my mind, I think I somehow always knew--though I did not realize--that--Bertie--came first with me, and I--I was terrified lest Trevor should suspect it. Of course it doesn't matter now," she ended. "He knows it all, and--as he says--we have done with each other." She uttered a long, quivering sigh, and turned her face into the pillow.
"My darling, so long as you both live, that can never be," Hilda said very earnestly. "Whatever mistakes you have made, you are still his and he is yours. Nothing can alter that."
"He doesn't think so," said Chris. "In fact, he--he told me to go to Bertie, so that--so that"--she shivered again--"he could set me free."
"Oh, Chris, he did--that?"
"Yes, I think he meant it for my sake as much as for his own. But I couldn't do it. You see, I don't know where Bertie has gone for one thing. And then--I know Bertie would have thought it wrong. You see"--the tears were running down her face again--"we love each other so much, and--and love like ours is holy. He said so."
"I wonder how he learned that," Hilda said. "It is not a creed that most men hold."
"But Bertie is not like most men." Very softly came Chris's answer, and through her tears her eyes shone with the light that is kindled by nothing earthly. "Bertie has come through a great deal of suffering," she said. "It has taught him to know the good from the bad. And--he said I shouldn't be ruined for his sake. As if I cared for that!" she ended, smiling wanly.
"Thank God he did for you!" Hilda said.
"Oh, do you think it matters?" said Chris.


CHAPTER II
A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
It was a dark, wet night. The rain streamed from the gutters and pattered desolately on the pavement below. It had rained for hours.
Trevor Mordaunt sat alone, with a pipe between his teeth, his windows flung wide to the empty street, and listened to the downpour. He had arrived in town that afternoon to make a few necessary arrangements before leaving England. These arrangements completed, there was nothing left to do but to await the next morning for departure.
It was not easy, that waiting. He faced it with grim fortitude, realizing the futility of going to bed. It was possible that he might presently doze in his chair, but ordinary sleep was out of the question, and he would not trouble himself to court it. Tossing all night sleepless on his pillow was a refinement of torture that he did not feel called upon to bear.
He had spent the previous night tramping the country-side, but he could not tramp in London, and though he was not aware of fatigue, he knew the necessity for bodily rest existed, and he compelled himself to take it.
So he sat motionless, listening to the rain, while the hours crawled by.
The roar of London traffic rose from afar, for the night was still. Now and then a taxi whirred through the sloppy street, but there were few wayfarers. Once a boy passed whistling, and the man at the window above stiffened a little, as if in some fashion the careless melody stirred him, but as the whistler turned the corner he relaxed again with his head back, and resumed his attitude of waiting.
It was nearly midnight when a taxi hummed up to the flaring lamp-post before the house, and stopped to discharge its occupant. Mordaunt heard the vehicle, but his eyes were closed and he did not trouble to open them. He had laid aside his pipe, and actually seemed to be on the verge of dozing at last. The window-curtain screened him from the view of any in the street, and it did not occur to him that the new arrival could be in any way connected with himself.
It was, therefore, with a hint of surprise that he turned his head at the opening of the door.
"Mr. Wyndham to see you, sir," said Holmes. "Says it's very particular, sir."
"Who? Oh, all right. Show him in." A bored note sounded in Mordaunt's voice. "And you needn't sit up, Holmes. I'll let him out," he added.
"Very good, sir," said Holmes, without enthusiasm. He never liked to retire before his master.
Mordaunt rose with a faint touch of impatience. He expected to see Max, and wondered that the news of his arrival in town had reached him so quickly. But it was Rupert who entered, and turned to satisfy himself that the door was shut before he advanced to greet his brother-in-law.
Mordaunt stood by the window and watched the precaution with a certain grim curiosity. He fancied he could guess the reason of this midnight visitation, but as the boy came towards him and halted in the full light he saw that he was mistaken. There was no indignant questioning visible on Rupert's face. It looked only grey and haggard and desperate.
"Look here," he said, speaking jerkily, as if it were only by a series of tense efforts that he spoke at all. "I've come to tell you something. I don't know how you'll take it. And I may as well admit--that I'm horribly afraid. Do you mind if I have a drink--just to help me through?"
Mordaunt closed the window, and came quietly forward. Just for a moment he fancied that Rupert had already fortified himself in the manner indicated for the ordeal of meeting him, and then again he realized that he was mistaken. The eyes that looked into his were perfectly sane, but they held an almost childlike appeal that made his heart contract suddenly. He bit his lip savagely. Why on earth couldn't the fellow have left him alone for this one night at least?
He forced himself to be temperate, but there was no warmth in his tone as he said, "I've no objection to your having a drink if you want it. I suppose you've got into a scrape again, and want me to help you out?"
"No, it's not that--at least, not in the sense you mean."
Hurriedly Rupert made answer. He looked for a moment at the glasses on the table, but he did not attempt to help himself. Suddenly he shivered.
"Ye gods! What an infernal night! I had to walk ever so far before I found a taxi. I came up by the evening train--couldn't get off duty sooner. I thought you would be off to Dover before I got here. And I--and I--" He broke off blankly and became silent, as if he had forgotten what he had meant to say.
Mordaunt leaned over the table, and mixed a drink with the utmost steadiness. "Sit down," he said. "And now drink this, and pull yourself together. There's nothing to be in a funk