CHAPTER XXVIII
TO THE VICTOR BELONGS--?
It was a month before Ridgeway was able to leave his couch and to sitbeneath the awning in front of the temple. Not that he had been soseverely wounded in the battle of June thirtieth, but that his wholesystem had collapsed temporarily.
After the first terrible fear, Tennys gave herself entirely to the taskof caring for him. Night and day she watched, worked, and prayed overthe tossing sufferer. In seasons of despair, created by the frequentclose encroachments of death, she experienced dreams that invariablyended with the belief that she heard his dying gasps. Until she becamethoroughly awake and could hear the movements of the two savages who satfaithfully in the next room with their Izor, her heart was still with aterror so depressing that it well-nigh drove her mad.
The wounds in his legs and side were closed and the great bruises on hisback and head were reduced. When he, faint and weak, began to understandwhat was going on about him, he saw the face of one of the two womenover whom he had raved in his delirium. In the hours when death seemedbut a step away he had plaintively called for Grace and then forTennys. A strange gladness filled the heart of the one beside him whenhe uttered the unconscious appeal to her. Sometimes she found herselfgrowing red over the things he was saying to her in his ravings; againshe would chill with the tender words that went to Grace. Then came theday when he saw and knew her. Often in the days of his convalescence shewould start from a reverie, certain that she heard him call as he did indelirium, only to sink back and smile sadly with the discovery that shehad been dreaming.
The village of Ridgehunt was a great hospital for weeks after the fight.Lady Tennys herself had ordered the dead to be buried in the trenches.For the first time in the history of the island the Oolooz men had beenbeaten. She spent many hours in telling Hugh of the celebrations thatfollowed the wonderful achievements.
"There is one thing about our friends that I have not told you, Hugh,"she said one night as they sat under the awning. "You have been so weakthat I feared the shock might hurt you."
"You think of my comfort always," he said gratefully.
"You never knew that they brought a number of prisoners to the villageand--and--oh, it is too horrible to tell you."
"Brought them to the village? What for?"
"They intended to eat them," she said, shuddering.
"Great Scott! They are not cannibals?"
"I couldn't believe it until I saw them making ready for their awfulfeast out there. I shall never be able to eat meat again. Alzam broughtme a piece of the horrid stuff. They executed the prisoners before Icould interfere."
"Oh, that's too horrible!"
"Sick and terrified, I went among the men who were dancing about thefeast they were ready to devour, and, assuming a boldness I did notfeel, commanded them to desist. The king was bewildered at first, thenchagrined, but as I threatened him ferociously--"
"I should have enjoyed seeing you ferocious."
"He called the brutes away and then I gave orders to have every one ofthe bodies buried. For several days after that, however, the men weremorose and ugly looking, and I am sure it was hard for them to submit tosuch a radical change."
"Talk about missionaries! You are a wonder!"
"I could not have done it as a missionary, Mr. Ridgeway. It wasnecessary for me to exert my authority as a goddess."
"And so they are cannibals," he mused, still looking at her spiritedface.
"Just think what might have happened to us," she said.
That night as he lay on his couch he was forced to admit that theinconsolable grief that had borne down so heavily upon him at first wasalmost a part of the past. The pain inspired by the loss of a loved onewas being mysteriously eased. He was finding pleasure in a world thathad been dark and drear a few short months before. He was dimlyconscious of a feeling that the companionship of Tennys Huntingford wasbeginning to wreak disaster to a supposedly impregnable constancy.
Tears came to his eyes as he murmured the name of the girl who hadsailed so blithely from New York with his love as her only haven. Hecalled himself the basest of wretches, the most graceless of lovers. Hesobbed aloud at last in his penitence, and his heart went back to thenight of the wreck. His love went down to the bottom of the sea, cravinga single chance to redeem itself before the one it had wounded andhumiliated. Before he fell asleep his conscience was relieved of part ofits weight and the strong, sweet face of Grace Vernon passed from hisvivid thoughts into vague dreams.
In the next apartment tranquilly slept the disturber, the trespasser inthe fields of memory, the undoer of a long-wrought love. He had tried tolearn the way to her heart, wondering if she cared for him as he hadmore than once suspected. In pursuing this hazardous investigation hehad learned nothing, had seen nothing but perfect frankness andinnocence, but had become more deeply interested than he knew until thisnight of recapitulation.
One night, two or three after he had thrown off the delirium, he heardher praying in her room, softly, earnestly. Of that prayer one plearemained in his memory long after her death: "Oh, God, save the soul ofGrace Vernon. Give to her the fulness of Thy love. If she be stillalive, protect and keep her safe until in Thy goodness she may berestored to him who mourns for her. Save and bless Hugh Ridgeway."
The days and weeks went by and Hugh grew well and strong. To Tennys hewas not the same Hugh as of old. She perceived a change and wondered.One day at sundown he sat moodily in front of the temple. She was lyingin the hammock near by. There had been one of the long, and to herinexplicable, silences. He felt that her eyes were upon him and knewthat they were wistful and perplexed.
Try as he would, he could not keep his own eyes in leash; somethingirresistible made him lift them to meet her gaze. For a moment theylooked at each other in a mute search for something neither was able todescribe. He could not hold out against the pleading, troubled,questioning eyes, bent so solemnly upon his own. The wounds in herheart, because of his indifference, strange and unaccountable to her,gaped in those blue orbs.
A tremendous revulsion of feeling took possession of him; what he hadbeen subduing for weeks gained supremacy in an instant. He half rose tohis feet as if to rush over and crush her in his arms, but a mightierpower than his emotion held him back. That same unseen, mysterious powercompelled him to turn about and almost run from the temple, leaving herchilled and distressed by his action. The power that checked himwas Memory.
She was deeply hurt by this last impulsive exhibition of disregard. Abewildering sense of loneliness oppressed her. He despised her! All theworld grew black for her. All the light went out of her heart. Hedespised her! There was a faintness in her knees when she essayed toarise from the hammock. A little cry of anguish left her lips; a hunted,friendless look came into her eyes.
Staggering to the end of the temple, she looked in the direction he hadtaken. Far down the line of hills she saw him standing on a littleelevation, his back toward her, his face to the river. Some stronginfluence drew her to him. Out of this influence grew the wild,unquenchable desire to understand. Hardly realizing what she did, shehurried through the growing dusk toward the motionless figure. As shecame nearer a strange timidity, an embarrassment she had never feltbefore, seized upon her and her footsteps slackened.
He had not seen her. A panicky inclination to fly back to the templecame over her. In her heart welled a feeling of resentment. Had he anyright to forget what she had done for him?
He heard her, turned swiftly, and--trembled in every joint. They werebut a few paces apart and she was looking unwaveringly into his eyes.
"I have followed you out here to ask why you treat me so cruelly," shesaid after a long silence which she Bought to break but could not. Hedistinguished in this pathetic command, meant to be firm and positive,the tremor of tears.
"I--I do not treat you cruelly, Tennys," he answered disjointly, stilllooking at the slight, graceful figure, as if unable to withdrawhis eyes.
"What do you call it?" s
he asked bitterly.
"You wrong me--" he began.
"Wrong you? No, I do not. You saved me from the sea and you have donemuch for me until within the past few weeks. I had begun to forget thatI am here because fate substituted me for another. Hugh, do not let yourlove for Grace and your regret at not having saved her turn you againstme. I am not here because I could have helped it. You must knowthat I--"
"For Heaven's sake, Tennys, don't talk like that! The trouble is that Ido not regret having saved you. That's why you see the change inme--that's why I've hurt you. I cannot be to you what I would be--Icannot and be true to myself," he cried fiercely.
"What do you mean? Why are you so unhappy, Hugh? Have I hurt you?' sheasked, coming quite close in sudden compassion.
"Hurt me!" he exclaimed. "You will kill me!" She paled with the thoughtthat he was delirious again or crazed from the effects of the fever.
"Don't say that, Hugh. I care more for you than for any one in theworld. Why should I hurt you?" she asked tenderly, completelymisunderstanding him.
"You don't mean to, but you do. I have tried to conquer it but I cannot.Don't you know why I have forced myself to be unhappy during the pastfew weeks? Can't you see why I am making you unhappy, too, in mystruggle to beat down the something that has driven everything else outof my mind?"
"Don't talk so, Hugh; it will be all right. Come home now and I willgive you some wine and put some cool bandages on your head. You are notwell." She was so gentle, so unsuspecting that he could contain himselfno longer.
"I love you--I worship you! That is why I am cruel to you!" he burstout. A weakness assailed him and he leaned dizzily against the tree athis side. He dared not look at her, but he marvelled at her silence. Ifshe loved him, as he believed, why was she so quiet, so still?
"Do you know what you say?" she asked slowly.
"I have said it to myself a thousand times since I left you at thetemple. I did not intend to tell you; I had sworn you should never knowit. What do you think of me?"
"I thought you called it love that sent you to Manila," she saidwonderingly, wounding without malice.
"It was love, I say. I loved her better than all the world and I havenot forgotten her. She will always be as dear to me as she was on thenight I lost her. You have not taken her place. You have gone fartherand inspired a love that is new, strange, overpowering--infinitelygreater, far different from the love I had known before. She was neverto me what you are. That is what drives me mad--mad, do you hear? Ihave simply been overwhelmed by it."
"I must be dreaming," she murmured.
"I have tried to hide it from myself, but it has broken down allbarriers and floods the world for me."
"It is because we are here alone in this island--"
"No, no! Not that, I swear. It would have come sooner or later."
"You are not like other men. I have not thought of you as I see you now.I cannot understand being loved by you. It hurts me to see that you arein earnest. Oh, Hugh, how sorry I am," she cried, laying her hand uponhis arm. His heart dropped like lead. He saw that he had beenmistaken--she did not love him.
"You are learning that I am not the harlequin after all," he saidbitterly.
"There is no one in all the world so good and strong and true."
"You--you _will_ love me?"
"You must not ask that of me. I am still Lady Huntingford, a wife forall we know. Yet if I loved you, I would tell you so. Have I not toldyou that I cannot love? I have never loved. I never shall. Don't looklike that, Hugh. I would to God I could love you," she exclaimed. Hischin had sunk upon his breast and his whole body relaxed through sheerdejection.
"I'll make you love me!" he cried after a moment's misery in the depths,his spirits leaping high with the quick recoil. His eager hands seizedher shoulders and drew her close, so close that their bodies touchedand his impassioned eyes were within a few inches of hers of startledblue. "I'll make you love me!"
"Please let me go. Please, Hugh," she murmured faintly.
"You must--you shall love me! I cannot live without you. I'll have youwhether you will or no," he whispered fiercely.
She did not draw back, but looked him fairly in the eye as she spokecoldly, calmly, even with a sneer.
"You are master here and I am but a helpless woman. Would you force meto forget that you have been my ideal man?"
"Tennys!" he cried, falling back suddenly. "You don't think I would harmyou--oh, you know I didn't mean that! What must you think of me?"
He put his hand over his eyes as if in deep pain, and, turning away,leaned against the tree unsteadily. With his first words, his firstexpression, she knew she had wronged him. A glad rush of blood to herheart set it throbbing violently.
She could not have explained the thrill that went through her when hegrasped her shoulders, nor could she any more define the peculiar joythat came when she took a step forward and placed her hands gently,timidly on his arm.
"Forgive me, Hugh, I must have been mad to say what I did. You are toonoble--too good--" she began in a pleading little quaver.
"I knew you couldn't mean it," he exclaimed, facing her joyously. "Howbeautiful you are!" he added impetuously. He was looking down, into thatpenitent face and the cry was involuntary. She smiled faintly and heraised his arms as if to clasp her to his breast, come what may. Thesmile lingered, yet his arms dropped to his sides. She had not moved,had not taken her eyes from his, but there was an unrelenting command inthe soft words she uttered. "Be careful. I am always to trust you,Hugh." He bowed his head and they walked slowly homeward.