CHAPTER XII
A PAIR OF GLOVES
"Piers! Where the devil are you, Piers?"
There was loud exasperation in the query as Sir Beverley halted in thedoorway of his grandson's bedroom.
There was a moment's pause; then Victor the valet came quickly forward.
"But, _Monsieur Pierre_, he bathe himself," he explained, with beady eyesrunning over the gaunt old figure in the entrance.
Sir Beverley growled at him inarticulately and turned away.
A moment later he was beating a rousing tattoo on the bathroom-door."Piers! Let me in! Do you hear? Let me in!"
The vigorous splashing within came to a sudden stop. "That you, sir?"called Piers.
"Of course it's me!" shouted back Sir Beverley, shaking the doorwith fierce impatience. "Damn it, let me in! I'll force the door ifyou don't."
"No, don't, sir; don't! I'm coming!"
There came the sound of a splashing leap, and bare feet raced across thebathroom floor. The door was wrenched from Sir Beverley's grasp, andflung open. Piers, quite naked, stood back and bowed him in withelaborate ceremony.
Sir Beverley entered and glared at him.
Piers shut the door and took a flying jump back into the bath. The roomwas dense with steam.
"You don't mind if I go on with my wash, do you?" he said. "I shall belate for dinner if I don't."
"What in thunder do you want to boil yourself like this for?" demandedSir Beverley.
Piers, seated with his hands clasped round his knees, looked up with thesmile of an infant. "It suits my constitution, sir," he said. "I freezemyself in the morning and boil myself at night--always. By that means Iam rendered impervious to all atmospheric changes of temperature."
"You're a fool, Piers," said Sir Beverley.
Piers laughed, a gay, indifferent laugh. "That all?" he said lightly.
"No, it isn't all." Sir Beverley's voice had a curious forced ring,almost as if he were stern in spite of himself. "I came to ask--and Imean to know--" He broke off. "What the devil have you done to yourshoulders?"
Piers' hands unlocked as if at the touch of a spring. He slipped downbackwards into the bath and lay with the water lapping round his blackhead. His eyes, black also, and very straight and resolute, looked up atSir Beverley.
"Look here, sir; if there's anything you want to know I'll tell you afterdinner. I thought--possibly--you'd come to shake hands, or I shouldn'thave been in such a hurry to let you in. As it is,--"
"Confound you, Piers!" broke in Sir Beverley. "Don't preach to me! Sit upagain! Do you hear? Sit up, and let me look at you!"
But Piers made no movement to comply. "No, sir; thanks all the same. Idon't want to be looked at. Do you mind going now? I'm going to splash."
His tone was deliberately jaunty, but it held undoubted determination.He kept his eyes unswervingly on his grandfather's face.
Sir Beverley stood his ground, however, his black brows fiercely drawn."Get up, Piers!" he ordered, his tone no longer blustering, but curtlyperemptory. "Get up, do you hear?" he added with a gleam of humour. "Youmay as well give in at once, you young mule. You'll have to in the end."
"Shall I?" said Piers.
And then suddenly his own sense of humour was kindled again, and heuttered his boyish laugh.
"We won't quarrel about it, what?" he said, and stretched a wet handupwards. "Let's consider the incident closed! There's nothing whatever tobe fashed about."
Sir Beverley's thin lips twitched a little. He pulled at the hand, andslowly Piers yielded. The water dripped from his shoulders. They gleamedin the strong light like a piece of faultless statuary, godlike, superblystrong. But it was upon no splendour of form that Sir Beverley'sattention was focussed.
He spoke after a moment, an odd note of contrition in his voice. "Ididn't mean to mark you like that, boy. It was your own doing of course.You shouldn't have interfered with me. Still--"
"Oh, rats!" said Piers, beginning to splash. "What's a whacking more orless when you're used to 'em?"
His dark eyes laughed their impudent dismissal to the old man. It wasvery evident that he desired to put an end to the matter, and after amoment Sir Beverley grunted and withdrew.
He had not asked what he wanted to know; somehow it had not beenpossible. He had desired to put his question in a whirl of righteousindignation, but in some fashion Piers had disarmed him and it hadremained unuttered.
The very sight of the straight, young figure had quenched the fire ofhis wrath. Confound the boy! Did he think he could insult him as he hadinsulted him only that afternoon and then twist him round his littlefinger? He would have it out with him presently. He would have the truthand no compromise, if he had to wring it out of him. He would--Again thevision of those strong young shoulders, with red stripes crossing theirgleaming white surface, rose before Sir Beverley. He swore a strangledoath. No, he hadn't meant to punish the boy to that extent, his infernalimpudence notwithstanding. It wasn't the first time he had thrashed him,and, egad, it mightn't be the last. But he hadn't meant to administerquite such a punishment as that. It was decent of the young rascal not tosulk after it, though he wasn't altogether sure that he approved of thelight fashion with which Piers had elected to treat the whole episode. Itlooked as if he had not wholly taken to heart the lesson Sir Beverley hadintended to convey, and if that were the case--again Sir Beverley sworedeep in his soul--he was fully equal to repeating it, ay, and againrepeating it, until the youngster came to heel. He never had endured anynonsense from Piers, and, by Gad, he never would!
With these reflections he stumped downstairs, and seated himself on theblack, oaken settle in the hall to await the boy's advent.
The fire blazed cheerily, flinging ruddy gleams upon the shining suits ofarmour, roaring up the chimney in a sheet of flame. Sir Beverley satfacing the stairs, the grim lines hardened to implacability about hismouth, his eyes fixed in a stare that had in it something brutal. He wasseeing again that slim, straight figure of womanhood standing in hispath, with arms outstretched, and white, determined face upraised,barring the way.
"Curse her!" he growled. "Curse 'em all!"
The vision grew before his gaze of hate; and now she was no longerstanding between him and a mere, defenceless animal. But there, on hisown stairs, erect and fearless, she withstood him, while behind her,descending with a laugh on his lips and worship in his eyes, came Piers.
The stone-grey eyes became suffused; for a few, whirling moments ofbewilderment and fury, they saw all things red. Then, gradually, the mistcleared, and the old man dropped back in a lounging posture with an uglysound in his throat that was like a snarl. Doubtless that was her game;doubtless--doubtless! He had always known that a day would come whensomething of the kind would happen. Piers was young, wealthy,handsome,--a catch for any woman; but--fiercely he swore it--he shouldfall a prey to no schemer. When he married--as marry eventually hemust--he should make an alliance of which any man might be proud. TheEvesham blood should mix with none but the highest. In Piers he would seethe father's false step counteracted. He thanked Heaven that he had neverbeen able to detect in the boy any trace of the piece of cheap prettinessthat had given him birth. He might have been his own son, son of thewoman who had been the rapture and the ruin of his life. There were timeswhen Sir Beverley almost wished he had been, albeit in the bitterness ofhis soul he had never had any love for the child she had borne him.
He had never wanted to love Piers either, but somehow the matter had notrested with him. From the arms of Victor, Piers had always yearned to hisgrandfather, wailing lustily till he found himself held to the hard oldheart that had nought but harshness and intolerance for all the worldbeside. He had as it were taken that unwilling heart by storm, claimingit as his right before he was out of his cradle. And later the attachmentbetween them had grown and thriven, for Piers had never relinquished theground he had won in babyhood. By sheer arrogance of possession he hadheld his own till the impetuous ardour of his affection and the utterf
earlessness on which it was founded had made of him the cherished idolof the heart which had tried to shut him out. Sir Beverley gloried in theboy though he still flattered himself that no one suspected the fact, andstill believed that his rule was a rule of stern discipline under whichPiers might chafe but against which he would never openly revolt.
He could not remember a single occasion upon which he had not been ableto master Piers, possibly after a fierce struggle but always withabsolute completeness in the end. And there was so much of sweetness inthe youngster's nature that, unruly though he might be, he never nurtureda grievance. He would fight for his own way to the last of his strength,but when beaten he always yielded with a good grace. To his grandfatheralone he could submit without any visible wound to his pride. Who couldhelp glorying in a boy like that?
David the butler, a man of infinite respectability, came softly into thehall and approached his master.
"Are you ready for dinner, Sir Beverley?"
"No," snapped Sir Beverley. "Can't you see Master Piers isn't here?"
"Very good, sir," murmured David, and retired decorously, fading intothe background without the faintest sound, while Caesar the Dalmatianwho had entered with him lay sedately down in well-bred silence at SirBeverley's feet.
There fell a pause, while Sir Beverley's eyes returned to the wide oakstaircase, watching it ceaselessly, with vulture-like intentness. Thenafter the passage of minutes, there came the sound of feet that literallyscampered along the corridor above, and in a moment, with meteor-likesuddenness, Piers flashed into view.
He seemed to descend the stairs without touching them, and was greetedat the foot by Caesar, who leapt to meet him with wide-mouthed delight.
"Hullo, you scamp, hullo!" laughed Piers, responding to the dog'scaresses with a careless hand. "Out of the way with you! I'm late."
"As usual," observed Sir Beverley, leaning slowly forward, still with hiseyes unblinkingly fixed upon his grandson's merry face. "Come here, boy!"
Piers came to him unabashed.
Sir Beverley got heavily to his feet and took him by the shoulder. "Whois that woman, Piers?" he said, regarding him piercingly.
Piers' forehead was instantly drawn by a quick frown. He stood passive,but there was a suggestion of resistance about him notwithstanding.
"Whom do you mean, sir?" he said. "What woman?"
"You know very well who I mean," snarled Sir Beverley. "Come, I'll havenone of your damn' nonsense. Never have stood it and never will. Who wasthat white-faced cat that got in my way this afternoon and helped you toa thrashing? Eh, Piers? Who was she, I say? Who was she?"
Piers made a sharp involuntary movement of the hands, and as swiftlyrestrained himself. He looked his grandfather full in the face.
"Ask me after dinner, sir," he said, speaking with something of aneffort, "and I'll tell you all I know."
"You'll tell me now!" declared Sir Beverley, shaking the shoulder hegripped with savage impatience.
But Piers put up a quick hand and stopped him. "No, sir, not now. Comeand dine first! I've no mind to go dinnerless to bed. Come, sir, don'tbadger me!" He smiled suddenly and very winningly into the stern greyeyes. "There's all the evening before us, and I shan't shirk."
He drew the bony old hand away from his shoulder, and pulled itthrough his arm.
"I suppose you think you're irresistible," grumbled Sir Beverley. "Idon't know why I put up with you; on my soul, I don't, you impudentyoung dog!"
Piers laughed. "Let's do one thing at a time anyway, and I'm ravenous fordinner. So must you be. Come along! Let's trot in and have it!"
He had his way. Sir Beverley went with him, though half against his will.They entered the dining-room still linked together, and a woman's facesmiled down upon them from a picture-frame on the wall with a smilehalf-sad, half-mocking--such a smile as even at that moment curved Piers'lips, belying the reckless gaiety of his eyes.
They dined in complete amicability. Piers had plenty to say at all times,and he showed himself completely at his ease. He was the only person inthe world who ever was so in Sir Beverley's presence. He even now andthen succeeded in provoking a sardonic laugh from his grandfather. Hisown laughter was boyishly spontaneous.
But at the end of the meal, when wine was placed upon the table, hesuddenly ceased his careless chatter, and leaned forward with his darkeyes full upon Sir Beverley's face.
"Now, sir, you want to know the name of the girl who wasn't afraid of youthis afternoon, I mentioned her to you once before. Her name is AveryDenys. She is a widow; and she calls herself the mother's help at theVicarage."
He gave his information with absolute steadiness. His voice waswholly free from emotion of any sort, but it rang a trifle stern, andhis mouth--that sensitive, clean-cut mouth of his--had the grimnessof an iron resolution about it. Sir Beverley looked at him frowninglyover his wine.
"The woman who threw a pail of water over you once, eh?" he said, aftera moment. "I suppose she has become a very special friend inconsequence."
"I doubt if she would call herself so," said Piers.
The old man's mouth took a bitter, downward curve. "You see, you'rerather young," he observed.
Piers' eyes fell away from his abruptly. "Yes, I know," he said, in atone that seemed to hide more than it expressed.
Sir Beverley continued to stare at him, but he did not lift his eyesagain. They were fixed steadily upon the ruby light that shone in thewine in front of him.
The silence lengthened and became oppressive. Sir Beverley still watchedPiers' intent face. His lips moved soundlessly, while behind his silencethe storm of his wrath gathered.
What did the boy mean by treating him like this? Did he think he wouldendure to be set aside thus deliberately as one whose words had noweight? Did he think--confound him!--did he think that he had reachedhis dotage?
A sudden oath escaped him; he banged a furious fist upon the table. Hewould make himself heard at least.
In the same instant quite unexpectedly Piers leaped to his feet withuplifted hand. "What's that?"
"What do you mean?" thundered Sir Beverley.
Piers' hand descended, gripping his arm. "That, sir, that! Don'tyou hear?"
Voice and gesture compelled. Sir Beverley stopped dead, arrested in fullcareer by his grandson's insistence, and listened with pent breath, asPiers was listening.
For a moment or two he heard nothing, then, close outside the window,there arose the sound of children's voices. They were singing a hymn, butnot in the customary untuneful yell of the village school. The voiceswere clear and sweet and true, and the words came distinct and pure tothe two men standing at the table.
"He comes, the prisoners to releaseIn Satan's bondage held,The gates of brass before Him burst,The iron fetters yield."
Piers' hand tightened all-unconsciously upon Sir Beverley's arm. His facewas very white. In his eyes there shone a curious hunger--such a look asmight have gleamed in the eyes of the prisoners behind the gates.
Again came the words, triumphantly repeated:
"The gates of brass before Him burst,The iron fetters yield."
And an odd sound that was almost a sob broke from Piers.
Sir Beverley looked at him sharply; but in the same moment he drewback, relinquishing his hold, and stepped lightly across the room tothe window.
There was a decided pause before the next verse. Piers stood with hisface to the blind, making no movement. At last, tentatively, like thesong of a very shy angel, a single boy's voice took up the melody.
"He comes, the broken heart to bind,The bleeding soul to cure,And with the treasures of His graceTo bless the humble poor."
Sir Beverley sat down again at the table. Half mechanically his eyesturned to the pictured face on the wall, the face that smiled soenigmatically. Not once in a year did his eyes turn that way. To-night heregarded it with half-ironical interest. He had no pity to spare forbroken hearts. He did not believe in them. No man could have endured morethan he had had to endur
e. He had been dragged through hell itself. Butit had hardened, not broken his heart. Save in one respect he knew thathe could never be made to suffer any more. Save for that charredremnant, there was nothing left for the flame to consume.
And so through all the bitter years he had borne that smiling face uponhis wall, cynically indifferent to the beauty which had been the raptureand the agony of his life,--a man released from the place of his tormentbecause his capacity for suffering was almost gone.
Again there were two children's voices singing, and that of the shy angelgathered confidence. With a species of scoffing humour Sir Beverley'sstony eyes travelled to the window. They rested upon his boy standingthere with bent head--a mute, waiting figure with a curious touch ofpathos in its pose. Sir Beverley's sudden frown drew his forehead. Whatailed the youngster? Why did he stand as if the whole world were restingon his shoulders?
He made an impatient movement. "For Heaven's sake," he said testily,"tell those squalling children to go!"
Piers did not stir. "In a moment, sir!" he said.
And so, clear through the night air, the last verse came unhinderedto an end.
"Our glad hosannas, Prince of peace,Thy welcome shall proclaim;And Heaven's eternal arches ringWith Thy beloved Name.And Heaven's eternal arches ringWith Thy beloved Name."
Piers threw up his head with a sudden, spasmodic movement as of adrowning man. And then without pause he snatched up the blind and flungthe window wide.
"Hi, you kiddies! Where are you? Don't run away! Gracie, is that you?"
There was a brief silence, then chirpily came the answer. "Pat did thesolo; but he's gone. He would have gone sooner--when we saw your shadowon the blind--only I held him so that he couldn't."
Piers broke into a laugh. "Well, come in now you are here! You're notafraid anyhow, what?"
"Oh no!" laughed Gracie. "I'm not a bit afraid. But I'm supposed to be inbed; and if Father finds out I'm not--" She paused with her customarysense of the dramatic.
"Well?" laughed Piers. "What'll happen then?"
"I shall cop it," said Gracie elegantly.
Nevertheless she came to him, and stood on the grass outside the window.The lamplight from within shone on her upturned face with its saucy,confiding smile. Her head was uncovered and gleamed golden in theradiance. She was wearing a very ancient fur cloak belonging to hermother, and she glowed like a rose in the sombre drapery.
Piers stooped to her with hands invitingly outstretched. "Come along,Pixie! We shan't eat you, and I'll take you home on my shoulderafterwards and see you don't get copped."
She uttered a delighted little laugh, and went upwards into his hold likea scrap of floating thistledown.
He lifted her high in his arms, crossed the room with her, and set herdown before the old man who still sat at the table, sardonicallywatching. "Miss Gracie Lorimer!" he said.
"Hullo, child!" growled Sir Beverley.
Gracie looked at him with sparkling, adventurous eyes. As she had toldPiers, she was not a bit afraid. After the briefest pause she held outher hand with charming _insouciance_.
"How do you do?" she said.
Sir Beverley slowly took the hand, and pulled her towards him, gazing ather from under his black brows with a piercing scrutiny that would haveterrified a more timid child.
Timidity however was not one of Gracie's weaknesses. She gave him afriendly smile, and waited without the smallest sign of uneasiness forhim to speak.
"What have you come here for?" he demanded gruffly at length.
"I'll tell you," said Gracie readily. She went close to him, confidinglyclose, looking straight into the formidable grey eyes. "You see, it wasmy idea. Pat didn't want to come, but I made him."
"Forward young minx!" commented Sir Beverley.
Gracie laughed at the compliment.
Piers, smoking his cigarette behind her, stood ready to take her part,but quite obviously she was fully equal to the occasion.
"Yes, I know," she agreed, with disarming amiability. "But it wouldn'thave mattered a bit if you hadn't found out who it was. You won't tellanyone, will you?"
"Why not?" demanded Sir Beverley.
Gracie pulled down her red lips, and cast up her dancing eyes. "There'dbe such a scandal," she said.
Piers broke into an involuntary laugh, and Sir Beverley's thin lipstwitched in a reluctant smile.
"You're a saucy little baggage!" he observed. "Well, get on! Let's hearwhat you've come for! Cadging money, I'll be bound."
Gracie nodded in eager confirmation of this suggestion. "That's just it!"she said. "And that's where the scandal would come in if you told. Yousee, poor children can go round squalling carols to their hearts' contentfor pennies, but children like us who want pennies just as much haven'tany way of getting them. We mayn't carry hand-bags, or opencarriage-doors, or turn cart-wheels, or--or do anything to earn a living.It's hard luck, you know."
"Beastly shame!" said Piers.
Sir Beverley scowled at him. "You needn't stick your oar in. Go andshut the window, do you hear? Now, child, let's have the truth, so faras any female is capable of speaking it! You've come here for pennies,you say. Don't you know that's a form of begging? And begging isbreaking the law."
"I often do that," said Grade, quite undismayed. "So would you, if youwere me. I expect you did too when you were young."
"I!" Sir Beverley uttered a harsh laugh, and released the child's hand."So you break the law, do you?" he said. "How often?"
Gracie's laugh followed his like a silvery echo. "I shan't tell you 'cosyou're a magistrate. But we weren't really begging, Pat and I. At leastit wasn't for ourselves."
"Oh, of course not!" said Sir Beverley.
She looked at him with her clear eyes, unconscious of irony. "No. Wewanted to buy a pair of gloves for someone for Christmas. And nicegloves cost such a lot, don't they? And we hadn't got more thantenpence-halfpenny among us. So I said I'd think of a plan to get more.And--that was the plan," ended Grade, with her sweetest smile.
"I see," said Sir Beverley, with his eyes still fixed immovably upon her."And what made you come here?"
"Oh, we came here just because of Piers," said Grade, without hesitation."You see, he's a great friend of ours."
"Is he?" said Sir Beverley. "And so you think you'll get what you can outof him, eh?"
"Sir!" said Piers sharply.
"Be quiet, Piers!" ordered his grandfather testily. "Who spoke to you?Well, madam, continue! How much do you consider him good for?"
Piers pulled a coin impetuously from his pocket and slapped it down onthe table in front of Grade. "There you are, Pixie!" he said. "I'm goodfor that."
Gracie stared at the coin with widening eyes, not offering to touch it.
"Oh, Piers!" she said, with a long indrawn breath. "It's a wholesovereign! Oh no!"
He laughed a reckless laugh, while over her head his eyes challenged hisgrandfather's. "That's all right, Piccaninny," he said lightly. "Put itin your pocket! And I'll come round with the car to-morrow and run youinto Wardenhurst to buy those gloves."
But Gracie shook her head. "Gloves don't cost all that," she saidpractically. "And besides, you won't have any left for yourself. Fancygiving away a whole sovereign at a time!" She addressed Sir Beverley. "Itseems almost a tempting of Providence, doesn't it!"
"The deed of a fool!" said Sir Beverley.
But Piers, with a sudden hardening of the jaw, stooped over Gracie. "Takeit!" he said. "I wish it."
She looked up at him. "No, Piers; I mustn't really. It's ever so nice ofyou." She rubbed her golden head against his shoulder caressingly."Please don't be cross! I do thank you--awfully. But I don't want it.Really, I don't."
"Rot!" said Piers. "Do as I tell you! Take it!"
Gracie turned to Sir Beverley. "I can't, can I? Tell him I can't!"
But Piers was not to be thwarted. With a sudden dive he seized the coinand without ceremony swept Gracie's hair from her shoulders and droppedit down the back of her neck.
/>
"There!" he said, slipping his hands over her arms and holding her whileshe squealed and writhed. "It's quite beyond reach. You can't in decencyreturn it now. It's no good wriggling. You won't get it up again unlessyou stand on your head."
"You're horrid--horrid!" protested Gracie; but she reached back andkissed him notwithstanding. "Thank you ever so much. I hope I shan't loseit. But I don't know what I shall do with it all. It's quite dreadful tothink of. Please don't be cross with him!" she said to Sir Beverley."It's--awfully--kind."
Sir Beverley smiled sardonically. "And whom are the gloves for? Someother kind youth?"
"Oh no!" she laughed. "Only Aunt Avery. She tore hers all to bits thisafternoon. I expect it was over a dog fight or something, but shewouldn't tell us what. They were nice gloves too. She isn't a bit rich,but she always wears nice gloves."
"Being a woman!" growled Sir Beverley.
"Don't you like women?" asked Gracie sympathetically. "I like men besttoo as a rule. But Aunt Avery is so very sweet. No one could help lovingher, could they, Piers?"
"Have an orange!" said Piers, pulling the dish towards him.
"Oh, thank you, I mustn't stop," Gracie turned to Sir Beverley and liftedher bright face. "Good-bye! Thank you for being so kind."
There was no irony in her thanks, and even he could scarcely refuse thefriendly offer of her lips. He stooped and grimly received her farewellsalute on his cheek.
Piers loaded her with as many oranges as she could carry, and theyfinally departed through the great hall which Gracie surveyed with eyesof reverent admiration.
"It's as big as a church," she said, in an awed whisper.
Sir Beverley followed them to the front-door, and saw them out into thenight. Gracie waved an ardent farewell from her perch on Piers' shoulder,and he heard the merry childish laugh more than once after they hadpassed from sight.
The night air was chilly, and he turned inwards at length with aninarticulate growl, and shut the door.
Heavily he tramped across to the old carved settle before the fire, anddropped down upon it, his whole bearing expressive of utter weariness.
David came in with stealthy footfall and softly replenished the fire.
"Shall I bring the coffee, Sir Beverley?" he asked him.
"No," said Sir Beverley. "I'll ring."
And David effaced himself without sound.
Half an hour passed, and Sir Beverley still sat there motionless as astatue, with thin lips drawn in a single bitter line, and eyes that gazedaloofly at the fire. The silence was intense. The hall seemed desolateas a vault. Over in a corner a grandfather's clock ticked the secondsaway--slowly, monotonously, as though very weary of its task.
Suddenly in the distance there came a faint sound, the opening of a door;and a breath of night-air, pure and cold, blew in across the stillness.In a moment there followed a light, elastic step, and Piers came intoview at the other end of the hall. He moved swiftly as though he trodair. His head was thrown back, his face rapt and intent as though he sawa vision. He did not see the lonely figure sitting there before thehearth, but turned aside ere he neared it and entered an unlighted room,shutting himself gently in.
Again the silence descended, but only for a few seconds. Then softly itwas dispelled, as through it there stole the tender, passionate-sweetharmonies of a Chopin nocturne.
At the first note Sir Beverley started, almost winced as at the suddenpiercing of a nerve. Then as the music continued, he leaned rigidly backagain and became as still as before.
Very softly the music thrilled through the silence. It might have comefrom somewhere very far away. There was something almost unearthly aboutit, a depth and a mystery that seemed to spread as it were invisiblewings, filling the place with dim echoes of the Divine.
It died away at last into a silence like the hush of prayer. And then thestill figure of the old man before the fire became suddenly vitalized. Hesat up abruptly and seized with impatience a small hand-bell from thetable beside him.
David made his discreet appearance with the coffee almost at thefirst tinkle.
"Coffee!" his master flung at him. "And fetch Master Piers!"
David set down the tray at his master's elbow, and turned to obey thesecond behest. But the door of the drawing-room opened ere he reachedit, and Piers came out. His dark eyes were shining. He whistled softlyas he came.
David stood respectfully on one side, and Piers passed him like a man ina dream. He came to his grandfather, and threw himself on to the settleby his side in silence.
"Well?" said Sir Beverley. "You took that chattering monkey back,I suppose?"
Piers started and seemed to awake. "Oh yes, I got her safely home. We hadto dodge the Reverend Stephen. But it was all right. She and the boy gotin without being caught."
He stirred his coffee thoughtfully, and fell silent again.
"You'd better go to bed," said Sir Beverley abruptly.
Piers looked up, meeting the hard grey eyes with the memory of his dreamstill lingering in his own.
Slowly the dream melted. He began to smile. "I think I'd better," hesaid. "I'm infernally sleepy, and it's getting late." He drank off hiscoffee and rose. "You must be pretty tired yourself, sir," he remarked."Time you trotted to bed too."
He moved round to the back of the settle and paused, looking down at thethick white hair with a curious expression of hesitancy in his eyes.
"Oh, go on! Go on!" said Sir Beverley irritably. "What are youwaiting for?"
Piers stooped impulsively in response, his hand on the old man'sshoulder, and kissed him on the forehead.
"Good-night, sir!" he said softly.
The action was purely boyish. It pleaded for tolerance. Sir Beverleyjerked his head impatiently, but he did not repulse him.
"There! Be off with you!" he said. "Go to bed and behave yourself!Good-night, you scamp! Good-night!"
And Piers went from him lightfooted, a smile upon his lips. He knew thathis tacit overture for peace had been accepted for the time at least.