CHAPTER XXXVII
"LA GRANDE PASSION"
She spoke to him at last, half-frightened by his silence, yet by hisattitude wholly reassured. For he wanted her still, of that no doubtremained. His hands were clasped behind her. He could have held her inhis arms; but he did not. He only knelt there at her feet in uttersilence, his black head pillowed on her hands.
"Piers!" she said. "Piers! Let me help you!"
He groaned in answer, and she felt a great shiver run through him. Sheknew intuitively that he was battling for self-control and dared not forthe moment show his face.
"You--can't," he said at last.
"But I think I can," she urged gently. "It isn't so very long ago thatyou wanted me."
"I was an infernal blackguard to tell you so!" he made answer.
And then suddenly his arms tightened about her, and he held her fast."That you--you, Avery,--should come to me--like this!" he said.
She freed one of her hands and laid it on his bent head. "Shall I tellyou what made me come, Piers?"
He shook his head in silence, but there was passion in the holdingof his arms.
For a space he continued to hold her so, speaking no word, and throughhis silence there came to her the quick, fierce beat of his heart. Thenat length very suddenly, almost with violence, he flung his arms wideand started to his feet.
"Avery," he said, "you were a saint to come to me like this. I shan'tforget it ever. But there's nothing--nothing you can do, except leave meto my own devices. It's only just at first, you know, that the lonelinessseems so--awful." His voice shook unexpectedly; he swung round away fromher and walked to the end of the room.
He came back almost immediately and stood before her. "Victor was acriminal fool to bring you here. He meant well though. He always does.That note of yours--I ought to have answered it. I was just coming inhere to do so. I shouldn't have kept you waiting so long, butsomehow--somehow--" Again, in spite of him, his voice quivered. He turnedsharply and walked to the fireplace, leaned his arms upon it, and stoodso, his back to her, his head bent.
"It was so awfully good of you," he went on after a moment. "You alwayshave been--awfully good. My grandfather realized that, you know. I thinkhe told you so, didn't he? He wasn't really sorry that I wouldn't marryIna Rose. By the way, she is engaged to Dick Guyes already, so there wasnot much damage done in that direction. I told you it was nothing but agame, didn't I? You didn't quite believe me, what?"
It came to her that he was talking to gain time, that he was trying tomuster strength to give the lie to the passion that had throbbed in theholding of his arms, that for some reason he deemed it incumbent upon himto mask his feelings and hide from her the misery that had driven Victorin search of her.
She rose quietly and moved across the room till she stood beside him."Piers," she said, "tell me what is wrong!"
He stiffened at her approach, straightened himself, faced her."Avery," he said, "do you know, dear, it would be better if you wentstraight back again? I hate to say it. It was so dear of you,so--so--great of you to come. But--no, there's nothing wrong,--nothingthat is, that hasn't been wrong for ages. Fact is, I'm not fit tospeak to you, never have been; far less make love to you. And I was acur and a brute to do it. I've had a bit of a shake-up lately. It'smade me feel my responsibilities, see things as they are. I've got anawful lot to see to just now. I'm going to work mighty hard. I mustn'tthink of--other things."
He stopped. He was looking at her, looking at her, with the red fire ofpassion kindling in his eyes, a gleam so fierce and so insistent that shewas forced to lower her own. It was as if his soul cried out to her allthat he restrained his lips from uttering.
He saw her instinctive avoidance of his gaze, and turned away from her,leaning again upon the mantelpiece as if spent.
"I can't help it, Avery. I'm so dog-tired, and I can't sleep. I'mhorribly sorry, but I'm nothing but a brute-beast to-night.Really--really--you had better go."
There was desperation in his voice. He bowed his head upon his arms, andshe saw that his hands were clenched.
But she could not leave him so. That inner urging that had impelled herthither warned her to remain, even against her own judgment, even againsther will. The memory of Victor's fears came back to her. She could notturn and go.
"My dear boy," she said, speaking very gently, "do you think I don't knowthat you are miserable, lonely, wretched? That is why I am here!"
"God knows how lonely!" he whispered.
Her heart stirred within her at the desolation of the words. "Nearly allof us go through it some time," she said gently. "And if there isn't afriend to stand by, it's very hard to bear. That is the part I want toplay--if you will let me. Won't you treat me as a friend?"
But Piers neither moved nor spoke. With his head still upon his arms hestood silent.
She drew nearer to him. "Piers, I think I understand. I think you are alittle afraid of going too far, of--of--" her voice faltered a little inspite of her--"of hurting my feelings. Is that it? Because,--mydear,--you needn't be afraid any longer. If you really think I can makeyou happy, I am willing--quite willing--to try."
The words were spoken, and with them she offered all she had, freely,generously, with a quick love that was greater possibly than even sherealized.
She was standing close to him waiting for him to turn and clasp her inhis arms, as he had so nearly clasped her once against her will. Butseconds passed and he did not move, and a cold foreboding began to knockat her heart lest after all--lest after all--his love for her had waned.
He stirred at last, just as she was on the point of turning from him,stretched out a groping hand that found and drew her to his side. Butstill he did not look at her or so much as raise his head.
He spoke after a moment in a choked voice that seemed to be wrung fromhim by sheer physical torture. "Avery, don't--don't tempt me.I--daren't!"
The anguish of the words went through her, banishing all thought ofanything else. Very suddenly she knew that he was fighting a desperatebattle for her sake, that he was striving with all the strength that wasin him to set her happiness before his own. And something that wasgreater than pity entered into her with the knowledge, something so greatas to be all-possessing, compelling her to instant action.
She slipped her arm about his bent shoulders with a gesture of infinitetenderness. "Piers--dear boy, what is it?" she said softly. "Is theresome trouble in your past--something you can't bear to speak of?Remember, I am not a girl, I may understand--some things--better thanyou think."
She felt his hold upon her tighten almost convulsively, but for a whilehe made no answer.
Then at length slowly he raised his head and looked at her. "Doyou--really--think the past matters?" he said.
She met his eyes with their misery and their longing, and a tremor ofuncertainty went through her.
"Tell me, Avery!" he insisted. "If you felt yourself able to get awayfrom old burdens, and if--if there was no earthly reason why they shouldhamper your future--" He broke off, and again his arm tightened. "It'sdamnable that they should!" he muttered savagely.
"My dear, I don't know how to answer you," she said. "Are--you afraid tobe open with me? Do you think I shouldn't understand?"
His eyes fell abruptly. "I am quite sure," he said, "that it would beeasier for me to give you up." And with that he suddenly set her free andstood up before her straight and stiff. "Let me see you home!" he said.
They faced one another in the dimness, and Avery marked afresh theweariness of his face. He looked like a man who had come through manydays and nights of suffering.
He glanced up as she did not speak. "Shall we go?" he said.
But Avery stood hesitating, asking herself if this could indeed be theend, if the impulse that had drawn her thither had been after all amistaken one, or if even yet it might not carry her further than she hadever thought to go.
He turned towards the conservatory door by which she had entered, andquietly opened it. A so
ft wind blew through to her, laden with the scentof the wet earth and a thousand opening buds. It seemed to carry thepromise of eternal hope on unseen wings straight to her heart.
Slowly she followed him across the room, reached him, passed through intothe scented darkness. A few steps more and she would have been in theopen air, but she was uncertain of the way. The place was too dim for herto see it. She paused for him to guide her.
The door closed behind her; she heard it softly swing on its hinges, andthen came his light footfall close to her.
"Straight on!" he said, and his voice sounded oddly cold and constrained."There are three steps at the end. Be careful how you go! Perhaps youwould rather wait while I fetch a light."
His tone hurt her subtly, wounding her more deeply than she had realizedthat he had it in his power to wound.
She moved forward blindly with a strangled sensation at her throat and arush of hot tears in her eyes. She had never dreamed that Piers--thewarm-hearted, the eager--had it in him to treat her so.
The instinct to escape awoke within her. She quickened her steps andreached the further door. Before her lay the open night, immense andquiet and very dark. She pressed forward, hoping he would not follow,longing only for solitude and silence.
But in her agitation she forgot his warning, forgot to tread warily, andmissed her footing on the steps. She slipped with a sharp exclamation andwent down, catching vainly at the door-post to save herself.
Piers exclaimed also, and sprang forward. His arms were about her beforeshe reached the ground. He lifted her bodily ere she could recover herbalance; and suddenly she knew that with the touch of her the fire of hispassion had burst into scorching flame--knew herself powerless--a womanin the hold of her captor.
For he held her so fast that she gasped for breath, and with her headpressed back against his shoulder, he kissed her on the lips, fiercely,violently, hungrily--kissed her eyes, her hair, and again her lips,sealing them closely with his own, making protest impossible. Neithercould she resist him, for he held her gathered up against his heart,bearing her whole weight with a strength that mocked her weakness,compelling her to lie at his mercy while the wild storm of his passionswept on its way.
She was as one caught in the molten stream of a volcano, andcarried by the fiery current that seethed all about her, consumingher with its heat.
Once when his lips left hers she tried to whisper his name, to call himback from his madness; but her voice was gone. She could only gasp andgasp till with an odd, half-savage laugh he silenced her again with thoseburning kisses that made her feel that he had stormed his way to the lastand inner sanctuary of her soul, depriving her even of the right todispute his overwhelming possession.
Later it seemed to her that she must have been near to fainting, forthough she knew that he bore her inwards from the open door she could notso much as raise a hand in protest. She was utterly spent and almostbeyond caring, so complete had been his conquest. When he set her on herfeet she tottered, clinging to him nervelessly for support.
He kept his arm about her, but his hold was no longer insistent. She wasaware of his passion still; it seemed to play around her like a lambentflame; but the first fierce flare was past. He spoke to her at last in avoice that was low but not without the arrogance of the conqueror.
"Are you very angry with me, I wonder?"
She did not answer him, for still she could not.
He went on, a vein of recklessness running through his speech. "It won'tmake any difference if you are. Do you understand? I've tried to let yougo, but I can't. I must have you or die."
He paused a moment, and it seemed as if the tornado of his passion weresweeping back again; but, curiously, he checked it.
"That's how it is with me, Avery," he said. "The fates have played aghastly joke on me, but you are mine in spite of it. You came to tell meso; didn't you?"
Was there a note of pleading in his voice? She fancied so; but still shecould not speak in answer. She leaned against him with every pulsethrobbing. She dared not turn her face to his.
"Are you afraid of me, Avery?" he said, and this time surely she heard afaint echo of that boyish humour that had first won her. "Because it'sall right, dear," he told her softly. "I've got myself in hand now. Youknow, I couldn't hold you in my arms just then and not--not kiss you. Youdon't hate me for it, do you? You--understand?"
Yes, she understood. Yet she felt as if he had raised a barrier betweenthem which nothing could ever take away. She tried to ignore it, butcould not. The glaring fact that he had not cared how much or how littleshe had desired those savage kisses of his had begun already to tormenther, and she knew that she would carry the scorching memory of thosemoments with her for the rest of her life.
She drew herself slowly from him. "I am going now," she said.
He put out a hand that trembled and laid it on her shoulder. "If I willlet you go, Avery!" he said, and she was again aware of the leaping ofthe flame that had scarcely died down but a moment before.
She straightened herself and resolutely faced him. "I am going,Piers," she said.
His hand tightened sharply. He caught his breath for a few tense seconds.Then very slowly his hold relaxed; his hand fell. "You will let me seeyou back," he said, and she knew by his voice that he was putting strongforce upon himself.
She turned. "No. I will go alone."
He did not move. "Please, Avery!" he said.
Her heart gave a quick throb at the low-spoken words. She paused almostinvoluntarily, realizing with a great rush of thankfulness that he wouldnot stir a step to follow unless she gave him leave.
For an instant she stood irresolute. Then: "Come if you wish!" she said.
She heard him move, and herself passed on, descending the steps into thedewy garden with again that odd feeling of unreality, almost as if shewalked in a dream.
He came behind her, silent as a shadow, and not till she deliberatelywaited for him did he overtake and walk beside her.
No words passed between them as they went. They seemed to move through aworld of shadows,--a spell-bound, waiting world. And gradually, as if asoothing hand had been laid upon her, Avery felt the wild tumult at herheart subside. She remembered that he had refrained himself almost at herfirst word, and slowly her confidence came back. He had appealed to herto understand, and she could not let his appeal go wholly unanswered.
As they passed at length through the gate that led into the Vicaragelane, she spoke. "Piers, I am not angry."
"Aren't you?" he said, and by the eager relief of his voice she knew thather silence had been hard to bear.
She put out a hand to him as they walked. "But, Piers, that--is not theway to make me love you."
"I know--I know," he said quickly; and then haltingly: "I've been--sobeastly lonely, Avery. Make allowances for me--forgive me!"
He had not taken her hand; she slipped it into his. "I do," she saidsimply. She felt his fingers close tensely, but in a moment they openedagain and set her free.
He did not utter another word, merely walked on beside her till theyreached the Vicarage gate. She thought he would have left her there, buthe did not. They went up the drive together to the porch.
From his kennel at the side of the house Mike barked a sharp challengethat turned into an unmistakable note of welcome as they drew near. Averysilenced him with a reassuring word.
She found the key, and in the darkness of the porch she began to fumblefor the lock.
Piers stooped. "Let me!"
She gave him the key, and as she stood up again she noted the brightnessof the fanlight over the floor. She thought that she had lowered thelight at leaving; she had certainly intended to do so.
Very softly Piers opened the door. It swung noiselessly back upon itshinges, and the full light smote upon them.
In the same instant a slim, white figure came calmly forward through thehall and stopped beneath the lamp.
Olive Lorimer, pale, severe, with fixed, accusing eyes, stoodconfront
ing them.
"Mrs. Denys!" she said, in accents of frozen surprise.