CHAPTER III
THE FIRST GUEST
"I am greatly honoured to be your first guest," said Crowther.
"The honour is ours to get you," Avery declared. She sat on the terracewhither she had conducted him, and smiled at him across the tea-tablewith eyes of shining friendship.
Crowther smiled back, thinking to himself how pleasant a picture shemade. She was dressed in white, and her face was flushed and happy, evengirlish in its animation. There was a ring of laughter in her voice whenshe talked that was very good to hear. She had herself just brought himfrom the station in Piers' little two-seater, and her obvious pleasure atmeeting him still hung about her, making her very fair to see.
"Piers is so busy just now," she told him. "He sent all sorts ofmessages. He had to go over to Wardenhurst to see Colonel Rose. The M.P.for this division retired at the end of the Session, and Piers is tostand for the constituency. They talk of having the election in October."
"Will he get in?" asked Crowther, still watching her with friendlyappreciation in his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. I expect so. He gets most things that he sets hisheart on. His grandfather--you knew Sir Beverley?--was so anxious that heshould enter Parliament."
"Yes, I knew Sir Beverley," said Crowther. "He thought the worldof Piers."
"And Piers of him," said Avery.
"Ah! Was it a great blow to him when the old man died?"
"A very great blow," she answered soberly. "That was the main reason forour marrying so suddenly. The poor boy was so lonely I couldn't bear tothink of him by himself in this great house."
"He was very lucky to get you," said Crowther gravely.
She smiled. "I was lucky too. Don't you think so? I never in my wildestdreams pictured such a home as this for myself."
A great magnolia climbed the house behind her with creamy flowers thatshed their lemon fragrance all about them. Crowther compared her in hisown mind to the wonderful blossoms. She was so sweet, so pure, yet alsoin a fashion so splendid.
"I think it is a very suitable setting for you, Lady Evesham!" he said.
She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him. "Do call meAvery!" she said.
"Thank you," he answered, with a smile. "It certainly seems more natural.How long have you been in this home of yours, may I ask?"
"Only a fortnight," she said, laughing. "Our honeymoon took ten weeks.Piers wanted to make it ten years; but the harvest was coming on, and Iknew he ought to come back and see what was happening. And then Mr.Ferrars resigned his seat, and it became imperative. But isn't it abeautiful place?" she ended. "I felt overwhelmed by the magnificence ofit at first, but I am getting used to it now."
"A glorious place," agreed Crowther. "Piers must be very proud of it.Have you begun to have many visitors yet?"
She shook her head. "No, not many. Nearly all the big people have goneto Scotland. Piers says they will come later, but I shall not mind themso much then. I shall feel less like an interloper by that time."
"I don't know why you should feel like that," said Crowther. Averysmiled. "Well, all the little people think that I set out to catch Piersfor his money and his title."
"Does what the little people think have any weight with you?"asked Crowther.
She flushed faintly under the kindly directness of his gaze. "Not really,I suppose. But one can't quite shake off the feeling of it. There is theVicar for instance. He has never liked me. He congratulates me almostevery time we meet."
"Evidently a cad," commented Crowther in his quiet way.
Avery laughed a little. She had always liked this man's plain speech. "Heis not the only one," she said.
"But you have friends--real friends--also?" he questioned.
"Oh yes; indeed! The Vicarage children and their mother are the greatestfriends I have." Avery spoke with warmth. "The children are having teadown in one of the cornfields now. We must go and see them presently. Youare fond of children, I know."
"I sort of love them," said Crowther with his slow, kind smile. "Ah,Piers, my lad, are you trying to steal a march on us? Did you think Ididn't know?"
He spoke without raising his voice. Avery turned sharply to see herhusband standing on the steps of a room above them. One glimpse she hadof Piers' face ere he descended and joined them, and an odd feeling ofdismay smote her. For that one fleeting moment there seemed, to besomething of the cornered beast in his aspect.
But as he came straight down to Crowther and wrung his hand, his darkface was smiling a welcome. He was in riding-dress, and looked veryhandsome and young.
"How did you know it was I? Awfully pleased to see you! Sorry I couldn'tget back sooner. I've been riding like the devil. Avery explained, didshe?" He threw himself into a chair, and tossed an envelope into her lap."An invitation to Ina Rose's wedding on the twenty-third. That's the weekafter next. They are sorry they can't manage to call before, hope you'llunderstand and go. I said you should do both."
"Thank you, Piers." Avery laid the envelope aside unopened. She did notfeel that he was being very cordial to Crowther. "I am not sure that Ishall go."
"Oh yes, you will," he rejoined quickly. "You must. It's an order, see?"His dark eyes laughed at her, but there was more than a tinge ofimperiousness in his manner. "Well, Crowther, how are you? Getting readyto scatter the Philistines? Don't give me milk, Avery! You know I hate itat this time of day."
She looked at him in surprise. He had never used that impatient toneto her before. "I didn't know," she observed simply, as she handedhim his cup.
"Well, you know now," he rejoined with an irritable frown. "Hurry up,Crowther! I want you to come and see the crops."
Avery was literally amazed by his manner. He had never been so franklyand unjustifiably rude to her before. She came to the conclusion thatsomething had happened at the Roses' to annoy him; but that he shouldvisit his annoyance upon her was a wholly new experience.
He drank his tea, talking hard to Crowther the while, and finally sprangto his feet as if in a ferment to be gone.
"Won't Lady Evesham come too?" asked Crowther, as he rose.
Avery rose also. "Yes, I have promised the children to join them in thecornfield," she said.
Piers said nothing; but she had a very distinct impression that he wouldhave preferred her to remain behind. The wonder crossed her mind if hewere jealous because he could no longer have her exclusively to himself.
They walked down through the park to the farm. It was a splendid Augustevening. The reaping was still in progress, and the whirr of the machinerose slumbrous through the stillness. But of the Vicarage children therewas at first no sign.
Avery searched for them in surprise. She had sent a picnic basket down tothe farm earlier in the afternoon, and she had expected to find themenjoying the contents thereof in a shady corner. But for a time shesearched in vain.
"They must have gone home," said Piers.
But she did not believe they would have left without seeing her, and shewent to the farm to make enquiries.
Here she heard that the picnic-party had taken place and that the baskethad been brought back by one of the men, but for some reason the childrenhad evidently gone home early, for they had not been seen since.
Avery wanted to run to the Vicarage and ascertain if all were well, butPiers vetoed this.
"It's too hot," he said. "And you'll only come in for some row with theReverend Stephen. I won't have you go, Avery. Stay with us!"
His tone was peremptory, and Avery realized that his assumption ofauthority was intentional. A rebellious spirit awoke within her, but shechecked it. Something had gone wrong, she was sure. He would tell herpresently what it was.
She yielded therefore to his desire and remained with them. They spent aconsiderable time in the neighbourhood of the farm, in all of whichCrowther took a keen interest. Avery tried to be interested too, butPiers' behaviour troubled and perplexed her. He seemed to be all on edge,and more than once his manner to Crowther also verged upon abruptnes
s.
They were leaving the farm to turn homeward when there came to Avery thesound of flying feet along the lane outside. She went to the gate, andbeheld Gracie, her face crimson with heat, racing towards her.
Avery moved to meet her, surprised by her sudden appearance. She wasstill more surprised when Gracie reached her, flung tempestuous armsabout her, and broke into stormy crying on her breast.
"My dear! My dear! What has happened?" Avery asked in distress.
But Gracie was for the moment quite beyond speech. She hung upon Avery,crying as if her heart would break.
Piers came swiftly down the path. "Why, Pixie, what's the matter?" hesaid.
He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gently to lean againsthimself, for in her paroxysm of weeping she had thrown herself upon Averywith childish unrestraint.
"Who's been bullying you, Pixie?" he said.
"Nobody! Nobody!" sobbed Gracie. She transferred herself to his armsalmost mechanically, so overwhelming was her woe. "Oh, it's dreadful!It's dreadful!" she cried.
He patted her soothingly, his cheek against her fair hair. "Well, what isit, kiddie? Let's hear! One of the youngsters in trouble, what? NotJeanie, I say?"
"No, no, no! It's--Mike." The name came out with a great burst of tears.
"Mike!" Piers looked at Avery, mystified for the moment. "Ah, to be sure!The dog! Well, what's happened to him? He isn't dead, what?"
"He is! He is!" sobbed Gracie. "He--he has been killed--by--by hisown chain!"
"What!" said Piers again.
Gaspingly she told him the tragic tale. "Father always will have him kepton the chain, and--and--"
"An infernally cruel thing to do!" broke indignantly from Piers.
"Yes, we--we all said so. And we tried to give him little outingssometimes to--to make up. But to-day--somehow--we forgot him, and--and hemust have seen us go, and jumped the wall after us. Pat and I went backafterwards to fetch him, and found him--found him--oh, Piers!" She criedout in sudden agony and said no more.
"Choked?" said Piers. "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" He lookedup again at Avery with something unfathomable in his eyes. "Oh, don't cryso, child!" he said. "A chained creature is happier dead--a thousandtimes happier!"
He spoke passionately, so passionately that Gracie's wild grief wasstayed. She lifted her face, all streaming with tears. "Do you thinkso really?"
"Of course I think so," he said. "Life on a chain is misery unspeakable.No one with any heart could condemn a dog to that! It's the refinement ofcruelty. Don't wish the poor beast back again! Be thankful he's gone!"
The vehemence of his speech was such that it carried conviction even toGracie's torn heart. She looked up at him with something of wonder and ofawe. "If only--he hadn't suffered so!" she whispered.
He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed back the clustering hair."You poor kid!" he said pityingly. "You've suffered much more than he didat the end. But it's over. Don't fret! Don't fret!"
Gracie lifted trembling lips to be kissed. He was drying her eyes withhis own handkerchief as tenderly as any woman. He stooped and kissed her."Look here! I'll walk home with you," he said. "Avery, you go back withCrowther! I shan't be late."
Avery turned at once. The sight of Piers soothing the little girl'sdistress had comforted her subtly. She felt that his mood had softened.
"Won't you go too?" said Crowther, as she joined him. "Please don't stayon my account! I am used to being alone, and I can find my own way back."
"Oh no!" she said. "I had better come with you. I shan't be wanted now."
They started to walk back among the shocks of corn; but they had not gonemany yards when Gracie came running after them, reached them, flung herarms about Avery.
"Good-bye, darling Avery!" she said.
Avery held her close. She was sobbing still, but the first wild anguishof her grief was past.
"Good-bye, darling!" Avery whispered, after a moment.
Grade's arms tightened. "You think like Piers does?" she murmured. "Youthink poor Mikey is happier now?"
Avery paused an instant. The memory of Piers' look as he had uttered thewords: "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" seemed to grip her heart.Then: "Yes, dearie," she said softly. "I think as Piers does. I amglad--for poor Mikey's sake--that his troubles are over."
"Then I'll try and be glad too," sobbed poor Gracie. "But it's very, verydifficult. Pat and I loved him so, and he--he loved us."
"My dear, that love won't die," Avery said gently.
"The gift immortal," said Crowther. "The only thing that counts."
She looked round at him quickly, but his eyes were gazing straight intothe sunset--steadfast eyes that saw to the very heart of things.
"And Life in Death," he added quietly.