CHAPTER IV
THE PRISONER IN THE DUNGEON
Avery was already dressed when she heard Piers enter his room and say aword to Victor. She stood by her window waiting. It was growing late, butshe felt sure he would come to her.
She heard Victor bustling about in his resilient fashion, and againPiers' voice, somewhat curt and peremptory, reached her through theclosed door. He was evidently dressing at full speed. She was consciousof a sense of disappointment, though she kept it at bay, remindingherself that they must not keep their guest waiting.
But presently, close upon the dinner-hour, she went herself to the doorof her husband's room and knocked.
His voice answered her immediately, but it still held that unwontedquality of irritation in it. "Oh, Avery, I can't let you in. I'm sorry.Victor's here."
Something--a small, indignant spirit--sprang up within her in response."Send Victor away!" she said. "I want to come in."
"I shall be late if I do," he made answer. "I'm horribly late as it is."
But for once Avery's habitual docility was in abeyance. "Send Victoraway!" she reiterated.
She heard Piers utter an impatient word, and then in a moment or two heraised his voice again. "Come in then! What is it?"
She opened the door with an odd unaccustomed feeling of trepidation.
He was standing in his shirt-sleeves brushing his hair vigorously at thetable. His back was towards her, but the glass reflected his face, andshe saw that his brows were drawn into a single hard black line. His lipswere tightly compressed. He looked undeniably formidable.
"Don't you want me, Piers?" she asked, pausing in the doorway.
His eyes flashed up to hers in the glass, glowing with the smoulderingfire, oddly fitful, oddly persistent. "Come in!" he said, withoutturning. "What is it?"
She went forward to him. "Did you go to the Vicarage?" she asked. "Arethey in great trouble?"
She thought she saw relief in his face at her words. "Oh yes," he said."Mrs. Lorimer crying as usual, Jeanie trying to comfort her. I did mybest to hearten them up but you know what they are. I say, sit down!"
"No, I am going," she answered gently. "Did you get on all right thisafternoon?"
"Oh yes," he said again. "By the way, we must get a wedding-present forIna Rose and another for Guyes. You'll come to the wedding, Avery?"
"If you wish it, dear," she said quietly.
He threw down his brushes and turned fully to her. "Avery darling, I'msorry I was bearish this afternoon. You won't punish me for it?"
"Punish you, my own Piers!" she said.
"Because I can't stand it," he said recklessly. "There are certain formsof torture that drive a man crazy. Bear with me--all you can!"
His quick pleading touched her, went straight to her heart. She put herhands on his shoulders, lifting her face for his kiss. "It's all right,dear," she said.
"Is it?" he said. "Is it?" He took her face between his hands, gazingdown at her with eyes of passionate craving. "Say you love me!" he urgedher suddenly. "Say it!"
Her heart sank within her. She made a movement as if to withdraw herself;but he caught her fiercely to him, his hot lips sought and held her own.She felt as if a flame encompassed her, scorching her, consuming her.
"Say you love me!" he whispered again between those fiery kisses."Avery, I must have your soul as well. Do more than bear with me! Wantme--want me!"
There was more than passion in the words. They came to her like a cry oftorment. She braced herself to meet his need, realizing it to be greaterthan she knew.
"Piers! Piers!" she said. "I am altogether yours. I love you. Don'tyou know it?"
He drew a deep, quivering breath. "Yes--yes, I do know it," he said."But--but--Avery, I would go through hell for you. You are my religion,my life, my all. I am not that to you. If--if I were dragged down, youwouldn't follow me in."
His intensity shocked her, but she would not have him know it. Shesought to calm his agitation though she possessed no key thereto. "Mydear," she said, "you are talking wildly. You don't know what you are tome, and I can't even begin to tell you. But surely--by now--you can takeme on trust."
He made a curious sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. "You don't knowyourself, Avery," he said.
"But you don't doubt my love, Piers," she protested very earnestly. "Youknow that it would never fail you."
"Your love is like the moonlight, Avery," he answered. "It is allwhiteness and purity. But mine--mine is red like the fire that isunder the earth. And though sometimes it scorches you, it never quitereaches you. You stoop to me, but you can't lift me. You are too farabove. And the moonlight doesn't always reach to the prisoner in thedungeon either."
"All the same dear, don't be afraid that it will ever fail you!" shesaid.
He kissed her again, hotly, lingeringly, and let her go. "Perhaps I shallremind you of that one day," he said.
All through dinner his spirits were recklessly high. He talkedincessantly, playing the host with a brilliant ease that betrayed no signof strain. He did not seem to have a care in the world, and Averymarvelled at his versatility.
She herself felt weary and strangely sick at heart. Those few words ofhis had been a bitter revelation to her. She knew now what was wantingbetween them. He desired passion from her rather than love. He had no usefor spiritual things. And she,--she knew that she shrank inwardlywhenever she encountered that fierce, untamed desire of his. It fetteredher spirit, it hung upon her like an overpowering weight. She could notsatisfy his wild Southern nature. He crushed her love with the veryfierceness of his possession and ever cried to her for more. He seemedinsatiable. Even though she gave him all she had, he still hungered,still strove feverishly to possess himself of something further.
She felt worn out, body and soul, and she could not hide it. She wasunspeakably glad when at length the meal was over and she was able toleave the table.
Crowther opened the door for her, looking at her with eyes of kindlycriticism.
"You look tired," he said. "I hope you don't sit up late."
She smiled at him. "Oh no! We will make Piers play to us presently, andthen I will say good-night."
"Then we mustn't keep you waiting long," he said. "So Piers is amusician, is he? I didn't know."
"You had better go to bed, Avery; it's late," said Piers abruptly. "Ican't play to-night. The spirit doesn't move me." He rose from the tablewith a careless laugh. "Say good-night to her, Crowther, and let her go!We will smoke in the garden."
There was finality in his tone, its lightness notwithstanding. Againthere came to Avery the impulse to rebel, and again instinctively shecaught it back. She held out her hand to Crowther.
"I am dismissed then," she said. "Good-night!"
His smile answered hers. He looked regretful, but very kindly. "I am gladto see Piers takes care of you," he said.
She laughed a little drearily as she went away, making no other response.
Crowther turned back to the table with its shaded candles and gleamingwine. He saw that Piers' glass was practically untouched.
Piers himself was searching a cabinet for cigars. He found what hesought, and turned round with the box in his hand.
"I don't know what you generally smoke," he said. "Will you try one ofthese? It's a hot night. We may as well have coffee in the garden."
He seemed possessed with a spirit of restlessness, just as he had been onthat night at the Casino in the spring. Crowther, massive andself-contained, observed him silently.
They went out on to the terrace, and drank their coffee in the dewystillness. But even there Piers could not sit still. He prowled to andfro eternally, till Crowther set down his cup and joined him, pushing aquiet hand through his arm.
"It's a lovely place you've got here, sonny," he said; "a regular gardenof Paradise. I almost envy you."
"Oh, you needn't do that. There's a serpent in every Eden," said Piers,with a mirthless laugh.
He did not seek to keep Crowther at ar
m's length, but neither did heseem inclined for any closer intimacy. His attitude neither invited norrepelled confidence. Yet Crowther knew intuitively that his veryindifference was in itself a barrier that might well proveinsurmountable.
He walked in silence while Piers talked intermittently of variousimpersonal matters, drifting at length into silence himself.
In the western wing of the house a light burned at an upper window, andCrowther, still quietly observant, noted how at each turn Piers' eyeswent to that light as though drawn by some magnetic force.
Gently at length he spoke. "She doesn't look altogether robust, sonny."
Piers started sharply as if something had pricked him. "What? Avery doyou mean? No, she isn't over and above strong--just now."
He uttered the last two words as if reluctantly, yet as if some measureof pride impelled him.
Crowther's hand pressed his arm, in mute sympathy. "You are right totake care of her," he said simply. "And Piers, my lad, I want to tell youhow glad I was to know that you were able to win her after all. I somehowfelt you would."
It was his first attempt to pass that intangible barrier, and it failed.Piers disregarded the words as if they had not reached him.
"I don't know if I shall let her stay here through the winter," he said."I am not sure that the place suits her. It's damp, you know; goodhunting and so on, but a bit depressing in bad weather. Besides I'drather have her under a town doctor. The new heir arrives in March," hesaid, with a slight laugh that struck Crowther as unconsciously pathetic.
"I'm very pleased to hear it, sonny," said Crowther. "May he bethe first of many! What does Avery think about it? I'll warrantshe's pleased?"
"Oh yes, she's pleased enough."
"And you, lad?"
"Oh yes, I'm pleased too," said Piers, but his tone lacked completesatisfaction and he added after a moment, "I'd rather have had her tomyself a bit longer. I'm a selfish brute, you know, Crowther. I want allI can get--and even that's hardly enough to keep me from starvation."
There was a note of banter in his voice, but there was something else aswell that touched Crowther's kindly heart.
"I don't think Avery is the sort of woman to sacrifice her husband to herchildren," he said. "You will always come first, sonny,--if I know her."
"I couldn't endure anything else," said Piers, with sudden fire. "She isthe mainspring of my life."
"And you of hers," said Crowther.
Piers stopped dead in his walk and faced him. "No,--no, I'm not!" hesaid, speaking quickly, unrestrainedly. "I'm a good deal to her, but I'mnot that. She gives, but she never offers. If I went off on a journeyround the world to-morrow, she'd see me go quite cheerfully, and she'dwait serenely till I came back again. She'd never fret. Above all, she'dnever dream of coming to look for me."
The passionate utterance went into a sound that resembled a laugh, but itwas a sound of such bitterness that Crowther was strongly moved.
He put his hand on Piers' shoulder and gave it an admonitory shake. "Mydear lad, don't be a fool!" he said, with slow force. "You're consumingyour own happiness--and hers too. You can't measure a woman's feelingslike that. They are immeasurable. You can't even begin to fathom awoman's restraint--a woman's reserve. How can she offer when you arealways demanding? As to her love, it is probably as infinitely great, asinfinitely deep, as infinitely selfless, as yours is passionate, andfierce and insatiable. There are big possibilities in you, Piers; butyou're not letting 'em grow. It would have done you good to have beenkept waiting ten years or more. You're spoilt; that's what's the matterwith you. You got your heart's desire too easily. You think this world isyour own damn playground. And it isn't. Understand? You're put here towork, not play; to develop yourself, not batten on other people. You wonher like a man in the face of desperate odds. You paid a heavy price forher. But even so, you don't deserve to keep her if you forget that shehas paid too. By Heaven, Piers, she must have loved you a mighty lot tohave done it!"
He paused, for Piers had made a sharp, involuntary movement as of a manin intolerable pain. He almost wrenched himself from Crowther's hand, andwalked to the low wall of the terrace. Here he stood for many secondsquite motionless, gazing down over the quiet garden.
Finally he swung round, and looked at Crowther. "Yes," he said, in an oddtone as of one repeating something learned by heart. "I've got toremember that, haven't I? Thanks for--reminding me!" He stopped, seemedto collect himself, moved slowly forward. "You're a good chap, Crowther,"he said. "I wonder you've never got married yourself, what?"
Crowther waited for him quietly, in his eyes that look of the man who hasgazed for long over the wide spaces of the earth.
"I never married, sonny," he said, "because I had nothing to offer to thewoman I cared for, and so--she never knew."
"By gad, old chap, I'm sorry," said Piers impulsively.
Crowther held out a steady hand. "I'm happy enough," he said simply."I've got--all I want."
"All?" echoed Piers incredulously.
Crowther was smiling. He lifted his face to the night sky. "Yes,--thankGod,--all!" he said.