CHAPTER XIX
VENGEANCE
By what magic he cajoled her into trying her skill upon skis Anne neverafterwards remembered. It seemed to her later that the exhilaratingatmosphere of that cloudless winter day must in some magic fashion haverevived in her the youth which had been crushed out of existence so longago. A strange, irresponsible happiness possessed her, so new, so subtlysweet, that the heavy burden she had borne for so long seemed almost tohave shrunk into insignificance. It permeated her whole being like anoverpowering essence, so that she forgot the seven dreary years thatseparated her from her girlhood, forgot the bondage to which she wasreturning, the constant, ever-increasing anxiety that wrought somercilessly upon her; and remembered only the splendour of the sunshinethat sparkled on the snow, and the ecstasy of the keen clear air shebreathed. It was like an enchanting dream to her, a dream through whichshe lived with all the greater zest because it so soon must pass.
All the pent energies of her vanished youth were in the dream. She couldnot--for that once she could not--deny them vent.
And Nap, strung to a species of fierce gaiety that she had never seen inhim before, urged her perpetually on. He would not let her pause tothink, but yet he considered her at every turn. He scoffed like a boy ather efforts to ski, but he held her up strongly while he scoffed, takingcare of her with that adroitness that marked everything he did. And whilethey thus dallied the time passed swiftly, more swiftly than eitherrealised. The sun began to draw to the south-west. The diamonds ceased tosparkle save here and there obliquely. The haze of a winter afternoonsettled upon the downs.
Suddenly Anne noticed these things, suddenly the weight of care which hadso wonderfully been lifted from her returned, suddenly the shininggarment of her youth slipped from her, and left her like Cinderella whenthe spell of her enchantment was broken.
"Nap!" she exclaimed. "I must go! I must have been dreaming to forgetthe time!"
"Time!" laughed Nap. "What is time?"
"It is something that I have to remember," she said. "Why, it must benearly two o'clock!"
Nap glanced at the sun and made no comment. Anne felt for and consultedher watch. It was already three.
She looked up in amazement and dismay. "I must go at once!"
"Don't!" said Nap. "I am sure your watch is wrong."
"I must go at once," she repeated firmly. "It is long past the luncheonhour. I had no idea we had been here so long. You must go too. Yourchauffeur will think you are never coming."
The skis were still on her feet. Nap looked at her speculatively.
"This is rather an abrupt end," he said. "Won't you have one more go? Afew minutes more or less can't make any difference now."
"They may make all the difference," Anne said. "Really, I ought not."
They stood on a gentle slope that led downwards to the path shemust take.
"Just ski down into the valley from here then," urged Nap. "It's quickerthan walking. I won't hold you this time. You won't fall."
The suggestion was reasonable, and the fascination of the sport had takenfirm hold of her. Anne smiled and yielded. She set her feet together andlet herself go.
Almost at the same instant a sound that was like the bellow of aninfuriated bull reached her from above.
She tried to turn, but the skis were already slipping over the snow. Topreserve her balance she was forced to go, and for seconds that seemedlike hours she slid down the hillside, her heart thumping in her throat;her nerves straining and twitching to check that maddening progress. Forshe knew that sound. She had heard it before, had shrunk secretly many atime before its coarse brutality. It was the yell of a man in headlong,furious wrath, an animal yell, unreasoning, hideously bestial; and shefeared, feared horribly, what that yell might portend.
She reached the valley, and managed to swerve round without falling. Butfor an instant she could not, she dared not, raise her eyes. Clear on thefrosty air came sounds that made her blood turn cold. She felt as if herheart would suffocate her. A brief blindness blotted out all things.
Then with an agonised effort she forced back her weakness, she forcedherself to look. Yes, the thing she had feared so horribly was beingenacted like a ghastly nightmare above her.
There on the slope was her husband, a gigantic figure outlined againstthe snow. He had not stopped to parley. Those mad fits of passion alwaysdeprived him, at the outset, of the few reasoning powers that yetremained to him. Without question or explanation of any kind he had flunghimself upon the man he deemed his enemy, and Anne now beheld him,gripping him by the neck as a terrier grips a rat, and flogging him withthe loaded crop he always carried to the hunt.
Nap was writhing to and fro like an eel, striving, she saw, to overthrowhis adversary. But the gigantic strength of madness was too great forhis lithe activity. By sheer weight he was borne down.
With an anguished cry Anne started to intervene. But two steps with theskis flung her headlong upon the snow, and while she grovelled there,struggling vainly to rise, she heard the awful blows above her likepistol-shots through the stillness. Once she heard a curse, and once ademonical laugh, and once, thrilling her through and through, spurringher to wilder efforts, a dreadful sound that was like the cry of astricken animal.
She gained her feet at last, and again started on her upward way. Nap hadbeen forced to his knees, but he was still fighting fiercely, as a ratwill fight to the last. She cried to him wildly that she was coming, wascoming, made three paces, only to trip and fall again.
Then she knew that, so handicapped, she could never reach them, and withshaking, fumbling fingers she set herself to unfasten the straps thatbound the skis. It took her a long, long time--all the longer for herfevered haste. And still that awful, flail-like sound went on and on,though all sound of voices had wholly ceased.
Free at last, she stumbled to her feet, and tore madly up the hill. Shesaw as she went that Nap was not struggling any longer. He was hanginglike a wet rag from the merciless grip that upheld him, and though hislimp body seemed to shudder at every crashing blow, he made no voluntarymovement of any sort.
As she drew near, her husband suddenly swung round as though aware ofher, and dropped him. He fell in a huddled heap upon the snow, and lay,twisted, motionless as a dead thing.
Sir Giles, his eyes suffused and terrible, turned upon his wife.
"There lies your gallant lover!" he snarled at her. "I think I've curedhim of his fancy for you."
Her eyes met his. For a single instant, hatred, unveiled, passionate,shone out at him like sudden, darting lightning. For a single instant shedared him with the courage born of hatred. It was a challenge so distinctand personal, so fierce, that he, satiated for the moment with revenge,drew back instinctively before it, as an animal shrinks from the flame.
She uttered not a word. She did not after that one scorching glance deignto do battle with him. Without a gesture she dismissed him, kneelingbeside his vanquished foe as though he were already gone.
And--perhaps it was the utter intrepidity of her bearing that deprivedhim of the power to carry his brutality any further just then--perhapsthe ferocity that he had never before encountered in those grey eyescowed him somewhat in spite of the madness that still sang in hisveins--whatever the motive power it was too potent to resist--Sir Gilesturned and tramped heavily away.
Anne did not watch him go. It was nothing to her at the moment whether hewent or stayed. She knelt beside the huddled, unconscious figure andtried to straighten the crumpled limbs. The sweater had been literallytorn from his back, and the shirt beneath it was in blood-stainedtatters. His face was covered with blood. Sir Giles had not beenparticular as to where the whip had fallen. Great purple welts crossedand re-crossed each other on the livid features. The bleeding lips weredrawn back in a devilish grimace. He looked as though he had beenterribly mauled by some animal.
Anne gripped a handful of snow, hardly knowing what she did, and tried tostanch the blood that ran from an open cut on his temple. She was
nottrembling any longer. The emergency had steadied her. But the agony ofthose moments was worse than any she had ever known.
Minutes passed. She was beginning to despair. An icy dread was at herheart. He lay so lifeless, so terribly inert. She had attempted to lifthim, but the dead weight was too much for her. She could only rest hishead against her, and wipe away the blood that trickled persistently fromthat dreadful, sneering mouth. Would he ever speak again, she askedherself? Were the fiery eyes fast shut for ever? Was he dead--he whosevitality had always held her like a charm? Had her friendship done thisfor him, that friendship he had valued so highly?
She stooped lower over him. The anguish of the thought was more than shecould bear.
"O God," she prayed suddenly and passionately, "don't let him die! Don'tlet him die!"
And in that moment Nap's eyes opened wide and fixed themselves upon her.
He did not attempt to move or speak, but the snarling look went whollyout of his face. The thin lips met and closed over the battered mouth. Helay regarding her intently, as if he were examining some curious thing hehad never seen before.
And before that gaze Anne's eyes wavered and sank. She felt she couldnever meet his look again.
"Are you better?" she whispered. "Can I--will you let me--help you?"
"No," he said. "Just--leave me!" He spoke quite quietly, but the verysound of his voice sent a perfect storm of emotion through her.
"I can't!" she said almost fiercely. "I won't! Let me help you! Let me dowhat I can!"
He stirred a little, and his brow contracted, but he never took his eyesfrom her face.
"Don't be--upset," he said with an effort. "I'm not going--to die!"
"Tell me what to do," she urged piteously. "Can I lift you alittle higher?"
"For Heaven's sake--no!" he said, and swallowed a shudder. "Mycollar-bone's broken."
He was silent for a space, but still his dusky eyes watched herperpetually.
At last, "Let me hold your hand," he said.
She put it into his, and he held it tightly. The blood was running downhis face again, and she wiped it softly away.
"Thank you," he said.
Those two words, spoken almost under his breath, had a curious effectupon her. She felt as if something had suddenly entered and pierced herheart. Before she knew it, a sharp sob escaped her, and then all in amoment she broke down.
"Oh, Nap, Nap," she sobbed, "I wish I had died before this could happen!"
She felt his hand tighten as she crouched there beside him in heranguish, and presently she knew that he had somehow managed to raisehimself to a sitting posture.
Through her agony his voice came to her. It was pitched very low, yetshe heard it.
"Don't cry--for pity's sake! I shall get over it. I shall live--to getback--my own."
Torn by emotion as she was, something in the last words, spoken in thatcurious undertone, struck her with a subtle force. With a desperateeffort she controlled herself. She knew that he was still watching herwith that strange intensity that she could not bring herself to meet. Hisright hand still held hers with quivering tenacity; the other traileduselessly on the snow.
"Let me help you," she urged again.
He was silent; she feared he was going to refuse. And then she saw thathis head had begun to droop forward, and realised that he was on theverge of another collapse. Instinctively she slipped her arm about hisshoulders, supporting him. He was shuddering all over. She drew his headto rest against her.
A long time passed thus, she kneeling motionless, holding him, while hepanted against her breast, struggling with dogged persistence to masterthe weakness that threatened to overpower him. It was terrible to see himso, he the arrogant, the fierce, the overbearing, thus humbled to theearth before her. She felt the agony of his crushed pride, and yearnedwith an intensity that was passionate to alleviate it. But there seemednothing for her to do. She could only kneel and look on in bitterimpotence while he fought his battle.
In the end he lifted his face. "It's the collarbone that hurts soinfernally. Could you push something under my left arm to hold it up?Your muff would do. Mind my wrist--that's broken too. Ah!" She heard thebreath whistle sharply between his lips as with the utmost care shecomplied with these instructions, but almost instantly he went on: "Don'tbe afraid of touching me--unless I'm too monstrous to touch. But I don'tbelieve I can walk."
"I will help you," she said. "I am very strong."
"You are--wonderful," he said.
And the words comforted her subtly though she did not know exactly whathe meant by them.
Thereafter they scarcely spoke at all. By slow degrees he recovered hisself-command, though she knew with only too keen a perception howintolerable was the pain that racked his whole body. With her assistanceand with strenuous effort he managed at last to get upon his feet, but hewas immediately assailed afresh by deadly faintness, and for minutes hecould stand only by means of her arms upholding him.
Later, with his one available arm across her shoulders, he essayed towalk, but it was so ghastly an ordeal that he could accomplish only a fewsteps at a time.
Anne did not falter now. She was past that stage. All her nerves werestrung to meet his pressing need. Again and again as he hung upon her,half-fainting, she stopped to support him more adequately till he hadfought down his exhaustion and was ready to struggle on again. Sheremained steadfast and resolute throughout the long-drawn-out agony ofthat walk over the snow.
"Great Heaven!" he muttered once. "That you should do this--for me!"
And she answered him quickly and passionately, as though indeed therewere something within that spoke for her, "I would do anything foryou, Nap."
It was drawing near to sunset when at last the end of the journey came insight. Anne perceived the car waiting in the distance close to the spotwhere Nap had descended upon her that morning.
She breathed a sigh of thankfulness. "I scarcely thought he would havewaited for you so long," she said.
"He daren't do otherwise," said Nap, and she caught a faint echo ofarrogance in the words.
And then of his own free will he paused and faced her. "You are comingwith me," he said.
She shook her head. "No, Nap."
His eyes blazed redly. His disfigured face was suddenly devilish. "Youare mad if you go back," he said.
But she shook her head again. "No, I know what I am doing. And I am goingback now. But I will come to Baronmead in the morning."
He looked at her. "Are you--tired of life?" he asked abruptly.
She smiled--a piteous smile. "Very, very tired!" she said. "But youneedn't be afraid of that. He will not touch me. He will not even see meto-night." Then, as he still looked combative, "Oh, please, leave thismatter to my judgment! I know exactly what I am doing. Believe me, I amin no danger."
He gave in, seeing that she was not to be moved from her purpose.
They went a few yards farther; then, "In Heaven's name--come early toBaronmead," he said jerkily. "I shall have no peace till you come."
"I will," she promised.
The chauffeur came to meet them with clumsy solicitude as they neared thecar, but Nap kept him at a distance.
"Don't touch me! I've had a bad fall skiing. It's torn me to ribbons.Just open the door. Lady Carfax will do the rest!" And as the man turnedto obey, "Not a very likely story, but it will serve our turn."
"Thank you," she said very earnestly.
He did not look at her again. She had a feeling that he kept his eyesfrom her by a deliberate effort of the will.
Silently she helped him into the car, saw him sink back with her muffstill supporting his injured arm, whispered a low "Good-bye!" and turnedto the waiting chauffeur.
"Drive him quickly home," she said. "And then go for a doctor."
Not till the car was out of sight did she realise that her knees wereshaking and refusing to support her. She tottered to a gate by theroadside, and there, clinging weakly with her head bowed upon her arms,she re
mained for a very long time.