CHAPTER VII
A QUESTION OF TRUST
The theatricals were arranged to take place on an evening in thebeginning of July, and for that one night Mrs. Errol persuaded Anne tosleep at Baronmead. She would not consent to leave the Manor for longer,for she still superintended much of the management of the estate andoverlooked the agent's work. She had begun to wonder if all her dayswould be spent thus, for the reports which reached her regularly of herhusband's state of health were seldom of a hopeful nature. In fact theyvaried very little, and a brain specialist had given it as his opinionthat, though it was impossible to speak with certainty, Sir Giles mightremain in his present condition of insanity for years, even possibly foras long as he lived. He was the last of his family, and the title woulddie with him. And Anne wondered--often she wondered--if it were to be herlot to live out the rest of her life alone.
She did not mind solitude, nor was she altogether unhappy, but she wastoo young not to feel now and then the deep stirrings of her youth. Andshe had lived so little in all her twenty-five years of life. Yet withthat habit of self-control which had grown up with her, and which mademany think her cold, she would not suffer her thoughts to dwell upon pastor future. Her world was very small, and, as she had once told Nap, shecontented herself with "the work that was nearest". If it did not greatlywarm her heart, it kept her from brooding over trouble.
On the morning of the day fixed for the theatricals he came over in themotor to fetch her. It was a glorious day of summer, and Anne was in thegarden. He joined her there, and they walked for awhile in the greensolitudes, talking of the coming entertainment.
They came in their wanderings to the seat under the lilac trees. Shewondered afterwards if he had purposely directed their steps thither.They had not been together there since that night when the lilac had beenin bloom, that night of perfect spring, the night when their compact hadbeen made and sealed. Did he think of it, she wondered as they passed. Ifso, he made no sign, but talked on in casual strain as if she were nomore than the most casual of friends. Very faithfully he had kept hispart of the compact, so faithfully that when they were past she wasconscious of a sense of chill mingling with her relief. He had stifledhis passion for her, it seemed, and perhaps it was only by comparisonthat his friendship felt so cold and measured.
She was glad when they reached Baronmead at length. It was like goinginto sudden sunshine to enter Lucas's presence and feel the warmth of hiswelcome about her heart. She stayed long talking with him. Here was afriend indeed, a friend to trust, a friend to confide in, a friend tolove. He might be "everybody's own and particular pal," as Nap had said,but she knew intuitively that this friend of hers kept a corner for herthat was exclusively her own, a safe refuge in which she had foundshelter for the first time on that night that seemed so long ago when hehad held her in his arms and comforted her as though he had been a woman,and which she knew had been open to her ever since.
There was a final rehearsal in the afternoon which went remarkablysmoothly. Anne's part was not a lengthy one, and as soon as it was overshe went back to the house in search of Mrs. Errol. She had leftdirections for her letters to be sent after her, and she found two orthree awaiting her in the hall. She picked them up, and passed into themusic-room.
Here she found Lucas reading some correspondence of his own.
He looked up with a smile. "Oh, Lady Carfax! I was just thinking of you.I have a letter here from my friend Capper. You remember Dr. Capper?"
"Very well indeed," she said, stifling a sudden pang at the name.
He lay motionless in his chair, studying her with those shrewd blue eyesthat she never desired to avoid. "I believe Capper took you more or lessinto his confidence," he said. "It's a risky thing for a doctor to do,but he is a student of human nature as well as human anatomy. Hegenerally knows what he is about. Won't you sit down?"
She took the seat near him that he indicated. Somehow the mention ofCapper had made her cold. She was conscious of a shrinking that wasalmost physical from the thought of ever seeing him again.
"Capper wants to have the shaping of my destiny," Lucas went onmeditatively. "In other words, he wants to pull me to pieces and make anew man of me. Sometimes I am strongly tempted to let him try. At othertimes," he was looking at her fully, "I hesitate."
She put her shrinking from her and faced him. "Will you tell me why?"
"Because," he said slowly, "I have a fear that I might be absentwhen wanted."
"But you are always wanted," she said quickly.
He smiled. "Thank you, Lady Carfax. But that was not my meaning. I thinkyou understand me. I think Capper must have told you. I am speaking withregard to--my brother Nap."
He spoke the last words very deliberately. He was still looking at herkindly but very intently. She felt the blood rush to her heart. For thefirst time her eyes fell before his.
He went on speaking at once, as if to reassure her, to give her time."You've been a stanch friend to him, I know, and you've done a big thingfor him. You've tamed him, shaped him, made a man of him. I felt yourinfluence upon him before I ever met you. I sensed your courage, yoursteadfastness, your goodness. But you are only a woman, eh, Lady Carfax?And Rome wasn't built in a day. There may come a time when the savagegets the upper hand of him again. And then, if I were not by to hold himin, he might gallop to his own or someone else's destruction. That iswhat I have to think of before I decide."
"But--can you always hold him?" Anne said.
"Always, Lady Carfax." Very quietly, with absolute confidence, came thereply. "You may put your last dollar on that, and you won't lose it. Wesettled that many years ago, once and for all. But I've been askingmyself lately if I need be so anxious, if possibly Rome may be nearercompletion than I imagine. Is it so? Is it so? I sometimes think you knowhim better than I do myself."
"I!" Anne said.
"You, Lady Carfax."
With an effort she looked up. His eyes were no longer closely studyingher. He seemed to be looking beyond.
"If you can trust him," he said quietly, "I know that I can. The questionis--Can you?"
He waited very quietly for her answer, still not looking at her. But itwas long in coming.
At last. "I do not feel that I know him as I once did," she said, hervoice very low, "nor is my influence over him what it was. But I think,if you trust him, he will not disappoint you."
The kindly eyes rested upon her again for a moment, but he made nocomment upon the form in which she had couched her reply.
He merely, after the briefest pause, smiled and thanked her.