CHAPTER III
THE WOMAN'S PART
It was on a day of wild autumnal weather, when the wind moaned like aliving thing in torture about the house, and the leaves eddied anddrifted before the scudding rain, that they turned Tawny Hudson out ofhis master's room, and left him crouched and whimpering like a dogagainst the locked door. Save for his master's express command, no poweron earth would have driven him away, not even Capper of the curt speechand magnetic will. But the master had spoken very definitely anddistinctly, and it was Tawny Hudson's to obey. Therefore he huddled onthe mat, rocking to and fro, shivering like some monstrous animal inpain, while within the room Capper wrought his miracles.
Downstairs Mrs. Errol sat holding Anne's hand very tightly, and talkingincessantly lest her ears should be constrained to listen. And Anne, paleand still, answered her as a woman talking in her sleep.
Bertie and his young bride were still absent on their honeymoon; thisalso by Lucas's express desire.
"It won't help me any to have you here, boy," he had said at parting. "Acertain fuss is inevitable, but I want you out of it. I am looking toAnne Carfax to help the dear mother."
He had known even then that he would not look in vain, and he had notbeen disappointed. So, sorely against his will, Bertie had submitted,with the proviso that if things went wrong he should be sent forimmediately.
And thus Anne Carfax, who had lived in almost unbroken seclusion sinceher husband's death, now sat with Mrs. Errol's hand clasped in hers, andlistened, as one listens in a nightmare, to the wailing of the wind aboutthe garden and house, and the beat, beat, beat of her heart when the windwas still.
"Could you say a prayer, dear?" Mrs. Errol asked her once.
And she knelt and prayed, scarcely knowing what she said, but with apassion of earnestness that left her weak, quivering in every limb.
The wind was rising. It roared in the trees and howled against the panes.Sometimes a wild gust of rain lashed the windows. It made her think of anunquiet spirit clamouring for admittance.
"Anne dear, play to me, play to me!" besought Mrs. Errol. "If I listen Ishall go mad! No one will hear you. We are right away from his part ofthe house."
And though every nerve shrank at the bare suggestion, Anne rose withouta single protest and went to the piano. She sat down before it, andblindly, her eyes wide, fixed, unseeing, she began to play.
What she played she knew not. Her fingers found notes, chords, melodiesmechanically.
Once she paused, but, "Ah, go on, dear child! Go on!" urged Mrs. Errol.And she went on, feeling vaguely through the maze of suspense thatsurrounded them, longing inarticulately to cease all effort, but spurredonward because she knew she must not fail.
And gradually as she played there came to her a curious sense of duality,of something happening that had happened before, of a record repeatingitself. She turned her head, almost expecting to hear a voice speaksoftly behind her, almost expecting to hear a mocking echo of the wordsunspoken. "Has the Queen no further use for her jester?" No further use!No further use! Oh, why was she tortured thus? Why, when her whole soulyearned to forget, was she thus compelled to remember the man whosebrutal passion and insatiable thirst for vengeance had caught and crushedher heart?
And still she played on as one beneath a spell, while the memory of himforced the gates of her consciousness and took arrogant possession. Shesaw again the swarthy face with its fierce eyes, the haughty smile, whichfor her was ever tinged with tenderness. Surely--oh, surely he had lovedher once! She recalled his fiery love-making, and thrilled again to theeager insistence of his voice, the mastery of his touch. And then sheremembered what they said of him, that women were his slaves, hisplaythings, the toys he broke in wantonness and carelessly tossed aside.She remembered how once in his actual presence she had overheard wordsthat had made her shrink, a wonder as to who was his latest conquest, thecynical remark: "Anyone for a change and no one for long is his motto."What was he doing now, she asked herself, and trembled. He had gonewithout word or message of any sort. Her last glimpse of him had been inthat violet glare of lightning, inexpressibly terrible, with tigerisheyes that threatened her and snarling lips drawn back. Thus--thus had sheseen him many a time since in the long night-watches when she had lainsleepless and restless, waiting for the dawn.
Some such vision came to her now, forcing itself upon her shrinkingimagination. Vividly there rose before her his harsh face alert, cruel,cynical, and the sinewy hands that gripped and crushed. And suddenly ashuddering sense of nausea overcame her. She left the piano as oneseeking refuge from a horror unutterable. Surely this man had never lovedher--was incapable of love! And she had almost wished him back!
"There is someone in the entry, dear child," whispered Mrs. Errol. "Goand see--go and see!"
She went, moving as one stricken blind. But before she reached the doorit opened and someone entered. She saw Capper as through a mist in whichbodily weakness and anguished fear combined to overwhelm her. And thenvery steadily his arm encircled her, drew her tottering to a chair.
"It's all right," he said in his expressionless drawl. "The patient hasregained consciousness, and is doing O.K. Are you ladies thinking oflunch? Because if so, I guess I'll join you. No, Mrs. Errol, you can'tsee him before to-night at the earliest. Lady Carfax, I have a messagefor you--the first words he spoke when he came to. He was hardlyconscious when he uttered them, but I guess you'll be kind of interestedto hear what they were. 'Tell Anne,' he said, 'I'm going to get well.'"
The intense deliberation with which he spoke gave her time to collectherself, but the words affected her oddly. After a moment she rose, wentto Mrs. Errol, who had covered her face with both hands while he wasspeaking, and knelt beside her. Neither of them uttered a sound.
Capper strolled to the window, his hands deep in his pockets, and lookedout upon the wind-swept gardens. He whistled very softly to himself, as aman well satisfied.
He did not turn his head till at the end of five minutes Anne came to hisside. She was very pale but quite self-possessed.
"Mrs. Errol has gone to her room," she said. "She wished to be alone."
"Gone to have a good cry, eh?" said Capper. "Healthiest thing she coulddo. And what about you?"
She smiled with lips that faintly quivered. "I am quite all right,Doctor. And--I have ordered luncheon."
He turned fully round and looked her up and down with lightningswiftness. "You're a very remarkable woman, Lady Carfax," he saidafter a moment.
"I hope you may never be disappointed in me," she answered gravely.
"I hope so too," he said, "for there is a good deal dependent upon you."
"What do you mean?" She raised her clear eyes interrogatively.
But he baffled her, as he baffled everyone, with the very keenness of hisown scrutiny. He began to crack all his fingers in turn.
"I mean," he said, "that even I can't work miracles by myself. I can dothe elementary part. I can cut and saw and sew, but I can't heal. I can'tgive life. That's the woman's part. That's where I count on you. And Idon't think you are going to fail me, Lady Carfax."
"I promise you I will do my utmost," she said very earnestly.
He nodded. "I believe you will. But even so, you can't do too much. It'sa serious case, even more serious than I expected. I don't say this toalarm you, but I guess you had better know it. It'll be a tough, uphillfight, and he'll need a deal of pushing behind. It may entail more thanyou dream of--a big sacrifice perhaps; who knows? But you women don't shyat sacrifices. And, believe me, he's worth a sacrifice."
"He deserves the best," she said warmly.
"Yes, but you don't take me," said Capper.
He paused a moment, then suddenly laid a quiet hand on her shoulder. "Imay be a wise man," he said, "and again I may be a meddling fool. You andthe gods must decide between you. But I'm old enough to be your fatheranyway. So p'r'aps you'll bear with me. Lady Carfax, hasn't it struck youthat a time will come--probably pretty soon--when he will begi
n to reachout for something that you--and you alone--can give?"
Anne's quick gesture of protest was his answer. She stood motionless, hereyes still raised, waiting for him to continue. But he felt her trembleunder his hand. He knew that inwardly she was not so calm as she wouldhave had him think.
He went on in his precise, emotionless fashion, as though he perceivednothing. "He won't ask for it--anyway till he feels he can make a fairreturn. He will never ask a sacrifice of you. He will break his heartsooner. The point is, Are you capable of offering the sacrifice unasked?For that is what it amounts to, now that the gods have cleared the way."
"Ah!" Anne said. "And--if--not?"
She spoke rather as if to gain time than because she desired an answer.
But he answered her nevertheless very quietly, without a shade ofemotion, as if he were discussing some technical matter of no personalinterest to him. Only as he answered he took his hand from her shoulderand thrust it back into his pocket.
"In that case he will die, having nothing left to live for. He probablywon't suffer much, simply go out like a candle. He hasn't much vitality.He may die either way. There is no responsibility attached--onlypossibilities."
He turned with the words, and walked across the room with the air of aman who has said his say.
She uttered no word to stop him, nor did she move to follow. She stoodalone with her face to the grey storm-clouds that drifted perpetuallyoverhead. Somehow she did not for a moment doubt the truth of whatCapper had just told her. She even felt sub-consciously that she hadknown it for some time. Neither did she ask herself what she was goingto do. For deep in the heart of her she knew already. Deep in the heartof her she knew that when Lucas Errol began to reach out for somethingwhich she alone could give, it would not be in vain. He had given of hisbest to her, and she was ready to give of her best in return. If shecould not give him passion, she could give him that which wasinfinitely greater--a deep, abiding love, a devotion born of completesympathy. She could give him happiness, and in the giving she might findit for herself.
Over in the west the clouds were breaking, and a shaft of pale sunshinestreamed upon the distant hills, turning the woods to living gold. Hereyes brightened a little as they caught the radiance. It seemed as if thedoor before which she had knelt so long in impotence were opening to herat last, as if one more opportunity were to be given her even yet afterlong and bitter failure of turning her corner of the desert into a gardenof flowers and singing birds.