CHAPTER VI
A VOICE THAT CALLED
Christmas came and went--the most peaceful Christmas that Anne had everknown. A wonderful peace had indeed begun to possess her. It was as ifafter long tossing she had come at last into quiet waters, and acontentment such as she had never known before was hers. Her health hadimproved in this calm, untroubled atmosphere. She slept without dreaming.She had put all regrets and fears out of her life.
Lucas filled all her thoughts. Had he allowed it, she would have devotedherself exclusively to him, but this he would not have. Very slowly, verypainfully, he had struggled out of his Slough of Despond, and what thatstruggle had meant to him none but himself would ever know. And now thathe had made it, and in a measure succeeded, he suffered scarcely lessthan before. His strength was undoubtedly greater, his spirits were moreeven; but these were the only visible signs of improvement. The long,sleepless nights with spells of racking pain continued. Perhaps theybecame less frequent as time went on, but they did not cease.
Anne always knew, though the same brave smile greeted her every day,when he had been through one of these ordeals. He was always so readyto tell her when the news was good, but when it was otherwise his lipswere sealed upon the subject. He never uttered a desponding word inher presence.
But still, gradual, often halting though it was, he did make progress. Hewent forward more than he slipped back. And ever he carried in his eyesthe light of a great hope. She knew that he did not despair, even in hisown hidden soul.
And day by day her love and admiration for the man grew and spread,filling her life, renewing her youth, transforming her very existence.Day by day she sounded greater depths of a nature that made her feelinfinitely small in comparison. Day by day she marvelled afresh at thegreatness and the simplicity that went to the making of this man's soul.
No one, save Mrs. Errol, knew of what had passed between them. Theyscarcely referred to it even in private. There was no need, for theunderstanding between them was complete. By mutual consent they awaitedthe coming of Capper and the final miracle.
Slowly the dark, bitter days of January dragged away. The Hunt Ball hadbeen postponed till the following month when the Town Hall, which hadbeen building all the winter, should be complete. Anne, to her dismay,had been unanimously elected to perform the opening ceremony. Herposition as Lady of the Manor made her prominent, and, no substitutebeing forthcoming, she had been obliged reluctantly to consent. Her deepmourning enabled her to avoid any succeeding social function, but, sinceshe had broken her seclusion, she found it impossible to escape theceremony itself.
She had never enjoyed social prominence, and she was thankful that at theHunt Ball at least her presence could not be expected. She never thoughtof the last that she had attended without a shiver. It had been herbirthday, and this fact brought it to mind the more persistently. Thisyear she spent the day in the peaceful atmosphere of Baronmead, drivinghome at length, through the frosty starlight, in the Errols' car.
She strove as she went to put away from her the memory of that other rideof a year ago, when she had been borne swiftly through the darkness asthough upon wings, when she had lain back exhausted in her corner anddreamed a strange, vivid dream, while Nap had sat upright beside her,alert, silent, inscrutable, plucking the gloves to tatters between hisrestless hands.
The vision would not be excluded, strive though she might. She leanedamongst the cushions and closed her eyes, trying to trick herself todrowsiness, but on the instant he was there beside her again, aruthless, indomitable presence, which would not be ignored. She was gladwhen she came to her journey's end.
Entering the hall, she gathered up a few letters that lay there, and wentstraight to her room. With a feeling of unwonted fatigue she dropped intoan easy-chair and sat for awhile inert. On her right hand she wore a ringthat Lucas had given her only that day.
He had half-apologised for his offering. "If you think it premature,don't wear it!" he had said.
And she had slipped it on to her right hand and worn it ever since.
She recalled the kindling of his tired eyes at her action, and smiledsadly to herself. How little she had to give him after all! And yet hewas content!
Sitting there, she raised her hand and looked closely at the gift. It wasa complete circle of diamonds. She had never seen such a ring before. Itmust have cost a fortune. She wondered if she ought to wear it. Againmemory began to crowd upon her, strive though she would.
"Do you like diamonds?" asked a casual voice.
Her hand fell into her lap. She sat as one watching a scene upon a stage,rapt and listening. She wanted to rise and move away, to break the magicspell that bound her, to flee--to flee--but she was powerless.
"No," said the voice. "You haven't a passion for anything at present.You will have soon."
There fell a silence in her soul, a brief darkness, then again words, nolonger casual, but quick, burning, passionate.
"I am mad--I am mad for you, Anne! Goddess--queen--woman--you aremine--you are mine--you are mine!" And then, less fiery, less vehement,but infinitely more compelling: "Where is your love for me? I will swearthat you loved me once!"
The voice ceased, was lost in the wild throbbing of her heart, and Anne'shands clenched unconsciously. In that moment there came to her theconviction, inexplicable but extraordinarily vivid, that across the worldNap Errol had called to her--and had called in vain.
Minutes passed. She sat as one in a trance. Her eyes were wide and fixed.Her face was grey.
She rose at last and stood looking down into the red depths of thefire. The coals sank together under her eyes, and a sudden flame flaredfiercely for a moment and died. It was like the opening and theshutting of a furnace door. A long, long shiver went through her. Sheturned away....
Anne Carfax did not look in her glass again that day. For the third timein her life she was afraid to meet her own eyes.
And all night long her brain thrummed like a vibrating wire to a voicethat sometimes pleaded but more often gibed. "Has the Queen no furtheruse for her jester?"