The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

you will accept it. In the morning if you are well enough we will talk things over. But to-night you are not fit for anything beyond a hot bath and bed."
The Frenchman nodded. Certainly his senses were returning to him. His eyes were growing brighter every instant. "It is true," he said. "I was ill. But your--so great--kindness has revived me. I will not, then, trespass upon you longer, except to render to you a thousand thanks. I am well now. I will go."
"No," Mordaunt said gently. "You will stay here till morning. You are not well. You are feverish. And the sooner you get to bed the better. Come! We are not strangers. Need we behave as if we were?"
Again de Montville looked at him doubtfully. "I wish that I could recall--" he said.
"You will presently," Mordaunt assured him. "In the meantime, it really doesn't matter, and it is not the time for explanations. I am very glad to have met you. You surely will not refuse to be my guest for a few hours."
He spoke with the utmost kindness, but also with inflexible determination. The Frenchman still looked dubious, but quite obviously he did not feel equal to a battle of wills with his resolute host. He uttered a sigh and said no more.
He firmly declined the assistance of Mordaunt's man, however, and it was Mordaunt himself who waited upon him, ignoring protest, till his shivering _protege_ was safe in bed.
He seemed to resign himself to his fate then, being too exhausted to do otherwise. A heavy drowsiness came upon him, and he very soon fell into a doze.
Mordaunt sat in an adjoining room, opening and answering letters. His demeanour was quite serene. Save that he paused now and then and leaned back in his chair to listen, there was nothing about him to indicate that anything unusual had taken place.
It was nearing midnight when his man came softly in with a cup of beef-tea.
"All right, Holmes! I'll see to him. You can go to bed," he said then.
Holmes paused. "I've made up the bed in the spare-room, sir," he said.
"Oh, thanks! I shall not want it though. I will sleep on the sofa here."
"Very good, sir." Holmes still paused. He never expressed surprise at anything his master saw fit to do; he only did his utmost to give his proceedings as normal an aspect as possible. His acquaintance with Mordaunt also dated from a South African battlefield; they knew each other very well indeed.
"I was only thinking to myself," he said, in answer to Mordaunt's look, "I could just as easy attend to the gentleman as you could, sir. I'm more or less up in night duty, as you might say, and I'll guarantee as he wants for nothing if you'll put him in my charge."
Holmes had been a hospital orderly in his time, and Mordaunt knew him to be absolutely trustworthy in a responsible position. Nevertheless he declined the offer.
"Very good of you, Holmes! But I would rather you went to bed. I shouldn't be turning in yet in any case. I have work to do. I don't fancy he will give any trouble. If he does, I will call you."
Holmes withdrew without further argument, and a few minutes later Mordaunt, armed with the beef-tea, went to his guest's bedside.
He found him dozing, but he awoke at once, looking up with fever-bright eyes to greet him.
"Ah! but you are too good--too good," he said. "And I have no hunger now. I am only yet a little fatigued. I shall repose myself, and I shall find myself well."
"Yes, you will be better after a sleep," Mordaunt said. "You shall settle down when you have had this, and sleep the clock round."
He was aware once more of the Frenchman's puzzled eyes watching him as he submissively took the nourishment, but he paid no heed to them. It was not his intention to encourage any discussion just then.
Outside, the rain pattered incessantly, beating against the windows. At a sudden gust of hail de Montville shivered.
"Monsieur," he said, choosing his words with care, "your great kindness is such as I can never hope to repay, but permit me to assure you that my gratitude will constrain me to regard myself your debtor till death. If it is ever in my power to serve you, I will render that service, cost what it may. You have called me by my name. It appears that you know me?"
He paused for an answer.
"Yes, I know you," Mordaunt said.
"And for that you extend to me the hand of friendship?" questioned the Frenchman, his quick eyes still searching the Englishman's quiet face.
Mordaunt's eyes looked gravely back. "I also happen to believe in you," he said. "Otherwise I should probably have helped you because you needed it; but I most certainly should not have brought you here."
"Ah!" Sudden understanding flashed into de Montville's face; he leaned forward, stuttering with eagerness. "You--you--I know you now! I know you! You are the English journalist, the man who believed in me even against reason, against evidence--in spite of all! I remember you well--well! I remember your eyes. They sent me a message. They gave me courage. They told me that you knew--that you were my friend--the only friend, monsieur, that was not ashamed of me. And I thanked _le bon Dieu_ that night--that terrible night--simply because I had looked into your eyes."
He broke off in quivering agitation. Trevor Mordaunt's hand was on his shoulder. "Easy--easy!" the quiet voice said. "You are exciting yourself, my dear fellow, and you mustn't. You must go to sleep. This matter will very well keep till morning."
De Montville's face was hidden in his shaking hands. "If I could thank you--if I could make you comprehend--" he murmured brokenly.
"I do comprehend. I comprehend perfectly." Mordaunt's voice was soothing now, almost motherly. He stroked the bent shoulders with a consoling touch. "Come, man! You are used up; you are ill. Lie down and rest."
He coaxed his forlorn guest down upon the pillows again and drew the bedclothes over him. Then for a space he sat beside him, divining that he would recover his self-command more quickly with him there than left to his own devices.
A nervous hand, bony as a skeleton's, came hesitatingly forth to him at length, and he gripped and held it for several quiet seconds more.
Finally he rose. "I'll leave you now. If you are wanting anything, you have only to ask for it. I shall be in the next room. Quite comfortable?"
Yes, he was quite comfortable. He assured him of this in unsteady tones, and begged that Mr. Mordaunt would give himself no further trouble on his account. He would sleep--he would sleep.
As the assurance was uttered somewhat incoherently, through lips half closed, Mordaunt judged that he could be trusted to carry out this intention, and so left him, to return to his writing-table in the adjoining room.
Ten minutes later he crept back noiselessly and found him in a deep sleep. He stood a moment to watch him, and noted with compassion a faint, pathetic smile that rested on the worn features.
But he did not guess that Bertrand de Montville had returned in his dreams to a land of enchantment, where the sun was always shining, and the sea was at peace, even that land where first he had forgotten the great goal of his ambition and had halted by the way to listen to a girl's light laughter while he drew for her his pictures in the sand.


CHAPTER VI
ENGAGED

"My dear Trevor, do let me warn you against making yourself in any way responsible for Chris's brothers."
Mrs. Forest spoke impressively. She was rather fond of warning people. It was in a fashion her attitude towards life.
"You will find," she continued, "that Chris herself will need a firm hand--a very firm hand. Though so young, she is not, I fear, very pliable. I have known her do the most unheard-of things, chiefly, I must admit, from excess of spirits. They all suffer from that upon occasion. It is a most difficult thing to cope with."
"But not a very serious failing," said Mordaunt, with his tolerant smile.
"It leads to very serious complications sometimes," said Mrs. Forest, in the tone of one who could reveal much were she so minded.
But Mordaunt did not seem to hear. His eyes had wandered to a light figure in the doorway--a girl with wonderful hair that shimmered like burnished copper, and eyes that were blue as a summer sea. It was a Sunday afternoon, and several people had dropped in to tea. The engagement had been announced the previous day, and Mordaunt had dropped in also to give his young _fiancee_ the benefit of his support. Chris, however, was not, to judge by appearances, needing any support. She seemed, in fact, to be frankly enjoying herself. The high spirits which her aunt deplored were very much in evidence at that moment. Her gay laugh reached him where he sat. Being engaged was evidently the greatest fun.
"They are all like that," continued Mrs. Forest, with her air of one fulfilling an unpleasant duty--"all except Max, who is frankly objectionable. Gay, _debonnaire_, fascinating, I grant you, but so deplorably unstable. Those boys--well, I have never dared to encourage them here, for I know too well what it would mean. If you are really thinking of buying their old home for yourself and Chris, do be on your guard or you will never keep them at arms' length."
"Kellerton Old Park will be Chris's property exclusively," Mordaunt replied gravely. "If she cares to have her brothers there, she will be quite at liberty to do so."
"My dear Trevor, you are far too kind," protested Mrs. Forest. "I see you are going to spoil them right and left. They will simply live on you if you do that. You won't find yourself master in your own house."
"No?" said Mordaunt, with a smile.
Chris was coming towards him. He rose to meet her.
"Oh, Trevor," she said eagerly, "I can go down to Kellerton with you to-morrow, and Max has written to say he will join us there. I am so glad he can get away. I haven't seen him since Christmas."
"Isn't he coming to your birthday party?" asked Jack Forest, strolling up at that moment.
He addressed Chris, but he looked at his mother, who, after the briefest pause, made reply, "Of course Chris can ask whom she likes."
"Oh, can I?" exclaimed Chris. "How heavenly! Then I will get Rupert to come too. I wish Noel might, but I suppose he is out of the question."
She slipped a hand surreptitiously inside Jack's arm as her aunt moved away, and squeezed it. She knew quite well that the party itself had been of his devising--an informal dance to celebrate her twenty-first birthday, which was less than a fortnight away.
Jack smiled upon her indulgently. "Are you going to ask me to your birthday party, Chris?"
"No," said Chris. "I shall never ask you anywhere. You have a free pass always so far as I am concerned."
He made her a low bow. "You listening, Trevor? I'll bet she never said that to you."
But Chris turned swiftly away towards her _fiance_. "There is no need to say anything of that sort to Trevor," she said, in her quick way. "He understands without."
"Thank you," said Trevor quietly.
Jack laughed. "One to you, my boy! I admit it frankly. By the way, I heard a funny story about you yesterday. Someone said you were turning your rooms in Clive Street into a home for sick organ-grinders. Is it true by