Rosa Mundi by Ethel May Dell (reading books for 6 year olds TXT) 📕

was locked, till a man's shoulder burst it open. Then, indeed, she turned stiffly and looked at the intruder.
"You!" she said.
She had forgotten Brett Mercer.
He came forward quickly, stooped and looked at her; then went down on his knee and thrust his arm about her.
She sat upright in his hold, not yielding an inch, not looking at him. Her eyes were glassy.
For a little he held her; then gently but insistently he drew her to him, pillowed her head against him, and began to rub her icy cheek.
"I've left you alone too long," he said.
She suffered him dumbly, scarcely knowing what she did. But presently the blood that seemed to have frozen in her veins began to circulate again, and the stiffness passed from her limbs. She stirred in his hold like a frightened bird.
"I'm sorry!" she faltered.
He let her draw away from him, but he kept his arm about her. She looked at him, and found him intently watching her. Her eyes fell, and rested upon the letter which lay crumpled under her hands.
"A dreadful thing has happened to me," she said. "Robin has written to say--to say--that he cannot marry me!"
"What is there dreadful in that?" said Mercer.
She did not look up, though his words startled her a little.
"It--has made me feel like--like a stray cat again," she said, with the ghost of a smile about her lips. "Of course, I know I'm foolish. There must be plenty of ways in which a woman can earn her living here. You yourself were thinking of something that I might do, weren't you?"
"I was," said Mercer. He laid his great hand upon hers, paused a moment, then deliberately drew her letter from beneath them and crushed it into a ball. "But I want you to tell me something before we go into that. The truth, mind! It must be the truth!"
"Yes?" she questioned, with her head bent.
"You must look at me," he said, "or I shan't believe you."
There was something Napoleonic about his words which placed them wholly beyond the sphere of offensiveness. Slowly she turned her head and looked him in the eyes.
He took his arm abruptly away from her.
"Heavens!" he said. "How miserable you look! Are you very miserable?"
"I'm not very happy," she said.
"But you always smile," he said, "even when you're crying. Ah, that's better! I scarcely knew you before. Now, tell me! Were you in love with the fellow?"
She shrank a little at the direct question. He put his hand on her shoulder. His touch was imperious.
"Just a straight answer!" he said. "Were you?"
She hesitated, longing yet fearing to lower her eyes.
"I--I don't quite know," she said at length. "I used to think so."
"You haven't thought so of late?" His eyes searched hers unsparingly, with stern insistence.
"I haven't been sure," she admitted.
He released her and rose.
"You won't regret him for long," he said. "In fact, you'll live to be glad that you didn't have him!"
She did not contradict him. He was too positive for that. She watched him cross the room with a certain arrogance, and close the half-open door. As he returned she stood up.
"Can we get to business now?" she said.
"Business?" said Mercer.
With a steadiness that she found somewhat difficult of accomplishment she made reply:
"You thought you could find me employment--some means by which I could pay you back."
"You still want to pay me back?" he said.
She glanced up half nervously.
"I know that I can never repay your kindness to me," she said. "So far as that goes, I am in your debt for always. But--the money part I must and will, somehow, return."
"Being the most important part?" he suggested, halting in front of her.
"I didn't mean to imply that," she answered. "I think you know which I put first. But I can only do what I can, and money is repayable."
"So is kindness," said Mercer.
Again shyly she glanced at him.
"I am afraid I don't quite understand."
He sat down once more upon the table edge to bring his eyes on a level with hers.
"There's nothing to be scared about," he said.
She smiled a little.
"Oh, no; I am not scared. I believe you think me even more foolish than I actually am."
"No, I don't," said Mercer. "If I did, I shouldn't say what I am going to say. As it is, you are not to answer till you have counted up to fifty. Is that a bargain?"
"Yes," she said, beginning to feel more curious than afraid.
"Here goes then," said Brett Mercer. "I want a wife, and I want you. Will you marry me? Now, shut your eyes and count!"
But Sybil disobeyed him. She opened her eyes wide, and stared at him in breathless amazement.
Mercer stared back with absolute composure.
"I'm in dead earnest," he told her. "Never made a joke in my life. Of course, you'll refuse me. I know that. But I shan't give you up if you do. If you don't marry me, you won't marry any one else, for I'll lick any other man off the ground. I come first with you now, and I mean to stay first."
He stopped, for amazement had given place to something else on her face. She looked at him queerly, as if irresolute for a few seconds; but she no longer shrank from meeting his eyes. And then quite suddenly she broke into her funny little laugh.
"Amusing, is it?" he said.
She turned sharply away, with one hand pressed to her mouth, obviously struggling with herself.
At last:
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to laugh really--really. Only you--you're such a monster, and I'm such a shrimp! Please don't be vexed with me!"
She put out her hand to him, without turning.
He did not take it at once. When he did, he drew her round to face him. There was an odd restraint about the action, determined though it was.
"Well?" he said gruffly. "Which is it to be? Am I to go to the devil, or stay with you?"
She looked down at the great hand that held her. She was still half laughing, though her lips quivered.
"I couldn't possibly marry you yet," she said.
"No. To-morrow!" said Mercer.
She shook her head.
"Not even then."
"Listen!" he said. "If you won't marry me at once you will have to come with me without. For I am going up-country to see my farms, and I don't mean to leave you here."
"Can't I wait till you come back?" she said.
"What for?"
He leaned forward a little, trying to peer under her drooping lids. She was trembling slightly.
"I think you forget," she said, "that--that we hardly know each other."
"How are we to get any nearer if I'm up-country and you're here?" he said.
She looked at him unwillingly.
"You may change your mind when you have had time to think it over," she said, colouring deeply.
"I'll take the risk," said Mercer. "Besides"--she saw his grim smile for an instant--"I've been thinking of nothing else since I met you."
She started a little.
"I--I had no idea."
"No," he said; "I saw that. You needn't be afraid of me on that account. It ought to have the opposite effect."
"I am not afraid of you," she said, with a certain dignity. "But I, too, should have time for consideration."
"A woman doesn't need it," he asserted. "She can make up her mind at a moment's notice."
"And is often sorry for ever afterwards," she said smiling faintly.
He thrust out his jaw, as if challenging her.
"You think I shall make you sorry?"
"No," she answered. "But I want to be quite sure."
"Which is another reason for marrying me to-morrow," he said. "I'm not going to let you wait. It's only a whim. You weren't created to live alone, and there is no reason why you should. I am here, and you will have to take me."
"Whether I want to or not?" she said.
"Don't you want to?" he questioned.
She was silent.
He lifted the hand he held and looked at it. He spanned her wrist with his finger and thumb.
"That's reason enough for me," he abruptly said. "You are nothing but skin and bone. You've been starving yourself."
"I haven't," she protested. "I haven't, indeed."
"I don't believe you," he retorted rudely. "You weren't such a skeleton as this when I saw you last. Come, what's the good of fighting? You'll have to give in."
She smiled again faintly at the rough persuasion in his voice, but still she hesitated.
"I shan't eat you, you know," he proceeded, pressing his advantage. "I shan't do anything you won't like."
She glanced at him quickly.
"You mean that?"
His eyes looked straight back at her.
"Yes, I mean it."
"Can I trust you?" she said, almost in a whisper.
He rose to his full height, and stood before her. And in that moment an odd little thrill went through her. He was magnificent--the finest man she had ever seen. She caught her breath a little, feeling awed before the immensity of his strength. But, very curiously, she no longer felt afraid.
"You must ask yourself that question," he said bluntly. "You have my word."
And with a gasp she let herself go at last.
"I will take you on trust," she said.


VI

When Sybil at length travelled up-country with her husband the shearing season had already commenced. They went by easy stages, for the heat was great, and she was far from strong. She knew that Mercer was anxious to reach his property, and she would have journeyed more rapidly if he would have permitted it, but upon this point he was firm. At every turn he considered her, and she marvelled at the intuition with which he divined her unspoken wishes. Curt and rough though he was, his care surrounded her in a magic circle within which she dwelt at ease. With all his imperiousness she did not find him domineering, and this fact was a constant marvel to her, for she knew the mastery of his will. By some mysterious power he curbed himself, and day by day her confidence in him grew.
They accomplished the greater part of the journey by rail, and then when the railway ended came the long, long ride. They travelled for five days, spending each night at an inn at some township upon the road. Through dense stretches of forest, through great tracts of waste country, and again through miles of parched pasture-land they rode, and during the whole of that journey Mercer's care never relaxed. She never found him communicative. He would ride for hours without uttering a word, but yet she was subtly conscious of his close attention. She knew that she was never out of his thoughts.
At the inns at which they rested he always saw himself to her comfort, and the best room was always placed at her disposal. One thing impressed her at every halt. The innkeepers one and all stood in awe of him. Not one of them welcomed him, but not one of them failed to attend with alacrity to his wants. It puzzled her, for she herself had never found him really formidable.
On the last morning of their ride, when they set forth, she surprised a look of deep compassion in the eyes of the innkeeper's wife as she said good-bye, and it gave her something of a shock. Why was the woman sorry for her? Had she heard her story by any strange chance? Or was it for some other reason? It left an unpleasant impression upon her. She wished