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

longer. I should go to bed if I were you."
He meant it kindly, but the words sounded to her most hideously callous. She turned from him, sobbing hysterically, and sprang for the open door.
The next moment she was running swiftly round the house to the stable. Turning the corner, she heard a sound like a pistol-shot. It was followed instantly by a scream so utterly inhuman that even then she almost wheeled and fled. But she mastered the impulse. She reached the stable-door, fumbled at the latch, finally burst inwards as it swung open.
A lantern hung on a nail immediately within. By its light she discovered her husband--a gigantic figure--towering over something she could not see, something that crouched, writhing and moaning, in a corner. He was armed with a horsewhip, and even as she entered she saw him raise it and bring it downwards with a horrible precision upon the thing at his feet. She heard again that awful shriek of anguish, and a sick shudder went through her. Unconsciously, a cry broke from her own lips, and, as Mercer's arm went up again, she flung herself forward and tried to catch it.
In her agitation she failed. The heavy end of the whip fell upon her outstretched arm, numbing; it to the shoulder. She heard Mercer utter a frightful oath, and with a gasp she fell.


VIII

When she came to herself she was lying on her bed. Someone--Curtis--was bathing her arm in warm water. He did not speak to her or raise his: eyes from his occupation. She thought he looked very grim.
"Where is--Brett?" she whispered.
Curtis did not answer her, but a moment later she looked beyond him and saw Mercer leaning upon the bed-rail. His eyes were fixed upon her and held her own. She sought to avoid them, but could not. And suddenly she knew that he was angry with her, not merely displeased, but furiously angry.
She made an effort to rise, but at that Curtis laid a restraining hand upon her, and spoke.
"Go away, Mercer!" he said. "Haven't you done harm enough for one night?"
The words amazed her. She had never thought that he would dare to use such a tone to her husband. She trembled for the result, for Mercer's face just then was terrible, but Curtis did not so much as glance in his direction.
Mercer's eyes remained mercilessly fixed upon her.
"Do you wish me to go?" he said.
"No," she murmured faintly.
Her arm was beginning to hurt her horribly, and she shuddered uncontrollably once or twice. But that unvarying scrutiny was harder to bear, and at last, in desperation, she made a quivering appeal.
"Come and help me!" she begged. "Come and lift me up!"
For an instant he did not stir, and she even thought he would refuse. Then, stiffly, he straightened himself and moved round to her side.
Stooping, he raised and supported her. But his expression did not alter; the murderous glare was still in his eyes. She turned her face into his breast and lay still.
After what seemed a very long interval Curtis spoke.
"That's all I can do for the present. I will dress it again in the morning, and it had better be in a sling. Mercer, I should like a word with you outside."
Sybil stirred sharply at the brief demand. Her nerves were on edge, and a quaking doubt shot through her as to what Mercer might do if Curtis presumed too far.
She laid an imploring hand on her husband's arm.
"Stay with me!" she begged him faintly.
He did not move or speak.
Curtis stood up.
"Presently, then!" he said, and she heard him move away.
At the door he paused, and she thought he made some rapid sign to Mercer. But the next moment she heard the door close softly, and knew that he had gone.
She lay quite still thereafter, her heart fluttering too much for speech. What would he say to her, she wondered; how would he break his silence? She had no weapon to oppose against his anger. She was as powerless before it as Beelzebub had been.
Suddenly he moved. He turned her head back upon his arm and looked straight down into her eyes. She did not shrink. She would not. But her heart died within her. She felt as if she were gazing into hell, watching a soul in torment.
"Well?" he said at last. "Are you satisfied?"
"Satisfied?" she faltered.
"As to the sort of monster you have married," he explained, with savage bitterness. "You've been putting out feelers ever since you came here. Did you think I didn't know? Well, you've found out a little more than you wanted, this time. Perhaps it will be a lesson to you. Perhaps"--sheer cruelty shone red in his eyes--"when you see what I've done to you, you will remember that I am not a man to play with, and that any one, man or woman, who interferes with me, must pay the price."
"I don't know what you mean," she answered with an effort. "What happened was an accident."
"Was it?" he said brutally. "Was it?"
Still she did not shrink from him.
"Yes," she said. "It was an accident."
"How do you know?" he asked.
She answered him instantly. She had not realized till then that she was fighting the flames for his soul. The knowledge came upon her suddenly, and it gave her strength.
"Because I know that you love me," she said. "Because--because--though you are cruel, and though you may be wicked--I love you, too."
She said it with absolute sincerity, but it was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. To tell this man who was half animal and half fiend that he had not somehow touched the woman's heart in her seemed almost a desecration. She saw the flare of passion leap up in his eyes, and she was conscious for one sick moment of a feeling of downright repulsion. If she had only succeeded in turning his savagery into another channel she had spoken in vain; or, worse, she had made a mistake that could never be remedied.
Abruptly she felt her courage waver. She shrank at last.
"I want you to understand," she faltered; and again, "I want you to understand."
But she could get no further. She hid her face against him and began to sob.
There followed a silence, tense and terrible, which she dared not break.
Then she felt him bend lower, and suddenly his arms were under her. He lifted her like a little child and sat down, holding her. His hand pressed her head against his neck, fondling, soothing, consoling. And she knew, with an overwhelming thankfulness, that she had not offered herself in vain. She had drawn him out of his hell by the magic of her love.


IX

When morning came Mercer departed alone, and Curtis was left in charge. Sybil lay in her room half dressed, while the latter treated her injured arm.
"You ought not to be up at all," he remarked, as he uncovered it. "Have you had any sleep?"
"Not much," she was obliged to confess.
"Why didn't you stay in bed?"
"I don't want--my husband--to think me very bad," she said, flushing a little.
"Why not?" said Curtis. And then he glanced at her, saw the flush, and said no more.
She watched his bandaging with interest.
"You look so professional," she said.
He uttered a short laugh.
"Do I?"
"I mean," she said, unaccountably embarrassed, "that you do it so nicely."
"I have done a good deal of veterinary work," he said rather coldly. And then suddenly he seemed to change his mind. "I was a professional once," he said, without looking at her. "I made a mistake--a bad one--and it broke me. That's all."
"Oh," she said impulsively, "I am so sorry."
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Not till he was about to leave her did she manage to ask the question that had been uppermost in her mind since his entrance.
"Have you seen Beelzebub yet?"
He paused--somewhat unwillingly, she thought.
"Yes," he answered.
"Is he"--she hesitated--"is he very bad?"
"He isn't going to die, if that is what you mean," said Curtis.
She felt her heart contract.
"Please tell me!" she urged rather faintly. "I want to know."
With the air of a man submitting to the inevitable Curtis proceeded to inform her.
"He is lying in the loft over the stable, like a sick dog. He is rather badly mauled, and whimpers a good deal. I shall take him some soup across presently, but I don't suppose he'll touch it."
"Ok, dear!" she said. "What shall you do then?"
"Mercer will have to lend a hand if I can't manage him," Curtis answered. "But I shall do my best."
She suppressed a shudder.
"I hope you will be successful."
"So do I," said Curtis, departing.
When she saw him again she asked anxiously for news; but he had none of a cheering nature to give her. Beelzebub would not look at food.
"I knew he wouldn't," he said. "He has been like this before."
"Mr. Curtis!" she exclaimed.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"It's Mercer's way. He regards the boy as his own personal property, and so he is, more or less. He picked him up in the bush when he wasn't more than a few days old. The mother was dead. Mercer took him, and he was brought up among the farm men. He's a queer young animal, more like a dog than a human being. He needs hammering now and then. I kick him occasionally myself. But Mercer goes too far."
"What had he done?" questioned Sybil.
"Oh, it was some neglect of the horses. I don't know exactly what. Mercer isn't precisely patient, you know. And when the fellow gets thoroughly scared he's like a rabbit; he can't move. Mercer thinks him obstinate, and the rest follows as a natural consequence. I must ask you to excuse me. I have work to do."
"One moment!" Sybil laid a nervous hand on his arm. "Mr. Curtis, if--if you can't persuade the poor boy to take any food, how will my husband do so?"
"He won't," said Curtis. "He'll hold him down while I drench him, that's all."
"That must be very bad for him," she said.
"Of course it is. But we can't let him die, you know." He looked at her suddenly. "Don't you worry yourself, Mrs. Mercer," he said kindly. "He isn't quite the same as a white man, though it may offend your Western prejudices to hear me say so. Beelzebub will pull through all right. They are wonderfully tough, these chaps."
"I wonder if I could persuade him to take something," she said.
He shook his head.
"I don't suppose you could. In any case, you mustn't try. It is against orders."
"Whose orders?" she asked quickly.
"Your husband's," he answered. "His last words to me were that I was on no account to let you go near him."
"Oh, why?" she protested. "And I might be able to help."
"It isn't at all likely," he said. "And he's not a very pretty thing to look at."
"As if that matters!" she exclaimed.
"Well, it does matter, because I don't want to have you in hysterics, as much for my own sake as for yours." He smiled a little. "Also, if Mercer finds he has been disobeyed it will make him savage again, and perhaps I shall be the next victim."
"He would never touch you!" she exclaimed.
"He might. Why shouldn't he?"
"He never would!" she reiterated. "You are not afraid of him."
He looked contemptuous for a second; and then his expression changed.
"You are right," he said. "That is my chief safeguard; and,