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

frightened," he said. "We're going to have some fun."
"What--what can he have come for?" whispered Chris.
"Goodness knows! But he isn't going to get it, anyway. Good old Hilda! She went like a bird, didn't she? I call this rather amusing."
Noel began to whistle under his breath, obviously enjoying the situation to the utmost.
But Chris restrained him. "I want to listen," she murmured piteously.
He became silent at once, and several seconds crawled away, accompanied by no sound save the interminable buzzing of a fly on the window-pane.
Noel arose at length and with a single swoop of the hand captured and killed it. Then he went back to Chris.
"I say, don't look so scared! No one is going to hurt you."
The words were hardly uttered before Hilda's light step sounded outside, and her hand tried the door.
Chris started violently, and cowered among her cushions. Noel chuckled softly.
"Chris dear, what is the matter? Let me in!" Anxiety and persuasion were mingled in Hilda's voice.
Noel's chuckle became audible. "She isn't going to. She doesn't want anyone but me. Do you, Chris?"
Chris made no reply. She was staring at the door with starting eyes.
Noel went leisurely across and set his back against it. His eyes still gleamed roguishly, but his mouth had ceased to smile.
"I say, Hilda," he said, over his shoulder, "if you want to do Chris a good turn, tell that beastly cad behind you to go. I shan't let him in, anyhow, not if he stays till doomsday. So he may as well clear out at once."
"My dear Noel, how can you be so absurd?" Hilda's placid tones held real annoyance for once.
But the cause of it was quite unimpressed.
"Your dear Noel is acting up to his lights," he returned, "and he has no intention of doing anything else, absurd or otherwise. Chris is nearly scared out of her wits, so you had better take my advice sharp."
This last information took instant effect upon Hilda. She turned her attention to Chris forthwith.
"My dear, do let me in! There is nothing whatever to frighten you. I promise you shall not be frightened. Chris, tell that absurd boy to open the door--please, dearest!"
"I--can't!" gasped Chris.
"She isn't going to," said Noel. "You run along, Hilda. And you can tell Trevor with my love that if he'll clear out now I'll meet him at any time and place he likes to mention and have a damned old row."
"Very good of you!" Another voice spoke on the other side of the door, and Noel jumped in spite of himself. "But at the present moment you don't count. Is Chris there? I want to speak to her."
The leisurely tones came, measured and distinct, through the closed door, and Chris covered her face and shivered. "Oh, you'll have to let him in!" she said. "Only--don't go away! Don't leave me alone with him!"
"Chris!" Mordaunt's voice, calm and unhurried, addressed her directly. "Jack is here with me. Will you let us in?"
Chris lifted a haggard face. "Open the door, Noel!" she said.
"Why?" demanded Noel, with sudden ferocity. "We are not going to knock under to him. Why should we?"
"It's no use," she said. "We can't help it. Besides--besides--" She broke off with something like a sob, and rose from the sofa.
Noel looked at her under drawn brows. "You really mean it?"
"Yes." She pushed the hair from her forehead, and made a great effort to still her agitation. "I do mean it, Noel. I--wish it."
"All right." The boy whizzed round and turned the key.
He met Mordaunt face to face on the threshold with clenched hands, his face dark with passion. "If you hurt her--I'll kill you!" he said.
Had Mordaunt laughed at him, he would probably have attempted to carry out his threat then and there, for his mood was tempestuous. But the quiet eyes that met his blazing ones held no derision. They went beyond him instantly, seeking the girlish figure that leaned against the sofa-head for support; but a hand grasped his shoulder at the same moment and turned him back into the room.
"I shan't quarrel with you on that account," Mordaunt said. "You can stay if you like, and satisfy yourself."
Jack entered behind him, and went straight to Chris. He took her quivering hands into his, and held them fast.
"That boy deserves to be horsewhipped for startling you like this," he said.
She smiled at him wanly, but not as if she heard his words. "You will stay with me, Jack?" she said beseechingly.
"If you wish it, dear. But Trevor wants to say something rather private. Really, you have nothing to be afraid of."
His kindly eyes looked down reassuringly into hers. They seemed to reason with her, to persuade and soothe at the same time.
But Chris's hands clung to his. "Don't--don't go!" she said. "I want you--I want you, Jack."
"Suppose we sit down," said Jack practically. "Trevor, I wish you'd kick that boy downstairs. It would do him good and me too. This isn't a family conclave."
"Noel can stay," Mordaunt answered quietly. He was still looking towards his wife, but he did not seem to be regarding her very intently. "You are mistaken in thinking that I have anything to say to Chris in private. I have only come to tell her what I have already told you, that Bertrand is at Valpre, ill and wanting her. I will take her to him--if she will come."
"Trevor!" She turned to him with eyes of sudden horror--horror so definite that it swamped all her personal shrinking. "How is he ill? You--you have hurt him!"
"I have done nothing to him," Mordaunt answered. "He is suffering from heart-disease, and cannot be moved. I must start from Charing Cross in an hour. Will you come with me?"
"To go to him?" Her eyes were still dilated, but they did not waver from his.
"To go to him." He repeated the words with precision, and waited for her answer.
But Chris sat in silence, her hands in Jack's.
"Look here," Noel broke in abruptly, "if Chris goes, I go."
"Very well," Mordaunt said. "If Chris desires it, you may."
Chris came out of her silence with a little shudder, and turned to the man beside her. "Jack, tell me what to do!"
"I think you had better go, dear," Jack said.
"But if--but if--oh, is he very ill?" She looked again at her husband.
"He is very ill indeed," Mordaunt said.
"You think I ought to go?" She asked the question with an obvious effort.
"I have come to fetch you," he said.
"Then--he is dying!" she said, with sudden conviction.
Mordaunt was silent.
Abruptly she left Jack and went up to him. "Trevor," she said, "would you want to take me to him if--if--"
"If--?" he repeated quietly.
"If you thought I was doing wrong to go?"
He made a slight movement, as if the question were unexpected. "I should have explained to you," he said, "that your brother Max is in charge of him, so that when I am not with you--and, as you know, I am attending the Rodolphe trial--you will not be alone."
"Oh, Max is there!" she said, with relief. "But what is he doing at Valpre?"
"He went there with Bertrand."
"But I thought Bertrand could not go to France," she hazarded.
"He went in disguise."
"Why?" Her lips trembled upon the word.
"Because he had something to say to me." With the utmost calmness his answer came.
"Ah!" She started and turned so white that he put out a hand to steady her.
She laid her own within it, as it were instinctively, because she needed support.
"What was it?" she whispered.
He looked at her gravely. "Are you afraid to be alone with me?" he said.
"No."
"Then--quick march!" said Jack, with his hand through Noel's arm.
They went out together, Noel glancing back for the smallest sign from his sister to remain.
But she made none. She stood quite still, with her hand in her husband's, waiting.
As the door closed Mordaunt spoke. "Have you been ill?"
"No," she said faintly. "Not--not really ill."
She was aware of his close scrutiny for a moment, but she made not the slightest attempt to meet it.
"You want to know what Bertrand said to me," he said. "And you have a right to know. He told me the whole history of your friendship from the beginning to the end."
"He told you about--about Valpre?" Her eyelids quivered, as if she wished to raise them but dared not.
"Yes."
"Then you know--" Her hand fluttered in his.
"I know everything," he said.
Her white face quivered piteously. "And you--you are still angry?"
"No, I am not angry." He led her back to the sofa. "Sit down a minute," he said. "I don't think you are quite fit for this, and if you are going back with me to Valpre, you will need to reserve your strength."
He sat down beside her, both her hands firmly clasped in his, as if thereby he would impart to her the strength she lacked.
"You mean me to go, then?" murmured Chris.
"Don't you want to go?" he asked.
"If he really wants me--" she faltered. "And if you--you wish it, too."
"My dear," he said, "do my wishes make any real difference?"
She caught her breath sharply, and bent her head that he might not see her face. "Yes," she whispered, under her breath.
"Very well," he said, "I wish it, too."
She was silent, but suddenly her tears began to fall upon the strong hands that held hers. She would have given anything to have repressed them at that moment. With her whole soul she shrank from showing him her weakness, but it overpowered her. She bowed her head lower still, and wept.
He sat quite motionless for seconds, so that even in the depth of her distress she marvelled at his patience. But at last, very gently, he moved, let her hands go, and rose.
He stood awhile turned from her, his face to the window, though the sun-blind was all that could have met his view; finally, with grave kindness, he spoke.
"I think I had better leave you to prepare for the journey. There is not much time at your disposal, and you will probably need it all. It is settled that Noel is to go with us?"
"You won't mind?" she whispered.
"I think it a very good plan," he answered.
He turned round and came back to her. She had commanded herself to a certain extent, but still she could not raise her face. She waited tensely as he approached, possessed by a sudden, almost delirious longing to feel the touch of his lips.
Her desire surged into leaping hope as he stopped beside her. Would he--could he? But he did not stoop. He only laid his hand for a moment upon her head.
"Chris," he said, "try to think of me as a friend--and don't be afraid."
She thrilled at the low-spoken words. In another moment she would have conquered all hesitation and sprung up to feel his arms about her, to hide her face against him, to open to him all her quivering heart. But for that moment he did not wait.
With the utterance of the words his hand fell, and he moved away.
The opening and the closing of the door told her he had gone.


CHAPTER VIII
ARREST

"Ah, but what a night for dreams!"
The cool salt air came in from the sea like a benediction, blowing softly about the sick man by the window, sending a gleam of life into eyes grown weary with long suffering. He leaned back upon his pillows for the