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

been up all night before," she said. "It feels so funny. How the sea roars! I wish it wouldn't. Bertie, you're sure there isn't such a thing as a dragon really, aren't you?"
His hand closed fast upon hers. "I am quite sure, _cherie_."
"Thank you. That's nice," she murmured. "I haven't said my prayers. Do you think it matters as I'm not going to bed? I really am tired."
"No, dear," he said. "_Le bon Dieu_ understands."
She moved her head a little. "Are you going to say yours, Bertie?"
"Perhaps, little one."
"Oh, that's all right," she said comfortably. "Good-night!"
"Good-night, _cherie_!"
His lips were close, so close to her forehead. He could even feel her hair blow lightly against his face. But he remained rigid as a sentry--watchful and silent and still.
Once during that long night she stirred in her sleep--stirred and nestled closer to him with an inarticulate murmur; and he turned, moving for the first time, and gathered her into his arms, holding her there like an infant against his breast. Thereafter she slept a calm, unbroken slumber, serenely unconscious of him and serenely content.
And the man sat motionless, with eyes wide to the darkness, grave and reverent as the eyes of a warrior keeping his vigil on the eve of knighthood. But his heart throbbed all night long like the beat of a drum that calls men into action.


CHAPTER VII
IN THE CAUSE OF A WOMAN

To say that Mademoiselle Gautier was extremely anxious over her young charge's disappearance would be to state the case with ludicrous mildness. She was frantic, she was frenzied with anxiety.
All the evening and half the night she was literally dancing with suspense, intermingled with fits of despair that reduced her, while they lasted, to a state of absolute collapse. Before midnight all Valpre knew that the little English _demoiselle_ was missing, and all Valpre scoured the shore for her in vain. Some of the fishermen put out in boats and continued the search by moonlight as near the rocks as it was possible to go. But all to no purpose.
When the moon went down, they abandoned the quest; but at dawn, when the tide was on the turn, they were out again, searching, searching for a white, drowned face and a mass of red-brown hair. But the sea only laughed in the sunlight and revealed no secrets.
Mademoiselle was quite prostrate by that time. She lay in a darkened room with her head swathed in a black shawl, and called upon all the holy saints to witness that she had always predicted this disaster.
Chris's two young brothers slept fitfully, waking now and then to assure each other uneasily that of course she would turn up sooner or later sound in wind and limb; she always did.
Noel, the younger, who was more or less in Chris's confidence, gave it as his opinion that she had eloped with someone, that officer-chap she met the other day, he'd lay a wager! But Maxwell poured contempt upon the bare suggestion. Chris--elope with a Frenchman! He could as easily see himself eloping with the Goat--a pet name that he and his brother had bestowed upon Mademoiselle Gautier, and which fitted her rather well upon occasion.
Three hours after sunrise the prodigal returned, lightfooted, gay of mien. She was alone when she arrived, having firmly refused Bertrand's escort farther then the end of the _plage_, lest poor Mademoiselle, who hated men, should have hysterics. But the tale of her adventures had preceded her. All Valpre knew what had happened, and watched her with furtive curiosity. All Valpre knew that the _petite Anglaise_ had spent the night in a cave with one of the officers from the fortress, and all Valpre waited with bated breath, prepared to be duly scandalized.
But Chris was sublimely unconscious of this. Of course, she knew that Mademoiselle would be shocked, but then Mademoiselle's feelings were so extremely sensitive upon all points moral that it was almost impossible to spend an hour in her company without in some fashion doing violence to them. One simply tumbled over them, as it were, at every turn.
She expected and encountered the usual storm of reproach, but when Mademoiselle proceeded to inform her that she was ruined for life, she opened her blue eyes wide and barely suppressed a chuckle. She professed penitence and even asked forgiveness for all the anxiety she had caused, but she could not see that what had happened possessed the tragic importance that Mademoiselle assigned to it. According to her distracted governess, she had almost better have been drowned. For the life of her, Chris couldn't see why.
When the tempest had somewhat spent itself, she retreated to her brothers, to whom she poured out a full and animated account of the night's happenings. They all agreed that Mademoiselle must have rats in the upper story to make such a pother over the adventure, though Maxwell, who held himself to be approaching years of discretion, gave it as his opinion that the whole thing was a piece of bad luck and an experiment not to be repeated.
"It's over anyhow," said Chris. "And we are none the worse, are we, Cinders? So all's well that ends well, and now I'm going to get something to eat."
For the next two days, Mademoiselle continuing to be hysterical at intervals, Chris was exemplary in her behaviour. Perhaps even she had had a surfeit of adventure for the time being. She certainly had no further urgent desire to explore caves, magic or otherwise. She was also a little tired, and inclined, after her excitement, to feel proportionately slack. But early on the morning of the third day her strenuous nature reasserted itself.
The sea and the sunshine awoke her together and she arose and dressed, eager to revel in them both. She wondered if Bertrand were out in his boat, and rather hoped she might encounter him.
Bertrand, however, was nowhere to be seen, and she proceeded to enjoy her morning bathe in solitude. It was an enchanting day, and his absence did not depress her. The tide was low, and she had to wade out a considerable distance through the rippling waves; but she reached deep water at last and proceeded forthwith to enjoy herself to her utmost capacity.
She spent a delicious half-hour thus, and it was with regret that she finally returned to the shallows and began to wade back to the point where Cinders, with her mackintosh, awaited her.
Just beyond this spot was a fair stretch of sand, and she was surprised as she drew nearer to the shore to hear voices and to see a group of men in the blue and red uniform of the garrison gathered upon what she had come to regard as her own particular playground. She peered at them for some seconds from beneath her hand, for the sun was in her eyes; and suddenly a queer little thrill, that was not quite fear and not solely excitement, ran through her. For all in a moment, ringing on the still air of early morning, there came to her ears the clash of steel meeting steel.
"Good gracious!" she said aloud. "It's a duel!"
A duel it undoubtedly was. She had a clear view of the whole scene, distant but distinct, could even see the flash of the swords, the rapid movements of the two combatants. It impressed her like a scene in a theatre. She did not wholly grasp the reality of it, though her heart was beating very fast.
Knee-deep, she stood in the sparkling water, outlined against the blue of sky and sea, watching. Several seconds passed, during which they seemed to be fighting with some ferocity. Then, obeying an impulse of which she was scarcely aware, she moved on through the swishing waves, drawing nearer at every step, hearing every instant more distinctly the ominous clashing of the swords.
When only ankle-deep, she paused again. Perhaps, after all, it was only a game--a fencing-match, a trial of skill! Of course, that must be it! Was it in the least likely to be anything more serious? And yet something within told her very decidedly that this was not so. A trial of skill it might be, but it was being conducted in grim earnest.
She said to herself that she would slip on her mackintosh and go. But an overwhelming desire to investigate a little further kept her dallying. She had an ardent longing to see the faces of the antagonists. Later she marvelled at her own temerity, but at the time this overmastering desire was the only thing she knew.
She came out of the sea, reached her faithful attendant Cinders, slipped on the mackintosh, and advanced nearer still to the little group of officers upon the beach, buttoning it mechanically as she went.
Ah, she could see them now! One faced her--a mean-visaged man, fierce, ferret-like, with glaring eyes and evil mouth. She hated him at sight, instinctively, without question.
He was thrusting savagely at his opponent, whose back was towards her--a slim, straight back familiar to her, so familiar that she recognized him beyond all doubting, no longer needing to see his face. And yet, involuntarily it seemed, she drew nearer.
He was fencing without impetuosity, yet with a precision that even to her untrained perception expressed a most deadly concentration. Lithe and active, supremely confident, he parried his enemy's attack, and the grace of the man, combined with a certain mastery that was also in a fashion familiar to her, attracted her irresistibly, held her spellbound. There was nothing brutal about him, no hint of ferocity, only a finished antagonism as flawless as his chivalry, a strength of self-suppression that made him superb.
No one noticed Chris's proximity. All were too deeply engrossed with the matter in hand. But suddenly Cinders, who loved law and order in all things pertaining to the human race, scented combat in the air. It was enough. Cinders would permit no brawling among his betters if he could by any means prevent it. With tail cocked and every hair bristling, he rushed into the fray, barking aggressively.
With a cry of dismay Chris rushed after him, and in that instant the man facing her raised his eyes involuntarily and shifted his position. The next instant he lunged frantically to recover himself, failed, and with a violent exclamation received his adversary's point in his shoulder.
It all happened in a flash, so rapidly that it was over before either Chris or Cinders had quite reached the scene. Bertrand whirled round fiercely, sword in hand, anger turning to consternation in his eyes as he realized the nature of the interruption.
Chris had a confused impression that the whole party were talking at once and blaming her, while they buzzed round the wounded man, who lay back in the arms of one of them and cursed volubly, whether Bertrand, Cinders, or herself she never knew.
She had the presence of mind to snatch up her belligerent favourite, who was snapping at the prostrate officer's legs; and then, for the first time in her life, an overwhelming shyness descended upon her as the full horror of her position presented itself.
"I couldn't help it, Bertie! Oh, Bertie, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, in an agony of contrition.
There was a very odd expression on Bertrand's face. She did not understand it in the least, but thought he must be furious since he was undoubtedly frowning. If this were the case, however, he displayed admirable self-restraint, for he banished the frown almost immediately.
"Mademoiselle has been bathing, yes?" he questioned briskly. "But it is a splendid morning for a swim. And le bon Cinders also! How he is droll, ce bon Cinders!"
He snapped his fingers airily under the droll one's nose, and flashed