_ PART II CHAPTER XVII. THE LION IN THE PATH
A large and merry party of guests were congregated in the great hall at Perrythorpe Court, having tea. One of them--a young soldier-cousin of the Studleys--was singing a sentimental ditty at a piano to which no one was listening; and the hubbub was considerable.
Dinah, admitted into the outer hall that was curtained off from the gay crowd, shrank nearer to Scott as the cheery tumult reached her.
"Need we--must we--go in that way?" she whispered.
There was a door on the right of the porch. Scott turned towards it.
"I suppose we can go in there?" he said to the man who had admitted them.
"The gun-room, sir? Yes, if you wish, sir. Shall I bring tea?"
"No," Scott said quietly. "Find Sir Eustace Studley if you can, and ask him to join us there! Come along, Dinah!"
His hand touched her arm. She entered the little room as one seeking refuge. It led into a conservatory, and thence to the garden. The apartment itself was given up entirely to weapons or instruments of sport. Guns, fishing-rods, hunting-stocks, golf-clubs, tennis-rackets, were stored in various racks and stands. A smell of stale cigar-smoke pervaded it. Colonel de Vigne was wont to retire hither at night in preference to the less cosy and intimate smoking-room.
But there was no one here now, and Scott laid hat and riding-whip upon the table and drew forward a chair for his companion.
She looked at him and tried to thank him, but she was voiceless. Her pale lips moved without sound.
Scott's eyes were very kindly. "Don't be so frightened, child!" he said; and then, a sudden thought striking him, "Look here! You go and wait in the conservatory and let me speak to him first! Yes, that will be the best way. Come!"
His hand touched her again. She turned as one compelled. But as he opened the glass door, she found her voice.
"Oh, I ought not to--to let you face him alone. I must be brave. I must."
"Yes, you must," Scott answered. "But I will see him alone first. It will make it easier for everyone."
Yet for a moment she halted still. "You really mean it? You wish it?"
"Yes, I wish it," he said. "Wait in here till I call you!"
She took him at his word. There was no other course. He closed the door upon her and turned back alone.
He sat down in the chair that he had placed for her and became motionless as a figure carved in bronze. His pale face and trim, colourless beard were in shadow, his eyes were lowered. There was scarcely an inanimate object in the room as insignificant and unimposing as he, and yet in his stillness, in his utter unobtrusiveness, there lay a strength such as the strongest knight who ever rode in armour might have envied.
There came a careless step without, a hand upon the door. It opened, and Sir Eustace, handsome, self-assured, slightly haughty, strode into the room.
"Hullo, Stumpy! What do you want? I can't stop. I am booked to play billiards with Miss de Vigne. A test match to demonstrate the steadiness of my nerves!"
Scott stood up. "I have a bigger test for you than that, old chap," he said. "Shut the door if you don't mind!"
Sir Eustace sent him a swift, edged glance. "I can't stop," he said again. "What is it? Some mare's nest about Isabel?"
"No, nothing whatever to do with Isabel. Shut the door, man! I must be alone with you for a few minutes." Scott spoke with unwonted vehemence. The careless notes of the piano, the merry tumult of chattering voices, seemed to affect him oddly, almost to exasperate him.
Sir Eustace turned and swung the door shut; then with less than his customary arrogance he came to Scott. "What's the matter?" he said. "Out with it! Don't break the news if you can help it!"
His eyes belied the banter of his words. They shone as the eyes of a fighter meeting odds. There was something leonine about him at the moment, something of the primitive animal roused from its lair and scenting danger.
He looked into Scott's pale face with the dawning of a threatening expression upon his own.
And Scott met the threat full and square and unflinching. "I've come to tell you," he said, "about the hardest thing one man can tell another. Dinah wishes to be released from her engagement."
His words were brief but very distinct. He stiffened as he uttered them, almost as if he expected a blow.
But Sir Eustace stood silent and still, with only the growing menace in his eyes to show that he had heard.
Several seconds dragged away ere he made either sound or movement. Then, with a sudden, fierce gesture, he gripped Scott by the shoulder. "And you have the damnable impertinence to come and tell me!" he said.
There was violence barely restrained in voice and action. He held Scott as if he would fling him against the wall.
But Scott remained absolutely passive, enduring the savage grip with no sign of resentment. Only into his steady eyes there came that gleam as of steel that leaps to steel.
"I have told you," he said, "because I have no choice. She wishes to be set free, and--she fears you too much to tell you so herself."
Sir Eustace broke in upon him with a furious laugh that was in some fashion more insulting than a blow on the mouth. "And she has deputed you to do so on her behalf! Highly suitable! Or did you volunteer for the job, most fearless knight?"
"I offered to help her--certainly." Scott's voice was as free from agitation as his pose. "I would help any woman under such circumstances. It's no easy thing for her to break off her engagement at this stage. And she is such a child. She needs help."
"She shall have it," said Eustace grimly. "But--since you are here--I will deal with you first. Do you think I am going to endure any interference in this matter from you? Think it over calmly. Do you?"
His hold upon Scott had become an open threat. His eyes were a red blaze of anger. In that moment the animal in him was predominant, overwhelming. He was furious with the fury of the wounded beast that is beyond all control.
Scott realized the fact, and grasped his own self-control with a firmer hand. "It's no good my telling you that I hate my job," he said. "You'll hardly believe me if I do. But I've got to stick to it, beastly as it is. I can't stand by and see her married against her will. For that is what it amounts to. She would give anything she has to be free. She told me so. I'm infernally sorry. Perhaps you won't believe that either. But I've got to see this thing through now."
"Have you?" said Eustace, and suddenly his words came clipped and harsh from between set teeth. "And you think I'm going to endure it--stand aside tamely--while you turn an attack of stage-fright into a just cause and impediment to prevent my marriage! I should have thought you would have known me better by this time. But if you don't, you shall learn. Now listen! I am in dead earnest. If you don't drop this foolery, give me your word of honour here and now to leave this matter in my hands alone,--I'll thrash you to a pulp!"
He spoke with terrible intention. His whole being pulsated behind the words. And Scott's slight frame stiffened to rigidity in answer.
"You may grind me to powder!" he flung back, and in his voice there sounded a curiously vibrant quality as of finely-tempered steel that will bend but never break. "But you can't--and you shan't--force that child into marrying you against her will! That I swear--by God in Heaven!"
There was amazing force in the utterance, he also had thrown off the shackles. But his strength had about it nothing of the brute. Stripped to the soul, he stood up a man.
And against his will Eustace recognized the fact, realized the Invincible manifest in the clay, and in spite of himself was influenced thereby. The savage in him drew back abashed, aware of mastery.
Abruptly he released him and turned away. "You're a fool to tempt me," he said. "And a still greater fool to take her seriously. As I tell you, it's nothing but stage-fright. She had a touch of it yesterday. I'll come round presently and make it all right."
"You can only make it right by setting her free," Scott made answer. "There is no other course. Do you suppose I should have come to you in this way if there had been?"
Sir Eustace was moving to the door by which he had entered. He flung a backward look that was intensely evil over his shoulder at the puny figure of the man behind him.
"I can imagine you playing any damned trick under the sun to serve your own interests," he said, his lip curling in in an intolerable sneer. "But the deepest strategy fails occasionally. You haven't been quite subtle enough this time."
He was at the door as he uttered the last biting sentence, but so also was Scott. With a movement of incredible swiftness and impetuosity he flung himself forward. Their hands met upon the handle, and his remained in possession, for in sheer astonishment Eustace drew back.
They faced one another in the evening light, Scott pale to the lips, in his eyes an electric blaze that made them almost unbearably bright, Eustace, heavy-browed, lowering, the red glare of savagery gleaming like a smouldering flame, ready to leap forth in devastating fury to meet the fierce white heat that confronted him.
An awful silence hung between them--a silence of unutterable emotions, more poignant with passion than any strife or clash of weapons. And through it like a mocking under-current there ran the distant tinkle of the piano, the echoes of careless laughter beyond the closed door.
Then at last--it seemed with difficulty--Scott spoke, his voice very low, oddly jerky. "What do you mean by that? Tell me what you mean!"
Sir Eustace made an abrupt gesture,--the gesture of the swordsman on guard. He met the attack instantly and unwaveringly, but his look was wary. He did not seek to throw the lesser man from his path. As it were instinctively, though possibly for the first time in his life, he treated him as an equal.
"You know what I mean!" he made fierce rejoinder. "Even you can hardly pretend ignorance on that point."
"Even I!" Scott uttered a short, hard laugh that seemed to escape him against his will. "All the same, I will have an explanation," he said. "I prefer a straight charge, notwithstanding my damned subtlety. You will either explain or withdraw."
"As you like," Sir Eustace yielded the point, and again he acted instinctively, not realizing that he had no choice. "I mean that from the very beginning of things you have been influencing her against me, trying to win her from me. You never intended me to propose to her in the first place. You never imagined that I would do such a thing. You only thought of driving me off the ground and clearing it for yourself. I saw your game long ago. When you lost one trick, you tried for another. I knew--I knew all along. But the game is up now, and you've lost." A very bitter smile curved his mouth with the words. "There is your explanation," he said. "I hope you are satisfied."
"But I am not satisfied!" Quick as lightning came the _riposte_. Scott stood upright against the closed door. His eyes, unflickering, dazzlingly bright, were fixed upon his brother's face. "I am not satisfied," he repeated, and his words were as sternly direct as his look; he spoke as one compelled by some inner, driving force, "because what you have just said to me--this foul thing you believe of me--is utterly and absolutely without foundation. I have never tried--or dreamed of trying--to win her from you. I speak as before God. In this matter I have never been other than loyal either to you or to my own honour. If any other man insulted me in this fashion," his face worked a little, but he controlled it sharply, "I wouldn't have stooped to answer him. But you--I suppose I must allow you the--privilege of brotherhood. And so I ask you to believe--at least to make an effort to believe--that you have made a mistake."
His voice was absolutely quiet as he ended. The dignity of his utterance had in it even a touch of the sublime, and the elder man was aware of it, felt the force of it, was humbled by it. He stood a moment or two as one irresolute, halting at a difficult choice. Then, with an abrupt lift of the head as though his pride made fierce resistance, he gave ground.
"If I have wronged you, I apologize," he said with brevity.
Scott smiled faintly, wryly. "If--" he said.
"Very well, I withdraw the 'if.'" Sir Eustace spoke impatiently, not as one desiring reconciliation. "You laid yourself open to it by accepting the position of ambassador. I don't know how you could seriously imagine that I would treat with you in that capacity. If Dinah has anything to say to me, she must say it herself."
"She will do so," Scott spoke with steady assurance. "But before you see her, I think I ought to tell you that her reason for wishing to be set free is not stage-fright or any childish nonsense of that kind; but simply the plain fact that her heart is not in the compact. She has found out that she doesn't love you enough."
"She told you so?" demanded Sir Eustace.
Scott bent his head, for the first time averting his eyes from his brother's face. "Yes."
"And she wished you to tell me?" There was a metallic ring in Sir Eustace's voice; the red glare was gone from his eyes, they were cold and hard as a winter sky.
"Yes," Scott said again, still not looking at him.
"And why?" The words fell brief and imperious, compelling in their incisiveness.
Scott's eyes returned to his, almost in protest. "I told her you ought to know," he said.
"Then she would not have told me otherwise?"
"Possibly not."
There fell another silence. Sir Eustace looked hard and straight into the pale eyes, as though he would pierce to the soul behind. But though Scott met the look unwavering, his soul was beyond all scrutiny. There was something about him that baffled all search, something colossal that barred the way. For the second time Sir Eustace realized himself to be at a disadvantage; haughtily he passed the matter by.
"In that case there is nothing further to be said. You have fulfilled your somewhat rash undertaking, and that you have come out of the business with a whole skin is a bigger piece of luck than you deserved. If Dinah wishes this matter to go any further, she must come to me herself."
"Otherwise you will take no action?" Scott's voice had its old somewhat weary intonation. The animation seemed to have died out of him.
"Exactly." Sir Eustace answered him with equal deliberation. "So far as you are concerned the incident is now closed."
Scott took his hand from the door and moved slowly away. "I have put the whole case before you," he said. "I think you clearly understand that if you are going to try and use force, I am bound--as a friend--to take her part against you. She relies upon me for that, and--I shall not disappoint her. You see," a hint of compassion sounded in his voice, "she has always been afraid of you; and she knows that I am not."
Sir Eustace smiled cynically. "Oh, you have always been ready to rush in!" he said. "Doubtless your weakness is your strength."
Scott met the gibe with tightened lips. He made no attempt to reply to it. "The only thing left," he said quietly, "is for you to see her and hear what she has to say. She is waiting in the conservatory."
"She is waiting?" Eustace wheeled swiftly.
Scott was already half-way across the room. He strode forward, and intercepted him.
"You can go," he said curtly. "You have done your part. This business is mine, not yours."
Scott stood still. "I have promised to see her through," he said. "I must keep my promise."
Sir Eustace looked for a single instant as if he would strike him down; and then abruptly, inexplicably he gave way.
"Very well," he said. "Fetch her in!" _