_ PART II. THE PLACE OF TORMENT
CHAPTER III. THE FIRST GUEST
"I am greatly honoured to be your first guest," said Crowther.
"The honour is ours to get you," Avery declared. She sat on the terrace whither she had conducted him, and smiled at him across the tea-table with eyes of shining friendship.
Crowther smiled back, thinking to himself how pleasant a picture she made. She was dressed in white, and her face was flushed and happy, even girlish in its animation. There was a ring of laughter in her voice when she talked that was very good to hear. She had herself just brought him from the station in Piers' little two-seater, and her obvious pleasure at meeting him still hung about her, making her very fair to see.
"Piers is so busy just now," she told him. "He sent all sorts of messages. He had to go over to Wardenhurst to see Colonel Rose. The M.P. for this division retired at the end of the Session, and Piers is to stand for the constituency. They talk of having the election in October."
"Will he get in?" asked Crowther, still watching her with friendly appreciation in his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. I expect so. He gets most things that he sets his heart on. His grandfather--you knew Sir Beverley?--was so anxious that he should enter Parliament."
"Yes, I knew Sir Beverley," said Crowther. "He thought the world of Piers."
"And Piers of him," said Avery.
"Ah! Was it a great blow to him when the old man died?"
"A very great blow," she answered soberly. "That was the main reason for our marrying so suddenly. The poor boy was so lonely I couldn't bear to think of him by himself in this great house."
"He was very lucky to get you," said Crowther gravely.
She smiled. "I was lucky too. Don't you think so? I never in my wildest dreams pictured such a home as this for myself."
A great magnolia climbed the house behind her with creamy flowers that shed their lemon fragrance all about them. Crowther compared her in his own mind to the wonderful blossoms. She was so sweet, so pure, yet also in a fashion so splendid.
"I think it is a very suitable setting for you, Lady Evesham!" he said.
She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him. "Do call me Avery!" she said.
"Thank you," he answered, with a smile. "It certainly seems more natural. How long have you been in this home of yours, may I ask?"
"Only a fortnight," she said, laughing. "Our honeymoon took ten weeks. Piers wanted to make it ten years; but the harvest was coming on, and I knew he ought to come back and see what was happening. And then Mr. Ferrars resigned his seat, and it became imperative. But isn't it a beautiful place?" she ended. "I felt overwhelmed by the magnificence of it at first, but I am getting used to it now."
"A glorious place," agreed Crowther. "Piers must be very proud of it. Have you begun to have many visitors yet?"
She shook her head. "No, not many. Nearly all the big people have gone to Scotland. Piers says they will come later, but I shall not mind them so much then. I shall feel less like an interloper by that time."
"I don't know why you should feel like that," said Crowther. Avery smiled. "Well, all the little people think that I set out to catch Piers for his money and his title."
"Does what the little people think have any weight with you?" asked Crowther.
She flushed faintly under the kindly directness of his gaze. "Not really, I suppose. But one can't quite shake off the feeling of it. There is the Vicar for instance. He has never liked me. He congratulates me almost every time we meet."
"Evidently a cad," commented Crowther in his quiet way.
Avery laughed a little. She had always liked this man's plain speech. "He is not the only one," she said.
"But you have friends--real friends--also?" he questioned.
"Oh yes; indeed! The Vicarage children and their mother are the greatest friends I have." Avery spoke with warmth. "The children are having tea down in one of the cornfields now. We must go and see them presently. You are fond of children, I know."
"I sort of love them," said Crowther with his slow, kind smile. "Ah, Piers, my lad, are you trying to steal a march on us? Did you think I didn't know?"
He spoke without raising his voice. Avery turned sharply to see her husband standing on the steps of a room above them. One glimpse she had of Piers' face ere he descended and joined them, and an odd feeling of dismay smote her. For that one fleeting moment there seemed, to be something of the cornered beast in his aspect.
But as he came straight down to Crowther and wrung his hand, his dark face was smiling a welcome. He was in riding-dress, and looked very handsome and young.
"How did you know it was I? Awfully pleased to see you! Sorry I couldn't get back sooner. I've been riding like the devil. Avery explained, did she?" He threw himself into a chair, and tossed an envelope into her lap. "An invitation to Ina Rose's wedding on the twenty-third. That's the week after next. They are sorry they can't manage to call before, hope you'll understand and go. I said you should do both."
"Thank you, Piers." Avery laid the envelope aside unopened. She did not feel that he was being very cordial to Crowther. "I am not sure that I shall go."
"Oh yes, you will," he rejoined quickly. "You must. It's an order, see?" His dark eyes laughed at her, but there was more than a tinge of imperiousness in his manner. "Well, Crowther, how are you? Getting ready to scatter the Philistines? Don't give me milk, Avery! You know I hate it at this time of day."
She looked at him in surprise. He had never used that impatient tone to her before. "I didn't know," she observed simply, as she handed him his cup.
"Well, you know now," he rejoined with an irritable frown. "Hurry up, Crowther! I want you to come and see the crops."
Avery was literally amazed by his manner. He had never been so frankly and unjustifiably rude to her before. She came to the conclusion that something had happened at the Roses' to annoy him; but that he should visit his annoyance upon her was a wholly new experience.
He drank his tea, talking hard to Crowther the while, and finally sprang to his feet as if in a ferment to be gone.
"Won't Lady Evesham come too?" asked Crowther, as he rose.
Avery rose also. "Yes, I have promised the children to join them in the cornfield," she said.
Piers said nothing; but she had a very distinct impression that he would have preferred her to remain behind. The wonder crossed her mind if he were jealous because he could no longer have her exclusively to himself.
They walked down through the park to the farm. It was a splendid August evening. The reaping was still in progress, and the whirr of the machine rose slumbrous through the stillness. But of the Vicarage children there was at first no sign.
Avery searched for them in surprise. She had sent a picnic basket down to the farm earlier in the afternoon, and she had expected to find them enjoying the contents thereof in a shady corner. But for a time she searched in vain.
"They must have gone home," said Piers.
But she did not believe they would have left without seeing her, and she went to the farm to make enquiries.
Here she heard that the picnic-party had taken place and that the basket had been brought back by one of the men, but for some reason the children had evidently gone home early, for they had not been seen since.
Avery wanted to run to the Vicarage and ascertain if all were well, but Piers vetoed this.
"It's too hot," he said. "And you'll only come in for some row with the Reverend Stephen. I won't have you go, Avery. Stay with us!"
His tone was peremptory, and Avery realized that his assumption of authority was intentional. A rebellious spirit awoke within her, but she checked it. Something had gone wrong, she was sure. He would tell her presently what it was.
She yielded therefore to his desire and remained with them. They spent a considerable time in the neighbourhood of the farm, in all of which Crowther took a keen interest. Avery tried to be interested too, but Piers' behaviour troubled and perplexed her. He seemed to be all on edge, and more than once his manner to Crowther also verged upon abruptness.
They were leaving the farm to turn homeward when there came to Avery the sound of flying feet along the lane outside. She went to the gate, and beheld Gracie, her face crimson with heat, racing towards her.
Avery moved to meet her, surprised by her sudden appearance. She was still more surprised when Gracie reached her, flung tempestuous arms about her, and broke into stormy crying on her breast.
"My dear! My dear! What has happened?" Avery asked in distress.
But Gracie was for the moment quite beyond speech. She hung upon Avery, crying as if her heart would break.
Piers came swiftly down the path. "Why, Pixie, what's the matter?" he said.
He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gently to lean against himself, for in her paroxysm of weeping she had thrown herself upon Avery with childish unrestraint.
"Who's been bullying you, Pixie?" he said.
"Nobody! Nobody!" sobbed Gracie. She transferred herself to his arms almost mechanically, so overwhelming was her woe. "Oh, it's dreadful! It's dreadful!" she cried.
He patted her soothingly, his cheek against her fair hair. "Well, what is it, kiddie? Let's hear! One of the youngsters in trouble, what? Not Jeanie, I say?"
"No, no, no! It's--Mike." The name came out with a great burst of tears.
"Mike!" Piers looked at Avery, mystified for the moment. "Ah, to be sure! The dog! Well, what's happened to him? He isn't dead, what?"
"He is! He is!" sobbed Gracie. "He--he has been killed--by--by his own chain!"
"What!" said Piers again.
Gaspingly she told him the tragic tale. "Father always will have him kept on the chain, and--and--"
"An infernally cruel thing to do!" broke indignantly from Piers.
"Yes, we--we all said so. And we tried to give him little outings sometimes to--to make up. But to-day--somehow--we forgot him, and--and he must have seen us go, and jumped the wall after us. Pat and I went back afterwards to fetch him, and found him--found him--oh, Piers!" She cried out in sudden agony and said no more.
"Choked?" said Piers. "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" He looked up again at Avery with something unfathomable in his eyes. "Oh, don't cry so, child!" he said. "A chained creature is happier dead--a thousand times happier!"
He spoke passionately, so passionately that Gracie's wild grief was stayed. She lifted her face, all streaming with tears. "Do you think so really?"
"Of course I think so," he said. "Life on a chain is misery unspeakable. No one with any heart could condemn a dog to that! It's the refinement of cruelty. Don't wish the poor beast back again! Be thankful he's gone!"
The vehemence of his speech was such that it carried conviction even to Gracie's torn heart. She looked up at him with something of wonder and of awe. "If only--he hadn't suffered so!" she whispered.
He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed back the clustering hair. "You poor kid!" he said pityingly. "You've suffered much more than he did at the end. But it's over. Don't fret! Don't fret!"
Gracie lifted trembling lips to be kissed. He was drying her eyes with his own handkerchief as tenderly as any woman. He stooped and kissed her. "Look here! I'll walk home with you," he said. "Avery, you go back with Crowther! I shan't be late."
Avery turned at once. The sight of Piers soothing the little girl's distress had comforted her subtly. She felt that his mood had softened.
"Won't you go too?" said Crowther, as she joined him. "Please don't stay on my account! I am used to being alone, and I can find my own way back."
"Oh no!" she said. "I had better come with you. I shan't be wanted now."
They started to walk back among the shocks of corn; but they had not gone many yards when Gracie came running after them, reached them, flung her arms about Avery.
"Good-bye, darling Avery!" she said.
Avery held her close. She was sobbing still, but the first wild anguish of her grief was past.
"Good-bye, darling!" Avery whispered, after a moment.
Grade's arms tightened. "You think like Piers does?" she murmured. "You think poor Mikey is happier now?"
Avery paused an instant. The memory of Piers' look as he had uttered the words: "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" seemed to grip her heart. Then: "Yes, dearie," she said softly. "I think as Piers does. I am glad--for poor Mikey's sake--that his troubles are over."
"Then I'll try and be glad too," sobbed poor Gracie. "But it's very, very difficult. Pat and I loved him so, and he--he loved us."
"My dear, that love won't die," Avery said gently.
"The gift immortal," said Crowther. "The only thing that counts."
She looked round at him quickly, but his eyes were gazing straight into the sunset--steadfast eyes that saw to the very heart of things.
"And Life in Death," he added quietly. _