_ PART III CHAPTER XVIII. THE LAST ORDEAL
What impulse she obeyed she knew not; only she wanted to hear the nightingale, to drink in the fragrance, to feel the healing balm upon her heart. Her feet carried her noiselessly over the grass to that shining splendour of water, and turned along the path that led past the seat under the cedar where Nap had joined her on that evening that seemed already far away, and had told her that he loved her still. By this path he and Bertie would have gone to the Dower House; by this path he would probably return alone.
Her heart quickened a little as she passed into the deep shadow. She was not nervous as a rule, but there was something mysterious about the place, something vaguely disquieting. The gurgle of the stream that fed the lake sounded curiously remote.
She turned towards the rustic seat on which she had rested that day, and on the instant her pulses leapt to sudden alarm. There was a stealthy movement in front of her; a crouching object that looked monstrous in the gloom detached itself from the shadow and began to move away. For a moment she thought it was some animal; then there came to her the unmistakable though muffled tread of human feet, and swift as an arrow comprehension pierced her. The thing in front of her was Tawny Hudson.
But why was he skulking there? Why did he seek thus to avoid her? What was the man doing? The agitated questions raced through her brain at lightning speed, and after them came a horrible, a sickening suspicion.
Whence it arose she could not have said, but the memory of Nap's face only half an hour before, when Tawny Hudson had been under discussion, arose in her mind and confirmed it almost before she knew that it was there. She had often suspected the half-breed of harbouring a dislike for Nap. More often still she had noted Nap's complete and perfectly obvious contempt for him. He had tolerated him, no more, for Lucas's sake. Was it not highly probable that now that the restraining influence was gone the man's animosity had flamed to hatred? And if he were really crazy, as Bertie believed, to what lengths might he not carry it?
Fear stabbed her, fear that was anguish. At any moment now Nap might be returning, and if Tawny were indeed lying in wait for him--
She traversed the deep shadow cast by the cedar and looked forth into the park beyond. The man had disappeared. He must have doubled back among the trees of the shrubbery; and she knew he must be crouching somewhere in concealment not far away, for all sound of footsteps had ceased. Did he fancy she had not seen him, she wondered? Was he hoping that she would turn and go back by the way she had come, leaving him free to accomplish his purpose, whatever it might be?
And then her heart suddenly stood still, for away in the distance, walking with his light, swinging gait over the moonlit sward, she saw Nap.
In that moment her fear took definite and tangible form, and a horror of the thing that lurked in the shadows behind her seized her, goading her to action. She passed out into the quiet moonlight and moved to meet him.
Her impulse was to run, but she restrained it, dreading lest she might precipitate the disaster she feared. Hudson must not suspect her intention, must not know of the panic at her heart.
Nap did not see her at once. The background of trees obscured her. But as she drew away from them he caught sight of her, and instantly quickened his pace.
They met scarcely fifty yards from the cedar, and breathlessly Anne spoke. "Turn back with me a little way. I have something to say to you."
He wheeled at once, with no show of surprise. Though he must have seen her agitation he did not ask its cause.
They walked several paces before Anne spoke again. "You will think me very strange, but I have had a fright. I--I want you, Nap, to--to understand and not think me foolish or laugh at me."
"I couldn't do either if I tried," said Nap. "Who has been frightening you? Tawny Hudson?"
"Yes, Tawny Hudson." Anne was still breathless; she glanced nervously over her shoulder. "Shall we walk a little faster? He--he is lurking in those trees, and do you know I don't think he is safe? I think--I can't help thinking--that he is lying in wait for you to--to do you a mischief."
Nap stopped dead. "That so? Then I reckon I will go and deal with him at once."
"Oh, no!" she gasped. "No! Nap, are you mad?"
He gave her a queer look. "By no means, Lady Carfax, though I believe I should be if I went any farther with you. You stay here while I go and investigate."
He would have left her with the words, but on the instant desperation seized Anne. Her strained nerves would not bear this. She caught his arm, holding him fast.
"You must not! You shall not! Or if you do I am coming with you. You--you are not going alone."
"I am going alone," Nap said; but he stood still, facing her, watching her as he had watched her on that day long ago when he had lain helpless in her arms in the snow, the day that revelation had first come to her shrinking heart. "I am going alone," he repeated very deliberately. "And you will wait here till I come back."
She felt that he was putting forth his strength to compel her, and something within her warned her that he was stronger in that moment than she. She did not understand his ascendency over her, but she could not help being aware of it. Her agitated hold upon his arm began to slacken.
"Oh, don't go!" she entreated weakly. "Please don't go! I can't bear it. It--it's too much. Nap, if--if any harm comes to you, I--I think it will kill me."
There came a sudden gleam in his sombre eyes that seemed to stab her, but it was gone instantly, before he spoke in answer.
"Lady Carfax, you are not foolish--you are sublime! But--be wise as well." Very quietly he extricated his arm from her clinging hands and turned to go. "Don't watch me," he said. "Go on to the bridge and wait for me there."
He was gone. Blindly she obeyed him; blindly she moved towards the bridge that spanned the stream. She was trembling so much that she could hardly walk, but almost mechanically she urged herself on. No other course was open to her.
She reached the bridge, and leaned upon the handrail. She thought the beating of her heart would suffocate her. She strained her ears to listen, but she could hear nought else; and for a time she actually lacked the physical strength to turn and look.
At last, after the passage of many minutes, she summoned her sinking courage. Faint and dizzy still, she managed to raise her head. The moonlight danced in her eyes, but with immense effort she compelled herself to look back.
The next instant utter amazement seized and possessed her, dominating her fear. Nap was standing just beyond the outspreading boughs of the cedar, a straight relentless figure, with the arrogance of complete mastery in every line, while at his feet grovelled and whimpered the great half-breed, Tawny Hudson.
Nap was speaking. She could not hear what he said, but spell-bound she watched, while a curious sensation of awe tingled through her. The man was so superbly self-confident.
Suddenly she saw him stoop and take something from his prostrate enemy. A sharp doubt assailed her. She saw the wretched Tawny cringe lower and cover his face. She saw the moonlight glint upon the thing in Nap's hand.
He seemed to be considering it, for he turned it this way and that, making it flash and flash again. And then abruptly, with a swift turn of the wrist, he spun it high into the air. It made a shining curve, and fell with a splash into the stream. She saw the widening ripples from where she stood.
But she did not stay to watch them. Her attention was focussed upon the scene that was being enacted before her.
It was very nearly over. Tawny Hudson had lifted his head, and she saw submission the most abject on his upraised face. He seemed to be pleading for something, and after a moment, with the faintest shrug of the shoulders, Nap lifted one hand and made a curious gesture above him. The next instant he turned upon his heel and came towards her, while Tawny Hudson got up and slunk away into the shadows.
Anne awaited him, standing quite motionless. She knew now what had happened. He had grappled with the man's will just as once he had grappled with hers. And he had conquered. She expected him to approach her with the royal swagger of victory, and involuntarily she shrank, dreading to encounter him in that mood, painfully aware of her own weakness.
He came to her; he stood before her. "Anne," he said, "forgive me!"
She gazed at him in astonishment. "Forgive you!" she repeated. "But why?"
"I have no right to practise the black arts in your presence," he said, "though as a matter of fact there was no other way. I've frightened the poor devil out of his senses. Aren't you frightened too?"
"I don't understand," she answered rather piteously. "I am only thankful that you are not hurt."
"That's good of you," he said, and she heard no irony in his voice. He leaned his arms upon the rail beside her, and stared down in silence for several moments into the dark water. "If this had happened a week--less than a week--ago," he said at length, speaking very quietly, "I would have let the fellow knife me with the utmost pleasure. I should even have been grateful to him. And"--he turned very slightly towards her--"you would have had cause for gratitude too, for Luke would have been with you to-day."
She shrank a little at his words. "I don't understand," she said again.
He stood up and faced her with abrupt resolution. "I am going to make you understand," he said, "once and for all. It's a rather hideous recital, but you had better hear it. I will condense it as much as possible. I've been an evil brute all my life, but I guess you know that already. The first time I saw you I wanted to ruin you. I never meant to fall in love with you. I kicked against it--kicked hard. Good women always exasperated me. But I wanted a new sensation, and, by heaven, I got it!" He paused a moment, and she saw his grim features relax very slightly. "I was caught in my own net," he said. "I believe there is magic in you. You captured me anyway. I did homage to you--in spite of myself. After that night the relish went out of everything for me. I wanted only you."
Again he paused, but she said nothing. She was listening with her steadfast eyes upon him.
"But you kept me at a distance," he said, "and I couldn't help myself. That was the maddening part of it. Lucas knew even then--or suspected. But he didn't interfere. He saw you were taming me. And so you were--so you were. But that thrashing upset everything. It drove me mad. I was crazy for revenge. Lucas made me go away, but I couldn't stay. I was like a man possessed. My hatred for your husband had swamped my love for you. You have got to know it, Anne; I am like that. I wanted to wreak my vengeance on him through you, because I knew--by then--that I had somehow reached your heart. And so I came to you--I saw you--and then I couldn't do it. Your love--I suppose I may call it that?--barred the way. It was your safeguard. You trusted me, and for that I wanted to fall down and worship you. But you sent me away--I had to go. You made a man of me. I lived a clean life because of you. I was your slave. I believe I should have remained so if your husband had died then. But the knowledge that he was coming back to you was too much for me. I couldn't stand that. I broke free."
He stopped suddenly and brought his clenched fist down upon the rail as if physical pain were a relief to his soul.
"I needn't go into what happened then," he said. "You saw me at my worst, and--you conquered me. You drove me out of your stronghold, and you locked the door. I don't know even now how you did it. None but a good woman would have dared. Do you know, when I came to my senses and knew what I had done, knew that I'd insulted you, killed your trust--your love, made you despise me, I nearly shot myself? It was Dot who kept me from that. She guessed, I suppose. And I went away--I went right away into the Rockies--and fought my devils there. I came back saner than you have ever known me, to hear that you were free. Can you believe that I actually told myself that you were mine--mine for the winning? I stretched out my hands to you across half the world, and I felt as if wherever you were I had somehow managed to reach and touch you. It was exactly a year from the day I had first met you."
"Ah, I remember!" Anne said, her voice quick with pain; but she did not tell him what she remembered.
He went on rapidly, as if she had not spoken. "And then I came to you. And--I found--I found Luke--in possession. Well, that was the end of everything for me. I couldn't help knowing that it was the best thing that could possibly happen to either of you. And I--well, I was just out of it. I would have gone again that night, but Luke wouldn't have it. He suspected from the first, though I lied to him--I lied royally. But I couldn't keep it up. He was too many for me. He wouldn't let me drop out, but neither would I let him. I fought every inch. I wouldn't let him die. I held him night and day--night and day. I knew what it meant to you too, and I knew you would help me afterwards to drop out. My whole soul was in it, but even so, I couldn't hold on for ever. I had to slacken at last, and he--he slackened too. I knew it directly, felt him losing hold. That was two days before he died. And I pulled myself together and grabbed him again. I think he knew. He tried to wake up, said he'd get well, made me let go of him, made me explain things to you. And then--well, I guess he thought his part was done--so he just--let go."
Abruptly he turned from her and leaned again upon the rail, lodging his head on his hands. "That's all," he said. "But if Tawny had taken it into his fool brain to make an end of me a little sooner--as I meant him to--I know very well Luke would have hung on--somehow--for your sake. Oh, I wish to heaven he had!" he burst out fiercely. "I'm not fit to speak to you, not fit to touch your hand. You--you--I believe you'd be kind to me if I would let you. But I won't--I won't! I'm going away. It rests with me now to protect you somehow, and there is no other way."
He ceased to speak, and in the silence she watched his bent head, greatly wondering, deeply pitying. When he stood up again she knew that the tumult that tore his soul had been forced down out of sight.
"You see how it is with me, Anne," he said very sadly. "Tawny Hudson thinks I'm a devil, and I'm not sure--even now--that he isn't right. That's why I'm going away. I won't have you trust me, for I can't trust myself. And you have no one to protect you from me. So you won't blame me for going? You'll understand?"
His words went straight to her heart. She felt the quick tears rising, but she kept them back. She knew that he needed strength from her just then.
And so, after a moment, she commanded herself, and answered him.
"I think you are quite right to go, Nap. And--yes, I understand. Only--some day--some day--come back again!"
He leaned towards her. His face had flashed into sudden vitality at her words. He made a movement as if he would take her into his arms. And then abruptly, almost with violence, he withdrew himself, and gripped his hands together behind him.
Standing so, with the moonlight shining on his face, he showed her that which her heart ached to see. For though the dusky eyes were fixed and still, unveiled but unrevealing, though the high cheek-bones and lantern jaw were grim as beaten brass, she had a glimpse beyond of the seething, volcanic fires she dreaded, and she knew that he had spoken the truth. It was better for them both that he should go.
"I will come back to you, Anne," he said, speaking very steadily. "I will come back to you--if I find I can."
It was final, and she knew it. She held out her hand to him in silence, and he, stooping, pressed it dumbly against his lips.
Thereafter they walked back to the house together, and parted without a word. _