_ PART III CHAPTER XIX. OUT OF THE FURNACE
Capper looked round with a certain keenness that was not untouched with curiosity when Nap unexpectedly followed him to his room that night.
"Are you wanting anything?" he demanded, with his customary directness.
"Nothing much," Nap said. "You might give me a sleeping-draught if you're disposed to be charitable. I seem to have lost the knack of going to sleep. What I really came to say was that Hudson will go with you to-morrow if you will be good enough to put up with him. He won't give you any trouble. I would let him go with me next week if his wits would stand the strain of travelling in my company, but I don't think they will. I don't want to turn him into a gibbering maniac if I can help it."
"What have you been doing to him?" said Capper.
Nap smiled, faintly contemptous. "My dear doctor, I never do anything to anybody. If people choose to credit me with possessing unholy powers, you will allow that I am scarcely to be blamed if the temptation to trade now and then upon their fertile imaginations proves too much for me."
"I allow nothing," Capper said, "that is not strictly normal and wholesome."
"Then that places me on the black list at once," remarked Nap. "Good-night!"
"Stay a moment!" ordered Capper. "Let me look at you. If you will promise to behave like an ordinary human being for once, I'll give you that draught."
"I'll promise anything you like," said Nap, a shade of weariness in his voice. "I'm going up to town to-morrow, and I never sleep there so I reckon this is my last chance for some time to come."
"Are you trying to kill yourself?" asked Capper abruptly.
But Nap only threw up his head and laughed. "If that were my object I'd take a shorter cut than this. No, I guess I shan't die this way, Doctor. You seem to forget the fact that I'm as tough as leather, with the vitality of a serpent."
"The toughest of us won't go for ever," observed Capper. "You get to bed. I'll come to you directly."
When he joined him again, a few minutes later, Nap was lying on his back with arms flung wide, staring inscrutably at the ceiling. His mind seemed to be far away, but Capper's hand upon his pulse brought it back. He turned his head with the flicker of a smile.
"What's that for?"
"I happen to take an interest in you, my son," said Capper.
"Very good of you. But why?"
Capper was watching him keenly. "Because I have a notion that you are wanted."
Nap stirred restlessly, and was silent.
"How long are you going to be away?" Capper asked.
"I don't know."
"For long?"
Nap's hand jerked impatiently from the doctor's hold. "Possibly for ever."
Capper's long fingers began to crack. He looked speculative. "Say, Nap," he said suddenly, "we may not be exactly sympathetic, you and I, but I guess we've pulled together long enough to be fairly intimate. Anyway, I've conceived a sort of respect for you that I never expected to have. And if you'll take a word of advice from a friend who wishes you well, you won't regret it."
The thin lips began to smile. "Delighted to listen to your advice, Doctor. I suspect I'm not obliged to follow it."
"You will please yourself, no doubt," Capper rejoined drily. "But my advice is, don't stay away too long. Your place is here."
"You think so?" said Nap.
"I am quite sure," Capper said, with emphasis.
"And you think I shall please myself by going?"
"Who else?" said Capper almost sternly.
Nap did not instantly reply. He was lying back with his face in shadow. When he spoke at length it was with extreme deliberation. Capper divined that it was an effort to him to speak at all.
"You're a family friend," he said. "I guess you've a right to know. It isn't for my own sake I'm going at all. It's for--hers, and because of a promise I made to Luke. If I were to stop, I'd be a cur--and worse. She'd take me without counting the cost. She is a woman who never thinks of herself. I've got to think for her. I've sworn to play the straight game, and I'll play it. That's why I won't so much as look into her face again till I know that I can be to her what Luke would have been--what Bertie is to Dot--what every man who is a man ought to be to the woman he has made his wife."
He flung his arms up above his head and remained tense for several seconds. Then abruptly he relaxed.
"I'll be a friend to her," he said, "a friend that she can trust--or nothing!"
There came a very kindly look into Capper's green eyes, but he made no comment of any sort. He only turned aside to take up the glass he had set down on entering. And as he did so, he smiled as a man well pleased.
Once during the night he looked in upon Nap and found him sleeping, wrapt in a deep and silent slumber, motionless as death. He stood awhile watching the harsh face with its grim mouth and iron jaw, and slowly a certain pity dawned in his own. The man had suffered infernally before he had found his manhood. He had passed through raging fires that had left their mark upon him for the rest of his life.
"It's been an almighty big struggle, poor devil," said Capper, "but it's made a man of you."
He left early on the following day, accompanied by Tawny Hudson, whose docility was only out-matched by his very obvious desire to be gone.
True to her promise, Anne was down in time to take leave of Capper. They stood together for a moment on the steps before parting. Her hand in his, he looked straight into her quiet eyes.
"You're not grieving any, Lady Carfax?"
"No," she said.
"I guess you're right," said Maurice Capper gravely. "We make our little bids for happiness, but it helps one to remember that the issue lies with God."
She gave him a smile of understanding. "'He knows about it all--He knows--He knows,'" she quoted softly. And Capper went his way, taking with him the memory of a woman who still ploughed her endless furrow, but with a heart at peace. _