_ PART II CHAPTER X. THE SURRENDER
The moon was full on Christmas Eve. It shone in such splendour that the whole world was transformed into a fairyland of black and silver. Stella stood on the verandah of the Green Bungalow looking forth into the dazzling night with a tremor at her heart. The glory of it was in a sense overwhelming. It made her feel oddly impotent, almost afraid, as if some great power menaced her. She had never felt the ruthlessness of the East more strongly than she felt it that night. But the drugged feeling that had so possessed her in the mountains was wholly absent from her now. She felt vividly alive, almost painfully conscious of the quick blood pulsing through her veins. She was aware of an intense longing to escape even while the magic of the night yet drew her irresistibly. Deep in her heart there lurked an uncertainty which she could not face. Up to that moment she had been barely aware of its existence, but now she felt it stirring, and strangely she was afraid. Was it the call of the East, the wonder of the moonlight? Or was it some greater thing yet, such as had never before entered into her life? She could not say; but her face was still firmly set towards the goal of liberty. Whatever was in store for her, she meant to extricate herself. She meant to cling to her freedom at all costs. When next she stood upon that verandah, the ordeal she had begun to dread so needlessly, so unreasonably, would be over, and she would have emerged triumphant.
So she told herself, even while the shiver of apprehension which she could not control went through her, causing her to draw her wrap more closely about her though there was nought but a pleasant coolness in the soft air that blew across the plain.
She and Tommy were to drive with the Ralstons to the ruined palace in the jungle of Khanmulla where the picnic was to take place. She had never seen it, but had heard it described as the most romantic spot in Markestan. It had been the site of a fierce battle in some bye-gone age, and its glories had departed. For centuries it had lain deserted and crumbling. Yet some of its ancient beauty remained. Its marble floors and walls of carved stone were not utterly obliterated though only owls and flying-foxes made it their dwelling-place. Natives regarded it with superstitious awe and seldom approached it. But Europeans all looked upon it as the most beautiful corner within reach, and had it been nearer to Kurrumpore, it would have been a far more frequented playground than it was.
The hoot of a motor-horn broke suddenly upon the silence, and Stella started. It was the horn of Major Ralston's little two-seater; she knew it well. But they had not proposed using it that night. She and Tommy were to accompany them in a waggonette. The crunching of wheels and throb of the engine at the gate told her it was stopping. Then the Ralstons had altered their plans, unless--Something suddenly leapt up within her. She was conscious of a curious constriction at the throat, a sense of suffocation. The fuss and worry of the engine died down into silence, and in a moment there came the sound of a man's feet entering the compound. Standing motionless, with hands clenched against her sides, she gazed forth. A tall, straight figure was coming towards her between the whispering tamarisks. It was not Major Ralston. He walked with a slouch, and this man's gait was firm and purposeful. He came up to the verandah-steps with unfaltering determination. He was looking full at her, and she knew that she stood revealed in the marvellous Indian moonlight. He mounted the steps with the same absolute self-assurance that yet held nought of arrogance. His face remained in shadow, but she did not need to see it. The reason of his coming was proclaimed in every line, in every calm, unwavering movement.
He came to her, and she waited there in the merciless moonlight; for she had no choice.
"I have come for you," he said.
The words were brief, but they thrilled her strangely. Her eyes fluttered and refused to meet his look.
"The Ralstons are taking us," she said.
Her tone was cold, her bearing aloof. She was striving for self-control. He could not have known of the tumult within her. Yet he smiled. "They are taking Tommy," he said.
She heard the stubborn note in his voice and suddenly and completely the power to resist went from her.
She held out her hand to him with a curious gesture of appeal, "Captain Monck, if I come with you--"
His fingers closed about her own. "If?" he said.
She made a rather piteous attempt to laugh. "Really I don't want to," she said.
"Really?" said Monck. He drew a little nearer to her, still holding her hand. His grasp was firm and strong. "Really?" he said again.
She stood in silence, for she could not give him any answer.
He waited for a moment or two; then, "Stella," he said, "are you afraid of me?"
She shook her head. Her lips had begun to tremble inexplicably. "No--no," she said.
"What then?" He spoke with a gentleness that she had never heard from him before. "Of yourself?"
She turned her face away from him. "I am afraid--of life," she told him brokenly. "It is like a great Wheel--a vast machinery. I have been caught in it once--caught and crushed. Oh can't you understand?"
"Yes," he said.
Again for a space he was silent, his hand yet holding hers. There was subtle comfort in his grasp. It held protection.
"And so you want to run away from it?" he said at length. "Do you think that's going to help you?"
She choked back a sob. "I don't know. I have no judgment. I don't trust myself."
"You believe in sincerity?" he said. "In being true to yourself?" Then, as she winced, "No, I don't want to go over old ground. We are talking of present things. I'm not going to pester you, not going to ask you to marry me even--" again she was aware of his smile though his speech sounded grim--"until you have honestly answered the question that you are trying to shirk. Perhaps you won't thank me for reminding you a second time of a conversation that you and I once had on this very spot, but I must. I told you that I had been waiting for my turn. And you told me that I had come--too late."
He paused, but she did not speak. She was trembling from head to foot.
He leaned towards her. "Stella, I'm not such a fool as to make the same mistake twice over. I'm not going to miss my turn a second time. I loved you then--though I had never flattered myself that I had a chance. And my love isn't the kind that burns and goes out." His voice suddenly quivered. "I don't know whether you have any use for it. You have been too discreet and cautious to betray yourself. Your heart has been a closed book to me. But to-night--I am going to open that book. I have the right, and you can't deny it to me. If you were queen of the whole earth I should still have the right, because I love you, to ask you--as I ask you now--have you any love for me? There! I have done it. If you can tell me honestly that I am nothing to you, that is the end. But if not--if not--" again she heard a deep vibration in his voice--"then don't be afraid--in the name of Heaven! Marriage with me would not mean slavery."
He stopped abruptly and turned from her. From the room behind them there came a cheery hail. Tommy came tramping through.
"Hullo, old chap! You, is it? Has Stella been attending to your comfort? Have you had a drink?"
Monck's answer had a sardonic note, "Your sister has been kindness itself--as she always is. No drinks for me, thanks. I am just off in Ralston's car to Khanmulla." He turned deliberately back again to Stella. "Will you come with me? Or will you go with Tommy--and the Ralstons?"
There was neither anxiety nor persuasion in his voice. Tommy frowned over its utter lack of emotion. He did not think his friend was playing his cards well.
But to Stella that coolness had a different meaning. It stirred her to an impulse more headlong than at the moment she realized.
"I will come with you," she said.
"Good!" said Monck simply, and stood back for her to pass.
She went by him without a glance. She felt as if the wild throbbing of her heart would choke her. He had spoken in such a fashion as she had dreamed that he could ever speak. He had spoken and she had not sent him away. That was the thought that most disturbed her. Till that moment it had seemed a comparatively easy thing to do. Her course had been clear. But he had appealed to that within her which could not be ignored. He had appealed to the inner truth of her nature, and she could not close her ears to that. He asked her only to be true to herself. He had taken his stand on higher ground than that on which she stood. He had not urged any plea on his own behalf. He had only urged her to be honest. And in so doing he had laid bare that ancient mistake of hers that had devastated her life. He did not desire her upon the same terms as those upon which she had bestowed herself upon Ralph Dacre. He made that abundantly clear. He did not ask her to subordinate her happiness to his. He only asked for straight dealing from her, and she knew that he asked it as much for her sake as for his own. He would not seek to hold her if she did not love him. That was the great touchstone to which he had brought her, and she knew that she must face the test. The mastery of his love compelled her. As he had freely asserted, he had the right--just because he was an honourable man and he loved her honourably.
But how far would that love of his carry him? She longed to know. It was not the growth of a brief hour's passion. That at least she knew. It would not burn and go out. It would endure; somehow she realized that now past disputing. But was it first and greatest with him? Were his cherished career, his ambition, of small account beside it? Was he willing to do sacrifice to it? And if so, how great a sacrifice was he prepared to offer?
She yearned to ask him as he sped her in silence through the chequered moonlight of the Khanmulla jungle. But some inner force restrained her. She feared to break the spell.
The road was deserted, just as it had been on that dripping night when she had answered his summons to Tommy's sick bed. She recalled that wild rush through the darkness, his grim strength, his determination. The iron of his will had seemed to compass her then. Was it the same to-night? Had her freedom already been wrested from her? Was there to be no means of escape?
Through the jungle solitudes there came the call of an owl, weird and desolate and lonely. Something in it pierced her with a curious pain. Was freedom then everything? Did she truly love the silence above all?
She drew her cloak closer about her. Was there something of a chill in the atmosphere? Or was it the chill of the desert beyond the oasis that awaited her?
They emerged from the thickest part of the jungle into a space of tangled shrubs that seemed fighting with each other for possession of the way. The road was rough, and Monck slackened speed.
"We shall have to leave the car," he said. "There is a track here that leads to the ruined palace. It is only a hundred yards or so. We shall have to do it on foot."
They descended. The moonlight poured in a flood all about them. They were alone.
Stella turned up the narrow path he indicated, but in a moment he overtook her. "Let me go first!" he said.
He passed her with the words and walked ahead, holding the creepers back from her as she followed.
She suffered him silently, with a strange sense of awe, almost as though she trod holy ground. But the old feeling of trespass was wholly absent. She had no fear of being cast forth from this place that she was about to enter.
The path began to widen somewhat and to ascend. In a few moments they came upon a crumbling stonewall crossing it at right angles.
Monck paused. "One way leads to the palace, the other to the temple," he said. "Which shall we take?"
Stella faced him in the moonlight. She thought he looked stern. "Is not the picnic to be at the palace?" she said.
"Yes." He answered her without hesitation. "You will find Lady Harriet and Co. there. The temple on the other hand is probably deserted."
"Ah!" His meaning flashed upon her. She stood a second in indecision. Then "Is it far?" she said.
She saw his faint smile for an instant. "A very long way--for you," he said.
"I can come back?" she said.
"I shall not prevent you." She heard the smile in his voice, and something within her thrilled in answer.
"Let us go then!" she said.
He turned without further words and led the way.
They entered the shadow of the jungle once more. For a space the path ran beside the crumbling wall, then it diverged from it, winding darkly into the very heart of the jungle. Monck walked without hesitation. He evidently knew the place well.
They came at length upon a second clearing, smaller than the first, and here in the centre of a moonlit space there stood the ruined walls of a little native temple or mausoleum.
A flight of worn, marble steps led to the dark arch of the doorway. Monck stretched a hand to his companion, and they ascended side by side. A bubbling murmur of water came from within. It seemed to fill the place with gurgling, gnomelike laughter. They entered and Monck stood still.
For a space of many seconds he neither moved nor spoke. It was almost as if he were waiting for some signal. They looked forth into the moonlight they had left through the cave-like opening. The air around them was chill and dank. Somewhere in the darkness behind them a frog croaked, and tiny feet scuttled and scrambled for a few moments and then were still.
Again Stella shivered, drawing her cloak more closely round her. "Why did you bring me to this eerie place?" she said, speaking under her breath involuntarily.
He stirred as if her words aroused him from a reverie. "Are you afraid?" he said.
"I should be--- by myself," she made answer. "I don't think I like India at too close quarters. She is so mysterious and so horribly ruthless."
He passed over the last two sentences as though they had not been uttered. "But you are not afraid with me?" he said.
She quivered at something in his question. "I am not sure," she said. "I sometimes think that you are rather ruthless too."
"Do you know me well enough to say that?" he said.
She tried to answer him lightly. "I ought to by this time. I have had ample opportunity."
"Yes," he said rather bitterly. "But you are prejudiced. You cling to a preconceived idea. If you love me--it is in spite of yourself."
Something in his voice hurt her like the cry of a wounded thing. She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him. "Oh, but that is not so!" she said. "You don't understand. Please don't think anything so--so hard of me!"
"Are you sure it is not so?" he said. "Stella! Stella! Are you sure?"
The words pierced her afresh. She suddenly felt that she could bear no more. "Oh, please!" she said. "Oh, please!" and laid a quivering hand upon his arm. "You are making it very difficult for me. Don't you realize how much better it would be for your own sake not to press me any further?"
"No!" he said; just the one word, spoken doggedly, almost harshly. His hands were clenched and rigid at his sides.
Almost instinctively she began to plead with him as one who pleads for freedom. "Ah, but listen a moment! You have your life to live. Your career means very much to you. Marriage means hindrance to a man like you. Marriage means loitering by the way. And there is no time to loiter. You have taken up a big thing, and you must carry it through. You must put every ounce of yourself into it. You must work like a galley slave. If you don't you will be--a failure."
"Who told you that?" he demanded.
She met the fierceness of his eyes unflinchingly. "I know it. Everyone knows it. You have given yourself heart and soul to India, to the Empire. Nothing else counts--or ever can count now--in the same way. It is quite right that it should be so. You are a builder, and you must follow your profession. You will follow it to the end. And you will do great things,--immortal things." Her voice shook a little. "But you must keep free from all hampering burdens, all private cares. Above all, you must not think of marriage with a woman whose chief desire is to escape from India and all that India means, whose sympathies are utterly alien from her, and whose youth has died a violent death at her hands. Oh, don't you see the madness of it? Surely you must see!"
A quiver of deep feeling ran through her words. She had not meant to go so far, but she was driven, driven by a force that would not be denied. She wanted him to see the matter with her eyes. Somehow that seemed essential now. Things had gone so far between them. It was intolerable now that he should misunderstand.
But as she ceased to speak, she abruptly realized that the effect of her words was other than she intended. He had listened to her with a rigid patience, but as her words went into silence it seemed as if the iron will by which till then he had held himself in check had suddenly snapped.
He stood for a second or two longer with an odd smile on his face and that in his eyes which startled her into a momentary feeling that was almost panic; then with a single, swift movement he bent and caught her to him.
"And you think that counts!" he said. "You think that anything on earth counts--but this!"
His lips were upon hers as he ended, stopping all protest, all utterance. He kissed her hotly, fiercely, holding her so pressed that above the wild throbbing of her own heart she felt the deep, strong beat of his. His action was passionate and overwhelming. She would have withstood him, but she could not; and there was that within her that rejoiced, that exulted, because she could not. Yet as at last his lips left hers, she turned her face aside, hiding it from him that he might not see how completely he had triumphed.
He laughed a little above her bent head; he did not need to see. "Stella, you and I have got to sink or swim together. If you won't have success with me, then I will share your failure."
She quivered at his words; she was clinging to him almost without knowing it. "Oh, no! Oh, no!" she said.
His hand came gently upwards and lay upon her head. "My dear, that rests with you. I have sworn that marriage to me shall not mean bondage. If India is any obstacle between us, India will go."
"Oh, no!" she said again. "No, Everard! No!"
He bent his face to hers. His lips were on her hair. "You love me, Stella," he said.
She was silent, her breathing short, spasmodic, difficult.
His cheek pressed her forehead. "Why not own it?" he said softly. "Is it--so hard?"
She lifted her face swiftly; her arms clasped his neck. "And if--if I do,--will you let me go?" she asked him tremulously.
The smile still hovered about his lips. "No," he said.
"It is madness," she pleaded desperately.
"It is--Kismet," he made answer, and took her face between his hands looking deeply, steadily, into her eyes. "Your life is bound up with mine. You know it. Stella, you know it."
She uttered a sob that yet was half laughter. "I have done my best," she said. "Why are you so--so merciless?"
"You surrender?" he said.
She gave herself to the drawing of his hands. "Have I any choice?"
"Not if you are honest," he said.
"Ah!" She coloured rather painfully. "I have at least been honest in trying to keep you from this--this big mistake. I know you will repent it. When this--fever is past, you will regret--oh, so bitterly."
He set his jaw and all the grim strength of the man was suddenly apparent. "Shall I tell you the secret of success?" he said abruptly. "It is just never to look back. It is the secret of happiness also, if people only realized it. If you want to make the best of life, you've got to look ahead. I'm going to make you do that, Stella. You've been sitting mourning by the wayside long enough."
She smiled almost in spite of herself, for the note of mastery in his voice was inexplicably sweet. "I've thought that myself," she said. "But I'm not going to let you patch up my life with yours. If this must be--and you are sure--you are sure that it must?"
"I have spoken," he said.
She faced him resolutely. "Then India shall have us both. Now I have spoken too."
His face changed. The grimness became eagerness. "Stella, do you mean that?" he said. "It's a big sacrifice--too big for you."
Her eyes were shining as stars shine through a mist. She was drawing his head downwards that her lips might reach his. "Oh, my darling," she said, and the thrill of love triumphant was in her words, "nothing would be--too big. It simply ceases to be a sacrifice--if it is done--for your dear sake."
Her lips met his upon the words, and in that kiss she gave him all she had. It was the rich bestowal of a woman's full treasury, than which it may be there is nought greater on earth. _