_ PART IV CHAPTER IX. VALPRE AGAIN
"How dark it is!" said Chris. "And how we are crawling!"
She turned her white face from the carriage-window with the words. They were the first she had uttered since leaving Paris.
Neither of her two companions responded at once. Noel was curled up in the farther corner asleep, and her husband sitting opposite was writing rapidly in a notebook. He stopped to finish his sentence before he looked up. She was conscious of a little sense of chill because he did so.
"Why don't you try to get a sleep?" he said then. "We shall not reach Valpre for another two hours."
"I can't sleep," she said.
Her eyes avoided his instinctively. They were more nearly alone together at this moment than they had been since their brief interview that morning at the Davenants' flat. It seemed weeks ago to Chris already.
"Have you tried?" he asked.
"No."
He did not make the obvious rejoinder, but glanced again at his writing, added something, and put it away. Then, with his usual deliberation of movement, he left his seat and came over to her side.
She had a moment of desperate shyness as he sat down. "Don't let me interrupt you," she said nervously.
He ignored the words, as if he considered them foolish "I should like you to get a little sleep," he said. "You have had a long day. Look at that fellow over there, setting the good example."
"He hasn't so much to think about," said Chris, with a smile that quivered in spite of her.
"Are you thinking very hard?" he asked.
"Yes." She brought out the word with an effort, for suddenly she wanted to cry again, and she was determined to keep back her tears this time.
He made no comment, but sat and looked at the blank darkness of the window.
After a time she mastered herself, and stole a glance at his grave face.
"You--I suppose you will be busy at the court again to-morrow?" she said.
"Yes." He turned to her in his quiet way. "It will be the last day in all probability."
"You think the verdict will be made known?"
"Yes."
She shivered a little. "And the sentence?"
"The sentence will probably not be disclosed till later."
She shivered again, and he reached forward and drew the window a little higher.
"I'm not cold," she said quickly. "Trevor, aren't you--just a little--sorry for him?"
"For whom?"
"For the prisoner--for--for Captain Rodolphe." She stammered the name with downcast eyes.
"No." Very calmly and very decidedly came his answer. "I have no pity for a man of that sort. I think he should be shot."
"Oh, do you?" she said with a gasp.
"Yes, I do. A treacherous scoundrel like that is worse than a murderer in my opinion. So is anyone who is fundamentally untrustworthy."
"Oh, but--but--Trevor--," she said, and suddenly there was a note of pleading in her halting words, "that includes the weak people with the wicked. Don't you think--that is rather hard?"
"Quite possibly." He made the admission in a tone she did not understand, and relapsed into silence.
She felt as if the subject were closed, and did not venture to pursue it.
But after a moment he surprised her by a quiet question: "Why don't you try to convince me that I am wrong?"
She looked up at him quickly, as if compelled. His eyes were waiting for hers, met them, held them.
"I am not suggesting that you should defend Rodolphe," he said. "You were not thinking of him. He is not one of the weak."
"I was thinking of myself," she said. "And--and--and--" She wavered and stopped.
"Rupert?" he suggested.
She caught her breath. "What made you think of him?"
"You were thinking of him, were you not?"
She made a gesture of helplessness. "Yes."
"I see," he said. "But you needn't be anxious about Rupert. He came to me long ago and told me the truth."
She opened her eyes wide. "What made him do that?"
"He heard that Bertrand was bearing the blame for his misdeeds, and he had the decency to be ashamed of himself."
"Oh!" said Chris. She was silent for a moment, still meeting his steady gaze. Suddenly her mouth quivered and she turned from them. "Trevor, I--I am ashamed too."
"Hush!" he said.
The word was brief, it sounded stern; but in the same instant his hand found hers and held it very tightly.
She mastered herself with a great effort in response to his insistence. "Were you very angry with him?" she whispered.
"No."
"You didn't--punish him in any way?"
"No. I told him to forget it and said I should do the same. As a matter of fact, I had forgotten it until this moment." Mordaunt's tone was unemotional; he released her hand as he was speaking, and again she was conscious of that small sense of chill.
"You forgave him, then?" she said.
"Yes, I did." He paused a moment; then: "By and bye," he said, "Rupert will take on the management of the Kellerton estate, and I think he will probably be a great help to me."
Chris's eyes shot upwards in amazement. "Trevor! Not really?"
He smiled a little. "Yes, really. It is the sort of life that suits him best; and he will be pretty busy, so it ought to keep him out of mischief."
"Oh, but, Trevor--" she said, and stopped short.
"Well?" he said gently.
"I didn't think you would do that," she murmured in confusion. "I didn't think you would ever trust any of us again."
"You think I may regret it?" he said.
She turned her face to the window and made no answer.
He sat beside her for a little longer in silence, then rose, bundled up a travelling-rug to form a cushion, and arranged it in her corner. "Lean against that," he said kindly. "I know you can sleep if you don't try not to."
She thanked him with trembling lips, and as he turned away she caught his hand for a moment and held it to her cheek.
He withdrew it at once though with absolute gentleness. He did not speak a word.
Thereafter she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the drumming of the train was in her ears perpetually, and she could not forget it. Present also was the consciousness of her husband's quiet watchfulness. Though he held aloof from her, his care surrounded her unceasingly. Not once had she felt it relax since she had placed herself in his charge. Did he guess? she asked herself, and trembled inwardly. He was being very kind to her in a distant, measured fashion. Was that the reason for it? Could it be?
Her thoughts went back to her talk with her cousin, to the bitter words she had uttered. Would he really care if she were to die? Would he? Would he? She longed to know.
But of course he would not, or he could not be so cold. For Bertrand's sake he had come to fetch her. He had evidently forgiven Bertrand just as he had forgiven Rupert. He forgave everybody but her, she thought to herself forlornly. For his wife alone he could not make allowances.
Again the hot tears welled up, and her closed lids could not keep them back. The dumb anxiety that had gnawed at her heart all through the day returned upon her overwhelmingly, became a burden too heavy to be borne. She covered her face and sobbed.
"Chris!" Her husband's voice came down to her in the depths of her distress. His hand pressed her head. "Leave off crying," he said. "You mustn't cry."
She turned her face upwards, all blinded with tears. "Trevor, I know--I know we shan't be in time!"
They were not the words she wanted to say to him, but they came uppermost and were uttered almost before she knew. She wondered if they would make him angry, but it was too late to recall them. She reached out her hands to him imploringly.
"Oh, forgive me for caring so much!"
"Hush!" he said again very gently. "I understand."
He put the hair back from her forehead, and dried her eyes. There was something almost maternal in his touch.
"You mustn't cry," he said again. "I think you will be in time, and if you are, you will need all your strength; so you mustn't waste it now. Come, you are going to be brave?"
"I'll try," she said faintly.
"See if you can get to sleep," he said.
"But I know I can't," whispered Chris.
"I think you can." He spoke with grave conviction.
"Will you--will you hold my hand?" faltered Chris.
He took it at once. She felt his fingers close steadily upon it, and a sense of comfort stole over her. She clasped them very tightly, and closed her eyes.
The train drummed on through the night, bearing her back to Valpre, back to the old enchantments, to the sands, the caves, and the rocks. She began to hear again the long, low wash of the sea. Or was it the sound of wheels that raced over the metals? Before her inner vision came the spreading line of foam that had rushed how often to catch her dancing feet. And the quiet pools crystal-clear among the rocks, with the sunshine that turned their pebbly floors to gold, so that they became palaces of delight, draped with exquisite curtains of rose and palest green, peopled with scuttling crabs that were not really crabs at all, but the spellbound retinue of the knight who dwelt in the Magic Cave.
She looked towards the Gothic archway, expectant, with quickening breath. Surely he would be coming soon! Ah, now she saw him--a radiant, white-clad figure, with the splendour of eternal youth upon him and the Deathless Magic in his eyes.
And suddenly her own eyes were opened, so that she knew beyond all doubting that the spell that bound him--that bound them both--was the spell of Immortality, the Divine Passport--Love the Indestructible.
Thereafter came a wondrous peace, solacing her, calming her, wrapping her round. Once she stirred, and was conscious of a quiet hand holding hers, lulling her to a more assured restfulness. And so at last she slipped into the quiet of a deep slumber, and the throbbing anxiety sank utterly away.
When she opened her eyes again it was in answer to her husband's voice. She awoke quite naturally to find him bending over her.
"We are at Valpre," he said.
She sat up quickly. "Why, I have been asleep!"
"Yes," he said. "And you will be the better for it. Noel has gone to secure a conveyance. The place is crammed, as you know. You are feeling all right?"
Again for a moment she felt his scrutiny, and her heart quickened under it. But she mustered a smile.
"Yes, quite. You will let me come with you, Trevor? You won't go on first?"
"I shall not leave you," he said.
He gave her his hand to descend from the train, and she clung to it while they threaded their way through the noisy, gesticulating crowd that thronged the platform.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she found herself at last in the ramshackle _fiacre_ which Noel by strenuous effort had managed to commandeer. The din bewildered her. But for her husband's protecting presence she would have felt like a lost child.
As they rumbled away over the stones of Valpre he spoke. "We are in time, Chris."
Her heart gave a great throb. "Are we? But how do you know?"
"Everyone is talking of him," he said quietly. "And I gather that he has been arrested."
"Oh, Trevor!" she breathed in dismay.
"Max is with him," he reminded her. "I don't think they would get rid of him very easily. We shall know more when we get there."
They clattered on to the _plage_, and the cold sea wind blew in upon them.
Noel snuffed it appreciatively. "Smells decent, anyway. Wonder if they're still running the same old show. I say, Chris, do you remember the Goat?"
Chris did. With her face to the dark sea and the sound of its waves in her ears, she recalled the old light-hearted days and the shrill admonitions of Mademoiselle Gautier. How often had she prophesied disaster for her charge among the rocks of Valpre! Chris smiled a little piteous smile. Ah, well!
The _fiacre_ jerked and jolted over the stones. They left the _plage_ behind and came to a standstill with a violent swerve.
"Now what?" said Noel.
They seemed to have come suddenly upon a crowd of people. Late though it was, all Valpre apparently was awake and abroad.
They staggered on again at a snail's pace, hearing voices all about them, now and then catching glimpses of faces in the light of the carriage-lamps.
"Feels like a funeral procession!" observed Noel jocularly.
"Shut up!" said Mordaunt curtly.
Chris squeezed his hand very hard and said nothing.
Slowly, slowly they drew near to the hotel. A glare of lights shone upon them. The whole place was a buzz of excitement.
They turned into the courtyard, passing two soldiers on guard at the gate. No one spoke to them, or attempted to delay their progress. They stopped before the swing-doors.
An obsequious official came forward to greet them as they descended, and Mordaunt entered into conversation with him. Two soldiers were on guard here also, standing like images on each side of the entrance. Noel studied them with frank interest. Chris stood and waited as one in a dream.
At last her husband turned to her. He introduced the obsequious one, who bowed very low and declared himself enchanted. And then she found herself moving through the vestibule, where a great many men of all nationalities looked at her curiously and a great babble of voices hummed like some immense machinery.
She turned to the man beside her with a touch of nervousness, and at once his hand closed upon her arm.
"Bertrand is still living," he said.
She looked up at him imploringly. "Can't we go to him?"
"Yes, we are going now. He is upstairs. They wanted to take him to the fortress, but he is too ill to be moved."
They went on together. He led her into a lift, and they passed out of reach of the staring crowd.
A familiar figure was awaiting them above, and greeted Chris deferentially as she stepped into the corridor.
"Why, Holmes!" she said, and held out her hand to him.
He took it with reverence. For the first time in her memory she detected a hint of emotion on his impassive face.
"He--hasn't gone, Holmes?" she whispered breathlessly.
"No, madam. He is waiting for you," Holmes made answer, very gently.
Waiting for her! She smiled piteously in her relief. Bertrand de Montville would be her perfect knight to the last.
As they went on down the long corridor she missed the grasp of her husband's fingers, and stopped like a child to slip her hand back into his.
He looked down at her gravely, saying nothing. And so they came at last to the door of Bertrand's room.
Two soldiers were on guard here also. The door was closed.
Holmes went quietly forward and showed a paper to one of the sentries.
Chris waited with a beating heart. Suddenly, with a sob, she turned and clung to her husband's arm. "Trevor, I--I am afraid!"
"There is no need," he said.
"I have never seen death," she whispered. "Will he seem--different?"
He looked at her for a second in such a way that her eyes fell from his.
"Would you like me to go in first?" he asked.
"No--no. Only, Trevor, hold my hand! You won't let go? Promise!"
He did not promise, but somehow without words he reassured her. The door opened before them, and they entered. _