_ PART III CHAPTER VI. THE HERO
The wind went down somewhat at sunset and Sylvia realized with relief that the worst was over. She sat listening for the return of Burke and Guy while her companion chatted cheerfully of a thousand things which might have interested her at any other time but to which now she gave but fitful attention.
He was in the midst of telling her about the draw for the great diamond at Brennerstadt and how the tickets had been reduced from monkeys to ponies because the monkeys were too shy, when there came the sound for which she waited--a hand upon the window-catch and the swirl of sand blown in by the draught as it opened.
She was up in a moment, guarding the candle and looking out over it with eager, half-dazzled eyes. For an instant her look met Burke's as he stood in the aperture, then swiftly travelled to the man with him. Guy, with a ghastly face that tried to smile, was hanging upon him for support.
Burke shut the window with decision and stood staring at Sylvia's companion.
Kelly at once proceeded with volubility to explain his presence. "Ah, yes, it's meself in the flesh, Burke, and very pleased to see ye. I've taken a holiday to come and do ye a good turn. And Mrs. Ranger has been entertaining me like a prince in your absence. So you've got young Guy with you! What's the matter with the boy?"
"I'm all right," said Guy, and quitted his hold upon Burke as if to demonstrate the fact.
But Burke took him by the arm and led him to a chair. "You sit down!" he commanded briefly. "Hullo, Donovan! Glad to see you! Have you had a drink?"
"Sure, I've had all that mortal man could desire and more to it," declared Kelly.
"Good," said Burke, and turned to Sylvia. "Get out the brandy, will you?"
She hastened to do his bidding. There was a blueness about Guy's lips that frightened her, and she saw that his hands were clenched.
Yet, as Burke bent over him a few moments later, he laughed with something of challenge in, his eyes. "Ripping sport, old chap!" he said, and drank with a feverish eagerness.
Burke's hand was on his shoulder. She could not read his expression, but she was aware of something unusual between them, something that was wholly outside her experience. Then he spoke, his voice very quiet and steady.
"Go slow, man! You've had a bit of a knockout."
Guy looked across at her, and there was triumph in his look. "It's been--sport," he said again. "Ripping sport!" It was so boyishly uttered, and his whole attitude was so reminiscent of the old days, that she felt herself thrill in answer. She moved quickly to him.
"What has been happening? Tell me!" she said.
He laughed again. "My dear girl, we've been fighting the devil in his own element, and we've beat him off the field." He sprang to his feet. "Here, give me another drink, or I shall die! My throat is a bed of live cinders."
Burke intervened. "No--no! Go slow, I tell you! Go slow! Get some tea, Sylvia! Where are those Kaffirs?"
"They haven't been near all day," Sylvia said. "I frightened Rosamond away this morning, and the others must have been afraid of the storm."
"I'll rout 'em out," said Kelly.
"No. You stay here! I'll go." Burke turned to the door, but paused as he opened it and looked back. "Sylvia!" he said.
She went to him. He put his hand through her arm and drew her into the passage. "Don't let Guy have any more to drink!" he said. "Mind, I leave him to you."
He spoke with urgency; she looked at him in surprise.
"Yes, I mean it," he said. "You must prevent him somehow. I can't--nor Kelly either. You probably can--for a time anyhow."
"I'll do my best," she said.
His hand closed upon her. "If you fail, he'll go under, I know the signs. It's up to you to stop him. Go back and see to it!"
He almost pushed her from him with the words, and it came to her that for some reason Guy's welfare was uppermost with him just then. He had never betrayed any anxiety on his account before, and she wondered greatly at his attitude. But it was no time for questioning. Mutely she obeyed him and went back.
She found Guy in the act of filling a glass for Kelly. His own stood empty at his elbow. She went forward quickly, and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Guy, please!" she said,
He looked at her, the bottle in his hand. In his eyes she saw again that dreadful leaping flame which made her think of some starved and desperate animal. "What is it?" he said.
An overwhelming sense of her own futility came upon her. She felt almost like a child standing there, attempting that of which Burke had declared himself to be incapable.
"What is it?" he said again.
She braced herself for conflict. "Please," she said gently. "I want you to wait and have some tea. It won't take long to get." Then, as the fever of his eyes seemed to burn her: "Please, Guy! Please!"
Kelly put aside his own drink untouched. "There's no refusing such a sweet appeal as that," he declared gallantly. "Guy, I move a postponement. Tea first!"
But Guy was as one who heard not. He was staring at Sylvia, and the wild fire in his eyes was leaping higher, ever higher. In that moment he saw her, and her alone. It was as if they two had suddenly met in a place that none other might enter. His words of the morning rushed back upon her--his passionate declaration that life was not long enough for sacrifice--that the future to which she looked was but a mirage which she would never reach.
It all flashed through her brain in a few short seconds, vivid, dazzling, overwhelming, and the memory of Kieff went with it--Kieff and his cold, sinister assertion that she held Guy's destiny between her hands.
Then, very softly, Guy spoke. "To please--you?" he said.
She answered him, but it was scarcely of her own volition. She was as one driven--"Yes--yes!"
He looked at her closely as if to make sure of her meaning. Then, with a quick, reckless movement, he turned and set down the bottle on the table.
"That settles that," he said boyishly. "Go ahead, Kelly! Drink! Don't mind me! I am--brandy-proof."
And Sylvia, throbbing from head to foot, knew she had conquered, knew she had saved him for a time at least from the threatening evil. But there was that within her which shrank from the thought of the victory. She had acted almost under compulsion, yet she felt that she had used a weapon which would ultimately pierce them both.
She scarcely knew what passed during the interval that followed before Burke's return. As in a dream she heard Kelly still talking about the Brennerstadt diamond, and Guy was asking him questions with a keenness of interest that seemed strange to her. She herself was waiting and watching for Burke, dreading his coming, yet in a fashion eager for it. For very curiously she had a feeling that she needed him. For the first time she wanted to lean upon his strength.
But when at length he came, her dread of him was uppermost and she felt she could not meet his look. It was with relief that she saw Guy was still his first thought. He had fetched Joe from the Kaffir huts, and the lamps were filled and lighted. He was carrying one as he entered, and the light flung upwards on his face showed it to her as the face of a strong man.
He set the lamp on the table and went straight to Guy. "Look here!" he said. "I'm going to put you to bed."
Guy, with his arms on the table, looked up at him and laughed. "Oh, rats! I'm all right. Can't you see I'm all right? Well, I must have some tea first anyway. I've been promised tea."
"I'll bring you your tea in bed," Burke said.
But Guy protested. "No, really, old chap. I must sit up a bit longer. I'll be very good. I want to hear all Kelly's news. I believe I shall have to go back to Brennerstadt with him to paint the town red. I'd like to have a shot at that diamond. You never know your luck when the devil's on your side."
"I know yours," said Burke drily. "And it's about as rotten as it can be. You've put too great a strain on it all your life."
Guy laughed again. He was in the wildest spirits. But suddenly in the midst of his mirth he began to cough with a dry, harsh sound like the rending of wood. He pushed his chair back from the table, and bent himself double, seeming to grope upon the floor. It was the most terrible paroxysm that Sylvia had ever witnessed, and she thought it would never end.
Several times he tried to straighten himself, but each effort seemed to renew the anguish that tore him, and in the end he subsided limply against Burke who supported him till at last the convulsive choking ceased.
He was completely exhausted by that time and offered no remonstrance when Burke and Kelly between them bore him to the former's room and laid him on the bed he had occupied for so long. Burke administered brandy again; there was no help for it. And then at Guy's whispered request he left him for a space to recover.
He drew Sylvia out of the room, and Kelly followed. "I'll go back to him later, and help him undress," he said. "But he will probably get on better alone for the present."
"What has been happening?" Sylvia asked him. "Tell me what has been happening!"
A fevered desire to know everything was upon her. She felt she must know.
Burke looked at her as if something in her eagerness struck him as unusual. But he made no comment upon it. He merely with his customary brevity proceeded to enlighten her.
"We went to Vreiboom's, and had a pretty hot time. Kieff was there too, by the way. The fire got a strong hold, and if the wind, had held, we should probably have been driven out of it, and our own land would have gone too. As it was," he paused momentarily, "well, we have Guy to thank that it didn't."
"Guy!" said Sylvia quickly.
"Yes. He worked like a nigger--better. He's been among hot ashes and that infernal sand for hours. I couldn't get him out. He did the impossible." A curious tremor sounded in Burke's voice--"The impossible!" he said again.
"Sure, I always said there was grit in the boy," said Kelly. "You'll be making a man of him yet, Burke. You'll have to have a good try after this."
Burke was silent. His eyes, bloodshot but keen, were upon Sylvia's face.
It was some moments before with an effort she lifted her own to meet them. "So Guy is a hero!" she said, with a faint uncertain smile. "I'm glad of that."
"Let's drink to him," said Kelly, "now he isn't here to see! Burke, fill up! Mrs. Ranger!"
"No--no!" Sylvia said. "I am going to get the tea."
Yet she paused beside Burke, as if compelled. "What else did he do?" she said. "You haven't told us all."
"Not quite all," said Burke, and still his eyes searched hers with a probing intentness.
"Don't you want to tell me?" she said.
"Yes, I will tell you," he answered, "if you especially want to hear. He saved my life."
"Hooray!" yelled Kelly, in the voice of one holloaing to hounds.
Sylvia said nothing for a moment. She had turned very pale. When she spoke it was with an effort. "How?"
He answered as if speaking to her alone. "One of Vreiboom's tumble-down old sheds fired while we were trying to clear it. The place collapsed and I got pinned inside. Piet Vreiboom didn't trouble himself, or Kieff, either. He wouldn't--naturally. Guy got me out."
"Ah!" she said. It was scarcely more than an intake of the breath. She could not utter another word, for that imprisoned thing within her seemed to be clawing at her heart, choking her. If Burke had died--if Burke had died! She turned herself quickly from the searching of his eyes, lest he should see--and understand. She could not--dared not--show him her soul just then. The memory of his kiss--that single, fiery kiss that had opened her own eyes--held her back. She went from him in silence. If Burke had died! _