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CHAPTER XVIII
THE WEDDING NIGHT

It was over. Maud sat before the open fireplace in Jake's oak-panelled parlour, gazing into the red heart of the fire with a stunned sense of finality, a feeling that she had been overtaken and made prisoner by Fate. She was terribly tired. Every limb seemed weighted as if with iron fetters. She longed with a sick longing for sleep and oblivion. She ached for solitude and repose.

Overhead she could hear Jake moving. He was helping Bunny to prepare for the night, by Bunny's own decree. Very soon he would come down again, and she would have to rouse herself and make conversation. She wondered wearily how she would do it.

The best room in the house had been given to Bunny. Out of it led a smaller room in which she could sleep and be within call when he needed her. Jake had made every provision he could think of for their comfort. She felt that she ought to be very grateful to him; but somehow she was too tired for gratitude. And she could not concentrate her thoughts; they wandered so.

Now it was the glint of the firelight on her wedding-ring that drew them. It shone with a burning, intolerable sparkle that somehow reminded her of Jake-and the look in his eyes when he had said- But she pulled her mind up short at this point, with a sharp, involuntary shiver. She would not dwell on that thought. She would bury it deep; deep, far below all others. For she knew she would never cast it out.

She clenched her hand and covered the ring from sight.

The thought of Uncle Edward presented itself, and she seized upon it with relief. He had been with them during the greater part of the day, and had left but an hour before to catch the night train to town. He had been very kind to her, and had taken a shrewd interest in Bunny. Just at parting he had drawn her aside for a moment, looking at her with his sharp eyes under their shaggy brows with just the look of a terrier on the hunt.

"And if at any time you should be in need of a change of air, my dear," he had said, "don't forget that you've got an old uncle at Liverpool who wouldn't be sorry to see you-and the boy too-however busy he happened to be."

He had meant that as an offer of help, should she ever stand in need of it. She had recognized that, though neither he nor she had emphasized the fact. He foresaw a possibility of difficulties ahead with which she might be unable to cope single-handed. He wanted her to know that she would never call upon him a second time in vain. She had thanked him with simplicity, and now she registered the offer in her mind. Almost unconsciously, she had begun already to seek for a way of escape, should her captivity become at any time unendurable.

For a captive she undoubtedly was. She had given herself, voluntarily but completely, into the keeping of a man whom she felt she hardly knew, – a man who had shown her every consideration in his power, but upon whom even yet she was half-afraid to lean. Full of kindness as she had found him to be she knew instinctively that he possessed other qualities, was capable of other impulses. Something of the caged beast, something of the pirate on shore, there was about him. He was quiet, he was considerate, he was kind. But on his own ground, in his own element, would he be always thus? Would he be always the generous captor; the steadfast friend? Her heart misgave her a little. Words that Giles Sheppard had uttered only that morning arose suddenly in her memory, gibing words that sent the hot blood again to her cheeks.

"Ah, he's a deep one, is Jake. What he gives with one hand he takes with the other and more to it. He's not the man to make a one-sided bargain. But he knows how to bide his time. He hasn't saddled himself with a penniless wife and a hunchback brother-in-law just for the fun of the thing. He'll be getting his own back presently, and I think I can guess who'll pay the piper."

Bitter words! Cruel words! Flung in her face for the malignant pleasure of seeing her wince!

She had not winced. She was glad to remember that. She had turned her back on the man's hateful, sneering face. He had humbled her to the earth once, but he would never have another opportunity. Henceforth Jake stood between her and all the world. She had bought his protection at a price, and she knew it for a weapon that would never fail her. As to the price, she would pay him in service and obedience. It might be he would never ask more of her than these. Life was short, and she was very tired. Why should she fret herself over that which might never come to pass? She closed her eyes from the red glow of the fire, and lay still.

Yet she could not have travelled far along the dim path to oblivion for the quiet opening of the door a few minutes later brought her back in a second. She started up in her chair, alert, nervous, to see Jake enter in his square fashion and shut the door behind him.

"Don't disturb yourself!" he said.

He came and stood before the fire, and Maud, sinking back into her chair, strove to calm the unreasonable inner tumult that his entrance had excited.

"Are you going to sit down and have a smoke?" she suggested.

He gave her a side-glance that had in it a hint of humour. "You don't object to being smoke-dried?" he asked, in his slow, gentle voice.

"Of course I don't," she said.

He took his clay pipe from his pocket and considered it. It was very old, blackened, and discoloured with much use. He looked at her again, doubtfully.

An odd impulse moved her unexpectedly. She sat up again and held out her hand. "Give it to me! I'll fill it for you."

His hand closed upon it. She saw surprise in his eyes.

"You!" he said.

She found herself smiling. He actually looked embarrassed, a fact which set her wholly at her ease. "But why not?" she said. "Is it too great a treasure to be entrusted to me?"

But he still held it back. "What do you want to do it for?"

She kept her hand outstretched. "As a small-very small-return for your goodness to Bunny," she said.

His face changed a little. He put the pipe into her hand. "I don't want any return," he said. "Don't do it for that!"

She coloured, but she still smiled. "Very well. It is a favour bestowed gratis. Where's your tobacco?"

He fetched a pouch-nearly as ancient as the pipe-out of his pocket, and laid it in her lap.

"You're not to watch me," she said, speaking with a new-found confidence that surprised herself. "Sit down and read the paper! I'll tell you when it's done."

He sat down opposite to her, and took up the paper. "You'll make a beastly mess of your hands," he said uneasily.

"Be quiet!" she said.

He opened out the paper, and there fell a silence.

Maud pursued her self-appointed task with mixed feelings. The tobacco was rank and coarse, and it smelt like mildewed hay. It was, moreover, nearly black, and she found herself fingering it with increasing disgust. She was determined however not to be beaten, and with compressed lips she pinched and poked the revolting substance, ramming it deep into the blackened bowl with a heroic determination to accomplish the business to the best of her ability, her feelings notwithstanding.

"You're packing it too tight," observed Jake gravely.

She looked up half-laughing, half-vexed. "I told you not to watch."

He dropped his paper, and leaned towards her. "I reckon I can't help watching you, my girl," he said. "I've never seen anyone like you before."

He spoke with absolute simplicity, but his directness struck her like a blow in the face. She lowered her eyes swiftly.

"I'm sorry I haven't done it to your satisfaction," she said, in a small, cold voice, from which all hint of intimacy had fled. "You had better do it over again."

She held out the pipe to him, and again the firelight gleamed golden-red on that new bright ring that he had placed on her finger that day.

He leaned further forward, stretched out a quiet hand that grasped and held her own.

He took the pipe from her with the utmost gentleness and laid it aside; but he kept her hand, and after a moment he left his chair and knelt beside her.

She did not draw back from him, but she stiffened on the instant. Her breathing quickened.

There followed a silence, which she found peculiarly hard to bear, and which she eventually broke.

"Perhaps I ought to go to Bunny for a little. He will feel neglected."

"He's not expecting you," said Jake. "Say, – Maud!"

"What is it?" she said.

She strove for composure and attained an aloofness that startled herself. He released her hand and began to gather up the litter of tobacco in her lap.

"I was going to speak to you about Bunny," he said. "I've settled to sleep with him to-night."

"You?" She looked at him in quick surprise.

He was not looking at her, being too intent upon his task. The firelight shone red on his bent head. "Yes, I," he said. "You can sleep in my room. I've had it got ready for you."

The calm decision with which he spoke nearly took her breath away. "Oh, but-but-" she began.

He looked up, and she saw his frank, reassuring smile. It sent a curious thrill of relief through her. It was such a smile as would have gained the confidence of a child.

"That's all right," he said. "Don't you start making difficulties, because there aren't any at present. I've fixed it all. You're going to bed to-night without any cares, and you're going to sleep the clock round. See?"

"I couldn't sleep-away from Bunny," she said, somewhat breathless still, notwithstanding the comforting kindliness of his eyes.

"I reckon you'll have to try," he said. "And if it's any comfort to you to know it, Bunny is charmed with the idea."

His words sent an odd dismay to her heart. With this lightening of her burden, she seemed to see Bunny slipping away from her, – Bunny, who filled her world.

Jake was on the point of rising from his knees when she laid a detaining hand upon his arm. "Jake," she said, with slight hesitation, "it-it is more than kind of you to think of this. But do you know I would rather-really rather-go on in the old way and look after Bunny myself at night? You can help me in the daytime if you will. But-but-at night, – Jake, please, let me take care of him at night!"

There was entreaty in her voice. Jake remained beside her, his hand grasping the arm of her chair. Once more she was conscious of the warmth of the man as of a force that emanated from him. Her fingers closed almost beseechingly upon his sleeve.

"Say," he said slowly at last, "is it for your own sake-or for Bunny's?"

She quivered at the question. He was looking past her into the fire. She had a feeling that he was deliberately compelling himself to do so.

"I have always mothered Bunny," she said rather piteously. "I-shouldn't feel easy about him if-if I were not within reach."

"Is that quite true?" said Jake.

"True!" she echoed.

He nodded two or three times. "Is it quite true that you wouldn't feel easy-absolutely easy-about leaving the boy in my charge?"

She hesitated.

"Now, don't mind me!" he said. "Be honest! I'm honest myself."

She hesitated still.

He turned his head slowly and looked at her, "It's not-quite-true, is it?" he said.

Her eyes fell before his. "Very well," she said, her voice very low. "We will say it is entirely for my own sake. I want to be with him at night."

Jake was silent a moment. Then: "That's a pity," he said, "because I'm afraid the matter is practically settled. Of course I'd call you if he needed you," he added.

She drew her hand from beneath his. "You have settled it between you, I see," she said, with a small, pinched smile.

He got up and solidly returned to his chair. "Yes, that's so. I don't say we are going to make a rule of it. But for to-night anyway-"

She interrupted him suddenly, with the vehemence of an abrupt resolution. "No, Jake. It must be one thing or the other. I can't have this discussion over again. So please understand that after to-night we shall return to the usual arrangement, which is far the best for us all."

She spoke with nervous force. She was for the moment painfully afraid of being mastered by this man whose strength was still such an unknown quantity that she braced herself to test it as though she were challenging a giant.

Jake was digging in the bowl of his pipe with a penknife, and was for the moment too engrossed with the matter to look up. At length, however, he stuck the pipe into his mouth and began to search his pockets for matches. He found one loose, and bent to strike it on the heel of his boot. She watched him with a growing uneasiness. Would he never speak?

The rasp of the match set her nerves on edge. She rose and stood before the fire, very slim and straight.

Jake puffed at his pipe with immense deliberation, and in a moment the burning match sped past her into the flames. He lay back in his chair with his legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets, and regarded her.

She turned to him at length, meeting the untamed glitter of his eyes with stern composure. "Jake!"

"My girl!" said Jake.

She shivered suddenly and uncontrollably. He spoke as if-as if he had a proprietary right over her. She read ownership-and the pride of ownership-in his look. Abruptly she turned her back upon him. Just so might he look upon one of his favourite horses. It was the look of the master, admiring, arbitrary, possessive; and with all her soul she resented it.

She stood a moment gripping the mantelpiece, gathering her strength. Then without another word she drew herself up and walked out of the room.

She knew even as she closed the door that by strength she would never prevail against him. She might beat her will to atoms against his, but not by a hair's breadth would she thus turn him from the course upon which he was set.

CHAPTER XIX
THE DAY AFTER

When Maud slept that night, it was the deep, deep sleep of exhaustion. All the pressing cares of the past few months, all the strenuous efforts, the unremitting anxieties, had culminated in one vast burden which had at last overweighted her strength. Against her will the burden had been lifted from her, but now that it was gone she slept and slept. No dreams pierced that intense repose. She lay without stirring, as though the ancient spell had been renewed and laid upon her.

The room in which she lay overlooked the whole stone-paved length of the stable-yard, but no voice or stamping of hoofs awaked her. The cheery sounds of the coming day did not even vaguely penetrate her rest. Body and soul were wrapped in complete oblivion while hour after hour went by.

There had been snow in the night, and the sun arose upon a world of dazzling whiteness. The toy fir-trees were mantled in it. The stable-roofs gleamed in a thousand sparkles.

She had pulled up the blind before lying down, and the reflection lit up the room with an ever-growing brightness. She opened her eyes at last quite suddenly and stared at the oak-beamed ceiling.

The next instant she turned sharply on her side, aware of a furtive movement in the room. Someone-a man-was on his knees before the grate, stealthily coaxing the fire to burn. She had a glimpse of brown leggings and a rough tweed suit. There were spurs on his heels that shone like silver. His red-brown head was on a level with the bars at which he was softly blowing.

As she moved a flame shot up in response to his efforts and he turned, still kneeling, and looked at her.

"Say, you've had a real good night for once," he said in a voice of soft approval. "How do you feel yourself this morning?"

Maud, crimson-faced, searched for words and found none. It was one of the most difficult moments she had ever had to endure.

Jake glanced at the fire, pushed the poker into it, and got to his feet. He came to her side.

"Don't be mad with me!" he pleaded humbly. "Someone had to light the fire, and old Lovelace is busy."

He smiled as he said it, and when Jake smiled he was hard to resist. Maud suddenly found the difficulties of the situation swept away. With Jake in a docile mood she found it comparatively easy to deal.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, and with slight hesitation extended a hand to him. "It was kind of you to light the fire though I could have done very well without it."

He took the hand very respectfully. She even had a faint suspicion that he also was secretly embarrassed. "The room faces due north," he said. "It had to be done, though I hoped you wouldn't wake."

"Thank you," she said again, and withdrew her hand from his steady, all-enveloping grasp. "How-how is Bunny?"

He smiled again with more assurance. His strong white teeth were very good to see. "He had a splendid night. I've got him up and dressed. He is downstairs, waiting for you to take him out."

This piece of diplomacy obviously came to Jake as an inspiration. His smile broadened at the brightening of her face.

Maud raised herself on her elbow and pushed the thick hair back from her forehead. "You are very good," she said gratefully. "Please, will you go now, and let me get up?"

He turned at once to the door, but paused as he reached it. "Say, Maud," he said tentatively; "there's a breakfast-tray waiting for you. May I bring it up?"

"Oh, please don't!" she said hurriedly. "I never breakfast in bed. Besides-"

"I'll put it outside the door then," said Jake, and was gone.

She heard him clatter down the uncarpeted stairs, whistling as if well-pleased with himself, and as she reviewed his unceremonious behaviour she decided to treat it with the simplicity with which he evidently regarded it himself. There was that advantage in the situation at least. His character and his conduct were wholly without subtleties-or so she imagined. When he dumped down the breakfast-tray in the passage a little later she called her thanks to him through the closed door as though he had been an old and intimate friend. Perhaps after all she had been over-fanciful the night before!

She ate her breakfast with a growing sense of reassurance, dressed, and went downstairs.

Something of an ordeal here awaited her in the form of an encounter with Mrs. Lovelace, who greeted her deferentially but with a reticence that certainly did not veil any good-will. She presented her with the household keys with the stiff remark that Mr. Bolton had desired her to do so.

Maud received them with an odd dismay. Somehow she had not visualized herself as the mistress of the establishment.

"Mr. Bolton also wished me to take your orders for dinner, ma'am," said Mrs. Lovelace, with stiff dignity. "He is accustomed to dine in the middle of the day, but I was to tell you that if you preferred a late dinner it was all one to him."

The slight emphasis on the last word did not escape Maud, and she saw at once that Mrs. Lovelace could not be considered equally indifferent on the subject.

"But of course we will dine in the middle of the day," she said at once, and was rewarded by a faint flicker of amiability on the old woman's severe countenance.

"That is as you please, ma'am," she said, with less formality, and Maud felt that she had scored a point.

She escaped from the interview at length with a sensation of relief, and hastened to Bunny whom she found awaiting her with some impatience.

The boy was in excellent spirits. He had enjoyed having Jake in attendance, and unhesitatingly he let her know it.

"Why, there's no trouble at all in being lifted by him," he said. "And, by the way, he says you're not to lift me any more. It's too much for you. I'm ready to go out now, but he will put me in the chair. He said you were to call him. He's somewhere in the stables."

Bunny's fashion of expressing himself was not a diplomatic one. Maud did not argue the matter, but as she went in search of Jake a deep resentment kindled and burned within her. So this was to be the first consequence of her rash step-the gradual removal of Bunny from her care! Bunny-her Bunny-for whose dear sake she had made the sacrifice!

Out in the stable-yard she came upon Sam Vickers sucking a straw the while he cleaned a saddle. He greeted her with a smile, and informed her that the boss was in one of the loose boxes round the corner.

Maud followed his directions, passing down a narrow passage between stalls to an open stone-paved space beyond that was surrounded by loose boxes. Here she paused, catching the sound of voices, and uncertain whence they proceeded. A bony red setter came up to her and poked a friendly nose into her hand.

She bent to fondle him, and as she did so she heard Jake speaking in a building close to her. She turned towards the voice with the intention of joining him; but, so turning, she heard the words he uttered and stood petrified. For Jake, albeit with the utmost calmness and deliberation, was speaking a language that made her blood run cold. His words came with a fluency and distinctness that made them all the more terrible. If he had been stuttering with rage, she felt it would have horrified her less. She stood rooted to the spot, white-faced and powerless, while the kindly setter fawned about her knees.

She thought the soft voice would never stop. Someone had done wrong and was being cursed for it with appalling thoroughness. Such oaths as Jake uttered she had never before heard or dreamed of, and the scathing cruelty of his speech was like a stinging lash.

No remonstrance or protest of any sort was offered in return; but after what seemed to her an intolerable length of time there came the sound of heavy, shuffling feet, and a small sandy-haired stable-lad of about seventeen came blundering out into the yard. His face was crimson and screwed up like the face of a crying baby. He sniffed emotionally as he went past her.

Maud remained where she was. She was sick with disgust. Her whole being physical and mental was in revolt. She wanted to turn and go, but something kept her there. She stood like an outraged princess, clothed in a dignity that was wholly unconscious, while Despair, grim, relentless, forced a way to her quivering heart. This-this was her husband! This coarse-mouthed brute-this monster of evil eloquence! This was the man to whom she had fled for protection, to whose chivalrous instincts she had entrusted herself! Oh, what had she done?

And then suddenly he came out upon her, striding forth, his riding-whip clenched in his hand, his brows drawn in a ruddy, threatening line.

He saw her and in a moment, magically, his face changed. The cruel, lynx-like vindictiveness went out of it. He came to her smiling.

"Hullo, Maud!" he said.

And Maud shrank, shrank visibly, so that he could not fail to see; then drew herself together, instinctively summoning her pride.

"I came to look for you," she told him, with icy aloofness. "Bunny is waiting to be moved."

"Right O!" said Jake.

He moved towards the passage by which she had entered the yard, and she walked beside him, very pale, very erect, yet tingling with a disgust that almost amounted to loathing.

They went a few yards in silence, then silence became a burden. She spoke.

"It is really quite unnecessary to trouble you. I am fully capable of moving him myself."

He turned his head towards her. "Say, Princess, what's wrong?" he said.

She quivered afresh at his tone; it had the possessive quality that she so dreaded-was beginning to abhor.

She did not answer, and he passed on with scarcely a pause. "I know you can lift the boy; but it's very bad for you, and not over good for him. Where's the point of it anyway when you've got me at hand to do it for you?"

"It is quite unnecessary to trouble you," she said again, "unnecessary and absurd."

"All right, my girl," he said unexpectedly. "Call it just one of my whims and-humour it!"

She felt herself flush. His tone-though perfectly good-tempered-had been almost one of command. As they emerged from the stone passage into the outer yard she gave abrupt rein to her indignation.

"I really cannot submit to any interference in my care of Bunny. I told you so last night, and I meant it. He has always been my especial charge, and I cannot give him up."

Jake's eyes were upon her, vigilant, intent, dominant. He spoke in a drawl that sounded to her slightly derisive. "Say, now, what will you do if Bunny is cured?"

She turned her face sharply from him. What would she do indeed? But the thing was an impossibility. She put the thought away from her.

"I am not discussing that," she said, speaking with a grim effort at calmness that cost her all her strength. "It is the present with which I am dealing now. I believe you mean to be kind, but-"

"You don't say!" interjected Jake softly.

"But," she said again, with emphasis, "it is a mistaken kindness. I am very grateful to you for your help, but really you must let me do my share."

An involuntary note of wistfulness in the last words softened the look in Jake's eyes. He even smiled a little as he said: "Bunny being the only person in the world for whom you entertain the smallest spark of affection?"

She looked at him quickly. "He is all that I have," she said, in a low tone of protest.

"That so?" said Jake deliberately. "Well, – I'm sorry."

She felt the flush deepen to crimson in her face, and she quickened her steps as they neared the house, longing to put an end to an encounter that had brought her nothing but discomfiture.

Jake lengthened his stride. He looked no longer at her, but straight ahead with the eyes of a man who reads the future. Evidently the prospect was a pleasing one, for the faint smile still lingered about his lips. She was thankful that he had not observed that painful blush of hers.

At the door of his house he paused and stood back for her to precede him; and so standing, suddenly and softly he gave utterance to the thought in his mind.

"Say, Maud," he said into her ear, "some day-when the boy is well and off your hands-I'd just enjoy to see you with a child of your own in your arms."

She started away from the whispered words, started and quivered like a wild thing trapped. For a single instant her eyes met his in open, passionate revolt; then swiftly she passed him by.

Jake followed with his lips pursed to a whistle, and a certain hard glitter replacing the dream in his eyes.