The Top of the World, Ethel May Dell [best book series to read .txt] 📗

in a fiery cloud about her shoulders, and fire burned in her gaze as she faced him.
He made a curious gesture as if he restrained some urging impulse, not speaking for a moment. When his voice came again it sounded cold, with an odd note of defiance. "I've done my best."
She still looked at him searchingly. "Why wouldn't he come here?" she said.
He turned from her with a movement that almost seemed to indicate impatience "He preferred not to. There isn't much accommodation here. Besides, he can very well fend for himself. He's used to it."
"I have been preparing for him all day," Sylvia said. She looked at him anxiously, struck by something unusual in his pose, and noted for the first time a wide strip of plaster on one side of his chin. "Is all well?" she questioned. "How have you hurt your face?"
He did not look at her. "Yes, all's well," he said. "I cut myself--shaving. You go back to bed! I'm going to refresh before I turn in."
Sylvia turned to a cupboard in the room where she had placed some eatables before retiring. She felt chill with foreboding. What was it that Burke was hiding behind that curt manner? She was sure there was something.
"What will Guy do for refreshment?" she said, as she set dishes and plates upon the table.
"He'll have some tinned stuff in that shanty of his," said Burke.
She turned from the table with abrupt resolution. "Have something to eat, partner," she said, "and then tell me all about it!"
She looked for the sudden gleam of his smile, but she looked in vain. He regarded her, indeed, but it was with sombre eyes.
"You go back to bed!" he reiterated. "There is no necessity for you to stay up. You can see him for yourself in the morning."
He would have seated himself at the table with the words, but she laid a quick, appealing hand upon his arm, deterring him. "Burke!" she said. "What is the matter? Please tell me!"
She felt his arm grow rigid under her fingers. And then with a suddenness that electrified her he moved, caught her by the wrists and drew her to him, locking her close.
"You witch!" he said. "You--enchantress! How shall I resist you?"
She uttered a startled gasp; there was no time for more ere his lips met hers in a kiss so burning, so compelling, that it reft from her all power of resistance. One glimpse she had of his eyes, and it was as if she looked into the deep, deep heart of the fire unquenchable.
She wanted to cry out, so terrible was the sight, but his lips sealed her own. She lay helpless in his hold.
Afterwards she realized that she must have been near to fainting, for when at the end of those wild moments of passion he let her go, her knees gave way beneath her and she could not stand. Yet instinctively she gripped her courage with both hands. He had startled her, appalled her even, but there was a fighting strain in Sylvia, and she flung dismay away. She held his arm in a quivering grasp. She smiled a quivering smile. And these were the bravest acts she had ever forced herself to perform.
"You've done it now, partner!" she said shakily. "I'm nearly--squeezed--to death!"
"Sylvia!" he said.
Amazement, contrition, and even a curious dash of awe, were in his voice. He put his arm about her, supporting her.
She leaned against him, panting, her face downcast. "It's--all right," she told him. "I told you you might sometimes, didn't I? Only--you--were a little sudden, and I wasn't prepared. I believe you've been having a rotten time. Sit down now, and have something to eat!"
But he did not move though there was no longer violence in his hold. He spoke deeply, above her bent head. "I can't stand this farce much longer. I'm only human after all, and there is a limit to everything. I can't keep at arm's length for ever. Flesh and blood won't bear it."
She did not lift her head, but stood silent within the circle of his arm. It was as if she waited for something. Then, after a moment or two, she began to rub his sleeve lightly up and down, her hand not very steady.
"You're played out, partner," she said. "Don't let's discuss things to-night! They are sure to look different in the morning."
"And if they don't?" said Burke.
She glanced up at him with again that little quivering smile. "Well, then, we'll talk," she said, "till we come to an understanding."
He put his hand on her shoulder. "Sylvia, don't--play with me!" he said.
His tone was quiet, but it held a warning that brought her eyes to his in a flash. She stood so for a few seconds, facing him, and her breast heaved once or twice as if breathing had become difficult.
At last, "There was no need to say that to me, partner," she said, in a choked voice. "You don't know me--even as well as--as you might--if you--if you took the trouble." She paused a moment, and put her hand to her throat. Her eyes were full of tears. "And now--good night!" she said abruptly.
Her tone was a command. He let her go, and in an instant the door had closed between them. He stood motionless, waiting tensely for the shooting of the bolt; but it did not come. He only heard instead a faint sound of smothered sobbing.
For a space he stood listening, his face drawn into deep lines, his hands hard clenched. Then at length with a bitter gesture he flung himself down at the table.
He was still sitting motionless a quarter of an hour later, the food untouched before him, when the intervening door opened suddenly and silently, and like a swooping bird Sylvia came swiftly behind him and laid her two hands on his shoulders.
"Partner dear, I've been a big idiot. Will you forgive me?" she said.
Her voice was tremulous. It still held a sound of tears. She tried to keep out of his sight as he turned in his chair.
"Don't--don't stare at me!" she said, and slipped coaxing arms that trembled round his neck, locking her hands tightly in front of him. "You hurt me a bit--though I don't think you meant to. And now I've hurt you--quite a lot. I didn't mean it either, partner. So let's cry quits! I've forgiven you. Will you try to forgive me?"
He sat quite still for a few seconds, and in the silence shyly she laid her cheek down against the back of his head. He moved then, and very gently clasped the trembling hands that bound him. But still he did not speak.
"Say it's all right!" she urged softly. "Say you're not cross or--or anything!"
"I'm not," said Burke very firmly.
"And don't--don't ever think I want to play with you!" she pursued, a catch in her voice. "That's not me, partner. I'm sorry I'm so very unsatisfactory. But--anyhow that's not the reason."
"I know the reason," said Burke quietly.
"You don't," she rejoined instantly. "But never mind that now! You don't know anything whatever about me, partner. I can't say I even know myself very intimately just now. I feel as if--as if I've been blindfolded, and I can't see anything at all just yet. So will you try to be patient with me? Will you--will you--go on being a pal to me till the bandage comes off again? I--want a pal--rather badly, partner."
Her pleading voice came muffled against him. She was clinging to him very tightly. He could feel her fingers straining upon each other. He stroked them gently.
"All right, little girl. All right," he said.
His tone must have reassured her, for she slipped round and knelt beside him. "I'd like you to kiss me," she said, and lifted a pale face and tear-bright eyes to his,
He took her head between his hands, and she saw that he was moved. He bent in silence, and would have kissed her brow, but she raised her lips instead. And shyly she returned his kiss.
"You're so--good to me," she said, in a whisper. "Thank you--so much."
He said no word in answer. Mutely he let her go.


CHAPTER VII
THE GUEST

When Sylvia met her husband again, it was as if they had never been parted or any cloud arisen to disturb the old frank comradeship.
They breakfasted at daybreak before riding out over the lands, and their greeting was of the most commonplace description. Later, as they rode together across the barren _veldt_, Burke told her a little of his finding of Guy at Brennerstadt. He did not dwell upon any details, but by much that he left unsaid Sylvia gathered that the task had not been easy.
"He knows about--me?" she ventured presently, with hesitation.
"Yes," Burke said.
"Was he--surprised?" she asked.
"No. He knew long ago."
She asked no more. It had been difficult enough to ask so much. And she would soon see Guy for herself. She would not admit even to her own secret soul how greatly she was dreading that meeting now that it was so near.
Perhaps Burke divined something of her feeling in the matter, however, for at the end of a prolonged silence he said, "I thought I would fetch him over to lunch,--unless you prefer to ride round that way first."
"Oh, thank you," she said. "That is good of you."
As they reached the bungalow, she turned to him with a sudden question. "Burke, you didn't--really--cut your chin so badly shaving. Did you?"
She met the swift flash of his eyes without trepidation, refusing to be intimidated by the obvious fact that the question was unwelcome.
"Did you?" she repeated with insistence. He uttered a brief laugh. "All right, I didn't. And that's all there is to it."
"Thank you, partner," she returned with spirit, and changed the subject. But her heart had given a little throb of dismay within her. Full well she knew the reason of his reticence.
They parted before the _stoep_, he leading her animal away, she going within to attend to the many duties of her household.
She filled her thoughts with these resolutely during the morning, but in spite of this it was the longest morning she had ever known.
She was at length restlessly superintending the laying of lunch when Joe hurried in with the news that a _baas_ was waiting on the _stoep_ round the corner to see her. The news startled her. She had heard no sounds of arrival, nor had Burke returned. For a few moments she was conscious of a longing to escape that was almost beyond her, control, then with a sharp effort she commanded herself and went out.
Turning the corner of the bungalow, she came upon him very suddenly, standing upright against one of the pillar-supports, awaiting her. He was alone, and a little throb of thankfulness went through her that this was so. She knew in that moment that she could not have borne to meet him for the first time in Burke's