The Safety Curten, Ethel May Dell [e ink epub reader .TXT] 📗

hand upon the door.
She did not speak again very quickly; she was plainly trying to master considerable agitation.
Jeff waited immovably with eyes unvaryingly upon her. "I don't want to hurry you," he said at last. "I know, of course, what your answer will be. But I can wait for it."
That faint, fugitive smile of hers went over her face. She took her hand from the door.
"You--you haven't been very--explicit, have you?" she said. "Are you--are you being just kind to me, Mr. Ironside, like--like Hugh Chesyl?"
Her voice quivered as she asked the question, but her eyes met his with direct steadfastness.
He lowered his own very suddenly. "No," he said. "I wouldn't insult you by being kind. I shouldn't ask you to marry me if I didn't love you with all my heart and soul."
The words came quickly, with something of a burning quality. She made a slight movement as if she were taken by surprise.
After a moment she spoke. "There are two kinds of love," she said. "There's the big, unselfish kind--the real thing; and there's the other--the kind that demands everything, and even then, perhaps, is never satisfied. You hardly know me well enough to--to care for me in the first big way, do you? You don't even know if I'm worth it."
"I beg your pardon," said Jeff Ironside. "I think I do know you well enough for that. Anyhow, if you could bring yourself to marry me, I should be satisfied. The right to take care of you--make you comfortable--wait on you--that's all I'm asking. That would be enough for me--more than I've dared to hope for."
"That would make you happy?" she asked.
He kept his eyes lowered. "It would be--enough," he repeated.
She uttered a sudden quick sigh. "But wouldn't you rather marry a woman who was in love with you in just the ordinary way?" she said.
"No," said Jeff curtly.
"It would be much better for you," she protested.
He smiled a grim smile. "I am the best judge of that," he said.
She held out her hand to him. "Mr. Ironside, tell me honestly, wouldn't you despise me if I married you in that way--taking all and giving nothing?"
He crushed her hand in his. The red blood rose to his forehead. He looked at her for a moment--only a moment--and instantly looked away again.
"No," he said, "I shouldn't."
"I should despise myself," said Doris.
"I don't know why you should," he said.
She smiled again with lips that quivered. "No, you don't understand. You're too big for me altogether. I can't say 'Yes,' but I feel very highly honoured all the same. You'll believe that, won't you?"
"Why can't you say 'Yes'?" asked Jeff.
She hesitated momentarily. "You see, I'm afraid I don't care for you--like that," she said.
"Does that matter?" said Jeff.
She looked at him, her hand still in his. "Don't you think so?"
"No, I don't," he said, "unless you think you couldn't be happy."
"I was thinking of you," she said gently.
"Of me?" He looked surprised for an instant, and again his eyes met hers in a quick glance. "If you're going to think of me," he said, "you'll do it. I have told you, you needn't be afraid of my expecting too much."
But she shook her head. "I should be much more afraid of taking too much from you," she said. "The little I could offer would never satisfy you."
"Yes it would," he insisted. "I'm only asking to stand between you and trouble. It's all I want in life."
Again his eyes were upon her, dark and resolute. His hand held hers in a steady grip. For the first time her own resolution began to falter.
"Let me write to you, Mr. Ironside," she said at last, with a vague idea of softening a refusal that had become inexplicably hard.
"Write and say 'No'?" said Jeff.
She smiled a little, but her eyes filled with sudden tears. "You make it very hard for me to say 'No,'" she said.
"I would like to make it impossible," he said.
"Even when I have told you that I can't--that I don't--love you in the ordinary way?" she said almost pleadingly.
"I don't want to be loved in the ordinary way," he answered doggedly.
"I should be a perpetual disappointment to you," she said.
"I would rather have even that than--nothing," said Jeff.
One of the tears ran over and fell upon their clasped hands. "In fact, you want me at any price," she said.
"At any price," said Jeff.
She bent her head and choked back a sob. "And no one else wants me at all," she whispered.
He stooped towards her. Perhaps for her peace of mind it was as well that she did not see the sudden fire that blazed in his deep-set eyes as he did so.
"So you'll change your mind," he said, after a moment, to the bowed head. "You'll have me--you will?"
She caught back another sob and said nothing.
He straightened himself sharply. "Miss Elliot, if it's going to make you miserable, you had better send me away. I'll go--if it's for that."
He would have released her hand, but it tightened very suddenly upon his. "No, don't go--don't go!" she said.
"But you're crying," muttered Jeff uneasily.
She gave a big gulp and raised her head. The tears were running down her cheeks, but she smiled at him bravely notwithstanding. "I believe I should cry--much more--if you were to go now," she told him, with a quaint effort at humour.
Jeff Ironside put a strong grip upon himself. His heart was thumping like the strokes of a heavy hammer. "Then you'll have me?" he said.
She put her other hand, with a very winning gesture of confidence, into his. "I don't see how I can help it," she said. "You've knocked down all my obstacles. But you do understand, don't you? You won't--won't--"
"Abuse your trust? No, never!" said Jeff Ironside. "I will die by my own hand sooner."
"Ah, I can't help liking you," Doris said impulsively, as if in explanation or excuse. "You're so big."
"Thank you," Jeff said very earnestly. "And you won't cry any more?"
She uttered a whimsical little laugh. "But I wasn't crying for myself," she said, as she dried her eyes. "I was crying for you."
"Well, you mustn't," said Jeff. "You have given me all I want--much more than I dared to hope for." He paused a moment, then abruptly, "You won't think better of it when I'm gone, will you?" he said. "You won't write and say you have changed your mind?"
She gave him her hand again with an air of comradeship. "It's a bargain, Mr. Ironside," she said, with gentle dignity. "A very one-sided one, I fear, but still--a bargain."
"I beg your pardon," murmured Jeff.


CHAPTER VI
THE WEDDING PRESENT

The marriage of Jeff Ironside to Colonel Elliot's daughter created a sensation in the neighbourhood even greater than that which followed the Colonel's death. But the ceremony itself was strictly private. It took place so quietly and so suddenly very early on a misty October morning that it was over before most people knew anything about it. Jim Dawlish knew, and was present with old Granny Grimshaw; but, save for the family lawyer who gave away the bride and the aged rector who married them, no one else was in the secret.
Mrs. Elliot knew, but she and her stepdaughter had never been in sympathy, and she had already left the place and gone to town.
Very small and pathetic looked the bride in her deep mourning on that dim autumn morning, but she played her part with queenly dignity, unfaltering, undismayed. If she had acted upon impulse she was fully prepared to face the consequences.
As for Jeff, he was gruff almost to rudeness, so desperate was the turmoil of his soul. Not one word did he address to his bride from the moment of entering the church to that of leaving it save such as were contained in the marriage service. And even when they passed out together into the grey churchyard he remained grimly silent till she turned with a little smile and addressed him.
"Good-morning, Jeff!" she said, and her slender, ungloved hand, very cold but superbly confident, found its way into his.
He looked down at her then and found his voice, the while his fingers closed protectingly upon hers. "You're cold," he said. "They ought to have warmed the church."
She turned her face up to the sky. "The sun will be through soon. Will you take me home across the fields?"
"Too wet," said Jeff.
"Not if we keep to the path," she said. "I must just say good-bye to Mr. Webster first."
Mr. Webster was the family lawyer. He came up with stilted phrases of felicitation which sent Jeff instantly back into his impenetrable shell of silence. Doris made reply on his behalf and her own with a dainty graciousness that covered all difficulties, and finally extricated herself and Jeff from the situation with a dexterity that left him spellbound.
She had her way. They went by way of the fields, he and she alone through the lifting mist, while Granny Grimshaw and Jim Dawlish marched solemnly back to the mill by the road.
"It's a very good morning's work," asserted Granny Grimshaw with much satisfaction. "I always felt that Master Jeff would never marry any but a lady."
"I'd rather him than me," returned Jim Dawlish obscurely.
Which remark Granny Grimshaw treated as unworthy of notice.
As Jeff Ironside and his bride neared the last stile the sun came through and shone upon all things.
"I'm glad we came this way," she said.
Jeff said nothing. He never spoke unless he had something to say.
They reached the stile. He strode over and reached back a hand to her. She took it, mounted and stepped over, then sat down unexpectedly on the top bar with the hand in hers.
"Jeff!" she said.
He looked up at her. Her voice was small and shy, her cheeks very delicately flushed.
"What is it?" said Jeff.
She looked down at the brown hand she held, all roughened and hardened by toil, and hesitated.
"Well?" said Jeff.
She turned her eyes upon his face. "Are you going back to work to-day, just as if--as if nothing had happened?" she asked.
He looked straight back at her. "You don't want me, do you?" he said.
She nodded. "Shall we go for a picnic?" she said.
"A picnic!" He seemed surprised at the suggestion.
She laughed a little. "Do you never go for picnics? I do--all by myself sometimes. It's rather fun, you know."
"By yourself?" said Jeff.
She rose from her perch. "It's more fun with someone certainly," she said.
Jeff's face reflected her smile for an instant. "All right," he said. "I'll take a holiday for once. But come home now and have some breakfast."
She stepped down beside him. "It's nice of you to give me the very first thing I ask for," she said. "Will you do something else for me?"
"Yes," said Jeff.
"Then will you call me Dot?" she said. "It was the pet name my mother gave me. No one has used it since she died."
"Dot," repeated Jeff. "You really want me to call you that?"
"But, of course," she said, smiling, "you haven't called me anything yet. Please begin at once! It really isn't difficult."
"Very well, Dot," he said. "And where are we going for our picnic?"
"Oh, not very far," she said. "Somewhere within a quite easy walk."
"Can't we ride?" suggested Jeff.
"Ride?" She looked at him in surprise.
"I have a horse who would carry you," he said.
"Have you--have you, really?" Quick pleasure came into