The Bars of Iron, Ethel May Dell [my reading book .TXT] 📗

the words. She saw the hot blood surge in a great wave to his forehead, and she quailed inwardly though outwardly she made no sign. His grip was growing every instant more compelling. She knew that he was bracing himself for one great effort that should batter down the strength that withstood him. His lips were so close to hers that she could feel his breath, quick and hot, upon her face. And still she made no struggle for freedom, knowing instinctively that the instant her self-control yielded, the battle was lost.
Slowly the burning flush died away under her eyes. His face changed, grew subtly harder, less passionate. "So," he said, with an odd quietness, "I'm not to kiss you. It would be dishonourable, what?"
She made unflinching reply. "It would be despicable and you know it--to kiss any woman against her will."
"Would it be against your will?" he asked.
"Yes, it would." Firmly she answered him, yet a quiver of agitation went through her. She felt her resolution begin to waver.
But in that moment something in Piers seemed to give way also. He cried out to her as if in sudden, intolerable pain. "Avery! Avery! Are you made of stone? Can't you see that this is life or death to me?"
She answered him instantly; it was almost as if she had been waiting for that cry of his. "Yes, but you must get the better of it. You can if you will. It is unworthy of you. You are trying to take what is not yours. You have made a mistake, and you are wronging yourself and me."
"What?" he exclaimed. "You don't love me then!"
He flung his arms wide upon the words, with a gesture of the most utter despair, and turned from her. A moment he stood swaying, as if bereft of all his strength; and then with abrupt effort he began to move away. He stumbled blindly, heavily, as he went, and the crying of the wheeling sea-gulls came plaintively through a silence that could be felt.
But ere that silence paralysed her, Avery spoke, raising her voice, for the urgency was great.
"Piers, stop!"
He stopped instantly, but he did not turn, merely stood tensely waiting.
She collected herself and went after him. She laid a hand that trembled on his arm.
"Don't leave me like this!" she said.
Slowly he turned his head and looked at her, and the misery of that look went straight to her heart. All the woman's compassion in her throbbed up to the surface. She found herself speaking with a tenderness which a moment before no power on earth would have drawn from her.
"Piers, something is wrong; something has happened. Won't you tell me what it is?"
"I can't," he said.
His lower lip quivered unexpectedly and she saw his teeth bite savagely upon it. "I'd better go," he said.
But her hand still held his arm. "No; wait!" she said. "You can't go like this. Piers, what is the matter with you? Tell me!"
He hesitated. She saw that his self-control was tottering. Abruptly at length he spoke. "I can't. I'm not master of myself. I--I--" He broke off short and became silent.
"I knew you weren't," she said, and then, acting upon an impulse which she knew instinctively that she would never regret, she gave him her other hand also. "Let us forget all this!" she said.
It was generously spoken, so generously that it could not fail to take effect. He looked at her in momentary surprise, began to speak, stopped, and with a choked, unintelligible utterance took her two hands with the utmost reverence into his own, and bowed his forehead upon them. The utter abandonment of the action revealed to her in that moment how completely he had made her the dominating influence of his life.
"Shall we sit down and talk?" she said gently.
She could not be other than gentle with him. The appeal of his weakness was greater than any display of strength. She could not but respond to it.
He set her free and dropped down heavily upon a rock, leaning his head in his hands.
She waited a few moments beside him; then, as he remained silent, she bent towards him.
"Piers, what is it?"
With a sharp movement he straightened himself, and turned his face to the sea.
"I'm a fool," he said, speaking with an odd, unsteady vehemence. "Fact is, I've been out all night on this beastly shore. I've walked miles. And I suppose I'm tired."
He made the confession with a shamefaced laugh, still looking away to the horizon.
"All night!" Avery repeated in astonishment. "But, Piers!"
He nodded several times, emphatically. "And those infernal sea-birds have been squawking along with those thrice-accursed crows ever since day-break. I'd like to wring their ugly necks, every jack one of 'em!"
Avery laughed in spite of herself. "We all feel peevish sometimes," she said, as one of the offenders sailed over-head with a melancholy cry. "But haven't you had any breakfast? You must be starving."
"I am!" said Piers. "I feel like a wolf. But you needn't be afraid to sit down. I shan't gobble you up this time."
She heard the boyish appeal in his voice and almost unconsciously she yielded to it. She sat down on the rock beside him, but he instantly slipped from it and stretched himself in a dog-like attitude at her feet.
His chin was propped in his hands, his face turned to the white sand on which he lay. She looked down at his black head with more than compassion in her eyes. It was horribly difficult to snub this boy-lover of hers.
She sat and waited silently for him to speak.
He dropped one hand at length and began to dig his brown fingers into the powdery sand with irritable energy; but a minute or more passed before very grumpily he spoke.
"I've had a row with my grandfather. We both of us behaved like wild beasts. In the end, he thought he was going to give me a caning, and that was more than I could stand. I smashed his ruler for him and bolted. I should have struck him with it if I hadn't. And after that, I cleared out and came here. And I'm not going back."
So with blunt defiance he made the announcement, and as he did so, it came to Avery suddenly and quite convincingly that she had been the cause of the quarrel. A shock of dismay went through her. She had not anticipated this. She felt that the suspicion must be verified or refuted at once.
"Piers," she said quickly, "why did you quarrel with your grandfather? Was it because of your affair with Miss Rose?"
"I never had an affair with Miss Rose," said Piers rather sullenly. He dug up a small stone, and flung it with vindictive force at the face of the cliff. "Ask her, if you don't believe me!"
He paused a moment, then went on in a dogged note: "I told him--of a certain intention of mine. He tackled me about it first, was absolutely intolerable. I just couldn't hold myself in. And then somehow we got violent. It was his fault. Anyway, he began it."
"You haven't told me--yet--what you quarrelled about," said Avery, with a sinking heart.
He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her. "It doesn't matter, does it?"
She made answer with a certain firmness. "Yes, I think it does."
"Well, then,"--abruptly he raised himself and faced round, his dark eyes raised to hers,--"I told him, Avery, that if I couldn't marry the woman I loved, I would never marry at all."
There was no sullenness about him now, only steadfast purpose. He looked her full in the face as he said it, and she quivered a little before the mastery of his look.
He laid a hand upon her knee as she sat above him in sore perplexity. "Would you have me do anything else?" he said.
She answered him with a conscious effort. "I want you to love--and marry--the right woman."
He uttered a queer, unsteady laugh and leaned his head against her. "Oh, my dear," he said, "there is no other woman but you in all the world."
Something fiery that was almost like a dart of pain went through Avery at his words. She moved instinctively, but it was not in shrinking. After a moment she laid her hand upon his.
"Piers," she said, "I can't bear hurting you."
"You wouldn't hurt a fly," said Piers.
She smiled faintly. "Not if I could help it. But that doesn't prove that I am fond of flies. And now, Piers, I am going to ask a very big thing of you. I wonder if you will do it."
"I wonder," said Piers.
He had not moved at her touch, yet she felt his fingers close tensely as they lay upon her knee, and she guessed that he was still striving to control the inner tumult that had so nearly overwhelmed him a few minutes before.
"I know it is a big thing," she said. "Yet--for my sake if you like--I want you to do it."
"I will do anything for your sake," he made passionate answer.
"Thank you," she said gently. "Then, Piers, I want you--please--to go back to Sir Beverley at once, and make it up."
He withdrew his hand sharply from hers, and sat up, turning his back upon her. "No!" he said harshly. "No!"
"Please, Piers!" she said very earnestly.
He locked his arms round his knees and sat in silence, staring moodily out to sea.
"Please, Piers!" she said again, and lightly touched his shoulder with her fingers.
He hunched the shoulder away from her with a gesture of boyish impatience, and then abruptly, as if realizing what he had done, he turned back to her, caught the hand, and pressed it to his lips.
"I'm a brute, dear. Forgive me! Of course--if you wish it--I'll go back. But as to making it up, well--" he gulped once or twice--"it doesn't rest only with me, you know."
"Oh, Piers," she said, "you are all he has. He couldn't be hard to you!"
Piers smiled a wry smile, and said nothing.
"Besides," she went on gently, "there is really nothing for you to quarrel about,--that is, if I am the cause of the trouble. It is perfectly natural that your grandfather should wish you to make a suitable marriage, perfectly natural that he should not want you to run after the wrong woman. You can tell him, Piers, that I absolutely see his point of view, but that so far as I am concerned, he need not be anxious. It is not my intention to marry again."
"All right," said Piers.
He gave her hand a little shake and released it. For a second--only a second--she caught a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to her almost like a gleam of mockery. And then with characteristic suddenness he sprang to his feet.
"Well, I'd better be going," he said in a voice that was perfectly normal and free from agitation. "I can't stop to see the kiddie this time. I'm glad she's going on all right. I wonder when you'll be back again."
"Not at present, I think," said Avery, trying not to be disconcerted by his abruptness.
He looked down at her whimsically. "You're a good sort, Avery," he said. "I won't be so violent next time."
"There mustn't be a next time," she said quickly. "Please Piers, that must be quite understood!"
"All right," he said again. "I understand."
And with that very suddenly he left her, so suddenly that she sat motionless on her rock and stared after him, not believing that he was really taking his leave.
He did not turn his head, however, and very soon