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

Then--I forgot it. Afterwards, you remember, Burke and Guy came in together. He must have found it--somehow--then."
"He did!" said Kelly suddenly. "Faith, he did! Ye remember when he had that attack? He picked up something then--on the floor against his foot. I saw him do it, the fool that I am! He'd got it in his hand when we helped him up, and I never noticed,--never thought. The artful young devil!"
A hint of admiration sounded in his voice. Kelly the simple-minded had ever been an admirer of art.
Sylvia went on very wearily. "The box was kept in a cupboard in the room he was sleeping in. The rest was quite easy. He left the key behind him in the lock. I found it after you and Burke had gone to the Merstons'. I guessed what had happened of course. I went round to his hut, but it was all fastened up as usual. Then I went to Piet Vreiboom's." She shuddered suddenly. "I saw Kieff as well as Vreiboom. They seemed hugely amused at my appearance, and told me Guy was just ahead on the way to Brennerstadt. It was too late to ride the whole way, so I went to Ritzen, hoping to find him there. But I could get no news of him, so I came on by train in the morning. I ought to have got here long ago, but the engine broke down. We were held up for hours, and so I arrived--too late."
The utter dreariness of her speech went straight to Kelly's heart. "Ah, there now--there now!" he said. "If I'd only known I'd have followed and helped ye that night."
"You see, I didn't know you were coming back," she said. "And anyhow I couldn't have waited. I had to start at once. It was--my job." She smiled faintly, a smile that was sadder than tears.
"And do ye know what happened?" said Kelly. "Did Burke tell ye what happened?"
She shook her head. "No. He told me very little. I suppose he concluded that we had run away together."
"Ah no! That wasn't his doing," said Kelly, paused a moment, then plunged valiantly at the truth. "That was mine. I thought so meself--foul swine as ye may very well call me. Kieff told me so--the liar; and I--like a blasted fool--believed it. At least, no, I didn't right at the heart of me, Mrs. Ranger. I knew what ye were, just the same as I know now. But I'd seen ye look into his eyes when ye begged him off the brandy-bottle, and I knew the friendship between ye wasn't just the ordinary style of thing; no more is it. But it was that devil Kieff that threw the mud. I found him waiting that night when I got back. He was waiting for Burke, he said; and his story was that he and Vreiboom had seen the pair of ye eloping. I nearly murdered him at the time. Faith, I wish I had!" ended Kelly pathetically, with tears in his eyes. "It would have stopped a deal of mischief both now and hereafter."
"Never mind!" said Sylvia gently. "You couldn't tell. You hadn't known me more than a few hours."
"It was long enough!" vowed Kelly. "Anyway, Burke ought to have known better. He's known you longer than that."
"He has never known me," she said quietly. "Of course he believed the story."
"He doesn't believe it now," said Kelly quickly.
A little quiver went over her face. "Perhaps not. I don't know what he believes, or what he will believe when he finds the money gone. That is what I want to prevent--if only I can prevent it. It is Guy's only chance. What he did was done wickedly enough, but it was at a time of great excitement, when he was not altogether master of himself. But unless it can be undone, he will go right down--and never come up again. Oh, don't you see--" a sudden throb sounded in her tired voice--"that if once Burke knows of this, Guy's fate is sealed? There is no one else to help him. Besides,--it wasn't all his own doing. It was Kieff's. And away from Kieff, he is so different."
"Ah! But how to get him away from Kieff!" said Kelly. "The fellow's such a damn' blackguard. Once he takes hold, he never lets go till he's got his victim sucked dry."
Sylvia shuddered. "Can't you do anything?" she said.
Kelly looked at her with his honest kindly eyes, "If it were me, Mrs. Ranger," he said, "I should tell me husband the whole truth--and--let him deal with it."
She shook her head instantly. "It would be the end of everything for Guy. Even if Burke let him off, he could never come back to us. It would be as bad as sending him to prison--or even worse."
"Not it!" said Kelly. "You don't trust Burke. It's a pity. He's such a fine chap. But look here, I'll do me best, I'll get hold of young Guy and make him disgorge. How much did the young ruffian take?"
"I don't know. That's the hopeless part of it. That is why I must see him myself."
Kelly pursed his lips for a moment, but the next he smiled upon her, "All right. I'll manage somehow. But you mustn't go to-night. You tell Burke you're too tired. He'll understand."
"Do you know where Guy is?" she said.
"Oh yes, I can put me hand on the young divil if I want him. You leave that to me! I'll do me best all round. Now--suppose we have another trot, and then go back!"
Sylvia turned her horse's head. "I'm--deeply grateful to you, Mr. Kelly," she said.
"Donovan!" insinuated Kelly.
She smiled a little. She seemed almost more piteous to him when she smiled. "Donovan," she said.
"Ah, that's better!" he declared. "That does me good. To be a friend of both of ye is what I want. Burke and you together! Ye're such a fine pair, and just made for each other, faith, made for each other. When I saw you, Mrs. Burke, I didn't wonder that he'd fallen in love at last. I give ye me word, I didn't. And I'll never forget the look on his face when he thought he'd lost ye; never as long as I live. It--it was as if he'd been stabbed to the heart."
Tactless, clumsy, sentimental, he sought to pour balm upon the wounded spirit of this girl with her tragic eyes that should have held only the glad sunshine of youth. It hurt him to see her thus, hurt him unspeakably, and he knew himself powerless to comfort. Yet with that odd womanly tenderness of his, he did his best.
He wondered what she was thinking of as she sat her horse, gazing out over the wide spaces, so wearily and yet so intently. She did not seem to have heard his last remarks, or was that merely the impression she desired to convey? A vague uneasiness took possession of him. He did not like her to look like that.
"Shall we move on?" he said gently.
She pointed suddenly across the _veldt_. "I want to ride as far as that skeleton tree," she said. "Don't come with me! I shall catch you up if you ride slowly."
"Right!" said Kelly, and watched her lift her bridle and ride away.
He would have done anything to oblige her just then; but his curiosity was whetted to a keen edge. For she rode swiftly, as one who had a definite aim in view. Straight as an arrow across the _veldt_ she went to the skeleton tree with its stripped trunk and stark, outflung arms that seemed the very incarnation of the barrenness around.
Here she checked her animal, and sat for a moment with closed eyes, the evening sunlight pouring over her. Very strangely she was trembling from head to foot, as if in the presence of a vision upon which she dared not look. She had returned as she had always meant to return--but ah, the dreary desert spaces and the cruel roughness of the road! Her husband's words uttered only a few hours before came back upon her as she stood there. "We may never reach the top of the world now," No, they would never reach it. Had anyone ever done so, she wondered drearily? But yet they had been near it once--nearer than many. Did that count for nothing?
It seemed to her that aeons had passed over her since last she had stood beneath that tree. She had been a girl then, ardent and full of courage. Now she was a woman, old and very tired, and there was nothing left in life. It was almost as if she had ceased to live.
But yet she had come back to the starting-point, and here, as if standing beside a grave and reading the inscription to one long dead, she opened her eyes in the last glow of the sunshine to read the words which Burke had cut into the bare wood on the evening of his wedding-day. She remembered how she had waited for him, the tumult of doubt, of misgiving, in her soul, how she had wished he would not linger in that desolate place. Now, out of the midst of a desolation to which this sandy waste was as nothing, she searched with almost a feeling of awe as one about to read a message from the dead.
The bare, bleached trunk of the tree shone strangely in the sinking sun, faintly tinted with rose. The world all around her was changing; slowly, imperceptibly, changing. A tender lilac glow was creeping over the _veldt_. A curious sensation came upon Sylvia, as if she were moving in a dream, as if she were stepping into a new world and the old had fallen from her. The bitterness had lifted from her spirit. Her heart beat faster. She was a treasure-seeker on the verge of a great discovery. Trembling, she lifted her eyes. . . .
There on the smooth wood, like a scroll upon a marble pillar, were words, rough-hewn but unmistakable--_Fide et Amore_. . . .
It was as if a voice had spoken in her soul, a dear, insistent voice, bidding her begone. She obeyed, scarcely knowing what she did. Back across the dusty _veldt_ she rode, moving as one in a trance. She joined the Irishman waiting for her, but she looked at him with eyes that saw not.
"Well?" he said, frankly curious. "Did you find anything?"
She started a little, and came out of her dream. "I found what I was looking for," she said.
"What was it?" Kelly was keenly interested; there was no checking him now, he was like a hound on the scent.
She did not resent his questions. That was Kelly's privilege. But neither did she answer him as fully as he could have wished. "I found out," she said slowly, after a moment, "how to get to the top of the world."
"Ah, really now!" said Kelly, opening his eyes