The Obstacle Race Part 63

d.i.c.k moved. "Go upstairs!" he said, under his breath.

She stirred and rose unsteadily. He put out a hand to help her. She did not take it, did not seem even to see it.

Gropingly, she turned to the door, went out slowly, still as if feeling her way, reached the narrow stairs and went up them, clutching at the rail.

He followed her to the foot and stood there watching her. As she reached the top he heard her sob.

An impulse caught him to follow her, to take her again--but how differently!--into his arms,--to soothe her, to comfort her, to win her back to him. But sternly he put it from him. She had got to learn her lesson, to realize her obligations,--she who talked so readily of leaving him! And for what?

A wave of hot blood rose to his forehead, and he clenched his hands. He went back into the room, knowing that he could not trust himself.

When Mrs. Rickett entered with a lamp a few moments later, he was gathering up the litter of books and paper from the table, his face white and sternly set. He gave her a brief word of greeting, and went across to the school with his burden.

CHAPTER VI

COALS OF FIRE

It was nearly half-an-hour later that Mrs. Rickett ascended the stairs and knocked at Juliet's door.

"Supper's been in this long time," she called. "And Mr. Green's still over at the school."

There was a brief pause, then Juliet's quiet movement in the room. She opened the door and met her on the threshold.

"Why, you haven't got a light!" said Mrs. Rickett. "Is there anything the matter, ma'am? Aren't you well?"

"Yes, quite, thank you," Juliet said in her slow gentle voice. "I am afraid I forgot the time. I will put on my hat before I come down."

Mrs. Rickett's eyes regarded her shrewdly for a moment or two, then looked away. "Shall I fetch you a candle?" she said.

Juliet turned back into the room. "I have one, thank you. Perhaps you wouldn't mind going to find Mr. Green while I dress."

Mrs. Rickett hastened away, and Juliet lighted her candle and surveyed herself for a second, standing motionless before the gla.s.s.

Several minutes later she descended the stairs and went quietly into the dining-room. She was wearing a large-brimmed hat that shadowed her face.

d.i.c.k, standing by the mantelpiece, waiting for her, gave her a hard and piercing look as she entered.

"I am sorry I am late," she said.

He moved abruptly as if somehow the conventional words had an edge. He drew out a chair for her. "I am afraid there isn't a great deal of time," he said.

She sat down with a murmured word of thanks. He took his place, facing her, very pale, but absolutely his own master. He served her silently, and she made some pretence of eating, keeping her head bent, feeding Columbus surrept.i.tiously as he sat by her side.

Her plate was empty when at length very resolutely she looked up and spoke. "d.i.c.k, I want you to understand one thing. I did not open that parcel of yours. It was open when it came."

Instantly his eyes were upon her with merciless directness. "I gathered that," he said.

She met his look unflinchingly, but her next words came with an effort.

"Then you can't--with justice--blame me for surprising your secret."

"I don't," he said.

"And yet--" She made a slight gesture of remonstrance, as if the piercing brightness of his eyes were more than she could bear.

He pushed back his chair and rose. He came to her as she sat, bent over her, his hand on her shoulder, and looked at her intently.

"Juliet," he said, "I don't like you with that stuff on your face. It isn't--you."

She kept her face steadily upturned, enduring his look with no sign of shrinking. "You are meeting--the real me--for the first time--to-night," she said.

His mouth curved cynically. "I think not. I have never wors.h.i.+pped at the shrine of a painted G.o.ddess."

Something rose in her throat and she put up a hand to hide it. "I doubt if--Dene Strange--was ever capable of wors.h.i.+pping anything," she said.

His hand closed upon her. "Does that mean that you hate him more than you love me?" he said.

A faint quiver crossed her face. She pa.s.sed the question by. "Do you remember--Cynthia Paramount--your heroine?" she said. "The woman you dissected so cleverly--stripped to the naked soul--and exposed to public ridicule? You were terribly merciless, weren't you, d.i.c.k? You didn't expect--some day--to find yourself married--to that sort of woman."

His face hardened. "In what way do you resemble her?" he said. "I have never seen it yet."

"Can't you see it--now?" she returned, lifting her face more fully to the light.

He was silent for several seconds, looking at her. Then very suddenly his att.i.tude changed. He knelt down by her side and spoke, urgently, pa.s.sionately.

"Juliet--for G.o.d's sake--let us remember what we are to each other--and put the rest away!"

His arm encircled her. He would have drawn her close, but she held back with a sharp sound that was almost a cry of pain.

"d.i.c.k, wait--wait a moment! You don't know--don't understand! Ah, wait--please wait! Take your arm away--just for a moment--please--just for a moment! I have something to tell you, but I can't say it like this.

I can't--I can't! Ah! What is that?"

She broke off, gasping, almost fighting for breath, as the sudden rush and hoot of a car sounded at the gate.

d.i.c.k got to his feet. His face was white. "Are you expecting someone?" he said.

She clasped her hands tightly upon her breast to still her agitation.

"No, I'm not expecting--anyone. But--but--someone--has come."

"Evidently," said d.i.c.k.

He turned towards the door, but in a moment she had sprung up, reaching it before him. "d.i.c.k, if it is Saltash--"

"Why should it be Saltash?" he said, with that in his voice that arrested her as compelling as if he had laid a hand upon her.