Red Rowans Part 33

But then a look at the girl's face drove him back quick as thought to the old Arcadian days when they had been so friendly.

"I wish the whole business were over," he said sharply. "It's an awful nuisance, and you will all be dead tired to-morrow."

"But Lord George will have his towel-horse again!" she answered, lightly turning to a current jest as a shelter from the sense of his thoughtfulness for her. "And there are but three more tableaux."

"Three," he echoed; "there are only two on the programme."

"But the other is Mrs. Vane's _bon-bouche_ to the house party. She said they deserved a surprise; but I believe she would just as soon let it slide--for she is very tired, Captain Macleod. Only it would be hard on Mr. Gillespie, who is full of his part; besides it really should be the prettiest of all--Mrs. Vane took so much trouble over it."

"Are you in it--and Dr. Kennedy?" he asked quickly.

"No, only I--and Mr. Gillespie, of course. You see it was for the house party."

And Paul, as he went off to do host, wondered angrily what Violet could mean; she always meant something--at least that was his experience of her. The wonder lingered as he sate decorously between Mrs. Woodward and Lady Hooker in the front row, listening between the scenes to the account the latter gave of some tableaux she had got up when they rented the Marquis of Tweedie's place in Peebles.h.i.+re, and whispering to the former, when the curtain rose finally on Alice as Joan of Arc at the stake, that he hoped it was the last time her daughter would suffer martyrdom in his house. For Paul invariably said the right thing, if it paid him to do so, no matter what his real feelings were at the moment; at the present time they were somewhat mixed; the preponderant one being irritation at the whole round world.

And now, that being the last tableau on the programme, the guests were manifestly becoming filled with uneasy wonder as to whether they were expected to make the move or not, when the tinkle of the bell warned them of something more, and after a minute's pause the lights went out suddenly. Then from the darkness came Wagner's "March of the G.o.ds to Walhalla," and the curtain, rising slowly, showed a scene which well deserved the murmur of recognition which ran round the more critical part of the audience.

"Shouldn't have thought towel-horses could have done it--but she is a deuced clever little soul," murmured Lord George to his neighbour, and in truth, considering the resources at Mrs. Vane's command, the effect was well-nigh marvellous. In the distance lay a stretch of sea and sky lit by the light of a dying sunset which gained an almost real radiance from the darkness of the foreground, where, with its back to the audience, its foot upon the brink, a mailed figure, sword in hand, bent, as if meditating a leap over the shadowy gulf which lay between it and a low platform of rock overhanging the misty blue depths of the distant sea. And on the rock, her silver helmet laid aside, her head pillowed on her white arm, slept a warrior-maiden with her face turned to the sunsetting. She was clad in soft, filmy, white draperies, but the corselet of silver she wore above them rose and fell evenly with her calm breathing; while round about her--so close that it seemed to touch her wavy hair and silver, wing-shod feet--flickered and flamed a mystic circle of fire.

"What is it? What is it meant to be?" came eagerly from many of the audience. And Paul knew--knew all too well--but he sate silent, crus.h.i.+ng down his anger at the skill of the thrust.

"What is it?" echoed Alice Woodward, who, with an opera cloak thrown over her last costume, had returned to her role of spectator. "Why, Brynhild, of course, mamma! The Nibelungen, you know--we heard that German tenor in it, if you remember. Mrs. Vane has staged it beautifully, hasn't she, Captain Macleod; and how well the dress suits Miss Carmichael's style. That is Mr. Gillespie, of course; he looks taller in armour. You know, mamma, it is a sort of allegory. Sigurd has to leap----" She paused abruptly to look at her companion. He had started to his feet, and a quick cry of "Take care! Take care!" rose from various parts of the house, for a breath of wind, coming from some opening door, had bent the flames perilously near to those filmy draperies.

"Look out, Gillespie! for G.o.d's sake look out!" he shouted; but the mailed figure, failing to understand, turned to the audience, and the next instant Paul, tearing off his coat the while, had leapt over the footlights, and scattering the circle in his hurry was on his knees beside Marjory crus.h.i.+ng out the fire which had caught her dress. The heated spirit spilt on the floor blazed up fiercely, almost hiding those two, and rousing a shriek of dismay from the ladies.

"Down with the curtain and keep the draught out!" shouted Paul; "and run back the carpet some of you. Lie still a moment, please--it is beyond you."

As a matter of fact the sudden burst of flame was nearer to the mailed figure, who, being penned in between it and the falling curtain, chose the footlights and landed in Mrs. Woodward's arms a second before Dr.

Kennedy's voice rang out rea.s.suringly to say it was all right.

"You might bring a blanket, Kennedy," said Paul, still with his arms round Marjory. "If you will excuse me a moment longer, Miss Carmichael, it will be wiser--muslin is so apt to flare. Tell me if I am hurting you."

Perhaps he did not mean--being a gentleman in most ways--to lower his voice in the least, and yet he did lower it. He could scarcely help himself with that touch thrilling through him, and at the sound of the tenderness in his own tones something in him seemed to cast itself loose from all anchorage and, spreading white wings over the tempest of emotion that arose in him, to bear him swiftly to a haven of perfect content.

"I'm not hurt at all," she said; yet she looked at his face so close to hers with startled eyes, and gave a little s.h.i.+ver; then went on hastily. "But you--your s.h.i.+rt sleeve is all burnt--it is smouldering still. Tom! come quick! No! No!--not for me. There was a spark still, Captain Macleod--I saw it----"

"It is out now at any rate--be still for one more second, please.

Thanks, Kennedy--just slip it under while I lift. So--a perfect roly-poly! That is well over!"

He spoke lightly again, but he had grown very pale, and much to his annoyance found himself in the doctor's hands for a scorch on his arm.

However, as his sister said plaintively, that and the unfortunate break-up of Lord George's lamented towel-horse in the hurry was the only mischief done. It might have been much worse, and though of course it was really quite a lovely tableau--for which Mrs. Vane deserved the highest praise--still it was a dangerous experiment. It generally was dangerous to play with fire, remarked Paul, impatiently, and had not his sister better make some diversion among the guests, or they would be leaving with a sense of judgment on their souls. A reel or two would hearten them up, while a gla.s.s of whiskey, and some weak negus for the ladies before they went away, would finish the business.

Of course there was no piper, but Miss Carmichael could play "The de'il amang them" to perfection, and would do that much to help Gleneira, he felt sure.

There is no greater test of the quality of a man's fibre than the way in which he stands the goad of mental pain. Paul Macleod, smarting under the sting which the certain knowledge that he loved Marjory Carmichael as he had never loved any woman before and yet that she was beyond his reach brought to him, showed this indubitably. All his reckless self-will, all his wild resentment against controlling circ.u.mstance, rose up in him, and only the fact that he had no possible opportunity of so doing, prevented him from then and there making his proposal to Alice Woodward. This may seem a strange sequence to the discovery that you love another woman, but it was just this discovery which set him in arms against himself. For this love was a new emotion--a love which suited the girl with her clear eyes--a love such as he had hitherto scouted as a dream fit only for pa.s.sionless, s.e.xless idealists.

And the result of this deliberate choice of lower levels was in its way stranger still. For Alice Woodward, whose emotion under any circ.u.mstances could never have risen to a higher point than calm affection, felt more content than she had ever done over the future, and actually lingered in her mother's room--a most unusual event in that reserved family--to remark that Gleneira was really delightful in the fine weather when the house was full of people.

"Captain Macleod showed immense presence of mind, too," a.s.sented Mrs.

Woodward, contributing her quota to the general satisfaction.

"Very!" admitted Alice, colouring a little, "and he behaved so nicely afterwards. In such good spirits, you know, though of course he must have been in pain."

So they retired to bed, well content with the state of affairs. Not so Mrs. Vane, who, long after the others were asleep, sate waiting for a well-known footstep to pa.s.s her door, on its way to the laird's own room, which lay, quaintly apart from the others, with a little further flight of stairs all to itself. And none came, though from below she heard the voices of the menkind dispersing when their smoke was over, and from above Lord George's stealthy tread as he pa.s.sed the nursery.

And yet she had made up her mind that she must say a word to Paul--must make certain of the truth--before she slept. She had not been deceived; he was angry with her. Nay, worse! he was unhappy, yet in a mood to make that unhappiness permanent. That must be prevented somehow; so after a time she stole out into the pa.s.sages, dark save for the master's light--that light which has brought home the pang of widowhood to so many a woman's heart, as she pauses on her way upstairs to put it out. If she knew anything of Paul's nature, he would not be in the smoking-room; once the necessity for restraint was over, he would have taken the earliest opportunity of escaping from the eyes of others. The business-room most likely, where he was secure from most interruptions; but not from hers, though as he started to his feet as she came in, he looked as though he had expected otherwise.

"I waited for you upstairs," she said boldly, "for I must speak to you to-night"--then she paused, startled; for she had expected anger, and Paul had sunk wearily into his chair again, resting his head on his hand.

"Can't you let me be--surely you have done mischief enough already?"

he said; and then he turned to look at her, and think, even in his resentment, that she had always liked him, always been good to him. "I don't understand why you brought this about--not the accident, of course; that no one could have foreseen, but all the other part. For you did bring it about. Why? Do you want me to marry----_her?_ You know you don't. Then why should you have schemed to give me pain?"

He spoke with a concentrated bitterness which told her that his patience was far spent. When she had left her room to seek him she had been prepared to speak the truth, if need be, to a certain extent, but now her quick wit showed her that she must risk all.

"No!" she answered quietly. "I do not wish you to marry Marjory Carmichael; but neither do I wish you to marry that iceberg of a girl, and be miserable. Let me have my say, Paul, for the sake of old times. She does not love you, my poor Paul--I doubt if she can love anything--and you do not love her, you do not even admire her. But you did love the other, and when I saw you pretending that you did not, I said to myself, 'He shall know the difference.'"

"That is a kind of knowledge a man can generally find out for himself," broke in Paul, cynically. "But, still, I don't see--what possible use?----" He paused, and turned from her again to his old att.i.tude.

"What use!" she echoed, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Listen! and I will tell you the truth--tell it you utterly. You are very dear to me, Paul, and come what may I am your friend. Do you think, then, that I could stand by and see you bring misery into your life needlessly; quite needlessly, for you could do better for yourself than that. Long ago, Paul, so long ago that the folly of it is over for you, and so I can speak of it--you loved me; and I----" she paused, but went on steadily. "I loved you--don't start, my friend, it is true; see! to your face I say it is true. I loved you. But I kept the secret then, Paul, for the sake of your future, as I tell it now for the sake of your future, so that you may believe that I am a friend indeed; for a woman will not stand by and see another woman sacrifice the happiness of a man for whom she once sacrificed her own. That is why I say you must not marry Alice Woodward--you must not, Paul! Give her up!"

"And, then?"

Her eyes met his unflinchingly.

"Yes, Paul! think what you like; I do not care. As for that, I should make you a better wife than Alice Woodward, for there would be the memory of a past love between us, at any rate--a fair, honest love."

He had risen from his chair, and stood looking down on the brave, spirited little figure before him with irrepressible admiration. What pluck, what address she had! How skilfully she had steered her way through dangers that would have wrecked another woman's self-esteem!

And with the memory of the past surging up in him he could not deny her right to speak.

"I am no fool, Paul," she went on, holding up her hand to check some half-hesitating words upon his lips. "I know what I say. I know, too, what most men would say if a woman spoke to them as I have spoken to you to-night. Well! I risk all that. I never lacked courage in your cause, Paul, and if I gave up my love in those old pa.s.sionate days for your sake, do you think I would let its shadow come between you and happiness? You are marrying the girl for her money. Well, others have money also. I have it now, if it comes to that. I do not ask you to marry me, Paul," she added, with a sudden, hard little laugh. "I have not needed Leap Year in my calendar of life, but I do ask you to think. There are rich girls whom you might love."

"That is so like a woman! Have you forgotten your own handiwork already? You would have me forget now that I am in love, but I shall never forget."

"Never is a long word," she answered, resuming her ordinary manner, "and you forget so easily, my poor Paul!"

"You have no right to say that, Violet," he broke in, hotly. "Have I forgotten you? Have I forgotten your kindness? Do you think I would let any other soul alive speak to me as you have done to-night?"

She swept him a swift, gracious little curtsey. "_Dieu mercie, Monsieur!_" she laughed, "the temptation would be too great, I suppose? But I will tell you, if you like, why you have not forgotten.

Because I have kept myself _en evidence_; that is why. You say that I see clearly, my friend. It is true. I see so clearly that the glamour goes even from my own actions. You are the captive of my bow and spear, Paul, but you would have escaped if you could. And Alice Woodward cannot spin webs as I do; she will never be able to keep you, and then----? Good-night." She held out her hand suddenly, but Paul stood irresolute.

"You are clear sighted, indeed. G.o.d knows you read me like a book sometimes." He hesitated, then went on hurriedly, "I wonder if--if Miss Carmichael----"

Violet Vane shook her head with a smile. "That is the kind of knowledge a man can generally find out for himself, my friend!

Personally, I think she will marry Tom Kennedy if she is left alone."

"Thank you. You certainly have courage, Violet."

"The courage of a surgeon who sees the knife is kindest in the end. I have told you that you would be miserable with the woman you do not love. I now tell you that you would not be happy with the woman you do love."

"And why?"