HE woke with a racking headache and nerves like wire that isstretched to snapping point. He made a pretense of breakfast, notdaring to ask after Marie. He was afraid to go out for fear heshould return to find her gone. He went into the library and triedto read the newspaper, and fell asleep over it, waking with a startwhen the gong for lunch rang through the house, to find MissChester standing beside him.
"My dear boy! Are you ill that you fall asleep at such an hour?"she asked anxiously.
He managed to laugh.
"I was late last night," he apologized.
"Marie has one of her bad headaches, too," the old lady said. "Sheis not strong, you know, Chris. I wish you could persuade her to goaway for a rest. I've been to her room twice, and she won't let mein. Have you seen her this morning?"
He had to lie to comfort her.
"Yes--she's all right--she'll be better when she's had a rest."
He went up to her door twice during the afternoon, but came awaywithout daring to knock. He could hear her moving about inside, andonce the shutting of a drawer.
He went down again and wrote a note to her. Would she see him justfor a moment? He would not worry her, but he must see her. Heslipped it under the door of her room, but though he waited aboutall the evening no answer came.
His head was unbearable then, and, feeling as if the pain woulddrive him mad, he took his hat and went out after dinner.
From her window Marie saw him go down the street. She had beenwatching all day for him to leave the house, and she drew a sharpbreath as she saw his tall figure turn the corner of the road. Shewondered if she would ever see him again. For a moment the thoughtstabbed her heart with a little pain, but it was gone instantly,and she crossed the room and quietly unlocked the door.
It was very quiet, and she slipped downstairs and out of the housewithout being seen.
It was almost dark now, and nobody noticed her as she went down theroad and hailed a taxicab.
She gave the driver Feathers' address in Albany Street, then satback in a corner, trembling and shaking in every limb.
There was a queer rapture in her heart, which was yet half fear.She was going to be happy, she told herself, fiercely; she wasgoing to offer herself to a man who loved her and who would makeher happy, and yet it terrified her to know that she wasdeliberately cutting herself off from her old life.
She tried not to think, not to reason. Since yesterday her hearthad been like a stone and she dreaded that its hardness shouldmelt.
The door of the house was open when the taxicab stopped, and awoman stood at the entrance looking out into the night.
Marie spoke to her timidly.
"Is Mr. Dakers in, please?"
The woman's eyes scanned her white face interestedly.
"I think he is," she said. "Do you know which are his rooms, orshall I take you up?"
"Thank you; I know." She had never been in the house before, butshe had heard a great deal about his rooms from Chris, and she wentup the staircase in the darkness, her heart shaken with a wild sortof happiness, and reached the landing above.
The door of Feathers' sitting-room stood open, and he was standingat the table in his old tweed jacket, packing some papers away in abox.
He had not heard Marie's step, and he did not move or glance uptill she was actually in the room and had whispered his name.
"Mr. Dakers!"
He started then as if he had heard a voice from the dead. He hadbeen thinking of her a moment ago, and his face was white as hestared at her across the table. Then he took a swift step forward.
"Mrs. Lawless! Good heavens! Is anything the matter?"
He drew her into the room and closed the door.
"Chris? Where is he?" he asked hoarsely.
"I've told him I can't live with him any more"
She broke down into stifled sobbing. "I've done my best--you know Ihave--and now it's finished. We had a dreadful scene last night . . .and I can't go back to him again--I can't."
Feathers tried to speak. Twice he moistened his lips and tried tospeak, but no words would come. The room was rocking before him.The night was full of tempting voices whispering that she had cometo him because she loved him, and because she knew he loved her.
With a desperate effort he found his voice.
"You don't mean what you are saying, I know, Mrs. Lawless; you aretired and upset. Let me see Chris, and if there is any littletrouble that can be put right he will listen to me." He held outhis hand to her. "Let me take you home."
"It can never be all right again," she said, her voice broken withsobbing. "He never cared for me, you know he never did . . ."
Feathers interrupted gently.
"But you love him. My dear, I know that you have always loved him."
Marie looked up, the tears wet on her cheeks, her sobbing suddenlyquiet. "Do you know what I told him?" she asked, and then, as hedid not answer, she added in a whisper: "I told him that I lovedyou."
It seemed to Feathers as if all the world stood still in thatmoment--as if he and Marie were alone in a great silence, lookinginto one another's eyes.
His heart was thumping up in his throat, almost choking him, andhis hands were clenched in the pockets of his shabby tweed jacket.
The light in the center of the room fell full on his ugly face,cruelly revealing all its grimness and pallor, and the tremblingtenderness of his mouth. He made no attempt to ignore her meaning.It was too great a moment for pretense.
She was so small, such a child, that his passionate love died downinto something infinitely gentle as he spoke.
"Do you know what it means, Marie? Do you realize that you willbreak Miss Chester's heart, and ruin your husband's life? Do youknow what everyone will say of you and me?"
She broke in feverishly.
"I don't mind what they say. I've never had any happiness, and Icould be happy with you--I am always happy with you . . . Oh, Ithought you loved me," she added with a broken little cry.
It seemed a long time before he answered, and then he said in avoice that was slow and labored with emotion:
"I love you as the sweetest and dearest woman I have ever met. Ilove you for your kind friendship to me, and because you did notshrink from my ugly face. I love you because you're as far above mein goodness and purity as the stars." He stopped with a hard breathbefore he went on again. "You've been my ideal of everything I holdsacred, and you are asking me to trample it all underfoot and dragit in the mud."
He broke off jaggedly, and Marie said in a whisper:
"If--if you love me like that, don't you know--can't you _see_--howhappy we could be together?"
Did he know? He had dreamed so often of an impossible future inwhich she might be his, of long days spent with her, and hours ofcontentment, of the touch of her lips on his, and the sound of herfootsteps pacing beside him for the rest of his life and hers; butthey had only been dreams--dreams that could never come true.
He sought desperately in his mind for words with which to answerher appeal, but what poor things were mere words in comparison withhis longing to take her in his arms and kiss the smiles back to hertremulous lips.
And she said again desperately, fighting for her ground inch byinch:
"Chris never loved me. It was only the money he wanted . . . oh,you know it was!"
It was hard to find a reply to such an unanswerable argument.
"Years ago, before I knew you, Marie," Feathers said presently,"Chris saved me from what might have been lifelong disgrace. He wasthe best friend a man ever had. What would you think of me if Ipaid my debt to him by taking his wife? Oh, my dear, think what itwould mean . . ."
She thought she heard a note of yielding in his voice, and shereached out a trembling hand and put it into his.
"If you go away I shall have nobody left. Oh, I can't bear you togo away!"
He kept the little hand in his very gently. He went on talking toher as if she had been a child. He tried to show her the tragicimpossibility of it al
l--the hopelessness. He spoke to her of thepast, of the days when she and Chris has been children together; hepleaded for his friend as eloquently as he might have pleaded forhimself, and at last he stopped, struck to the heart by hersilence.
She drew her hand away.
"You mean . . . all this means . . . that you don't love me."
Feathers bit his lip till the blood came. Not love her! When everydrop of blood in his body was on fire with love for her; when hewas holding himself in with a grip of iron from taking her into hisarms. He laughed drearily as he answered:
"If I loved you less I should not try to send you away."
She looked up then, the blood rushing in a crimson wave to herface. He knew he had but to say the word and she would leaveeverything for him, and the knowledge tore his heart with pride andhumility. He knew he had but to hold out his arms and she wouldcome to them as a child might, trusting him, confident ofhappiness.
And it was because she was such a child that he would not, darenot! She did not understand what she was doing, he kept tellinghimself. She did not realize into what a pitiful trap she wastrying to lead both him and herself. His heart ached withtenderness for her, even while it bled with the wounds of thebattle he was fighting.
There were moments when nothing seemed to matter but this girl andher wistful eyes--moments when honor was but a paltry rag, andfriendship a thing at which to scoff--moments when he told himselfthat he had as much right to happiness as anyone in the world, andthat it was here for the taking--moments when he would have soldhis immortal soul to hold her to his heart and kiss her lips. Hefelt his resistance breaking down, and in despair he broke out:
"Mrs. Lawless, let me take you home . . . I beg of you--for bothour sakes . . ."
She stood quite still, her hands tearing at her gloves, thensuddenly she looked up at him with burning eyes.
He could read the thoughts behind those eyes--shame that he wassending her away, and shame because she had come. Feathers stifleda groan as he turned from her.
Then--"I am quite ready," she said, in the faintest whisper.
He stood aside to let her pass, but as she reached him she swayedand would have fallen fainting to the floor but for his arms.
He caught her and held her as if she had been a child Her eyes wereclosed, and her face and lips quite colorless.
Feathers put her down in the shabby armchair in which Chris had sooften sat and grumble and tried to force water between her lips.
Her hat had fallen off, and there was an ugly bruise on herforehead where last night she had fallen against the window sill.It stood out painfully against the whiteness of her skin.
And suddenly Feathers' strength gave way. He gathered her into hisarms as if he could never let her go. He kissed her hair and theugly bruise that had broken him down. He kissed her hands and theunconscious face that rested against his shabby coat.
For a moment at least she was his--even if in all his life he neversaw her again.
Even Samson was robbed of his strength by a woman.
And even as he held her Feathers felt her stir in his arms, and thefluttering of her breath, and he released her a little, watchingthe color creep back to her face with passionate eyes.
Then her lids lifted, and she saw him bending over her.
She struggled free of him and sat up, pushing the dark hair fromher forehead. She tried to remember what had happened, but it onlycame back to her slowly and with difficulty; then she made amovement to rise to her feet.
"I forgot . . . you asked me to go . . ."
"Marie!" said Feathers brokenly.
She looked up, a wild hope in her eyes, then she fell forward intohis arms.
"Oh, do you love me?--say you love me . . ."
"My darling--my beloved . . ."
Everything was forgotten. The world was at a standstill. In hisarms she felt that she had come home at last to rest and perfecthappiness.
They talked in broken whispers. He would take her away, he said;they would find their happiness together. Between kisses they madetheir plans.
"And you will never be sorry--and hate me?" she asked painfully.
He turned her face to his.
"Am I to answer that question?" he asked hoarsely, and she shookher head. "No--I know you never will."
Her head was on his shoulder, his cheek pressed to hers. Presentlyshe raised herself, and put her arms round his neck.
"Are you quite--quite happy?" she whispered. The grip of his armsleft her breathless as he answered:
"I never believed in heaven--till now." She rubbed her soft faceagainst the rough tweed of his coat.
"I love your coat," she said. "I love all of you."
Feathers turned his face sharply away, and she put up her hand,forcing him to look at her again.
"Do you really love me?" she asked. She had had so little of lovein her life, it was hard to believe that at last she was everythingin the world to this man.
He answered her with broken words and kisses. She could feel thepassionate beating of his heart beneath her cheek, and she lookedup at him with shy eyes. "You always will--always!" she insisted.
"Always--always . . . all my life--and after."
He put his lips to hers in a long kiss; he kissed her hands andslender wrists.
"My love--my love," he said brokenly, and could say no more.
Presently he drew her to her feet
"I must take you home." He looked at her with eyes that were hotand passionate. "Marie, do you despise me? I tried to send youaway, but I love you so, I love you so."
"I love you, too," she said.
"My beloved."
She looked up at him.
"It's good-night then?" She lifted her face like a child to kisshim. "Good-night till to-morrow," she said. "And then . . ."
He kissed the words from her lips.
She tidied her hair by the little glass over the mantel-shelf.
"My cheeks burn so," she said shyly. She had never before beenkissed as Feathers had kissed her.
Her eyes fell on a photograph of Chris as she turned away. Chris athis handsomest and happiest, his eyes meeting hers with the oldsmiling carelessness, and she felt as if a cold hand had clutchedher heart.
Until now she had forgotten Chris! She had forgotten everything.
She turned quickly to the man behind her.
"I am quite ready." She was only anxious now to go.
He kissed her again on the dark stairs, very humbly and reverently,and he kept her hand in his as they walked together along thestreet.
"Is it very late?" she asked once, and he said: "No--only ten; doyou think they will have missed you?"
"I locked my door; they will think I am asleep. Greyson will let mein."
He clenched his teeth in the darkness. Already the lying andsubterfuge had begun. Where was it going to end? He could feelshame like a mantle on his broad shoulders.
He said good-night to her at the end of the street, following herslowly till she was safe indoors. Then he turned and walked back tohis rooms. His head was burning, and he took off his hat to bare itto the cool night air. He did not know if he was more happy than hehad ever been in his life before, or unutterably wretched.
The thought of her kisses made his head reel, but the shame of hisown pitiable weakness was like a searing flame.
He had said that he would take her away to-morrow. He was going tocut her off from everything she had held dear, and make her anameless outcast! He was prepared to bring his idol down to thedust at his feet.
Looking back on the last hour, it seemed impossible he had yieldedto such delirium. He had arranged every detail for her, had writtenthem down so she could not forget, and at this time to-morrow . . .
He could not pass that thought. He stood still in the cool nightand looked up at the stars.
"God, it can never be!" he told himself despairingly.
He had said that she was as far above him as the stars, and here hewas in his madness trying to
bring a star down to earth.
It was not of himself he thought at all. He would have gloried in ashame shared with her; but for Marie, little Marie Celeste . . .
He went up to his rooms with dragging steps. There was a lightshining through the half-closed door, and he supposed vaguely thathe must have left it burning when he went out.
He pushed open the door, and saw Chris sitting in the chair whereso short a time ago he had held Marie in his arms.
CHAPTER XXI
"I fought with my friend last night. And it was not with honest swords; No steel sprang out to gleam and bite We fought with poor, mean words."