CHAPTER VI
THE NIGHT-WATCH
When Stella saw Tommy again, he greeted her with a smile of welcome thattold her that for him the worst was over. He had returned. But hisweakness was great, greater than he himself realized, and she veryquickly comprehended the reason for Major Ralston's evident anxiety.Sickness was rife everywhere, and now that the most imminent danger waspast he was able to spare but little time for Tommy's needs. He placedhim in Stella's care with many repeated injunctions that she did herutmost to fulfil.
For the first two days Monck helped her. His management of Tommy wassupremely arbitrary, and Tommy submitted himself with a meekness thatsometimes struck Stella as excessive. But it was so evident that the boyloved to have his friend near him, whatever his mood, that she made nocomments since Monck was not arbitrary with her. She saw but little ofhim after their early morning meal together, for when he could spare thetime to be with Tommy, she took his advice and went to her room for therest she so sorely needed.
She hoped that Monck rested too during the hours that she was on duty inthe sick-room. She concluded that he did so, though his appearance gavesmall testimony to the truth of her supposition. Once or twice comingupon him suddenly she was positively startled by the haggardness of hislook. But upon this also she made no comment. It seemed advisable toavoid all personal matters in her dealings with him. She was aware thathe suffered no interference from Major Ralston whose time was in fact sofully occupied at the hospital and elsewhere that he was little likelyto wish to add him to his sick list.
Tommy's recovery, however, was fairly rapid, and on the third nightafter her arrival she was able to lie down in his room and rest betweenher ministrations. Ralston professed himself well satisfied with hisprogress in the morning, and she looked forward to imparting thisfavourable report to Monck. But Monck did not make an appearance. Shewatched for him almost unconsciously all through the day, but he did notcome. Tommy also watched for him, and finally concluded somewhatdiscontentedly that he had gone on some mission regarding which he hadnot deemed it advisable to inform them.
"He is like that," he told Stella, and for the first time he spokealmost disparagingly of his hero. "So beastly discreet. He never thinksany one can keep a secret besides himself."
"Ah well, never mind," Stella said. "We can do without him."
But Tommy had reached the stage when the smallest disappointment was aserious matter. He fretted and grew feverish over his friend's absence.
When Major Ralston saw him that evening he rated him soundly, and even,Stella thought, seemed inclined to blame her also for the set-back inhis patient's condition.
"He must be kept quiet," he insisted. "It is absolutely essential, or weshall have the whole trouble over again. I shall have to give him asedative and leave him to you. I can't possibly look in again to-night,so it will be useless to send for me. You will have to manage as bestyou can."
He departed, and Stella arranged to divide the night-watches with Peterthe Great. She did not privately believe that there was much ground foralarm, but in view of the doctor's very emphatic words she decided tospend the first hours by Tommy's side. Peter would relieve her an hourafter midnight, when at his earnest request she promised to go to herroom and rest.
The sedative very speedily took effect upon Tommy and he slept calmlywhile she sat beside him with the light from the lamp turned upon herbook. But though her eyes were upon the open page her attention was farfrom it. Her thoughts had wandered to Monck and dwelt persistently uponhim. The memory of that last conversation she had had with Ralph Dacrewould not be excluded from her brain. What was the meaning of thismysterious absence? What was he doing? She felt uneasy, even troubled.There was something about this Secret Service employment which made hershrink, though she felt that had their mutual relations been of thetotally indifferent and casual order she would not have cared. It seemedto her well-nigh impossible to place any real confidence in a man whodeliberately concealed so great a part of his existence. Her instinctwas to trust him, but her reason forbade. She was beginning to askherself if it would not be advisable to leave India just as soon asTommy could spare her. It seemed madness to remain on if she desired toavoid any increase of intimacy with this man who had already so faroverstepped the bounds of convention in his dealing with her.
And yet--in common honesty she had to admit it--she did not want to go.The attraction that held her was as yet too intangible to be definitelyanalyzed, but she could not deny its existence. She did not love theman--oh, surely she did not love him--for she did not want to marry him.She brought her feelings to that touchstone and it seemed that they wereable to withstand the test. But neither did she want to cut herselffinally adrift from all chance of contact with him. It would hurt her togo. Probably--almost certainly--she would wish herself back again. But,the question remained unanswered, ought she to stay? For the first timeher treasured independence arose and mocked her. She had it in her heartto wish that the decision did not rest with herself.
It was at this point, while she was yet deep in her meditations, that aslight sound at the window made her look up. It was almost aninstinctive movement on her part. She could not have said that sheactually heard anything besides the falling rain which had died down toa soft patter among the trees in the compound. But something induced hertook up, and so doing, she caught a glimpse of a figure on the verandahwithout that sent all the blood in her body racing to her heart. It wasbut a momentary glimpse. The next instant it was gone, gone like ashadow, so that she found herself asking breathlessly if it had everbeen, or if by any means her imagination had tricked her. For in thatfleeting second it seemed to her that the past had opened its gates toreveal to her a figure which of late had drifted into the back alleys ofmemory--the figure of the dreadful old native who, in some vaguefashion, she had come to regard as the cause of her husband's death.
She had never seen him again since that awful morning when oblivion hadcaught her as it were on the very edge of the world, but for long afterhe had haunted her dreams so that the very thought of sleep had beenabhorrent to her. But now--like the grim ghost of that strange life thatshe had so resolutely thrust behind her--the whole revoltingpersonality of the man rushed vividly back upon her.
She sat as one petrified. Surely--surely--she had seen him in the flesh!It could not have been a dream. She was certain that she had not slept.And yet--how had that horrible old Kashmiri beggar come all thesehundreds of miles from his native haunts? It was not likely. It wasbarely possible. And yet she had always been convinced that in some wayhe had known her husband beforehand. Had he come then of set intentionto seek her out, perhaps to attempt to extract money from her?
She could not answer the question, and her whole being shrank from thethought of going out into the darkness to investigate. She could notbring herself to it. Actually she dared not.
Minutes passed. She sat still gazing and gazing at the blank darkness ofthe window. Nothing moved there. The wild beating of her heart diedgradually down. Surely it had been a mistake after all! Surely she hadfallen into a doze in the midst of her reverie and dreamed this hatefulapparition with the gleaming eyes and famished face!
She exerted her self-command and turned at last to look at Tommy. He wassleeping peacefully with his head on his arm. He would sleep all nightif undisturbed. She laid aside her book and softly rose.
Her first intention was to go to the door and see if Peter were in thepassage. But the very fact of moving seemed to give her courage. Theman's rest would be short enough; it seemed unkind to disturb him.
Resolutely she turned to the window, stifling all qualms. She would notbe a wretched coward. She would see for herself.
The night was steaming hot, and there was a smell of mildew in the air.A swarm of mosquitoes buzzed in the glare thrown by the lamp with ashrill, attenuated sound like the skirl of far-away bagpipes. A creaturewith bat-like wings flapped with a monstrous ungainliness between theouter posts of the verandah. From across the c
ompound an owl called on aweird note of defiance. And in the dim waste of distance beyond sheheard the piercing cry of a jackal. But close at hand, so far as therays of the lamp penetrated, she could discern nothing.
Stay! What was that? A bar of light from another lamp lay across theverandah, stretching out into the darkness. It came from the room nextto the one in which she stood. Her heart gave a sudden hard throb. Itcame from Monck's room.
That meant--that meant--what did it mean? That Monck had returned atthat unusual hour? Or that there really was a native intruder who hadfound the window unfastened and entered?
Again the impulse to retreat and call Peter to deal with the situationcame upon her, but almost angrily she shook it off. She would see forherself first. If it were only Monck, then her fancy had indeed playedher false and no one should know it. If it were any one else, it wouldbe time enough then to return and raise the alarm.
So, reasoning with herself, seeking to reassure herself, crying shame onher fear, she stepped noiselessly forth into the verandah and slipped,silent as that shadow had been, through the intervening space ofdarkness to the open window of Monck's room.
She reached it, was blinded for a moment by the light that pouredthrough it, then, recovering, peered in.
A man, dressed in pyjamas, stood facing her, so close to her that heseemed to be in the act of stepping forth. She recognized him in asecond. It was Monck,--but Monck as she never before had seen him, Monckwith eyes alight with fever and lips drawn back like the lips of asnarling animal. In his right hand he gripped a revolver.
He saw her as suddenly as she saw him, and a rapid change crossed hisface. He reached out and caught her by the shoulder.
"Come in! Come in!" he said, his words rushing over each other in aconfused jumble utterly unlike his usual incisive speech. "You're safein here. I'll shoot the brute if he dares to come near you again."
She saw that he was not himself. The awful fire in his eyes alone wouldhave told her that. But words and action so bewildered her that sheyielded to the compelling grip. In a moment she was in the room, and hewas closing and shuttering the window with fevered haste.
She stood and watched him, a cold sensation beginning to creep about herheart. When he turned round to her, she saw that he was smiling, afierce, triumphant smile.
He threw down the revolver, and as he did so, she found her voice."Captain Monck, what does that man want? What--what is he doing?"
He stood looking at her with that dreadful smile about his lips and thered fire leaping, leaping in his eyes. "Can't you guess what he wants?"he said. "He wants--you."
"Me?" She gazed back at him astounded. "But why--why? Does he want toget money out of me? Where has he gone?"
Monck laughed, a low, terrible laugh. "Never mind where he has gone!I've frightened him off, and I'll shoot him--I'll shoot him--if he comesback! You're mine now--not his. You were right to come to me, quiteright. I was just coming to you. But this is better. No one can comebetween us now. I know how to protect my wife."
He reached out his hands to her as he ended. His eyes shocked herinexpressibly. They held a glare that was inhuman, almost devilish.
She drew back from him in open horror. "Captain Monck! I am not yourwife! What can you be thinking of? You--you are not yourself."
She turned with the words, seeking the door that led into the passage.He made no attempt to check her. Instinct told her, even before she laidher hand upon it, that it was locked.
She turned back, facing him with all her courage. "Captain Monck, Icommand you to let me go!"
Clear and imperious her voice fell, but it had no more visible effectupon him than the drip of the rain outside. He came towards her swiftly,with the step of a conqueror, ignoring her words as though they hadnever been uttered.
"I know how to protect my wife," he reiterated. "I will shoot any manwho tries to take you from me."
He reached her with the words, and for the first time she flinched, soterrible was his look. She shrank away from him till she stood againstthe closed door. Through lips that felt stiff and cold she forced herprotest.
"Indeed--indeed--you don't know what you are doing. Open the doorand--let me--go!"
Her voice sounded futile even to herself. Before she ceased to speak,his arms were holding her, his lips, fiercely passionate, were seekinghers.
She struggled to avoid them, but her strength was as a child's. Hequelled her resistance with merciless force. He choked the cry she triedto utter with the fiery insistence of his kisses. He held her crushedagainst his heart, so overwhelming her with the volcanic fires of hispassion that in the end she lay in his hold helpless and gasping, tooshattered to oppose him further.
She scarcely knew when the fearful tempest began to abate. All sense oftime and almost of place had left her. She was dizzy, quivering, onfire, wholly incapable of coherent thought, when at last it came to herthat the storm was arrested.
She heard a voice above her, a strangely broken voice. "My God!" itsaid. "What--have I done?"
It sounded like the question of a man suddenly awaking from a wilddream. She felt the arms that held her relax their grip. She knew thathe was looking at her with eyes that held once more the light of reason.And, oddly, that fact affected her rather with dismay than relief.Burning from head to foot, she turned her own away.
She felt his hand pass over her shamed and quivering face as though toassure himself that she was actually there in the flesh. And thenabruptly--so abruptly that she tottered and almost fell--he set herfree.
He turned from her. "God help me! I am mad!" he said.
She stood with throbbing pulses, gasping for breath, feeling as one whohad passed through raging fires into a desert of smouldering ashes. Sheseemed to be seared from head to foot. The fiery torment of his kisseshad left her tingling in every nerve.
He moved away to the table on which he had flung his revolver, and stoodthere with his back to her. He was swaying a little on his feet.
Without looking at her, he spoke, his voice shaky, wholly unfamiliar."You had better go. I--I am not safe. This damned fever has got into mybrain."
She leaned against the door in silence. Her physical strength was comingback to her, but yet she could not move, and she had no words to speak.He seemed to have reft from her every faculty of thought and feelingsave a burning sense of shame. By his violence he had broken down allher defences. She seemed to have lost both the power and the will toresist. She remained speechless while the dreadful seconds crept away.
He turned round upon her at length suddenly, almost with a movement ofexasperation. And then something that he saw checked him. He stoodsilent, as if not knowing how to proceed.
Across the room their eyes met and held for the passage of manythrobbing seconds. Then slowly a change came over Monck. He turned backto the table and deliberately picked up the revolver that lay there.
She watched him fascinated. Over his shoulder he spoke. "You will thinkme mad. Perhaps it is the most charitable conclusion you could come to.But I fully realize that when a thing is beyond an apology, it is aninsult to offer one. The key of the door is under the pillow on thebed. Perhaps you will not mind finding it for yourself."
He sat down with the words in a heavy, dogged fashion, holding therevolver dangling between his knees. There was grim despair in hisattitude; his look was that of a man utterly spent. It came to Stella atthat moment that the command of the situation had devolved upon her, andwith it a heavier responsibility than she had ever before been calledupon to bear.
She put her own weakness from her with a resolution born of expediency,for the need for strength was great. She crossed the room to the bed,felt for and found the key, returned to the door and inserted it in thelock. Then she paused.
He had not moved. He was not watching her. He sat as one sunk deep indejection, bowed beneath a burden that crushed him to the earth. Butthere was even in his abasement a certain terrible patience that sent anicy misgiving to her heart. She did not dare
to leave him so.
It needed all the strength she could muster to approach him, but shecompelled herself at last. She came to him. She stood before him.
"Captain Monck!" she said.
Her voice sounded small and frightened even in her own ears. Sheclenched her hands with the effort to be strong.
He scarcely stirred. His eyes remained downcast. He spoke no word.
She bent a little. "Captain Monck, if you have fever, you had better goto bed."
He moved slightly, influenced possibly by the increasing steadiness ofher voice. But still he did not look at her or speak.
She saw that his hold upon the revolver had tightened to a grip, and,prompted by an inner warning that she could not pause to question, shebent lower and laid her hand upon his arm. "Please give that to me!" shesaid.
He started at her touch; he almost recoiled. "Why?" he said.
His voice was harsh and strained, even savage. But the needed strengthhad come to Stella, and she did not flinch.
"You have no use for it just now," she said. "Please be sensible and letme have it!"
"Sensible!" he said.
His eyes sought hers suddenly, involuntarily, and she had a sense ofshock which she was quick to control; for they held in their depths thetorment of hell.
"You are wrong," he said, and the deadly intention of his voice made herquiver afresh. "I have a use for it. At least I shall have--presently.There are one or two things to be attended to first."
It was then that a strange and new authority came upon Stella, as if anunknown force had suddenly inspired her. She read his meaning beyond alldoubting, and without an instant's hesitation she acted.
"Captain Monck," she said, "you have made a mistake. You have donenothing that is past forgiveness. You must take my word for that, forjust now you are ill and not in a fit state to judge for yourself. Nowplease give me that thing, and let me do what I can to help you!"
Practical and matter-of-fact were her words. She marvelled at herselfeven as she stooped and laid a steady hand upon the weapon he held. Heraction was purposeful, and he relinquished it. The misery in his eyesgave place to a dumb curiosity.
"Now," Stella said, "get to bed, and I will bring you some of Tommy'squinine."
She turned from him, revolver in hand, but paused and in a moment turnedback.
"Captain Monck, you heard what I said, didn't you? You will go straightto bed?"
Her voice held a hint of pleading, despite its insistence. Hestraightened himself in his chair. He was still looking at her with anodd wonder in his eyes--wonder that was mixed with a very unusual touchof reverence.
"I will do--whatever you wish," he said.
"Thank you," said Stella. "Then please let me find you in bed when Icome back!"
She turned once more to go, went to the door and opened it. From thethreshold she glanced back.
He was on his feet, gazing after her with the eyes of a man in atrance.
She lifted her hand. "Now remember!" she said, and with that passedquietly out, closing the door behind her.
Her brain was in a seething turmoil and her heart was leaping within herlike a wild thing suddenly caged. But, very strangely, all fear haddeparted from her.
Only a brief interval before, she had found herself wishing that thedecision of her life's destiny had not rested entirely with herself. Itseemed to her that a great revelation had been vouchsafed between theamazing present and those past moments of troubled meditation. And sheknew now that it did not.