The Bars of Iron

  CHAPTER XVIII

  HORNS AND HOOFS

  It was the Reverend Stephen Lorimer's custom to have all letters thatarrived by the morning post placed beside his breakfast plate to besorted by him at the end of family prayers,--a custom which Gracie freelycriticized in the sanctuary of the schoolroom, and which her mother inearlier days had gently and quite ineffectually tried to stop. It wasalways a somewhat lengthy proceeding as it entailed a careful scrutiny ofeach envelope, especially in the case of letters not addressed to theReverend Stephen. He was well acquainted with the handwriting of all hiswife's correspondents, and was generally ready with some shrewd guess asto their motives for writing. They were usually submitted to him forperusal as soon as she had read them herself, a habit formed by Mrs.Lorimer when she discovered that he looked upon her correspondence as hisown property and deeply resented any inclination on her part to keep itto herself.

  Avery's arrival had brought an additional interest to the morning budget.Her letters were invariably examined with bland curiosity and handed onto her with comments appropriate to their appearance. Occasionallyenvelopes with an Australian postmark reached her, and these alwaysexcited especial notice. The brief spell of Avery's married life had beenspent in a corner of New South Wales. In the early part of theiracquaintance, Mr. Lorimer had sought to draw her out on the subject ofher experiences during this period, but he had found her reticent. And sowhenever a letter came addressed in the strong, masculine hand of herAustralian correspondent, some urbane remark was invariably made, whilehis small daughter Gracie swelled with indignation at the furtherend of the table.

  "Two epistles for Mrs. Denys!" he announced, as he turned over themorning's mail at the breakfast-table two days after Christmas. "Ah, Ithought our Australian friend would be calling attention to himself erethe festive season had quite departed. He writes from Adelaide on thisoccasion. That indicates a move if I mistake not. His usual_pied-a-terre_ has been Brisbane hitherto, has it not?"

  His little dark eyes interrogated Avery for a moment before they vanishedinwards with disconcerting completeness.

  Avery stiffened instinctively. She was well aware that Mr. Lorimer didnot like her, but the fact held no disturbing element. To her mind thedislike of the man was preferable to his favour and after all she saw butlittle of him.

  She went on therefore with her occupation of cutting bread and butter forthe children with no sign of annoyance save that slight, scarcelyperceptible stiffening of the neck which only Gracie saw.

  "I hope you are kind to your faithful correspondent," smiled Mr. Lorimer,still holding the letter between his finger and thumb. "He evidentlyregards your friendship as a pearl of price, and doubtless he iswell-advised to do so."

  Here he opened his eyes again, and sent a barbed glance at Avery'sunresponsive face.

  "Friendship is a beautiful thing, is it not?" he said.

  "It is," said Avery, deftly cutting her fifth slice.

  The Reverend Stephen proceeded with clerical fervour to embellish hissubject, for no especial reason save the pleasure of listening to his owneloquence--a pleasure which never palled. "It partakes of that divinequality of charity so sadly lacking in many of us, and sheds golden beamsof sunshine in the humblest earthly home. It has been aptly called thetrue earnest of eternity."

  "Really!" said Avery.

  "An exquisite thought, is it not?" said the Vicar. "Grace, my child, forthe one-and-twentieth time I must beg of you not to swing your legs whensitting at table."

  "I wasn't," said Gracie.

  Her father's brows were elevated in surprise. His eyes as a consequencewere opened rather wider than usual, revealing an unmistakablymalignant gleam.

  "That is not the way in which a Christian child should receiveadmonition," he said. "If you were not swinging your legs, you werefidgeting in a fashion which you very well know to be unmannerly. Do notlet me have to complain of your behaviour again!"

  Gracie's cheeks were crimson, her violet eyes blazing with resentment;and Avery, dreading an outburst, laid a gentle restraining hand upon hershoulder for an instant.

  The action was well-meant, but its results were unfortunate. Gracieimpulsively seized and kissed the hand with enthusiasm. "All right, Averydear," she said with pointed docility.

  Mr. Lorimer's brows rose a little higher, but being momentarily at a lossfor a suitable comment he contented himself with a return to Avery'scorrespondence.

  "The other letter," he said, "bears the well-known crest of the Eveshamfamily. Ah, Mrs. Denys!" he shook his head at her. "Now, what doesthat portend?"

  "What is the crest?" asked Avery, briskly cutting another slice.

  "The devil," said Gracie.

  "My dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Lorimer, with a nervous glance towardsher husband.

  The Reverend Stephen was smiling, but in a fashion she did not quitelike. He addressed Avery.

  "The Evesham crest, Mrs. Denys, is a gentleman with horns and hoofs andunder him the one expressive word, _'Cave.'_ Excellent advice, is it not?I think we should do well to follow it." He turned the envelope over, andstudied the address. "What a curious style of writing the young man has,unrestrained to a degree! This looks as if it had been written in adesperate mood. Mrs. Denys, Mrs. Denys, what have you been doing?"

  He began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Julian, who was seated nearhim, with a sudden, clumsy movement, upset a stream of cocoa across thebreakfast-table. This created an instant diversion. Mr. Lorimer turnedupon him vindictively, and soundly smacked his head, Mrs. Lorimer coveredher face and wept, and Avery, with Gracie close behind, hurried to remedythe disaster.

  Ranald came to help her in his quiet, gentlemanly way, dabbing up thethick brown stream with his table-napkin. Pat slipped round to hismother and hugged her hard. And Olive, the only unmoved member of theparty, looked on with contemptuous eyes the while she continued herbreakfast. Jeanie still breakfasted upstairs in the schoolroom, and somissed the _fracas_.

  "The place is a pig-sty!" declared Mr. Lorimer, roused out of allcomplacence and casting dainty phraseology to the winds. "And you,sir,"--he addressed his second son,--"wholly unfit for civilizedsociety. Go upstairs, and--if you have any appetite left after thisdisgusting exhibition--satisfy it in the nursery!"

  Julian, crimson but wholly unashamed, flung up his head defiantly andwalked to the door.

  "Stop!" commanded Mr. Lorimer, ere he reached it.

  Julian stopped.

  His father looked him up and down with gradually returning composure."You will not go to the nursery," he said. "You will go to the study andthere suffer the penalty for insolence."

  "Stephen!" broke from Mrs. Lorimer in anguished protest.

  "A beastly shame!" cried Gracie vehemently, flinging discretion to thewinds; she adored her brother Julian. "He never spoke a single word!"

  "Go, Julian!" said Mr. Lorimer.

  Julian went, banging the door vigorously behind him.

  Then, amid an awful silence, the Vicar turned his scrutiny upon hissmall daughter.

  Gracie stood up under it with all the courage at her disposal, but shewas white to the lips before that dreadful gaze passed from her to Avery.

  "Mrs. Denys," said Mr. Lorimer, in tones of icy courtesy, "will youoblige me by taking that child upstairs, undressing her, and putting herto bed? She will remain there until I come."

  Avery, her task accomplished, turned and faced him. She was as white asGracie, but there was a steadfast light in her eyes that showed herwholly unafraid.

  "Mr. Lorimer," she said, "with your permission I will deal withGracie. She has done wrong, I know. By-and-bye, she will be sorry andtell you so."

  Mr. Lorimer smiled sarcastically. "An apology, my dear Mrs. Denys, doesnot condone the offence. It is wholly against my principles to spare therod when it is so richly merited, and I shall not do so on this occasion.Will you kindly do as I have requested?"

  It was final, and Avery knew it. Mrs. Lorimer knew it also, and burstinto hysterical cr
ying.

  Avery turned swiftly. "Go upstairs, dear!" she said to Gracie, and Graciewent like an arrow.

  Mrs. Lorimer started to her feet. "Stephen! Stephen!" she criedimploringly.

  But her husband turned a deaf ear. With a contemptuous gesture he tossedAvery's letters upon the table and stalked from the room.

  Mrs. Lorimer uttered a wild cry of despair, and fell back fainting inher chair.

  For the next quarter of an hour Avery was fully occupied in restoringher, again assisted by Ronald. When she came to herself, it was only toshed anguished tears on Avery's shoulder and repeat over and over againthat she could not bear it, she could not bear it.

  Avery was of the same opinion, but she did not say so. She stroveinstead with the utmost tenderness to persuade her to drink some tea.But even when she had succeeded in this, Mrs. Lorimer continued to be soexhausted and upset that at last, growing uneasy, Avery despatchedRonald for the doctor.

  She sent Olive for the children's nurse and took counsel with her as togetting her mistress back to bed. But Nurse instantly discouraged thissuggestion.

  "For the Lord's sake, ma'am, don't take her upstairs!" she said. "Themaster's up there with Miss Gracie, and he's whipping the poor lambsomething cruel. He made me undress her first."

  "Oh, I cannot have that!" exclaimed Avery. "Stay here a minute, Nurse,while I go up!"

  She rushed upstairs in furious anger to the room in which the threelittle girls slept. The door was locked, but the sounds within wereunmistakable. Gracie was plainly receiving severe punishment from herirate parent. Her agonized crying tore Avery's heart.

  She threw herself at the door and battered at it with her fists. "Mr.Lorimer!" she called. "Mr. Lorimer, let me in!"

  There was no response. Possibly she was not even heard, for the dreadfulcrying continued and, mingled with it, the swish of the slender littleriding-switch which in the earlier, less harassed days of his marriedlife the Reverend Stephen had kept for the horse he rode, and which nowhe kept for his children.

  They were terrible moments for Avery that she spent outside that lockeddoor, listening impotently to a child's piteous cries for mercy from onewho knew it not. But they came to an end at last. Gracie's distress sankinto anguished sobs, and Avery knew that the punishment was over. Mr.Lorimer had satisfied both his sense of duty and his malice.

  She heard him speak in cold, cutting tones. "I have punished you moreseverely than I had ever expected to find necessary, and I hope that thelesson will be sufficient. But I warn you, Grace, most solemnly that Ishall watch your behaviour very closely for the future, and if I detectin you the smallest indication of the insolence and defiance for which Ihave inflicted this punishment upon you to-day I shall repeat thepunishment fourfold. No! Not another word!" as Gracie made someinarticulate utterance. "Or you will compel me to repeat it to-night!"

  And with that, he walked quietly to the door and unlocked it.

  Avery had ceased to beat upon it; she met him white and stiff inthe doorway.

  "I have just sent for the doctor," she said. "Mrs. Lorimer has beentaken ill."

  She passed him at once with the words, not looking at him, for she couldnot trust herself. Straight to Gracie, huddled on the floor in hernight-dress, she went, and lifted the child bodily to her bed.

  Gracie clung to her, sobbing passionately. Mr. Lorimer lingered inthe doorway.

  "Will you go, please?" said Avery, tight-lipped and rigid, the childclasped to her throbbing heart.

  It was a definite command, spoken in a tone that almost compelledcompliance, and Mr. Lorimer lingered no more.

  Then for one long minute Avery sat and rocked the poor little torturedbody in her arms.

  At length, through Gracie's sobs, she spoke. "Gracie darling, I'm goingto ask you to do something big for me."

  "Yes?" sobbed Gracie, clinging tightly round her neck.

  "Leave off crying!" Avery said. "Please leave off crying, darling, and beyour own brave self!"

  "I can't," cried Gracie.

  "But do try, darling!" Avery urged her softly. "Because, you see, I can'tleave you like this, and your poor little mother wants me so badly. Sheis ill, Gracie, and I ought to go to her, but I can't while you arecrying so."

  Thus adjured, Gracie made gallant efforts to check herself. But herspirit was temporarily quite broken. She stood passively with the tearsrunning down her face while Avery hastily dressed her again and set herrumpled hair to rights. Then again for a few seconds they held each othervery tightly.

  "Bless you, my own brave darling!" Avery whispered.

  To which Gracie made tearful reply: "Whatever should we do without you,dear--dear Avery?"

  "And you won't cry any more?" pleaded Avery, who was nearer to tearsherself than she dared have owned.

  "No," said Gracie valiantly.

  She began to dry her eyes with vigour--a hopeful sign; and after pressingupon Avery another damp kiss was even able to muster a smile.

  "Now you can do something to help me," said Avery. "Give yourself fiveminutes--here's my watch to go by!" She slipped it off her own wrist andon to Gracie's. "Then run up to the nursery and see after the childrenwhile Nurse is downstairs! And drink a cup of milk, dearie! Mind you do,for you've had nothing yet."

  "I shall love to wear your watch," murmured Gracie, beginning to becomforted.

  "I know you'll take care of it," Avery said, with a loving hand on thechild's hair. "Now you'll be all right, will you? I can leave you withoutworrying?"

  Grade gave her face a final polish, and nodded. Spent and sore though shewas, her spirit was beginning to revive. "Is Mother really ill?" sheasked, as Avery turned to go.

  "I don't know, dear. I'm rather anxious about her," said Avery.

  "It's all Father's fault," said Gracie.

  Avery was silent. She could not contradict the statement.

  As she reached the door, Gracie spoke again, but more to herself than toAvery. "I hope--when he dies--he'll go to hell and stay there for everand ever and ever!"

  "Oh, Gracie!" Avery stopped, genuinely shocked. "How wrong!" she said.

  Gracie nodded several times. "Yes, I know it's wrong, but I don't care.And I hope he'll die to-morrow."

  "Hush! Hush!" Avery said.

  Whereat Gracie broke into a propitiatory smile. "The things I wish fornever happen," she said.

  And Avery departed, wondering if this statement deserved to be treated inthe light of an amendment.