CHAPTER VII
THE GATES OF HELL
Up and down, up and down, in a fever of restlessness, Avery walked. Shefelt trapped. The gloomy, tapestried room seemed to close her in like aprison. The whole world seemed to have turned into a monstrous place ofpunishment. One thing only was needed to complete the anguish of herspirit, and that was the presence of her husband.
She could not picture the meeting with him. Body and soul recoiled fromthe thought. It would not be till the morning; that was her sole comfort.By the morning this fiery suffering would have somewhat abated. She wouldbe calmer, more able to face him and hear his defence--if defence therecould be. Somehow she never questioned the truth of the story. She knewthat Tudor had not questioned it either. She knew moreover that had itbeen untrue, Piers would have been with her long ago in vehementindignation and wrath.
No, the thing was true. He was the man who had wrecked her life at itsbeginning, and now--now he had wrecked it again. He was the man whosehands were stained with her husband's blood. He had done the deed in oneof those wild tempests of anger with which she was so familiar. He haddone the deed, possibly unintentionally, but certainly with murderousimpulse; and then deliberately cynically, he had covered it up, and gonehis arrogant way.
He had met her, he had desired her; with a few, quickly-stifled qualmshe had won her, trusting to luck that his sin would never find him out.And so he had made her his own, his property, his prisoner, the slave ofhis pleasure. She was bound for ever to her husband's murderer.
Again body and soul shrank in quivering horror from the thought, and awild revolt awoke within her. She could not bear it. She must break free.The bare memory of his passion sickened her. For the first time in herlife hatred, fiery, intense, kindled within her. The thought of his touchfilled her with a loathing unutterable. He had become horrible to her, athing unclean, abominable, whose very proximity was pollution. She feltas if the blood on his hands had stained her also--the blood of the manshe had once loved. For a space she became like a woman demented. Thething was too abhorrent to be endured.
And then by slow degrees her brain began to clear again. She grew alittle calmer. Monstrous though he was, he was still human. He was, in afashion, at her mercy. He had sinned, but it was in her hands that hispunishment lay.
She was stronger than he. She had always known it. But she must keep herstrength. She must not waste it in futile resentment. She would need itall. He had entered her kingdom by subtlety; but she would drive himforth in the strength of a righteous indignation. To suffer him to remainwas unthinkable. It would be to share his guilt.
Her thoughts tried to wander into the future, but she called themresolutely back. The future would provide for itself. Her immediate dutywas all she now needed to face. When that dreaded interview was over,when she had shut him out finally and completely then it would be timeenough to consider that. Probably some arrangement would have to be madeby which they would meet occasionally, but as husband and wife--never,never more.
It was growing late. The dinner-gong had sounded, but she would not godown. She rang for Victor, and told him to bring her something on a tray.It did not matter what.
He looked at her with keen little eyes of solicitude, and swiftly obeyedher desire. He then asked her if the dinner were to be kept for _MonsieurPierre_, who had not yet returned. She did not know what to say, but lesthe should wonder at her ignorance of Piers' doings, she answered in thenegative, and Victor withdrew.
Then, again lest comment should be made, she forced herself to eat anddrink, though the food nauseated her. A feeling of sick suspense wasgrowing upon her, a strange, foreboding fear that hung leaden about herheart. What was Piers doing all this time? What effect had that message,delivered by Tudor, had upon him? Why had he not returned?
Time passed. The evening waned and became night. A full moon rose red andwonderful out of a bank of inky cloud, lighting the darkness with anoddly tropical effect. The night was tropical, breathless, terriblystill. It seemed as if a storm must be upon its way.
She began to undress at last there in the moonlight. The heat was toointense to veil the windows, and she would not light the candles lestbats or moths should be attracted. At another time the eerieness of theshadowy room would have played upon her nerves, but to-night she was noteven aware of it. The shadows within were too dark, too sinister.
A great weariness had come upon her. She ached for rest. Her body feltleaden, and her brain like a burnt-out furnace. The very capacity forthought seemed to have left her. Only the horror of the day loomedgigantic whichever way she turned, blotting out all beside. Prayer was animpossibility to her. She felt lost in a wilderness of doubt, forsakenand wandering, and terribly alone.
If she could rest, if she could sleep, she thought that strength mightreturn to her--the strength to grapple with and overthrow the evil thathad entered into and tainted her whole life. But till sleep should cometo her, she was impotent. She was heavy and numb with fatigue.
She lay down at length with a vague sense of physical relief beneath hercrushing weight of trouble. How unutterably weary she was! How tired--howtired of life!
Time passed. The moon rose higher, filling the room with its weird coldlight. Avery lay asleep.
Exhaustion had done for her what no effort of will could haveaccomplished, closing her eyes, drawing a soft veil of oblivion acrossher misery.
But it was only a temporary lull. The senses were too alert, too fevered,for true repose. That blessed interval of unconsciousness was all tooshort. After a brief, brief respite she began to dream.
And in her dream she saw a man being tortured in a burning, fieryfurnace, imprisoned behind bars of iron, writhing, wrestling, agonizing,to be free. She saw the flames leaping all around him, and in the flameswere demon-faces that laughed and gibed and jested. She saw his hands allblistered in the heat, reaching out to her, straining through those cruelbars, beseeching her vainly for deliverance. And presently, gazing with asick horror that compelled, she saw his face....
With a gasping cry she awoke, started up with every nerve stretched andquivering, her heart pounding as if it would choke her. It was adream--it was a dream! She whispered it to herself over and over again,striving to control those awful palpitations. Surely it was all a dream!
Stay! What was that? A sound in the room beyond--a movement--a step! Shesprang up, obeying blind impulse, sped softly to the intervening door,with hands that trembled shot the bolt. Then, like a hunted creature,almost distracted by the panic of her dream, she slipped back to thegloomy four-poster, and cowered down again.
Lying there, crouched and quivering, she began to count those hammeringheart-beats, and wondered wildly if the man on the other side of the doorcould hear them also. She was sure that he had been there, sure that hehad been on the point of entering when she had shot the bolt.
He would not enter now, she whispered to her quaking heart. She would nothave to meet him before the morning. And by then she would be strong. Itwas only her weariness that made her so weak to-night!
She grew calmer. She began to chide herself for her senseless panic--shethe bearer of other people's burdens, who prided herself upon her steadynerve and calmness of purpose. She had never been hysterical in her lifebefore. Surely she could muster self-control now, when her need of it wasso urgent, so imperative.
And then, just as a certain measure of composure had returned to her,something happened. Someone passed down the passage outside her room andpaused at the outer door. Her heart stood still, but again desperatelyshe steadied herself. That door was bolted also.
Yes, it was bolted, but there was a hand upon it,--a hand that feltsoftly for the lock, found the key outside, softly turned it.
Then indeed panic came upon Avery. Lying there, tense and listening, sheheard the quiet step return along the passage and enter her husband'sroom, heard that door also close and lock, and knew herself a prisoner.
"Avery!"
Every pulse leapt, every nerv
e shrank. She started up, wide-eyed,desperate.
"I will talk to you in the morning, Piers," she said, steadying her voicewith difficulty. "Not now! Not now!"
"Open this door!" he said.
There was dear command in his voice, and with it the old magnetic forcereached her, quick, insistent, vital. She threw a wild look round, butonly the dazzling moonlight met her eyes. There was no escape forher--no escape.
She turned her face to the door behind which he stood. "Piers, please,not to-night!" she said beseechingly.
"Open the door!" he repeated inexorably.
Again that force reached her. It was like an electric current suddenlyinjected into her veins. Her whole body quivered in response. Almostbefore she knew it, she had started to obey.
And then horror seized her--a dread unutterable. She stopped.
"Piers, will you promise--"
"I promise nothing," he said, in the same clear, imperious voice, "exceptto force this door unless you open it within five seconds."
She stood in the moonlight, trembling, unnerved. He did not sound like aman bereft of reason. And yet--and yet--something in his voice appalledher. Her strength was utterly gone. She was just a weak, terrified woman.
"Avery," his voice came to her again, short and stern, "I don't wish tothreaten you; but it will be better for us both if I don't have to forcethe door."
She forced herself to speak though her tongue felt stiff and dry. "Ican't let you in now," she said. "I will hear what you have to say inthe morning."
He made no reply. There was an instant of dead silence. Then there came asudden, hideous shock against the panel of the door. The socket of thebolt gave with the strain, but did not wholly yield. Avery shrank backtrembling against the shadowy four-poster. She felt as if a raging animalwere trying to force an entrance.
Again came that awful shock. The wood splintered and rent, socket andbolt were torn free; the door burst inwards.
There came a brief, fiendish laugh, and Piers broke in upon her.
He recovered himself with a sharp effort, and stood breathing heavily,looking at her. The moonlight was full upon him, showing him deadly pale,and in his eyes there shone the red glare of hell.
"Did you really think--a locked door--would keep me out?" he said,speaking with an odd jerkiness, with lips that twitched.
She drew herself together with an instinctive effort at self-control. "Ithought you would respect my wish," she said, her voice very low.
"Did you?" said Piers. "Then why did you lock the door?"
He swung it closed behind him and came to her.
"Listen to me, Avery!" he said. "You are not your own any longer--to giveor to take away. You are mine."
She faced him with all the strength she could muster, but she could notmeet those awful eyes that mocked her, that devoured her.
"Piers," she said, almost under her breath, "remember,--what happensto-night we shall neither of us ever forget. Don't make me hate you!"
"Haven't you begun to hate me then?" he demanded. "Would you have lockedthat door against me if you hadn't?"
She heard the rising passion in his voice, and her heart fainted withinher. Yet still desperately she strove for strength.
"I don't want to do anything violent or unconsidered. I must have time tothink. Piers, you have me at your mercy. Be merciful!"
He made a sharp movement. "Are you going to be merciful to me?" he said.
She hesitated. There was something brutal in the question, yet itpierced her. She knew that he had divined all that had been passingwithin her during that evening of misery. She did not answer him, for shecould not.
"Listen!" he said again. "What has happened has happened by sheerill-luck. The past is nothing to you. You have said so yourself. Thefuture shall not be sacrificed to it. If you will give me your solemnpromise to put this thing behind you, to behave as if it had never been,I will respect your wishes, I will do my utmost to help you to forget.But if you refuse--" He stopped.
"If I refuse--" she repeated faintly.
He made again that curious gesture that was almost one of helplessness."Don't ask for mercy!" he said.
In the silence that followed there came to her the certain knowledge thathe was suffering, that he was in an inferno of torment that goaded himinto fierce savagery against her, like a mad animal that will wreak itsmadness first upon the being most beloved. It was out of his torment thathe did this thing. She saw him again agonizing in the flames.
If he had had patience then, that divine pity of hers might have come tohelp them both; but he read into her silence the abhorrence which alittle earlier had possessed her soul; and the maddening pain of it drovehim beyond all bounds.
He seized her suddenly and savagely between his hands. "Are you any theless my wife," he said, speaking between his teeth, "because you havefound out what manner of man I am?"
She resisted him, swiftly, instinctively, her hands against his breast,pressing him back. "I may be your wife," she said gaspingly. "I amnot--your slave."
He laughed a fiendish laugh. Her resistance fired him. He caught herfiercely to him. He covered her face, her throat, her arms, her hands,with kisses that burned her through and through, seeming to sear hervery soul.
He crushed her in a grip that bruised her, that suffocated her. Hepressed his lips, hot with passion, to hers.
"And now!" he said. "And now!"
She lay in his arms spent and quivering and helpless. The cruel triumphof his voice silenced all appeal.
He went on deeply, speaking with his lips so close that she felt hisbreath scorch through her like the breath of a fiery furnace.
"You are bound to me for better--for worse, and nothing will ever setyou free. Do you understand? If you will not be my wife, you shallbe--my slave."
Quiveringly, through lips that would scarcely move she spoke at last. "Ishall never forgive you."
"I shall never ask your forgiveness," he said.
So the gates of hell closed upon Avery also. She went down into theunknown depths. And in an agony of shame she learned the bitterest lessonof her life.