The Knave of Diamonds

  CHAPTER XII

  IN THE FACE OF THE GODS

  "Thank the gods, we are the only guests!" said Nap that evening, as theysat down to dine at the table at which they had lunched.

  The glare of a lurid sunset streamed across the sky and earth. There wasa waiting stillness upon all things. It was the hush before the storm.

  An unwonted restlessness had taken possession of Anne. She did not echohis thanksgiving, an omission which he did not fail to note, but uponwhich he made no comment.

  It was in fact scarcely a place for any but day visitors, being someconsiderable distance from the beaten track. The dinner placed beforethem was not of a very tempting description, and Anne's appetite dwindledvery rapidly.

  "You must eat something," urged Nap. "Satisfy your hunger withstrawberries and cream."

  But Anne had no hunger to satisfy, and she presently rose from the tablewith something like a sigh of relief.

  They went into the drawing-room, a room smelling strongly of musk, andlittered largely with furniture of every description. Nap opened wide adoor-window that led into a miniature rosegarden. Beyond stretched thecommon, every detail standing out with marvellous vividness in the weirdstorm-light.

  "St. Christopher!" he murmured softly. "We are going to catch it."

  Anne sat down in a low chair near him, gazing forth in silence, her chinon her hand.

  He turned a little and looked down at her, and thus some minutes slippedaway, the man as tensely still as the awe-stricken world without, thewoman deep in thought.

  He moved at last with a curious gesture as if he freed and restrainedhimself by the same action.

  "Why don't you think out loud?" he said.

  She raised her eyes for a moment. "I was thinking of my husband," shesaid.

  He made a sharp movement--a movement that was almost fierce--and againseemed to take a fresh grip upon himself. His black brows met above hisbrooding eyes. "Can't you leave him out of the reckoning for this onenight?" he asked.

  "I think not," she answered quietly.

  He turned his face to the sinking sun. It shone like a smoulderingfurnace behind bars of inky cloud.

  "You told me once," he said, speaking with obvious constraint, "that youdid not think you would ever live with him again."

  She stifled a sigh in her throat. "I thought so then."

  "And what has happened to make you change your mind?"

  Anne was silent. She could not have seen the fire that leapt and dartedin the dusky eyes had she been looking at him, but she was not looking.Her chin was back upon her hand. She was gazing out into the darkeningworld with the eyes of a woman who sees once more departed visions.

  "I think," she said slowly at length, as he waited immovably for heranswer, "that I see my duty more clearly now than then."

  "Duty! Duty!" he said impatiently. "Duty is your fetish. You sacrificeyour whole life to it. And what do you get in return? A sense of virtueperhaps, nothing more. There isn't much warming power in virtue. I'vetried it and I know!" He broke off to utter a very bitter laugh. "And soI've given it up," he said. "It's a trail that leads to nowhere."

  Anne's brows drew together for an instant. "I hoped you might come tothink otherwise," she said.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "How can I? I've lived the life of a saint forthe past six months, and I am no nearer heaven than when I began. It'stoo slow a process for me. I wasn't made to plough an endless furrow."

  "We all of us say that," said Anne, with her faint smile. "But do weany of us really know what we were made for? Are we not all in themaking still?"

  He thrust out his chin. "I can't be abstruse tonight. I know what Iwas made for, and I know what you were made for. That--anyway fortonight--is all that matters."

  He spoke almost brutally, yet still he held himself as it were aloof. Hewas staring unblinking into the sunset. Already the furnace was dyingdown. The thunder-clouds were closing up. The black bars had drawntogether into one immense mass, advancing, ominous. Only through a singlenarrow slit the red light still shone.

  Mutely they watched it pass, Anne with her sad eyes fixed and thoughtful,Nap still with that suggestion of restrained activity as if he watchedfor a signal.

  Gradually the rift closed, and a breathless darkness came.

  Anne uttered a little sigh. "I wish the storm would break," she said. "Iam tired of waiting."

  As if in answer, out of the west there rose a long low rumble.

  "Ah!" she said, and no more.

  For as if the signal had come, Nap turned with a movementincredibly swift, a movement that was almost a spring, and caught herup into his arms.

  "Are you tired of waiting, my Queen--my Queen?" he said, and there was anote of fierce laughter in his words. "Then--by heaven--you shall waitno longer!"

  His quick breath scorched her face, and in a moment, almost before sheknew what was happening, his lips were on her own. He kissed her as shehad never been kissed before--a single fiery kiss that sent all the bloodin tumult to her heart. She shrank and quivered under it, but she waspowerless to escape. There was sheer unshackled savagery in the holdingof his arms, and dismay thrilled her through and through.

  Yet, as his lips left hers, she managed to speak, though her voice was nomore than a gasping whisper. "Nap, are you mad? Let me go!"

  But he only held her faster, faster still.

  "Yes, I am mad," he said, and the words came quick and passionate, thelips that uttered them still close to her own. "I am mad for you, Anne. Iworship you. And I swear that while I live no other man shall ever holdyou in his arms again. Anne--goddess--queen--woman--you are mine--youare mine--you are mine!"

  Again his lips pressed hers, and again from head to foot she felt as if aflame had scorched her. Desperately she began to resist him thoughterribly conscious that he had her at his mercy. But he quelled herresistance instantly, with a mastery that made her know more thoroughlyher utter impotence.

  "Do you think that you can hold me in check for ever?" he said. "I tellyou it only makes me worse. I am a savage, and chains of that sort won'thold me. What is the good of fighting against fate? You have done it aslong as I have known you; but you are beaten at last. Oh, you may turnyour face from me. It makes no difference now. I've played for this, andI've won! You have been goddess to me ever since the day I met you.To-night--you shall be woman!"

  He broke into a low, exultant laugh. She could feel the fierce beating ofhis heart, and her own died within her. The blaze of his passion ringedher round like a forest fire in which all things perish.

  But even then she knew that somewhere, somewhere, there was a way ofescape, and with the instinct of the hunted creature she sought it.

  "To-night," she said, "I shall know whether you have ever reallyloved me."

  "What?" he said. "You dare to question that now? Do you want to put me tothe proof then? Shall I show you how much I love you?"

  "No," she said. "Take your arms away!"

  She did not expect his obedience, but on the instant he spread them wideand released her.

  "And now?" he said.

  She almost tottered, so amazing had been his compliance. And then asswiftly--came the knowledge that he had not really set her free. It hadpleased him to humour her, that was all. He stood before her with all thearrogance of a conqueror. And through the gathering darkness his eyesshone like the eyes of a tiger--two flames piercing the gloom.

  She mustered all her strength to face him, confronting him with thatunconscious majesty that first had drawn him to her.

  "And now," she said, "let us once and for all understand one another."

  "What?" he said. "Don't you understand me yet? Don't yourealise--yet--that when a man of my stamp wants a woman he--takes her?"

  Again there throbbed in his voice that deep note of savagery, suchsavagery as made her quail. But it was no moment for shrinking. She knewinstinctively that at the first sign of weakness he would take her backinto his arms.

  She straightened
herself therefore, summoning all her pride. "Do youreally think I am the sort of woman to be taken so?" she asked. "Do youreally think I am yours for the taking? If so, then you have never knownme. Nor--till this moment--have I known you."

  He heard her without the faintest hint of astonishment or shame, standingbefore her with that careless animal grace of his that made him in somefashion superb.

  "Yes," he said, "I really do think you are mine for the taking this time,but you will admit I've been patient. And I've taken the trouble to makethings easy for you. I've spirited you away without putting you throughany ordeals of hesitation or suspense. I've done it all quiteunobtrusively. To-morrow we go to London, after that to Paris, and afterthat--whithersoever you will--anywhere under the sun where we can bealone. As to knowing each other"--his voice changed subtly, became soft,with something of a purring quality--"we have all our lives before us,and we shall be learning every day."

  His absolute assurance struck her dumb. There was something implacableabout it, something unassailable--a stronghold which she felt powerlessto attack.

  "Doesn't that programme attract you?" he said, drawing nearer to her."Can you suggest a better? The whole world is before us. Shall we goexploring, you and I, alone in the wilds, and find some Eden that no manhas ever trodden before? Shall we, Anne? Shall we? Right away fromeverywhere, somewhere in the sun, where I can teach you to be happy andyou can teach me to be--good."

  But at his movement she moved also, drawing back. "No!" she said. Hervoice was low, but not lacking in strength. Having spoken, she went onalmost without effort. "You are building upon a false foundation. If itwere not so, I don't think I could possibly forgive you. As it is, Ithink when you realise your mistake you will find it hard to forgiveyourself. I have treated you as a friend because I thought I could do sowith safety. I thought for the sake of my friendship you had given up allthought of anything else. I thought you were to be trusted and I trustedyou. Oh, I admit I ought to have known you better. But I shall nevermake that mistake again."

  "No," Nap said. "I don't think you will."

  He spoke deliberately; he almost drawled. Yet a sense of danger stabbedher. His sudden coldness was more terrible than his heat.

  "But why say this to me now?" he said. "Do you think it will make anydifference?"

  He had not moved as he uttered the words, and yet she felt as if hemenaced her. He made her think of a crouching tiger--a tiger whosedevotion had turned to sudden animosity.

  She did not shrink from him, but her heart quickened. "It must make adifference," she said. "You have utterly misunderstood me, or you wouldnever have brought me here."

  "Don't be too sure of that," he returned. "It may be that you can deceiveyourself more easily than you can deceive me. Or again, it may be that Ihave come to the end of my patience and have decided to take by stormwhat cannot be won by waiting."

  She drew herself up proudly. "And you call that--love!" she said, with ascorn that she had never before turned against him. "You dare to callthat--love!"

  "Call it what you will!" he flashed back. "It is something that can crushyour cold virtue into atoms, something that can turn you from a marblesaint into a living woman of flesh and blood. For your sake I'vetried--I've agonised--to reach your level. And I've failed because Ican't breathe there. To-night you shall come down from your heights tomine. You who have never lived yet shall know life--as I knowit--to-night!"

  Fiercely he flung the words, and the breath of his passion was like afiery blast blown from the heart of a raging furnace. But still she didnot shrink before him. Proud and calm she waited, bearing herself with aqueenly courage that never faltered.

  And it was as if she stood in a magic circle, for he raised no hand totouch her. Without word or movement she kept him at bay. Erect,unflinching, regal, she held her own.

  He caught his breath as he faced her. The beast in him slunk back afraid,but the devil urged him forward. He came close to her, peering into herface, searching for that weak place in every woman's armour which thedevil generally knows how to find. But still he did not offer to touchher. He had let her go out of his arms when he had believed her his own,and now he could not take her again.

  "Anne," he said suddenly, "where is your love for me? I will swear youloved me once."

  "I never loved you," she answered, her words clear-cut, cold as steel. "Inever loved you. Once, it is true, I fancied that you were such a man asI could have loved. But that passed. I did not know you in those days. Iknow you now."

  "And hate me for what you know?" he said.

  "No," she answered. "I do not even hate you."

  "What then?" he gibed. "You are--sorry for me perhaps?"

  "No!" Very distinct and steady came her reply. "I only despise you now."

  "What?" he said.

  "I despise you," she repeated slowly, "knowing what you might be, andknowing--what you are."

  The words passed out in silence--a silence so tense that it seemed as ifthe world itself had stopped. Through it after many seconds came Nap'svoice, so softly that it scarcely seemed to break it.

  "It is not always wise to despise an enemy, Lady Carfax--especially ifyou chance to be in that enemy's power."

  She did not deign to answer; but her gaze did not flinch from his, nordid her pride waver.

  He drew something abruptly from his pocket and held it up before her. "Doyou see this?"

  She stirred then, ever so slightly, a movement wholly involuntary,instantly checked. "Are you going to shoot me?" she asked.

  "I thought that would make you speak," he remarked. "And you stilldespise me?"

  Her breathing had quickened, but her answer was instant; for the firsttime it held a throb of anger. "I despise you for a coward. You are evenviler than I thought."

  He returned the weapon to his pocket. "It is not for you," he said. "I ammore primitive than that. It is for the man who stands between us, forthe man who thought he could whip Nap Errol--and live. I have never goneunarmed since."

  He paused a moment, grimly regarding her. Then, "There is only onething I will take in exchange for that man's life," he said."Only--one--thing!"

  But she stood like a statue, uttering no word.

  A sudden gust of passion swept over him, lashing him to headlong fury."And that one thing I mean to have!" he told her violently. "No power inheaven or hell shall keep you from me. I tell you"--his voice rose, andin the darkness those two flames glowed more redly, such flames as hadsurely never burned before in the face of a man--"whatever you may say,you are mine, and in your heart you know it. Sooner or later--sooner orlater--I will make you own it." His voice sank suddenly to a whisper, nolonger passionate, only inexpressibly evil. "Will you despise me then,Queen Anne? I wonder!--I wonder!"

  She moved at last, raised her hand, stiffly pointed. "Go!" shesaid. "Go!"

  Yet for a space he still stood in the doorway, menacing her, a vitalfigure, lithe, erect, dominant. The tension was terrible. It seemed to bestrained to snapping point, and yet it held.

  It was the fiercest battle she had ever known--a battle in which his willgrappled with hers in a mighty, all-mastering grip, increasing everyinstant till she felt crushed, impotent, lost, as if all the powers ofevil were let loose and seething around her, dragging her down.

  Her resolution began to falter at last. She became conscious of a numbingsense of physical weakness, an oppression so overwhelming that shethought her heart would never beat again. Once more she seemed to totteron the edge of a depth too immense to contemplate, to hover above thevery pit of destruction...

  And then suddenly the ordeal was over. A blinding flash of lightning litthe room, glimmered weirdly, splitting the gloom as a sword rending acurtain, and was gone. There came a sound like the snarl of a startledanimal, and the next instant a frightful crash of thunder.

  Anne reeled back, dazed, stunned, utterly unnerved, and sank into achair.

  When she came to herself she was alone.