The Knave of Diamonds

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE STRAIGHT GAME

  It was drawing towards evening on that same day when Anne, who had beenspending the afternoon at the Dower House, walked back across the park.She went by way of the stream along which she and Nap had once skatedhand in hand in the moonlight, and as she went she stooped now and thento gather the flowers that grew in the grass beside her path. But herface as she did it was grave and thoughtful. She did not seem to noticetheir fragrance.

  As she neared the lake she moved more slowly, and reaching a rustic seatbeneath a cedar that shadowed the entrance to the gardens she sat down,her grey eyes fixed upon the water that gurgled at her feet.

  A brilliant green dragon-fly, darting meteor-like across her vision, camepresently to disturb her reverie. With a slight start she awoke, andleaned forward with an odd eagerness to mark its progress. As it flashedaway through the shadows a quick sigh came to her lips. It was so fair athing, so swiftly gone.

  She gathered up her flowers and rose. And in that moment she knew thatshe was not alone.

  How she knew it she could not have said. No sound or shadow told her. Nohand touched her. Yet she knew.

  For a few seconds she stood motionless on the edge of the stream. Thenwithout turning she spoke.

  "Were you looking for me?"

  "Yes," he said.

  He came to her side. They were close--close to that spot where once hehad so arrogantly claimed her friendship. To-day it seemed he had noword to utter.

  For a space she waited, then, finding in his silence something thatdisquieted her, she spoke again.

  "Is all well? Why are you not with Lucas?"

  "All's well," he said, but he left her second question unanswered. He wasgazing down intently into the clear water.

  Seconds passed. She glanced at him once or twice, but he seemed unawareof her scrutiny. He made no movement to meet it. His dark face broodedover the stream, almost as if she were not there.

  Her heart began to throb with thick, uneven strokes. What had he come tosay to her? And why did he stand thus silent? There was something tragicabout him, something almost terrible.

  She waited beside him in wordless foreboding. Whatever was coming shefelt powerless to avert. She could only brace herself to meet theinevitable.

  In some fashion, though he never glanced her way, he must have been awareof her agitation, for when he spoke again there was some measure ofreassurance in his voice, emotionless though it was.

  "I shan't alarm you," he said. "I shan't even ask you to answer me, muchless to treat me kindly. But you've got to hear me, that's all. I'm nottelling you for my own sake, only because Luke has ordained that you mustknow. I daresay you thought it strange that I should have come back sosoon. It probably made you wonder."

  "It did," said Anne, in a low voice.

  "I knew it would." A note of grim satisfaction sounded in the rejoinder.He jerked his head a little with a touch of the old arrogance. "Well, Iam here to explain. I knew the odds were dead against me when Istarted--as they are to-day. All the same you are to understand that Icame back when I did because I had just heard that you were free and Iwas mad enough to dream that in spite of everything I should one daypersuade you to marry me."

  He paused an instant, but he kept his eyes upon the water as if he werereading something in the crystal depths.

  Anne still waited beside him, her hands clasped tightly upon herdrooping flowers.

  He continued very rapidly, as though he wished to have done. "That wasmy true reason for coming back. I don't know if I deceived you any onthat point. I tried to. But anyway I didn't manage to deceive Lucas. Hesees most things. He knows for instance that I--care for you"--almostangrily he flung the words--"and he thinks you ought to know it, incase"--his lips twisted into a queer smile--"you care for me. It's apreposterous idea anyway. I've told him so. But he won't be easy tillI've given you the chance to trample on me. Guess he thinks I owe youthat. Maybe I do. Well--you have your opportunity."

  "Do you think I want--that?" Anne said, her voice very low.

  His hands clenched. "I can't say," he said. "Most women would. But--ifyou want to know--I'd sooner be trampled. I've promised I'll play thestraight game, and I'm playing it. I'm telling you the raw truth. I loveyou. I have it in me to make you know it. But--"

  "But you love Lucas better" she said.

  He nodded. "Just that. Also, Lucas is a good man. He will set yourhappiness first all his life. While I--while I"--he stooped a little,still staring downwards as if he watched something--"while I, LadyCarfax," he said, speaking very quietly, "might possibly succeed inmaking you happy, but it wouldn't be the same thing. You would have tolive my life--not I yours. I am not like Lucas. I shouldn't be satisfiedwith--a little."

  "And you think that is all I can offer him?" she said.

  He made a sharp gesture of repudiation. "I have no theories on thatsubject. I believe you would satisfy him. I believe--ultimately--youwould both find the happiness we are all hunting for."

  "And you?" Anne said, her voice very low.

  He straightened himself with a backward fling of the shoulders, but stillhe did not look at her. "I, Lady Carfax!" he said grimly. "I don't fitinto the scheme of things anyway. I was just pitchforked into your lifeby an accident. It's for you to toss me out again."

  Anne was silent. She stood with her face to the sinking sun. She seemedto be gathering her strength.

  At last, "What will you do?" she asked in the same hushed voice. "Wherewill you go?"

  He turned slowly towards her. "I really don't know. I haven't begunto think."

  His eyes looked deeply into hers, but they held no passion, no emotion ofany sort. They made her think with a sudden intolerable stab of pain ofthat night when he had put out the fire of his passion to receive herkiss. He had told her once that that kiss was the greatest thing that hadever happened to him. Did he remember it now, she wondered, as she metthose brooding eyes, still and dark and lonely as they had been then,unfathomable as a mountain pool. She did not fear to meet them. Only avast, surging pity filled her soul. She understood him so well--so well.

  "Nap," she said tremulously, "what can I say to you? What can I do?"

  He put out a quiet, unfaltering hand and took hers. "Don't be too good tome," he said. "Don't worry any on my account. If you do, maybe Luke willnotice and misunderstand. He's so damnably shrewd." A brief smile crossedhis face. "I'll tell you what to do, Lady Carfax, and when it's doneyou'll feel better. Come with me now to Lucas--it's his own idea--andtell him you've no use for me. Put it how you like. Women can always dothese things. Make him know that he comes first with you still and alwayswill. Tell him you know all the truth and it hasn't made you change yourmind. Tell him you'd rather belong to a man you can trust. He'll believeyou, Anne. We all do."

  He spoke insistently. He had begun to draw her towards the path. But asthey reached it, his hand fell from hers. He walked beside her, closebeside her, but not by word or touch did he seek further to persuade her.

  And Anne walked steadily forward as one in a dream. It was the only thingto do, since he had told her plainly that he desired it, since with bothof them Luke must for ever come first. He had drawn them together, he hadlinked their hands, but he stood between them to do it, and neither ofthem would suffer him to go.

  She supposed they would be friends again, she and Nap. She did not fearthat he would ever again cross the boundary line. His love for hisbrother ran like a purifying current through his veins. It was the onestreak of greatness in him. Its very selflessness made it stronger thanhis love for her. She knew with a certainty that nought could ever shakethat he would be true to Lucas, that never again by word or sign would hebetray that for which he had not scrupled to play her false.

  And because she was a woman and understood him she forgave him this. Forshe knew that the greater loyalty had done for him that which she hadfailed to do. She knew that in uttermost self-sacrifice Nap Errol, thesavage, the merciless, the treach
erous, had found his soul.

  So side by side in silence they went back to the house.

  The evening was very still; passing in from the terrace they seemed toenter an enchanted palace wherein nothing stirred.

  "He may be asleep," Nap said. "Shall I go first?"

  She assented without speaking. Somehow the spell of silence seemed tohold her also.

  Tawny Hudson was on guard as usual in the outer room. He looked up withresentful eyes as they entered, but he said nothing. The door into hismaster's room stood half open. Nap paused at it a moment to listen. Heturned to Anne, and she fancied just for a second that there was ashade of anxiety on his face. But it was gone instantly, if indeed ithad been there.

  "Follow me in a minute," he said, "if I don't come back."

  And with that he glided through the narrow space and passed from sight.

  A minute later, absolute silence reigning, Anne softly pushed back thedoor and entered.

  She found Nap crouched motionless with outflung arms across the footof the bed.

  And drawing nearer, she saw that Lucas Errol was lying asleep with hisface to the sky, all the lines of pain smoothed utterly away, and on hislips that smile which some call the Stamp of Death, and others theshining reflection of the Resurrection Glory which the passing soul hasleft behind.