CHAPTER XXX

THE TREACHERY

"Doubt you if, in some such moment As she fixed me, she felt clearly Ages past the soul existed, Here an age 'tis resting merely, And hence fleets again for ages, While the true end, sole and single, It stops here for, is this love-way, With some other soul to mingle?

"Else it loses what it lived for, And eternally must lose it; Better ends may be in prospect, Deeper blisses (if you choose it); But this life's end and this love-bliss Have been lost here; doubt you whether This she felt, as looking at me, Mine and her souls rushed together?" --ROBERT BROWNING.

Melicent only came down to Clunbury for one day the following week; and Mr. Helston was with her. The week after, she came for two days, and brought Brenda.

This was not the result of any scheme of self-defence; it simply happened in the ordinary course of events.

For she no longer disliked Hubert. Her mental attitude had changed.

The enlightenment which his simple and sparing speech had brought to her had been a veritable shock. She saw herself again as she had been at the time of his early devotion--the despised Cinderella, the half-grown slattern, the insolent, self-absorbed little upstart. Her own dulness of perception and ingratitude began to show themselves to her in a strong light. She marvelled at his constancy, and stood amazed at his insight. He had seen her, not as she was, but as she might be. It was she who had been blind.

So she thought of him: and yet, at the bottom of her mind, lurked a mysterious reluctance to go down to Lone Ash again.

She wrote to Lance more affectionately than she had ever done. She told him she meant to be less hard, more unselfish, to do her best to respond to the affection he lavished upon her.

Time was flowing swiftly past her. In three weeks he would be home!

And it was June.

At last Captain Brooke wrote to say that there was a question in the builder's mind respecting an additional support at a point where the thrust of the wall was greater than had been reckoned for. He added that the builder and the engineer were quarrelling about the Lee-Simmons man-holes. Moreover, the weathered tiles were beginning to arrive, and there was a question raised as to the condition of some of them. There was no doubt that her presence was necessary, and finally she went down, upon a day that focussed in its heart all the tender glories of an English summer.

The lilacs were fading now, but pink may and golden laburnum flaunted in beauty; and Melicent, as she cycled up the lane from the station, caught the intoxicating fragrance of syringa.

"What a garden this is! I believe it holds a bit of everything in the world that smells sweet!" she cried, as she greeted Mrs. Barrett. "It reminds me of the garden in Solomon's Song. How this sunshine does make the spices flow out!" As she spoke, she gathered a tiny spray of waxen syringa and a cluster of double pink may, like wee Banksia roses, and fastened them in her white gown. "After London, this is so wonderful!" she sighed.

"You look pale, miss. The fresh air'll set you up. The Captain was round this morning to know if you'd come. He seemed that disappointed not to find you. I expect now he'll think you're not coming down till to-morrow."

"Is he up at Lone Ash now, do you think?"

"I believe he will be, miss. Tommy, have you heard the Captain drive back, down the lane?"

No, Tommy had not; he was sure the Cap'n had not returned.

"I'll have a glass of milk now, please, Mrs. Barrett, and then go up and find him," said Melicent.

"There's been a gentleman had your rooms this week-end," said Mrs. Barrett, as she provided refreshment. "Mr. Mayne, a clergyman. They do say he's to be made a bishop. He was fine and took up with the building, and as friendly as ever I see. I'm sure we oughter be grateful to the Lord for sending of the Captain down here. A godsend to this village he be. There's Carter down the lane, talked of drowning hisself, he did; wife and three childer, no work to be had, nowhere to live if he got it. Now he's to have head gardener's place, and Captain's going to build him a cottage, four rooms and a kitchen! He just goes about, does the Captain, and finds out truth about everybody. Nobody's going to get over him, not they! Keeps his eyes skinned, and no mistake about it. Been into the bar of the Hearty Welcome night after night since he's been staying there, and found out all he wants to know about they chaps. He's got the whip-hand of the lot by now; knows twice as much about 'em as what vicar does; and it's my belief, he'll be the best served master in this county."

Melicent drank her milk absently. She wished, yet dreaded to see Hubert again. Her novel mood of self-abasement craved humiliation. Since realising how unlovable her conduct had been, she was invaded by unreasonable desires to let him know that she was really not such a beast as she seemed. A wish to tell him that she knew who he was, and would like to be friends, assailed her like a temptation, though she knew that such confidences would be the very height and apex of folly.

There was nothing for it, she firmly told herself, as she put on her shady hat and mounted her bicycle, but to remain upon business terms.

It gave her a little shock of joy, as she neared the gate leading to the Captain's property, to see the grey walls high enough to be clearly discerned from the road.

She rode noiselessly over the pasture, dismounted at the hill, wheeled her bicycle forward among the trees, and propped it against the trunk of a big beech.

The workmen were gone. She could see Hubert sitting there, on the pile of planks where she had sat last month. How long ago that seemed! How far she had travelled since their drive together!

He did not appear to be doing anything but meditating. His arms rested on his knees, his hands hung down between; he was looking at the ground. Melicent was taken with a sudden conviction that it would be wise to turn and run before he saw her. She combated the feeling with indignation. She remembered how loath she had been to go that drive. And how glad she now was that she went! It had made so vast a difference to her, she felt something as Gareth felt when he unhorsed the dread Black Knight, and found the rosy child within.

Why not go forward?

The alternative no longer remained: he looked up and saw her.

She came towards him from among the trees, in her white gown, wearing a look he had never seen upon her face before in life, though he had dreamed of it now and then. Her eyes seemed to have grown larger, darker, softer. Her face was of that warm rose whiteness which relieves itself so vividly and strangely against a white dress.

He stood up; but absorbed in the picture she made, he did not advance to greet her.

"I thought you had not come," he said; and even to say so much was an effort.

"I had things to do." She smiled. "Some of that shopping you reminded me of the other day! I came by the later train."

He recollected himself.

"I hope you have good news of Burmester," he said mechanically.

"The best," answered Melicent quietly. "He will be home in less than three weeks."

He had been staring at the grass, but on that he raised his eyes.

"And when shall you be--married?"

"The day is not fixed; only that it will be at Fransdale." There was a pause, and to fill it she said: "I hear Mr. Mayne has been here."

"Yes; I suppose you are going to his consecration next week?"

"Oh, yes; he sent us tickets. Do you know how long he stays in England? He ought to wait for my wedding."

"So I told him," said Captain Brooke slowly, balancing a long screw-driver with which he was playing across one finger of his left hand.

"What did he say?"

"Oh!--well, he said several things; but he didn't mean me to repeat them, so don't ask me, please."

She gave an odd, excited laugh. "I don't ask; I order you to tell me."

He gazed upon her, so absorbed in his thoughts about her, that the subject in hand faded out of sight. She could not meet his look. Tossing her head, she turned a little away.

"So you won't tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What he said."

"What who said?"

"Captain Brooke, what is the matter with you? We were talking of Mr. Mayne. We had better leave off if you are not attending, and go and look at those tiles."

"The more serious matter is the water," he said, shaking off his preoccupation and sensibly relieved by the change of subject.

He led the way from where they stood to a pit four feet deep, with a stand-pipe projecting from the newly-turned soil. Kneeling down on the edge, he bent over, and turned on the union tap, which had been fixed for connection with a rubber hose. The girl gave a mortified exclamation:

"Why, it's dry!"

He acquiesced.

"That's where Shepherd's rage against the Lee-Simmons engineer comes in, and why he wants to wipe up the floor with him. The supply was all right the first two days, dribbled for two more; then stopped. The engineer says it is simply that Shepherd's men have fixed the thing so carelessly that the pipe's blocked down below. I think I'll get the jointed rod and probe it."

"Oh, my fish-pond, I thought I had secured you!" said Melicent sadly.

"You shall have it, if there's water in Wiltshire," he began; then stopping dead--"I mean, the thing must be made to act somehow. By the way, there's Alfred with the cart. I'll send him back for the rod; he can bring it in a few minutes."

"Lend me your wrench, then, and I'll get the tap right off," said the girl.

He handed her the tool she asked for, and went off across the field to give his directions.

She jumped down into the muddy pit, and set herself to unscrew the tap. It was not very easy, but she managed it at last; and then, with the thing in her hand, remained in her crouching attitude, examining it to see if there was any obstruction.

There was a sound like a deep sigh--a rush like heavy rain--a jet of yellow water flew from the pipe, hit the opposite side of the pit with great violence, and before she knew what had happened, she was over her ankles in water. In a calmer moment, she would have scaled the miry sides of the pit, regardless of appearances; but she was not calm, and she lost her head. The unexpected nature of the thing scared her--she had the idea that if once she let the pit fill, they would be unable to stop the flow; and so, with a spring, she flung herself upon the pipe, clasping her two hands rigidly about it, and stanching the most part of the rush. But the strength of the pulsing water was great, her footing slimy, her purchase feeble. Raising her voice, regardless of all but the emergency, she cried aloud:

"_Bert! Bert! Bert!_ Quick!"

He had only just dismissed Alfred on his errand, and was hurrying back, when that sound smote his ear. He broke into a laugh of pure joy as he heard it, but he ran with all his might.

The moment he got to the brink of the pit, he saw what was happening; and he, too, lost his head. Instead of calling to her to let go, and holding down his hands to draw her up, at the expense of a drenching, he forthwith sprang down, placed himself beside her, and locked his hands over hers.

The fact of his doing this bereft her of all power of speech.

She was totally unconscious of having called him by name; she did not know the reason of his kindled, glowing look. Neither, for a few long-drawn seconds, considered what was to be done. They simply stood there, so acutely conscious of each other that nothing else in all the universe seemed real.

She was the first to recall her scattered wits.

"Oh, this is too ridiculous," she said faintly. "We can't hold on! We can't hold on!"

"Just long enough for Alfred to get back," he whispered. "He can't be ten minutes. He can have the thing ready to screw on, and save you a deluge--"

"Nonsense!" she uttered feebly. "We can't hold on here for ten minutes! We can't, simply."

"I wish we could hold on for ever," he jerked out, his voice sunk to a note that made her quail.

The force in his hands seemed to be communicating itself to her. She was dominated, absorbed, had forgotten everything but him. He never spoke, but she became aware that he wished her to look at him. She tore away her gaze from the sight of their gripped hands, raised her head, searched his face with pleading eyes.

Their looks met and mingled.

A dull beat was hammering through her senses. Was it his heart or hers, or the pulse of Time itself?

Their faces drew nearer, nearer to each other.

Something was going to happen--something that should explain all life and blaze the answer to every secret ... that was the thought she had as their lips met.

Was it he who bent to her, or was the impulse that drew them mutual?

The blinding sweetness of that kiss was unmarred by any thought of treachery. The world and Lance with it, had simply gone out in the ecstasy of the light that flooded her.

* * * * * * * *

It was over. The world that had stood at gaze like Joshua's moon on Ajalon, swung on once more her dance among the stars.

Melicent stood there, in the fair June evening, at the side of the man who had kissed her. The wind came softly over meadows deep in buttercups, and bent the white lacy sprays of delicate wild parsley which fringed them. High in the blue sky the lark stormed heaven's gate with song.

"Let me go!" she cried, with a stifled sob. "I must go! Don't you see that I must?"

It was a moment before he replied; but when he did, his voice was perfectly composed and cool.

"As soon as you feel the pressure of my hands relax, slip yours downwards," he said.

A moment later she was free.

"There! Oh, why couldn't you do that before?" she cried passionately, as she made a frantic onslaught upon the crumbling side of the pit.

She was up and away in a minute, her white frock soaked, her feet caked in pale yellow mud. She ran across the grass, never stopping to look behind, and met the bewildered Alfred just at the edge of the plantation.

"Hurry to the Captain," she gasped. "The water has started to run and he can't stop it. I must go home and change!"

Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak. In feverish, stumbling haste she mounted her bicycle, and rode down the bumpy grass slope at a dangerous pace. Mercifully the gate into the lane stood wide, and she was through it and back at the cottage in a couple of minutes.

Alfred found his master up to the knees in what looked like weak tea with cream in it. Between them they managed to re-fix the tap, connect the long hose, and set the liquid flowing into Melicent's fish-pond.

Emerging from the pit, the Captain looked at his legs--he was wearing a cool, summer suit of light grey flannel.

"The wash-tub, Alfred, is the place for me," he said resignedly.

"Yessir!" said Alfred, who had prudently removed his own smart leg-wear before venturing to the rescue.

"Joseph was better off than I am, Alfred. His pit was dry--there was no water in it."

"Yessir! Miss Lutwyche, she was drenched, sir."

"I hope she won't take cold," said the Captain, with polite solicitude; "but fortunately the day is warm. Get on your boots, Alfred. I'll let this thing run all night, and perhaps there'll be something to show for it in the morning. There must have been something in the pipe, and the force of the water dislodged it, I suppose."

Melicent, lying upon her bed with hidden face, heard the cart go past the cottage. The beat of the hoofs was not interrupted; they passed by without stopping; and the tension of her strained nerves relaxed.