The Pursuit Part 37

"You only inconvenience yourself," he said indifferently. "Well, my Quixote, stay here then, in the dark, shackled, and alone."

He held back the door, motioning the others into the outer cabin. Miss Van Arlen stood still, leaning against the bulkhead.

Landon made another gesture towards the door. "Ladies first," he smiled.

"While we play at pirates, let us maintain the high standard of piratical courtesy."

She shook her head.

"I prefer to stay," she said quietly.

Landon's surprise escaped in an exclamation. And then he laughed--an evil, sneering laugh, which brimmed with insolence and suggestion.

"You--prefer--to stay?" he repeated, and looked from her to the man who lay at his feet. "Was my chance shot so far from the target?" he asked.

"You will stay with--whom? Not a lover?"

Her eyes were stormy, but her voice was restrained.

"Even your insolence does not turn me from my duty," she answered.

"Captain Aylmer has served, and is suffering for, me and mine."

She turned her eyes from his as she spoke and, as if some power outside herself compelled her, let them meet the glance which Aylmer flung at her from the level of the floor. Through a pregnant moment she read its message--surprise, incredulity, and then hope. These lit fires in it one by one, but the last eclipsed all other gleams, and remained.

He spoke.

"Thank you," he said simply. "But I am not here to add to your hards.h.i.+ps. I cannot accept the sacrifice."

"The decision is with me," she said quietly, but with determination. "It is settled. I remain here, with Captain Aylmer."

Landon was still smiling.

"It has its unconventional side, this decision of yours," he said. "I must remind you of that."

"You need remind me of nothing," she answered. "I stay; that is all."

He shook his head.

"Not quite all," he objected. "I must, of course, have a promise from you that you will not interfere with Captain Aylmer's bonds in any way."

She nodded.

"Very well," she said laconically. "I promise."

Still Landon hesitated, his hand upon the door.

"And you?" he said suddenly, looking at his cousin. "You shall give me your word not to let her touch you."

Aylmer's eyes sparkled with rage.

"Have you not got her word, you _dog_!" he answered, and there was an intonation on the last syllable which seemed to sting even Landon's imperturbability. For he made a threatening step forward.

"By G.o.d, I'll show you where you are!" he cried. "You dare to give me your impudence, here?"

He stood looking down, his breath coming pantingly. His cheeks had become curiously patched; he gasped.

Miller's even voice broke across the tension.

"Captain Aylmer refuses any relaxations," he said urbanely. "Why not accept the fact?"

Landon swung round.

"Do you think I daren't?" he cried menacingly. "Do you think I daren't go the whole hog? If I swing him overboard, who's to tell? By the Lord, I've a mind for it--and to make myself safe with the rest of you, too.

I've a mind, a very good mind, to rid myself of the lot of you!"

"And live afterwards--on what?" replied Miller very quietly.

There was silence, more than a moment of it. Landon's fingers sought and found purchase upon the wood part.i.tion. His glance dwelled upon Miller, debatingly. Slowly the flush died from his cheek.

And then he laughed again, harshly, unmirthfully, even apologetically, so it seemed, but as if the apology were to himself. He motioned Miller to the door. He laid the basket upon the floor.

"Make the most of it," he said. He hesitated. "And don't count on my--my good-humor--again." Without a backward look, he placed the lantern on the table and banged the door.

Claire made no comment; her whole desire was to dull all sense of emotion from the situation. She laid her hand upon the basket; she drew out a bottle of wine; she found a tin cup and filled it. She did it all with matter-of-factness; she did not spare a glance towards the floor.

And then she knelt beside him, put her arm behind his back, helped him to shuffle into an uneasy leaning posture against the bulkhead. She brought him the cup.

He shook his head in protest.

"After you," he said determinedly.

Her lips moved to speech, and then she stayed herself. After all was not stolid acquiescence best; did not that kill sentiment, and was not sentiment the one thing to be dreaded in this situation? She lifted her shoulders in an indifferent little shrug and then she drank. He watched her quietly. She refilled the cup and held it to his lips. He moved his chin in a queer, cramped little nod of acknowledgment and drank in his turn. And there was a hint of reluctance in the little sigh with which he relinquished the emptied cup.

She refilled it and held it for him again, antic.i.p.ating his protests with the declaration that she herself would have no more, disliked it, wished, rather, for food. And so she watched him drink for the second time, slowly, swallowing tiny mouthfuls, dwelling on it. A queer sense of unreality gripped her as she did so. It was as if she waited on and tolerated the foibles of a child. A hundred times she had done as much or more for her small nephew, but without this protective sense in the doing of it. She realized the fact with a sort of self-inquisition. It pleased her to see this man where her help was essential to him. Some instinct of the same kind had been awake in her as she nursed and watched over him at the silo, but it had died or slept in the intervening weeks of ordinary converse at Gibraltar and on the yacht. It woke again now; and it had grown unwatched. Why, she asked herself. Why?

And then came the question of food. The basket contained no accessories, merely the bare essentials. She had to break the bread and divide the cheese with her fingers, bit by bit. And bit by bit she had to place each portion between his teeth. She shrank, or she told herself that it was shrinking, as her hand brushed his moustache, but was there anything truly repellent in this suddenly intimate action? Again self-inquisition denied it. Pleasure was in the sensation, not pain.

She rose, at last, when the contents of the basket were finished, and placed it on the table. Returning she flicked the crumbs from his shoulder and then, with a little sigh, sat down. He looked at her gravely, but with a gravity which tells of emotion restrained.

"Thank you again," he said. "Thank you for everything, but--why?"

She gave a little start. Was not this the question that her inner self had been dinning in her ears for half an hour? She was humbling herself, sacrificing herself even, in the eyes of such as Landon, lowering herself to serve this man. Why?

And as she debated she avoided his gaze lest he should read indecision in her glance. And yet the answer should have been glib on her lips; she had, indeed, already given it to Landon. Duty to a servant suffering in her service. But was that all?

"Did you expect me to choose the company of your cousin?" she asked slowly. "The very sight of him revolts me. I cannot stand it!"

"You spared me a little of that distaste, at our first meeting," he said, and there was the glint of a queer smile beneath his moustache.

"Have I lived that down?"