Betty Trevor Part 16

"But,"--Betty's voice faltered nervously--"isn't it cowardly to run away just when the fight is hardest? A soldier would be called a traitor if he did that. And what would come afterwards? Do you believe that you have a right to take your own life?"

"You mean from a religious point of view. I'm afraid that's out of my line. I have lost what little faith I had in these last few years. You believe in it all, of course--it's natural for a girl--but to me the idea of a personal G.o.d is as unreal as a fairy tale. It does not touch my position."

"But just suppose for a moment that it _were_ true. Suppose He does exist, and has been longing to help you all this time--what then?" cried Betty earnestly, and her companion gave a short, derisive laugh.

"It would have been easy enough for Him to have prevented all this trouble! I can see no help in the story of the last few years.

Everything has gone against me. In the beginning I borrowed some money--of course, it's a case of money--to help a friend who was in a tight fix. That was innocent enough. But when the time came round I could not repay the debt, and in my position it was fatally easy to help myself to what I needed. I called it just another loan. I was sure of repaying it before anything was discovered, but again it was impossible, for there were calls upon me which I had not expected. If I had been short in my accounts I should have lost my situation, and it was a handsome one for a man of my age. You won't understand the details, but I began to speculate, to put off the evil hour, always hoping for a _coup_ which would put everything right; but it never came. I was not helped, you see! Things went from bad to worse, until I could go on no longer. Then in despair I confessed the whole story to my friend--he is a near relation also, but that is by the way. He would not allow the family name to be disgraced; he paid up all that was due, and saved me the shame of prosecution, but even he could do no more. I am sent about my business--a felon in deed, though not in name. Incidentally, too, he is ruined. He must give up his house, remove his children to cheap schools, live in poverty instead of ease. Naturally enough he will have no more to do with me. There is not a soul on earth who would regret me if I pa.s.sed out of being to-night."

There was a long silence while the strangely-matched couple wended their way slowly along the bisecting roads which lead from Kensington High Street to Bayswater Road. The fog had slightly lessened by this time, but it was still too dense to show anything but a dim outline of pa.s.sers-by, and the face of the stranger was but a blur against the darkness to Betty's searching eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly; she was praying with a whole-hearted earnestness unknown to her usual morning and evening supplications--praying to be guided to say the right thing to save this man's soul from despair. At last--

"You say you were not helped," she began timidly; "but if your speculations had succeeded as you hoped, it might not have been really good for you. It would have been easier, of course, but if all had gone smoothly you might have been tempted to do the same thing another time.

Perhaps G.o.d knew that, and that there was no way of bringing you back to Himself except through trouble."

The stranger laughed again--his hard, mirthless little laugh.

"I am afraid I can hardly believe in that theory. I can see no reason for believing that my doings are the slightest interest to Him, or that He cares in the least what becomes of me."

"Can't you!" cried Betty eagerly. "Oh, I can! Just think more carefully, and you will remember many, many things which you have not stopped to notice at the time. To-night, for instance! Do you think it chance that I missed my brother, and came to you out of all the hundreds of people who were around? _I_ don't! I believe G.o.d sent me to you because you would not speak to anyone you knew; because you needed help so badly--and I need it, too--and we could help each other."

The shadowy head bent nearer to hers, and the arm pressed against her hand.

"Thank you," said the voice in a softened key; "that is a kind thought!

It is quite true that I could not have spoken as I have done under ordinary circ.u.mstances. When I met you I was going straight for the nearest water. There are many places where an accident might easily occur on a night like this. I do not wish to make any scandal, only to disappear."

Betty drew in her breath sharply. The sound of that one word "water"

gave a definite touch to the situation, and thereby trebly increased its tragedy, but the gentleness of the voice gave her increased hope, and she cried eagerly--

"Disappear, yes! I can understand it would be difficult to stay among the old surroundings, but why not disappear _to come back_ another day, when you can redeem the past? Suppose you went away to a strange place, and worked hard, oh, very hard, and denied yourself every possible thing, so as to save up money. Suppose you succeeded--when people are terribly in earnest about a thing, they generally _do_ succeed--and in some years' time could pay off what you owe! That would be braver than killing yourself, wouldn't it? That would be worth living for. Or if it took too long to pay it back in your friend's lifetime, he has children, and you could help them as their father has helped you. That would be paying back the debt in the way he would like best. Think of it! They would imagine you dead, or perhaps worse than dead, but they wouldn't be angry with you any more; people don't go on being angry for years and years, especially if they are good and kind, as your friends must be. But some day it might happen that they were in trouble, or getting old and tired, and feeling it was hard to go on working, and a letter would come in-- from you--and inside that letter there would be a cheque, and they would be so happy, and so thankful, and so _helped_!

And they would send for you to come back, and the old trouble would be wiped away, and they would honour you for your brave fight. Oh, you will--you _will_! You must do it! Promise, promise that you will!"

Her voice broke into a sob, and something like a faint echo of the sound came to her ears through the darkness. It seemed the most promising answer she could have had, in its contrast from the biting self- possession of a few minutes before. Her heart beat high with hope.

"Is there any place to which you could go? Have you enough money left to take you there?" she questioned, as if the matter were already settled, and, consciously or unconsciously, the stranger replied in the same vein.

"I have an old friend in America; he would help me to a start. I have a good many possessions left; they would bring in enough to pay the pa.s.sage if--"

"No, there is no 'if'! Don't let yourself say it! Sell the things to- morrow, and begin again in a new world, in a new way. Believe that G.o.d _does_ care, and that it is a chance that He has given you, and every night and every morning, oh, and so often through the day, I shall remember you, and pray that you may be helped! Sometimes when you feel lonely you may be glad to know that one person in the Old Country knows all about you, and is waiting to see the reward of your work. You must let me know when the success comes. I shall always be waiting; and remember, this talk is going to do me good too! I have _made_ troubles for myself because I did not know how well off I was, but now that I have come so close to the real thing I shall be ashamed to grizzle over trifles. It _is_ settled, isn't it? You are going on fighting?"

There was a long silence. She could feel rather than see the struggle in the man's face, but the pressure tightened on her hand, foretelling that the decision would be what she wished.

"Yes," he said slowly at last. "I promise! An hour ago it seemed as if there was not a soul in the world who cared whether I lived or died, but as you say you came to me--in the darkness! You think you were sent.

My old mother would have thought the same. I don't know, I can't tell, but it may be so, and that gives me courage to try again."

He paused for a moment or two, then suddenly--

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Betty!"

"Betty!" His voice lingered over the pretty, girlish name. "Thank you, Betty!"

"And yours?"

"Ralph."

"Thank you, Ralph! You have given me something real to think of in life--something to look forward to."

"Ah!" He drew a long, stabbing breath. "But at the best it will be a long waiting. You will be far from eighteen--'nearly eighteen'--before I can hope for success. The years will seem very long."

"But they will pa.s.s!" cried Betty. "I can wait!"

She was in a state of exaltation when no trial of patience seemed too great to face, and difficulties presented themselves only as glorious opportunities; but the man, who had experienced the heat and burden of the day, sighed, and was silent.

By this time they had made their way past the great houses standing back from the road, and were close on the Lancaster Gate Station of the Central London Railway. A faint light streamed into the gloom from the gla.s.s fanlight, and for the first time Betty began to feel that she trod on familiar ground.

"Ah, here we are; if we go round this corner I shall be home in five minutes. Perhaps we shall arrive before the others, after all. You have brought me so quickly that there is no time for them to have been anxious, unless Miles went in alone."

The stranger did not answer. They turned round the corner of Stanhope Terrace and walked along for twenty or thirty yards, then suddenly he stood still, and dropped her arm.

"I may never meet you again," he said slowly; "in all probability we never shall meet, but before we part, let me see your face, Betty!"

There was a sound of a match being struck against the side of a box, then a tiny flame flickered up in the darkness. Betty gazed upwards into a face still young, but haggard and drawn with suffering, a long thin face with deep-set eyes and a well-cut chin.

"Now, now, now," she was saying breathlessly to herself. "I must notice! I must remember! I shall have to remember for so many years--"

The flame quivered and faded away.

"Thank you," said the stranger quietly. "I shall remember!" Evidently his thoughts and hers had followed the same course.

They walked along slowly side by side, but no longer arm in arm, for that momentary exchange of glances had brought a touch of personal embarra.s.sment into the situation which had been unfelt before. Betty was anxiously pondering what to say in farewell, feeling at the same time that further words would be more likely to mar than to aid the impression already made, when suddenly a form loomed through the darkness, and a well-known "Coo-ee" sounded in her ears.

"Miles--oh, Miles! I'm here! Oh, Miles, I am so glad! I was so frightened, but this gentleman has been so kind. He has brought me all the way home."

Miles grunted discourteously; he disapproved of stray acquaintances for his sister, and now that anxiety for her safety was a.s.suaged, began to feel aggrieved at having been frightened for nothing.

"What on earth did you mean by rus.h.i.+ng off by yourself? Might have been lost all night. I've been hanging about for an age, not daring to go into the house and scare the mater. Never go out with you again in a fog!"

Betty laughed merrily.

"I can return that compliment. It seems to me that you ran away from me." She turned to hold out her hand to the stranger. "Now that my brother is here I need not trouble you any more. Good-bye! Thank you very much!"

"Thank you!" he said earnestly. "Good-bye until--a brighter day."

"What does that bounder mean by talking of another day? Cheek!" grunted Miles, leading the way onward, but Betty only pressed his arm and replied irrelevantly--

"Don't say anything about our having missed each other when we first go in, Miles. I'll tell mother quietly. I'd rather, if you don't mind."

Miles did not mind a bit--in fact, he was thankful to be spared questioning and reproach, so he made his way upstairs to his room, while Betty entered the study, where Dr and Mrs Trevor were seated.