The Golden Web Part 14

"Ah!" she murmured, half closing her eyes. "It was to hear you talk like this that I came. I could not have borne it alone for another second.

Something in my head seemed to be giving way."

"The storm, too, is terrifying," he said. "You were fortunate not to be ten minutes later. Look!"

He led her to the window. Across the marsh was a darkness that was less of the atmosphere than of the falling torrents of rain,--rain that fell in sheets, flung up again from the hard paths of the marshes in a white, fringe-like foam. Seaward, the waves had become breakers. The one white line had become a dozen.

"You would have been drowned," he said, leading her back to her chair.

"It is good of you," she said, "not to be angry. I ought not to have come. I know that. Only I was afraid. In London I should have gone mad."

The servant entered with a tray. Deane stood over her while she ate, walking up and down the room, talking in a disconnected manner of many things. Outside, the storm was pa.s.sing away. Through the wide-open windows fresh salt air came stealing into the room. Deane stood looking out for a few minutes, and then turned towards his visitor with an air of perplexity. She met his gaze, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Oh! I know I have been foolish," she said. "I am here and you don't know what to do with me. Isn't that what you were thinking? I have been very foolish," she added, with a sudden flood of color streaming into her cheeks. "But remember, when I came I was mad. You will remember that?"

"Yes!" he answered rea.s.suringly. "I will remember that."

There was an awkward silence. Deane felt that it would have been torture to her if he had alluded to that moment of madness, and yet it was hard altogether to avoid it.

"I am afraid," he said, "that you will have to put up with bachelor quarters to-night. You can have my room here. I have another which will do, but you would find it a little rough."

She looked at him timidly. "Couldn't I--get back to the village?"

He led her outside and pointed. The storm, coming with the full tide, had wrought a strange change in the face of the land. Up to the very top of the d.y.k.es was a turbulent waste of waters. The tower had been left as though upon an island. Nowhere in sight was any land to be seen.

"You see," Deane said to the girl, "it would not be safe to try and get to the village. The water is up to within a few inches of the d.y.k.e, and in the half darkness one might easily make a false step. From here one cannot quite see, but I should imagine that the flood is over the village street."

She turned back toward the little gray stone building. "If you will let me sleep in your sitting-room, then," she said timidly. "I will not turn you out of your room."

He laughed. "My dear young lady," he said, "if anyone in the world ever needed sleep to-night, it is you. I am going to send you up to lie down at once. You must promise me, promise faithfully, that you will remember what I have said, that you will say this to yourself: 'The reprieve will come!' It is the truth, mind. Say that to yourself and sleep."

Then he touched the bell and spoke to his servant. "Grant, please make my room as habitable as possible for this young lady. We are on an island, and no one will be able to leave to-night. Put out anything of mine you think may be useful to her."

She turned towards him impulsively. "You are very good to me," she said.

"My dear Miss Rowan, I only wish that it were in my power--"

Then he stopped short. After all, it was not wise to tell her too much.

He raised her fingers to his lips, and avoided, with a sudden twinge of self-reproach, the soft invitation of her timidly raised eyes.

"You must sleep well," he said, as he pointed the way up the stairs.

"Remember, you can take what I have told you as a promise."

CHAPTER XVI

A REPRIEVE

Morning dawned upon a land still as though from exhaustion. The long waves, sole remnant of the storm, came gliding in with a slow, lazy motion, and broke noiselessly upon the firm sands. The sky was blue. Of wind there was none at all. Inland, the flood-tide was still high. Only the tops of the d.y.k.es were visible. Everywhere the sea had found its way into unexpected places. Little patches of the marsh from which it had just receded shone with a new glory--a green glitter like the sparkle of emeralds. Deane, who was out early, for his bed had been no more than a sofa, gave a little start of surprise as he opened the door and found Winifred Rowan standing on a little knoll by the side of the flagstaff, looking seaward.

She turned towards him at once with the sound of the opening door. He realized then, more completely than in the dusk of the evening, how great the strain of these last few days had been,--the strain which had driven her into this strange journey. The black rings under her eyes seemed as though traced with a pencil, her cheeks were thinner, there was something pathetic about the quick, startled look which flashed into her eyes at the sound of Deane's approaching footsteps.

"I am afraid," he said gravely, "that you have not slept."

"As much as usual," she answered. "Tell me, what time do your letters come?"

He looked inland. "Generally about eight. They may be a little later to-day."

She nodded. "I must go back," she said vacantly. "When is there a train?"

It was impossible to ask her to stop, and yet he felt all the pathos of sending her back to face alone the shadow of her terrible anxiety.

"There is no hurry," he said. "We will look out the trains after breakfast."

"Are you--going to stay here?" she asked anxiously.

"If I thought," he answered, "that there was the slightest thing I could do in London which I have not already done, I would go back by the first train this morning, but, indeed, you must remember what I told you last night. The matter is practically settled. In a few days he will know."

"It is those few days," she said softly, "which are so terrible."

It was hard to try and make use of any conventional phrase of rea.s.surance. Deane, remembering how intense, how real and startling a thing this tragedy really was, found it hard, impossible, indeed.

"Tell me," he asked, "do you live absolutely alone?"

"Yes!" she told him. "There was a cousin who was with me for some time, but she got a situation the other side of London, and had to move. I was in a boarding-house," she continued, after a moment's hesitation, "until--this happened. Then all the people--well, they meant to be kind," she broke off, "but the woman who kept it thought I had better leave, and I suppose she was right."

"We will go in to breakfast," he said, a little abruptly.

Every moment he seemed to realize more completely the pathos of her position. They turned towards the house. Suddenly her fingers fell upon his arm. "Who is that?" she asked, pointing landwards.

Deane followed her outstretched finger. Riding along the top of one of the d.y.k.es, as though unconscious of the sea flowing on either side, came a boy on a bicycle. The bicycle was painted red, and the boy had on a cap whose high peak gave it a semi-official look.

"He is coming here," said Deane. "It may be my letters. Or I think--"

He stopped short. He knew very well that it was a telegram the boy was bringing, but he almost feared to say anything which would bring hope into her face.

"It isn't--it couldn't be a telegram?" she asked, a little wistfully.

"It might be," he admitted. "I get a good many, of course."

He told the lie unblus.h.i.+ngly. All the time he watched, with an anxiety which seemed incredible, for the coming of the messenger.

"You must remember," he said, "that even if this should be a telegram, I really do not expect any news yet."

She said nothing. She stood with parted lips by his side, and they watched the boy drive his bicycle along the sea-stained bank. Once he skidded, and she gave a little scream. Deane laughed at her, surprised to discover something unnatural in the sound.

"Well," he said, "we will meet the boy here. I am afraid you will find a few stock exchange quotations inside the envelope, even if he should be--"