The Bars of Iron Part 35

I shall therefore take steps to do so."

Tudor nodded with a shrug of the shoulders. It did not matter to him in what garb his advice was dressed, so long as it was followed.

"Very well," he said. "I am now going to settle Gracie, and I shall tell her you have issued a free pardon all round, and no more will be said to anyone. I was told one of the boys was in hot water too, but you can let him off for once. You're much more likely to make him ashamed of himself that way."

Mr. Lorimer resumed his contemplation of the fire without speaking.

Tudor turned to go. He was fairly satisfied that he had established peace for the time being, and he was not ill-pleased with his success.

He told himself as he departed that he had discovered how to deal with the Reverend Stephen. It had never occurred to him to attempt such treatment before.

To Avery later he gave but few details of the interview, but she could not fail to see his grim elation and smiled at it.

"I am to stay then, am I?" she said.

"If you will graciously consent to do so," said Tudor, with his brief smile.

"I couldn't do anything else," she said.

"I'm glad of that," he said abruptly, "for my own sake."

And with that very suddenly he turned the subject.

CHAPTER XXI

THE ENCHANTED LAND

At ten o'clock that night, Avery went round to bid each child good-night.

She found Gracie sleeping peacefully with her bed pushed close to Jeanie's. The latter was awake and whispered a greeting. On the other side of the room Olive slept the sleep of the just. Avery did not pause by her bed, but went straight to Jeanie, who held her hand for a little and then gently begged her to go to bed herself.

"You must be so tired," she said.

Avery could not deny the fact. But she had arranged to sleep in Mrs.

Lorimer's room, so she could not look forward to a night without care.

She did not tell Jeanie this, however, but presently kissed her tenderly and stole away.

She visited the younger boys, and found them all asleep; then slipped up to the attic in which the elder lads slept.

She heard their voices as she reached the closed door. She knocked softly therefore, and in a moment heard one of them leap to open it.

It was Ronald, clad in pyjamas but unfailingly courteous, who invited her to enter.

"I knew it must be you, Mrs. Denys. Come in! Very pleased to see you.

Wait a second while I light a candle!"

He did so, and revealed Julian sitting up in bed with sullen defiance writ large upon his face. But he smiled at sight of her, and patted the side of his bed invitingly.

"Don't sit on the chair! It's untrustworthy. It's awfully decent of you to look us up like this,--that is, if you haven't come to preach."

"I haven't," said Avery, accepting the invitation since she felt too weary to stand.

Julian nodded approval. "That's right. I knew you were too much of a brick. I'm awaiting my next swis.h.i.+ng for upsetting my cup at breakfast in your defence, so I hardly think I deserve any pi-jaw from you, do I?"

"Oh, I'm not at all pi, I a.s.sure you," Avery said. "And if it was done for my sake, I'm quite grateful, though I wish you hadn't."

Julian grinned at her, and she proceeded.

"I don't think you need wait any longer for the swis.h.i.+ng. Your father has decided, I understand, not to carry the matter any further."

Julian opened his eyes wide. "What? You've been at him, have you?"

Avery smiled even while she sighed.

"Oh, I'm no good, Julian. I only make things worse when I interfere. No, it's not due to me. But, all the same, I hope and believe the trouble has blown over for the present. Do--do try and keep the peace in the future!"

Her weariness sounded in her voice; it quivered in spite of her.

Julian placed a quick, clammy hand on hers and squeezed it affectionately.

"Anything to oblige!" he promised generously. "Here Ron! Shy over those letters! She wants something to cheer her up."

"Letters!" Avery looked round sharply. "I had forgotten my letters!" she said.

"Here they are!" Ronald came forward and placed them in her hand. "I picked 'em up this morning, and then when you sent me off for the doc, I forgot all about 'em. I'm sorry. I only came across them when I was undressing, and you were busy in the mater's room, so I thought I'd keep them safe till to-morrow. I hope they are not important," he added.

"I don't suppose so," said Avery; yet her heart jerked oddly as she slipped them into her dress. "Thank you for taking care of them. I must be going now. You are going to be good?"

She looked at Julian, who, still feeling generous, thrust a rough, boyish arm about her neck and kissed her.

"You're a trump!" he said. "There! Good-night! I'll be as meek as Moses in the morning."

It was a definite promise, and Avery felt relieved. She took leave of Ronald more ceremoniously. His scrupulous politeness demanded it. And then with feet that felt strangely light, considering her fatigue, she ran softly down again to Mrs. Lorimer's room.

In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read her letters. One of them--the one with the Australian stamp, characteristically brief but kind--was to tell her that the writer, a friend of some standing, was coming to England, and hoped to see her again ere long.

The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the table unopened till she was undressed and ready to join Mrs. Lorimer. Then--for the first time in all that weary day of turmoil--Avery stole a few moments of luxury.

She sat down and opened Piers' letter.

It began impetuously, without preliminary. "I wonder whether you have any idea what it costs to clear out without a word of farewell. Perhaps you are even thinking that I've forgotten. Or perhaps it matters so little to you that you haven't thought at all. I know you won't tell me, so it's not much good speculating. But lest you should misunderstand in any way, I want to explain that I haven't been fit to come near you since we parted on Christmas Eve. You were angry with me then, weren't you? Avery in a temper! Do you remember how it went? At least you meant to be, but somehow you didn't get up the steam. You wished me a happy Christmas instead, and I ought to have had one in consequence. But I didn't. I played the giddy goat off and on all day long, and my grandfather--dear old chap--thought what a merry infant I was. But--you've heard of the worm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched? The Reverend Stephen has taken care of that. Do you remember his 'penny-terrible' of a Sunday or two ago? You were very angry about it, Avery. I love you when you're angry. And how he dilated on the gates of bra.s.s and the bars of iron and the outer darkness etc, etc, till we all went home and s.h.i.+vered in our beds! Well, that's the sort of place I spent my Christmas in, and I wanted to come to you and Jeanie and be made happy, but--I couldn't. I was too fast in prison. I felt too murderous. I hunted all the next day to try and get more wholesome. But it was no good. I was seeing red all the time. And at night something happened that touched me off like an exploded train of gunpowder. Has Tudor told you about it yet? Doubtless he will. I tried to murder him, and succeeded in cracking his eye-gla.s.s.

Ba.n.a.l, wasn't it? And I have an uneasy feeling that he came out top-dog after all, confound him!

"Avery, whomever else you have no use for, I know you're not in love with him, and in my saner moments I realize that you never could be. But I wasn't sane just then. I love you so! I love you so! It's good to be able to get it right out before you have time to stop me. For I wors.h.i.+p you, Avery, my darling! You don't realize it. How should you? You think it is just the pa.s.sing fancy of a boy. A boy--ye G.o.ds!

"I think of you hour by hour. You are always close in your own secret place in my heart. I hold you in my arms when no one else is near. I kiss your forehead, your eyes, your hair. No, not your lips, dear, even in fancy. I have never in my maddest dreams kissed your lips. But I ache and crave and long for them, though--till you give me leave--I dare not even pretend that they are mine. Will you ever give me leave? You say No now. Yet I think you will, Avery. I think you will. I have known ever since that first moment when you held me back from flaying poor old Caesar that I have met my Fate, and because I know it I'm trying--for your sweet sake--to make myself a better man. It's beastly uphill work, and that episode with Tudor has pulled me back. Confound him! By the way though, it's done me good in one sense, for I find I don't detest him quite so hideously as I did. The man has his points.