Shadows of Flames Part 25

"Then, Daphne, perhaps Chance is a kindly G.o.d after all. This chance collapse of mine has broken down barriers that I might never have climbed by myself."

He had been sipping water off and on while he talked. It was nauseously bitter to him, but with that fine instinct for thoroughness in his acting, he had instinctively denied himself the flat champagne, which would have been far more palatable to his tongue so rough with morphia.

It occurred to him also that gain might be made of this small sacrifice.

He could ask later for a fresh gla.s.s of wine without seeming unduly eager. And it was impossible for him to talk at any length without some liquid to moisten the dry mucous membranes of his mouth.

"You see," he went on, "one needs strong a.s.sistance in shaking off a thing like this. I've come to that, Daphne. Gaynor has been a devilish good sort through it all, but one ally isn't enough. A Triple Alliance"--he smiled at her--"is what is needed for this war."

Sophy felt dazed with gladness. Then shame seized her as she thought that she might have "deserted"--might have missed this wonderful moment, so far greater than mere happiness.

"Do you mean that you will let me help you, Cecil? That you will let me fight--it--with you?"

"What else could I mean?"

She was speechless. She hardly dared to breathe. She might wake up.

"And--and you will--follow out the--instructions?"

Chesney's eyebrows flicked together for an instant, then smoothed again.

"Whose instructions?" he asked calmly.

She just paused, then said timidly:

"Dr. Carfew's, Cecil."

He felt the subdued billow of his rage heave again. It calmed under his fierce resolve.

"What were they?" he asked.

She explained, almost whispering in her shyness and anxiety at having to name such things to him.

The wave rose again. He rode it with a short laugh.

"So I'm to be fattened like a holiday ox!" he said. "Incarcerated and made plump for Virtue's altar!"

He laughed again, closing his eyes. When he opened them he looked grave and very serious.

"Sophy," he said, "with the dilemma comes generally a way of escape for the imaginative." (How strange! he was paraphrasing the very quotation that Father Raphael had made to her that morning. She listened breathlessly.) "I confess frankly that I would not submit for a moment to this sanatorium idea. I know myself too well. I should enter it a temporary invalid and leave it a confirmed lunatic." (This phrase pleased him very much, especially when he saw by her expression that it had impressed her.) "I am not of the stuff from which 'good patients'

are made. I should probably strangle my attendants and take French leave through a window. But"--he looked at her consideringly--"I am perfectly willing to put myself in your hands, and Gaynor's--you have talked with Gaynor, I suppose?"

He put this last question casually but with shrewd intent. Sophy's caution was at once alert. She had determined that he should have no least cause of anger against Gaynor.

"It was hard to get Gaynor to say anything, Cecil. He is so loyal. Only when the doctor had told me everything, did he so much as admit, even by a look, that there was--was anything of this kind. I had to press him hard, Cecil, for the barest facts. It was evidently real suffering for him to answer me. He had to answer me, you know. His very affection for you made him do that, when--when he saw how much I wanted to help you, too--that I was not--judging."

Chesney smiled rather drily, closing his eyes. "I see that your feeling towards Gaynor has suffered a 'sea change,'" he said. "There's something 'rare and strange' about it now."

"No, Cecil," she said warmly. "How could it be strange that I feel grateful and appreciative towards a man who has been so faithful to you?"

"'_Il y a des f.a.gots et des f.a.gots_,'" he murmured languidly. "There is one glory of the moon of faithfulness and another of the sun."

"How do you mean, Cecil?" She felt suddenly very anxious.

"Oh, nothing. Merely that you and Gaynor are the sun and moon in the heavens of loyalty."

"I'm glad that you're not vexed with the poor fellow because--because he didn't lie," she ventured gently.

"Oh, no ... no ..." he moved his hand, dismissing the subject.

"'Faithful are the wounds of a friend.'"

Something in his tone still made her anxious, but his face was so placid that she took comfort from it. She waited a moment, then said:

"Do you mean, dear, that you will let us make a ... a regime for you, on the lines that ... that were suggested?"

"Why--what else?" said Chesney, with a sort of indulgent loftiness. "My admission could hardly have been worth while otherwise--could it?"

"No--that's true," she said joyfully. "Oh, Cecil!" She sat looking at him through tears of grat.i.tude. She could not keep these tears from starting, but she managed to hold them within her eyelids.

"There, there!" he said nervously. "You're a dear thing--but don't make a fuss."

"Oh, no-- I won't indeed. I feel so quiet--so happy."

She paused, gathering composure.

"And ... in case the ... the constant care will be more than Gaynor and I can do properly ... you'll let me engage a nurse--won't you!"

That dark wave rose again. Again he surmounted it, thinking in those lightning bright and quick flashes. If he objected it would look odd.

Besides he had not accomplished all that he desired. He wished it firmly fixed that Carfew should not be put in charge. By concessions on his part he could demand concessions on hers.

"See here, Sophy," he said, in a reasonable, practical voice. "I am willing, as I said, to put myself in your and Gaynor's hands. Having agreed to this, I think I have a right to make certain conditions, have I not?"

"Yes, Cecil--of course." But her high mood sank.

"Then here are my conditions--very mild ones I think you will admit. I dislike the idea of this swaggering, Bully-boy of a medical Bashaw--this Carfew chap. I'll none of him. You may follow out his ideas if you like--but come in contact with him personally or indirectly I will not.

From what I have heard of him I consider him more or less of a Charlatan--but whether he is or not--I flatly refuse to have him attend me. On the other hand, I will put up with a nurse, provided it's not a man-nurse. I should throttle him within two seconds of his arrival.

Women nurses are rather soothing as a rule. Then, I'm perfectly willing to go to Dynehurst-- I'd like to, in fact. I'm sick of this b---- town.

Also I'm quite willing to endure the ministrations of the Mater's trained poodles--the town poodle and the country poodle both. They're clever enough chaps, though a bit under hack to the old lady." A sudden inspiration came to him as he was speaking. "To prove that I am sincere," he concluded, "I will take you and Gaynor wholly into my confidence."

He pressed the b.u.t.ton of the electric bell at his bedside. Gaynor appeared almost instantly. The man was very pale and his eyes had a strained, apprehensive look.

"Gaynor," said Cecil directly, "you've proved yourself an excellent servant. You have done quite right. Mrs. Chesney and I have talked my case over thoroughly. I realise that this drug has gained an undue hold on me--that it is an insidious enemy--and causes one to deceive oneself-- I therefore place myself in Mrs. Chesney's charge. You will a.s.sist her in every way in your power. I now wish to give to Mrs.

Chesney, in your presence, my own private hypodermic syringe. You will find it in my locked letter-case. Here is the key."

He took it from under the pillow, and held it out to Gaynor. The man's face was livid. He experienced acute pain, in thus being forced to listen to his master's calm confession of duplicity in the presence of another. He unlocked the letter-case obediently and took out the little aluminum case. His hands were shaking.

"Give it to Mrs. Chesney, please."

Sophy also was trembling and very pale.

Chesney lay back upon his pillows watching them with the sketch of a queer smile about his mouth. He himself broke the strained silence.