The Hundredth Chance

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XV

  THE DOWNWARD PATH

  She stood erect, facing him. Her face was very pale, but her eyes werequite unflinching. There was about her a majesty of demeanour thatmight have deterred a less determined man than Uncle Edward. But hestood upon his own ground and grappled with the situation quiteundismayed. He was moreover very angry.

  "You young hussy!" he said, bringing out his words with immenseemphasis. "How dare you have your lover here? Thought you were safe,eh? Thought I shouldn't know? Oh, you're like the rest of 'em, craftyas an eel. What's the meaning of it, eh? What have you got to say foryourself?"

  She did not attempt to answer him. Where her mother would have beenloud in self-justification, she uttered not a word. Only, after amoment or two, she turned slowly and sat down at the writing-table,leaning her chin on her hand as one spent. Even so, there was analoofness in her attitude that conveyed to the wrathful old man besideher an unpleasant sense of being at a disadvantage.

  He stood looking down at her, grievously resentful, striving to select aweapon sharp enough to pierce her calm.

  "I thought you were to be trusted," he said. "Goodness knows why! Youdidn't seem to have any leaven of your mother about you. But I see nowI was wrong. You are just your mother over again. But if you think youare going to pursue an intrigue with that aristocratic blackguard in myhouse, you're very much mistaken. No doubt I'm very old-fashioned andstrait-laced. But there it is. I object. I object strongly. Theman's a liar and a thief and a scoundrel. Don't you know it, eh?Haven't you found him out yet?"

  He stopped so pointedly for an answer that she could not maintain hersilence longer. She moved a little, turned her head slightly, withoutraising her eyes, and spoke.

  "I know him very well. But--forgive me, Uncle Edward!--I can't discusshim with you. I--I am sorry you thought it necessary to insult him."

  "Insult him!" Uncle Edward's anger boiled afresh. "Didn't I catch thehound making love to you? Here in my house where I have lived decentlyand respectably for over fifty years! Didn't I catch him, I say--he awell-known profligate and you a married woman? Didn't I actually hearhim trying to tempt you from your husband and your duty? And you werecalmly permitting it. Look here, young woman! I've been too kind toyou. That's the fact of the matter. You've had too much liberty, toomuch indulgence, too much of your own way. You married in a hurryagainst my judgment. But--by heaven--since you are married, you shallstick to your bargain! You take a pen now--do you hear?--and a sheet ofpaper, and write to your husband this minute, and ask him to come andjoin you here! I won't be surety for you any longer. Tell him to cometo-morrow!"

  But Maud only stiffened as she sat making no movement to comply. Shelooked like a marble statue of Despair.

  Uncle Edward came a little nearer to her. He was not accustomed tobeing set at nought. Most people regarded him as formidable even whenhe was in a comparatively genial mood.

  "Are you going to do as I tell you?" he said.

  She glanced up at him momentarily. "I think," she said, "we will waittill to-morrow."

  He stamped a furious foot. "Will we, indeed, madam! Well, you may waitas long as you please; but I tell you this: If you don't write thatletter--instantly, I shall go straight to the post-office found thecorner and send your husband a telegram to summon him at once. He willbe here by the morning, if I know him. And then I shall tell himexactly why I sent for him. So now you can take your choice. Which isit to be?"

  He had moved her at last. Maud rose to her feet with a suddenness thatwas almost suggestive of panic. "You would never do such a thing!" shesaid. "You could not be so--so wickedly cruel!"

  He snapped his jaws like an angry terrier. "Oh, that would be wicked,would it? You have some odd ideas of morals; that's all I can say. Butwicked or cruel, it's what I mean to do. So take your choice, and bequick about it! For I shan't go back on what I've said. When a womanstarts on the downward path, she usually takes it at a run; and I won'tbe responsible. So which is it to be? Your letter or my telegram? Makeup your mind! Which?"

  His manner was almost menacing. She stood facing with an awful sense ofimpotence growing at her heart. To summon Jake herself was a proceedingthat she could not for a moment contemplate, but the bare thought ofUncle Edward's alternative pierced like a poisoned knife. She felt againthat dreadful trapped feeling of former days. The liberty she hadenjoyed of late made it all the more terrible.

  "I can't decide anything just now," she said at last, and she knew thather voice trembled painfully. "Please--please let us wait a little!There is really no need to send for Jake. Lord Saltash has gone, and hewill not come back."

  "Don't tell me!" said Uncle Edward truculently. "Even if he doesn't,how am I to be sure that you won't take it into your head to go to him?No, my niece, I've heard too much. Why, he'd have had his arm round youin another second. I know--I saw. If I'd waited another three seconds,he'd have been kissing you. And not for the first time, I'll be bound."

  The hot colour rushed to Maud's face; she turned sharply aside.

  "Ha! That touches you, does it?" snarled Uncle Edward, with ferocioustriumph. "I guessed as much. Now which is it to be? Are you going towrite that letter?"

  It was hopeless to carry the discussion further. A burning wave ofanger went through her, anger that buoyed her up above despair,stimulating her to a fierce rebellion. She drew herself to her fullheight and faced him with supreme defiance.

  "I will not write that letter!" she said. "I will not be forced into afalse position. If you are tired of me, I will go. I will not stay--inany case--to be insulted!"

  And with that boldly, with the carriage of an outraged princess, sheswept by him and out of the room, leaving him staring after her in afury too great to express itself before the closing of the door.

  Up to her room she went, outwardly calm, inwardly raging. All the oldhot rebellion against destiny had awaked within her. It had died downof late, soothed into quiescence by the peaceful solitude in which shehad been living. But now it had sprung afresh to quivering life. Herfreedom from bondage had given her new strength. She would not be boundagain hand and foot, and thrust back into the old bitter slavery. Itwas too much, too much. She had her life to live. It was hers, notJake's. She had a right to do with it as she would.

  With hands that trembled she began to pack. Uncle Edward had made itimpossible for her to stay. If he had not set her feet upon thedownward path, he had sped her upon it with an impetus that drove herirresistibly. She worked in a fever, not pausing for thought, consciousbut of the one urgent desire to be gone, to escape--she had scarcelybegun to think whither.

  No one came near her during those evening hours. The daylight waned, andshe realized that it was nearing the dinner hour. Then suddenly it cameto her that she could not face her uncle again. She must make someexcuse.

  Her work was done; she rang the bell.

  After a pause Martha came to her. There was a scared look on thewoman's face. She seemed half-afraid to meet Maud's eyes.

  "Did you ring, ma'am?" she enquired.

  "Yes." With an effort Maud made reply. "Is--is my uncle in?"

  "He's just come in and gone upstairs to dress for dinner, ma'am," Marthatold her.

  "Ah!" Maud's heart contracted a little. "He has been out some time?"she said.

  "Yes, ma'am, a long time. He seems a bit out of temper aboutsomething," Martha's round eyes suddenly conveyed sympathy that shoneout to Maud like a beacon in the darkness. "I shouldn't take muchnotice of him, ma'am," she said. "He often says what he don't mean whenhe's in one of his tantrums. He'll be better in the morning."

  Again that awful sense of impotence assailed Maud. She leaned her headagainst the door-post, closing her eyes for a second. What would themorning bring forth? The thought turned her sick.

  "Is there anything as I can do, ma'am?" asked Martha.

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p; "Yes." Abruptly Maud pulled herself together. A sudden resolution hadsprung up within her. She could not face another storm such as thatthrough which she had just come. Above all she could not face themorrow and its possibilities in this house. She turned back into theroom, and took half a sovereign from the table. "Martha," she said, "Ihave packed everything up, and I am going away. I want you, please, tocall a cab now, at once, to take me away before my uncle comesdownstairs. I will write him a note while you are gone. Please,please, Martha, be as quick as you can!"

  The sympathy in Martha's eyes became a sort of tragic friendliness. "Iknew as you wouldn't stay, ma'am," she said, "not after the way hehollered at you. I wouldn't myself in your place, ma'am; no, that Iwouldn't. But you see, I've been with him so long. I don't mind hisrough ways. I'll go at once, and thank you kindly, ma'am. It won't takeme five minutes. But, mind you, I think he'll be sorry to lose you."

  "I can't help that," Maud made answer. "It is quite impossible for meto stay. He will know why. But I will write him a note all the same."

  And when Martha had gone, she sat down and scribbled two notes.

  The first she addressed to her uncle:

  "DEAR UNCLE EDWARD,

  "I do not think you will be greatly surprised at my leaving you. Afterwhat has passed, I could not stay. I am very sorry for what hashappened, but I suppose it had to be. I wish I could thank you for allyour kindness to me, but I know this is not the time. So I will onlysay good-bye.

  "Yours, "MAUD."

  The second note consisted of one sentence only, "I am going to mymother. Maud." And when she had written it she picked up a tiny packetof tissue-paper that lay beside her and dropped it into the envelopewith the note. She addressed the envelope to Lord Saltash, BurchesterCastle, and later she sealed and registered it, stopping at apost-office to send it on its way. She believed it would reach itsdestination almost as soon as he did. And that packet--that tiny objectwrapped in tissue-paper--would convey its own message. No further wordswere needed.

  She herself went for the night to a small hotel in a back-street thatwas not far from her uncle's house. There would be a train in the earlymorning. She would not travel by night. Something held her back, someinstinct she did not attempt to fathom. But she believed that Charliewould travel by the night-train, and she did not want to see him againuntil he had received that packet. Afterwards--well, the afterwardswould rest with him.

  Her sleep was fitful and troubled that night, broken repeatedly by thepersistent chime of a church-clock. Towards morning she slept anddreamed again that strangely haunting dream of the flower-decked altarand the red, shining lamp above. For a space she held herself alooffrom the dream, refusing to yield to it. But at length it seemed to herthat someone came and took her hand, drawing her forward, and she had nochoice.

  Straight into the wondrous glow she went, and presently she knelt beforethose flowers of dazzling purity. The quiet hand still held hers in acalm and comforting grasp. She felt that she would have been frightenedbut for that sustaining hold.

  And then suddenly she saw that the candles also were burning upon thealtar, knew that she was kneeling there with Jake, heard a voice abovetheir heads very low and clear that seemed to be speaking to theirhearts:--"Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder."...

  And turning she found Jake's eyes upon her, alight with adoration....

  She awoke with a gasping cry to a seething, passionate regret. Becausein those first wild moments she knew with an awful certainty that herfeet were set upon the downward path, and she could never turn backagain.