The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER II

  THAT WHICH IS HOLY

  No bells had rung at the young Squire's wedding. It had been conductedwith a privacy which Miss Whalley described as "almost indecent." Butthere was no privacy about his return, and Miss Whalley was shockedafresh at the brazen heartlessness of it after his recent bereavement.For Sir Piers and his wife motored home at the end of July through avillage decked with flags and bunting and under a triumphant arch thatmade Piers' little two-seater seem absurdly insignificant; while thebells in the church-tower clanged the noisiest welcome they couldcompass, and Gracie--home for the holidays--mustered the school-childrento cheer their hardest as the happy couple passed the schoolhouse gate.

  Avery would fain have stopped to greet the child, but Piers would not bepersuaded.

  "No, no! To-morrow!" he said. "The honeymoon isn't over till afterto-night."

  So they waved and were gone, at a speed which made Miss Whalley wonderwhat the local police could be about.

  Once past the lodge-gates and Marshall's half-grudging, half-pleasedsmile of welcome, the speed was doubled. Piers went like the wind, tillAvery breathlessly cried to him to stop.

  "You'll kill us both before we get there!" she protested. In answer towhich Piers moderated the pace, remarking as he did so, "But you wouldlike to die by my side, what?"

  Victor was on the steps to receive them, Victor dancing with impatienceand delight. For his young master's prolonged honeymoon had representedten weeks of desolation to him.

  Old David was also present, inconspicuous and dignified, waiting to pourout tea for the travellers.

  And Caesar the Dalmatian who had mourned with Victor for his absent deitynow leapt upon him in one great rush of ecstatic welcome that nearly borehim backwards.

  It was a riotous home-coming, for Piers was in boisterous spirits. Theyhad travelled far that day, but he was in a mood of such restless energythat he seemed incapable of feeling fatigue.

  Avery on her part was thoroughly weary, but she would not tell him so,and they spent the whole evening in wandering about house and gardens,discussing the advisability of various alterations and improvements. Inthe end Piers awoke suddenly to the fact that she was looking utterlyexhausted, and with swift compunction piloted her to her room.

  "What a fool I am!" he declared. "You must be dead beat. Why didn't yousay you wanted to rest?"

  "I didn't, dear," she answered simply. "I wanted to be with you."

  He caught her hand to his lips. "You are happy with me then?"

  She uttered a little laugh that said more than words. "My own boy, yougive me all that the most exacting woman could possibly desire and thenask me that!"

  He laughed too, his arm close about her. "I would give you the world if Ihad it. Avery, I hate to think we've come home--that the honeymoon isover--and the old beastly burdens waiting to be shouldered--" He laid hisforehead against her neck with a gesture that made her fancy he did notwish her to see his face for the moment. "P'r'aps I'm a heartless brute,but I never missed the old chap all the time I was away," he whispered."It's like being dragged under the scourge again--just when the old scarswere beginning to heal--to come back to this empty barrack."

  She slid a quick arm round his neck, all the woman's heart in herresponding to the cry from his.

  "The place is full of him," Piers went on; "I meet him at every corner.I see him in his old place on the settle in the hall, where he used towait for me, and--and row me every night for being late." He gave abroken laugh. "Avery, if it weren't for you, I--I believe I shouldshoot myself."

  "Come and sit down!" said Avery gently. She drew him to a couch, andthey sat down locked together.

  During all the ten weeks of their absence he had scarcely even mentionedhis grandfather. He had been gay and inconsequent, or fiercely passionatein his devotion to her. But of his loss he had never spoken, and vaguelyshe had known that he had shut it out of his life with that other grimshadow that dwelt behind the locked door she might not open. She had notdeemed him heartless, but she had regretted that deliberate shirking ofhis grief. She had known that sooner or later he would have to endure thescourging of which he spoke and that it would not grow the lighter withpostponement.

  And now as she held him against her heart, she was in a sense relievedthat it had come at last, thankful to be there with him while he strippedhimself of all subterfuge and faced his sorrow.

  He could not speak much as he sat there clasped in her arms. One or twoattempts he made, and then broke down against her breast. But no wordswere needed. Her arms were all he desired for consolation, and if theywaked in him the old wild remorse, he stifled it ere it could take fullpossession.

  Finally, when the first bitterness had passed, they sat and talkedtogether, and he found relief in telling her of the life he had lived inclose companionship with the old man.

  "We quarrelled a dozen times," he said. "But somehow we could neither ofus keep it up. I don't know why. We were violent enough at times. There'san Evesham devil somewhere in our ancestry, and he has a trick ofcropping up still in moments of excitement. You've met him more thanonce. He's a formidable monster, what?"

  "I am not afraid of him," said Avery, with her cheek against hisblack head.

  He gave a shaky laugh. "You'd fling a bucket of water over Satan himself!I love you for not being afraid. But I don't know how you manage it, andthat's a fact. Darling, I'm a selfish brute to wear you out like this.Send me away when you can't stand any more of me!"

  "Would you go?" she said, softly stroking his cheek.

  He caught her hand again and kissed it hotly, devouringly, in answer."But I mustn't wear you out," he said, a moment later, with an oddwistfulness. "You mustn't let me, Avery."

  She drew her hand gently away from the clinging of his lips. "No, Iwon't let you," she said, in a tone he did not understand.

  He clasped her to him. "It's because I worship you so," he whisperedpassionately. "There is no one else in the world but you. I adore you! Iadore you!"

  She closed her eyes from the fiery worship that looked forth from his."Piers," she said, "wait, dear, wait!"

  "Why should I wait?" he demanded almost fiercely.

  "Because I ask you. Because--just now--to be loved like that is more thanI can bear. Will you--can you--kiss me only, once, and go?"

  He held her in his arms. He gazed long and burningly upon her. Inthe end he stopped and with reverence he kissed her. "I am going,Avery," he said.

  She opened her eyes to him. "God bless you, my own Piers!" she murmuredsoftly, and laid her cheek for a moment against his sleeve ere he tookhis arm away.

  As for Piers, he went from her as if he feared to trespass, and her heartsmote her a little as she watched him go. But she would not call himback. She went instead to one of the great bay windows and leaned againstthe framework, gazing out. He was very good to her in all things, butthere were times when she felt solitude to be an absolute necessity. Hisvitality, his fevered desire for her, wore upon her nerves. His attitudetowards her was not wholly natural. It held something of a menace to herpeace which disquieted her vaguely. She had a feeling that though sheknew herself to be all he wanted in the world, yet she did not succeed infully satisfying him. He seemed to be perpetually craving for somethingfurther, as though somewhere deep within him there burned a fiery thirstthat nothing could ever slake. Her lightest touch seemed to awake it, andthere were moments when his unfettered passion made her afraid.

  Not for worlds would she have had him know it. Her love for him was toodeep to let her shrink; and she knew that only by that love did shemaintain her ascendancy, appealing to his higher nature as only true lovecan appeal. But the perpetual strain of it told upon her, and that nightshe felt tired in body and soul.

  The great bedroom behind her with its dark hangings and oak furnitureseemed dreary and unhome-like. She viewed the ancient and immensefour-poster with misgiving and wondered if Queen Elizabeth had everslept in it.

  After a time she investig
ated Piers' room beyond, and found it lessimposing though curiously stiff and wholly lacking in ordinarycheery comfort. Later she discovered the reason for this grimseverity of arrangement. No woman's touch had softened it for closeupon half a century.

  She went back to her own room and dressed. Piers had wanted her to have amaid, but she had refused until other changes should be made in theestablishment. There seemed so much to alter that she felt bewildered. Ahousehold of elderly menservants presented a problem with which she knewshe would find it difficult to deal.

  She put the matter gently before Piers that night, but he dismissed itas trivial.

  "You can't turn 'em off of course," he said. "But you can have a dozenwomen to adjust the balance if you want 'em."

  Avery did not, but she was too tired to argue the point. She let thesubject slide.

  They dined together in the oak-panelled dining-room where Piers had sooften sat with his grandfather. The table seemed to stretch awayinimitably into shadows, and Avery felt like a Lilliputian. From the walldirectly facing her the last Lady Evesham smiled upon her--her baffling,mirthless smile that seemed to cover naught but heartache. She foundherself looking up again and again to meet those eyes of mockingcomprehension; and the memory of what Lennox Tudor had once told herrecurred to her. This was Piers' Italian grandmother whose patricianbeauty had descended to him through her scapegrace son.

  "Are you looking at that woman with the smile?" said Piers abruptly.

  She turned to him. "You are so like her, Piers. But I wouldn't like youto have a smile like that. There is something tragic behind it."

  "We are a tragic family," said Piers sombrely. "As for her, she ruinedher own life and my grandfather's too. She might have been happy enoughwith him if she had tried."

  "Oh, Piers, I wonder!" Avery said, with a feeling that that smilerevealed more to her than to him.

  "I say she might," Piers reiterated, with a touch of impatience. "Hethought the world of her, just as--just as--" he smiled at hersuddenly--"I do of you. He never knew that she wasn't satisfied until onefine day she left him. She married again--afterwards, and then died. Henever got over it."

  But still Avery had a vagrant feeling of pity for the woman who had beenSir Beverley's bride. "I expect they never really understood eachother," she said.

  Piers' dark eyes gleamed. "Do you know what I would have done if I hadbeen in his place?" he said. "I would have gone after her and brought herback--even if I'd killed her afterwards."

  His voice vibrated on a deep note of savagery. He poured out a glass ofwine with a hand that shook.

  Avery said nothing, but through the silence she was conscious of the hardthrobbing of her heart. There was something implacable, something almostcruel, about Piers at that moment. She felt as if he had bruised herwithout knowing it.

  And then in his sudden, bewildering way he left his chair and came toher, stooped boyishly over her. "My darling, you're so awfully paleto-night. Have some wine--to please me!"

  She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I ama little tired, dear; but I don't want any wine. I shall be all right inthe morning."

  He laid his cheek against her forehead. "I want you to drink a toast withme. Won't you?"

  "We won't drink to each other," she protested, faintly smiling. "It'stoo like drinking to ourselves."

  "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," he declared. "But wewon't toast ourselves. We'll drink to the future, Avery, and--" helowered his voice--"and all it contains. What?"

  Her eyes opened quickly, but she did not move. "Why do you say that?"

  "What?" he said again very softly.

  She was silent.

  He reached a hand for his own glass. "Drink with me, sweetheart!" he saidpersuasively.

  She suffered him to put it to her lips and drank submissively. But in amoment she put up a restraining hand. "You finish it!" she said, andpushed it gently towards him.

  He took it and held it high. The light gleamed crimson in the wine; itglowed like liquid fire. A moment he held it so, then without a word hecarried it to his lips and drained it.

  A second later there came the sound of splintering glass, and Avery,turning in her chair, discovered that he had flung it over his shoulder.

  She gazed at him in amazement astonished by his action. "Piers!"

  But something in his face checked her. "No one will ever drink out ofthat glass again," he said. "Are you ready? Shall we go in the garden fora breath of air?"

  She went with him, but on the terrace outside he stopped impulsively."Avery darling, I don't mean to be a selfish beast; but I've got to prowlfor a bit. Would you rather go to bed?"

  His arm was round her; she leaned against him half-laughing. "Do youknow, dear, that bedroom frightens me with its magnificence! Don't prowltoo long!"

  He bent to her swiftly. "Avery! Do you want me?"

  "Just to scare away the bogies," she made answer, with a lightness thatscarcely veiled a deeper feeling. "And when you've done that--quitethoroughly--perhaps--" She stopped.

  "Perhaps--" whispered Piers.

  "Perhaps I'll tell you a secret," she said still lightly. "By the way,dear, I found a letter from Mr. Crowther waiting for me. I put it in yourroom for you to read. He writes so kindly. Wouldn't you like him to beour first visitor?"

  There was a moment's silence before Piers made answer.

  "To be sure," he said then. "We mustn't forget Crowther. You wrote andtold him everything, I suppose?"

  "Yes, everything. He seems very fond of you, Piers. But you must read hisletter. It concerns you quite as much as it does me. There! I am going.Good-bye! Come up soon!"

  She patted his shoulder and turned away. Somehow it had not been easy tospeak of Crowther. She had known that in doing so she had introduced anunwelcome subject. But Crowther was too great a friend to ignore. Shefelt that she had treated him somewhat casually already; for it was onlythe previous week that she had written to tell him of her marriage.

  Crowther was in town, studying hard for an examination, and she feltconvinced that he would be willing to pay them a visit. She also knewthat for some reason Piers was reluctant to ask him, but she felt thatthat fact ought not to influence her. For she owed a debt of gratitude toCrowther which she could never forget.

  But all thought of Crowther faded from her mind when she found herselfonce more in that eerie, tapestry-hung bedroom. The place had beenlighted with candles, but they only seemed to emphasize the gloom. Shewondered how often the last Lady Evesham--the warm-blooded, passionateItalian woman with her love of the sun and all things beautiful--hadstood as she stood now and shuddered at the dreary splendour of hersurroundings. How homesick she must have been, Avery thought to herself,as she undressed in the flickering candle-light! How her soul must haveyearned for the glittering Southern life she had left!

  She thought of Sir Beverley. He must have been very like Piers in hisyouth, less fierce, less intense, but in many ways practically the same,giving much and demanding even more, restless and exacting, but withal solovable, so hard to resist, so infinitely dear. All her love for Piersthrobbed suddenly up to the surface. How good he was to her! What wouldlife be without him? She reproached herself for ingratitude anddiscontent. Life was a beautiful thing if only she would have it so.

  She knelt down at length by the deep cushioned window-seat and began topray. The night was dim and quiet, and as she prayed she graduallyforgot the shadows behind her and seemed to lose herself in theimmensity of its peace. She realized as never before that by her loveshe must prevail. It was the one weapon, unfailing and invincible, thatalone would serve her, when she could rely upon no other. She knew thathe had felt its influence, that there were times when he did instinctivereverence to it, as to that which is holy. She knew moreover that therewas that within him that answered to it as it were involuntarily--afiery essence in which his passion had no part which dwelt deep down inhis turbulent heart--a germ of greatness which she knew might blo
ssominto Love Immortal.

  He was young, he was young. He wanted life, all he could get of it. Andhe left the higher things because as yet he was undeveloped. He had notfelt that hunger of the spirit which only that which is spiritual cansatisfy. It would come. She was sure it would come. She was watching forit day by day. His wings were still untried. He did not want to soar. Butby-and-bye the heights would begin to draw him. And then--then they wouldsoar together. But till that day dawned, her love must be the guardian ofthem both.

  There came a slight sound in the room behind her. She turnedswiftly. "Piers!"

  He was close to her. As she started to her feet his arms enclosed her. Helooked down into her eyes, holding her fast pressed to him.

  "I didn't mean to disturb you," he said. "But--when I saw you werepraying--I had to come in. I wanted so awfully to know--if you would getan answer."

  "But, Piers!" she protested.

  He kissed her lips. "Don't be angry, Avery! I'm not scoffing. I don'tknow enough about God to scoff at Him. Tell me! Do you ever get ananswer, or are you content to go jogging on like the rest of theworld without?"

  She made an effort to free herself. "Do you know, Piers, I can't talk toyou about--holy things--when you are holding me like this."

  He looked stubborn. "I don't know what you mean by holy things. I'm not abeliever. At least I don't believe in prayer. I can get all I wantwithout it."

  "I wonder!" Avery said.

  She was still trying to disengage herself, but as he held her withevident determination she desisted.

  There followed a silence during which her grey eyes met his black onessteadily, fearlessly, resolutely. Then in a whisper Piers spoke, his lipsstill close to hers. "Tell me what you were praying for, sweetheart!"

  She smiled a little. "No, dear, not now! It's nothing that's in yourpower to give me. Shall we sit on the window-seat and talk?"

  But Piers was loath to let her go from his arms. He knelt beside her asshe sat, still holding her.

  She put her arm round his neck. "Do you remember your Star of Hope?" sheasked him softly.

  "I remember," said Piers, but he did not turn his eyes to the night sky;they still dwelt upon her.

  Avery's face was toward the window. The drapery fell loosely away fromher throat. He stooped forward suddenly and pressed his hot lips upon hersoft white flesh.

  A little tremor went through her at his touch; she kept her faceturned from him.

  "Have you really got all you want?" she asked after a moment. "Is therenothing at all left to hope for?"

  "Didn't we drink to the future only to-night?" he said.

  His arms were drawing her, but still she kept her face turned away. "Didyou mean anything by that?" she asked. "Were you--were you thinking ofanything special?"

  He did not at once answer her. He waited till with an odd reluctance sheturned her face towards him. Then, "I was thinking of you," he said.

  Her heart gave a quick throb. "Of me?" she questioned below her breath.

  "Of you," he said again. "For myself, I have got all I can ever hope for.But you--you would be awfully happy, wouldn't you, if--"

  "If--" murmured Avery.

  He stooped again to kiss her white bosom. "And it would be a bond betweenus," he said, as if continuing some remark he had not uttered.

  She turned more fully to him. "Do we need that?" she said.

  "We might--some day," he answered, in a tone that somehow made itimpossible for her to protest. "Anyhow, my darling, I knew,--I guessed.And I'm awfully glad--for your sake."

  She bent towards him. "Not for your own?" she whispered pleadingly.

  He laid his head suddenly down upon her knees with a sound that wasalmost a groan.

  "Piers!" she said in distress.

  He was silent for a space, then slowly raised himself. She had a senseof shock at sight of his face. It looked haggard and grey, as if awithering hand had touched him and shorn away his youth.

  "Avery,--oh, Avery," he said, "I wish I were a better man!"

  It was a cry wrung from his soul--the hungry cry which she had longed tohear, and it sent a great joy through her even though it wrung her ownsoul also.

  She bent to him swiftly. "Dearest, we all feel that sometimes. And Ithink it is the Hand of God upon us, opening our eyes."

  He did not answer or make any response to her words. Only as he claspedher to him, she heard him sigh. And she knew that, strive as he might tosilence that soul-craving with earthly things, it would beat onunsatisfied through all. She came nearer to understanding him that nightthat ever before.