CHAPTER XI
THE FALLING NIGHT
"You ought to rest, you know," said Tudor. "This sort of thing isdownright madness for you."
They were walking together in the February twilight along the long, darkavenue of chestnuts that led to Rodding Abbey. Avery moved with laggingfeet that she strove vainly to force to briskness.
"I don't think I do too much," she said. "It isn't good for me to beidle. It makes me--it makes me mope."
The involuntary falter in the words spoke more eloquently than the wordsthemselves, but she went on after a moment with that same forcedbriskness to which she was trying to compel her dragging limbs. "I onlyran down to the Vicarage after lunch because it is Jeanie's birthday. Itis no distance across the Park. It seemed absurd to go in state."
"You are not wise," said Tudor in a tone that silenced all argument.
Avery gave a little sigh and turned from the subject. "I thought Jeanielooking very fragile. Mrs. Lorimer has promised that she may come to meagain just as soon as I am able to have her."
"Ah! Jeanie is a comfort to you?" said Tudor.
To which she answered with a catch in her breath, "The greatest comfort."
They reached the great grey house and entered. A letter lay on the tableby the door. Avery took it up with a sharp shiver.
"Prom Piers?" asked Tudor abruptly.
She bent her head. "He writes--every week."
"When is he coming home?" He uttered the question with a directness thatsounded almost brutal, but Avery caught the note of anxiety behind it andunderstood.
She opened the letter in silence, and read it by the waning light of theopen door. The crackling of the fire behind her was the only soundwithin. Without, the wind moaned desolately through the bare trees. Itwas going to rain.
Slowly Avery raised her head at last and gazed out into thegathering dark.
"Come inside!" said Tudor peremptorily.
His hand closed upon her arm, he almost compelled her. "How painfullythin you are!" he said, as she yielded. "Are you starving yourself offood as well as rest?"
Again she did not answer him. Her eyes were fixed, unseeing. Theyfocused their gaze upon the fire as he led her to it. She sat down inthe chair he placed for her and then very suddenly she began to shiveras if with an ague.
"Don't!" said Tudor sharply.
He bent over her, his hands upon her shoulders, holding her.
She controlled herself, and leaned back. "Do sit down, doctor! I'm afraidI'm very rude--very forgetful. Will you ring for tea? Piers is in town.He writes very kindly, very--very considerately. He is only just backfrom Egypt--he and Mr. Crowther. The last letter was from Cairo. Wouldyou--do you care to see what he says?"
She offered him the letter with the words, and after the faintesthesitation Tudor took it.
"I have come back to be near you." So without preliminary the letter ran."You will not want me, I know, but still--I am here. For Heaven's sake,take care of yourself, and have anything under the sun that you need.Your husband, Piers."
It only covered the first page. Tudor turned the sheet frowningly andreplaced it in its envelope.
"He always writes like that," said Avery. "Every week--all through thewinter--just a sentence or two. I haven't written at all to him thoughI've tried--till I couldn't try any more."
She spoke with a weariness so utter that it seemed to swamp all feeling.Tudor turned his frowning regard upon her. His eyes behind their glassesintently searched her face.
"How does he get news of you?" he asked abruptly.
"Through Mrs. Lorimer. She writes to him regularly, I believe,--eithershe or Jeanie. I suppose--presently--"
Avery stopped, her eyes upon the fire, her hands tightly claspedbefore her.
"Presently?" said Tudor.
She turned her head slightly, without moving her eyes. "Presently therewill have to be some--mutual arrangement made. But I can't see my wayyet. I can't consider the future at all. I feel as if night were falling.Perhaps--for me--there is no future."
"May I take your pulse?" said Tudor.
She gave him her hand in the same tired fashion. He took it gravely,feeling her pulse, his eyes upon her face.
"Have you no relations of your own?" he asked her suddenly.
She shook her head. "No one near. My parents were both only children."
"And no friends?" he said.
"Only Mrs. Lorimer. I lost sight of people when I married. And then--"Avery halted momentarily "after my baby girl died, for a long time Ididn't seem to care for making new friends."
"Ah!" said Tudor, his tone unwontedly gentle. "You will soon have anotherchild to care for now."
She made a slight gesture as of protest. "Do you know I can't pictureit? I do not feel that it will be so. I believe one of us--orboth--will die."
She spoke calmly, so calmly that even Tudor, with all his experience, wasmomentarily shocked. "Avery!" he said sharply. "You are morbid!"
She looked at him then with her tired eyes. "Am I?" she said. "I reallydon't feel particularly sad--only worn out. When anyone has beenburnt--badly burnt--it destroys the nerve tissues, doesn't it? They don'tsuffer after that has happened. I think that is my case."
"You will suffer," said Tudor.
He spoke brutally; he wanted to rouse her from her lethargy, to piercesomehow that dreadful calm.
But he failed; she only faintly smiled.
"I can bear bodily suffering," she said, "particularly if it leads tofreedom and peace."
He got up as if it were he who had been pierced. "You won't die!" he saidharshly. "I won't let you die!"
Her eyes went back to the fire, as if attracted thereto irresistibly."Most of me died last August," she said in a low voice.
"You are wrong!" He stood over her almost threateningly. "When you holdyour child in your arms you will see how wrong. Tell me, when is yourhusband coming back to you?"
That reached her. She looked up at him with a quick hunted look."Never!" she said.
He looked back at her mercilessly. "Never is a long time, Lady Evesham.Do you think he will be kept at arm's length when you are through yourtrouble? Do you think--whatever his sins--that he has no claim uponyou? Mind, I don't like him. I never did and I never shall. But you--youare sworn to him."
He had never spoken so to her before. She flinched as if he had struckher with a whip. She put her hands over her face, saying no word.
He stood for a few moments stern, implacable, looking down at her. Thenvery suddenly his attitude changed. His face softened. He stooped andtouched her shoulder.
"Avery!" His voice was low and vehement; he spoke into her ear. "When youfirst kicked him out, I was mean enough to feel glad. But I soonsaw--that he took all that is vital in you with him. Avery,--mydear,--for God's sake--have him back!"
She did not speak or move, save for a spasmodic shuddering that shook herwhole frame.
He bent lower. "Avery, I say, can't you--for the baby's sake--anywayconsider it?"
She flung out her hands with a cry. "The child is cursed! The child willdie!" There was terrible conviction in the words. She lifted a torturedface. "Oh, don't you see," she said piteously, "how impossible it is forme? Don't--don't say any more!"
"I won't," said Tudor.
He took the outflung hands and held them closely, restrainingly,soothingly.
"I won't," he said again. "Forgive me for saying so much! Poor girl!Poor girl!"
His lips quivered a little as he said it, but his hold was full ofsustaining strength. She grew gradually calmer, and finally submitted tothe gentle pressure with which he laid her back in her chair.
"You are always so very good to me," she said presently. "I sometimeswonder how I ever came to--to--" She stopped herself abruptly.
"To refuse me?" said Tudor quietly. "I always knew why, Lady Evesham. Itwas because you loved another man. It has been the case for as long as Ihave known you."
He turned from her with the words wholly without e
motion and took up hisstand on the hearth-rug.
"Now may I talk to you about your health?" he said professionally.
She leaned forward slowly. "Dr. Tudor, first will you make me a promise?"
He smiled a little. "I don't think so. I never do make promises."
"Just this once!" she pleaded anxiously. "Because it means a greatdeal to me."
"Well?" said Tudor.
"It is only--" she paused a moment, breathing quickly--"only that youwill not--whatever the circumstances--let Piers be sent for."
"I can't promise that," said Tudor at once.
She clasped her hands beseechingly. "You must--please--you must!"
He shook his head. "I can't. I will undertake that he shall not come toyou against your will. I can't do more than that."
"Do you suppose you could keep him out?" Avery said, a note of quiveringbitterness in her voice.
"I am quite sure I can," Tudor answered steadily. "Don't troubleyourself on that head! I swear that, unless you ask for him, he shallnot come to you."
She shivered again and dropped back in her chair. "I shall never dothat--never--never--so long as I am myself!"
"Your wishes--whatever they are--shall be obeyed," Tudor promisedgravely.
And with that gently but very resolutely he changed the subject.
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