Читать книгу The Hundredth Chance - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 6

"Oh, Maud! I thought you were never coming!"

Bunny's face, pale and drawn, wearing the irritable frown so habitual to it, turned towards the opening door.

"I have brought you a visitor," his sister said.

Her voice was low and nervous. She looked by no means sure of Bunny's reception of the news. Behind her came Jake Bolton the trainer, alert and self-assured. It was quite evident that he had no doubts whatever upon the subject. His thick mat of chestnut hair shone like copper in the brilliant electric light, such hair as would have been a woman's glory, but that Jake kept very closely cropped.

"What on earth for?" began Bunny querulously; and then magically his face changed, and he smiled. "Hullo! You?" he said.

Bolton came to his side and took the small, eager hand thrust out to him. "Yes, it's me," he said. "No objection, I hope?"

"I should think not!" The boy's face was glowing with pleasure. "Sit down!" he said. "Maud, get a chair!"

Bolton turned sharply, found her already bringing one and took it swiftly from her.

He sat down by Bunny's side, and took the little thin hand back into his. "Do you know, I've been thinking a lot about you," he said.

Bunny was vastly flattered. He liked the grasp of the strong fingers also, though he would not probably have tolerated such a thing from any but this stranger.

"Yes," pursued Jake, in his soft, level voice. "I reckon I've taken a fancy to you, little chap--I beg your pardon--Sir Bernard. How have you been to-day?"

"Don't call me that!" said Bunny, turning suddenly red.

"What?" Jake smiled upon him, his magic, kindly smile. "Am I to call you Bunny--like your sister--then?"

"Yes. And you can call her Maud," said Bunny autocratically. "Can't he, Maud?"

Jake turned his head and looked at her. She was standing before the fire, the red glow all about her, very slim, very graceful, very stately. She did not so much as glance at Jake, only bent a little towards the blaze so that he could not see her face.

"I don't think I dare," said Jake.

"Maud!" Peremptorily Bunny's voice accosted her. "Come over here! Come and sit on my bed!"

It was more of a command than an invitation. Maud straightened herself and turned.

But as she did so, their visitor intervened. "No, don't!" he said. "Sit down right there, Miss Brian, in that easy-chair, and have a rest!"

His voice was peremptory too, but in a different way. Bunny stared at him wide-eyed.

Jake met the stare with an admonitory shake of the head. "Guess Bunny's not wanting you," he said. "Don't listen to anything he says!"

Bunny's mouth opened to protest, remained open for about five seconds, and finally he said, "All right, Maud. You can stay by the fire while we talk."

And Maud, much to her own surprise, sat down in the low chair on the hearth and leaned her aching head back upon the cushion.

She had her back to Bunny and his companion, and the soft murmur of the latter's voice held nought disturbing. It seemed in fact to possess something of a soothing quality, for very soon her heavy eyelids began to droop and the voice to recede into ever growing distance. For a space she still heard it, dim and remote as the splash of the waves on the shore; then very softly it was blotted out. Her cares and her troubles all fell away from her. She sank into soundless billows of sleep.

It was a perfectly dreamless repose, serene as a child's and it seemed to last indefinitely. She lay in complete content, unconscious of all the world, lapped in peace and blissfully free from the goading anxiety that usually disturbed her rest. It was the calmest slumber she had known for many years.

From it she awoke at length with a guilty start. The fall of a piece of coal had broken the happy spell. She sat up, to find herself in firelight only.

Her first thought was for Bunny, and she turned in her chair and looked across the unfamiliar room. He was lying very still in the shadows. Softly she rose and stepped across to him.

Yes, he was asleep also, lying among his pillows. The chair by his side was empty, the visitor vanished.

Very cautiously she bent over him. He had been lying dressed outside the bed. Now--with a thrill of amazement she realized it--he was undressed and lying between the sheets. He was breathing very quietly, and his attitude was one of easy rest. Surely some magic had been at work!

On a chest of drawers near stood a glass that had contained milk. He always had some hot milk last thing, but she had not procured it for him. She had in fact been wondering how she would obtain it to-night.

Another coal fell, and she crept back to replace it. Stooping she caught sight of another glass in the fender, full of milk. It must have been there a long time, for it was barely warm. Clearly it had been intended for her. She put it to her lips and drank.

Who could have put it there? Her mother? No; she was sure that her mother would have roused her from her sleep if she had entered. She was moreover quite incapable of getting Bunny to bed now that he had grown out of childhood.

The house was very quiet. She wondered if the guests had all gone. The room was situated at the end of a long passage, so that the noise of the party had scarcely reached it. But the utter silence without as well as within made her think that it was very late.

She dared not switch on the light, but as the fire burned up again she held her watch to the blaze. Half-past two!

In utter amazement she began to undress.

There was no second bed in the room; only a horse-hair sofa that was far less comfortable than the chair by the fire. She lay down upon it, however, pulling over her an ancient fur travelling-rug belonging to her mother, and here she lay dozing and waking, turning over the mystery in her mind, while another quiet hour slipped away.

Then there came a movement from Bunny, and she sat up.

"Are you awake, Maud?" asked his voice out of the shadows. "Has Jake gone?"

"Yes, darling," she made answer. "Are you wanting anything?"

She was by his side with the words; she bent over him. He wanted his pillows rearranged, and when she had done it he said, "I say, when did you wake up?"

"About an hour ago," she said.

He chuckled a little. "Weren't you surprised to find me in bed?"

"Yes, I was," she said. "How did you get there?"

Bunny seemed to regard the matter as a joke. "That fellow Jake--he went over and looked at you, came back and said you were fast asleep, asked what I generally had done, and if he couldn't do it for me. He managed very well and was jolly quick about it too. I thought you would be sure to wake, but you didn't. And when I was settled, he asked if I didn't want anything, and I said, 'Yes, hot milk', and he crept off and got it. He brought a glass for you too. He stuck it in the fender. Have you had it?"

"Yes," Maud said. "But Bunny, didn't he hurt you at all? You nearly always cry out when you're lifted."

"I didn't that time," said Bunny proudly. "I told him I should probably squeal, and he said if I so much as squeaked he'd throttle me. He's a brick, do you know, Maud. And he seemed to know how to get hold of me without being told."

Maud's amazement was growing. The man must be a genius indeed to manage Bunny in that fashion.

"After that," said Bunny, "he sat down by me and got hold of my hand and said, 'Now I'm going to send you to sleep.' I told him I never slept the first part of the night, and he grinned and said, 'You'll be asleep in five minutes from now if you let yourself go.' And I said, 'Rats!' And he said, 'Shut up!' So I did. And he held my hand tight and sat staring across the room like a mute till somehow he got all blurred up and then I suppose I went to sleep. I never knew when he went. Did you?"

"No," said Maud. She had an uncanny feeling that Jake had somehow left his influence behind him in the atmosphere. His personality seemed to dominate it still. She was sure he had meant to be kind, but a queer sense of antagonism made her resent his kindness. She did not like Bunny's whole-hearted admiration.

"He's a brick," the boy said again, "and do you know he's done almost everything under the sun? He's been a sailor, and he's dug for gold, and he's kept a Californian store, and he's been a cow-boy on a ranch. He says the last suited him best because he's so keen on the wilds and horses. It was out in the wilds somewhere that Lord Saltash came on him and brought him home to be his trainer. But he's British-born all the same. I knew he was that the first time I saw him."

He was evidently a paragon of all the virtues in Bunny's estimation, and Maud did not attempt to express her own feelings, which were, in fact, somewhat complex.

Very deep down in her woman's soul a warning voice had begun to make itself heard, but she could not tell Bunny that. Scarcely even to herself dared she admit that the straight, free gaze of those red-brown eyes possessed the power to set her heart a-fluttering in wild rebellion like the wings of a captive bird.

CHAPTER VIII

THE OFFER

In many respects the change from their lodgings up the hill to the Anchor Hotel by the fishing-quay was for the better, and as the days went on and winter drew near Maud realized this. Bunny's room had a southern aspect, and it was only on dull days that they needed a fire before evening. It possessed a French window also, which was an immense advantage; for it was perfectly easy to wheel him out on to the stone verandah outside it, and here he would lie in his own sheltered corner for hours; watching the sea and the shore and the passers-by, and sometimes talking to the very infrequent visitors who came at that season to "The Anchor."

He and Maud lived their lives apart from the rest of the establishment, an arrangement which Mrs. Sheppard deplored although she knew it to be an eminently wise one. Her husband, who never lost an opportunity to revile the girl who always treated him with the same aloof distance of manner, bitterly resented the circumstance that so limited his chances of what he styled "taking her down a peg." He hated her with the rancorous and cruel hatred of conscious inferiority, savagely repenting his undertaking to provide for her. They did not often clash because Maud steadfastly avoided him. And this also he resented, for he was in effect simply biding his time to drive her away. She was a perpetual thorn in his side, and he seized every chance that presented itself of inflicting some minor humiliation upon her. His antipathy had become almost an obsession, and he never saw her without flinging some gibing taunt in her direction.

And those taunts of his rankled deep. Maud's feelings towards him were of a very deadly order. If she had not avoided him, she knew that she could not have remained. But for Bunny's sake she endured his insults when contact with him became inevitable. She could not be separated from Bunny, and she knew of no other haven.

Towards Bunny, Sheppard displayed no ill feeling. He had small cause to do so, for the boy was kept rigorously out of his way, and his mother was more than willing to leave the entire care of him to Maud. In fact there were sometimes whole days on which she scarcely saw him. The change that Maud had foretold on her wedding-day had already begun in her. She had quitted her own world without a pang, and was sunning herself in the warmth of her husband's rough devotion. As she herself expressed it, she was getting really fond of Giles, whose brutish affection for her was patent to all.

Maud suppressed a shudder whenever she encountered any evidence of it, and as a result he was always noisier and coarser in his demonstrations before her face of white disgust. What wonder that she rigidly avoided him and insisted upon taking all her meals with Bunny?

In this way she avoided his loud-voiced friends also,--another frequent cause for offence!--all, that is, save one. That one was Jake Bolton; and, since Bunny had so decreed it, this man came and went exactly as he chose.

She never raised the smallest objection to his presence, but she certainly never welcomed him. In fact she generally took advantage of his coming to leave Bunny for a space and it even became a recognized thing between them that she should avail herself of the leisure thus provided to run down to the shore for the brief recreation which was never obtainable in any other way.

Very often she would not return until after Jake's departure, and so on the whole, though they met so frequently, she actually saw but little of him. He was Bunny's pal, and--obedient to the inner warning--she was firmly determined that he should never become hers.

He did not seem inclined to combat this determination, but on the other hand he never relinquished by a hair's breadth the position he had taken up at the beginning of their acquaintance. It was impossible to snub him. He never heard a snub. He never advanced, and he never retreated. He simply stood firm, so that after a time her uneasiness began to die down almost in spite of her, and she even came to look upon him in a very guarded way as a friend in need. He could do anything in the world with Bunny, and though she was half-suspicious of his influence she could not deny that he invariably exercised it in the right direction. He had even begun to implant in Bunny a wholly novel and sometimes almost disconcerting consideration for herself. Bunny was more tractable just then than he had ever been before. It was the only bright spot in her sky.

It was on an afternoon in late November that she went down to the shore during one of Jake Bolton's visits to her brother, and watched the fishing-fleet come in through a blur of rain. The beach looked dank and sodden and there were trails of mist in the air. Dusk was just beginning to fall, and it would be a wet night. But the air blew in off the water sweet and southerly, and it did her good to breath it.

She walked the length of the parade twice, and finally, as the fishing-smacks dropped one by one into the harbour on the further side of the quay, turned homewards, feeling invigorated and considerably the happier for the brief exercise.

She wondered if Jake meant to stay to tea. He did not often do so, only, on the very rare occasions when she added her invitation to Bunny's. She supposed she would have to ask him to-day if she found him still there when she returned. But she hoped she would not. She liked him best when he was not there.

Regretfully she turned her back upon the heaving waters, and crossed the road to the Anchor Hotel. It was growing rapidly dusk.

She reached the entrance, and was stretching out a hand towards the swing-doors when one of them opened abruptly from within and Jake stepped out. He was smoking a cigarette, and he did not in the first moment perceive her. She drew back in an instinctive effort to escape notice.

But he stopped short almost immediately and accosted her.

"Ah! Is that you? I was just wondering where you were."

Her thoughts flew to Bunny. "Am I wanted?" she asked quickly.

He checked her with a gesture. "No, the lad's all right. It's I who want you. Can you spare me a minute?"

It was impossible to refuse, but she did not yield graciously. Somehow she never could be gracious to Jake Bolton.

"I ought to go in," she said. "It is getting late."

"I shan't keep you long," he said, and she noticed that it was plainly a foregone conclusion with him that she would grant him what he asked.

She turned back into the misty darkness with a short sigh of impatience.

"Walk to the end of the parade with me!" he said, and fell in beside her.

Later she wondered why she did not lodge a more energetic protest, for it was beginning to rain in earnest; but at the time it seemed inevitable that she should do as he desired.

She re-crossed the road with him, and turned to walk to the nearest end of the parade. They approached the spot where he had once laid peremptory hands upon her and drawn her out of danger. It was as they neared it that he suddenly spoke.

"I am sorry to have brought you out again into the wet. Will you come into the shelter?"

She acquiesced. The shelter was empty. She stepped within it and stood waiting.

He took out his cigarette and after a moment dropped it and set his heel upon it.

"I want to speak to you about your brother," he said. "And, by the way, before I forget it, I've promised to trundle him up to the Stables next Sunday to show him the animals. You will come too, won't you? I can give you tea at my house. It's close by."

Maud's eyes opened a little. The suggestion somewhat startled her, and she resented being startled. "You are very kind," she said coldly. "But I don't think we can either of us do that."

"I am not in the least kind," said Jake. "And will you tell me why you are offended with me for suggesting it?"

"I am not--offended," she said, feeling herself grow uncomfortably hot over the assertion. "But--I think you might have proposed this to me before mentioning it to Bunny."

"But what's the matter with the proposal?" he said. "The boy was delighted with it."

"That may be," Maud said; and then she paused, feeling suddenly that she was being absurdly unreasonable. She blushed still more hotly in the gloom, and became silent.

Jake stretched out one steady finger and laid it on her arm. "Don't take fright at nothing!" he said, in an admonitory tone. "If you're going to shy at this, I reckon you'll kick up your heels, and bolt at my next suggestion."

She drew herself away from his touch, standing very erect. "Perhaps you would be wiser not to make it," she said.

"Very likely," agreed Jake. "But--as you object to my mentioning things to your brother first--I don't see how you can refuse to listen."

This was unanswerable. She bit her lip. "I am listening," she said.

"And the answer is 'No,' whatever it is," rejoined Jake, with a whimsical note in his soft voice. "Say, Miss Brian, play fair!"

She felt somewhat softened in spite of herself. "I have said I will listen," she said.

"With an unbiassed mind?" he said.

"Of course." She spoke impatiently; she wanted to get the interview over, and she more and more resented his attitude towards her. There was something of the superior male about him that grated on her nerves.

"All right," said Jake. "I'll go ahead. If you will condescend to come up to my place on Sunday, I will show you a man--one of our jockeys--who was injured in just the same way that your brother is injured, and who is now as sound as I am. He was operated upon by an American doctor called Capper--one of the biggest surgeons in the world. It was a bit of an experiment, but it succeeded. Now what has been done once can be done again. I chance to know Capper, and he is coming to London next spring. He makes a speciality of spinal trouble. Won't you let him try his hand on Bunny? There would be a certain amount of risk of course. But wouldn't it be worth it? Say, wouldn't it be worth it, to see that boy on his legs, living his life as it was meant to be lived instead of dragging out a wretched existence that hardly deserves to be called life at all?"

He stopped abruptly, as if realizing that he had suffered his eagerness to carry him away. But to Maud who had begun to listen in icy aloofness that same eagerness was as the kindling of a fire in a place of utter desolation.

For the moment she forgot to be cold. "Oh, if it were only possible!" she said. "If it only could be!"

"Why can't it be?" said Jake.

She came back with something of a shock to the consciousness of his personality. She drew back from the warmth that he had made her feel.

"Because," she said frigidly, "doctors--great surgeons--don't perform big operations for nothing."

"I don't think Capper would charge an out-of-the-way amount if he did it for me," said Jake.

"Perhaps not." Maud spoke in the dead tone of finality.

He leaned slightly towards her. "Say, Miss Brian, aren't you rather easily disheartened? Wouldn't your people scrape together something for such a purpose?"

"No," she said.

"Are you quite sure?" he urged. "Won't you even ask 'em?"

She turned from him. "It's no good asking," she said, her voice low and reluctant. "The only relation we possess who might help won't even answer when I write to him."

"Why don't you go and see him?" said Jake. "Put the thing before him! He couldn't refuse."

She shook her head. "It wouldn't be any good," she said, with dreary conviction. "Besides, I couldn't get to Liverpool and back in a day, and I couldn't leave Bunny for longer. And--in any case--I know--I know it wouldn't be any good," she ended, with half-angry vehemence.

"I wish the little chap were my brother," said Jake.

Maud was silent. Somehow her vehemence had upset her; she had an outrageous desire to cry.

Jake was silent too for a few seconds; then abruptly he squared his shoulders and spoke with aggressive decision. "Miss Brian, a good friend is nearer than a dozen beastly relations. With your permission--I'll see this thing through."

"Oh no, no!" she said quickly. "No, no!"

"For the boy's sake!" he said.

"No!" she said again.

There fell a sudden silence. Then, in an odd voice Jake said, "Bunny told me--only to-day--with pride--that there was nothing in the world that you wouldn't do for him."

She made a sharp movement of protest. "I can't take--what I could never repay," she said, speaking almost below her breath. "Neither shall Bunny."

"There are more ways than one of paying a debt," said Jake.

He looked almost formidable standing there in the twilight with his legs well apart and unabashed resolution in every line of his sturdy figure.

She faced him with a sinking sense of her own inferior strength. His self-assertion seemed to weigh her down. She felt puny and insignificant before it. As usual she sought refuge in stately aloofness. She had no other weapon, and at least it covered the beating of her heart.

"I am afraid I don't understand you," she said.

"Shall I explain?" said Jake; and then, as she was silent: "Can't you see I'm making a bid for your friendship?"

She froze at the effrontery of the words.

"Oh yes," said Jake. "I quite understand. I'm only tolerated for Bunny's sake. Isn't that so? You're too proud to associate with a clod like me. But for all that--though you'll never look at me--I'm not afraid to let you know that I've taken a fancy to you. You've never contemplated such a fool idea as marriage with me, I know: but you go home and contemplate it right now! Ask yourself if you wouldn't find a husband like me less nauseating than a step-father like Giles Sheppard! Ask yourself if the little chap wouldn't stand a better chance all round if you brought him along to me! I reckon we'd make his life easier between us even if Capper couldn't make him walk. He's too heavy a burden for you to carry alone, my girl. You weren't created for such a burden as that. Let me lend a hand! I give you my solemn oath I'll be good to you both!"

A tremor of passion ran through his last words, and his voice took a deeper note. Maud, upright and quivering, felt the force of the man like the blast of a tearing gale carrying all before it. She would have left him at the commencement of his speech, but he blocked the way. She stood imprisoned in a corner of the shelter, steadying herself against the woodwork, while the full strength of his individuality surged around her. She felt physically exhausted, as though she had been trying to stand against a tremendous wind.

Several seconds throbbed away ere she could trust herself to speak without faltering. Then: "Please let me pass!" she said.

He stood back instantly and she was conscious of a lessening of that mysterious influence which had so overwhelmed her.

"Are you angry--or what?" he said.

She gathered her strength, and stepped forth, though she was trembling from head to foot.

"Yes, I am angry," she said, forcing her voice to a certain measure of calmness notwithstanding. "I have never been so insulted in my life!"

"Insulted!" He echoed the word in unfeigned astonishment; then, as she would have left him, put a detaining hand upon her arm. "Say, Miss Brian! Since when has a proposal of marriage constituted an insult in your estimation?"

He spoke with something of a drawl, but it compelled attention. She stopped, resisting the desire to shake herself free from his touch.

"A proposal of marriage from you could be nothing else," she said very bitterly. "You take advantage of my position, but you know full well that we are not equals."

"Oh yes, I know that," he said. "But--is any man your equal?"

"I meant socially of course," she said, beginning to recover her composure and her dignity.

"I see." Jake's voice was very level. "And that is why you are upset--angry?"

"It is a very sufficient reason," she said.

"Yes, but is it--as things now are? There is another point of view to that problem. If you had been leading a happy, sheltered life in your own sphere--that might have been a reason for me to hold off. You might with justice have scorned my offer. But--as things are--as things are--" he spoke with strong insistence. "Is it taking advantage of your position to want to deliver you from it? It's a beastly position--it's a humiliating position. And I gather you've no prospect of deliverance. Well, I offer you a way of escape. It mayn't be the way you would choose, but--there are worse, many worse. I'm not a bad sort, and I've got a soft spot in my heart for that little brother of yours. Say, Miss Brian, do you despise me so badly that you can't even give the idea your impartial consideration?"

He spoke whimsically, but there was a rough dignity about him nevertheless which had an undeniable effect upon her. She could no longer spurn him with contempt, though neither could she yield a single inch to his persuasion.

"It would be quite useless for me to consider it," she said. "I am sorry if I was rude to you just now, but your suggestion rather took my breath away. Please understand that it is quite, quite impossible!"

"All right," he said. "Still you won't dismiss it quite entirely from your mind? That is to say, you'll hold it in reserve just in case a way of escape becomes essential to you. I shan't break my heart about it, but neither shall I change my mind. The offer remains open day and night just in case the emergency might arise which would make you willing to avail yourself of it."

He took his hand from her arm, and she felt that the interview was over.

Yet he walked beside her as she began to move away, and crossed the road again with her to the entrance of the hotel.

"And one thing more," he said, as they reached it. "I have no wish or intention to force myself upon you, so if--to please Bunny--you can bring yourself to accompany the pair of us on the Sunday expedition to see the stud, you need not be afraid that I shall attempt to take advantage of your position again."

The colour flamed up in her face at the few, leisurely words. He seemed to possess the power of calling it up at will.

She stood on the first step, looking down at him, uncertain whether to be haughty or kind.

He moved close to her, and by the lamplight that streamed through the glass doors she saw his frank, disarming smile.

"And look here!" he said. "Don't fling cold water on that other scheme for Bunny that I broached to you, yet! You never know what may turn up."

The smile decided her. She held out her hand to him. "But, you know, I couldn't--I really couldn't--" she said rather incoherently.

He gave the hand a firm grip and released it. "No. All right. I understand. But think about it! And don't run away with the idea that I planned it just for your sake! I'd like jolly well to be of use to you. But--in the main--it's the lad I'm thinking of. You do the same! After all, it's second nature with you to put him first, isn't it?"

"He always will come first, with me," she said. "But I couldn't--I can't--incur such an obligation--even for him."

"All right," said Jake, unmoved. "Class it with the impossibles--but, all the same, think about it!"

He was gone with the words, striding away down the street without a backward glance.

Maud was left alone with the warm blood still in her cheeks and an odd feeling of uncertainty at her heart. She felt baffled and uneasy like a swimmer in deep waters, aware of a strong current but still not wholly at its mercy, nor wholly aware of its force and direction. She did not mean to let herself be drawn into that current. She hung on the edge of it, trying to strike out and avoid it. But all the time it drew her, it drew her. And--though she would not admit it even to herself--she knew it and was afraid.

CHAPTER IX

THE REAL MAN

That Sunday of their visit to the Burchester Stables was a marked day with Maud for the rest of her life.

The Stables were situated on the side of a splendid down about a mile from the sea. Lord Saltash's estate stretched for miles around, and he practically owned the whole of Fairharbour. Burchester Castle was the name of the seat, an ancient pile dating from Saxon times that had belonged to the Burchester family since the days of the Tudors. Charlie Burchester had inherited it from his uncle five years before; but he did not live in it. He had occasional wild house-parties there, especially for the event of the Graydown Races. And he sometimes spent a night or two when the mood took him to visit the stud. But for the most part the house stood in empty grandeur, its rooms shuttered and shrouded, its stately gardens deserted save for the gardeners who tended them.

Exquisite gardens they were. Maud had a glimpse of them from the height of the down--terraced gardens with marble steps and glistening fountains, yew-walks, darkly mysterious, quaintly fashioned, pines that rustled and whispered together. The house was securely hidden from view among its trees.

"It used to be a nunnery," said Jake. "Its inhabitants had a chaste objection to publicity. It's an interesting old place, about a mile from the Stables. I'd like to show it to you some time. You'd enjoy it."

"Not to-day," said Bunny quickly.

Jake smiled at his tone. "No, not to-day, lad. We'll go and see the animals to-day."

He had brought them up the long, winding private road which, though smooth enough, was a continual ascent. Maud had wanted to help with the invalid-chair, but he had steadily refused any assistance. She marvelled at the evident ease with which he had accomplished the journey, never hurrying, never halting, not even needing to pause for breath, untiring as a wild animal in its native haunts. She remembered the nickname he bore on the Turf, and reflected that it fitted him in more than one respect. He was so supple, so tough, so sure.

Suddenly those bright eyes flashed round on her. "Say, you're tired," he said, in his queer, lilting voice. "We'll have tea first."

"No!" cried Bunny on the instant. "We'll do the Stables first, Jake. It's not time for tea. Besides, tea can wait."

Jake's brown hand came over the back of the chair and filliped the boy's cheek. "Shut up, my son!" said Jake.

Maud stared at the action. Bunny turned scarlet.

Jake unconcernedly continued his easy progress. "Reckon the animals won't die if we don't inspect 'em till after tea," he said. "What's your idea, Miss Brian?"

"If Bunny wishes to go straight to the Stables--" she began.

He interrupted. "Bunny has changed his mind. Ain't that so, Bunny?"

"I don't care," said Bunny rather sullenly.

"All right then," said Jake. "Tea first!"

He wheeled the chair into a great gateway that led into a wide stone courtyard. White-washed stables were on each side of them and at regular intervals large green tubs containing miniature fir-trees. At the further end of the courtyard stood a square, white-washed house.

"That's my shanty," said Jake.

It was a very plain building; in former days it had been a farm. There was a white railing in front and a small white gate flanked by another pair of toy firs. The whole effect was one of prim cleanliness.

"There's a bit of garden at the back," said Jake. "And a summer-house--quite a decent little summer-house--that looks right away to the sea. Now, Bunny lad, there's a comfortable sofa inside for you. Think I can carry you in?"

"Can't you take in the chair?" Maud asked nervously.

Jake looked at her. "Oh yes, I can. But the passage is a bit narrow. It's not very easy to turn."

"Of course he can carry me, Maud. Let him carry me!" broke in Bunny, in an aggrieved tone. "You make such a stupid fuss always."

Jake had thrown open the door of his home. "You go in, Miss Brian!" he said. "Turn to the right at the end of the passage, and it's the door facing you."

She went in reluctantly. The passage was small and dark, oak-panelled, low-ceiled.

"Go right in!" said Jake.

She did not want to turn her back on Bunny, but she knew that the boy would resent any lingering on her part. She passed down the passage and turned as Jake had directed.

The door that faced her stood open, and she entered a long, low room, oak-panelled like the passage, with a deep, old-fashioned fireplace in which burned a cheery wood fire. Two windows, diamond-paned, and a door with the upper panels of glass occupied the whole of the further side of the room, and the western sunshine slanting in threw great bars of gold across the low window-seats.

Tea had been set on a table in the middle of the room, to the corner of which a sofa had been drawn. There were bed-pillows as well as cushions on the sofa. Evidently Jake had ransacked the house to provide comfort for Bunny.

Maud stood just within the doorway listening, dreading to hear the indignant outcry that generally attended any movement of the poor little crippled body. But she heard nothing beyond Jake's voice murmuring unintelligibly, and in a few seconds the steady tread of his feet as he entered the house.

Then, while she stood listening, the feet drew near and there came a pleased chuckle from Bunny. Jake came squarely in, carrying him like an infant, and deposited him with infinite care among the cushions that Maud hastily adjusted for his reception.

"There you are, my son," he said. "Make yourself as much at home as you can!"

Bunny looked about him with keen interest. "Oh, I say, what a jolly room! What a ripping room! You're beastly lucky to live here, Jake."

"Oh, yes, it's a decent little crib," said Jake. "Those doorsteps were just made for an evening pipe."

He indicated the closed glass-panelled door. Maud went to it and found that the ground sloped sharply away from this side of the house, necessitating a flight of several steps. They led down into a sunny space that was more orchard than garden,--fruit-trees and grass spreading down the side of the hill towards the magic, pine-screened grounds of Burchester Castle.

Jake came and stood beside her for a moment. He was being studiously impersonal that day, an attitude which curiously caused her more of uneasiness than relief.

"The arbour is at the end by those apple-trees," he said. "You can just see the roof from here. It looks over the field where we train. It's sport to watch the youngsters learning to run. Lord Saltash calls it the grand stand."

"Do you know Lord Saltash?" broke in Bunny. "He used to be a great pal of ours once."

"Oh, that was years ago--in London," said Maud quickly. "No doubt he has quite forgotten our existence by this time."

She spoke with unwitting sharpness, hotly aware that the lynx-like eyes of her host were upon her.

Bunny took instant offence. "I'm sure it wasn't years ago, Maud; and you know it wasn't. It isn't more than two since we saw him last--if that. As to forgetting all about us, that isn't very likely, considering the mother was one of his bad debts."

"Bunny!" Maud began in rare anger.

But in the same moment Jake swung calmly round. "Say, Bunny, do you like shrimps?" he asked. He moved to Bunny's side and stood looking down at him. "I got some in case. Miss Brian, I hope shrimps are good for him, are they?"

"She doesn't know," said Bunny irritably. "What's the good of asking her? Of course I like shrimps! Aren't we going to begin soon? I want to go and see the horses."

"You seem to be in an all-fired hurry," observed Jake. "Left your manners behind, haven't you?" He took out his watch. "Half-past three! All right, my son. We'll go at four, Miss Brian, do you mind pouring out?"

He set a chair for her facing the window, and sat down himself next to Bunny.

It seemed to Maud that, seated there in his own house, she saw him under a new aspect. He played the host with ability and no small amount of tact.

He talked mainly about the stud, interesting her in a subject which she had never before viewed at close quarters. He described various events in which some of his charges had won distinction, and presently, to Bunny's keen delight; he began a brief but stirring description of an attempt to tamp with one of the animals two summers before on the eve of one of the Graydown Races. Some inkling of the intended attempt had reached him, and he himself had lain in wait to frustrate it.

"But how?" cried Bunny breathlessly.

"I decided to spend the night in the loose-box," said Jake. "There's no hardship in sleeping alongside a good horse. I've done it many a time. I wasn't so intimate with Lord Saltash then as I am now, but I knew enough not to be altogether surprised when he came sliding into the stable-yard a little after midnight in a two-seated car and made straight for the loose-box where I was. The top half of the door was ajar, and there was a dim lamp burning in the yard, but his head-lights showed up everything like day. He pushed the top half right back and leaned his arms on the lower and said, 'That you, Bolton?' I got up and went to him. There was no one else about. 'I've put myself in charge this trip,' I told him. 'You needn't be nervous.' He grinned in a sickly sort of fashion and said, 'I am nervous--deuced nervous, and I'll tell you why. If that brute runs to-morrow I'm a ruined man.' And then he started jawing about some fool wager he'd made, said he was under the thumb of some rascally booky, and actually began to try and talk me into spoiling the animal's chances."

Jake paused. He was looking at Maud as if he expected something.

She looked back at him, her head very high, her eyes shining defiantly bright. "Lord Saltash has a double apparently?" she said.

"Now, that's real clever of you!" said Jake, with a smile. "Yes, that is the key to the mystery, and I soon grasped it. He offered me a large sum of money to prevent Pedro running. Pedro was listening to the transaction with his head on my shoulder. I said yes to everything, and then I suggested that we should settle the details outside where there was no chance of witnesses. He agreed to that, and I picked up my whip and got into his car after him, and we slipped out and ran about half-a-mile into the Park where I stopped him."

Jake paused again, still looking expectantly at the girl facing him. She was flushed but evidently not greatly moved.

"What a thrilling recital!" she said.

And, "Go on!" urged Bunny impatiently.

Jake laughed a little. "I felt rather a skunk myself. He was so sweetly unsuspicious, till I used the cowboy clutch on him and tied up his arms in his own coat. That opened his eyes, but it was a bit too late. He was in for a cowhiding, and he realized it, scarcely showed fight, in fact. I didn't let him off on that account, and I don't suppose he has forgotten it to this day. I didn't quite flay him, but I made him feel some."

"And you let him go afterwards?" questioned Bunny.

"Yes, I let him go." Jake took up his cup and drank in a contemplative fashion. "After that," he said, in his slow way, "I went back to Pedro, and we finished the night together. But--I don't know whether having his rest disturbed upset his nerves any--he only managed to come in second after all."

"And Lord Saltash?" said Maud abruptly. "Did you ever tell him what had happened?"

"Oh yes," said Jake. "I told him the following evening, and he laughed in his jolly way and said, 'Well, I'm glad you weren't taken in, but I'm glad too that you let the poor devil go. A leathering from you couldn't have been any such joke.' It wasn't," added Jake grimly. "It was as unlike a joke as a blue pill is unlike raspberry jam."

"But what became of the real man?" questioned Bunny. "Did he get clean away?"

"Clean away," said Jake. "And now--if you're ready--we'll go and see the hero of that episode."

"Who was the hero?" asked Maud, with a hint of sarcasm as she rose.

He looked at her with a faint smile. "Why, Dom Pedro, of course," he said. "Come along and make his acquaintance!"