Part 20 (2/2)
Tommy laughed as he sauntered away, pulling the door carelessly after him but recalled by Monck to shut it.
A sudden silence followed his departure. Stella was at the window, looping back the curtains. The vague sunlight still smote across the dripping compound; the whole plain was smoking like a mighty cauldron.
Stella finished her task and stood still.
Across the silence came Monck's voice. ”Aren't you going to give me my medicine?”
She turned slowly round. ”I think you are nearly equal to doctoring yourself now,” she said.
He was lying raised on his elbow, his eyes, intent and searching, fixed upon her. Abruptly, in a different tone, he spoke. ”In other words, quit fooling and play the game!” he said. ”All right, I will--to the best of my ability. First of all, may I tell you something that Ralston said to me this morning?”
”Certainly.” Stella's voice sounded constrained and formal. She remained with her back to the window; for some reason she did not want him to see her face too clearly.
”It was only this,” said Monck. ”He said that I had you to thank for pulling me through this business, that but for you I should probably have gone under. Ralston isn't given to saying that sort of thing.
So--if you will allow me--I should like to thank you for the trouble you have taken and for the service rendered.”
”Please don't!” Stella said. ”After all, it was no more than you did for Tommy, nor so much.” She spoke nervously, avoiding his look.
The shadow of a smile crossed Monck's face. ”I chance to be rather fond of Tommy,” he said, ”so my motive was more or less a selfish one. But you had not that incentive, so I should be all the more grateful. I am afraid I have given you a lot of trouble. Have you found me very difficult to manage?”
He put the question suddenly, almost imperiously. Stella was conscious of a momentary surprise. There was something in the tone rather than the words that puzzled her. She hesitated over her reply.
”You have?” said Monck. ”That means I have been very unruly. Do you mind telling me what happened on the night I was taken ill?”
She felt a burning blush rush up to her face and neck before she could check it. It was impossible to attempt to hide her distress from him.
She forced herself to speak before it overwhelmed her. ”I would rather not discuss it or think of it. You were not yourself, and I--and I--”
”And you?” said Monck, his voice suddenly sunk very low.
She commanded herself with a supreme effort. ”I wish to forget it,” she said with firmness.
He was silent for a moment or two. She began to wonder if it would be possible to make her escape before he could pursue the subject further.
And then he spoke, and she knew that she must remain.
”You are very generous,” he said, ”more generous than I deserve. Will it help matters at all if I tell you that I would give all I have to be able to forget it too, or to believe that the thing I remember was just one of the wild delusions of my brain?”
His voice was deep and sincere. In spite of herself she was moved by it.
She came forward to his side. ”The past is past,” she said, and gave him her hand.
He took it and held it, looking at her in his straight, inscrutable way.
”True, most gracious!” he said. ”But I haven't quite done with it yet.
Will you hear me a moment longer? You have of your goodness pardoned my outrageous behaviour, so I make no further allusion to that, except to tell you that I had been tempted to try a native drug which in its effects was worse than the fever pure and simple. But there is one point which only you can make clear. How was it you came to seek me out that night?”
His grasp upon her hand was rea.s.suring though she felt the quiver of physical weakness in its hold. It was the grasp of a friend, and her embarra.s.sment began to fall away from her.
”I came,” she said, ”because I had been startled. I had no idea you were anywhere near. I was really investigating the verandah because of--of something I had seen, when the light from this window attracted me. I thought possibly someone had broken in.”
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