Part 53 (2/2)

CHAPTER X

THE DESERT PLACE

A single light shone across the verandah when Bernard Monck returned late in the night. It drew his steps though it did not come from any of the sitting-rooms. With the light tread often characteristic of heavy men, he approached it, realizing only at the last moment that it came from the window of his brother's room.

Then for a second he hesitated. He was angry with Everard, more angry than he could remember that he had ever been before. He questioned with himself as to the wisdom of seeing him again that night. He doubted if he could be ordinarily civil to him at present, and a quarrel would help no one.

Still why was the fellow burning a light at that hour? An unacknowledged uneasiness took possession of him and drove him forward. People seemed to do all manner of extravagant things in this fantastic country that they would never have dreamed of doing in homely old England. There must be something electric in the atmosphere that penetrated the veins. Even he had been aware of it now and then, a strange and potent influence that drove a man to pa.s.sionate deeds.

He reached the window without sound just as Stella had reached it on that night of rain long ago. With no consciousness of spying, driven by an urgent impulse he could not stop to question, he looked in.

The window was ajar, as if it had been pushed to negligently by someone entering, and in a flash Bernard had it wide. He went in as though he had been propelled.

A man--Everard--was standing half-dressed in the middle of the room. He was facing the window, and the light shone with ghastly distinctness upon his face. But he did not look up. He was gazing fixedly into a gla.s.s of water he held in his hand, apparently watching some minute substance melting there.

It was not the thing he held, but the look upon his face, that sent Bernard forward with a spring. ”Man!” he burst forth. ”What are you doing?”

Everard gave utterance to a fierce oath that was more like the cry of a savage animal than the articulate speech of a man. He stepped back sharply, and put the gla.s.s to his lips. But no drop that it contained did he swallow, for in the same instant Bernard flung it violently aside. The gla.s.s spun across the room, and they grappled together for the mastery. For a few seconds the battle was hot; then very suddenly the elder man threw up his hands.

”All right,” he said, between short gasps for breath. ”You can hammer me--if you want someone to hammer. Perhaps--it'll do you good.”

He was free on the instant. Everard flung round and turned his back. He did not speak, but crossed the room and picked up the gla.s.s which lay unbroken on the floor.

Bernard followed him, still gasping for breath, ”Give that to me!” he said.

His soft voice was oddly stern. Everard looked at him. His hand, shaking a little, was extended. After a very definite pause, he placed the gla.s.s within it. There was a little white sediment left with a drain of water at the bottom. With his blue eyes full upon his brother's face, Bernard lifted it to his own lips.

But the next instant it was dashed away, and the gla.s.s s.h.i.+vered to atoms against the wall. ”You--fool!” Everard said.

A faint, faint smile that very strangely proclaimed a resemblance between them which was very seldom perceptible crossed Bernard's face.

”I--thought so,” he said. ”Now look here, boy! Let's stop being melodramatic for a bit! Take a dose of quinine instead! It seems to be the panacea for all evils in this curious country.”

His voice was perfectly kind, even persusaive, but it carried a hint of authority as well, and Everard gave him a keen look as if aware of it.

He was very pale but absolutely steady as he made reply. ”I don't think quinine will meet the case on this occasion.”

”You prefer another kind of medicine,” Bernard suggested. And then with sudden feeling he held out his hand. ”Everard, old chap, never do that while you've a single friend left in the world! Do you want to break my heart? I only ask to stand by you. I'll stand by you to the very gates of h.e.l.l. Don't you know that?”

His voice trembled slightly. Everard turned and gripped the proffered hand hard in his own.

”I suppose I--might have known,” he said. ”But it's a bit rash of you all the same.”

His own voice quivered though he forced a smile. He would have turned away, but Bernard restrained him.

”I don't care a tinker's d.a.m.n what you've done,” he said forcibly.

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