Part 30 (1/2)

”Ah, but I do not understand!” she said. ”He is very stern and very quiet, but he is a just man. I have never known him to find fault where there was none.”

”There are faults enough in my life,” Saton answered. ”I have never denied it. But I have had to fight with my back to the wall. I shall win. I am not afraid of a thousand Mr. Rochesters. I am gathering to my hands--no, I will not talk to you about that! Lois, I am more anxious about you than Mr. Rochester. I am afraid that you will hate me for always now.”

”No!” she said. ”I cannot do that, I cannot hate you. But I do not wish to see you any more. As long as I live, I shall see you kneeling there, with your finger upon the trigger of that gun. I shall see the flash, I shall see him throw up his hands and fall. It was hideous!”

Saton pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead. Her words had touched his keen imagination. The horror of the scene was upon him, too, once more.

”Don't!” he begged--”don't! Lois!”

”Well?” she asked.

”You will not speak of this to anyone?”

”No!” she answered, sadly, leaning a little forward, with her head resting upon her clasped hands. ”I don't suppose that I shall. If he had died, it would have been different. Now that he is going to get well, I suppose I shall try to forget.”

”To forget,” he murmured, trying to take her hand.

She drew it away with a s.h.i.+ver.

”No!” she said. ”That is finished. I had to see you. I had to talk to you. Go away, please. I cannot bear to see you any more. It is too terrible--too terrible!”

A born cajoler of women, he forced into play all his powers. He whispered a flood of words in her ear. His own voice shook, his eyes were soft. He pleaded as one beside himself. Lois--Lois whom he had found so sensitive, so easily moved, so gently affectionate--remained like a stone. At the end of all his pleadings she simply looked away.

”Do you mind,” she asked, ”leaving me? Please! Please!”

He got up and went. Defeat was apparent enough, although it was unexpected. Lois stole back to the house--stole back to her room and locked the door.

Saton walked home across the hills, with white face and set eyes. He looked neither to the right nor to the left, and when he arrived at Blackbird's Nest, he walked straight into the long, old-fas.h.i.+oned room on the ground floor, which he called his library, and where Rachael generally sat.

She was there, crouching over the fire, when he entered, and looked around with frowning face.

”Bertrand,” she said, ”I hate this country life. Even the suns.h.i.+ne mocks. There is no warmth in it, and the winds are cold. I must have warmth. I shall stay here no longer.”

He threw a log on to the fire, and turned around.

”Listen,” he said. ”The girl Lois Champneyes--I have lost my hold of her. She knows something about the accident to Rochester.”

”Bungler!” the woman muttered. ”Go on. Tell me how you lost your power.”

”I cannot tell,” he answered. ”I was in an unsettled mood. I think that I was a little afraid. She spoke of that afternoon. It all came back to me. I am sure that I was afraid,” he added, pa.s.sing his hand across his forehead.

She leaned toward him and her eyes glittered, hard and bright, from their parchment-like setting.

”Bertrand,” she said, ”you talk like a coward. What are you going to do?”

”To bring her here,” he answered hoa.r.s.ely. ”She has gone back to Beauleys. She is pa.s.sing up through the plantation, on her way to the house, perhaps, at this very moment. She wore white, and she carried her hat in her hand. There were rims under her eyes. She walks slowly. She is afraid--a little hysterical. You see her?”

He pointed out of the window. The woman nodded.