Part 23 (1/2)
”Since you've got her--” he stammered, ”how about--the--the money?”
The question nerved Gaston.
”Money?” he cried; ”get out with it, you thief and would-be murderer.
Use it to get as far from here as you can, for as true as there is a heaven above us, if you ever interfere with me or--mine--again, I'll shoot you at sight. Get out--all of you!”
He slammed the door violently shut, and with clenched hands and blazing eyes, he faced his companion.
He and she were the only ones in the new world. Stung by the memory of the look of lost faith in the eyes of the one friend to whom he had planned to turn in this emergency; recalling Jude's glance of triumph as he turned away, Gaston's moral sense reeled, and the elemental pa.s.sions rose.
Joyce stood shrinking before him. Beaten, bruised and trapped, she awaited her doom.
Her primitive love for this man held no part in her present condition.
Whatever he consigned her to, that must she accept. St. Ange standards were well known to her. The people would be quick enough to spurn personal responsibility for her, but if she were independent of them--well, they were not the ones to hold resentment!
No moral training had ever had part in this girl's life; nothing held her now but a fear, born of her past experience with man's authority, as to her future fate.
She was abandoned and disowned. Her recent loss and grief had bereft her of any personal pride and hope--like a slave before its master, she faced Gaston--and mutely waited.
The unexpected happened. Gaston laughed. Laughed in the old, unconcerned way; but presently the rising awe and question in the lovely eyes looking into his own, sobered him. He began to understand and to get her point of view. He stood straighter, and a new expression pa.s.sed over his face.
”Sit down, Joyce,” he said, urging her gently toward the chair, ”I must mend the fire. Things look as if they had fallen to pieces, but they have not. Believe me--they have not. For heaven's sake stop trembling; every shudder you give is an insult to me. There, there, you don't understand, but, it's coming out all right. It was only when others were meddling that we got on the rocks. I've got the rudder in my hand now, and by G.o.d's help,” he was fiercely flinging on the logs, ”we'll sail out into the open with colours flying. When did you eat last?”
She was watching him with alert, feverish eyes. Like an ensnared animal she felt a frenzied eagerness to be ready for the snarer's next move.
”Eat?” she faltered, ”why, why, I have forgotten.
Yesterday--to-day--oh! does it matter? I'm not hungry.”
”Well, I am. I always wanted a s.n.a.t.c.h after the play.”
”The--the play?” Joyce leaned forward.
”After an infernal row, if you like that better. They both play the d.i.c.kens with your digestion.”
Bringing out the food, and making coffee eased the tension of the situation and after they had eaten, for Joyce struggled to follow his example, the atmosphere was less electrical.
The hands of the clock got around to ten-thirty; it was of no consequence, however, and then Gaston cleared the table, kicked a rebellious log back to its duty, and drew a chair beside Joyce.
The little bruised arm lay stretched pitifully along the arm of the chair. Gaston winced as he saw it, and he laid his strong, warm hand over the cold fingers that did not draw away.
”Joyce.” His voice was almost solemn in its intensity. ”I don't believe there is anything I can say that you would understand now. G.o.d knows, I pity you from the bottom of my soul and, G.o.d helping me, I'm going to help you in the best way I can. You need rest more than any other little woman in the world to-night, I reckon, go in there,” he nodded toward his own chamber, ”and try your best to sleep. I want to smoke and think it all out here by the fire. Remember, you are safe.”
She rose stiffly and stood before him. Fear was gone from her; weakness remained; a horrible, sickening weakness, but no fear. Vaguely, gropingly, she tried to understand what lay behind his slow, solemn words, but the effort was too great. She sighed and looked down upon him as if he had suddenly become a stranger to her, then, stepping backward, with uncertain faltering movement, she gained the door of that room where no foot but Gaston's had ever before stepped.
CHAPTER X
It was mid-October when Ralph Drew, his pretty sister Constance and his devoted maiden aunt--Miss Sally Drew--arrived in St. Ange and took up their new life in the bungalow which, under Jude Lauzoon's contractors.h.i.+p, had been made ready.