Part 65 (1/2)

He held her more closely but with reverence. ”Avery, you don't--love me, do you?”

”Of course I do!” she said.

”There can't be any 'of course' about it,” he declared almost fiercely.

”I've been a positive brute to you. Avery--Avery, I'll never be a brute to you again.”

And there he stopped, for her arms were suddenly about his neck, her lips raised in utter surrender to his.

”Oh, Piers,” she said in a voice that thrilled him through and through, ”do you think I would have less of your love--even if it hurts me? It is the greatest thing that has ever come into my life.”

He held her head between his hands and looked into her eyes of perfect trust. ”Avery! Avery!” he said.

”I mean it!” she told him earnestly. ”I have been drawing nearer to you all the while--in spite of myself--though I tried so hard to hold back.

Piers, my past life is a dream, and this--this is the awaking. You asked me--a long while ago--if the past mattered. I couldn't answer you then. I was still half-asleep. But now--now you have worked the miracle--my heart is awake, dear, and I will answer you. The past is nothing to you or me.

It matters--not--one--jot!”

Her words throbbed into the silence of his kiss. He held her long and closely. Once--twice--he tried to speak to her and failed. In the end he gave himself up mutely to the rapture of her arms. But his own wild pa.s.sion had sunk below the surface. He sought no more than she offered.

”Say good-bye to me now!” she whispered at length; and he kissed her again closely, lingeringly, and let her go.

She stood in the doorway as he pa.s.sed into the night, and his last sight of her was thus, silhouetted against the darkness, a tall, gracious figure, bending forward to discern him in the dimness.

He went back to his lonely home, back to the echoing emptiness, the listening dark. He entered again the great hall where Sir Beverley had been wont to sit and wait for him.

Victor was on the watch. He glided apologetically forward with s.h.i.+ning, observant eyes upon his young master's weary face.

”_Monsieur Pierre_!” he said insinuatingly.

Piers looked at him heavily. ”Well?”

”I have put some refreshment for you in the dining-room. It is more--more comfortable,” said Victor, gently indicating the open door. ”Will you not--when you have eaten--go to bed, _mon cher, et peut-etre dormir_?”

Very wistfully the little man proffered his suggestion. His eyes followed Piers' movements with the dumb wors.h.i.+p of an animal.

”Oh yes, I'll go to bed,” said Piers.

He turned towards the dining-room and entered. There was no elation in his step; rather he walked as a man who carries a heavy burden, and Victor marked the fact with eyes of keen anxiety.

He followed him in and poured out a gla.s.s of wine, setting it before him with a professional adroitness that did not conceal his solicitude.

Piers picked up the gla.s.s almost mechanically, and in doing so caught sight of some letters lying on the table.

”Oh, d.a.m.n!” he said wearily. ”How many more?”

There were bundles of them on the study writing-table. They poured in by every post.

Victor groaned commiseratingly. ”I will take them away, yes?” he suggested. ”You will read them in the morning--when you have slept.”