Part 78 (1/2)

Time pa.s.sed. The moon rose higher, filling the room with its weird cold light. Avery lay asleep.

Exhaustion had done for her what no effort of will could have accomplished, closing her eyes, drawing a soft veil of oblivion across her misery.

But it was only a temporary lull. The senses were too alert, too fevered, for true repose. That blessed interval of unconsciousness was all too short. After a brief, brief respite she began to dream.

And in her dream she saw a man being tortured in a burning, fiery furnace, imprisoned behind bars of iron, writhing, wrestling, agonizing, to be free. She saw the flames leaping all around him, and in the flames were demon-faces that laughed and gibed and jested. She saw his hands all blistered in the heat, reaching out to her, straining through those cruel bars, beseeching her vainly for deliverance. And presently, gazing with a sick horror that compelled, she saw his face....

With a gasping cry she awoke, started up with every nerve stretched and quivering, her heart pounding as if it would choke her. It was a dream--it was a dream! She whispered it to herself over and over again, striving to control those awful palpitations. Surely it was all a dream!

Stay! What was that? A sound in the room beyond--a movement--a step! She sprang up, obeying blind impulse, sped softly to the intervening door, with hands that trembled shot the bolt. Then, like a hunted creature, almost distracted by the panic of her dream, she slipped back to the gloomy four-poster, and cowered down again.

Lying there, crouched and quivering, she began to count those hammering heart-beats, and wondered wildly if the man on the other side of the door could hear them also. She was sure that he had been there, sure that he had been on the point of entering when she had shot the bolt.

He would not enter now, she whispered to her quaking heart. She would not have to meet him before the morning. And by then she would be strong. It was only her weariness that made her so weak to-night!

She grew calmer. She began to chide herself for her senseless panic--she the bearer of other people's burdens, who prided herself upon her steady nerve and calmness of purpose. She had never been hysterical in her life before. Surely she could muster self-control now, when her need of it was so urgent, so imperative.

And then, just as a certain measure of composure had returned to her, something happened. Someone pa.s.sed down the pa.s.sage outside her room and paused at the outer door. Her heart stood still, but again desperately she steadied herself. That door was bolted also.

Yes, it was bolted, but there was a hand upon it,--a hand that felt softly for the lock, found the key outside, softly turned it.

Then indeed panic came upon Avery. Lying there, tense and listening, she heard the quiet step return along the pa.s.sage and enter her husband's room, heard that door also close and lock, and knew herself a prisoner.

”Avery!”

Every pulse leapt, every nerve shrank. She started up, wide-eyed, desperate.

”I will talk to you in the morning, Piers,” she said, steadying her voice with difficulty. ”Not now! Not now!”

”Open this door!” he said.

There was dear command in his voice, and with it the old magnetic force reached her, quick, insistent, vital. She threw a wild look round, but only the dazzling moonlight met her eyes. There was no escape for her--no escape.

She turned her face to the door behind which he stood. ”Piers, please, not to-night!” she said beseechingly.

”Open the door!” he repeated inexorably.

Again that force reached her. It was like an electric current suddenly injected into her veins. Her whole body quivered in response. Almost before she knew it, she had started to obey.

And then horror seized her--a dread unutterable. She stopped.

”Piers, will you promise--”

”I promise nothing,” he said, in the same clear, imperious voice, ”except to force this door unless you open it within five seconds.”

She stood in the moonlight, trembling, unnerved. He did not sound like a man bereft of reason. And yet--and yet--something in his voice appalled her. Her strength was utterly gone. She was just a weak, terrified woman.

”Avery,” his voice came to her again, short and stern, ”I don't wish to threaten you; but it will be better for us both if I don't have to force the door.”

She forced herself to speak though her tongue felt stiff and dry. ”I can't let you in now,” she said. ”I will hear what you have to say in the morning.”