Part 30 (1/2)

The wild words surged on. Did anyone hear? or hearing understand? Even to Teresa herself they seemed for the moment to voice nothing but the cry of her own heart. The shadow of death had obliterated the things of life; nothing counted, nothing mattered, but Ca.s.sandra, and her struggle for breath. With every moment her strength was ebbing, the faint whistling sounds emerged less frequently from her writhing lips, the black tint deepened on her cheeks, even as she gazed, the staring eyes rolled and fixed.

Then Peignton pounced. Like a wild beast leaping on its prey, he pounced upon the prostrate form, and lifting it in his arms he shook and tore, he dragged and bent. The two women shrieked, and hid their faces.

Of all the terrors that had been, the most ghastly and blood-curdling of all was the sight of this maniac figure with its superhuman strength, and the jointless, lifeless form, tossed to and fro; beaten, abused.

The onlookers thought,--if thought were possible,--that Dane had gone mad. It seemed the crowning horror that in death Ca.s.sandra's body should be so outraged; but they had no strength to move or protest.

Suddenly came a cry; a cry of triumph, not grief. Peignton had sunk to the ground, but Ca.s.sandra lay in his arms, and the breath was once more whistling through her lips.

”It has moved!” he cried. ”It has moved! She breathes. For G.o.d's sake, _Water_!”

In a second it was in his hand, and Teresa knelt, holding the jug, while he sprinkled drops on the dark brow, and moistened the cracking lips.

The face resting against his shoulder was still unrecognisable, still terrible to see, but momentarily life was flowing back. The brutal wildness of Dane's a.s.sault had done its work in removing the block, and air was rus.h.i.+ng back into the flattened lungs. The marvellous intricacy of the machine of life was at work once more...

Peignton bathed, and the two women knelt by his side, watching with fascinated eyes. Gradually as the dark hue faded, other marks came into view, the marks of bruises left by frenzied fingers. There were marks on Ca.s.sandra's brow, on her cheek, on the slim column of her throat, on her hands, on the arms beneath the torn fragments of sleeves.

Everywhere there were bruises. The women held their breath at the sight, Peignton groaned and shuddered as with a nausea of horror, but he went on bathing, his hand resolutely steadied to h.o.a.rd the precious drops. Only once, with an uncontrollable impulse, he bent and pressed his lips against the most cruel of the marks, holding her close the while, crooning over her in a pa.s.sion of tenderness, and as he lifted his head Ca.s.sandra's eyes opened, and looked upward into his face. They were conscious eyes, and the opening of them brought back the first resemblance to that Ca.s.sandra who had so horribly lost her ident.i.ty.

Deeply, darkly blue they stared out of the disfigured face, met Dane's adoring gaze, and gazed back. For a moment it seemed as though the wraith of a smile were dawning in their depths, then pain claimed her once more, and she groaned and winced, lifting a hand to her bruised throat. It was a piteous little action, and Dane's self-possession broke down at the sight. Once more he bent his head to hers. Once more the caressing words burst forth.

”Darling, forgive me! I _had_ to do it!...” Then for the first time Grizel felt a tremor pa.s.s through the figure of the girl by her side, and looked with a pang into a set white face. Through her quick mind flashed the realisation that here was another threatened death,--the death of Teresa's youth... She laid a hand on the girl's shoulder, and spoke in brisk, commonplace tones:

”She must be laid down. Collect the cus.h.i.+ons and make a bed. She will come round more quickly lying flat.”

Teresa rose and with automatic obedience set about her work. Grizel took advantage of her absence to seize Dane's arm between a vigorous finger and thumb. Her eyes met his with a gleam of anger.

”Pull yourself together! Think what you are saying. Have you forgotten that Teresa is here?”

Apparently he had. Even now when he was reminded, his blank look showed that his mind was incapable of realising her existence. Grizel wasted no more words. Nor indeed was there time, for Teresa came back carrying the piled cus.h.i.+ons. Their gay colour accentuated the pallor of her own face, but she was composed as ever, and arranged an impromptu bed on the gra.s.s with firm, capable hands.

”That's right. Perfectly flat; her head must not be raised. Now, Captain Peignton! this way a please! Pacing the sea.”

Peignton's answer was to entwine his arms more firmly; it seemed to the watching eyes as if Ca.s.sandra herself nestled closer in response.

Grizel bent downwards, and forcibly unloosed the clasped hands.

”I am accustomed to nursing... you must obey me, please. You are doing her harm, keeping off the air. Lay her down here. At once!”

Grizel had different ways of enforcing her will, but they were invariably successful. The stem tone of command roused Peignton into obedience. With painful effort he rose, laid his burden on the cus.h.i.+ons, and stood over her, straightening his cramped arms. The mad output of strength which had saved Ca.s.sandra's life had left him almost as much exhausted as herself, but so far he had had no time to think of himself. Now that his work was over, the realisation would come.

Grizel poured out a gla.s.s of wine, and forced it into his hands.

”Drink it--this moment! You can't afford to break down, there's too much to be done. We will stay with her here. You must go home for help!”

”No!”

”Don't dispute, please... You will do as I say. Nature will help her now; we can only leave her alone. You must go home and telephone,--to the Club House for her husband, to the village for the doctor. They must come straight here. And the car,--it must drive to the nearest point, and wait. Possibly in an hour she may be able to walk. If not, she can be carried.”

”I'll carry her!”

”Her husband will carry her, or the men. Tell two men to come, and bring brandy, smelling-salts, anything you think of. If you are wise you will lie down yourself. You are worn out, and can do no good here.

We don't want two invalids. Now, please!”

For a moment Peignton stood gazing down at the motionless figure on the gra.s.s. Then hunching his shoulders, turned inland, and took the field path.

Teresa straightened herself to watch him as he went. She was kneeling by Ca.s.sandra's side, but he had no glance for her. She watched him pa.s.s swiftly down the narrow path between the barley and the oats. The poppies blazed their brightest red; the patches of groundsel shone golden in the sun.