Chapter I: The Intruder

The following afternoon Rees stood on the verandah looking sombrely towards the long high ridges of uncompromising mountains rising in clear undaunted beauty from behind the bronze-green foothills. He had returned a little while since, after a busy day taking visitors to the caves. It was almost time to get ready for dinner, but he had yet a few minutes to spare before going to his room.

He watched a small pearly cloud which clung to one of the rocky peaks till it slowly diminished and disappeared into space. It vanished into the warm sunlit air with a rapidity which almost startled him. He sighed, moved a little restlessly and looked at the place where the cloud had been.

His love-dream was like that. Last night he had revelled in the glamour of its intoxicating sweetness, and to-day--it had gone out of his life; it had disappeared from the sphere of reality and entered the elusive unsatisfying region of memory; it had left the living, palpable present and passed into the unreachable realms of the past.

The night before, as he stood at the decrepit gate leading out from their tumultuous paradise of bliss, he had said good-bye to their love-dream for ever. The strength of his feelings as the woman he loved lay pressed against his breast had alarmed him, as it had alarmed her. It was an enormous, unyielding thing, violent with an impetuous vehemence, dominant with sweeping torrential power! He dared not give these gigantic forces any more chances to sweep him off his feet. A few more such hours as they had spent in the garden the night before and he would be completely unnerved and in their meshes. He would be carried away by the strong tide of love to do what he knew was cowardly and wrong, in accepting Iris’s generous offer to marry him. It would be contemptible to chain her beautiful young life to this little corner of the world, to his misfortunes and perhaps--degradation. It would be despicable to allow her to run the risk of uniting herself to him when he knew he had not his besetting vice in hand--had no hope of ever getting it under control. If there had been the slightest hope, he might have listened to his heart then; but there was none. He was only safe when he kept rigidly out of the way of temptation. But danger might accost him at any moment even here; and then---- No, Iris must not be allowed to run into such peril. She must be kept from that at all costs. He could at least save her from such an awful fate.

But she loved him, and her love was not the meek smooth tranquil affection which could easily resign itself to being thwarted. In her blood ran fire, as there ran fire in his own. She was high-spirited, impetuous, capable of feelings as strong as his own. The slumbering woman in her had now been fully awakened and had risen with great lustrous eyes responding to his love. She was willing to marry him. She had pleaded softly, shyly, but with irresistible intensity to be allowed to become his. As he thought of it now something blinding passed before his eyes, and something hard in his throat seemed to choke him. Her attitude towards him had been beautiful--wonderful! Proud, imperious Iris--the rich Society beauty, flattered and worshipped in London, with her easy, conquering ways, had stood before him, a poor driver--an outcast, her eager hands upon his shoulders imploring him to allow her to share his fate! He jerked his hand over his eyes.

Good God, what women there were in the world! That _such_ a woman should love _him_ like that! He turned hot and cold alternately--it was utterly incomprehensible--too astoundingly amazing!

But that was all the more reason why he should protect her from the calamity which threatened her; why he should remain firm and keep her from the danger confronting her. He could at least do that. He must not stoop to the contemptible meanness of taking advantage of her marvellous generosity.

But how was he to do this without hurting her too much? Ah, that was the great perplexing question. He could not endure the thought of wounding her. But how was he to save her from the terrible fate of marrying him without at the same time thrusting a dagger into her heart?

He must certainly not do anything suddenly. She must not even suspect that he had already buried their love-dream--he was quite ignorant of the fact that she had read it in his eyes. No, he must slip out of her life gradually, quietly, causing her as little pain as possible. He must remain the same to her outwardly, only he must rigidly avoid being alone with her; then perhaps, in time, she would become accustomed to the idea that they must part, never to meet again. But oh, what racking torment this would mean to him! To be near her daily, look deep into her eyes, see the bewitching scarlet of her lips--he clenched his hands----

All at once he was roused from his reverie by the throb of a motor. A big car had just glided up to the house and a distinguished-looking, broad-shouldered man in perfectly cut clothes sprang out and made his way towards Rees. When he was within speaking distance he said with a very English accent, “Can you tell me if Miss Dearn is staying here?”

Rees met his cold blue stare civilly, and answered in the affirmative.

The new-comer said something to his driver, who was in immaculate uniform matching the dark red car, then turned to Rees again to ask if he could get accommodation at the house, also if he would direct his man to the garage.

Rees had to tell the visitor there was no garage in the township, only a large shed at the back of the house where motorists generally put their cars.

“No garage. Good Heavens!” muttered the Englishman under his breath. Then he favoured Rees with another momentary stare. “Are you the proprietor?” he inquired.

Rees informed him that Miss Smith owned the place, and that he was her driver and guide to the caves and beauty spots.

“Ah!” replied the new-comer, and there was a world of expression in the monosyllable. “Perhaps before you attend to my man you would kindly see if Miss Dearn is in and tell her I am here.”

The driver led the way to the sitting-room on the ground floor, opened the door, and, as he did so, caught sight of Iris’s slim, straight figure and the glitter of her glorious hair as she sat writing at a small table by the window.

She looked over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps and for a second he caught a glimpse of her exquisite profile; then he said quietly: “Miss Dearn, a visitor has come to see you.”

She rose quickly, and Captain Barton passed Rees and walked towards her.

“Ralph!” she exclaimed, her blue eyes widening and a tinge of surprise mounting to her lovely cheeks. “However did you get here? Such a surprise to see you! What years since we met! Fancy your coming out here, too!” And she held out both hands to him.

He clasped them eagerly. “What a young goddess my little playmate has become!” he said, greeting her warmly. “But then, you always were in the grand style! It’s awfully jolly to see you again,” he added affectionately.

Justin was just closing the door, when Iris called him. “Don’t go away, Mr. Rees; come back, I want you to meet an old friend of mine.”

A look of surprise passed over Ralph’s well-cut features, but it vanished instantly. “What in the name of thunder does this mean?” he thought to himself.

Iris and Justin had not met since the previous evening, as he had breakfasted early and not been home for lunch. If they had encountered each other alone after their hours in the moonlit garden she would have been shy with him, but before others she always had a fine command of herself; and, whatever she felt below the surface, it was never permitted to reveal itself to casual observers. As the driver re-entered the room she hastened to introduce the men.

“Mr. Rees, may I introduce Captain Barton?”

She had mentioned the driver’s name first; Ralph noticed it and a sudden glare came into his blue eyes--Iris was too well versed in Society etiquette to do things inadvertently. But he smiled blandly at the driver as he said, “How d’you do--very pleased to meet you I’m sure, Mr.----”

“Mr. Rees,” Iris filled the pause which followed the emphasised “Mr.,” drawing herself up a little. “Mr. Rees is a great friend of ours; we have got to know each other well since we have been here, and he has been so good to us!”

“How delightful, to be sure!” said Captain Barton with an ultra-English intonation.

Iris noticed the patronage in his manner and resented it immediately. She laughed lightly. “How very English you have become, my dear Ralph--I suppose that’s from living in Indi-ah,” she said banteringly, slightly imitating his accent.

He knew she was annoyed and guessed why. From the first he had felt a latent animosity towards the driver; now it became an active dislike.

“Yes, I suppose a place like India does influence one--it is rather toney you know. This country, I understand, doesn’t bother about trifles of that kind,” he retorted smilingly.

“No, Australia does not give over-much attention to the surface, it has rather a refreshing way of bestowing care on what is below.”

“How charmingly wise and prudent of it!” he laughed. “I suppose that is why every one is so friendly here. My chauffeur, a man I engaged in Melbourne, actually offered me a cigarette coming up to-day, and recommended the brand to me--thought it so unique of him at the time--spirit of the place though, isn’t it? I suppose chimney-sweeps and costermongers would be considered social equals here,” he smiled benevolently, with a side-glance at Rees.

Iris’s large eyes had suddenly become very blue and her smile was extraordinarily dazzling as she said: “Yes, out here even our chauffeurs and sweeps are _men_--such a nice change from the apology for the real thing you and I know so well, Ralph. You will appreciate the new species after a time--when you get more used to it!”

Captain Barton’s healthy complexion grew a little more florid.

Rees saw a new side of the girl’s nature. How splendidly she dealt with the man who had insulted him. Her loyalty was magnificent; the delicate way she had honoured him before this Society bounder--superb! He watched the proud tilt of her head, the brilliant eyes, her vivid smiles, her easy grace, her finished manner, her underlying dignity! Somehow she made him think of the black thoroughbred he had ridden at the sports. Before Prince took the jump he had always come up to the high test in the same light way, aware of contest, inwardly excited, but always taking the decisive leap with well-bred ease--sure of himself--never contemplating defeat. Iris dealt with this difficult situation like that, crossing swords with her friend in that smiling, self-possessed way, dealing each blow with the same pleasant graciousness with which she would have handed him a flower.

Mrs. Henderson entered the room just then, and Rees quietly took his departure.

* * * * *

It was late that evening when Captain Barton followed the ladies into the dining-room. He was in evening dress and looked strikingly handsome and distinguished.

Rees watched them taking their seats at the small table on the opposite side of the room. Peace had evidently been restored between Iris and her old playmate, and both ladies seemed to be enjoying his gay spontaneous talk and pleasant banter. Rees also noticed that the new-comer was in love with Iris; the soft look coming into his forget-me-not eyes whenever they met her deep sea-blue ones was unmistakable.

Miss Dearn was looking particularly lovely that night. She wore a gauzy mauve-tinted ninon gown, thinly veiling her beautiful arms and shoulders and dropping over her form in soft exquisite folds. The driver scanned her face carefully to see if he could discover how the previous evening had affected her. But outwardly there was no apparent change, except some slight shadow round her lustrous eyes making them look larger and more brilliant than usual. Was it a mark of sleeplessness? Had she, too, been awake, spending the long black hours with tumultuous longing for what might have been? He looked towards her again; she was not talking or smiling just then, and, suddenly, as he watched, she looked up at him, and into her eyes came a strange dew-like softness, a mute appeal--or was it a dumb cry of pain? And for a second, even across the room, he could see her lips were not quite steady. It happened in a moment, an instant’s dropping of the surface mask, a signal flash from her soul to his; then she turned and talked lightly to her companions again.

“Did you have an enjoyable trip, Ralph?” she asked pleasantly.

“Yes, not bad at all; some quite decent people on board--a great herd of Australians, of course. How very simple and unreserved they are.”

“They are delightful,” said Iris decidedly. “I love their great, almost primitive, simplicity; it has something of the same grand force about it as their immense tangled bush! Australians have lived so near the heart of Nature that they have retained a wonderful, natural integrity. I should imagine they are more natural than any other civilised type.”

“Yes, I think you are right,” observed Mrs. Henderson. “Natural integrity has almost died out in certain parts of Europe, and an artificial culture has taken its place.”

“Are you, too, advocating barbarism?” asked Captain Barton, slightly raising his rather straight eyebrows.

“No, I do not favour barbarism, neither do I favour bleeding humanity to death in order to educate it; such methods are brutal. But that is just what some sections of our civilisation are doing to-day, draining humanity drop by drop of all its life-blood and power.”

“Yes,” said Iris, “Australians are so fresh and charming because they have not been drained; they still have vitality and warm young blood in their veins.”

“I should have thought you would admire culture,” observed Captain Barton, delicately dividing an apricot with his fruit-knife.

“I do. I love the silk finish of real culture. But silk finish is of little use on a material which has already begun to decay. Decadent Europe has been so busy putting on the silk finish that it has been rather careless about the material it is ornamenting. Now Australia is more concerned about the vital substance beneath, and that is why it appeals to me. I like the durable, undaunted strength it is weaving before attempting the outer polish.”

* * * * *

“That must be the man Miss Dearn is going to marry,” remarked Miss Smith to Rees after dinner. “Isn’t he a swell, and doesn’t he look every inch a soldier? What a handsome pair they will make! I heard him explaining to the ladies, while I was waiting for Miss Dearn’s order, that her mother had sent him out--I believe he called her Lady Dearn. I always knew they were swells, too, though they are so nice and friendly, and keep it all to themselves. He gave Miss Dearn a letter from her mother; she evidently wants her to come back at once. I heard them discussing it all as I was going backwards and forwards. I don’t think Miss Dearn wants to go home. Captain Barton was trying to persuade them to return with him; he lives in India and is here for a holiday. I don’t think you will have to drive the ladies about any more now,” went on Miss Smith; “I heard Captain Barton making arrangements to take them everywhere in his car; they are planning to go out a lot; I do hope they won’t leave us yet awhile.”

Rees went out shortly afterwards.

He strolled up the lane where Iris had walked with him one night, and his heart was heavy as lead. The elasticity of his step had vanished, and he moved slowly as if with difficulty.

Only that afternoon before dinner he had stood perplexedly gazing at the mountains, wondering how he might carry out his determination to slip quietly out of Iris’s life. Fate had come to his rescue now, it had taken the initiative and showed him the way. Captain Barton wanted her; he was of her own world, in a good position, in love with her, decidedly an attractive man, good-looking, well-groomed and polished--the kind of man women like. So all Rees had to do now was simply to stand aside and give the new-comer a chance. Of course Captain Barton was a bounder and had been very odious to him; he had not much character or brains; but, if only he really loved the girl, could make her happy and would be true to her, it was all that really mattered.

Rees sighed heavily. The man was not worthy of her; but who was? Certainly not he himself. Captain Barton did not look as if he had any vices, and even if he were a frivolous, conceited young ass, his faults were certainly far more harmless than his own shameful failing.

Yes, Fate had stepped in at the right moment to take Iris’s attention from himself and direct it into another channel; and, as they had not known each other long, perhaps her feeling for him might be merely a strong infatuation, which in time and with suitable means might be cured.

It was only necessary for him to stand aside and let events shape themselves.

But how was he to endure seeing Iris constantly with another man, taken out by him, made love to, and finally conquered by him? He blanched in the dusk. It seemed unendurable; but for her dear sake he must tolerate it. She deserved that. His cold, pain-stricken heart warmed as he thought of her magnificent love and loyalty to him. She had been willing to renounce all worldly prospects, all that women generally valued, for his sake. Could he not make this sacrifice for her happiness?

He thought of that one glance from her splendid eyes at dinner. His pulses throbbed--was she suffering already because he was keeping out of her way? He could not bear to hurt her, and yet he must continue to wound her--for her ultimate good. Would she understand, or would she misconstrue, his conduct? A sharp pain shot through him at the thought of that. But perhaps, after all, it was best she should not understand; then she might be ready to turn from him more quickly.

Yet how could he stand the agony of being misunderstood--perhaps condemned--and appearing cruel and contemptible to her--how was he to endure that!

A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead, and he breathed heavily.

It was after midnight when he returned to the house. “For your sake, Iris--for your sake,” he murmured to himself as he went wearily to his room.

* * * * *

At the other end of the corridor Captain Barton sat in his room with a book on his knees, smoking and looking ruefully up at the acetylene gas-jet over a small table in front of him.

“These beastly early hours,” he muttered in disgust. “Fancy going to bed at this time--it is outrageous! What a hole this is--how on earth can Iris stand it--actually like it? Ye gods, what a day I’ve had--the cheek of these confounded Australians is the limit! Imagine being offered cigarettes by my own chauffeur, being introduced--actually introduced--to the groom on this place--and by Iris Dearn, and being told he is a friend of Lord Dearn’s daughter! Good Lord! What a country! If Lady Dearn knew she would have seven fits--high time little Iris was brought home and tamed a bit; if she isn’t--by Jingo, the next thing will be that insolent beggar making love to her!”