Chapter XXI: The Old Life

That Christmas morning was like a dream to Maud.

To find herself in church with Jake by her side was a circumstance that she had been very far from expecting, and the experience was so unique that it seemed scarcely real.

It was by his suggestion that they were there, and he had overruled her hesitation as to leaving Bunny with a masterly skill that had enlisted Bunny himself on his side.

So they had gone, like a sober married couple, as Maud said to herself, though the thought of Jake as her husband was somehow one that she invariably failed utterly to grasp. She herself found it impossible to give her undivided attention to the service with the perpetual consciousness of his presence at her side. She could not tear her mind from him. He came between her and her devotions.

And yet he himself seemed to be wholly absorbed. Not once did those watchful eyes stray in her direction. He followed the entire service with reverence and a steady concentration that she envied but could not emulate.

When it was over and they were walking back, he drew a deep breath and remarked: "That's the first time I've been in church, except for our wedding, for twenty years."

Maud looked at him in amazement. "So long as that?"

He nodded. "I used to go regularly till my mother died. After that, I went to sea and got out of the way of it."

There fell a silence upon his words. The colour that was always so quick to rise in Maud's cheeks spread upwards to her forehead.

It was with an evident effort that she said finally: "You haven't told me anything about your mother yet, Jake."

He turned his head slowly towards her. "It didn't strike me that you would care to hear," he said, with simplicity.

She conquered her embarrassment with difficulty, but her voice was curiously devoid of enthusiasm as she said: "I am interested--of course."

"Really?" said Jake. "I don't know why you should be. She was a very fine woman, and she killed herself with hard work when my father failed as a farmer. That's about all her story."

"Oh, Jake, how dreadfully sad!" There was quick sympathy in Maud's tone. She put out a shy hand to him as they walked.

He took it, held it fast for a moment, and let it go. "A woman will always attempt the impossible," he said, "for the sake of anyone she cares for. You would do the same for Bunny. I saw that the first day I met you. I've seen it a hundred times in different parts of the world, and I guess it's one of the greatest things in life."

Maud uttered a sharp sigh. "I don't see anything great in doing what one must," she said rather sadly. "It is very nice of you to admire women, but I expect it is chiefly because you don't understand them."

Jake's frank smile appeared at her words. "I'm not disputing that most women need a burden of some sort," he said gently. "I guess that's just a woman's way. She wouldn't be happy if she hadn't one."

"And yet you want to take mine away!" The words were out almost before she knew it. She repented them even as they fell.

Jake's smile passed, and an odd, dogged look took its place. "I reckon that's different," he said. "You've carried too heavy a burden all your life. Do you know, Maud"--his voice softened though his face remained unchanged--"that first time I saw you, I recognized that look of desperate endurance in your eyes that my mother used to have? It cut right through me. And you were so young, which made it worse."

"I don't feel young," she interposed.

"I know," he made answer. "You've missed it all. But when you're stronger--happier--you'll find you're not so old. There are quite a lot of good things in the world even for middle-aged folk like you and me."

She uttered a little dubious laugh.

"Yes, that's so," he asserted, in that calm, confident drawl of his. "And that brings me round to what I've been wanting to say to you. I don't want to deprive you of anything worth having, but I am wanting--real badly--to make a sound man of Bunny as soon as may be. Reckon you're wanting that too?"

Her heart gave a thick, hard throb. "Of course," she said rather breathlessly.

"Yes, of course," agreed Jake imperturbably. "Well, I had a letter last night from Capper, one of the biggest surgeons in the world. I had the good luck to do him a small service, once, and he can't somehow forget it. Now he's coming to England in a few weeks, and he'll look me up. I've told him about Bunny, and he's sort of interested. Say, Maud, it would be a mighty big thing to let him examine the little chap and see what he thinks."

Maud's face was very pale. She walked in silence.

Jake glanced at her. "You'd be afraid?" he suggested.

"I don't know," she said, in that same breathless tone. "It--it seems rather soon. And suppose--suppose he failed!"

"My dear," Jake said gently. "Capper won't fail. He'll either tackle the job and carry it through, or he won't attempt it. That's the sort of man he is."

Maud dropped back into silence. The road at this point was somewhat steep, and she was gasping for breath.

Suddenly Jake reached out, took her hand, and pulled it through his arm. "All right, my girl, all right!" he said kindly. "We won't hustle any. I shan't say another word to Bunny on the subject till you have made up your mind what you'd like done. Now you lean on me! I'll pull you up."

She did not want to lean on him, but for some reason she could not at once withdraw her hand. They mounted the hill side by side.

Jake said no more upon the subject. He evidently regarded it as closed. As they turned in at length at the white gates, he said: "I was wondering if your mother could be persuaded to come up to tea if I went and fetched her with the dog-cart. We couldn't squeeze Sheppard into that if we tried."

She knew that he made the suggestion solely for her pleasure, and a sudden warmth kindled within her.

"You are good to me, Jake!" she said gratefully.

"Oh, rats!" said Jake. "Being good to you is all one with being good to myself. I'll go then as soon as dinner is over. Now who in thunder--" He stopped abruptly gazing straight ahead.

A momentary frown drew his level brows and passed. "Hullo!" he said, in a soft drawl.

Maud was looking ahead too. She saw a man's figure moving towards them over the stones of the yard; she heard the ring of spurs. And suddenly she stood still, white to the lips, panting, unnerved.

It could have been only for a second, that pause of hers; for at once she was aware of Jake's hand pushed lightly through her arm, leading her forward.

"I guess I don't need to introduce Lord Saltash," he said. "You've met before."

Yes, they had met before, met and parted, and the memory of it stabbed her to the heart. She moved forward, as it were mechanically, under Jake's guidance. She had known that this ordeal would have to be faced, but it had taken her unawares. She was unprepared.

But the moment she heard his voice, his laugh, her agitation was gone. There was a subtle _camaraderie_ in Lord Saltash's greeting that smoothed the way. She remembered with a pang that it had ever been his custom to take the easiest course.

With his hand holding hers, and his ugly face laughing its debonair welcome into her own, she could not feel tragic or even disconcerted any longer, even though with his other hand he clapped Jake on the shoulder.

"So you've gone and got married, have you?" he said, his eyebrows working with monkeyish rapidity. "How original of you! I won't be banal enough to congratulate. It's such a bore to have to reply to that sort of thing. Let me wish you a happy Christmas instead! _Ma belle reine des roses, je te salue_! You are more faultily faultless than ever!"

He made her a sweeping, cavalier's bow, and lightly kissed her hand.

She laughed without effort. "How odd to meet you like this, Charlie! I thought you were still abroad."

She was not even aware of uttering his Christian name, so naturally did it rise to her lips. It seemed to her suddenly that the old cruel barrier had been removed. Since they could never again be lovers, they were free now to be friends.

Surely the same thought had struck him also, for his odd eyes smiled intimately, confidentially, into hers, ere he turned in his lightning fashion to Jake, standing solidly by her side.

"You knew we were old friends?" he questioned.

Jake's eyes, red-brown, intent, watched the swarthy, mobile face without the smallest shade of expression. "Yes," he said, in his slow soft voice, "I knew."

Maud glanced at him quickly. How much did he know? Had Bunny ever confided in him upon the subject?

But his face, absolutely composed and normal, told her nothing. He accepted the hand that Lord Saltash extended, looking him full and straight in the face. And through her mind unbidden there ran the memory of that strange story of treachery that Jake had once told to her and Bunny. Looking at the dark, keen countenance of this man who had once been so much more to her than friend, she tried to visualize his double, and failed utterly. Surely there could be but one Charlie Burchester in all the world!

"What are you trying to see?" laughed Lord Saltash. "I carry neither my virtues nor my vices in my face, being long past the ingenuous age. Have we time to go round the Stables? Or is your Christmas turkey clamouring to be eaten?"

Maud shot a swift look at Jake who after a momentary pause said, "I can go round with you now if you wish, my lord."

Saltash made a quick grimace. "That's very obliging of you, Bolton. But don't let me interfere with your domestic arrangements! I can come over again later."

It was then that Maud very quietly intervened. "If you care to join us at dinner I am sure we shall be very pleased, and you can go and see the stud afterwards."

"What! Really?" said Lord Saltash. "Of course I shall be delighted. There are to-morrow's events at Graydown, Bolton, I want you to post me up with the latest. Sure I shan't be in the way?"

He put the question directly to Jake, who replied without haste or hesitation: "I reckon no guest of ours could be that."

There was nothing in his manner to indicate if he were pleased or otherwise by the arrangement. He seemed to be in a mood of extreme reticence, and Maud wondered as they walked to the house if she had vexed him by taking upon herself to extend hospitality to his patron.

But then it had been the only course open to her. Surely he must see that! She and Charlie were such old friends; they could not begin to be strangers now.

Yet the doubt worried her. Jake was plainly not upon very intimate terms with Lord Saltash. Or was it her presence that caused constraint? She wished she knew, but she had no means of ascertaining. She could only do her best, ably seconded by Saltash, to smooth over any slight difficulties that might arise from a situation that was certainly none too easy.

Despite her efforts she could not fail to note that Jake was more self-contained, more unresponsive, than she had ever before seen him, and for a time she felt her own manner to be strained and unnatural in consequence.

Lord Saltash plainly noticed nothing. Throughout that Christmas dinner he was just as gay, as debonair, as audacious, as he had been in the old days, complimented her with his usual effrontery, provoked her to laughter with all his old quick wit. She found it impossible not to respond, impossible not to expand in the warmth of his good comradeship. She seemed to be drawn into a magic circle of gaiety that could not last, that was all the more precious because it could not last. Bunny also was well within that charmed region. He was full of animation, eager, excited, even merry. She had an uneasy fear that he would pay for his high spirits later, but for the time she had not the heart to check him. She understood his feelings so thoroughly. It was so good to have Charlie with them again and to bury all the troubles of the past, so good to see the flower of friendship spring from the dead root of passion. so good to be on easy terms again with this man whom in spite of everything, she could not but regard as a kindred spirit.

They had always been sympathetic. They looked upon much in life with the same eyes. They had the same tastes, the same intuitions, often the same impulses. Yes, he had shown himself unworthy. There was a fatal flaw in his character. He was wild, lawless, immoral; but he was her friend. Somehow she could not feel that anything could ever alter that. They had been too near, too intimate. He had become like one of the family. She could not regard him in any other light. He had wounded her to the heart, but yet, with a woman's odd faithfulness, she forgave him, pitied him, understood him. Only upon that one point she had stood firm. Her innate purity had arisen as an angel with a flaming sword, dividing them. She had not been able to overlook his sins and marry him. She had known him too well--too well. Possibly even she had loved him too well also.

But all that was over now. The pain was stifled, the sacrifice was past. She could suffer herself to accept his easy friendship with no dread for the future. She could let herself be at ease with him once more, knowing herself to be beyond his reach. Once very sorely she had been tempted to yield to him, but that temptation could never occur again. Her marriage was a safe anchor from which she could never break free and drift out to sea. She could afford now to be kind, since henceforth no more than kindness could ever be expected from her. And it was so good to be with him again. With all his waywardness and instability Charlie Burchester was the most satisfying friend she had. He never wearied her. He always caught and charmed her mood. He was so rarely sensitive, so delicately alive, to every change of feeling. There was even something almost uncanny sometimes in the way he read her woman's heart, a feat for which he himself accounted by declaring that they had been born under the same star.

It all came back to her as they sat at the same board on that Christmas Day. It was just as if there had never been any lift in their friendship. The memory of the man's passionate pleading and her own anguished refusal had faded into an evil dream. They were back once more in the old happy days of comradeship before he had ever spoken to her of love.

Only Jake's presence held her to the present, and when at the end of dinner he rose to carry out his suggestion with regard to fetching her mother in the dog-cart she felt, as soon as the door closed upon him, that the old life she knew and loved had wholly returned. She and Bunny and Saltash were just children together, and they settled down to enjoy themselves as such.