Chapter XXXVI: The Bond

"I have called him The Hundredth Chance," said Jake. "But I guess he is going to be a winner."

He was stooping over a tiny black foal that stood with trembling legs pressed against its mother's flank. She was looking round at the master with questioning eyes. Even he was only allowed in the loose-box on suffrance.

"You're very hopeful," said Capper.

He stood leaning on the half-door, looking in upon Jake's latest treasure.

Maud was standing with him, but slightly apart, fondling the red setter Chops who fawned about her knees. Chops had been unfeignedly delighted to see her again, and he could not desist from telling her so. She had bid good-bye to Bunny till the morrow, but she had made no definite arrangements for leaving the Castle, and even yet she was wondering if she might not manage to return for that one last night of her brother's sojourn there.

Jake had received her without comment when she had arrived with Capper half an hour before. She fancied his manner was somewhat guarded, but he treated her as if he had expected her and her coming had caused him no surprise.

Upon an ordinary occasion she would have been charmed with the sight of the week-old foal that Jake had brought them thither to see, but at the moment she was too stiff with shy reserve to enjoy it. So she stood apart instead while Jake talked in his soft voice to the doctor, striving to hide her embarrassment in murmured endearments to Chops.

"Oh yes, the dam's a blood mare," Jake was saying, "the most valuable animal we have. She's a mass of nerves, unfortunately. We've had a lot of trouble with her."

He stretched a fondling hand to the creature's enquiring muzzle. She laid her ears for a moment, but the next her tongue came out and softly licked first his fingers and then the wistful black face of her offspring.

Jake smiled and stood up. "She's a good mother, Doctor. I like a good mother," he said.

His eyes fell on Maud, bending low with flushed face over the dog. A momentary shadow crossed his face. He had counted upon a greater enthusiasm on her part. Never before had she failed to take a keen interest in the animals. "Reckon we'd better go in and get some supper," he said.

They went in. The spring twilight was falling and with it a brief shower that pattered awhile and was stayed. Down in the orchard the blackbirds were singing in a wonderful chorus that seemed to fill all the world with music. The scents that rose from the rain-steeped earth were of that wondrous fragrance that holds the senses spellbound in the magic of Spring.

From somewhere near the open French window there came the breath of violets, and from a little further away, subtly mingling with it, the incense of wallflowers, all wet and luscious from the damp, sweet earth.

"A wonderful season," said Capper.

Jake smiled somewhat grimly. "A stormy May," he said.

The meal was of the simplest, served by Mrs. Lovelace in her best gown of black sateen. Her plump face wore a pursed look of peculiar severity. Maud, very pale and still, at the end of the table, gave her a murmured greeting which called forth a very grim response.

Jake was apparently at his ease, but he made no attempt to draw his wife into the conversation. He talked to Capper or was silent. He was still wearing the riding-costume with which she always associated him. She heard the clink of his spurs whenever he moved.

Capper was very gentle with her, full of kindly consideration. There were no difficult pauses. To a casual observer there would have been no evidence of strain. Only to the girl, sitting there at her husband's table, a stranger, was it almost insupportable. She did not know how she came through the meal, nor was she aware of eating anything. When it was over at last, she was thankful to rise and go.

She took refuge upstairs in the room that had been Bunny's, standing there in darkness, striving with herself, fighting desperately for composure. What was expected of her she did not know, whether to go or to remain. The impulse to go strongly urged her, but she held it back. There was the morrow to be thought of, the morrow to be faced, and she had a feeling--a dreadful, growing suspicion--that Jake was drawing to the end of his patience. Not that he had betrayed it by word or look; only he seemed to be waiting, waiting with an iron determination that no action of hers could baulk. She felt that if she fled from him to-night, she would never dare to face him again.

The thought of Charlie arose within her, Charlie, careless, debonair, gay of soul. He had offered her his protection. Should she go to him--even now? Could she? Dared she?

The temptation drew her, drew her. She knew Charlie so well. She was sure he would be chivalrous. She was sure she could count upon him. But his protection--what was it worth?

Now that she had seen Jake, had felt the primitive force of the man anew, her heart misgave her. She was possessed by the appalling conviction that in the matter of lawlessness Jake could outdo Charlie many times over, if once roused. No trammels of civilization would hold him. He would go straight for his prey, and no power on earth would turn him aside, or make him relinquish his hold till he had wreaked his vengeance.

For the first time it occurred to her that it might not be upon herself alone that that vengeance would fall. A great shudder went through her. She quivered all over, and turning crept to the bed and crouched beside it. She was terrified, unnerved, despairing. Her own wickedness frightened her, so that she could not even pray for help. She knew not which way to turn.

A long time passed thus; then there came a step upon the stair, a steady, quiet step. A hand pushed open the door.

"Say, Maud, are you here?" Jake said.

She tried to answer him, but could not. She knew that the moment she spoke, she would betray herself.

He came forward into the room. She saw his square figure against the light outside the door.

"Capper has gone back," he said. "He wouldn't stay any longer."

That startled her to a tragic activity. She sprang up in wild dismay. "Dr. Capper--gone! I--I thought he was spending the night!"

"I wanted him to," said Jake. "He wouldn't. He said I was to wish you good-night, and thank you for your hospitality."

Maud stood still, her hands at her throat. For the moment she was too electrified for speech. Then anger--bitter, furious resentment--came to her aid.

"So you brought me here by--a trick!" she said, her voice pitched very low but full of a quivering abhorrence that must have reached him where he stood.

"I don't know what you mean," said Jake. His voice was curt and cool; he spoke without the smallest evidence of indignation or constraint. "I never asked you to come, nor did I ask Capper to bring you. I presume you were a free agent so far as that goes. But since you are here there is not much point in running away again. It's here that you belong."

The finality of his speech came upon her with stunning force. It had the dead level of absolute assurance. As he made it, he came forward into the room, and she heard the rattle of his matchbox as he drew it forth.

She stood and waited tensely while he deliberately struck a match and lighted one of the candles upon the mantel-piece. All the blood in her body seemed to be throbbing at her throat. She had not been alone with him for weeks. She had never been alone with him as she was to-night.

The light from the candle showed her the room prepared as for a guest. The chintz covers were all newly-starched, and from the bed there seemed to come a subtle scent of lavender. The lattice-window was wide to the night, and from far away there rose the long deep roar of the sea.

Jake turned from the lighted candle, and pointed to a low chair by the bed. "Sit down!" he said. "There's something I've got to say to you."

She looked at him with hunted eyes. She thought his face was very grim, but the dim flickering light threw strange shadows upon it, baffling her.

He came to her as she still remained upon her feet, took her between his hands, and held her so, facing him.

"Say, now," he said, and a hint of half-coaxing kindliness softened the measured resolution of his speech, "where's the sense of fighting when you know you can't win? You're not a very good loser, my girl. But I reckon it's just a woman's way. I won't be hard on you on that account."

She drew back from him swiftly, with the old, instinctive shrinking from the man's overwhelming force of personality.

"Oh, need we talk about that now?" she said hurriedly. "I--there is still Bunny to think of. It is his last night, and--and--and----"

She broke off with a sound half-choked that was almost a cry. For Jake's hands were holding her, drawing her, compelling her. She realized that in another moment she would be in his arms. She set her quivering hands against his shoulders, pushing him from her with all her strength.

He set her free then, with a gesture half-contemptuous. "So it's to be the same old fool game to the bitter end, is it?" he asked, and she caught in his voice a new note as of anger barely held in check. "Well, I reckon it's up to you to make good sooner or later. It was not my intention to hold you down to that bargain of ours; but if you must have it, you shall. I want to know when you propose to make good."

She shrank away from him in quivering disgust. "Oh, never, never!" she said.

The words rushed out almost against her will, and the moment they were uttered she wished them back. For Jake's eyes leapt into sudden furious flame, such flame as seemed to scorch her from head to foot. He did not speak at once, but stood looking at her, looking at her, while the awful seconds crept away.

At last, "It's rather--rash of you to put it that way," he said, and there was a faintly humorous sound in his voice as though he restrained a laugh. "So you're not--a woman of your word after all? That's queer--damn' queer. I could have sworn you were."

She wrung her hands hard together in a desperate effort at self-control. "Oh, Jake," she said piteously, "it isn't my fault that we're not made of the same stuff, indeed--indeed! You--you wouldn't ask the impossible of me!"

"P'raps not," said Jake, and now he spoke in the old soft drawl that she knew well as a cloak to unwavering determination. "But has it never occurred to you that I might leave asking and just--take?"

She recoiled further from him. The man's deadly assurance appalled her. She had no weapon to oppose against it. And his eyes were as a red-hot furnace into which she dared not look.

"Now, listen to me!" he suddenly said. "There's been enough of this fooling around--more than enough. I've put up with it so far, but there's a limit to everything. The time has come for you to remember that you are my wife, I am your husband. We may not be over well suited to one another, as you have pointed out. But the bond exists and we have got to make the best of it. And so you will not go back to the Castle to-night. You will stay here under your husband's roof, and fill your rightful place by my side. Is that understood?"

He spoke with the utmost decision; and Maud, white to the lips, attempted no reply. She had made her appeal, and he had not heard it. She knew with sure intuition that further resistance would be useless. She had staked all, and she had lost. In that moment she saw her life a heap of ruins, blasted by a devastating tempest that had scattered to the four winds all that she had ever held precious. And nothing was left to her. Nothing of value could ever be hers again. Only out of the smoking ruins there presently arose one thing--a poison plant--that was to flourish in the midst of desolation. Out of the furnace of a man's unshackled passion it sprang to full growth in a single night ready to bear its evil fruit when time should have made it ripe.

The seed of it had been sown by Saltash. The tropical raising of it was the work of Jake Bolton. The nourishing of it was left to Maud. But the final ingathering of that bitter harvest was to fall to the lot of all three.