Chapter XXXI: The New Boss

What was that red light burning? Symbol of undying Love! Symbol of the Immortal! The Lamp that burns for ever before the High Altar of Heaven!

Over the wide, sandy desert it shone, the only light in leagues and leagues of darkness. A great many wayfarers were drawing towards it, but they were very far away from it and from each other. Billows and billows of sandy waste stretched between. But they could all see the lamp. It shone like a red, still beacon, giving light to the outcast, guiding the feet of the wanderers.

Ah, the long sandy ridges--how weary for the feet! Who could have faced the journey if God had not lifted up that lamp in the desert? Who could ever have hoped to reach the goal? Even as it was, the journey was long--so long, and the light so far away!

Who was that speaking? Was it the Voice that had not sounded in tempest or fire, but only at the very last, when all other things were past? "Love is only gained by Love,--by the complete renunciation of self. Love is a joyful sacrifice,--to give and give without measure, not counting the cost, rejoicing only in the power to give, till it all comes back a thousand-fold--Love the Invincible. Love the Divine, Love the Perfect Gift."

Surely it was Love Itself that spoke those words--Love that had raised that eternal beacon--Love that drew the pilgrims out of the long, dark night! And the sandy desert faded and became a garden where white lilies bloomed--lilies that faded not, such lilies as decked the High Altar of Heaven.

There were no wayfarers here. There was no journeying for tired feet. Only a peace ineffable, beyond the power of words to describe. The lilies grew tall and white, unspeakably pure, fairer than any earthly flowers, dazzling in splendour, decked in holiness. Very peaceful was that quiet garden, with no song of birds to break the stillness, no whisper of fountains, no faintest echo of voices. Perfect rest was there, a calm as the calm of still waters, a hush that was Divine. Like a veil the solitude lay spread, stretching into the great spaces of eternity. And the lilies stood waiting, waiting, to be laid upon the Altar of God.

How long had they stood waiting thus? Were they yet not pure enough? How long had they still to wait? Would the gates of that garden never open and the angel that served the Altar come to gather the flowers? Ah! Surely they were opening now! There came a waft of air, the scent and sound of the earth. But no one entered, and the lilies never stirred. Only the gates remained open, and the peace that wrapt the garden quivered like a filmy veil.

Very far away from that quiet place someone was calling, calling. At first it was suggestion rather than sound, a vague murmur from the old, sad world so many millions of miles away. But gradually it grew till it seemed the echo of a cry, and at last the cry itself became articulate,--a cry of anguish rising from the void.

"Come back! Come back! O God, send her back to me! Send her back!"

The lilies were moving now. They seemed to be listening, whispering together. The wind that blew through the open gates rustled among their ranks. Someone was lost then. Someone was wanted. Someone was sought through the great spaces of eternity. Was it a sod that had drifted free too soon? Would the searcher ever find that drifting soul? Did the one great Bond that nought could ever sever hang between them, linking each to each? It was only by the drawing closer of this Bond that they would ever find each other.

And the way back was long and dark and stormy. Other worlds were there, other worlds and other voices. And once there came a great sound of singing as of men and angels praising God before the High Altar of Heaven.

Then the darkness of earth rushed upwards like the smoke from a mighty furnace, and all was blotted out....

Someone was holding her. Someone was whispering her name. She opened her eyes upon the old world of cloud and sunshine, and knew that the Bond had brought her back. Through all the great spaces of Eternity he bad drawn her to his side. She looked into his face, and it was the face of a man who had suffered agony.

"Thank God!" he said. "O thank God!"

Then she remembered in what cause she had spent herself. "What of--The Hundredth Chance?" she said.

He caught his breath. His lips were quivering. "He's safe enough. But--my girl--what made you do it?"

She looked at him wonderingly. "But it was all I could do," she said.

He bent his head over something that he was holding, and it came to her with a little start of surprise that it was her own hand swathed in bandages.

"Oh, Jake," she said, "am I ill? Have I been hurt?"

He did not look at her. "Thank God, not seriously," he said, speaking with an odd jerkiness. "The colt knocked you down. You were stunned. You scorched your hands over that infernal bolt. But the wind blew the fire away from you. You weren't actually burnt."

"Is the fire out?" she asked anxiously. "Tell me what happened!"

Jake's head was still bent. She thought that he suppressed a shudder. "Yes, they soon got it under. There wasn't much left to burn that side. It was a good thing the wind held, or the whole show might have been gutted. It's all safe now."

Maud's eyes wandered round the panelled parlour and came back to his bent head. "I feel so strange," she said, "as if I had been a long, long journey, and as if it had all happened ages and ages ago. Is it so very long ago, Jake?"

"About four hours," said Jake. "Dr. Burrowes has been in. He chanced to be passing in his dog-cart. He was on his way to a case, and couldn't stay except to give you first aid. He is coming back presently."

"And you have been here with me ever since?" she said, with a touch of shyness. "Didn't you want to be looking after the animals?"

He shook his head, gazing steadily downwards.

"Have you been--anxious about me, Jake?" she whispered.

"Yes." Just the one word spoken with an almost savage emphasis.

"But Dr. Burrowes must have known if--if I were in any danger," she said.

He answered her with what she felt to be a great effort. "Burrowes was anxious too. He was afraid of the shock for you. He thought there was--danger."

She moved her hand a little, and in a moment, as though he feared to hurt her, he laid it gently down.

"I am so sorry you have been worried about me," she said.

"It doesn't matter now," said Jake. He reached out for a glass that stood on the table. "Burrowes left this for you. Can you manage to drink it?"

He held it to her lips with a hand that was not so steady as usual. She drank and felt revived.

Her brain was becoming more active. There was something in Jake's attitude that required explanation. "I am better now," she said. "Tell me a little more! How did I get here? Who found me?"

"I found you. The Hundredth Chance came tearing out. We had some trouble to catch him. And then one of the boys suddenly said--" Jake stopped and swallowed hard--"said--said you had been in the yard, and must have set him free. I--got to you--just in time."

"You saved me?" she said swiftly.

He nodded.

She raised herself, leaning towards him. "Jake! Were you hurt?"

"No." He kept his eyes stubbornly lowered.

"No one has been hurt?" she persisted.

"No one but you." His tone was almost surly.

But something urged her on. "Jake," she said wistfully, "aren't you glad your animals are all safe?"

"They belong to the new boss," he said doggedly. "They don't belong to me."

Her face changed a little. "I think they belong to you first, Jake," she said. "You love them so."

He made a sharp gesture. "It's quite likely the new boss will tell me to shunt."

"Oh, he won't do that, Jake!" she protested quickly. "I'm sure he won't do that. You--you are one of the best trainers in England."

His mouth twitched a little; she thought he wryly smiled. "One of the best blackguards too, my girl," he said grimly.

She opened her eyes in surprise. "Jake, what do you mean? Are people saying hateful things against you?"

He gripped his hands between his knees. "It ain't that I meant. People can say what they damn please. No, it's just my own estimate of myself. I'm going to chuck the animals. They've come near costing me too dear. I'm going to give in to you now. You can do what you like with me. I'll serve you to the best of my ability, fetch and carry and generally wait around on you till you're tired of me. Then I'll go."

"Jake! Jake!" She was half-laughing, but there was remonstrance in her voice. "But I never wanted you to give up the animals. Why, I don't believe you could live without them, could you?"

He gave himself an odd, half-angry shake. "I've done with 'em!" he declared almost fiercely. "I can't serve two masters. If the new boss don't chuck me, I shall chuck him."

"But the horses, Jake!" she urged. "And The Hundredth Chance! You can't be in earnest. You--you have always loved them better than anything else in the world!"

He winced sharply. "You're wrong! And I am in earnest. If--if you had lost your life over the colt, I'd have shot him first and myself after. What sort of brute do you take me for? Do you think I'm without any heart at all? All animal and no heart?"

The question was passionate, but yet he did not look at her as he uttered it. He was gazing downwards at his clenched hands.

He was formidable at that moment, but she did not shrink from him. Rather she drew nearer. "Of course I don't think so," she said. "But--but--am I first with you, Jake? Am I really first?"

He made a choked sound in his throat as if many emotions struggled for utterance. Then, almost under his breath, "An easy first!" he muttered. "An easy first!"

Her bandaged hand slipped on to his arm. Her eyes were shining. "Oh, Jake, thank you for telling me that," she said. "You--I know you didn't want to tell me. And--now--I've got to tell you something--that I don't want to tell you either--that I don't know how to tell you. Oh, Jake, do help me! Don't--don't be angry!"

He turned towards her, but he did not lift his eyes. He seemed almost afraid to look her in the face. "My girl, you've no call to be afraid of me," he said.

But there was constraint in his tone, constraint in his attitude, and her heart sank.

"I'm so--horribly afraid--of hurting you," she said.

A faint, faint gleam of humour crossed his face. "Oh, I guess I'm down," he said. "You needn't be afraid of that either."

She tried to clasp his arm. "Jake, if--if I really come first with you, perhaps--perhaps--you'll be able to forgive me. It's because you came first with me too--a very, very long way first--" her voice shook--"that I was able to do it. It's because I wanted you to have what you wanted without--without feeling under an obligation to me or anyone. It's because--because your happiness is more to me--a thousand times more--than anything else in the world!" Her breast began to heave; Jake's eyes were suddenly upon her, but it was she who could not, dared not meet their look. "Ah, I haven't told you yet!" she said brokenly. "How shall I tell you? It's--it's the animals, Jake. It's the Stud!"

"What about the Stud?" he said. His voice was sunk very low, it sounded stern.

With a great effort she mastered her agitation and answered him. "It's yours, Jake, all yours. The new boss is--is just an invention of Mr. Rafford's. You--you are--the new boss."

"What?" he said.

He got up suddenly, with a movement that verged upon violence, and stood over her, she felt, almost threateningly.

Through quivering distress she answered him again.

"I've played a double game. I met Mr. Rafford first at Liverpool and then I chanced to meet him again here after--after you had refused to have my money. And he was kind and sympathetic and offered to help me. I wanted you so to have the horses. And I couldn't bear to think that you should lose them through me. Oh, Jake, don't look so--so terrible!"

She sank back panting on her cushions. That one brief glimpse of his face had appalled her. He had the look of a man hard pressed and nearing the end of his strength. She saw that his hands were clenched.

He spoke after several tense seconds. "Why have you done this thing?"

She made a piteous gesture. "Oh, Jake, only--only because I loved you."

"Only!" he said, and with the word she saw his hand unclench.

For a moment a wild uncertainty possessed her, and then it was gone. Jake dropped down on his knees beside her and took her into his arms.

"Maud--" he said, and again "Maud!"

But no further words would come. His voice broke. He hid his face against her breast with a great sob.

Her arms were round his neck in an instant, her cheek was pressed against his hair. All doubts were gone forever. "My darling!" she whispered. "My darling!"

And through the great storm of emotion that shook Jake, she said the soft words over and over, holding his head against her heart, kissing the cropped hair above his temple, drawing him nearer, ever nearer, to the inner sanctuary of her soul, till at length by the shattering of her own reserve she broke down the last of his also. He lifted his face to her with no attempt to hide his tears, and in the long, long kiss that passed between them they found each other at last where the sand of the desert turns to gold.