Barnaby Part 40

You made a gallant show. It almost deceived me, once or twice, almost made me believe you liked him.... Never mind that. Like a brave girl you've freed yourself from that intolerable position. And I'm here, Susan, where I always was, at your feet."

She lifted her head; a little, sad, desperate face upturned.

"Why must you insult me?" she said. "Is it because I am all alone?"

"I'm asking you to marry me," said Rackham.

She stared at him for a minute. His pursuit of her was not all selfish: there was an impatient fondness in his reckless face.

"I--?" she said faintly. "A woman of whom you know nothing but that she came among you as an impostor? You cannot mean what you say, Lord Rackham."

He broke in on her protestation roughly.

"Do you think I mind tattle?" he said. "Let their tongues wag. We'll hold up our heads and flout 'em. I'll leave it to Barnaby to find a way out of his muddle.--Lord, how it will puzzle them,--how they'll jabber when they see our marriage advertised in the _Morning Post_--!"

He was taking her a.s.sent for granted, arrogant in the heat of his headlong moment. Perhaps it did not strike him as possible that she would refuse. What woman in her plight would not lean gladly on the rescuer who came to offer her his kingdom? Perhaps he was blinded by his confidence in his luck.

"I--can't marry you!" she said.

Rackham did not fall back. He laughed indulgently. Was she troubled because of the world's opinion?

"Dear, silly child," he said. "Don't be frightened. I'll make them treat you properly. I'll make them swallow their amazement; and they shall be kind to you."

Yes, this man loved her. That was why she was afraid of him. She was not used to being loved like that. She had never learned to see in it help, instead of danger....

"I can't marry you," she repeated, but her breath came fast.

"Oh, but you must!" he said. "Fate is on my side. What kind of a struggle can you make against me all by yourself? I've found you, Susan, and I'll never let you go.... There's nothing too outrageous for me to undertake, and nothing on earth to stop me.--Your hands are trembling."

He bent to seize them in his, brus.h.i.+ng aside her mute defiance with his violent tenderness, as determined as Fate itself. Just for a minute she felt very tired in spirit, very weak to resist him. It was so strange, although it was terrible, to be loved. Why should any man care so deeply as to stand between her and the emptiness of the world?

Might she not, if she submitted, find the strange wors.h.i.+p sweet?

She did not know she was wavering until she understood his smile, and with that her heart was smitten by a fugitive likeness, a trick of manner, reminding her of another man. Uselessly, poignantly, memory stabbed her. She flung out these trembling hands.

"No!" she panted. The thought of it was unbearable. "I can't--I can't!"

He was taken aback by the vehemence of her cry. For a moment he did not speak, looking at her queerly. His laugh was angry.

"I've a great mind to bundle you into a cab and carry you off," he said. "Oh, they'd let me!--I've only to tell these people that you are my wife and a little mad. My tale would sound more probable than yours."

She was not sure that he was not in earnest. Panic-stricken she shook off his hold on her arm, meaning to pa.s.s him and reach the door.

Why?--To make a futile bid for sympathy in this house of strangers?--

Who was it that had turned the handle and was coming in? Her gaze was unbelieving; she could neither breathe nor stir till the suffocating leap of her heart a.s.sured her that it was true. For it was Barnaby himself who was standing in the doorway, just as he had stood on that night when she had seen him first. Only the look in his eyes was changed.

The same faintness overcame her that had stricken her down that night.

She did not know whose arms had caught her as she was falling ...

falling.... But she was afraid of nothing, though all was darkness.

"Your race, Barnaby," said Rackham.

CHAPTER XIV

"I knew we should get you back," said Lady Henrietta.

That had been her first word last night, and she repeated it with the emphasis of a prophetess justified. Still her clasp of the truant had been almost fierce.

The journey to London had done her no harm. Rather had all this excitement given her a fillip. There was a triumphant pink in her cheek, and amus.e.m.e.nt twinkled in the fine lines surrounding the corners of her eyes. Whilst Barnaby had been searching she had been busy, dealing with an imposing but worldly personage in gaiters, who had been an old admirer of hers and was her sworn ally. The situation charmed her; it was like a thrilling but perfectly righteous bit of intrigue.

Quizzically, delightedly, she was regarding Susan.

"Yes," she maintained. "I pinned my faith to that battered old brooch of mine. It's unlucky to wear, but still--when I remembered that it was doomed to come back to me I was tranquil. I knew it would."

She turned from one to the other, challenging them to mock at her superst.i.tion; and then she laughed.

"My dear!" she said. "I'll never forget his face when I was raging at him.--I blamed him, you may be sure. Or his voice when he called to me--'She has written!' I could get no more out of him till I lost my patience and cried--'Then for Heaven's sake read the letter and tell me what she says!' And when he said--'She says she has found out that my marriage was illegal' I could only exclaim--'Thank goodness!'"

She laughed again at her picture of his amazement.

"I shocked him awfully," she said. "But I was transported. It had solved a riddle.... 'So _that_ was the mysterious American business,'

I said, '_that_ is what was the matter! And she has rushed off and set you free and all the rest of it, you undeserving laggard! If that's all it can soon be mended.'--And then he woke up from his stupefaction.

But it was I who thought of the Bishop. It was I who suggested a special licence. I am the head conspirator, Susan,--and I'll go and put on my things."

She went, glancing back to them as she reached the door.

"Don't let her out of your sight, Barnaby," she said warningly, and left them together.

The girl stayed where she was, quite still; gazing down from the dizzy height of the window on the restless world in the streets below.

Barnaby was limping across to her side. She felt his touch on her shoulder.

"There's the church down there," he said. "Like an island in a whirlpool, isn't it? But all the roar and the rush dies down like the noise in a dream when you get inside. It's wonderfully dim and dark in there, and they're dusting the pews for us,--and there are a few lilies on the altar. And we'll just walk into it hand in hand."

Her breath came hurriedly, like a sob.

"Are you--sure?" she said.

"Ah," he reminded her, "I've never made love to you, have I, Susan?"

She could not answer him, knowing him so close; and she dared not look up at him. There was so much to remember, and she had begun to guess how dangerous it had been.... He laughed, and his hand leaned heavier on her shoulder.

"I've been hopping all over London like a mad cripple," he said, "and at last I've got you. I must hold on to you, or you'll manage to disappear. Why did you run away when you thought I couldn't follow?

It wasn't fair. Oh, my darling, couldn't you understand?"

His voice was not steady now; there was reproach in its pa.s.sionate undertone.

"I'm sorry," she said, and laid her cheek against his sleeve. This thing that was still too wonderful was true.