The Claw Part 40

"For _us_, Maurice. I think it is splendid of you to offer to go. It will be no child's play, but a brave, big thing. Whether you succeed or not no one will be prouder of you than I. It is the going that counts.

But I know you will succeed."

And indeed I had always known that I should see Anthony Kinsella again before I died.

Maurice and I were closer in spirit during the next few hours than we had ever been. They were hours of unceasing occupation, swift consideration and selection.

There was the route to be planned, and where to have horses waiting for him on his return; leave to be got from headquarters and arrangements to be made for his absence; double arms to be prepared, so that Anthony might be able to fight for himself if the need arose; food for two to be prepared and packed--medicines and bandages!

To avoid rousing the suspicions of any of the _Umlimo's_ spies that might be in the town, Maurice decided to leave about an hour after midnight, when all the boys were in their quarters asleep. Thus even speculation would be unaroused. Makupi was not to travel openly with him, but to meet him at various given points, guide him, and disappear again until they reached the final place selected to hide in until an opportunity for the rescue occurred.

There was little time for reflection during those rus.h.i.+ng hours of preparation: but when at last all was complete and ready for Maurice's departure within the hour, I had that to think on which gave me pause.

Handsome and business-like in his khaki and leather, my husband sat down at his desk to put in order some papers dealing with the police work during his absence. It would only take him a quarter of an hour or so he told me, then there would be time for a last talk together before his horse came round.

"Will you come to my room then?" I said in a low voice, and swiftly left him.

Strange thoughts were mine as I stood at my dressing-table, combing my hair with shaking hands, until the little short curls lay like wallflower petals on my forehead, and my ghostlike face was framed in waves of bronze. Yes, my face was ghostlike. I was obliged to take some powered rouge and introduce a subtle pale rose flush to the faint hollows of my cheeks, and with a little camel's-hair brush to outline carefully the curve of my white lips with liquid crimson. It was a difficult process for there was a mist before my eyes, and my hand trembled so much that I sometimes made a false line and had to wipe all out and begin again. For it would not do to let Maurice see that I had had recourse to make-up. His eyes were strangely keen those days, and his vision clear, like his skin. I wondered would he notice the look in my eyes. Within the next hour I must veil them often with my lashes lest they betray me.

When all was finished I was very charming to look at: a slim, subtle-looking woman, with bronze hair and a curved mouth, bare armed and white bosomed, in a low cut gown of black lace.

Only the strange shadow in my eyes could not be treated with. It looked out like a desperate hunted thing, but it would not come forth. I knew it well. It was the shadow of the soul I had given to Anthony Kinsella, awaiting affrightedly for the desolation I was going to work upon it before Anthony Kinsella came riding back into my life to claim it. It knew that I was resolute to sign and seal myself away to Maurice Stair before that hour, and it was sick unto death.

But the thing had to be. I had practically accepted it on that sinister night six months past, when the black vultures swarmed and the eyes of the Mother of Consolation terribly accused me. It had come nearer and nearer with every fresh victory Maurice gained over his devils. I had always known there was to be no escape. But, ah, G.o.d! why had I not embraced my fate before this hour in which I knew that Anthony still dreamed of me behind the hills?

Maurice came in, forage-cap in hand, riding-crop tucked under his arm, and stood by me in the place where six months before he had cowered, and I had spurned him with my foot. What a different man was this! Pride and _elan_ in his gait, and in the old enchanting smile upon his lips real chivalry at last. I felt my heart stir strangely, as very deliberately I put out both my hands to him. He took them, kissed them, and lightly let them fall again.

"Well! Expect us back in about a week, Deirdre. I shall not fail."

I stood looking at him with my lids drooped a little to hide my eyes.

Why had he let my hands fall so quickly? My first effort had gone astray.

"No, you will not fail, Maurice. You and the word 'failure' are never going to have anything to say to each other again. I am glad now that you are going alone, and will have all the honour and glory of it to yourself. I want people in this country to appreciate your courage before we leave it."

I thought of Dr Abingdon, and the other man on the Salisbury road. It was odd what a thrill of pride I felt that all the world would soon know that whatever had happened in the past, in the future none might ever again call this man coward.

"Leave it?" he said. "You still hold to that plan?"

"Of course." I looked at him in surprise. "Is it not all settled?

Didn't you speak to your chief about it on the wire this morning as you said you would?"

"No--I thought it had better wait over--until I came back you know."

"You should have done it at once, Maurice. I wanted to begin to do things--sorting, packing, arranging what we are going to take with us.

The delay about your resignation will keep us here months longer perhaps. Will you let me write it for you and send it in while you're away?"

"Oh! all right then," but his tone was still hesitating. I turned on him reproachfully. It seemed hard to have to be firm for him as well as myself.

"Is it that you have changed your mind again--after all our plans?"

"No, dear--but I don't want to fasten you down to anything we planned.

_You_ may want to change."

"Why should I?" I asked quietly. "Nothing is changed because of _this_: except that in our future life together we shall both be the happier for it."

He stood looking at me with glad though doubtful eyes then, tapping his gaiter with his crop. But always he stayed at a little distance, almost as though he feared I might touch him. I went over to him, and put my hands on his shoulders.

"That real life you and I are going to live presently, in--

"Some neater, sweeter country,-- Some greener, cleaner land."

My voice gave a little catch in my throat, but I struggled on.

"Life is full of possibilities for us, Maurice--I believe we are going to be very happy."

But he turned aside moodily, hanging his head a little. I had not seen him look like that for, many months.

"What is the good of pretending to me, Deirdre? I have been too bad a brute and a devil to you--and you love Kinsella--I know you can never love me."

His sullen misery made me take trembling resolution by the throat and vacillate no longer. I lied firmly, though my voice had a strange sound in my ears.

"Yes I can--I have already begun to love you. You have shown yourself worthy of any woman's love, Maurice, and who am I--?"

A cold hand gripped my heart; my soul cried out to me in its despair.

He stared at me amazedly for a moment, then caught me by the wrists, trying to look into my eyes. But I dared not let him see that stricken, dying thing.

"Is it true?--do you mean it?"

"Yes," I said suffocating, and sank half fainting to my bed. He still held my hands but he came no nearer, and for a moment a gleam of light radiated through the darkness; a little radiant bird of hope flew through my mind. Could it be that he no longer cared for me--that I had killed desire in him--that he would be content to go on for ever as we had lived, and never require of me this terrible immolation of body and soul? The thought unsealed my closed eyes, and I looked at him keenly.

But what I saw staring in _his_ eyes was not distaste nor hatred, but something no woman wishes to see except in the eyes of the man she adores. The hour for sacrifice had struck. I put up my arms and wound them round his neck.

"Kiss me, Maurice," I whispered, and drew him down beside me. He flung his arms about me and held me tight.

"Is it true? Do you mean it? You are going to give yourself to me at last--at last?"

"Yes--"

"When I come back?"

"No--" I tried to say a word that my stiff lips refused--"when you will."

Then he kissed me at last: terrible kisses that crushed my lips upon my clenched teeth, bruising and cutting them; that scorched my eyes and my throat.

"Say you love me," he demanded.