The Bars of Iron Part 36

"And now Avery,--dear Avery, will you forgive me for writing all this? I know you won't write to me, but I send my address in case! And I shall watch every mail day after day, night after night, for the letter that will never come.

"Pathetic picture, isn't it? Good-bye!

"PIERS.

"My love to the Queen of all good fairies, and tell Pixie that I hope the gloves fitted."

Avery's lips parted in a smile; a soft flush overspread her face. That costly gift from the children--she had guessed from the beginning whence it came.

And then slowly, even with reverence, she folded the letter up, and rose.

Her smile became a little tremulous. It had been a day of many troubles, and she was very tired. The boy's adoration was strangely sweet to her wearied senses. She felt subtly softened and tender towards him.

No, it must not be! It could not be! He must forget her. She would write to-morrow and tell him so. Yet for that one night the charm held her.

She viewed from afar an enchanted land--a land of suns.h.i.+ne and singing birds--a land where it was always spring. It was a country she had seen before, but only in her dreams. Her feet had never wandered there. The path she had followed had not led to it. Perhaps it was all a mirage.

Perhaps there was no path.

Yet in her dreams she crossed the boundary, and entered the forbidden land.

CHAPTER XXII

THE COMING OF A FRIEND

"Eternal suns.h.i.+ne!" said Piers, with a grimace at the deep, deep blue of the slumbering water that stretched below him to the horizon. "And at night eternal moons.h.i.+ne. Romantic but monotonous. I wonder if the post is in."

He cast an irresolute glance up the path behind him, but decided to remain where he was. He had looked so many times in vain.

There were a good many people in the hotel, but he was not feeling sociable. The night before he had dropped a considerable sum at the Casino, but it had not greatly interested him. Regretfully he had come to the conclusion that gambling in that form did not attract him. The greedy crowd that pushed and strove in the heated rooms, he regarded as downright revolting. He himself had been robbed with astonis.h.i.+ng audacity by a lady with painted eyes who had s.n.a.t.c.hed his only winnings before he could reach them. It was a small episode, and he had let it pa.s.s, but it had not rendered the tables more attractive. He had in fact left them in utter disgust.

Altogether he was feeling decidedly out of tune with his surroundings that morning, and the beauty of the scene irritated rather than soothed him. In the garden a short distance from him, a voluble French party were chattering with great animation and a good deal of cackling laughter. He wondered what on earth they found to amuse them so persistently. He also wondered if a swim in that faultless blue would do anything to improve his temper, and decided with another wry grimace that it was hardly worth while to try.

It was at this point that there fell a step on the winding path below him that led down amongst shrubs to the sea. The top of a Panama hat caught Piers' attention. He watched it idly as it ascended, speculating without much interest as to the face beneath it. It mounted with the utmost steadiness, neither hastening nor lingering. There was something about its unvarying progress that struck Piers as British. His interest increased at once. He suddenly discovered that he wanted someone British to talk to, forgetting the fact that he had fled but ten minutes before from the boring society of an Anglo-Indian colonel.

The man in the Panama came nearer. Piers from above began to have a glimpse of a tweed coat and a strong brown hand that swung in time to the steady stride. The path curved immediately below him, and the last few yards of it led directly to the spot on which he stood. As the stranger rounded the curve he came into full view.

He was a big man, broadly built and powerful. His whole personality was suggestive of squareness. And yet to Piers' critical eyes he did not look wholly British. His gait was that of a man accustomed to long hours in the saddle. Under the turned-down Panama the square, determined chin showed ma.s.sively. It was a chin that obviously required constant shaving.

Quietly the man drew near. He did not see Piers under his lowered hat-brim till he was within a few feet of him. Then, becoming suddenly aware of him, he raised his eyes. A moment later, his hand went up in a brief, friendly salute.

Piers' hand made instant response. "Splendid morning!" he began to say--and stopped with the words half-uttered. The blood surged up to his forehead in a great wave. "Good Heavens!" he said instead.

The other man paused. He did not look at Piers very narrowly, but merely glanced towards him and then turned his eyes towards the wonderful, far-stretching blue below them.

"Yes, splendid," he said quietly. "Worth remembering--a scene like this."

His tone was absolutely impersonal. He stood beside Piers for a moment or two, gazing forth into the infinite distance; then with a slight gesture of leave-taking he turned as if to continue his progress.

In that instant, however, Piers recovered himself sufficiently to speak.

His face was still deeply flushed, but his voice was steady enough as he turned fully and addressed the new-comer.

"Don't you know me? We have met before."

The other man stopped at once. He held out his hand. "Yes, of course I know you--knew you the moment I set eyes on you. But I wasn't sure that you would care to be recognized by me."

"What on earth do you take me for?" said Piers bluntly.

He gripped the hand hard, looking straight into the calm eyes with a curious sense of being sustained thereby. "I believe," he said, with an odd impulse of impetuosity, "that you are the one man in the world that I couldn't be other than pleased to see."

The elder man smiled. "That's very kind of you," he said.

He had the slow speech of one accustomed to solitude. He kept Piers' hand in his in a warm, firm grip. "I have often thought about you," he said.

"You know, I never heard your name."

"My name is Evesham," said Piers, with the quick, gracious manner habitual to him. "Piers Evesham."

"Thank you. Mine is Edmund Crowther. Odd that we should meet like this!"

"A piece of luck I didn't expect!" said Piers boyishly. "Have you only just arrived?"

"I came here last night from Ma.r.s.eilles." Crowther's eyes rested on the smiling face with its proud, patrician features with the look of a man examining a perfect bronze. "It's very kind of you to welcome me like this," he said. "I was feeling a stranger in a strange land as I came up that path."

"I've been watching you," said Piers. "I liked the business-like way you tackled it. It was British."

Crowther smiled. "I suppose it has become second nature with me to put business first," he said.

"Wish I could say the same," said Piers; and then, with his hand on the other man's arm: "Come and have a drink! You are staying for some time, I hope?"

"No, not for long," said Crowther. "It was yielding to temptation to come here at all."

"Are you alone?" asked Piers.

"Quite alone."

"Then there's no occasion to hurry," said Piers. "You stay here for a bit, and kill time with me."

"I never kill time," said Crowther deliberately. "It's too scarce a commodity."

"It is when you're happy," said Piers.

Crowther looked at him with a question in his eyes that he did not put into words, and in answer to which Piers laughed a reckless laugh.

They were walking side by side up the hotel-garden, and each successive group of visitors that they pa.s.sed turned to stare. For both men were in a fas.h.i.+on remarkable. The ma.s.sive strength of the elder with his square, dogged face and purposeful stride; the lithe, muscular power of the younger with his superb carriage and haughty n.o.bility of feature, formed a contrast as complete as it was arresting.

They ascended the steps that led up to the terrace, and here Piers paused. "You sit down here while I go and order drinks! Here's a comfortable seat, and here's an English paper!"

He thrust it into Crowther's hand and departed with a careless whistle on his lips. But Crowther did not look at the paper. His eyes followed Piers as long as he was in sight, and then with that look in them as of one who watches from afar turned contemplatively towards the sea. After a little he took his hat off and suffered the morning-breeze to blow across his forehead. He had the serene brow of a child, though the hair above it was broadly streaked with grey.