He came to her; he stood before her. "Anne," he said, "forgive me!"

She gazed at him in astonishment. "Forgive you!" she repeated. "But why?"

"I have no right to practise the black arts in your presence," he said, "though as a matter of fact there was no other way. I've frightened the poor devil out of his senses. Aren't you frightened too?"

"I don't understand," she answered rather piteously. "I am only thankful that you are not hurt."

"That's good of you," he said, and she heard no irony in his voice. He leaned his arms upon the rail beside her, and stared down in silence for several moments into the dark water. "If this had happened a week--less than a week--ago," he said at length, speaking very quietly, "I would have let the fellow knife me with the utmost pleasure. I should even have been grateful to him. And"--he turned very slightly towards her--"you would have had cause for grat.i.tude too, for Luke would have been with you to-day."

She shrank a little at his words. "I don't understand," she said again.

He stood up and faced her with abrupt resolution. "I am going to make you understand," he said, "once and for all. It's a rather hideous recital, but you had better hear it. I will condense it as much as possible. I've been an evil brute all my life, but I guess you know that already. The first time I saw you I wanted to ruin you. I never meant to fall in love with you. I kicked against it--kicked hard. Good women always exasperated me. But I wanted a new sensation, and, by heaven, I got it!"

He paused a moment, and she saw his grim features relax very slightly. "I was caught in my own net," he said. "I believe there is magic in you. You captured me anyway. I did homage to you--in spite of myself. After that night the relish went out of everything for me. I wanted only you."

Again he paused, but she said nothing. She was listening with her steadfast eyes upon him.

"But you kept me at a distance," he said, "and I couldn't help myself.

That was the maddening part of it. Lucas knew even then--or suspected.

But he didn't interfere. He saw you were taming me. And so you were--so you were. But that thrashing upset everything. It drove me mad. I was crazy for revenge. Lucas made me go away, but I couldn't stay. I was like a man possessed. My hatred for your husband had swamped my love for you.

You have got to know it, Anne; I am like that. I wanted to wreak my vengeance on him through you, because I knew--by then--that I had somehow reached your heart. And so I came to you--I saw you--and then I couldn't do it. Your love--I suppose I may call it that?--barred the way. It was your safeguard. You trusted me, and for that I wanted to fall down and worship you. But you sent me away--I had to go. You made a man of me. I lived a clean life because of you. I was your slave. I believe I should have remained so if your husband had died then. But the knowledge that he was coming back to you was too much for me. I couldn't stand that. I broke free."

He stopped suddenly and brought his clenched fist down upon the rail as if physical pain were a relief to his soul.

"I needn't go into what happened then," he said. "You saw me at my worst, and--you conquered me. You drove me out of your stronghold, and you locked the door. I don't know even now how you did it. None but a good woman would have dared. Do you know, when I came to my senses and knew what I had done, knew that I'd insulted you, killed your trust--your love, made you despise me, I nearly shot myself? It was Dot who kept me from that. She guessed, I suppose. And I went away--I went right away into the Rockies--and fought my devils there. I came back saner than you have ever known me, to hear that you were free. Can you believe that I actually told myself that you were mine--mine for the winning? I stretched out my hands to you across half the world, and I felt as if wherever you were I had somehow managed to reach and touch you. It was exactly a year from the day I had first met you."

"Ah, I remember!" Anne said, her voice quick with pain; but she did not tell him what she remembered.

He went on rapidly, as if she had not spoken. "And then I came to you.

And--I found--I found Luke--in possession. Well, that was the end of everything for me. I couldn't help knowing that it was the best thing that could possibly happen to either of you. And I--well, I was just out of it. I would have gone again that night, but Luke wouldn't have it. He suspected from the first, though I lied to him--I lied royally. But I couldn't keep it up. He was too many for me. He wouldn't let me drop out, but neither would I let him. I fought every inch. I wouldn't let him die.

I held him night and day--night and day. I knew what it meant to you too, and I knew you would help me afterwards to drop out. My whole soul was in it, but even so, I couldn't hold on for ever. I had to slacken at last, and he--he slackened too. I knew it directly, felt him losing hold. That was two days before he died. And I pulled myself together and grabbed him again. I think he knew. He tried to wake up, said he'd get well, made me let go of him, made me explain things to you. And then--well, I guess he thought his part was done--so he just--let go."

Abruptly he turned from her and leaned again upon the rail, lodging his head on his hands. "That's all," he said. "But if Tawny had taken it into his fool brain to make an end of me a little sooner--as I meant him to--I know very well Luke would have hung on--somehow--for your sake. Oh, I wish to heaven he had!" he burst out fiercely. "I'm not fit to speak to you, not fit to touch your hand. You--you--I believe you'd be kind to me if I would let you. But I won't--I won't! I'm going away. It rests with me now to protect you somehow, and there is no other way."

He ceased to speak, and in the silence she watched his bent head, greatly wondering, deeply pitying. When he stood up again she knew that the tumult that tore his soul had been forced down out of sight.

"You see how it is with me, Anne," he said very sadly. "Tawny Hudson thinks I'm a devil, and I'm not sure--even now--that he isn't right.

That's why I'm going away. I won't have you trust me, for I can't trust myself. And you have no one to protect you from me. So you won't blame me for going? You'll understand?"

His words went straight to her heart. She felt the quick tears rising, but she kept them back. She knew that he needed strength from her just then.

And so, after a moment, she commanded herself, and answered him.

"I think you are quite right to go, Nap. And--yes, I understand.

Only--some day--some day--come back again!"

He leaned towards her. His face had flashed into sudden vitality at her words. He made a movement as if he would take her into his arms. And then abruptly, almost with violence, he withdrew himself, and gripped his hands together behind him.

Standing so, with the moonlight shining on his face, he showed her that which her heart ached to see. For though the dusky eyes were fixed and still, unveiled but unrevealing, though the high cheek-bones and lantern jaw were grim as beaten bra.s.s, she had a glimpse beyond of the seething, volcanic fires she dreaded, and she knew that he had spoken the truth. It was better for them both that he should go.

"I will come back to you, Anne," he said, speaking very steadily. "I will come back to you--if I find I can."

It was final, and she knew it. She held out her hand to him in silence, and he, stooping, pressed it dumbly against his lips.

Thereafter they walked back to the house together, and parted without a word.

CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE FURNACE

Capper looked round with a certain keenness that was not untouched with curiosity when Nap unexpectedly followed him to his room that night.

"Are you wanting anything?" he demanded, with his customary directness.

"Nothing much," Nap said. "You might give me a sleeping-draught if you're disposed to be charitable. I seem to have lost the knack of going to sleep. What I really came to say was that Hudson will go with you to-morrow if you will be good enough to put up with him. He won't give you any trouble. I would let him go with me next week if his wits would stand the strain of travelling in my company, but I don't think they will. I don't want to turn him into a gibbering maniac if I can help it."

"What have you been doing to him?" said Capper.

Nap smiled, faintly contemptous. "My dear doctor, I never do anything to anybody. If people choose to credit me with possessing unholy powers, you will allow that I am scarcely to be blamed if the temptation to trade now and then upon their fertile imaginations proves too much for me."

"I allow nothing," Capper said, "that is not strictly normal and wholesome."

"Then that places me on the black list at once," remarked Nap.

"Good-night!"

"Stay a moment!" ordered Capper. "Let me look at you. If you will promise to behave like an ordinary human being for once, I'll give you that draught."

"I'll promise anything you like," said Nap, a shade of weariness in his voice. "I'm going up to town to-morrow, and I never sleep there so I reckon this is my last chance for some time to come."

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" asked Capper abruptly.

But Nap only threw up his head and laughed. "If that were my object I'd take a shorter cut than this. No, I guess I shan't die this way, Doctor.

You seem to forget the fact that I'm as tough as leather, with the vitality of a serpent."

"The toughest of us won't go for ever," observed Capper. "You get to bed.

I'll come to you directly."

When he joined him again, a few minutes later, Nap was lying on his back with arms flung wide, staring inscrutably at the ceiling. His mind seemed to be far away, but Capper's hand upon his pulse brought it back. He turned his head with the flicker of a smile.

"What's that for?"

"I happen to take an interest in you, my son," said Capper.

"Very good of you. But why?"

Capper was watching him keenly. "Because I have a notion that you are wanted."