CHAPTER XII

Denzil had got out to get some papers which he had been to hurried to secure at Paddington tipping the guard on the way, so that an old gentleman who showed signs of desiring to enter was warded off to another compartment. Thus when the train re-started, they were again left alone.

Amaryllis had partially recovered and was looking nearly her usual self, but for the violet shadows beneath her eyes. She glanced at the papers which he handed to her, and Denzil retired behind the Times. He wanted to think; he must not let himself slip out of hand. He must resolutely stamp out all the emotion that she was causing him; he despised weakness of any sort.

He thought of Verisschenzko's words about laws being powerless to control a man's actions, when a natural force is prompting him, unless he uses self-a.n.a.lysis, and so by gaining knowledge permits the spirit to conquer.

He recollected that he had transgressed often without a backward thought in past days with other women, but now his honour was engaged even apart from his firm belief in Stepan's favourite saying, that a man must never sully the wrong thing. Then the argument they had often had about indulgences came to him, and the truth of the only possibility of their enjoyment being while they remained servants, not masters.

He had had his indulgences in the two hours to Westbury, and had very nearly let it conquer him, more than once, and now he must not only curb all friendly words and delightful dalliance with forbidden topics, but he must _feel_ no more pa.s.sion.

He made himself read the war news and try to visualize the grim reality behind the official phrasing of the communiques. And gradually he became calm, and was almost startled when Amaryllis, who had been watching him furtively and had begun to wonder if he was really so interested in his paper, said timidly:

"Will you pull the window up a little? It seems to be growing cold."

She noticed that his lips were set firmly and that an abstracted expression had grown in his eyes.

Then Denzil spoke, now quite naturally and about the war, and deliberately kept the conversation to this subject, until Amaryllis lay back again in her corner and closed her eyes.

"I am going to have a little sleep," she said.

She too had begun to realise that in more personal investigation of mutual tastes there lay some danger. She had become conscious of the fact that she was very interested in Denzil--and there he was, not really the least like John!

They were silent for some time, and were nearing Frome when he spoke. He had been deliberating as to what he ought to do? Get out and leave her, to catch his connection to Bath, or sacrifice that and see her safely to her destination and perhaps hire a motor from Bridgeborough?

This latter was his strong desire and also seemed the only chivalrous thing to do when she still looked so pale, but--

"Here we are almost at Frome," he said.

Her eyes rounded with concern. It would be horrid to be alone. She had left her maid in London for a few days' holiday.

"You change here for Bath," she faltered a little uncertainly.

He decided in a second. He could not be inhuman! Duty and desire were one!

"Yes--but I am coming on with you. I shall not leave you until I see you safely into your own motor. I can hire one perhaps then, to take me on the rest of the way."

She was relieved--or she thought it was merely relief, which made a sudden lifting in her heart!

"How kind of you. I do feel as if I did not like the thought of being by myself, it is so stupid of me--But you can't hire a motor from Bridgeborough which would get you to Bath before dark! They are wretched things there. You must come with me to Ardayre; it is on the Bath road, you know--and we can have a late lunch, and and then I'll send you on in the Rolls Royce. You will be there in an hour--in time for tea."

This was a tremendous fresh temptation. He tried to look at it as though it did not in reality matter to him more than the appearance suggested.

Had there been no emotion in his interest in Amaryllis, he would not have hesitated, he knew.

Then it was only for him to conquer emotion and behave as he would do under ordinary circ.u.mstances--it would be a good test of his will.

"All right--that's splendid, and I shall be able to see Ardayre!"

It was when they were in Amaryllis's own little coupe very close to each other that strong temptation a.s.sailed Denzil. He suddenly felt his pulses throbbing wildly and it was with the greatest difficulty he prevented himself from clasping her in his arms. He tried to look out of the window and take an interest in the park, which was entered very soon after leaving the station. He told himself Ardayre was something which deserved his attention and he looked for the first view of the house, but all his will could only keep his arms from transgressing, it could not control the riot of his thoughts.

Amaryllis was conscious in some measure that he was far from calm, and her own heart began to beat unaccountably. She talked rather fast about the place and its history, and both were relieved when the front door came in sight.

There was a welcoming smell of burning logs in the hall to greet them, and the old butler could not restrain an expression of startled curiosity when he saw Denzil, the likeness to his master was so great.

"This is Captain Ardayre, Filson," Amaryllis said, "Sir John's cousin,"

and then she gave the order about the motor to take Denzil on to Bath.

They went through the Henry VII inner hall, and on to the green drawing-room, with its air of home and comfort, in spite of its great size and stateliness.

There were no portraits here, but some fine specimens of the Dutch school, and the big tawny dogs rose to welcome their mistress and were introduced to their "new relation."

She was utterly fascinating, Denzil thought, playing with them there on the great bear skin rug.

"We shall lunch at once," she told him, "and then rush through the pictures afterwards before you start for Bath."

They both tried to talk of ordinary things for the few moments before that meal was announced, and then some kind of devilment seemed to come into Amaryllis--nothing could have been more seductive or alluring than her manner, while keeping to strict convention. The bright pink colour glowed in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. She could not have accounted for her mood herself. It was one of excitement and interest.

Denzil had the hardest fight he had ever been through, and he grew almost gruff in consequence. He was really suffering.

He admired the way she acted as hostess, and the way the home was done.

He hardly felt anything else, though apart from her he would have been interested in his first view of Ardayre, but she absorbed all other emotions, he only knew that he desired to make pa.s.sionate love to her, or to get away as quickly as he could.

"Are you going to remain here all the winter?" he asked her presently, as they rose from the table, "or shall you go to London? You will be awfully lonely, won't you, if you stay here?"

"I love the country and I am growing to love and understand the place.

John wants me to so much, it means more to him than anything else in the world. I shall remain until after Christmas anyway. But come now, I want just to take you into the church, because there are two such fine tombs there of both our ancestors, yours and mine. We can go out of the windows and come back for coffee in the cedar parlour."

Denzil acquiesced; he wished to see the church. They reached it in a minute or two and Amaryllis opened the door with her own key and led him on up the aisle to the rec.u.mbent knights--and then she whispered their history to him, standing where a ray of sunlight turned her brown hair into gold.

"I wonder what their lives were," Denzil said, "and if they lived and loved and fought their desires--as we do now--the younger one's face looks as though he had not always conquered his. Stepan would say his indulgences had become his masters, not his servants, I expect."

"Verisschenzko is wonderful--he makes one want to be strong," and Amaryllis sighed. "I wonder how many of us even begin to fight our desires--"

"One has to be strong always if one wants to attain--but sometimes it is only honour which holds one--and weaklings are so pitiful."

"What is honour?" Her eyes searched his face wistfully. "Is it being true to some canon of the laws of chivalry, or is it being true to some higher thing in one's own soul?"

Denzil leaned against the tomb and he thought deeply: then he looked straight into her eyes:

"Honour lies in not betraying a trust reposed in one, either in the spirit or in the letter."

"Then, when, we say of a man 'he acted honourably,' we mean that he did not betray a trust placed in him, even if it was only perhaps by circ.u.mstance and not by a person."

"It is simply that'--keeping faith. If a man stole a sum of money from a friend, the dishonour would not be in the act of stealing, which is another offence--but in abusing his friend's trust in him by committing that act."

"Dishonour is a betrayal then--"