UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 PS
 
 By Ethel M. Dett 
 
 The Way of an Eagle 
 
 The Knave of Diamonds 
 
 The Rocks of Valpre 
 
 The Swindler, and Other Stories 
 
 The Keeper of the Door 
 
 The Bars of Iron 
 
 The Hundredth Chance 
 
 The Safety Curtain, and Other 
 Stories 
 
 Greatheart
 
 VE COME BECAUSE BEFORE HEAVEN I CAN'T KEEP AWAY." 
 
 Drawn by William van Dresser (See page 261)
 
 By 
 
 Ethel M. Dell 
 
 Author of X 
 The Way of an Eagle," "The Rocks of Valpre," Me. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York and London 
 fmfcfcerbocfcer press
 
 COPYRIGHT. 1916 
 
 BY 
 ETHEL M. DELL 
 
 Fifth Printing 
 
 Ube ftnfcfcerbocfcer $re8,
 
 I DEDICATE THIS Book 
 
 TO MY BROTHER REGINALD 
 
 WITH MY LOVE
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PROLOGUE . ...... i 
 
 PART I 
 THE GATES OF BRASS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. AJUG OF WATER ..... II 
 
 II. CONCERNING FOOLS . 2O 
 
 III. DISCIPLINE ...... 29 
 
 iv. THE MOTHER'S HELP .... 37 
 
 V. LIFE O'N A CHAIN ..... 43 
 
 VI. THE RACE ...... 49 
 
 VII. A FRIEND IN NEED ..... 59 
 
 VIII. A TALK BY THE FIRE .... 67 
 
 IX. THE TICKET OF LEAVE ... . 74 
 
 X. SPORT 8l 
 
 XI. THE STAR OF HOPE ... - 88 
 
 XII. A PAIR OF GLOVES . . . . -97 
 
 vii
 
 x Contents 
 
 PART Ul 
 THE OPEN HEAVEN 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. THE VERDICT . . . . . .46! 
 
 II. THE TIDE COMES BACK . . . 47 1 
 
 III. THE GAME . . . . 477 
 
 IV. THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN . . . 4^8 
 
 V. THE DESERT ROAD ..... 49$ 
 
 VI. THE ENCOUNTER ..... 53 
 
 VII. THE PLACE OF REPENTANCE . . . 5 :O 
 
 VIII. THE RELEASE OF THE PRISONER . . 519 
 
 IX. HOLY GROUND ..... 5 2 9 
 
 EPILOGUE ?. 537
 
 The Bars of Iron
 
 The Bars of Iron 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 "OGHT? I'll fight you with pleasure, but I shall 
 1 probably kill you if I do. Do you want to be killed ? " 
 Brief and contemptuous the question fell. The speaker 
 was a mere lad. He could not have been more than nine- 
 teen. But he held himself with the superb British assur- 
 ance that has its root in the British public school and which, 
 once planted, in certain soils is wholly ineradicable. 
 
 The man he faced was considerably his superior in height 
 and build. He also was British, but he had none of the 
 other's careless ease of bearing. He stood like an angry 
 bull, with glaring, bloodshot eyes. 
 
 He swore a terrific oath in answer to the scornful enquiry. 
 "I'll break every bone in your body!" he vowed. "You 
 little, sneering bantam, I'll smash your face in! I'll thrash 
 you to a pulp ! " 
 
 The other threw up his head and laughed. He was sub- 
 limely unafraid. But his dark eyes shone red as he flung 
 back the challenge. ' ' All right, you drunken bully ! Try ! ' ' 
 he said. 
 
 They stood in the garish light of a Queensland bar, sur- 
 rounded by an eager, gaping crowd of farmers, boundary- 
 riders, sheep-shearers, who had come down to this township 
 
 i
 
 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 on the coast on business or pleasure at the end of the shear- 
 ing season. 
 
 None of them knew how the young Englishman came to 
 be among them. He seemed to have entered the drinking- 
 saloon without any very definite object in view, unless he 
 had been spurred thither by a spirit of adventure. And 
 having entered, a boyish interest in the motley crowd, which 
 was evidently new to him, had induced him to remain. He 
 had sat in a corner, keenly observant but wholly unob- 
 trusive, for the greater part of an hour, till in fact the atten- 
 tion of the great bully now confronting him had by some 
 ill-chance been turned in his direction. 
 
 The man was three parts drunk, and for some reason, not 
 very comprehensible, he had chosen to resent the presence 
 of this clean-limbed, clean-featured English lad. Possibly 
 he recognized in him a type which for its very cleanness he 
 abhorred. Possibly his sodden brain was stirred by an 
 envy which the Colonials round him were powerless to 
 excite. For he also was British-born. And he still bore 
 traces, albeit they were not very apparent at that moment, 
 of the breed from which he had sprung. 
 
 Whatever the cause of his animosity, he had given it full 
 and ready vent. A few coarse expressions aimed in the 
 direction of the young stranger had done their work. The 
 boy had risen to go, with disgust written openly upon his 
 face, and instantly the action had been seized upon by the 
 older man as a. cause for offence. 
 
 He had not found his victim slow to respond. In fact 
 his challenge had been flung back with an alacrity that 
 had somewhat astonished the bystanders and rendered 
 interference a matter of some difficulty. 
 
 But one of them did at this juncture make his voice 
 heard in a word of admonition to the half -tipsy aggressor. 
 
 "You had better mind what you do, Samson. There 
 will be a row if that young chap gets hurt."
 
 Prologue 3 
 
 "Yes, he'd better get out of it," said one or two. 
 
 But the young chap in question turned on them with a 
 flash of his white teeth. "Don't you worry yourselves!" 1 
 he said. "If he wants to fight let him!" 
 
 They muttered uneasily in answer. It was plain that 
 Samson's bull-strength was no allegory to them. But the 
 boy's confidence remained quite unimpaired. He faced 
 his adversary with the lust of battle in his eyes. 
 
 "Come on, you slacker!" he said.. "I like a good fight. 
 Don't keep me waiting!" 
 
 The bystanders began to laugh, and the man they called 
 Samson turned purple with rage. He flung round furi- 
 ously. "There's a yard at the back," he cried. "We'll 
 settle it there. I'll teach you to use your spurs on me, 
 my young game-cock!" 
 
 "Come on then!" said the stranger. "P'r'aps I shall 
 teach you something too! You'll probably be killed, as I 
 said before; but if you'll take the risk I have no objection.'' 
 
 Again the onlookers raised a laugh. They pressed round 
 to see the face of the English boy who was so supremely 
 unafraid. It was a very handsome face, but it was not 
 wholly English. The eyes were too dark and too passion- 
 ate, the straight brows too black, the features too finely 
 regular. The mouth was mobile, and wayward as a wo- 
 man's, but the chin might have been modelled in stone 
 a fighting chin, aggressive, indomitable. There was some- 
 thing of the ancient Roman about the whole cast of his 
 face which, combined with that high British bearing, made 
 him undeniably remarkable. Those who looked at him 
 once generally turned to look again. 
 
 One of the spectators a burly Australian farmer 
 pushed forward from the throng and touched his arm. 
 "Look here, my son!" he said in an undertone. "You've 
 no business here, and no call to fight whatever. Clear out 
 ** it quick! Savvy? I'll cover your tracks."
 
 4 The Bars of Iron 
 
 The boy drew himself up with a haughty movement. 
 Plainly for the moment he resented the advice. But the 
 next very suddenly he smiled. 
 
 "Thanks! Don't trouble! I can hold my own and a 
 bit over. There's no great difficulty in downing a drunken 
 brute like that." 
 
 "Don't you be too cock-sure!" the farmer warned him. 
 "He's a heavy weight, and he's licked bigger men than 
 you when he's been in just the state he's in now." 
 
 But the English boy only laughed, and turned to follow 
 his adversary. 
 
 Every man present pressed after him. A well-sustained 
 fight, though an event of no uncommon occurrence, was a 
 form of entertainment that never failed to attract. They 
 crowded out to the back premises in a body, unhindered 
 by any in authority. 
 
 A dingy backyard behind the house furnished ground 
 for the fray. Here the spectators gathered in a ring around 
 an arc of light thrown by a stable-lamp over the door, and 
 the man they called Samson proceeded with savage energy 
 to strip to the waist. 
 
 The young stranger's face grew a shade more disdainful 
 as he noted the action. He himself removed coat, waist- 
 coat, and collar, all of which he handed to the farmer who 
 had offered to assist him in making good his escape. 
 
 "Just look after these for a minute!" he said. 
 
 "You're a cool hand," said the other man admiringly. 
 "I'll see you don't get bullied anyhow." 
 
 The young man nodded his thanks. He looked down at 
 his hands and slowly clenched and opened them again. 
 
 "Oh, I shan't be bullied," he said, in a tone of grim 
 conviction. 
 
 And then the fight began. 
 
 It was obvious from the outset that it could not be a very 
 prolonged one. Samson attacked with furious zest. He
 
 Prologue 5 
 
 evidently expected to find his opponent very speedily at 
 his mercy, and he made no attempt to husband his strength. 
 But his blows went wide. The English lad avoided them 
 with an agility that kept him practically unscathed. Had 
 he been a hard hitter, he might have got in several blows 
 himself, but he only landed one or two. His face was set 
 and white as a marble mask in which only the eyes lived 
 eyes that watched with darting intensity for the chance to 
 close. And when that chance came he took it so suddenly 
 and so unexpectedly that not one of the hard-breathing, 
 silent crowd around him saw exactly how he gained his 
 hold. One moment he was avoiding a smashing, right- 
 handed blow; the next he had his adversary locked in a 
 grip of iron, the while he bent and strained for the mastery. 
 
 From then onwards an element that was terrible became 
 apparent in the conflict. From a simple fisticuff it de- 
 veloped into a deadly struggle between skilled strength and 
 strength that was merely brutal. Silently, with heaving, 
 convulsive movements, the two struggling figures swayed 
 to and fro. One of Samson's arms was imprisoned in that 
 unyielding clutch. The other rained blows upon his ad- 
 versary's head and shoulders that produced no further 
 effect than if they had been bestowed upon cast-iron. 
 
 The grip of the boy's arms only grew tighter and tighter 
 with snake-like force, while a dreadful smile came into the 
 young face and became stamped there, engraved in rigid 
 lines. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, and a 
 thin stream of blood ran from it over the smooth, clean-cut 
 chin. It was the only sign he gave that he was putting 
 forth the whole of his strength. 
 
 A murmur of surprise that had in it a note of uneasiness 
 began to run through the ring of onlookers. They had 
 seen many a fight before, but never a fight like this. Sam- 
 son's face had gone from red to purple. His eyes had begun 
 to start. Quite plainly he also was taken by surprise.
 
 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Desperately, with a streaming forehead, he changed his 
 tactics. He had no skill. Until that day he had relied 
 upon superior strength and weight to bring him victorious 
 through every casual fray; and it had never before failed 
 him. But that merciless, suffocating hold compelled him 
 to abandon offensive measures to effect his escape. He 
 stopped his wild and futile hammering and with his one 
 free hand he grasped the back of his opponent's neck. 
 
 The move was practically inevitable, but its effect was 
 such as only one anticipated. That one was his adversary, 
 who slowly bent under his weight as though overcome 
 thereby, shifting his grip lower and lower till it almost 
 looked as if he were about to collapse altogether. But just 
 as the breaking-point seemed to be reached there came a 
 change. He gathered himself together and with gigantic 
 exertion began to straighten his bent muscles. Slowly but 
 irresistibly he heaved his enemy upwards. There came a 
 moment of desperate, confused struggle; and then, as the 
 man lost his balance at last, he relaxed his grip quite 
 suddenly, flinging him headlong over his shoulder. 
 
 It was a clean throw, contrived with masterly assurance, 
 the result of deliberate and trained calculation. The bully 
 pitched upon his head on the rough stones of the yard, and 
 turned a complete somersault with the violence of his fall. 
 
 A shout of amazement went up from the spectators. 
 This end of the struggle was totally unexpected. 
 
 The successful combatant remained standing with the 
 sweat pouring from his face and the blood still running down 
 his chin. He stretched out his arms with a slow, mechani- 
 cal movement as if to test the condition of his muscles after 
 the tremendous strain he had put upon them. Then, still 
 as it were mechanically, he felt the torn collar-band of his 
 shirt, with speculative fingers. Finally he whizzed round 
 on the heels and stared at the huddled form of his fallen 
 foe.
 
 Prologue 7 
 
 A shabby little man with thick, sandy eyebrows had gone 
 to his assistance, but he lay quite motionless in a twisted, 
 ungainly attitude. The flare of the lamp was reflected in 
 his glassy, upturned eyes. Dumbly his conqueror stood 
 staring down at him. He seemed to stand above them all 
 in that his moment of dreadful victory. 
 
 He spoke at length, and through his voice there ran a 
 curious tremor as of a man a little giddy, a little dazed by 
 immense and appalling height. 
 
 "I thought I could do it!" he said. "I thought I 
 could!" 
 
 It was his moment of triumph, of irresistible elation. 
 The devil in him had fought and conquered. 
 
 It swayed him and passed. He was left white to the 
 lips and suddenly, terribly, afraid. 
 
 "What have I done to him?" he asked, and the tremor 
 was gone from his voice; it was level, dead level. "I 
 haven't killed him really, have I?" 
 
 No one answered him. They were crowding round the 
 fallen man, stooping over him with awe-struck whispering, 
 straightening the crumpled, inert limbs, trying to place the 
 heavy frame in a natural posture. 
 
 The boy pressed forward to look, but abruptly his 
 supporter caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back. 
 
 "No, no!" he said in a sharp undertone. "You're no 
 good here. Get out of it! Put on your clothes and go!" 
 
 He spoke urgently. The boy stared at him, suffering 
 the compelling hand. All the fight had gone completely 
 out of him. He was passive with the paralysis of a great 
 horror. 
 
 The farmer helped him into his clothes, and himself 
 removed the blood-stain from the lad's dazed face. " Don't 
 be a fool!" he urged. "Pull yourself together and clear 
 out! This thing was an accident. I'll engineer it." 
 
 "Accident!" The boy straightened himself sharply
 
 8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 with the movement of one brought roughly to his senses. 
 "I suppose the throw broke his neck," he said. "But it 
 was no accident. I did it on purpose. I told him I should 
 probably kill him, but he would have it." He turned and 
 squarely faced the other. "I don't know what I ought to 
 do," he said, speaking more collectedly. "But I'm cer- 
 tainly not going to bolt." 
 
 The farmer nodded with brief comprehension. He had 
 the steady eyes of a man accustomed to the wide spaces of 
 the earth. "That's all right," he said, and took him firmly 
 by the arm. "You come with me. My name is Crowther. 
 We'll have a talk outside. There's more room there. 
 You've got to listen to reason. Come!" 
 
 He almost dragged the boy away with the words. No 
 one intercepted or spoke a word to delay them. Together 
 they passed back through the empty drinking-saloon the 
 boy with his colourless face and set lips, the man with his 
 resolute, far-seeing eyes and so into the dim roadway 
 beyond. 
 
 They left the lights of the reeking bar behind. The 
 spacious night closed in upon them.
 
 PART I 
 THE GATES OF BRASS
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A JUG OF WATER 
 
 IT was certainly not Caesar's fault. Caesar was as well- 
 meaning a Dalmatian as ever scampered in the wake 
 of a cantering horse. And if Mike in his headlong Irish 
 fashion chose to regard the scamper as a gross personal 
 insult, that was surely not a matter for which he could 
 reasonably be held responsible. And yet it was upon the 
 luckless Cassar that the wrath of the gods descended as a 
 consequence of Mike's wrong-headed deductions. 
 
 It began with a rush and a snarl from the Vicarage gate, 
 and it had developed into a set and deadly battle almost 
 before either of the combatants had fully realized the 
 other. 
 
 The rider drew rein, yelling furiously; but his yells were 
 about as effectual as the wail of an infant. Neither animal 
 was so much as aware of his existence in those moments of 
 delirious warfare. They were locked already in that silent, 
 swaying grip which every fighting dog with any knowledge 
 of the great game seeks to establish, to break which mere 
 humans may put forth their utmost strength in vain. 
 
 The struggle was a desperate and a bloody one, and it 
 speedily became apparent to the rider that he would have 
 to dismount if he intended to put an end to it. 
 
 Fiercely he flung himself off his horse and threw the 
 reins over the Vicarage gate-post. Then, riding-crop in 
 hand, he approached the swaying fighting animals. It was 
 
 ii
 
 12 The Bars of Iron 
 
 like a ghastly wrestling-match. Both were on their feet, 
 struggling to and fro, each with jaws hard gripped upon the 
 other's neck, each silent save for his spasmodic efforts to 
 breathe. 
 
 "Stop it, damn you!" shouted the rider, slashing at them 
 with the zeal of unrestrained fury. "Caesar, you infernal 
 brute, stop it, will you? I'll kill you if you don't!" 
 
 But Caesar was deaf to all threats and quite uncon- 
 scious of the fact that his master and not his enemy was 
 responsible for the flail-like strokes of the whirling lash. 
 They shifted from beneath it instinctively, but they fought 
 deliriously on. 
 
 And at that the man with the whip completely lost his 
 self-control. He set to work to thrash and thrash the 
 fighting animals till one or other of them or himself 
 should become exhausted. 
 
 It developed into a horrible competition organized and 
 conducted by the man's blind fury, and in what fashion it 
 would have ended it would be hard to say. But, luckily 
 for all three, there came at length an interruption. Some- 
 one a woman came swiftly out of the Vicarage garden 
 carrying a bedroom jug. She advanced without a pause 
 upon the seething, infuriated group. 
 
 "It's no good beating them," she said, in a voice which, 
 though somewhat hurried, was one of clear command. 
 "Get out of the way, and be ready to catch your dog when 
 they come apart!" 
 
 The man glanced round for an instant, his face white 
 with passion. "I'll kill the brutes!" he declared. 
 
 "Indeed you won't," she returned promptly. "Stand 
 away now or you will be drenched!" 
 
 As she spoke she raised her jug above the struggling 
 animals. Her face also shone white in the wintry dusk, 
 but her actions denoted unwavering resolution. 
 
 "Now!" she said; and, since he would not' move, she
 
 A Jug of Water 13 
 
 flung the icy water without compunction over the dogs 
 and him also. 
 
 "Damnation!" he cried violently. But she broke in 
 upon him. "Quick! Quick! Now's the time! Grab 
 your dog! I'll catch Mike!" 
 
 The urgency of the order compelled compliance. Almost 
 in spite of himself he stooped to obey. And so it came to 
 pass that five seconds later, Caesar was being mercilessly 
 thrashed by his enraged master, while the real culprit was 
 being dragged, cursing breathlessly, from the scene. 
 
 It was a brutal thrashing and wholly undeserved. Caesar, 
 awaking to the horror of it, howled his anguish; but no 
 amount of protest on his part made the smallest impres- 
 sion upon the wielder of the whip. It continued to de- 
 scend upon his writhing body with crashing force till he 
 rolled upon the ground in agony. 
 
 Even then the punishment would not have ceased, but 
 for a second interruption. It was the woman from the 
 Vicarage garden again; but she burst upon the scene this 
 time with something of the effect of an avalanche. She 
 literally whirled between the man and his victim. She 
 caught his upraised arm. 
 
 "Oh, you brute!" she cried. "You brute!" 
 
 He stiffened in her hold. They stood face to face. 
 Cassar crept whining and shivering to the side of the 
 road. 
 
 Slowly the man's arm fell to his side, still caught in that 
 quivering grasp. He spoke in a voice that struggled boy- 
 ishly between resentment and shame. "The dog's my 
 own." 
 
 Her hold relaxed. "Even a dog has his rights," she 
 said. "Give me that whip, please!" 
 
 He looked at her oddly in the growing darkness. She 
 was trembling as she stood, but she held her ground. 
 
 "Please!" she repeated with resolution.
 
 14 The Bars of Iron 
 
 With an abrupt movement he put the weapon into her 
 hand. "Are you going to give me a taste?" he asked. 
 
 She uttered a queer little gasping laugh. "No. I I'm 
 not that sort. But it's horrible to see a man lose control 
 of himself. And to thrash a dog like that!" 
 
 She turned sharply from him and went to the Dalmatian 
 who crouched quaking on the path. He wagged an ingra- 
 tiating tail at her approach. It was evident that in her 
 hand the whip had no terrors for him. He crept fawning 
 to her feet. 
 
 She stooped over him, fondling his head. "Oh, poor 
 boy! Poor boy!" she said. 
 
 The dog's master came and stood beside her. "He'll 
 be all right," he said, in a tone of half-surly apology. 
 
 "I'm afraid Mike has bitten him," she said. "See!" 
 displaying a long, dark streak on Caesar's neck. 
 
 "He'll be all right," repeated Csesar's master. "I hope 
 your dog is none the worse." 
 
 "No, I don't think so," she said. "But don't you think 
 we ought to bathe this?" 
 
 "I'll take him home," he said. "They'll see to him at 
 the stables." 
 
 She stood up, a slim, erect figure, the whip still firmly 
 grasped in her hand. "You won't thrash him any more, 
 will you?" she said. 
 
 He gave a short laugh. " No, you have cooled me down 
 quite effectually. I'm much obliged to you for interfering. 
 And I'm sorry I used language, but as the circumstances 
 were exceptional, I hope you will make allowances." 
 
 His tone was boyish still, but all the resentment had gone 
 out of it. There was a touch of arrogance in his bearing 
 which was obviously natural to him, but his apology was 
 none the less sincere. 
 
 The slim figure on the path made a slight movement of 
 dismay. "But you must be drenched to the skin!" she
 
 A Jug of Water 15 
 
 said. "I was forgetting. Won't you come in and get 
 dry?" 
 
 He hunched his shoulders expressively. "No, thanks. 
 It was my own fault, as you kindly omit to mention. I 
 must be getting back to the Abbey. My grandfather is 
 expecting me. He fidgets if I'm late." 
 
 He raised a hand to his cap, and would have turned away, 
 but she made a swift gesture of surprise, which arrested 
 him. "Oh, you are young Mr. Evesham! I beg your 
 pardon you are Mr. Evesham! I thought I must have 
 seen you before!" 
 
 He stopped with a laugh. "I am commonly called 
 'Master Piers' in this neighbourhood. They won't let me 
 grow up. Rather a shame, what? I'm nearly twenty- 
 five, and the head-keeper still refers to me in private as 
 'that dratted boy.'" 
 
 She laughed for the first time. Possibly he had angled 
 for that laugh. "Yes, it is a shame!" she agreed. "But 
 then Sir Beverley is rather old, isn't he? No doubt it's 
 the comparison that does it." 
 
 "He isn't old," said Piers Evesham in sharp contradic- 
 tion. "He's only seventy-four. That's not old for an 
 Evesham. He'll go for another twenty years. There's 
 a saying in our family that if we don't die violently, we 
 never die at all." He pulled himself up abruptly. "I've 
 given you my name and history. Won't you tell me 
 yours?" 
 
 She hesitated momentarily. "I am only the mother's 
 help at the Vicarage," she said then. 
 
 "By Jove! I don't envy you." He looked at her with 
 frank interest notwithstanding. "I suppose you do it for 
 a living," he remarked. "Personally, I'd sooner sweep a 
 crossing than live in the same house with that mouthing 
 parson." 
 
 "Hush!" she said, but her lips smiled as she said it
 
 1 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 a small smile that would not be denied. "I must go in 
 now. Here you are!" She gave him back his whip. 
 "Good-bye! Get home quick and change!" 
 
 He turned half-reluctantly ; then paused. "You might 
 tell me your name anyway," he said. 
 
 She had begun to move away, light-footed, swift as a 
 bird. She also paused. 
 
 "My name is Denys," she said. 
 
 He put his hand to his cap again. " Miss Denys?" 
 
 "No. Mrs. Denys. Good-bye!" 
 
 She was gone. He heard the light feet running up the 
 wet gravel drive and then the quick opening of a door. It 
 closed again immediately, with decision, and he stood alone 
 in the wintry dusk. 
 
 Caesar crept to him and grovelled abjectly in the mud. The 
 young man stood motionless, staring at the Vicarage gates, 
 a slight frown between his brows. He was not tall, but he 
 had the free pose of an athlete and the bearing of a prince. 
 
 Suddenly he glanced down at his cringing companion 
 and broke into a laugh. "Get up, Cassar, you fool! And 
 think yourself lucky that you've got any sound bones left ! 
 You'd have been reduced to a jelly by this time if I'd had 
 my way." 
 
 He bent with careless good-nature, and patted the 
 miscreant; then turned towards his horse. 
 
 "Poor old Pompey! A shame to keep you standing! 
 All that brute's fault." He swung himself into the saddle. 
 "By Jove, though, she's got some pluck!" he said. "I like 
 a woman with pluck!" 
 
 He touched his animal with the spur, and in a moment 
 they were speeding through the gathering dark at a brisk 
 canter. Pompey was as anxious to get home as was his 
 master, and he needed no second urging. He scarcely 
 waited to get within the gates of the Park before he gathered 
 himself together and went like the wind. His rider lay
 
 A Jug of Water 17 
 
 forward in the saddle and yelled encouragement like a wild 
 Indian. Cassar raced behind them like a hare. 
 
 The mad trio went like a flash past old Marshall the head- 
 keeper who stood gun on shoulder at the gate of his lodge 
 and looked after them with stern disapproval. 
 
 "Drat the boy! What's he want to ride hell-for-leather 
 like that for?" he grumbled. "He'll go and kill himself 
 one of these days as his father did before him." 
 
 It was just twenty-five years since Piers' father had been 
 carried dead into Marshall's cottage, and Marshall had 
 stumped up the long avenue to bear the news to Sir Bever- 
 ley. Piers was about the same age now as that other Piers 
 had been, and Marshall had no mind to take part in a 
 similar tragedy. It had been a bitter task, that of telling 
 Sir Beverley that his only son was dead; but to have borne 
 him ill tidings of his grandson would have been infinitely 
 harder. For Sir Severely had never loved his son through 
 the whole of his brief, tempestuous life; but his grandson 
 was the very core of his existence, as everyone knew, despite 
 his strenuous efforts to disguise the fact. 
 
 No, emphatically Marshall had not the faintest desire 
 to have to inform the old man that harm had befallen 
 Master Piers, and his frown deepened as he trudged up his 
 little garden and heard the yelling voice and galloping 
 hoofs grow faint in the distance. 
 
 "The boy is madder even than his father was," he 
 muttered darkly. "Bad stock! Bad stock!" 
 
 He shook his head over the words, and went within. He 
 was the only man left on the estate who could remember 
 the beautiful young Italian bride whom Sir Beverley had 
 once upon a time brought to reign there. It had been a 
 short, short reign, and no one spoke of it now, least of all 
 the old, bent man who ruled like a feudal lord at Rodding 
 Abbey, and of whom even the redoubtable Marshall himself 
 stood in awe.
 
 i8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 But Marshall remembered her well, and it was upon 
 that dazzling memory that his thoughts dwelt when he gave 
 utterance to his mysterious verdict. For was not Master 
 Piers the living image of her? Had he not the same impe- 
 rial bearing and regal turn of the head? Did not the Eve- 
 sham blood run the hotter in his veins for that passionate 
 Southern strain that mingled with it? 
 
 Marshall sometimes wondered how Sir Beverley with 
 his harsh intolerance brooked the living likeness of the boy 
 to the woman in whose bitter memory he hated all women. 
 It was scarcely possible that he blinded himself to it. It 
 was too vividly apparent for that. "A perpetual eyesore," 
 Marshall termed it in private. But then there was no ac- 
 counting for the ways of folk in high places. Marshall did 
 not pretend to understand them. He was, in his own grumpy 
 fashion, sincerely attached to his master, and he never pre- 
 sumed to criticize his doings. He only wondered at them. 
 
 As for Master Piers, he had been an unmitigated nuisance 
 to him personally ever since he had learned to walk alone. 
 Marshall had always disapproved of him, and he hated 
 Victor, the French valet, who had brought him up from his 
 cradle. Yet deep in his surly old heart there lurked a cer- 
 tain grudging affection for him notwithstanding. The boy 
 had a winning way with him, and but for his hatred of 
 Victor, who was soft and womanish, but extremely tenacious, 
 Marshall would have liked to have had a hand in his up- 
 bringing. As it was, he could only look on from afar and 
 condemn the vagaries of "that dratted boy," prophesying 
 disaster whenever he saw him and hoping that Sir Beverley 
 might not live to see it. Certainly it seemed as if Piers 
 bore a charmed life, for, like his father before him, he risked 
 it practically every day. With sublime self-confidence, 
 he laughed at caution, ever choosing the shortest cut, 
 whatever it might entail; and it was remarkably seldom 
 that he came to grief.
 
 A Jug of Water 19 
 
 As he clattered into the stable-yard on that dark Novem- 
 ber evening, his face was sparkling with excitement as 
 though he had drunk strong wine. The animal he rode 
 was covered with foam, and danced a springy war-dance on 
 the stones. Caesar trotted in behind them with tail erect 
 and a large smile of satisfaction on his spotty face despite 
 the gory streak upon his neck. 
 
 "Confound it! I'm late!" said Piers, throwing his leg 
 over his horse's neck. "It's all that brute's fault. Look 
 at him grinning! Better wash him one of you! He can't 
 come in in that state." He slipped to the ground and 
 stamped his sodden feet. "I'm not much better off myself. 
 What a beastly night, to be sure!" 
 
 "Yes, you're wet, sir!" remarked the groom at Pompey's 
 head. "Had a tumble, sir?" 
 
 "No. Had a jug of water thrown over me," laughed 
 Piers. "Caesar will tell you all about it. He's been snig- 
 gering all the way home." He snapped his fingers in the 
 dog's complacent face. "By Jove!" he said to him, "I 
 couldn't grin like that if I'd had the thrashing you've had. 
 And I couldn't kiss the hand that did it either. You're a 
 gentleman, Caesar, and I humbly apologize. Look after 
 him, Phipps! He's been a bit mauled. Good-night! 
 Good-night, Pompey lad! You've carried me well." He 
 patted the horse's foam-flecked neck, and turned away. 
 
 As he left the stable-yard, he was whistling light-heartedly, 
 and Phipps glanced at a colleague with a slight flicker of 
 one eyelid. 
 
 "Wonder who chucked that jug of water!" he said.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 CONCERNING FOOLS 
 
 IN the huge, oak-panelled hall of the Abbey, Sir Beverley 
 Evesham sat alone. 
 
 A splendid fire of logs blazed before him on the open 
 hearth, and the light from a great chandelier beat mercilessly 
 down upon him. His hair was thick still and silvery white. 
 He had the shoulders of a strong man, albeit they were 
 slightly bowed. His face, clean-shaven, aristocratic, was 
 the colour of old ivory. The thin lips were quite bloodless. 
 They had a downward, bitter curve, as though they often 
 sneered at life. The eyes were keen as a bird's, stone-grey 
 under overhanging black brows. 
 
 He held a newspaper in one bony hand, but he was not 
 apparently reading, for his eyes were fixed. The shining 
 suits of armour standing like sentinels on each side of the 
 fireplace were not more rigid than he. 
 
 There came a slight sound from the other end of the hall, 
 and instantly and very sharply Sir Beverley turned his 
 head. 
 
 "Piers!" 
 
 Cheerily Piers' voice made answer. He shut the door 
 behind him and came forward as he spoke. "Here I am, 
 sir! I'm sorry I'm late. You shouldn't have waited. 
 You never ought to wait. I'm never in at the right time." 
 
 "Confound you, why aren't you then?" burst forth Sir 
 Beverley. "It's easy to say you're sorry, isn't it?" 
 
 20
 
 Concerning Fools 21 
 
 "Not always," said Piers. 
 
 He came to the old man, bent down over him, slid a 
 boyish arm around the bent shoulders. "Don't be waxy!" 
 he coaxed. "I couldn't help it this time." 
 
 "Get away, do!" said Sir Beverley, jerking himself 
 irritably from him. : 'I detest being pawed about, as you 
 very well know. In Heaven's name, have your tea, if you 
 want it! I shan't touch any. It's past my time." 
 
 " Oh, rot ! " said Piers. " If you don't, I shan't." 
 
 "Yes, you will." Sir Beverley pointed an imperious 
 hand towards a table on the other side of the fire. "Go 
 and get it and don't be a fool!" 
 
 "I'm not a fool," said Piers. 
 
 "Yes, you are a damn' fool!" Sir Beverley returned to 
 his newspaper with the words. "And you'll never be 
 anything else!" he growled into the silence that succeeded 
 them. 
 
 Piers clattered the tea-things and said nothing. There 
 was no resentment visible upon his sensitive, olive face, 
 however. He looked perfectly contented. He turned 
 round after a few seconds with a cup of steaming tea in his 
 hand. He crossed the hearth and set it on the table at 
 Sir Beverley's elbow. 
 
 "That's just as you like it, sir," he urged. "Have it 
 just to please me!" 
 
 "Take it away!" said Sir Beverley, without raising his 
 eyes. 
 
 "It's only ten minutes late after all," said Piers, with all 
 meekness. "I wish you hadn't waited, though it was jolly 
 decent of you. You weren't anxious of course? You 
 know I always turn up some time." 
 
 "Anxious!" echoed Sir Beverley. "About a cub like 
 you! You flatter yourself, my good Piers." 
 
 Piers laughed a little and stooped over the blaze. Sir 
 Beverley read on for a few moments, then very suddenly
 
 22 The Bars of Iron 
 
 and not without violence crumpled his paper and flung it 
 on the ground. 
 
 "Of all the infernal, ridiculous twaddle!" he exclaimed. 
 "Now what the devil have you done to yourself? Been 
 taking a water- jump?" 
 
 Piers turned round. "No, sir. It's nothing. I shouldn't 
 have come in in this state, only it was late, and I thought 
 I'd better report myself." 
 
 "Nothing!" repeated Sir Beverley. "Why, you're 
 drenched to the skin! Go and change! Go and change! 
 Don't stop to argue! Do you hear me, sir? Go and 
 change!" 
 
 He shouted the last words, and Piers flung round on his 
 heel with a hint of impatience. 
 
 "And behave yourself!" Sir Beverley threw after him. 
 "If you think I'll' stand any impertinence from you, you 
 were never more mistaken in your life. Be off with you, 
 you cheeky young hound! Don't let me see you again till 
 you're fit to be seen!" 
 
 Piers departed without a backward look. His lips were 
 slightly compressed as he went up the stairs, but before he 
 reached his own room they were softly whistling. 
 
 Victor, the valet, who was busily employed in laying out 
 his evening clothes, received him with hands upraised in 
 horror. 
 
 "Ah, mais, Monsieur Pierre, how you are wet!" 
 
 "Yes, I want a bath," said Piers. "Get it quick! I 
 must be down again in ten minutes. So scurry, Victor, 
 my lad!" 
 
 Victor was a cheery little rotundity of five-and-fifty. 
 He had had the care of Piers ever since the first fortnight of 
 that young man's existence, and he worshipped him with a 
 whole-hearted devotion that was in its way sublime. In 
 his eyes Piers could do no wrong. He was in fact dearer 
 to him than his own flesh and blood.
 
 Concerning Fools 23 
 
 He prepared the bath with deft celerity, and hastened 
 back to assist in removing his young master's boots. He 
 exclaimed dramatically upon their soaked condition, but 
 Piers was in too great a hurry to give any details regarding 
 the cause of his plight. He whirled into the bathroom at 
 express speed, and was out again almost before Victor had 
 had time to collect his drenched garments. 
 
 Ten minutes after his departure he returned to the hall, 
 the gay whistle still on his lips, and trod a careless measure 
 to its tune as he advanced. 
 
 Sir Beverley got up stiffly from his knees on the hearth- 
 rug and turned a scowling face. "Well, are you decent 
 now?" 
 
 "Quite," said Piers. He smiled as he said it, a boyish 
 disarming smile. "Have you had your tea, sir? Oh, I 
 say what a brick you are! I didn't expect that." 
 
 His eyes, travelling downwards, had caught sight of a 
 cup pushed close to the blaze, and a plate of crumpets 
 beside it. 
 
 "Or deserve it," said Sir Beverley grimly. 
 
 Piers turned impulsively and took him by the shoulders. 
 "You're a dear old chap!" he said. "Thanks awfully!" 
 
 Against its will the hard old mouth relaxed. "There, 
 boy, there ! What an infant you are ! Sit down and have it 
 for goodness' sake ! It'll be dinner-time before you've done." 
 
 "You've had yours?" said Piers. 
 
 "Oh, yes yes!" Irritation made itself heard again in 
 Sir Beverley 's voice; he freed himself from his grandson's 
 hold, though not urgently. "I'm not so keen on your pre- 
 cious tea," he said, seating himself again. " It's only young 
 milksops like you that have made it fashionable. When 
 I was young " 
 
 "Hullo!" broke in Piers. He had picked up the cup of 
 tea and was sniffing it suspiciously. "You've been doctor- 
 ing this!" he said.
 
 24 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "You drink it!" ordered Sir Beverley peremptorily. 
 "I'm not going to have you laid up with rheumatic fever 
 if I know it. Drink it, Piers! Do you hear?" 
 
 Piers looked for a moment as if he were on the verge of 
 rebellion, then abruptly he raised the cup to his lips and 
 drained it. He set it down with a shudder of distaste. 
 
 "You might have let me have it separately," he remarked. 
 "Tea and brandy don't blend well. I shall sleep like a hog 
 after this. Besides, I shouldn't have had rheumatic fever. 
 It's not my way. Anything in the paper to-night?" 
 
 "Yes," said Sir Beverley disgustedly. "There's that 
 prize-fight business." 
 
 "What's that?" Piers looked up with quick interest. 
 
 "Surely you saw it!" returned Sir Beverley. "That 
 fellow Adderley killed his man in a wrestling-match. 
 A good many people said it was done by a foul." 
 
 "Adderley!" repeated Piers. "I know him. He gave 
 me some quite useful tips once. What happened? It's 
 the first I've heard of it." 
 
 "Well, he's a murderer," said Sir Beverley. "And he 
 deserves to be hanged. He killed his man, whether by 
 a foul or not I can't say; but anyway he meant to kill him. 
 It's obvious on the face of it. But they chose to bring it 
 in manslaughter, and he's only got five years; while some 
 brainless fool must needs write an article a column and a 
 half long to protest against the disgraceful practice of 
 permitting wrestling or boxing matches, which are a sur- 
 vival of the Dark Ages and a perpetual menace to our civi- 
 lization! A survival of your grandmother! A nice set 
 of nincompoops the race will develop into if such fools as 
 that get their way! We're soft enough as it is, Heaven 
 knows. Why couldn't they hang the scoundrel as he 
 deserved? That's the surest way of putting an end to 
 savagery. But to stop the sport altogether! It would 
 be tomfoolery ! '*
 
 Concerning Fools 25 
 
 Piers picked up the paper from the floor and smoothed 
 it out. He proceeded to study it with drawn brows, and 
 Sir Beverley sat and watched him with that in his stone- 
 grey eyes which no one was ever allowed to see. 
 
 "Eat your crumpets, boy!" he said at last. 
 
 "What?" Piers glanced up momentarily. "Oh, all 
 right, sir, in a minute. This is rather an interesting case, 
 what? You see, Adderley was a friend of mine." 
 
 "When did you meet him?" demanded Sir Beverley. 
 
 " I knew him in my school-days. He spent a whole term 
 in the neighbourhood. It was just before I left for my 
 year of travel. I got to know him rather well. He gave 
 me several hints on wrestling." 
 
 " Did he teach you how to break your opponent's neck?" 
 asked Sir Beverley drily. 
 
 Piers made a slight, scarcely perceptible movement of 
 one hand. It clenched upon the paper he held. "They 
 were worth knowing," he said, with his eyes upon the 
 sheet. "But I should have thought he was too old a hand 
 himself to get into trouble." 
 
 Sir Beverley grunted. Piers read on. At the end of a 
 lengthy pause he laid the paper aside. " I'm beastly rude," 
 he remarked. ' ' Have a crumpet ! ' ' 
 
 "Eat 'em yourself!" said Sir Beverley. "I hate 
 'em!" 
 
 Piers picked up the plate and began to eat. He stared 
 at the blaze as he did so, obviously lost in thought. 
 
 "Don't dream!" said Sir Beverley sharply. 
 
 He turned his eyes upon his grandfather's face those 
 soft Italian eyes of his so suggestive of hidden fire. "I 
 wasn't dreaming," he said slowly. "I wonder why you 
 think Adderley ought to be hanged." 
 
 "Because he's a murderer," snapped Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Yes; but " said Piers, and became silent as though he 
 were following out some train of thought.
 
 26 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Go on, boy! Finish!" commanded Sir Beverley. 
 "I detest a sentence left in the middle." 
 
 "I was only thinking," said Piers deliberately, "that 
 hanging in my opinion is much the easier sentence of the 
 two. 1 should ask to be hanged if I were Adderley." 
 
 "Would you indeed?" Sir Beverley sounded supremely 
 contemptuous. 
 
 But Piers did not seem to notice. "Besides, there are 
 so many murderers in the world," he said, "though it's 
 only the few who get punished. I'm sorry for the few my- 
 self. Its damned bad luck, human nature being what it is." 
 
 "You don't know what you're talking about," said Sir 
 Beverley. 
 
 "All right; let's talk about something else," said Piers. 
 "Caesar had a glorious mill with that Irish terrier brute at 
 the Vicarage this afternoon. I couldn't separate 'em, so 
 I just joined in. We'd have been at it now if we had been 
 left to our own devices. " He broke into his sudden boyish 
 laugh. "But a kind lady came out of the Vicarage garden 
 and flung the contents of a bedroom jug over the three of 
 us. Rather plucky of her, what? I'm afraid I wasn't 
 over-complimentary at the moment, but I've had time since 
 to appreciate her tact and presence of mind. I'm going 
 over to thank her to-morrow." 
 
 "Who was it? " growled Sir Beverley suspiciously. "Not 
 that little white owl, Mrs. Lorimer?" 
 
 "Mrs. Lorimer! Great Scott, no! She'd have squealed 
 and run to the Reverend Stephen for protection. No, 
 this was a woman, not an owl. Her name is Denys Mrs. 
 Denys she was careful to inform me. They've started a 
 mother's help at the Vicarage. None too soon I should 
 say. Who wouldn't be a mother's help in that establish- 
 ment?" 
 
 Sir Beverley uttered a dry laugh. "Daresay she knows 
 how to feather her own nest. Most of 'em do."
 
 Concerning Fools 27 
 
 "She knows how to keep her head in an emergency, 
 anyhow," remarked Piers. 
 
 "Feline instinct," jeered Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers looked across with a laugh in his dark eyes. "And 
 feline pluck, sir," he maintained. 
 
 Sir Beverley scowled at him. He could never brook an 
 argument. "Oh, get away, Piers!" he said. "You talk 
 like a fool." 
 
 Piers turned his whole attention to devouring crumpets, 
 and there fell a lengthy silence. He rose finally to set 
 down his empty plate and help himself to some more 
 tea. 
 
 "That stuff is poisonous by now," said Sir Beverley. 
 
 "It won't poison me," said Piers. 
 
 He drank it, and returned to the hearth-rug. "I- sup- 
 pose I may smoke?" he said, with a touch of restraint. 
 
 Sir Beverley was lying back in his chair, gazing straight 
 up at him. Suddenly he reached out a trembling hand. 
 
 "You're a good boy, Piers," he said. "You may do 
 any damn' thing you like." 
 
 Piers' eyes kindled in swift response. He gripped the 
 extended hand. "You're a brick, sir!" he said. "Look 
 here ! Come along to the billiard-room and have a hundred 
 up! It'll give you an appetite for dinner." 
 
 He hoisted the old man out of his chair before he could 
 begin to protest. They stood together before the great 
 fire, and Sir Beverley straightened his stiff limbs. He was 
 half a head taller than his grandson. 
 
 "What a fellow it is!" he said half laughing. "Why 
 can't you sit still and be quiet? Don't you want to read 
 the paper? I've done with it." 
 
 "So have I," said Piers. He swept it up with one hand 
 as he spoke and tossed it recklessly on to the blaze. "Come 
 along, sir ! We haven't much time." 
 
 "Now what did you do that for?" demanded Sir Bever-
 
 28 The Bars of Iron 
 
 ley, pausing. "Do you want to set the house on fire? 
 What did you do it for, Piers?" 
 
 "Because I was a fool," said Piers with sudden, curious 
 vehemence. " A damn' fool sir, if you want to know. But 
 it's done now. Let it burn!" 
 
 The paper flared fiercely and crumbled to ashes. Sir 
 Beverley suffered himself to be drawn away. 
 
 "You're a queer fellow, Piers," he said. "But, taking 
 'em altogether, I should say there are a good many bigger 
 fools in the world than you." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Piers.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DISCIPLINE 
 
 "7\ /IRS. DENYS, may I come in?" Jeanie Lorimer'g 
 
 1 V 1 small, delicate face peeped round the door. "I've 
 brought my French exercise to do," she said half-apolo- 
 getically. "I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind." 
 
 "Of course come in, dear child! I like to have you." 
 The mother's help paused in her rapid stitching to look up 
 with a smile at the pretty, brown-haired child. "Come 
 close to the light!" she said. "I hope it isn't a very long 
 one; is it?" 
 
 "It is rather," Jeanie sighed a sharp, involuntary sigh. 
 "I ought to have done it sooner, but I was busy with the 
 little ones. Is that Gracie's frock you're mending? What 
 an awful tear!" She came and stood by Mrs. Denys's 
 side, speaking in a low, rather monotonous voice. A heavy 
 strand of her hair fell over the work as she bent to look ; she 
 tossed it back with another sigh. "Grade is such a tom- 
 boy," she said. "It's a pity, isn't it?" 
 
 "My dear, you're tired," said Mrs. Denys gently. She 
 put a motherly arm about the slim body that leaned against 
 her, looking up into the pale young face with eyes of kindly 
 criticism. 
 
 "A little tired," said Jeanie. 
 
 "I shouldn't do that exercise to-night if I were you," 
 said Mrs. Denys. "You will find it easier in the morning. 
 Lie down on the sofa here and have a little rest till supper 
 time!" 
 
 29
 
 30 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Oh no, I mustn't," said Jeanie. "Father will never 
 let any of us go to bed till the day's work is done." 
 
 "But surely, when you're really tired " began Mrs. 
 Denys. 
 
 But Jeanie shook her head. "No ; thank you very much, 
 I must do it. Olive did hers long ago." 
 
 "Where is Olive?" asked Mrs. Denys. 
 
 "She's reading a story-book downstairs. We may al- 
 ways read when we've finished our lessons." Again came 
 that short, unconscious sigh. Jeanie went to the table and 
 sat down. "Mother is rather upset to-night," she said, as 
 she turned the leaves of her book. "Ronald and Julian 
 have been smoking, and she is so afraid that Father will find 
 out. I hope he won't for her sake. But if they don't eat 
 any supper, he is sure to notice. He flogged Julian two 
 nights running the last time because he told a lie about it." 
 
 A quick remark rose to her listener's lips, but it was sup- 
 pressed unuttered. Mrs. Denys began to stitch very 
 rapidly with her face bent over her work. It was a very 
 charming face, with level grey eyes, wide apart, and a 
 mouth of great sweetness. There was a fugitive dimple on 
 one side of it that gave her a girlish appearance when she 
 smiled. But she was not a girl. There was about her an 
 air of quiet confidence as of one who knew something of 
 the world and its ways. She was young still, and it was 
 yet in her to be ardent ; but she had none of the giddy rest- 
 lessness of youth. Avery Denys was a woman who had 
 left her girlhood wholly behind her. Her enthusiasms and 
 her impulses were kindled at a steadier flame than the 
 flickering torch of youth. There was no romance left in 
 her life, but yet was she without bitterness. She had known 
 suffering and faced it unblenching. The only mark it had 
 left upon her was that air of womanly knowledge that 
 clothed her like a garment even in her lightest moods. Of 
 a quick understanding and yet quicker sympathy, she had
 
 Discipline 31 
 
 learned to hold her emotions in check, and the natural 
 gaiety of her hid much that was too sacred to be carelessly 
 displayed. She had a ready sense of humour that had 
 buoyed her up through many a storm, and the brave heart 
 behind it never flinched from disaster. As her father had 
 said of her in the long-ago days of happiness and prosperity, 
 she took her hedges straight. 
 
 For several minutes after Jeanie's weary little confidence, 
 she worked in silence; then suddenly, with needle poised, 
 she looked across at the child. 
 
 Jeanie's head was bent over her exercise-book. Her 
 hair lay in a heavy mass all about her shoulders. There 
 was a worried frown between her brows. Slowly her hand 
 travelled across the page, paused, wrote a word or two, 
 paused again. 
 
 Suddenly from the room above them there came the 
 shrill shriek of a violin. It wailed itself into silence, and 
 then broke forth again in a series of long drawn-out whines. 
 Jeanie sighed. 
 
 Avery laid down her work with quiet decision, and went 
 to her side. "What is worrying you, dear?" she asked 
 gently. "I'm not a great French scholar, but I think I 
 may be able to help." 
 
 "Thank you," said Jeanie, in her voice of tired courtesy. 
 "You mustn't help me. No one must." 
 
 " I can find the words you don't know in the dictionary," 
 said Avery. 
 
 "No, thank you," said Jeanie. "Father doesn't like 
 us to have help of any kind." 
 
 There were deep shadows about the eyes she raised to 
 Avery's face, but they smiled quite bravely, with all 
 unconscious wistfulness. 
 
 Avery laid a tender hand upon the brown head and 
 drew it to rest against her. "Poor little thing!" she said 
 compassionately.
 
 32 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "But I'm not little really, you know," said Jeanie, closing 
 her eyes for a few stolen moments. "I'm thirteen in 
 March. And they're all younger than me except Ronnie 
 and Julian." 
 
 Avery bent with a swift, maternal movement and kissed 
 the blue-veined forehead. Jeanie opened her eyes in slight 
 surprise. Quite plainly she was not accustomed to sudden 
 caresses. 
 
 "I'm glad we've got you, Mrs. Denys," she said, with 
 her quiet air of childish dignity. "You are a great help 
 to us." 
 
 She turned back to her French exercise with the words, 
 and Avery, after a moment's thought, turned to the door. 
 She heard again the child's sigh of weariness as she closed 
 it behind her. 
 
 The wails of the violin were very audible in the passage 
 outside. She shivered at the atrocious sounds. From a 
 further distance there came the screams of an indignant 
 baby and the strident shouts of two small boys who were 
 racing to and fro in an uncarpeted room at the top of the 
 house. But after that one shiver Avery Denys had no 
 further attention to bestow upon any of these things. She 
 went with her quick, light tread down to the square hall 
 which gave a suggestion of comfort to the Vicarage which 
 not one of its rooms endorsed. 
 
 Without an instant's hesitation she knocked upon the 
 first door she came to. A voice within gave her permission 
 to enter, and she did so. 
 
 The Reverend Stephen Lorimer turned from his writing- 
 table with a face of dignified severity to receive her, but 
 at sight of her his expression changed somewhat. 
 
 "Ah, Mrs. Denys! You, is it? Pray come in !" he said 
 urbanely. " Is there any way in which I can be of service 
 to you?" 
 
 His eyes were dark and very small, so small that they
 
 Discipline 33 
 
 nearly disappeared when he smiled. But for this slight 
 defect, Mr. Lorimer would have been a handsome man. He 
 rose as Avery approached and placed a chair for her with 
 elaborate courtesy. 
 
 "Thank you," she said. "I only ran in for a moment 
 just to tell you that little Jeanie is so tired to-night. She 
 has had no time for her lessons all the afternoon because 
 she has been helping with the little ones in the nursery. 
 She insists upon doing her French exercise, but I am sure 
 you would not wish her to do it if you knew how worn out 
 the child is. May I tell her to leave it for to-night?" 
 
 She spoke quickly and very earnestly, with clear eyes 
 raised to Mr. Lorimer's face. She watched his smile fade 
 and his eyes reappear as she made her appeal. 
 
 He did not reply to it for some seconds, and a sharp 
 doubt went through her. She raised her brows in mute 
 interrogation. 
 
 "Yes, my dear Mrs. Denys," he said, in response to her 
 unspoken query, "I see that you appreciate the fact that 
 there are at least two points of view to every proposition. 
 You tell me that Jeanie was occupied in the nursery during 
 that period of the day which should legitimately have been 
 set aside for the assimilation of learning. I presume her 
 presence there was voluntary?" 
 
 "Oh, quite." There was a hint of sharpness in Avery's 
 rejoinder. "She went out of the goodness of her heart 
 because Nurse had been up practically all night with Baby 
 and needed a rest and I was obliged to go into Warden- 
 hurst for Mrs. Lorimer. So Jeanie took charge of Bertie 
 and David, and Gracie and Pat went with me." 
 
 Mr. Lorimer waved a protesting hand. . "Pray spare 
 yourself and me all these details, Mrs. Denys! I am glad 
 to know that Jeanne has been useful to you, but at the 
 same time she has no right to offer duty upon the altar of 
 kindness. You will acknowledge that to obey is better 
 a
 
 34 The Bars of Iron 
 
 than sacrifice. As a matter of principle, I fear I cannot 
 remit any of her task, and I trust that on the next occasion 
 she will remember to set duty first." 
 
 A hot flush had risen in Avery's face and her eyes sparkled, 
 but she restrained herself. There was no indignation in 
 her voice as she said: "Mr. Lorimer, believe me, that child 
 will never shirk her duty. She is far too conscientious. 
 It is really for the sake of her health that I came to beg 
 you to let her off that French exercise. I am sure she is 
 not strong. Perhaps I did wrong to let her be in the nursery 
 this afternoon, though I scarcely know how else we could 
 have managed. But that is my fault, not hers. I take 
 full responsibility for that." 
 
 Mr. Lorimer began to smile again. "That is very gener- 
 ous of you," he said. "But, as a matter of justice, I doubt 
 if the whole burden of it should fall to your share. You 
 presumably were unaware that Jeanne's afternoon should 
 have been devoted to her studies. She cannot plead a like 
 ignorance. Therefore, while dimissing the petition, I hold 
 you absolved from any blame in the matter. Pray do not 
 distress yourself any further!" 
 
 "I certainly thought it was a half -holiday," A very ad- 
 mitted. "But I am distressed very greatly distressed 
 on the child's account. She is not fit for work to-night." 
 
 Mr. Lorimer made an airy gesture expressive of semi- 
 humorous regret. "Discipline, my dear Mrs. Denys, must 
 be maintained at all costs even among the members of 
 your charming sex. As a matter of fact, I am waiting to 
 administer punishment to one of my sons at the present 
 moment for an act of disobedience." 
 
 He glanced towards the writing-table on which lay a 
 cane, and again the quick blood mounted in Avery's 
 face. 
 
 "Oh, don't you think you are a little hard on your child- 
 ren?" she said; and then impulsively, "No; forgive me!
 
 Discipline 35 
 
 I ought not to put it like that. But do you find it answers 
 to be so strict? Does it make them any more obedient?" 
 
 He raised his shoulders slightly ; his eyes gleamed moment- 
 arily ere they vanished into his smile. He shook his head 
 at her with tolerant irony. "I fear your heart runs away 
 with you, Mrs. Denys, and I must not suffer myself to 
 listen to you. I have my duty my very distinct duty 
 to perform, and I must not shirk it. As to the results, they 
 are in other Hands than mine." 
 
 There came a low knock at the door as he finished speak- 
 ing, and he turned at once to answer it. 
 
 Come in!" 
 
 The door opened, and a very small, very nervous boy 
 crept round it. A quick exclamation rose to Avery's lips 
 before she could suppress it. Mr. Lorimer looked at her 
 interrogatively. 
 
 "I was only surprised to see Pat," she explained. "He 
 has been with me all the afternoon. I hardly thought he 
 could have had time to get into trouble." 
 
 "Come here, Patrick!" said Mr. Lorimer. 
 
 Patrick advanced. He looked neither at Avery nor his 
 father, but kept his eyes rigidly downcast. His freckled 
 face had a half -frightened, half-sullen expression. He 
 halted before Mr. Lorimer who took him by the shoulder, 
 and turned him round towards Avery. 
 
 "Tell Mrs. Denys what you did!" he said. 
 
 Pat shot a single glance upwards, and made laconic reply. 
 "I undid Mike." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Avery in great distress. "I'm 
 afraid that was my fault." 
 
 "Yours, Mrs. Denys? " Mr. Lorimer's eyes became visible 
 as two brilliant pin-points turned searchingly upon her face. 
 
 " Yes, mine ! " she reiterated. " Mike was whining on his 
 chain, and I said I thought it was cruel to keep a dog tied 
 up. I suppose I ought to have kept my thoughts to myself,"
 
 36 The Bars of Iron 
 
 she said with a pathetic little smile. "Do please forgivt 
 us both this time!" 
 
 Mr. Lorimer ignored the appeal. "And do you know 
 what happened in consequence of his being liberated?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, I do." Ruefully she made answer. "He fought 
 Mr. Evesham's dog and I helped to pull him off." 
 
 "You, Mrs. Denys!" 
 
 "Yes, I." She nodded. "There wasn't much damage 
 done, anyhow to Mike. I am very, very sorry, Mr. Lori- 
 mer. But really Pat is not to blame for this. Won't you 
 please " 
 
 She stopped, for very decidedly Mr. Lorimer interrupted 
 her. "I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Mrs. Denys. 
 You may have spoken unadvisedly, but Patrick was aware 
 that in releasing the dog he was acting in direct opposition 
 to my orders. Therefore he must bear his own punishment. 
 I must beg that for the future you will endeavour to be a 
 little more discreet in your observations. Patrick, open 
 the door for Mrs. Denys!" 
 
 It was a definite dismissal perhaps the most definite 
 that Avery had ever had in her life. A fury of resentment 
 possessed her, but feeling her self-control to be tottering, 
 she dared not give it vent. She turned in quivering silence 
 and departed. 
 
 As she went out of the room, she perceived that Pat had 
 begun to cry.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE MOTHER'S HELP 
 
 "IT'S always the same," moaned Mrs. Lorimer. "My 
 1 poor children ! They're never out of trouble." 
 Avery stood still. She had fled to the drawing-room to 
 recover herself, only to find the lady of the house lying in 
 tears upon the sofa there. Mrs. Lorimer was very small 
 and pathetic. She had lost all her health long before in the 
 bearing and nurturing of her children. Once upon a time 
 she must have possessed the delicate prettiness that char- 
 acterized her eldest daughter Jeanie, but it had faded long 
 since. She was worn out now, a tired, drab little woman, 
 with no strength left to stand against adversity. The only 
 consolation in her life was her love for her husband. Him 
 she worshipped, not wholly blindly, but with a devotion 
 that never faltered. A kind word from him was capable 
 of exalting her to a state of rapture that was only out- 
 matched by the despair engendered by his displeasure. 
 There was so much of sorrow mingled with her love for her 
 children that they could scarcely have been regarded as a 
 joy. In fact Avery often thought to herself how much 
 happier she would have been without them. 
 
 "Do sit down, Mrs. Denys!" she begged nervously, as 
 Avery remained motionless in the middle of the room. 
 "Stay with me for a little, won't you? I can never bear 
 to be alone when any of the children are being punished. 
 I sometimes think Pat is the worst of all. He is so highly 
 
 37
 
 3 8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 strung, and he loses his head. And Stephen doesn't quite 
 understand him, and he is so terribly severe when they 
 rebel. And did you know that Ronald and Julian had 
 been smoking again on the way back from school? They 
 look so dreadfully ill, both of them. I know their father 
 will find out." 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer's whispered words went into soft weeping. 
 She hid her face in the cushion. 
 
 A curious little spasm went through A very, and for a 
 few mad seconds she wanted to burst into heartless laughter. 
 She conquered the impulse with a desperate effort though 
 it left her feeling slightly hysterical. 
 
 She moved across to the forlorn little woman and stooped 
 over her. 
 
 " Don't cry, dear Mrs. Lorimer ! " she urged. " It doesn t 
 do any good. Perhaps Ronald and Julian are better by 
 now. Shall we go upstairs and see ?" 
 
 The principle was a wrong one and she knew it, but for 
 the life of her she could not have resisted the temptation 
 at that moment. She had an unholy desire to get the 
 better of the Reverend Stephen which would not be denied. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer checked her tears. "You're very kind," 
 she murmured shakily. 
 
 She dried her eyes and sat up. "Do you think it would 
 be wrong to give them a spoonful of brandy?" she asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 But Avery's principles were proof against this at least. 
 "Yes, I do," she said. "But we can manage quite well 
 without it. Let us go, shall we, and see what can be done ? " 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm very wicked," sighed Mrs. Lorimer. 
 "I'm very thankful to have you with us, dear. I don't 
 know what I should do without you." 
 
 Avery's pretty mouth took an unfamiliar curve of grim- 
 ness for a moment, but she banished it at once. She 
 slipped a sustaining hand through Mrs. Lorimer's arm.
 
 The Mother's Help 39 
 
 "Thank you for saying so, though, you know, I've only 
 been with you a fortnight, and I don't feel that I have done 
 very much to deserve such high praise." 
 
 "I don't think time has much to do with friendship," 
 said Mrs. Lorimer, looking at her with genuine affection in 
 her faded blue eyes. "Do you know I became engaged to 
 my husband before I had known him a fortnight?" 
 
 But this was a subject upon which Avery found it difficult 
 to express any sympathy, and she gently changed it. "You 
 are looking very tired. Don't you think you could lie 
 down for a little in your bedroom before supper?" 
 
 " I must see the poor boys first," protested Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 "Yes, of course. We will go straight up, shall we?" 
 
 She led her to the door with the words, and they went 
 out together into the hall. As they emerged, a sudden burst 
 of stormy crying came from the study. Pat was literally 
 howling at the top of his voice. 
 
 His mother stopped and wrung her hands. "Oh, what 
 is to be done? He always cries like that. He used to as a 
 baby the only one of them who did. Mrs. Denys, what 
 shall I do? I don't think I can bear it." 
 
 Avery drew her on towards the stairs. "My dear, come 
 away!" she said practically. "You can't do anything. 
 Interference will only make matters worse. Let us go 
 right up to the boys' room ! Pat is sure to come up directly." ' 
 
 They went to the boys' room. It was a large attic in 
 which the three elder boys slept. Ronald and Julian, 
 aged fifteen and fourteen respectively, were both lying 
 prostrate on their beds. 
 
 Julian uttered a forced laugh at the sight of his mother's 
 face. "My dear Mater, for Heaven's sake don't come 
 fussing round here! We've been smoking some filthy 
 cigars little beastly Brown dared us to and there's been 
 the devil to pay. I can't get up. My tummy won't let 
 me."
 
 40 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Oh, Julian, why do you do it?" said Mrs. Lorimer, in 
 great distress. "You know what your father said the last 
 time." 
 
 She bent over him. Julian was her favourite of them 
 all. But he turned his face sharply to avoid her kiss. 
 
 "Don't, Mater! I don't feel up to it. I can't jaw 
 either. I believe those dashed cigars were poisoned. 
 Hullo, Ronald, are you quieting down yet?" 
 
 "Shut up!" growled Ronald. 
 
 His brother laughed again sardonically. "Stick to it, 
 my hearty ! There's a swishing in store for us. The mater 
 always gives the show away." 
 
 "Julian!" It was Avery's voice; she spoke with quick 
 decision. ' ' You've got exactly an hour you and Ronald 
 to pull yourselves together. Don't lie here any longer! 
 Get up and go out! Go for a hard walk! No, of course 
 you don't feel like it. But it will do you good. You want 
 to get that horrible stuff out of your lungs. Quick! Go 
 now while you can!" 
 
 "But I can't!" declared Julian. 
 
 "Yes, you can, you must! You too, Ronald! Where 
 are your coats? Pop them on and make a dash for it! 
 You'll come back better. Perhaps you will get out of the 
 swishing after all." 
 
 Julian turned his head and looked at her by the light of 
 the flaring, unshaded gas-jet. " By Jove !" he said. "You're 
 rather a brick, Mrs. Denys." 
 
 "Don't stop to talk!" she commanded. "Just get up 
 and do as I say. Go down the back stairs, mind! I'll let 
 you in again in time to get ready for supper." 
 
 Julian turned to his brother. "What do you say to it, 
 Ron?" 
 
 "Can't be done," groaned Ronald. 
 
 "Oh yes, it can." Sheer determination sounded in 
 Avery's response. "Get up, both of you! If it makes you
 
 The Mother's Help 41 
 
 ill, it can't be helped. You will neither of you get any 
 better lying here. Come, Ronald!" She went to him 
 briskly. "Get up! I'll help you. There! That's the 
 way. Splendid! Now keep it up! don't let yourself go 
 again! You will feel quite different when you get out 
 into the open air." 
 
 By words and actions she urged them, Mrs. Lorimer 
 standing pathetically by, till finally, fired by her energy, 
 the two miscreants actually managed to make their escape 
 without mishap. 
 
 She ran downstairs to see them go, returning in time to 
 receive the wailing Pat who had been sent to bed in a state 
 verging on hysterics. Neither she nor his mother could 
 calm him for some time, and when at length he was some- 
 what comforted one of the younger boys fell down in an 
 adjacent room and began to cry lustily. 
 
 Avery went to the rescue, earnestly entreating Mrs. 
 Lorimer to go down to her room and rest. She was able 
 to soothe the sufferer and leave him to the care of the nurse, 
 and she then followed Mrs. Lorimer whom she found 
 bathing her eyes and trying not to cry. 
 
 So piteous a spectacle was she that Avery found further 
 formality an absolute impossibility. She put her arm round 
 the little woman and begged her not to fret. 
 
 "No, I know it's wrong," whispered Mrs. Lorimer, 
 yielding like a child to the kindly support. "But I can't 
 help it sometimes. You see, I'm not very strong just 
 now." She hesitated and glanced at Avery with a guilty 
 air. "I I haven't told him yet," she said in a lower 
 whisper still. "Of course I shall have to soon; but I'm 
 afraid you will think me very deceitful I like to choose a 
 favourable time, when the children are not worrying him 
 quite so much. I don't want to to vex him more than I 
 need." 
 
 "My dear!" Avery said compassionately. And she
 
 42 The Bars of Iron 
 
 added as she had added to the daughter half an houf 
 before, "Poor little thing!" 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer gave a feeble laugh, lifting her face. "You 
 are a sweet girl, Avery. I may call you that? I do hope 
 the work won't be too much for you. You mustn't let me 
 lean on you too hard." 
 
 "You shall lean just as hard as you like," Avery said, 
 and, bending, kissed the tired face. "I am here to be a 
 help to you, you know. Yes, do call me Avery ! I'm quite 
 alone in the world, and it makes it feel like home. Now 
 you really must lie down till supper. And you are not to 
 worry about anything. I am sure the boys will come back 
 much better. There! Is that comfortable?" 
 
 "Quite, dear, thank you. You mustn't think about me 
 any more. Good-bye! Thank you for all your goodness 
 to me!" Mrs. Lorimer clung to her hand for a moment. 
 "I was always prejudiced against mothers' helps before," 
 she said ingenuously. "But I find you an immense com- 
 fort an immense comfort. You will try and stay, won't 
 you, if you possibly can?" 
 
 "Yes," Avery promised. "I will certainly stay if it 
 rests with me." 
 
 Her lips were very firmly closed as she went out of the 
 room and her grey eyes extremely bright. It had been 2 
 strenuous half-hour.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 LIFE ON A CHAIN 
 
 , I say, are you going out?" said Piers. "I was 
 
 just coming to call on you." 
 
 "On me?" Avery looked at him with brows raised in 
 surprised interrogation. 
 
 He made her a graceful bow, nearly sweeping the path 
 outside the Vicarage gate with his cap. "Even so, madam ! 
 On you ! But as I perceive you are not at home to callers, 
 may I be permitted to turn and walk beside you?" 
 
 As he suited the action to the words, it seemed super- 
 fluous to grant the permission, and Avery did not do so. 
 
 "I am only going to run quickly down to the post," she 
 said, with a glance at some letters she carried. 
 
 He might have offered to post them for her, but such a 
 course did not apparently occur to him. Instead he said: 
 "I'll race you if you like." 
 
 Avery refrained from smiling, conscious of a gay glance 
 flung in her direction. 
 
 "I see you prefer to walk circumspectly," said Piers. 
 "Well, I can do that too. How is Mike? Why isn't he 
 with you?" 
 
 "Mike is quite well, thank you," said Avery. "And he 
 is kept chained up." 
 
 "What an infernal shame!" burst from Piers. "I'd 
 sooner shoot a dog than keep him on a chain." 
 
 "So would I!" said Avery impulsively. 
 
 The words were out before she could check them. It 
 
 43
 
 44 The Bars of Iron 
 
 was a subject upon which she found it impossible to 
 maintain her reticence. 
 
 Piers grinned triumphantly and thrust out a boyish 
 hand. "Shake!" he said. "We are in sympathy!" 
 
 But Avery only shook her head at him, refusing to be 
 drawn. "People plenty of nice people have no idea 
 of the utter cruelty of it," she said. "They think that if 
 a dog has never known liberty, he is incapable of desiring 
 it. They don't know, they don't realize, the bitterness 
 of life on a chain." 
 
 "Don't know and don't care!" declared Piers. "They 
 deserve to be chained up themselves. One day on a chain 
 would teach your nice people quite a lot. But no one cul- 
 tivates feeling in this valley of dry bones. It isn't the 
 thing nowadays. Let a dog whine his heart out on a 
 chain! Who cares? There's no room for sentimental 
 scruples of that sort. Can't you see the Reverend Stephen 
 smile at the bare idea of extending a little of his precious 
 Christian pity to a dog?" He broke off with a laugh that 
 rang defiantly. "Now it's your turn ! " he said. 
 
 "My turn?" Avery glanced at his dark, handsome 
 face with a touch of curiosity. 
 
 He met her eyes with his own as if he would beat them 
 back. "Aren't you generous enough to remind me that 
 but for your timely interference I should have beaten my 
 own dog to death only yesterday ? You were almost ready 
 to flog me for it at the time." 
 
 "Oh, that!" Avery said, looking away again. "Yes, of 
 course I might remind you of that if I wanted to be personal ; 
 but, you see, I don't." 
 
 ' ' Why not ! ' ' said Piers stubbornly. ' ' You were personal 
 enough yesterday." 
 
 The dimple, for which Avery was certainly not respons- 
 ible, appeared suddenly near her mouth. "I am afraid 
 I lost my temper yesterday," she said.
 
 Life on a Chain 45 
 
 "How wrong of you!" said Piers. "I hope you 
 confessed to the Reverend Stephen." 
 
 She glanced at him again and became grave. "No, I 
 didn't confess to anyone. But I think it's a pity ever to 
 lose one's temper. It involves a waste of power." 
 
 "Does it?" said Piers. 
 
 "Yes." She nodded with conviction. "We need all 
 the strength we can muster for other things. How is your 
 dog to-day?" 
 
 Piers ignored the question. "What other things?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Go on!" said Piers imperiously. 
 
 A very complied half-reluctantly. "I meant mainly 
 the burdens of life. We can't afford to weaken ourselves 
 by any loss of self-control. The man who keeps his temper 
 is immeasurably stronger than the man who loses it." 
 
 Piers was frowning; his dark eyes looked almost black. 
 Suddenly he turned upon her. "Mrs. Denys, I have a 
 strong suspicion that your temper is a sweet one. If so, 
 you're no judge of these things. Why didn't you leather 
 me with my own whip yesterday? You had me at your 
 mercy." 
 
 A very smiled. Plainly he was set upon a personal en- 
 counter, and she could not avoid it. "Well, frankly, Mr. 
 Evesham," she said, " I was never nearer to striking anyone 
 in my life." 
 
 "Then why did you forbear? You weren't afraid to 
 souse me with cold water." 
 
 " Oh no," she said. "I wasn't afraid." 
 
 "I believe you were," maintained Piers. "You're afraid 
 to speak your mind to me now anyway." 
 
 She laughed a little. "No, I'm not. I really can't 
 explain myself to you. I think you forget that we are 
 practically strangers."
 
 46 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "You talk as if I had been guilty of familiarity," said 
 Piers. 
 
 ''No, no! I didn't mean that," Avery coloured sud- 
 denly, and the soft glow made her wonderfully fair to 
 see. "You know quite well I didn't mean it," she said. 
 
 "It's good of you to say so," said Piers. "But I really 
 didn't know. I thought you had decided that I was a 
 suitable subject for snubbing. I'm not a bit. I'm so 
 accustomed to it that I don't care a " he paused with a 
 glance of quizzical daring, and, as she managed to look 
 severe, amended the sentence "that I am practically 
 indifferent to it. Mrs. Denys, I wish you had struck me 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Really?" said Avery. 
 
 "Yes, really. I should then have had the pleasure of 
 forgiving you. It's a pleasure I don't often get. You see, 
 I'm usually the one that's in the wrong." 
 
 She looked at him then with quick interest ; she could not 
 help it. But the dark eyes triumphed over her so shame- 
 lessly that she veiled it on the instant. 
 
 Piers laughed. "Mrs. Denys, may I ask a directly 
 personal question?" 
 
 "I don't know why you should," said Avery. 
 
 They were nearing the pillar-box at the end of the Vicar- 
 age lane, and she was firmly determined that at that box 
 their ways should separate. 
 
 "I know you think I'm bold and bad," said Piers. "Some 
 kind friend has probably told you so. But I'm not. I've 
 been brought up badly, that's all. I think you might bear 
 with me. I'm quite willing to be bullied." There was 
 actual pathos in the declaration. 
 
 Again the fleeting dimple hovered near Avery 's mouth. 
 "Please don't take my opinion for granted in that way!" 
 she said. "I have hardly had time to form one yet." 
 
 "Then I may ask my question?" said Piers.
 
 Life on a Chain 47 
 
 / 
 
 She turned steady grey eyes upon him. "Yes; you 
 may." 
 
 Piers' face was perfectly serious. "Are you really 
 married?" he asked. 
 
 The level brows went up a little. "I have been a widow 
 for six years," said Avery very quietly. 
 
 He stared at her in surprise unfeigned. " Six years! " 
 
 She replied in the same quiet voice. " I lost my husband 
 when I was twenty-two." 
 
 " Great Heavens above !" ejaculated Piers. "But you're 
 not not I say, forgive me, I must say it you can't be 
 as old as that!" 
 
 "I am twenty-nine," said Avery faintly smiling. 
 
 They had reached the letter-box. She dropped in her 
 letters one by one. Piers stood confounded, looking on. 
 
 Suddenly he spoke. "And you've been doing this 
 mothers'-helping business for six years?" 
 
 "Oh no!" she said. 
 
 She turned round from the box and faced him. The red 
 winter sunset glowed softly upon her. Her grey eyes 
 looked straight into it. 
 
 "No ! " she said again. " I had my little girl to take care 
 of for the first six months. You see, she was born blind, 
 soon after her father's death, and she needed all the care 
 I could give her." 
 
 Piers made a sharp movement a gesture that was 
 almost passionate ; but he said nothing. 
 
 Avery withdrew her eyes from the sunset, and looked 
 at him. "She died," she said, "and that left me with 
 nothing to do. I have no near relations. So I just had to 
 set to work to find something to occupy me. I went into 
 a children's hospital for training, and spent some years 
 there. Then when that came to an end, I took a holiday; 
 but I found I wanted children. So I cast about me, and 
 finally answered Mr. Lorimer's advertisement and came
 
 48 The Bars of Iron 
 
 here." She began to smile. "At least I have plenty of 
 children now." 
 
 ' ' Oh, I say ! " broke in Piers. " What a perfectly horrible 
 life you've had! You don't mean to say you're happy, 
 what?" 
 
 Avery laughed. "I'm much too busy to think about it. 
 And now I really must run back. I've promised to take 
 charge of the babies this afternoon. Good-bye!" She 
 held out her hand to him with frank friendliness, as if she 
 divined the sympathy he did not utter. 
 
 He gripped it hard for a moment. "Thanks awfully 
 for being so decent as to tell me!" he said, looking back at 
 her with eyes as frank as her own. " I'm going on down to 
 the home farm. Good-bye!" 
 
 He raised his cap, and abruptly strode away. And in 
 the moment of his going Avery found she liked him better 
 than she had liked him throughout the interview, for she 
 knew quite well that he went only in deference to her wish. 
 
 She turned to retrace her steps, feeling puzzled. There 
 was something curiously attractive about the young man's 
 personality, something that appealed to her, yet that she 
 felt disposed to resist. That air of the ancient Roman was 
 wonderfully compelling, too compelling for her taste, but 
 then his boyishness counteracted it to a very great degree. 
 There was a hint of sweetness running through his arro- 
 gance against which she was not proof. Audacious he might 
 be, but it was a winning species of audacity that probably 
 no woman could condemn. She thought to herself as she 
 returned to her charges that she had never seen a face so 
 faultlessly patrician and yet so vividly alive. And fol- 
 lowing that thought came another that dwelt longer in her 
 mind. Deprived of its animation, it would not have been 
 a happy face. 
 
 Avery wondered why.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE RACE 
 
 H' 
 
 Grade Lorimer's arithmetic-book soared to the 
 ceiling and came down with a bang while Gracie herself 
 pivoted, not ungracefully, on her toes till sheer giddiness 
 and exhaustion put an end to her rhapsody. Then she 
 staggered to Avery who was darning the family stockings 
 by the window and flung ecstatic arms about her neck. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Denys, aren't you glad it's holidays?" she 
 gasped. "We'll give you such a lovely time!" 
 
 "I'm sure you will, dear," said Avery. "But do mind 
 the needle!" 
 
 She kissed the brilliant childish face that was pressed to 
 hers. vShe and Gracie were close friends. Gracie was 
 eleven, and the prettiest madcap of them all. It was a 
 perpetual marvel to Avery that the child managed to be 
 so happy, for she was continually in trouble. But she 
 seemed to possess a cheery knack of throwing off adversity. 
 She was essentially gay of heart. 
 
 "Do put away those stupid old stockings and come out 
 with us!" she begged, still hanging over Avery. "Don't 
 you hate darning? I do. We had to do our own before 
 you came. I was very naughty one day last summer. I 
 went out and played in the garden instead of mending my 
 stockings, and Father found out." Gracie cast up her 
 eyes dramatically. "He sent me in to do them, and went 
 
 49
 
 50 The Bars of Iron 
 
 off to one of his old parish parties; and I just sneaked out 
 as soon as his back was turned and went on with the game. 
 But there was no luck that day. He came back to fetch 
 something and caught me. And then just imagine!" 
 Again Gracie was dramatic, though this time unconsciously. 
 "He sent me to bed and what do you think? When he 
 came home to tea, he whipped me!" 
 
 Avery threaded her needle with care. She said nothing. 
 
 "I think it was rather a shame," went on Gracie uncon- 
 cernedly. "Because he never whips Jeanie or Olive. But 
 then, he can make them cry without, and he can't make me. 
 I 'spect that's what made him do it, don't you?" 
 
 "I don't know, dear," said Avery rather shortly. 
 
 Gracie peered round into her face. "Mrs. Denys, you 
 don't like Father, do you?" she said. 
 
 "My dear, that's not a nice question to ask," said Avery, 
 with her eyes on her work. 
 
 "I don't know why not," said Gracie. " I don't like him 
 myself, and he knows I don't. He'd whip me again if he 
 got the chance, but I'm too jolly careful now. I was 
 pleased that you got Ronnie and Julian off the other day. 
 He never suspected, did he ? I thought I should have burst 
 during prayers. It was so funny." 
 
 "My dear!" protested Avery. 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Gracie. "But you aren't really 
 shocked, dear, kind Mrs. Denys! You know you aren't. 
 I can see your sweet little dimple. No, I can't! Yes, I 
 can! I do love your dimple. It goes in and out like the 
 sun." 
 
 Avery leaned back abruptly in her chair. "Oh, foolish 
 one!" she said, and gathered the child to her with a warmth 
 to which the ardent Gracie was swift to respond. 
 
 "And you are coming out with us, aren't you? Because 
 it's so lovely and cold. I want to go up on that big hill in 
 Rodding Park, and run and run and run till I just can't
 
 The Race 51 
 
 'run any longer. Ronnie and Julian are coming too. And 
 Jeanie and Olive and Pat. We ought to begin and collect 
 holly for the church decorations. You'll be able to help 
 this year, won't you? Miss Whalley always bosses things. 
 Have you met Miss Whalley yet? She's quite the funniest 
 person in Rodding. She was the daughter of the last Vicar, 
 and she has never forgotten it. So odd of her! As if there 
 were anything in it! I often wish I weren't a parson's 
 daughter. I'd much rather belong to someone who had to 
 go up to town every day. There would be much more fun 
 for everybody then." 
 
 Avery was laying her mending together. She supposed 
 she ought to check the child's chatter, but felt too much in 
 sympathy with her to do so. "I really don't know if I 
 ought to come," she said. "But it is certainly too fine an 
 afternoon for you to waste indoors. Where are the boys? " 
 
 "Oh, they're messing about somewhere in the garden. 
 You see, they've got to keep out of sight or Father will set 
 them to work to roll the lawn. He always does that sort 
 of thing. He calls it ' turning our youthful energies to good 
 account. ' ' Very suddenly and wickedly Gracie mimicked 
 the pastoral tones. "But the boys call it ' nigger-driving,' " 
 she added, "and I think the boys are right. When I'm 
 grown up, I'll never, never, never make my children do 
 horrid things like that. They shall have oh, such a good 
 time!" 
 
 There was unconscious pathos in the declaration. Avery 
 looked at the bright face very tenderly. 
 
 "I wonder what you'll do with them when they're 
 naughty, Gracie," she said. 
 
 "I shall never whip them," said Gracie decidedly. "I 
 think whipping is a horrid punishment. It makes you hate 
 everybody. I think I shan't punish them at all, Mrs. 
 Denys. I shall just tell them how wrong they've been, 
 i id that they are never to do it again. And I'm sure they
 
 5 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 won't," she added, with confidence. "They'll love me 
 too much." 
 
 She slipped her arm round Avery's waist as she rose. 
 "Do you know I would dreadfully like to call you Aunt 
 Avery?" she said. "I said so to Jeanie, and Jeanie wants 
 to too. Do you mind?" 
 
 " Mind ! " said Avery. " J shall love it." 
 
 "Oh, thank you awfully ! ' ' Gracie kissed her fervently. 
 "I'll run and tell Jeanie. She will be pleased." 
 
 She skipped from the room, and Avery went to prepare 
 for the walk. ' ' Poor little souls ! ' ' she murmured to herself. 
 "How I wish they were mine!" 
 
 They mustered only five when they started the three 
 girls, Pat, and Avery herself; but ere they had reached the 
 end of the lane the two elder boys leapt the Vicarage wall 
 v/ith a whoop of triumph and joined them. The party 
 bacame at once uproariously gay. Everyone talked at the 
 same time, even Jeanie becoming animated. Avery re- 
 joiced to see the pretty face flushed and merry. She had 
 begun to feel twinges of anxiety about Jeanie lately. But 
 she was able to banish them at least for to-day, for Jeanie 
 ran and chattered with the rest. In fact, Olive was the 
 only one who showed any disposition to walk sedately. 
 It had to be remembered that Olive was the clever one of 
 the family. She more closely resembled her father than 
 any of the others, and Avery firmly believed her to be the 
 only member of the family that Mr. Lorimer really loved. 
 She was a cold-hearted, sarcastic child, extremely self- 
 contained, giving nothing and receiving nothing in return. 
 It was impossible to become intimate with her. Avery 
 had given up the attempt almost at the outset, realizing 
 that it was not in Olive's nature to be intimate with anyone. 
 They were always exceedingly polite to each other, but 
 beyond that their acquaintance made no progress. Olive 
 lived in a world of books, and the practical side of life
 
 The Race 53 
 
 scarcely touched her, and most certainly never appealed 
 to her sympathy. "She will be her father over again," 
 Mrs. Lorimer would declare, with pathetic pride. "So 
 dignified, so handsome, and so clever!" 
 
 And Avery agreed, not without reserve, that she certainly 
 resembled him to a marked degree. 
 
 She was by far the most sober member of the party that 
 entered Rodding Park that afternoon. Avery, inspired 
 by the merriment around her, was in a frankly frivolous 
 mood. She was fast friends with the two elder boys, who 
 had voted her a brick on the night that she had intervened 
 to deliver them from the just retribution for their misdeeds. 
 They had conceived an immense admiration for her which 
 placed her in a highly privileged position. 
 
 "If Mrs. Denys says so, it is so," was Ronald's fiat, and 
 she knew that such influence as he possessed with his 
 brothers and sisters was always at her disposal. 
 
 She liked Ronald. The boy was a gentleman. Though 
 slow, he was solid ; and she suspected that he possessed more 
 depth of character than the more brilliant Julian. Julian 
 was crafty ; there was no denying it. She was sure that he 
 would get on in the world. But of Ronald's future she was 
 not so sure. It seemed to her that he might plod on for 
 ever without reaching his goal. He kept near her through- 
 out that riotous scamper through the bare, wind-swept 
 Park, making it plain that he regarded himself as her lieu- 
 tenant whether she required his services or not. As a 
 matter of fact, she did not require them, but she was glad 
 to have him there and she keenly appreciated the gentle- 
 manly consideration with which he helped her over every 
 stile. 
 
 They reached the high hill of Grade's desire, and rapidly 
 climbed it. The sun had passed over to the far west and 
 had already begun to dip ere they reached the summit. 
 
 " Now we'll all stand in a, row and race down," announced
 
 54 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Grade, when they reached the top. "Aunt Avery wil! 
 start us. We'll run as far as that big oak-tree on the edge 
 of the wood. Now line up, everybody!" 
 
 "I'm not going to do anything so silly," said Olive 
 decidedly. "Mrs. Denys and I will follow quietly." 
 
 "Oh no!" laughed Avery. "You can do the starting, 
 my dear, and I will race with the others." 
 
 Olive looked at her, faintly contemptuous. "Oh, of 
 course if you prefer it " she said. 
 
 "I do indeed!" Avery assured her. "But I think the 
 two big boys and I ought to be handicapped. Jeanie and 
 Gracie and Pat must go ten paces in front." 
 
 "I am bigger than Gracie and Pat," said Jeanie. "I 
 think I ought to go midway." 
 
 "Of course," agreed Ronald. "And, Aunt Avery, you 
 must go with her. You can't start level with Julian and 
 me." 
 
 Avery laughed at the amendment and fell in with it. 
 They adjusted themselves for the trial of speed, while Olive 
 stationed herself on a mole-hill to give the signal. 
 
 The valley below them was in deep shadow. The last 
 of the sunlight lay upon the hilltop. It shone dazzlingly 
 in Avery's eyes as the race began. 
 
 There had been a sprinkling of snow the day before, and 
 the grass was crisp and rough. She felt it crush under her 
 feet with a keen sense of enjoyment. Instinctively she put 
 all her buoyant strength into the run. She left Jeanie 
 behind, overtook and passed the two younger children, 
 and raced like a hare down the slope. Keenly the wind 
 whistled past her, and she rejoiced to feel its clean purity 
 rush into her lungs. She was for the moment absurdly, 
 rapturously happy, a child amongst children. 
 
 The sun went out of sight, and the darkness of the valle; 
 swallowed her. She sped on, fleet-footed, flushed and laugh 
 ing, moving as if on wings.
 
 The Race 55 
 
 She neared the dark line of wood, and saw the stark, 
 outstretched branches of the oak that was her goal. In the 
 same instant she caught sight of a man's figure standing 
 beneath it, apparently waiting for her. 
 
 He had evidently just come out of the wood. He car- 
 ried a gun on his shoulder, but the freedom of his pose was 
 so striking that she likened him on the instant to a Roman 
 gladiator. 
 
 She could not stop herself at once though she checked 
 her speed, and when she finally managed to come to a stand, 
 she was close to him. 
 
 He stepped forward to meet her with a royal air of wel- 
 come. "How nice of you to come and call on me!" he 
 said. 
 
 His dark eyes shone mischievously as they greeted her, 
 and she was too flushed and dishevelled to stand upon 
 ceremony. Pantingly she threw back her gay reply. 
 
 "This is the children's happy hunting-ground, not mine. 
 I suppose, if the truth were told, we are trespassing." 
 
 He made her his sweeping bow. "There is not a corner 
 of this estate that is not utterly and for ever at your 
 service.'* 
 
 He turned as the two elder boys came racing up, and she 
 saw the half-mocking light go out of his eyes as they glanced 
 up the hill. ' ' Hullo ! " he said. ' ' There's one of them come 
 to grief." 
 
 Sharply she turned also. Pat and Grade were having a 
 spirited race down the lower slope of the hill. Olive had 
 begun to descend from the top with becoming dignity. 
 And midway, poor Jeanie crouched in a forlorn little heap 
 with her hands tightly covering her face. 
 
 "The child's hurt!" exclaimed Avery. 
 
 She started to run back, but in a moment Piers sprang 
 past her, crying, "All right. Don't run! Take it easy!" 
 
 He himself went like the wind. She watched him with
 
 56 The Bars of Iron 
 
 subconscious admiration. He was so superbly lithe and 
 strong. 
 
 She saw him reach Jeanie and kneel down beside her. 
 There was > no hesitation about him. He was evidently 
 deeply concerned. He slipped a persuasive arm about the 
 child's huddled form. 
 
 When Avery reached them, Jeanie's head in its blue 
 woollen cap was pillowed against him and she was telling 
 him sobbingly of her trouble. 
 
 "I I caught my foot. I don't know how I did it. 
 It twisted right round and oh, it does hurt, I I I can't 
 help being silly!" 
 
 "All right, kiddie, all right!" said Piers. "It was one of 
 those confounded rabbit-holes. There! You'll be better 
 in a minute. Got a handkerchief, what? Oh, never mind! 
 Take mine!" 
 
 He pulled it out and dried her eyes as tenderly as if he 
 had been a woman; then raised his head abruptly and spoke 
 to Avery. 
 
 "I expect it's a sprain. I'd better get her boot off and 
 see, what?" 
 
 " No, we had better take her home first," said Avery with 
 quick decision. 
 
 "All right," said Piers at once. "I'll carry her. I dare- 
 say she isn't very heavy. I say, little girl, you mustn't 
 cry." He patted her shoulder kindly. " It hurts horribly, 
 I know. These things always do. But you're going to 
 show me how plucky you can be. Women are always 
 braver than men, aren't they, Mrs. Denys?" 
 
 Thus admonished, Jeanie lifted her face and made a 
 valiant effort to regain her self-command. But she clasped 
 her two hands very tightly upon Piers' arm so that he could 
 not move to lift her. 
 
 "I'll be brave in a minute," she promised him tremulously. 
 "You won't mind waiting just a minute?"
 
 The Race 57 
 
 "Two, if you like," said Piers. 
 
 Avery was stooping over the injured -foot. Jeanie was 
 propped sideways, half-lying against Piers' knee. 
 
 "Don't touch it, please, Aunt Avery!" she whispered. 
 
 The other children had drawn round in an interested 
 group. "It looks like a fracture to me," observed Olive 
 in her precise voice. 
 
 Piers flashed her a withering glance. "Mighty lot you 
 know about it!" he retorted rudely. 
 
 Pat sniggered. He was not fond of his second sister. 
 But his mirth was checked by the impulsive Gracie who 
 pushed him aside with a brief, "Don't be a pig!" 
 
 Olive retired into the background with her nose in the 
 air, looking so absurdly like her father that a gleam of 
 humour shot through even Piers' sternness. He suppressed 
 it and turned to the two elder boys. 
 
 "Which of you is to be trusted to carry a loaded gun?" 
 
 "I am," said Julian. 
 
 "No Ronald," said Avery very firmly. 
 
 Julian stuck out his tongue at her, and was instantly 
 pummelled therefor by the zealous Gracie. 
 
 "Ronald," said Piers. "Mind how you pick it up, and 
 don't point it at anyone ! Carry it on your shoulder ! That's 
 the way. Go slow with it ! Now you walk in front and 
 take it down to the lodge!" 
 
 He issued his orders with the air of a commanding-officer, 
 and having issued them turned again with renewed gentle- 
 ness to the child who lay against his arm. 
 
 "Now, little girl, shall we make a move? I'm afraid 
 postponing it won't make it any better. I'll carry you 
 awfully carefully." 
 
 "Thank you," whispered Jeanie. 
 
 He stooped over her. "Put your arm round my neck! 
 That'll be a help. Mrs. Denys, can you steady her foot 
 While I get up?"
 
 58 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Avery bent to do so. He moved with infinite care; but 
 even so the strain upon the foot was inevitable. Jeanie 
 gave a sharp cry, and sank helpless in his arms. 
 
 He began to speak encouragingly but broke off in the 
 middle, feeling the child's head lie limp upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Afraid it's serious," he said to Avery. "We will get 
 her down to the lodge and send for a doctor." 
 
 "By Jove! She's fainted!" remarked Julian. "It's a 
 jolly bad sprain." 
 
 "It's not a sprain at all," said Olive loftily. 
 
 And much as she would have liked to disagree, Avery 
 knew that she was right.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 
 
 MRS. MARSHALL at the lodge was a hard-featured 
 old woman whose god was cleanliness. Perhaps 
 it was hardly to be expected of her that she should throw 
 open her door to the whole party. Piers, with his limp 
 burden, and Avery she had to admit, but after the latter's 
 entrance she sternly blocked the way. 
 
 "There's no room for any more," she declared with 
 finality. "You'd best run along home." 
 
 And with that she shut the door upon them and followed 
 her unwelcome visitors into her spotless parlour. 
 
 "What's the matter with the young lady?" she enquired 
 sourly. 
 
 Avery answered her in her quick, friendly way. "She 
 has had a fall, poor little thing, and hurt her foot I'm 
 afraid, badly. It's so good of you to let us bring her in 
 here. Won't you spread a cloth to keep her boots off youi 
 clean chintz?" 
 
 The suggestion was what Piers described later as "a 
 lucky hit." It melted old Mrs. Marshall on the instant. 
 She hastened to comply with it, and saw Jeanie laid down 
 upon her sofa with comparative resignation. 
 
 "She do look mortal bad, to be sure," she remarked. 
 
 "Can't you find some brandy?" said Piers. 
 
 "I think she will come to, now," Avery said. "Yes, 
 look! Her eyes are opening." 
 
 59
 
 60 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She was right. Jeanie's eyes opened very wide and fixed 
 themselves enquiringly upon Piers' face. There was some- 
 thing in them, a species of dumb appeal, that went straight 
 to his heart. He moved impulsively, and knelt beside her. 
 
 Jeanie's hand came confidingly forth to him. "I did 
 try to be brave," she whispered. 
 
 Piers' hand closed instantly and warmly upon hers. 
 "That's all right, little girl," he said kindly. "Pain 
 pretty bad, eh?" 
 
 "Yes," murmured Jeanie. 
 
 "Ah, well, don't move!" he said. "We'll get your boot 
 off and then you'll feel better." 
 
 "Oh, don't trouble, please!" said Jeanie politely. 
 
 She held his hand very tightly, and he divined that the 
 prospect of the boot's removal caused her considerable 
 apprehension. 
 
 He looked round to consult Avery on the subject, but 
 found that she had slipped out of the room. He heard her 
 in the porch speaking to the children, and in a few seconds 
 she was back again. 
 
 "Don't let us keep you!" she said to Piers. "I can stay 
 with Jeanie now. I have sent the children home, all but 
 Ronald and Julian who have gone to fetch Dr. Tudor." 
 
 Piers looked at Jeanie, and Jeanie looked at Piers. Her 
 hand was still fast locked in his. 
 
 "Shall I go? "said Piers. 
 
 Jeanie's blue eyes were very wistful. "I would like you 
 to stay," she said shyly, "if you don't mind." 
 
 "If Mrs. Denys doesn't mind?" suggested Piers. 
 
 To which Avery responded. "Thank you. Please stay ! " 
 
 She said it for Jeanie's sake, since it was evident that the 
 child was sustaining herself on the man's strength, but 
 the look Piers flashed her made her a little doubtful as to 
 the wisdom of her action. She realized that it might not 
 be easy to keep him at arm's length after this.
 
 A Friend in Need 61 
 
 Piers turned back to Jeanie. "Very well, I'll stay," he 
 (said, "anyhow till Tudor comes along. Let's see! You're 
 the eldest girl, aren't you? I ought to know you by name, 
 but somehow my memory won't run to it." 
 
 He could not as a matter of fact remember that he had 
 ever spoken to any of the young Lorimers before, though 
 by sight he was well acquainted with them. 
 
 Jeanie, in whose eyes he had ever shone as a knight of 
 romance, murmured courteously that no one ever remem- 
 bered them all by name. 
 
 "Well, I shall remember you anyhow," said Piers. 
 "Queenie is it?" 
 
 "No Jeanie." 
 
 "I shall call you Queenie," he said. "It sounds more 
 imposing. Now won't you let me just slit off that boot? 
 I can do it without hurting you." 
 
 "Slit it!" said Jeanie, shocked. 
 
 "We shan't get it off without," said Piers. "What do 
 you think about it, Mrs. Denys?" 
 
 "I will unfasten the lace first," Avery said. 
 
 This she proceeded to do while Piers occupied Jeanie's 
 attention with a success which a less dominant personality 
 could scarcely have achieved. 
 
 But when it came to removing the boot he went to 
 Avery's assistance. It was no easy matter but they 
 accomplished it between them, Piers ruthlessly cutting 
 the leather away from the injured ankle which by that 
 time was badly swollen. They propped it on a cushion, 
 and made her as comfortable as circumstances would 
 allow. 
 
 "Can't that old woman make you some tea?" Piers 
 said then, beginning to chafe at the prospect of an 
 indefinite period of inaction. 
 
 "I think she is boiling her kettle now," Avery answered. 
 
 Piers grunted. He fidgeted to the window and back, and
 
 then, finding Jeanie's eyes still mutely watching him, he 
 pulled up a chair to her side and took the slender hand 
 again into his own. 
 
 Avery turned her attention to coaxing the fire to burn, 
 and presently went out to Mrs. Marshall in her kitchen to 
 offer her services there. She was graciously permitted to 
 cut some bread and butter while the old woman prepared 
 a tray. 
 
 "I suppose it was Master Piers' fault," the latter re- 
 marked with severity. "He's always up to some mischief 
 or other." 
 
 Avery hastened to assure her that upon this occasion 
 Piers was absolutely blameless and had been of the utmost 
 assistance to them. 
 
 "I'm very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Marshall. "He's 
 a feckless young gentleman, and I often think as he's like 
 to bring the old master's hairs with sorrow to the grave. 
 Sir Beverley do set such store by him, always did from the 
 day he brought him back from his dead mother in Paris, 
 along with that French valet who carried him like as if he'd 
 been a parcel of goods. He's been brought up by men from 
 his cradle, miss, and it hasn't done him any good. But 
 there! Sir Beverley is that set against all womenkind 
 there's no moving him." 
 
 Mrs. Marshall was beginning to expand a mark of high 
 favour which she bestowed only upon the few. 
 
 Avery listened with respect, comfortably aware that by 
 this simple means she was creating a good impression. 
 She was anxious to win the old dame to a benevolent frame 
 of mind if possible, since to be thrown upon unwilling 
 hospitality was the last thing she desired. 
 
 It was characteristic of her that she achieved her purpose. 
 When she returned to the parlour in Mrs. Marshall's wake, 
 she had completely won her hostess's heart, a fact which 
 Piers remarked on the instant.
 
 A Friend in Need 63 
 
 "There's magic in you," he said to Avery, as she gave 
 him his cup of tea. 
 
 "I prefer to call it commonsense," she answered. 
 
 She turned her attention at once to Jeanie, coaxing her 
 to drink the tea though her utmost persuasion could not 
 induce her to eat anything. She was evidently suffering 
 a good deal of pain, but she begged them not to trouble 
 about her. "Please have your tea, Aunt Avery! I shall 
 be quite all right." 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Avery must certainly have some tea," said 
 Piers with determination, and he refused to touch his own 
 until she had done so. 
 
 It was a relief to all three of them when the doctor's dog- 
 cart was heard on the drive. Avery rose at once and went 
 to receive him. 
 
 Piers stretched a kindly arm behind the cushion that 
 supported Jeanie's head. "Do you really want me to 
 stay with you, little girl?" he asked. 
 
 Jeanie was very white, but she looked at him bravely. 
 "Do you mind?" she said. 
 
 His dark eyes smiled encouragement. "No, of course 
 I don't mind if I can be of any use to you. Tudor will 
 probably want to kick me out, but if you have the smallest 
 desire to keep me, I'll stay." 
 
 "You are kind," said Jeanie very earnestly. "I think 
 it will help me to be brave if I may hold your hand. You 
 have such a strong hand." 
 
 "It is entirely at your service," said Piers. 
 
 He turned in his chair at the doctor's entrance, without 
 rising. His attitude was decidedly dogged. He looked 
 as if he anticipated a struggle. 
 
 Dr. Tudor came in behind Avery. He was a man of 
 forty, curt of speech and short of temper, with eyes that 
 gleamed shrewdly behind gold pince-nez. He gave Piers 
 a look that was conspicuously lacking in cordiality.
 
 64 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Hullo!" he said. "You here!" 
 
 "Yes, I'm here," said Piers. 
 
 The doctor's eyes passed him and went straight to the 
 white face of the child on the sofa. He advanced and bent 
 over her. 
 
 "So you've had an accident, eh?" he said. 
 
 "Yes," whispered Jeanie, pressing a little closer to Piers. 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 "I think it was a rabbit-hole," said Jeanie not very 
 lucidly. 
 
 "Caught your foot and fell, I suppose?" said the doctor. 
 "Was that all? Did you do any walking after it?" 
 
 "Oh no!" said Jeanie, with a shudder. "Mr. Evesham 
 carried me." 
 
 "I see." He was holding her wrist between his fingers. 
 Very suddenly he looked at Piers again. "I can't have 
 you here," he said. 
 
 "Can't you?" said Piers. He threw back his head with 
 an aggressive movement, but said no more. 
 
 "Please let him stay!" said Jeanie beseechingly. 
 
 The doctor frowned. 
 
 In a low voice Avery intervened. " I told him he might 
 for the child's sake." 
 
 Dr. Tudor turned his hawk eyes upon her. "Who are 
 you, may I ask?" 
 
 Piers' free hand clenched, and a sudden hot flush rose to 
 his forehead. But Avery made answer before he could 
 speak. 
 
 "I am the mother's help at the Vicarage. My name is 
 Denys Mrs. Denys. And Jeanie is in my care. Now, 
 will you look at the injury?" 
 
 She smiled a little as she said it, but the decision of 
 her speech was past disputing. Dr. Tudor regarded her 
 piercingly for a moment or two, then without a word 
 turned aside.
 
 A Friend in Need 65 
 
 The tension went out of Piers' attitude; he held Jeanie 
 comfortingly close. 
 
 At the end of a brief examination the doctor spoke. ' ' Yes. 
 A simple fracture. I can soon put that to rights. You 
 can help me, Mrs. Denys." 
 
 He~went to work at once, giving occasional curt direc- 
 tions to Avery, while Jeanie clung convulsively to Piers, 
 her face buried in his coat, and fought for self-control. 
 
 It was a very plucky fight, for the ordeal was a severe 
 one ; and when it was over the poor child broke down com- 
 pletely in spite of all her efforts and wept upon Piers' 
 shoulder. He soothed and consoled her with the utmost 
 kindness. It had been something of an ordeal for him 
 also, and with relief he turned his attention to comforting 
 her. 
 
 She soon grew calmer and apologized humbly for her 
 weakness. "I don't think I could have borne it without 
 you," she told him, with tremulous sincerity. "But I'm 
 so dreadfully sorry to have given you all this trouble." 
 
 "That's all right," Piers assured her. "I'm glad you 
 found me of use." 
 
 He dried her tears for the second time that afternoon, 
 and then, with a somewhat obvious effort at civility, 
 addressed the doctor. 
 
 "I suppose it will be all right to move her now? Can 
 we take her home in the landaulette?" 
 
 Curtly the doctor made answer. "Very well indeed, I 
 should say, if we lift her carefully and keep the foot straight. 
 I'll drive you to the Abbey if you like. I'm going up to 
 see your grandfather." 
 
 "I don't know why you should," said Piers quickly. 
 "There's nothing the matter with him." 
 
 Dr. Tudor made no reply. "Are you coming ? " he asked. 
 
 "No, thanks." There was latent triumph in Piers' 
 response. " If you are going up, vou can give the order for
 
 66 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the landaulette, and tell my grandfather I am staying to 
 see Miss Lorimer safely home." 
 
 Dr. Tudor grunted and turned away, frowning. 
 
 "Well, so long!" he said to Jeanie. "I'll look in on my 
 way back, and lend a hand with moving you. But you 
 will be all right now if you do as you're told." 
 
 "Thank you," said Jeanie meekly. 
 
 He went out with Avery, and the door closed behind them. 
 
 Jeanie stole a glance at Piers who was looking decidedly 
 grim. 
 
 "Yes," he said in answer. "I detest him, and he knows 
 it." 
 
 Jeanie looked a little startled. "Oh, do you?" she said. 
 
 "Don't you?" said Piers. 
 
 "I I really don't know. Isn't it isn't it wrong to 
 detest anyone!" faltered Jeanie. 
 
 "Wrong!" said Piers. He frowned momentarily, then 
 as suddenly he smiled. He bent very abruptly and kissed 
 her on the forehead. "Yes, of course it's wrong," he said, 
 "for the people who keep consciences." 
 
 "Oh, but "Jeanie remonstrated, and then something 
 in his face stopped her. She flushed and murmured in 
 confusion, "Thank you for! for kissing me!" 
 
 "Don't mention it!" said Piers, with a laugh. 
 
 "I should like to kiss you if I may," said Jeanie. "You 
 have been so very kind." 
 
 He bent his face to hers and received the kiss. "You're 
 a nice little girl," he said, and there was an odd note of 
 feeling in the words for all their lightness that made Jeanie 
 aware that in some fashion he was moved. 
 
 "I don't think he is quite quite happy, do you?" she 
 said to Avery that night when the worst of her troubles 
 were over, and she was safely back at the Vicarage. 
 
 And Avery answered thoughtfully, "Perhaps not 
 quite."
 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A TALK BY THE FIRE 
 
 THE Reverend Stephen Lorimer was writing his sermon 
 for the last Sunday in Advent. His theme was eter- 
 nal punishment and one which he considered worthy of his 
 utmost eloquence. There was nothing mythical or alle- 
 gorical in that subject in the opinion of the Reverend 
 Stephen. He believed in it most firmly, and the belief 
 afforded him the keenest satisfaction. It was a nerve- 
 shaking sermon. Had it been of a secular nature, it might 
 almost have been described as inhuman, so obviously was 
 it designed to render his hearers afraid to go home in the 
 dark. But since it was not secular, it took the form of a 
 fine piece of inspiration which, from Mr. Lorimer's point 
 of view at least, could scarcely fail to make the most stub- 
 born heart in his congregation tremble. He pictured him- 
 self delivering his splendid rhetoric with a grand and noble 
 severity as impressive as the words he had to utter, reading 
 appreciation possibly unwilling appreciation and dawn- 
 ing uneasiness on the upturned faces of his listeners. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer did not love his flock; his religion did not 
 take that form. And the flock very naturally as a whole 
 had scant affection for Mr. Lorimer. The flock knew, or 
 shrewdly suspected, that his eloquence was mere sound 
 not always even musical and as a consequence its power 
 was somewhat thrown away. His command of words was 
 practically limitless, but words could not carry him to the 
 
 67
 
 68 The Bars of Iron 
 
 hearts of his congregation, and he had no other means at 
 his disposal. For this of course he blamed the congrega- 
 tion, which certainly had no right to wink and snigger 
 when he passed. 
 
 This Advent sermon however was a masterpiece, and 
 as Mr. Lorimer lovingly fingered the pages of his manuscript 
 he told himself that it could not fail to make an impression 
 upon the most hardened sinner. 
 
 A low knock at the door disturbed these pleasant thoughts 
 and he frowned. There was an unwritten law at the Vicar- 
 age that save for the most urgent of reasons he should never 
 be interrupted at this hour. 
 
 Softly the door opened. Humbly his wife peeped in. 
 
 "Are you very busy, Stephen?" 
 
 His frown melted away. Here at least was one whose 
 appreciation was never lacking. "Well, my dear Adelaide, 
 I think I may truthfully say that the stress of my business 
 is fairly over. You ma}' come in." 
 
 She crept in, mouse-like, and a distant burst of music 
 wafted in with her, causing her to turn and quickly close 
 the door. 
 
 "Have you finished your sermon, dear? Can we have 
 a little talk?" she asked him nervously. 
 
 He stretched out a large white hand to her without rising. 
 "Yes. I do not think much remains to be said. We have 
 as it were regarded the matter from every point of view. 
 I do not think there will be many consciences unaroused 
 when I have enunciated my final warning." 
 
 "You have such a striking delivery," murmured Mrs. 
 Lorimer, clasping the firm white hand between both her 
 own. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer's eyes vanished in an unctuous smile. 
 41 Thou idle flatterer!" he said. 
 
 "No, indeed, dear," his wife protested. "I think you 
 are always impressive, especially at the end of your ser-
 
 A Talk by the Fire 69 
 
 mons. That pause you make before you turn your face 
 to the altar it seems to me so effective so, if one may 
 say it, dramatic." 
 
 "To what request is this the prelude?" enquired Mr. 
 Lorimer, emerging from his smile. 
 
 She laughed a little nervous laugh. Her thin face was 
 flushed. "Shall we sit by the fire, Stephen, as we used to 
 that first happy winter do you remember? after we were 
 married?" 
 
 "Dear me!" said Mr. Lorimer. "This sounds like a 
 plunge into sentiment." 
 
 Nevertheless he rose with a tolerant twinkle and seated 
 himself in the large easy-chair before the fire. It was the 
 only really comfortable chair in the room. He kept it for 
 his moments of reflection. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer sat down at his feet on the fender-curb, her 
 tiny hand still clinging to his. "This is a real treat," she 
 said, laying her head against his knee with a gesture oddly 
 girlish. "It isn't often, is it, that we have it all to 
 ourselves?" 
 
 "What is it you have to say to me?" he enquired. 
 
 She drew his hand down gently over her shoulder, and 
 held it against her cheek. There fell a brief silence, then 
 she said with a slight effort: "Your idea of a mother's help 
 has worked wonderfully, Stephen. As you know, I was 
 averse to it at first but I am so glad you insisted. Dear 
 Avery is a greater comfort to me than I can possibly tell 
 you." 
 
 "Avery!" repeated the Reverend Stephen, with brows 
 elevated. "I presume you are talking of Mrs. Denys?" 
 
 "Yes, dear. I call her Avery. I feel her to be almost 
 one of ourselves." There was just a hint of apology in 
 Mrs. Lorimer's voice. "She has been and is so very 
 kind to me," she said. "I really don't know what the 
 children and I would do without her."
 
 70 The Bars of Iron 
 
 " I am glad to hear she is kind," said Mr. Lorimer, with a 
 touch of acidity. 
 
 "My dearest, she is quite our equal in position,*' 
 murmured Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 "That may be, my dear Adelaide." The acidity de- 
 veloped into a note of displeasure. "In a sense doubtless 
 we are all equal. But in spite of that, extremes of intimacy 
 are often inadvisable. I do not think you are altogether 
 discreet in making a bosom friend of a woman in Mrs. 
 Denys's position. A very good woman, I grant you. But 
 familiarity with her is altogether unsuitable. From my 
 own experience of her I am convinced that she would very 
 soon presume upon it." 
 
 He paused. Mrs. Lorimer said nothing. She was sitting 
 motionless with her soft eyes on the fire. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer looked down at the brown head at his knee 
 with growing severity. "You will, therefore, Adelaide, 
 in deference to my wish if for no other reason discon- 
 tinue this use of Mrs. Denys's Christian name." 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer's lips moved, but they said nothing. 
 
 "Adelaide!" He spoke with cold surprise. 
 
 Instantly her fingers tightened upon his with a grip that 
 was almost passionate. She raised her head, and looked 
 up at him with earnest, pleading eyes. "I am sorry, 
 Stephen rdear Stephen but I have already given my 
 friendship to to Mrs. Denys. She has been she is 
 like a sister to me. So you see, I can't possibly take it 
 away again. You would not wish it if you knew." 
 
 "If I knew!" repeated Mr. Lorimer, in a peculiar tone. 
 
 She turned her face from him again, but he leaned slowly 
 forward in his chair and taking her chin between his finger 
 and thumb turned it deliberately back again. 
 
 She shrank a little, but she did not resist him. He looked 
 searchingly into her eyes. The lids flickered nervously 
 under his gaze, but he did not relax his scrutiny.
 
 A Talk by the Fire 71 
 
 "Well? "he said. . 
 
 Her lips quivered. She said nothing. 
 
 But her silence was enough. He released her abruptly 
 and dropped back in his chair without another word. 
 
 She sank down trembling against his knee, and there fol- 
 lowed a most painful pause. Through the stillness there 
 crept again the faint strains of distant music. Someone was 
 playing the Soldiers' March out of Faust on the old cracked 
 schoolroom piano, which was rising nobly to the occasion. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer moved at length and turned his head. 
 "Who is that playing?" 
 
 "Piers Evesham," whispered Mrs. Lorimer. She was 
 weeping softly and dared not stir lest he should discover 
 the fact. 
 
 There was a deep, vertical line between Mr. Lorimer's 
 brows. "And what may Piers Evesham be doing here?" 
 he enquired. 
 
 "He comes often to see Jeanie," murmured his wife 
 deprecatingly. 
 
 He laughed unpleasantly. "A vast honour for Jeanie!" 
 
 Two tears fell from Mrs. Lorimer's eyes. She began to 
 feel furtively for her handkerchief. 
 
 "And Dr. Lennox Tudor," he pronounced the name 
 with elaborate care, "he comes often for the same 
 reason, I presume?" 
 
 "He he came to see me yesterday," faltered Mrs. 
 Lorimer. 
 
 "Indeed!" The word was as water dropped from an 
 icicle. 
 
 She dabbed her eyes and bravely turned and faced him. 
 "Stephen dear, I am very sorry. I didn't want to vex you 
 unnecessarily. I hoped against hope " She broke off, 
 and knelt up before him, clasping his hand tightly against 
 her breast. "Stephen dearest, you said when our first- 
 born came that he was God's gift."
 
 72 The Bars of Iron 
 
 ; "Well?" Again that one, uncompromising word. The 
 vertical line deepened between her husband's brows. His 
 eyes looked coldly back at her. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer caught her breath on a little sob. "Will 
 not this little one be just as much so?" she whispered. 
 
 He began to draw his hand away from her. "My dear 
 Adelaide, we will not be foolishly sentimental. What 
 must be, must. I am afraid I must ask you to run away 
 now as I have yet to put the finishing touches to my ser- 
 mon. Perhaps you will kindly request young Evesham on 
 my behalf to make a little less noise." 
 
 He deliberately put her from him, and prepared to rise. 
 But Mrs. Lorimer suddenly and very unexpectedly rose 
 first. She stood before him, slightly bending, her hands on 
 his broad shoulders. 
 
 "Will you kiss me, Stephen?" she said. 
 
 He lifted a grim, reluctant face. She stooped, slipping 
 her arms about his neck. "My own dear husband!" she 
 whispered. 
 
 He endured her embrace for a couple of seconds; then. 
 "That will do, Adelaide," he said with decision. "Yo\>. 
 must not let yourself get emotional. Dear me! It i?. 
 getting late. I am afraid I really must ask you to leave 
 me." 
 
 Her arms fell. She drew back, dispirited. "Forgive 
 me, oh, forgive me!" she murmured miserably. 
 
 He turned back to his writing-table, still frowning. "I 
 was not aware that I had anything to forgive," he said. 
 "But if you think so, " he shrugged his shoulders, 
 beginning already to turn the pages of his masterpiece 
 "my forgiveness is yours. I wonder if you would care to 
 divert your thoughts from what I am sure you will admit 
 to be a purely selfish channel by listening to a portion of 
 this Advent sermon." 
 
 "What is it about?" asked Mrs. Lorimer, hesitating.
 
 A Talk by the Fire 73 
 
 "My theme," said the Reverend Stephen, "is the awful 
 doom that awaits the unrepentant sinner." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then Mrs. Lorimer 
 did an extraordinary thing. She turned from him and 
 walked to the door. 
 
 "Thank you very much, Stephen," she said, and she 
 spoke with decision albeit her voice was not wholly steady. 
 " But I don't feel that that kind of diversion would do me 
 much good. I think I shall run up to the nursery and see 
 Baby Phil have his bath." 
 
 She was gone; but so noiselessly that Mr. Lorimer, 
 turning in his chair to rebuke her frivolity, found himself 
 addressing the closed door. 
 
 He turned back again with a heavy sigh. There seemed 
 to be some disturbing element at work. Time had been 
 when she had deemed it her dearest privilege to sit and 
 listen to his sermons. He could not understand her refusal 
 of an offer that ought to have delighted her. He hoped 
 that her heart was not becoming hardened. 
 
 Could he have seen her ascending the stairs at that 
 moment with the tears running down her face, he might 
 have realized that that fear at least was groundless.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE TICKET OF LEAVE 
 
 SEATED at the schoolroom piano, Piers was thoroughly 
 in his element. He had a marvellous gift for making 
 music, and his audience listened spell-bound. His own 
 love for it amounted to a passion, inherited, so it was said, 
 from his Italian grandmother. He threw his whole soul into 
 the instrument under his hands, and played as one inspired. 
 
 Jeanie, from her sofa, drank in the music with shining 
 eyes. She had never heard anything to compare with it 
 before, and it stirred her to the depths. 
 
 It stirred Avery also, but in a different way. The 
 personality of the player forced itself upon her with a 
 curious insistence, and she had an odd feeling that he did 
 it by deliberate intention. Every chord he struck seemed 
 to speak to her directly, compelling her attention, domi- 
 nating her will. He was playing to her alone, and, though 
 she chose to ignore the fact, she was none the less aware 
 of it. By his music he enthralled her, making her see the 
 things he saw, making her feel the fiery unrest that throbbed 
 in every beat of his heart. 
 
 Gracie, standing beside him, watching with fascinated 
 eyes the strong hands that charmed from the old piano 
 such music as probably it had never before uttered, was 
 enthralled also, but only in a superficial sense. She was 
 keenly interested in the play of his fingers, which seemed 
 to her quite wonderful, as indeed it was. 
 
 He took no more notice of her admiring gaze than if she 
 
 74
 
 The Ticket of Leave 75 
 
 had been a fly, pouring out his magic flood of music with 
 eyes fixed straight before him and lips that were sometimes 
 hard and sometimes tender. He might have been a man 
 in a trance. 
 
 And then very suddenly the spell was broken. For no 
 apparent reason, he fell headlong from his heights and 
 burst into a merry little jig that set Gracie dancing like 
 an elf. 
 
 He became aware of her then, threw her a laugh, quick- 
 ened to a mad tarantella that nearly whirled her off her 
 feet, finally ended with a crashing chord, and whizzed 
 round on the music-stool in time to catch her as she fell 
 gasping against him. 
 
 "What a featherweight you are!" he laughed. "You'll 
 dance the Thames on fire some day. Giddy, what?" 
 
 Gracie lay in his arms in a collapsed condition. "You 
 you made me do it!" she panted. 
 
 "To be sure!" said Piers. "I'm a wizard. Didn't you 
 know? I can make anybody do anything." There was a 
 ring of triumph in his voice. 
 
 Jeanie drew a deep breath and nodded from her sofa. 
 "It's called hyp hyp Aunt Avery, what is the word?" 
 
 "Aunt Avery doesn't know," said Piers. "And why 
 Aunt Avery, I wonder? You'll be calling me Uncle Piers 
 next." 
 
 Both children laughed. "I have a special name for 
 you," Jeanie said. 
 
 But Piers was not attending. He cast a daring glance 
 across the room at Avery who was darning stockings under 
 the lamp. 
 
 " Do they call you Aunt Avery because you are so old?" 
 he enquired, as Avery did not respond to it. 
 
 She smiled a little. " I expect so, " she said. 
 
 "Oh no!" said Jeanie politely. "Only because we are 
 children and she is grown up."
 
 76 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Piers, with Grade still lounging comfortably on his 
 knee, bowed to her. "I thank your majesty. I appeal 
 to you as queen of this establishment; am I as a grown- 
 up entitled to drop the title of Aunt when addressing 
 the gracious lady in question?" 
 
 Again he glanced towards Avery, but she did not raise 
 her eyes. She worked on, still with that faint, enigmatical 
 smile about her lips. 
 
 Jeanie looked slightly dubious. "I don't think you 
 could ever call her Aunt, could you?" she said. 
 
 Piers turned upon the music-stool, and with one of 
 Gracie's fingers began to pick out an impromptu tune 
 that somehow had a saucy ring. 
 
 "I like that," said Gracie, enchanted. 
 
 He laughed. "Yes, it's pretty, isn't it? It's Avery 
 without the Aunt." 
 
 He began to elaborate the tune, accompanying it with 
 his left hand, to Gracie's huge delight. "Here we come 
 into a minor key," he said, speaking obviously and exclu- 
 sively to Gracie; "this is Avery when she is cross and 
 inclined to be down on a fellow. And here we begin to 
 get a little excited and breathless; this is Avery in a tan- 
 trum, getting angrier and angrier every moment." He 
 hammered out his impertinent little melody with fevered 
 energy, protest from Gracie notwithstanding. "No, you've 
 never seen her in a tantrum of course. Thank your lucky 
 stars you haven't! It's an awful sight, take my word for 
 it! She calls you a brute and nearly knocks you down 
 with a horsewhip." The music became very descriptive 
 at this point; then gradually returned to the original 
 refrain, somewhat amplified and embellished. "This is 
 Avery in her everyday mood sweet and kind and reason- 
 able, the Avery we all know and love with just a hint 
 of what the French call 'diablerie' to make her tout-a- 
 f ait adorable."
 
 The Ticket of Leave 77 
 
 He cast his eyes up at the ceiling, and then, releasing 
 Gracie's hand, brought his impromptu to a close with a 
 few soft chords. 
 
 "Here endeth the Avery Symphony!" he declared, 
 swinging round again on the music-stool. "I could show 
 you another Avery, but she is not on view to everybody. 
 It's quite possible that she has never seen herself yet." 
 
 He got up with the words, tweaked Gracie's hair, caressed 
 Jeanie's, and strolled across to the fire beside which Avery 
 sat with her work. 
 
 "It's awfully kind of you to tolerate me like this," he 
 said. 
 
 "Isn't it?" said Avery, without raising her eyes. 
 
 He looked down at her, an odd gleam in his own that came 
 and went like a leaping flame. 
 
 "You suffer fools gladly, don't you?" he said, a queer 
 inflection that was half a challenge in his voice. 
 
 She frowned very slightly above her stocking. "No^ 
 particularly, " she said. 
 
 "You bear with them then?" Piers tone was insistent. 
 
 She paused as though considering her reply. "I generally 
 try to avoid them," she said finally. 
 
 "You keep aloof and darn stockings," suggested Piers. 
 
 "And listen to your music," said Avery. 
 
 "Do you like my music?" He shot the question at her 
 imperiously. 
 
 Avery nodded. 
 
 "Really? You do really?" There was boyish eagerness 
 about him now. He leaned towards her, his brown face 
 aglow. 
 
 She nodded again. "Do you ever write music?" 
 
 "No, "said Piers. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 He answered with a curious touch of bitterness. "No 
 one would understand it if I did."
 
 78 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "But what a mistake!" she said. 
 
 "Is it? Why?" His voice sounded stubborn. 
 
 She looked suddenly straight up at him and spoke with 
 impulsive warmth. "Because it is quite beside the point. 
 It wouldn't matter to anyone but yourself whether people 
 understood it or not. Of course popularity is pleasant. 
 Everyone likes it. But do you suppose the really big 
 people think at all about the world's opinion when they are 
 at work? They just give of their best because nothing 
 less would satisfy them, but they don't do it because they 
 want to be appreciated by the crowd. Genius always 
 gets above the crowd. It's only those who can't rise above 
 their critics who really care what the critics say." 
 
 She stopped. Her face was flushed, her eyes kindling; 
 but she lowered them very suddenly and returned to her 
 work. For the fitful gleam in Piers' eyes had leaped in 
 response to a blaze so hot, so ardent, that she could not 
 meet it unflinching. 
 
 She was oddly grateful to him when he passed her brief 
 confusion by as though he had not seen it. "So I'm a 
 genius, am I?" he said, and laughed a careless laugh. 
 "Are you listening, Queen of my heart? Aunt Avery says 
 I'm a genius." 
 
 He moved to Jeanie's sofa, and sat down on the edge of 
 it. Her hand stole instantly into his. 
 
 "Yes, of course," she said, in her soft, tired voice. 
 "That's what I meant when I was trying to remember 
 that other word the word that begins 'hyp.'" 
 
 "Hypnotism," said Avery very quietly. 
 
 Piers laughed again. " It's a word you don't understand, 
 my Queen of all good fairies. It's only the naughty fairies 
 the will-o'-the-wisps and the hobgoblins that know 
 anything about it. It's a wicked spell concocted by the 
 King of Evil himself, and it's only under that spell that his 
 prisoners ever see the light. It's the one ticket of leave
 
 The Ticket of Leave 79 
 
 from the dungeons, and they must either use it or die in 
 the dark." 
 
 Jeanie was listening with a puzzled frown, but Grade's 
 imagination was instantly fired. 
 
 "Do go on!" she said eagerly. "I know what a ticket 
 of leave is. Nurse's uncle had one. It means you have 
 to go back after a certain time, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Exactly," said Piers grimly. "When the ticket 
 expires." 
 
 "But I don't see," began Jeanie. Her face was flushed 
 and a little distressed. "How can hypnotism be like 
 like a ticket of leave?" 
 
 "I told you you wouldn't understand," said Piers. 
 "You see you've got to realize what hypnotism is before 
 you can know what it's like. It's really the art of imposing 
 one's will upon someone else's, of making that other person 
 see things as you want them to see them not as they really 
 are. It's the power of deception carried to a superlative 
 degree. And when that power is exhausted, the ticket 
 may be said to have expired and the prisoner returns to 
 the dungeon. Sometimes he takes the other person with 
 him. Sometimes he goes alone." 
 
 He stopped abruptly as a hand rapped smartly on the door. 
 
 Avery looked up again from her work. "Come in!" 
 she said. 
 
 "It's the doctor!" whispered Gracie to Piers. "Bother 
 him!" 
 
 Piers laughed with his lower lip between his teeth, and 
 Lennox Tudor opened the door and paused upon the 
 threshold. 
 
 Avery rose to receive him, but his look passed her almost 
 instantly and rested frowningly upon Piers. 
 
 "Enter the Lord High Executioner ! " said Piers flippantly. 
 "Well? Who is the latest victim? And what have you 
 come here for?"
 
 8o The Bars of Iron 
 
 The doctor came in. He shook hands with Avery, and 
 turned at once to Piers. 
 
 "I have come to see my patient, " he said aggressively. 
 
 "Have you?" said Piers. "So have I." He stood up, 
 squaring his broad shoulders. "And I'm coming again-~ 
 by special invitation." His dark eyes flung a gibe with the 
 words. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Evesham!" said Avery somewhat 
 pointedly. 
 
 He turned sharply, and took her extended hand with 
 elaborate courtesy. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mrs. Denys!" he said. 
 
 "I'll come down and see you off, " cried Grade, attaching 
 herself to his free arm. 
 
 "Ah! Wait a bit!" said Piers. "I haven't said good- 
 bye to the Queen of the fairies yet." 
 
 He dropped upon one knee by Jeanie's sofa. Her arm 
 slid round his neck. 
 
 "When will you come again?" she whispered. 
 
 "When do you hold your next court?" he whispered 
 back. 
 
 She smiled, her pale face close to his. "I love to see you 
 always," she said. "Come just any time!" 
 
 "Shall I? "said Piers. 
 
 He was looking straight into the tired, blue eyes, and 
 his own were soft with a tenderness that must have charmed 
 any child to utter confidence. She lifted her lips to his. 
 "As often as ever you can," she murmured. 
 
 He kissed her. "I will. Good-night, my Queen !" 
 
 "Good-night," she answered softly, "dear Sir Galahad!" 
 
 Avery had a glimpse of Piers' face as he went away, and 
 she wondered momentarily at the look it wore. 

 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SPORT 
 
 IT was the day before Christmas Eve, and A very had 
 been shopping. 
 
 She and Mrs. Lorimer were preparing a Christmas Tree 
 for the children, a secret to which only Jeanie had been 
 admitted. The tree itself was already procured and 
 hidden away in a corner of the fruit cupboard to which 
 special sanctum Mrs. Lorimer and Avery alone had access. 
 But the numerous gifts and ornaments which they had 
 been manufacturing for weeks were safely stored in a corner 
 of Avery's own room. It was to complete this store that 
 Avery had been down into Rodding that afternoon, and 
 she was returning laden and somewhat wearied. 
 
 The red light of a cloudy winter sunset lay behind her. 
 Ahead of her, now veiled, now splendidly revealed, there 
 hung a marvellous, glimmering star. A little weight of 
 sadness was dragging at her heart, but she would not give 
 it place or so much as acknowledge its presence. She 
 hummed a carol as she went, stepping lightly through the 
 muddy fields. 
 
 The frost had given place to an unseasonable warmth, 
 and there had been some heavy rain earlier in the day. 
 It was threatening to rain again. In fact, as she mounted 
 her second stile, the first drops of what promised to be a 
 sharp shower began to fall. She cast a hasty glance around 
 *or shelter, and spied some twenty yards away against 
 a Si
 
 82 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the hedge a hut which had probably been erected for the 
 use of some shepherd. Swiftly she made for it, reaching 
 it just as the shower became a downpour. 
 
 There was neither door nor window to the place, but an 
 ancient shutter which had evidently done duty for the 
 former was lodged against the wall immediately inside. 
 
 She had to stoop to enter, and but for the pelting rain 
 she might have hesitated to do so ; for the darkness within 
 was complete. But once in, she turned her face back to 
 the dying light of the sunset and saw that the rain would 
 not last. 
 
 At the same moment she heard a curious sound behind 
 her, a panting, coughing sound as of some creature in 
 distress, and something stirred in the furthest corner. 
 Sharply she turned, and out of the darkness two wild 
 green eyes glared up at her. 
 
 Avery's heart gave a great jerk. Instinctively she drew 
 back. Her first impulse was to turn and flee, but some- 
 thing something which at the moment she could not 
 define prompted her to remain. The frantic terror of 
 those eyes appealed to that in her which was greater than 
 her own personal fear. 
 
 She paused therefore, and in the pause there came to 
 her ears a swelling tumult that arose from the ridge of an 
 eminence a couple of fields away. Right well Avery knew 
 that sound. In the far-off days of her early girlhood it 
 had quickened her pulses many a time. It was enough 
 even now to set every nerve throbbing with a tense 
 excitement. 
 
 She turned her face once more to the open, and as she 
 did so she heard again in the hut behind her that agonized 
 sound, half-cough, half- whine, of an animal exhausted and 
 in the extremity of mortal fear. 
 
 It was enough for Avery. She grasped the situation on 
 the instant, and on the instant she acted. She felt as if a
 
 Sport 83 
 
 helpless and tortured being had cried to her for deliverance, 
 and all that was great in her responded to the cry. 
 
 She seized the crazy shutter that was propped against 
 the wall, put forth her strength, and lifted it out into the 
 open. It was no easy matter to set it securely against the 
 low doorway. She wondered afterwards how she did it; 
 at the time she tore her gloves to ribbons with the exertion, 
 but yet was scarcely aware of making any. 
 
 When the pack swept across the grass in a single yelling, 
 heaving mass, she was ready. She leaned against the 
 improvised door with arms outstretched and resolutely 
 faced the swarming, piebald multitude. 
 
 In a moment the hounds were upon her. She was 
 waist-deep in them. They leapt almost to her shoulders 
 in their madness, smothering her with mud and slobber. 
 For a second or two the red eyes and gaping jaws made even 
 Avery's brave heart quail. But she stood her ground, 
 ordering them back with breathless insistence. They 
 must have thought her a maniac, she reflected afterwards. 
 At the time she fully expected to be torn in pieces, and was 
 actually surprised when they suddenly parted and swept 
 round the hut, encircling it with deep-mouthed baying. 
 
 The huntsman, arriving on the scene, found her white- 
 faced but still determined, still firmly propping the shutter 
 in place with the weight of her body. He called the hounds 
 to order with hoarse oaths and furious crackings of the 
 whip, and as he did so the rest of the field began to arrive, 
 a laughing, trampling crowd of sportsmen who dropped 
 into staring, astounded silence as they reached the scene. 
 
 And then the huntsman addressed Avery with sardonic 
 affability. 
 
 "P'r'aps now, miss, you'd be good enough to step aside 
 and let the 'ounds attend to business." 
 
 But Avery, with eyes that blazed in her pale face, made 
 scathing answer.
 
 84 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "You shan't kill the poor brute like a rat in a trap. 
 He deserves better than that. You had your chance of 
 killing in the open, and you failed. It isn't sport to kill 
 in the dark." 
 
 "We'll soon have 'im out," said the huntsman grimly. 
 
 She shook her head. Her hands, in the ripped gloves, 
 were clenched and quivering. 
 
 The huntsman slashed and swore at one of the hounds 
 to relieve his feelings, and looked for inspiration to the 
 growing crowd of riders. 
 
 One of them, the M. F. H., Colonel Rose of Warden- 
 hurst, pushed his horse forward. He raised his hat with 
 extreme courtliness. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "while appreciating your courage, 
 allow me to point out that that fox is now the legal property 
 of the Hunt, and you have no right whatever to deprive 
 us of it." 
 
 His daughter Ina, a slim girl of twenty, was at his elbow. 
 She jogged it impatiently. "He'll remain our property 
 whether we kill or not, Dad. Let him live to run again! " 
 
 "What?" cried a voice in the rear. "Let a woman 
 interfere? Great Heavens above, Barchard! Have you 
 gone mad?" 
 
 Barchard the huntsman glanced round uneasily as an 
 old man on a powerful white horse forced his way to the 
 front. His grey eyes glowered down at Avery as though 
 he would slay her. The trampling hoofs came within 
 a yard of her. But if he thought to make her desert her 
 post by that means, he was mistaken. She stood there, 
 actually waiting to be hustled by the fretting animal, 
 and yielding not an inch. 
 
 "Stand aside!" thundered Sir Beverley. "Confound 
 you ! Stand aside ! ' ' 
 
 But Avery never stirred. She faced him panting but 
 unflinching. The foam of his hunter splashed her, the
 
 Sport 85 
 
 mud from the stamping hoofs struck upwards on her face; 
 but still she stood to defend the defenceless thing behind 
 her. 
 
 She often wondered afterwards what Sir Beverley would 
 have done had he been left to settle the matter in his own 
 way. She was horribly afraid, but she certainly would 
 never have yielded to aught but brute force. 
 
 But at this juncture there came a sudden diversion. 
 Another voice made itself heard in furious protest. Another 
 horse was spurred forward; and Piers, white to the lips, 
 with eyes of awful flame, leaned from his saddle and with 
 his left hand caught Sir Beverley's bridle, dragging his 
 animal back. 
 
 What he said Avery did not hear; it was spoken under 
 his breath. But she saw a terrible look flash like an evil 
 spirit into Sir Beverley's face. She saw his right arm go 
 up, and heard his riding-crop descend with a sound, like a 
 pistol-shot upon Piers' shoulders. 
 
 It was a horrible sight and one which she was never to 
 forget. Both horses began to leap madly, the one Sir 
 Beverley rode finally rearing and being pulled down again 
 by Piers who hung on to the bridle like grim death, his 
 head bent, his shoulders wholly exposed to those crashing 
 merciless blows. 
 
 They reeled away at length through the crowd, which 
 scattered in dismay to let them pass, but for many seconds 
 it seemed to Avery that the awful struggle went on in the 
 dusk as Piers dragged his grandfather from the spot. 
 
 A great weakness had begun to assail her. Her knees 
 were quivering under her. She wondered what the next 
 move would be, and felt utterly powerless to put forth any 
 further effort. And then she heard Ina Rose's clear young 
 voice. 
 
 "Barchard, take the hounds back to kennels! I'm sure 
 we've all had enough for one day."
 
 86 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Hear, hear!" said a man in the crowd. 
 
 And Ina laughed. "Thank you, Dick! Come along, 
 Dad! Leave the horrid old fox alone! Don't you think 
 we ought to go and separate Sir Beverley and Piers? What 
 an old pepper-pot he is!" 
 
 "Piers isn't much better," remarked the man she had 
 called Dick. His proper appellation was Richard Guyes, 
 but his friends never stood on ceremony with him. 
 
 The girl laughed again inconsequently. She was spoken 
 of by some as the spoilt beauty of the county. "Oh, Piers 
 is stuffed tight with gunpowder as everybody knows. He 
 explodes at a touch. Get along, Barchard! What are 
 you waiting for? I told you to take the hounds home." 
 
 Barchard looked at the Colonel. 
 
 "I suppose you'd better," the latter said. He threw 
 a glance of displeasure at Avery. "It's a most unheard 
 of affair altogether, but I admit there's not much to be 
 said for a kill in cold blood. Yes, take 'em home!" 
 
 Barchard made a savage cut at two of the hounds who 
 were scratching and whimpering at a tiny chink in the 
 boarding, and with surly threats collected the pack and 
 moved off. 
 
 The rest of the field melted away into the deepening 
 dusk. Ina and Dick Guyes were among the last to go. 
 They moved off side by side. 
 
 "It'll be the laugh of the county," the man said, "but, 
 egad, I like her pluck." 
 
 And in answer the girl laughed again, a careless, merry 
 laugh. "Yes, I wonder who she is. A friend of Piers' 
 apparently. Did you see what a stiff fury he was in?" 
 
 "It was a fairly stiff flogging," remarked Guyes. "Ye 
 gods! I wonder how he stood it." 
 
 "Oh, Piers can stand anything," said Ina unconcernedly. 
 "He's as strong as an ox." 
 
 The voices dwindled and died in the distance. The
 
 Sport 87 
 
 dusk deepened. A sense of utter forlornness, utter weari- 
 ness, came upon Avery. The struggle was over, and she 
 had emerged triumphant; but it did not seem to matter. 
 She could think only of those awful blows raining down 
 upon the defenceless shoulders of the boy who had cham- 
 pioned her. And, leaning there in the drizzling wet, she 
 covered her face with her hands and wept.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE STAR OF HOPE 
 
 THERE came the swift drumming of galloping hoofs, 
 the check and pause of a leap, and then close at 
 hand the thud of those same hoofs landing on the near side 
 of the hedge. The rider slithered to the ground, patted 
 the animal's neck, and turned forthwith towards the hut. 
 Avery heard nought of his coming. She was crying like 
 a weak, unnerved woman, draggled and mud-spattered, 
 unspeakably distressed. It was so seldom that she gave 
 way that perhaps the failure of her self-control was the 
 more absolute when it came. She had been tried beyond 
 her strength. Body and mind were alike exhausted. 
 
 But when strong arms suddenly encircled her and she 
 found herself drawn close to a man's breast, quick and 
 instinctive came the impulse to resist. She drew back 
 from him with a sharp exclamation. 
 
 "It's only me," said Piers. "Surely you don't mind 
 me!" 
 
 It was naively expressed, so naively that she assayed to 
 laugh in the midst of her woe. "Oh, how you startled 
 me!" was all she found to say. 
 
 "But surely you knew I was coming back!" he said. 
 
 The dogged note was in his voice. It embarrassed her 
 subtly. Seeing his face through the deepening gloom, it 
 seemed to her to be set in stern, unyielding lines. 
 
 She collected her scattered forces, and gently put his 
 
 88
 
 The Star of Hope 89 
 
 arms away from her. "It was very kind of you, Mr. 
 Evesham, " she said. "But please remember that I'm not 
 Jeanie!" 
 
 He made an impulsive movement of impatience. "I 
 never pretended you were," he said gruffly. "But you 
 were crying, weren't you? Why were you crying?" 
 
 His tone was almost aggressive. He seemed to be 
 angry, but whether with her, himself, or a third person, 
 Avery could not determine. 
 
 She decided that the situation demanded firmness, and 
 proceeded to treat it accordingly. 
 
 "I was very foolish to cry," she said. "I have quite 
 recovered now, so please forget it! It was very kind of 
 you to take my part a little while ago especially as you 
 couldn't have been really in sympathy with me. Thank 
 you very much!" 
 
 Again he made that gesture of imperious impatience. 
 "Oh, don't be so beastly formal! I can't stand it. If 
 it had been any other man threatening you, I believe I 
 should have killed him!" 
 
 He spoke with concentrated passion, but Avery was 
 resolved not to be tragic. She was striving to get back 
 to wholesome commonplace. 
 
 "What a good thing it wasn't!" she said. "I shouldn't 
 have cared to have been responsible for that. I had quite 
 enough to answer for as it was. I hope you will make 
 peace with your grandfather as soon as possible." 
 
 Piers laughed a savage laugh. "He broke his whip over 
 me. Do you think I'm going to make peace with him for 
 that?" 
 
 "Oh, Piers!" she exclaimed in distress. 
 
 It was out before she could check it that involuntary 
 use of his Christian name for which it seemed to her after- 
 wards he had been deliberately lying in wait. 
 
 He did not take immediate advantage of her slip, but
 
 90 The Bars of Iron 
 
 she knew that he noticed it, registered it as it were for 
 future reference. 
 
 "No," he said moodily, after a pause. "I don't think 
 the debt is on my side this time. He had the satisfaction 
 of flogging me with the whole Hunt looking on." There 
 was sullen resentment in his tone, and then very suddenly 
 to Avery's amazement he began to laugh. "It was worth 
 it anyway, so we won't cavil about the price. How much 
 longer are you going to bottle up that unfortunate brute? 
 Don't you think it's time he went home to his wife?" 
 
 Avery moved away from the shutter against which she 
 had stood so long. "I couldn't let him be killed," she 
 said. "You won't understand, of course. But I simply 
 couldn't." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I understand?" said Piers. "You 
 threw that in my teeth before. I don't know why." 
 
 His tone baffled her. She could not tell whether he spoke 
 in jest or earnest. She refrained from answering him, 
 and in the silence that followed he lifted the shutter away 
 from the hut entrance and looked inside. Avery's basket 
 of purchases lay at his feet. He picked it up. "Come 
 along! He's crouched up in the corner, and his eyes look 
 as if he thought all the devils in hell were after him. Odd 
 as it may seem to you, I can understand his feelings and 
 yours. Let's go, and leave him to escape in peace!" 
 
 He took her arm as naturally as though he had a right, 
 and led her away. Her basket was in his other hand in 
 which he carried his riding-whip also. He whistled over 
 his shoulder to his horse who followed him like a dog. 
 
 The rain was gradually ceasing, but the clouds had 
 wholly closed upon the sunset. Avery did not want to 
 walk in silence, but somehow she could not help it. His 
 hold upon her arm was as light as a feather, but she could 
 not help that either for the moment. She walked as one 
 beneath a spell.
 
 The Star of Hope 91 
 
 And before them the clouds slowly parted, and again 
 there shone that single, magic star, dazzingly pure against 
 the darkness. 
 
 "Do you see that?" said Piers suddenly. 
 
 She assented almost under her breath. 
 
 For a moment she was conscious of the tightening of his 
 hand at her elbow. "It's the Star of Hope, A very, " he 
 whispered. "Yours and mine." He stopped with the 
 words. "Don't say anything!" he said hurriedly. "Pre- 
 tend you didn't hear, if if you wish you hadn't. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 He thrust her basket into her hand, and turned from her. 
 
 A moment he stood as if to give her the opportunity of 
 detaining him if she so desired, and then as she made no 
 sign he went to his horse who waited a couple of yards 
 away, mounted, and without word or salute rode away. 
 
 Avery drew a deep, deep breath and walked on. There 
 was a curious sensation at her heart almost a trapped 
 feeling such as she had never before experienced. Again 
 deeply she drew her breath, as if to rid herself of some 
 oppression. Life was difficult life was difficult ! 
 
 But presently, as she walked, the sense of oppression 
 lessened. She even faintly smiled to herself. What an 
 odd, passionate youth he was! It was impossible to be 
 angry with him ; better far not to take him seriously at all. 
 
 She recalled old Mrs. Marshall's dour remarks concerning 
 him; "brought up by men from his cradle," brought up, 
 moreover, by that terrible old Sir Beverley on the one 
 hand and an irresponsible French valet on the other. She 
 caught herself wishing that she had had the upbringing 
 of him, and smiled again. There was a great deal of 
 sweetness in his nature; of that she was sure, and because 
 of it she found she could forgive his waywardness, reflecting 
 that he had probably been mismanaged from his earliest 
 infancy.
 
 92 The Bars of Iron 
 
 At this point she reached the high-road, and heard the 
 wheels of a dog-cart behind her. She recognized the 
 quick, hard trot of the doctor's cob, and paused at the side 
 of the road to let him pass. But the doctor's eyes behind 
 their glasses were keen as a hawk's. He recognized her, 
 the deepening dusk notwithstanding, while he was still 
 some yards from her, and pulled in his horse to a walk. 
 
 "Jump up!" he said. "I'm going your way." 
 
 He reached down a hand to her, and Avery mounted 
 beside him. "How lucky for me!" she said. 
 
 "Tired, eh?" he questioned. 
 
 She laughed a little. "Oh no, not really. But it's nice 
 to get a lift. Were you coming to see Jeanie?" 
 
 "Yes," said Tudor briefly. 
 
 She glanced at him, caught by something in his tone. 
 "Dr. Tudor," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "are 
 you altogether satisfied about her?" 
 
 Tudor was looking at his horse's ears; for some reason 
 he was holding the animal in to a walk. "I am quite 
 satisfied with regard to the fracture," he said. "She will 
 soon be on her legs again." 
 
 His words were deliberately wary. Avery felt a little 
 tremor of apprehension go through her. 
 
 "I'm afraid you don't consider her very strong," she 
 said uneasily. 
 
 He did not at once reply. She had a feeling that he was 
 debating within himself as to the advisability of replying 
 at all. And then quite suddenly he turned his head and 
 spoke. "Mrs. Denys, you are accustomed to hearing 
 other people's burdens, so I may as well tell you the truth. 
 I can't say because I don't know if there is anything 
 radically wrong with that little girl ; but she has no stamina 
 whatever. If she had to contend with anything serious, 
 things would go very badly with her. In any case " 
 he paused.
 
 The Star of Hope 93 
 
 " Yes?" said Avery. 
 
 Tudor had become wary again. "Perhaps I have said 
 enough, " he said. 
 
 "I don't know why you should hesitate to speak quite 
 openly, " she rejoined steadily. "As you say, I am a bearer 
 of burdens. And I don't think I am easily frightened." 
 
 " I am sure you are not, " he said. " If I may be allowed 
 to say so, I think you are essentially a woman to be relied 
 on. If I did not think so, I certainly should not have 
 spoken as I have done." 
 
 "Then will you tell me what it is that you fear for her?'. 1 
 Avery said. 
 
 He was looking straight at her through the gloom, but 
 she could not see his eyes behind their glasses. "Well," 
 he said somewhat brusquely at length, "to be quite honest, 
 I fear mind you, I only fear some trouble, possibly 
 merely some delicacy, of the lungs. Without a careful 
 examination I cannot speak definitely. But I think there is 
 little room for doubt that the tendency is there." 
 
 "I see," Avery said. She was silent a moment; then, 
 "You have not considered it advisable to say this to her 
 father?" she said. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "Would it make any 
 difference?" 
 
 Avery was silent. 
 
 He went on with gathering force. "I went to him once, 
 Mrs. Denys, once only about his wife's health. I told 
 him in plain language that she needed every care, every 
 consideration, that without these she would probably lose 
 all her grip on life and become a confirmed invalid with 
 shattered nerves. I was very explicit. I told him the 
 straight, unvarnished truth. I didn't like my job, but I 
 felt it must be done. And he good man laughed in my 
 face, begged me to croak no more, and assured me that he 
 was fully capable of managing all his affairs, including
 
 94 The Bars of Iron 
 
 his wife and family, in his own way. He was touring in 
 Switzerland when the last child was born." 
 
 " Hound! " said Avery, in a low voice.' 
 
 Tudor uttered a brief laugh, and ' abruptly quitted the 
 subject. " That little girl needs very careful watching, 
 Mrs. Denys. She should never be allowed to overtire 
 herself, mentally or physically. And if she should develop 
 any untoward symptom, for Heaven's sake don't hesitate 
 to send for me! I shan't blame you for being too careful." 
 
 "I understand," Avery said. 
 
 He flicked his horse's ears, and the animal broke into a 
 trot. 
 
 When Tudor spoke again, it was upon a totally different 
 matter. His voice was slightly aggressive as he said: 
 " That Evesham boy seems to be for ever turning up at the 
 Vicarage now. He's an ill-mannered cub. I wonder you 
 encourage him." 
 
 "Do I encourage him?" Avery asked. 
 
 He made a movement of irritation. "He would scarcely 
 be such a constant visitor if you didn't." 
 
 Avery smiled faintly and not very humorously in the 
 darkness. " It is Jeanie he comes to see, " she observed. 
 
 "Oh, obviously." Tudor's retort was so ironical as to 
 be almost rude. 
 
 She received it in silence, and after a moment he made a 
 half -grudging amendment. 
 
 " He never showed any interest in Jeanie before, you 
 know. I don't think she is the sole attraction." 
 
 "No?" said Avery. 
 
 Her response was perfectly courteous, but so vague that 
 it sounded to Lennox Tudor as if she were thinking of some- 
 thing else. He clenched his hand hard upon the handle 
 of his whip. 
 
 "People tolerate him for the sake of his position," he 
 said bitterly. "But to my mind he is insufferable- His
 
 The Star of Hope 95 
 
 father was a scapegrace, as everyone knows. His mother 
 was a circus girl. And his grandmother an Italian 
 was divorced by Sir Beverley before they had been married 
 two years." 
 
 "Oh!" Avery emerged from her vagueness and turned 
 towards him. "Lady Evesham was Italian, was she? 
 That accounts for his appearance, doesn't it? That air 
 of the old Roman patrician about him; you must have 
 noticed it?" 
 
 "He's handsome enough," admitted Tudor. 
 
 "Oh, very handsome," said Avery. "I should say that 
 for that type his face was almost faultless. I wondered 
 where he got it from. Sir Beverley is patrician too, but in 
 a different way." She stopped to bow to a tall, gaunt 
 lady at the s de of the road. "That is Miss Whalley. 
 Didn't you see her? I expect she has just come from the 
 Vicarage. She was going to discuss the scheme for the 
 Christmas decorations with the Vicar." 
 
 "She's good at scheming," growled Tudor. 
 
 Avery became silent again. At the Vicarage gates 
 however very suddenly and sweetly she spoke. "Dr. 
 Tudor, forgive me, but isn't it rather a pity to let oneself 
 get intolerant? It does spoil life so." 
 
 He looked at her. "There's not much in my life that 
 could spoil, " he said gloomily. 
 
 She laughed a little, but not derisively. "But there's 
 always something, isn't there? Have you no sense of 
 humour?" 
 
 He pulled up at the Vicarage gates. "I have a sense 
 of the ridiculous," he said bluntly. "And I detest it in 
 the person of Miss Whalley." 
 
 "I believe you detest a good many people," Avery said, 
 as she descended. 
 
 He laughed himself at that. "But I am capable of 
 appreciating the few," he said. "Mind the step! And
 
 96 The Bars of Iron 
 
 don't trouble to wait for me! I've got to tie this animal 
 up." 
 
 He stopped to do so, and Avery opened the gate and 
 walked slowly up the path. 
 
 At the porch she paused to await him, and turned her 
 face for a moment to the darkening sky. But the Star of 
 Hope was veiled.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A PAIR OF GLOVES 
 
 ' pIERS ! Where the devil are you, Piers ?" 
 
 1 There was loud exasperation in the query as Sir 
 Beverley halted in the doorway of his grandson's bedroom. 
 
 There was a moment's pause; then Victor the valet came 
 quickly forward. 
 
 "But, Monsieur Pierre, he bathe himself," he explained, 
 with beady eyes running over the gaunt old figure in the 
 entrance. 
 
 Sir Beverley growled at him inarticulately and turned 
 away. 
 
 A moment later he was beating a rousing tattoo on the 
 bathroom-door. "Piers! Let me 'n! Do you hear? 
 Let me in!" 
 
 The vigorous splashing within came to a sudden stop. 
 "That you, sir?" called Piers. 
 
 "Of course it's me!" shouted back Sir Beverley, shaking 
 the door with fierce impatience. " Damn it, let me in ! I'll 
 force the door if you don't." 
 
 "No, don't, sir; don't! I'm coming!" 
 
 There came the sound of a splashing leap, and bare feet 
 raced across the bathroom floor. The door was wrenched 
 from Sir Beverley's grasp, and flung open. Piers, quite 
 naked, stood back and bowed him in with elaborate 
 ceremony. 
 
 ? 97
 
 98 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Sir Beverley entered and glared at him. 
 
 Piers shut the door and took a flying jump back into the 
 bath. The room was dense with steam. 
 
 "You don't m'nd if I go on with my wash, do you?" 
 he said. "I shall be late for dinner if I don't." 
 
 "What in thunder do you want to boil yourself like this 
 for?" demanded Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers, seated with his hands clasped round his knees, 
 looked up with the smile of an infant. " It suits my con- 
 stitution, sir," he said. "I freeze myself in the morning 
 and boil myself at night always. By that means I am 
 rendered impervious to all atmospheric changes of tempera- 
 ture." 
 
 "You're a fool, Piers," said Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers laughed, a gay, indifferent laugh. "That all?" 
 he said lightly. 
 
 "No, it isn't all." Sir Beverley's voice had a curious 
 forced ring, almost as if he were stern in spite of himself. 
 "I came to ask and I mean to know " He broke off. 
 "What the devil have you done to your shoulders?" 
 
 Piers' hands unlocked as if at the touch of a spring. He 
 slipped down backwards into the bath and lay with the 
 water lapping round his black head. His eyes, black also, 
 and very straight and resolute, looked up at Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Look here, sir; if there's anything you want to know 
 I'll tell you after dinner. I thought possibly you'd 
 come to shake hands, or I shouldn't have been in such a 
 hurry to let you in. As it is,- " 
 
 "Confound you, Piers!" broke in Sir Beverley. "Don't 
 preach to me! Sit up again! Do you hear? Sit up, and 
 let me look at you!" 
 
 But Piers made no movement to comply. "No, sir; 
 thanks all the same. I don't want to be looked at. Do 
 you mind going now? I'm going to splash." 
 
 His tone was deliberately jaunty, but it held undoubted
 
 A Pair of Gloves 99 
 
 determination. He kept his eyes unswervingly on his 
 grandfather's face. 
 
 Sir Beverley stood his ground, however, his black brows 
 fiercely drawn. "Get up, Piers!" he ordered, his tone no 
 longer blustering, but curtly peremptory. " Get up, do you 
 hear?" he added with a gleam of humour. "You may as 
 well give in at once, you young mule. You'll have to in 
 the end." 
 
 "Shall I? "said Piers. 
 
 And then suddenly his own sense of humour was kindled 
 again, and he uttered his boyish laugh. 
 
 " We won't quarrel about it, what? " he said, and stretched 
 a wet hand upwards. "Let's consider the incident closed! 
 There's nothing whatever to be fashed about." 
 
 Sir Beverley's thin lips twitched a little. He pulled 
 at the hand, and slowly Piers yielded. The water dripped 
 from his shoulders. They gleamed in the strong light like a 
 piece of faultless statuary, godlike, superbly strong. But 
 it was upon no splendour of form that Sir Beverley's atten- 
 tion was focussed. 
 
 He spoke after a moment, an odd note of contrition in 
 his voice. "I didn't mean to mark you like that, boy. It 
 was your own doing of course. You shouldn't have inter- 
 fered with me. Still " 
 
 "Oh, rats!" said Piers, beginning to splash. "What's a 
 whacking more or less when you're used to 'em?" 
 
 His dark eyes laughed their impudent dismissal to the 
 old man. It was very evident that he desired to put an 
 end to the matter, and after a moment Sir Beverley grunted 
 and withdrew. 
 
 He had not asked what he wanted to know; somehow it 
 had not been possible. He had desired to put his question 
 in a whirl of righteous indignation, but in some fashion 
 Piers had disarmed him and it had remained unuttered. 
 The very sight of the straight, young figure had quenched
 
 ioo The Bars of Iron 
 
 the fire of his wrath. Confound the boy! Did he think 
 he could insult him as he had insulted him only that after- 
 noon and then twist him round his little finger? He would 
 have it out with him presently. He would have the truth 
 and no compromise, if he had to wring it out of him. He 
 would Again the vision of those strong young shoulders, 
 with red stripes crossing their gleaming white surface, rose 
 before Sir Beverley. He swore a strangled oath. No, he 
 hadn't meant to punish the boy to that extent, his infernal 
 impudence notwithstanding. It wasn't the first time he had 
 thrashed him, and, egad, it mightn't be the last. But he 
 hadn't meant to administer quite such a punishment as 
 that. It was decent of the young rascal not to sulk after 
 it, though he wasn't altogether sure that he approved of 
 the light fashion with which Piers had elected to treat the 
 whole episode. It looked as if he had not wholly taken to 
 heart the lesson Sir Beverley had intended to convey, and 
 if that were the case again Sir Beverley swore deep in his 
 soul he was fully equal to repeating it, ay, and again 
 repeating it, until the youngster came to heel. He never 
 had endured any nonsense from Piers, and, by Gad, he 
 never would! 
 
 With these reflections he stumped downstairs, and 
 seated himself on the black, oaken settle in the hall to 
 await the boy's advent. 
 
 The fire blazed cheerily, flinging ruddy gleams upon the 
 shining suits of armour, roaring up the chimney in a sheet 
 of flame. Sir Beverley sat facing the stairs, the grim lines 
 hardened to implacability about his mouth, his eyes fixed 
 in a stare that had in it something brutal. He was seeing 
 again that slim, straight figure of womanhood standing in 
 his path, with arms outstretched, and white, determined 
 face upraised, barring the way. 
 
 ' ' Curse her ! " he growled. ' ' Curse 'em all ! " 
 ^ The vision grew before his gaze of hate ; and now she was
 
 A Pair of Gloves 101 
 
 no longer standing between him and a mere, defenceless 
 animal. But there, on his own stairs, erect and fearless, 
 she withstood him, while behind her, descending with a 
 laugh on his lips and worship in his eyes, came Piers. 
 
 The stone-grey eyes became suffused ; for a few, whirling 
 moments of bewilderment and fury, they saw all things 
 red. Then, gradually, the mist cleared, and the old man 
 dropped back in a lounging posture with an ugly sound in 
 his throat that was like a snarl. Doubtless that was her 
 game; doubtless doubtless! He had always known that 
 a day would come when something of the kind would 
 happen. Piers was young, wealthy, handsome, a catch 
 for any woman; but fiercely he swore it he should fall a 
 prey to no schemer. When he married as marry eventu- 
 ally he must he should make an alliance of which any man 
 might be proud. The Evesham blood should mix with none 
 but the highest. In Piers he would see the father's false 
 step counteracted. He thanked Heaven that he had never 
 been able to detect in the boy any trace of the piece of cheap 
 prettiness that had given him birth. He might have been 
 his own son, son of the woman who had been the rapture 
 and the ruin of his life. There were times when Sir Beverley 
 almost wished he had been, albeit in the bitterness of his 
 soul he had never had any love for the child she had borne 
 him. 
 
 He had never wanted to love Piers either, but somehow the 
 matter had not rested with him. From the arms of Victor, 
 Piers had always yearned to his grandfather, wailing lustily 
 till he found himself held to the hard old heart that had 
 nought but harshness and intolerance for all the world 
 beside. He had as it were taken that unwilling heart by 
 storm, claiming it as his right before he was out of his 
 cradle. And later the attachment between them had grown 
 and thriven, for Piers had never relinquished the ground 
 he had won in babyhood. By sheer arrogance of possession
 
 IO2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 he had held his own till the impetuous ardour of his affection 
 and the utter fearlessness on which it was founded had 
 made of him the cherished idol of the heart which had 
 tried to shut him out. Sir Beverley gloried in the boy 
 though he still flattered himself that no one suspected the 
 fact, and still believed that his rule was a rule of stern 
 discipline under which Piers might chafe but against which 
 he would never openly revolt. 
 
 He could not remember a single occasion upon which he 
 had not been able to master Piers, possibly after a fierce 
 struggle but always with absolute completeness in the end. 
 And there was so much of sweetness in the youngster's 
 nature that, unruly though he might be, he never nurtured 
 a grievance. He would fight for his own way to the last 
 of his strength, but when beaten he always yielded with a 
 good grace. To his grandfather alone he could submit 
 without any visible wound to his pride. Who could help 
 glorying in a boy like that? 
 
 David the butler, a man of infinite respectability, came 
 softly into the hall and approached his master. 
 
 "Are you ready for dinner, Sir Beverley?" 
 
 "No," snapped Sir Beverley. "Can't you see Master 
 Piers isn't here?" 
 
 "Very good, sir," murmured David, and retired de- 
 corously, fading into the background without the faintest 
 sound, while Ca5sar the Dalmatian who had entered with 
 him lay sedately down in well-bred silence at Sir Beverley's 
 feet. 
 
 There fell a pause, while Sir Beverley's eyes returned to 
 the wide oak staircase, watching it ceaselessly, with vulture- 
 like intentness. Then after the passage of minutes, there 
 came the sound of feet that literally scampered along the 
 corridor above, and in a moment, with meteor-like sudden- 
 ness, Piers flashed into view. 
 
 He seemed to descend the stairs without touching them,
 
 A Pair of Gloves 103 
 
 and was greeted at the foot by Caesar, who leapt to meet 
 him with wide-mouthed delight. 
 
 "Hullo, you scamp, hullo!" laughed Piers, responding 
 to the dog's caresses with a careless hand. "Out of the 
 way with you! I'm late." 
 
 "As usual," observed Sir Beverley, leaning slowly 
 forward, still with his eyes unblinkingly fixed upon his 
 grandson's merry face. "Come here, boy!" 
 
 Piers came to him unabashed. 
 
 Sir Beverley got heavily to his feet and took him by the 
 shoulder. "Who is that woman, Piers? " he said, regarding 
 him piercingly. 
 
 Piers' forehead was instantly drawn by - a quick frown. 
 He stood passive, but there was a suggestion of resistance 
 about him notwithstanding. 
 
 "Whom do you mean, sir?" he said. "What woman?" 
 
 "You know very well who I mean, " snarled Sir Beverley. 
 "Come, I'll have none of your damn' nonsense. Never 
 have stood it and never will. Who was that white-faced 
 cat that got in my way this afternoon and helped you to a 
 thrashing? Eh, Piers? Who was she, I say? Who was 
 she?" 
 
 Piers made a sharp involuntary movement of the hands, 
 and as swiftly restrained himself. He looked his grand- 
 father full in the face. 
 
 "Ask me after dinner, sir," he said, speaking with some- 
 thing of an effort, "and I'll tell you all I know." 
 
 "You'll tell me now!" declared Sir Beverley, shaking the 
 shoulder he gripped with savage impatience. 
 
 But Piers put up a quick hand and stopped him. "No, 
 sir, not now. Come and dine first! I've no mind to go 
 dinnerless to bed. Come, sir, don't badger me!" He 
 smiled suddenly and very winningly into the stern grey 
 eyes. "There's all the evening before us, and I shan't 
 shirk."
 
 104 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He drew the bony old hand away from his shoulder, and 
 pulled it through his arm. 
 
 "I suppose you think you're irresistible," grumbled Sir 
 Beverley. "I don't know why I put up with you; on my 
 soul, I don't, you impudent young dog!" 
 
 Piers laughed. "Let's do one thing at a time anyway, 
 and I'm ravenous for dinner. So must you be. Come 
 along! Let's trot in and have it !" 
 
 He had his way. Sir Beverley went with him, though 
 half against his will. They entered the dining-room still 
 linked together, and a woman's face smiled down upon them 
 from a picture-frame on the wall with a smile half -sad, 
 half -mocking such a smile as even at that moment curved 
 Piers' lips, belying the reckless gaiety of his eyes. 
 
 They dined in complete amicability. Piers had plenty 
 to say at all times, and he showed himself completely at his 
 ease. He was the only person in the world who ever was 
 so in Sir Beverley's presence. He even now and then 
 succeeded in provoking a sardonic laugh from his grand- 
 father. His own laughter was boyishly spontaneous. 
 
 But at the end of the meal, when wine was placed upon 
 the table, he suddenly ceased his careless chatter, and 
 leaned forward with his dark eyes full upon Sir Beverley's 
 face. 
 
 "Now, sir, you want to know the name of the girl who 
 wasn't afraid of you this afternoon. I mentioned her 
 to you once before. Her name is Avery Denys. She is a 
 widow; and she calls herself the mother's help at the 
 Vicarage." 
 
 He gave his information with absolute steadiness. His 
 voice was wholly free from emotion of any sort, but it 
 rang a trifle stern, and his mouth that sensitive, clean- 
 cut mouth of his had the grimness of an iron resolution 
 about it. Sir Beverley looked at him frowningly over 
 his wine.
 
 A Pair of Gloves 105 
 
 "The woman who threw a pail of water over you once, 
 eh?" he said, after a moment. "I suppose she has become 
 a very special friend in consequence." 
 
 "I doubt if she would call herself so, " said Piers. 
 
 The old man's mouth took a bitter, downward curve. 
 "You see, you're rather young," he observed. 
 
 Piers' eyes fell away from his abruptly. "Yes, I know,'* 
 he said, in a tone that seemed to hide more than it expressed. 
 
 Sir Beverley continued to stare at him, but he did not 
 lift his eyes again. They were fixed steadily upon the 
 ruby light that shone in the wine in front of him. 
 
 The silence lengthened and became oppressive. Sir 
 Beverley still watched Piers' intent face. His lips moved 
 soundlessly, while behind his silence the storm of his wrath 
 gathered. 
 
 What did the boy mean by treating him like this? Did 
 he think he would endure to be set aside thus deliberately 
 as one whose words had no weight? Did he think con- 
 found him! did he think that he had reached his dotage? 
 
 A sudden oath escaped him; he banged a furious fist 
 upon the table. He would make himself heard at least. 
 
 In the same instant quite unexpectedly Piers leaped to 
 his feet with uplifted hand. " What's that? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" thundered Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers' hand descended, gripping his arm. "That, sir, 
 that! Don't you hear?" 
 
 Voice and gesture compelled. Sir Beverley stopped 
 dead, arrested in full career by his grandson's insistence, 
 and listened with pent breath, as Piers was listening. 
 
 For a moment or two he heard nothing, then, close outside 
 the window, there arose the sound of children's voices. 
 They were singing a hymn, but not in the customary un- 
 tuneful yell of the village school. The voices were clear 
 and sweet and true, and the words came distinct and pure 
 to the two men standing at the table.
 
 io6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "He comes, the prisoners to release 
 In Satan's bondage held, 
 The gates of brass before Him burst, 
 The iron fetters yield." 
 
 Piers' hand tightened ail-unconsciously upon Sir Beverley's 
 arm. His face was very white. In his eyes there shone a 
 curious hunger such a look as might have gleamed in the 
 eyes of the prisoners behind the gates. 
 
 Again came the words, triumphantly repeated: 
 
 "The gates of brass before Him burst, 
 The iron fetters yield." 
 
 And an odd sound that was almost a sob broke from Piers. 
 
 Sir Beverley looked at him sharply; but in the same 
 moment he drew back, relinquishing his hold, and stepped 
 lightly across the room to the window. 
 
 There was a decided pause before the next verse. Piers 
 stood with his face to the blind, making no movement. 
 At last, tentatively, like the song of a very shy angel, a 
 single boy's voice took up the melody. 
 
 "He comes, the broken heart to bind, 
 The bleeding soul to cure, 
 And with the treasures of His grace 
 To bless the humble poor." 
 
 Sir Beverley sat down again at the table. Half mechani- 
 cally his eyes turned to the pictured face on the wall, the 
 face that smiled so enigmatically. Not once in a year did 
 his eyes turn that way. To-night he regarded it with half- 
 ironical interest. He had no pity to spare for broken hearts. 
 He did not believe in them. No man could have endured 
 more than he had had to endure. He had been dragged 
 through hell itself. But it had hardened, not broken his 
 heart. Save in one respect he knew that he could never
 
 A Pair of Gloves 
 
 be made to suffer any more. Save for that charred remnant, 
 there was nothing left for the flame to consume. 
 
 And so through all the bitter years he had borne that 
 smiling face upon his wall, cynically indifferent to the 
 beauty which had been the rapture and the agony of his 
 life, a man released from the place of his torment because 
 his capacity for suffering was almost gone. 
 
 Again there were two children's voices singing, and that 
 of the shy angel gathered confidence. With a species of 
 scoffing humour Sir Beverley's stony eyes travelled to the 
 window. They rested upon his boy standing there with 
 bent head a mute, waiting figure with a curious touch of 
 pathos in its pose. Sir Beverley's sudden frown drew 
 his forehead. What ailed the youngster? Why did he 
 stand as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders? 
 
 He made an impatient movement. "For Heaven's 
 sake," he said testily, "tell those squalling children to 
 go!" 
 
 Piers did not stir. "In a moment, sir!" he said. 
 
 And so, clear through the night air, the last verse came 
 unhindered to an end. 
 
 "Our glad hosannas, Prince of peace, 
 Thy welcome shall proclaim; 
 And Heaven's eternal arches ring 
 With Thy beloved Name. 
 And Heaven's eternal arches ring 
 With Thy beloved Name." 
 
 Piers threw up his head with a sudden, spasmodic move- 
 ment as of a drowning man. And then without pause he 
 snatched up the blind and flung the window wide. 
 
 "Hi, you kiddies! Where are you? Don't run away! 
 Gracie, is that you?" 
 
 There was a brief silence, then chirpily came the answer. 
 "Pat did the solo; but he's gone. He would have gone
 
 io8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 sooner when we saw your shadow on the blind only 
 I held him so that he couldn't." 
 
 Piers broke into a laugh. "Well, come in now you are 
 here! You're not afraid anyhow, what?" 
 
 "Oh no!" laughed Gracie. "I'm not a bit afraid. 
 But I'm supposed to be in bed; and if Father finds out I'm 
 not " She paused with her customary sense of the 
 dramatic. 
 
 "Well?" laughed Piers. " What'll happen then?" 
 
 "I shall cop it," said Gracie elegantly. 
 
 Nevertheless she came to him, and stood on the grass 
 outside the window. The lamplight from within shone on 
 her upturned face with its saucy, confiding smile. Her 
 head was uncovered and gleamed golden in the radiance. 
 She was wearing a very ancient fur cloak belonging to 
 her mother, and she glowed like a rose in the sombre 
 drapery. 
 
 Piers stooped to her with hands invitingly outstretched. 
 "Come along, Pixie! We shan't eat you, and I'll take you 
 home on my shoulder afterwards and see you don't get 
 copped." 
 
 She uttered a delighted little laugh, and went upwards 
 into his hold like a scrap of floating thistledown. 
 
 He lifted her high in his arms, crossed the room with her, 
 and set her down before the old man who still sat at the 
 table, sardonically watching. " Miss Gracie Lorimer!" he 
 said. 
 
 "Hullo, child!" growled Sir Beverley. 
 
 Gracie looked at him with sparkling, adventurous eyes. 
 As she had told Piers, she was not a bit afraid. After 
 the briefest pause she held out her hand with charming 
 insouciance. 
 
 "How do you do?" she said. 
 
 Sir Beverley slowly took the hand, and pulled her towards 
 him, gazing at her from under his black brows with a
 
 A Pair of Gloves 109 
 
 piercing scrutiny that would have terrified a more timid 
 child. 
 
 Timidity however was not one of Grade's weaknesses. 
 She gave him a friendly smile, and waited without the 
 smallest sign of uneasiness for him to speak. 
 
 "What have you come here for?" he demanded gruffly 
 at length. 
 
 "I'll tell you," said Gracie readily. She went close to 
 him, confidingly close, looking straight into the formidable 
 grey eyes. "You see, it was my idea. Pat didn't want to 
 come, but I made him." 
 
 "Forward young minx!" commented Sir Beverley. 
 
 Gracie laughed at the compliment. 
 
 Piers, smoking his cigarette behind her, stood ready to 
 take her part, but quite obviously she was fully equal to 
 the occasion. 
 
 "Yes, I know," she agreed, with disarming amiability. 
 "But it wouldn't have mattered a bit if you hadn't found 
 out who it was. You won't tell anyone, will you?" 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Sir Beverley. 
 
 Gracie pulled down her red lips, and cast up her dancing 
 eyes. "There'd be such a scandal," she said. 
 
 Piers broke into an involuntary laugh, and Sir Beverley's 
 thin lips twitched in a reluctant smile. 
 
 "You're a saucy little baggage!" he observed. "Well, 
 get on! Let's hear what you've come for! Cadging 
 money, I'll be bound." 
 
 Gracie nodded in eager confirmation of this suggestion. 
 " That's just it ! " she said. "And that's where the scandal 
 would come in if you told. You see, poor children can go 
 round squalling carols to their hearts' content for pennies, 
 but children like us who want pennies just as much haven't 
 any way of getting them. We mayn't carry hand-bags, or 
 open carriage-doors, or turn cart-wheels, or or do anything 
 to earn a living. It's hard luck, yon know."
 
 no The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Beastly shame!" said Piers. 
 
 Sir Beverley scowled at him. "You needn't stick your 
 oar in. Go and shut the window, do you hear? Now, 
 child, let's have the truth, so far as any female is capable 
 of speaking it! You've come here for pennies, you say. 
 Don't you know that's a form of begging? And begging 
 is breaking the law." 
 
 "I often do that," said Grade, quite undismayed. 
 "So would you, if you were me. I expect you did too 
 when you were young." 
 
 "I!" Sir Beverley uttered a harsh laugh, and released 
 the child's hand. "So you break the law, do you?" he 
 said. "How of ten?" 
 
 Gracie's laugh followed his like a silvery echo. "I 
 shan't tell you 'cos you're a magistrate. But we weren't 
 really begging, Pat and I. At least it wasn't for ourselves." 
 
 "Oh, of course not!" said Sir Beverley. 
 
 She looked at him with her clear eyes, unconscious of 
 irony. "No. We wanted to buy a pair of gloves for 
 someone for Christmas. And nice gloves cost such a lot, 
 don't they? And we hadn't got more than tenpence- 
 halfpenny among us. So I said I'd think of a plan to get 
 more. And that was the plan," ended Gracie, with her 
 sweetest smile. 
 
 "I see," said Sir Beverley, with his eyes still fixed 
 immovably upon her. "And what made you come 
 here?" 
 
 "Oh, we came here just because of Piers," said Gracie, 
 without hesitation. "You see, he's a great friend of ours." 
 
 "Is he?" said Sir Beverley. "And so you think you'll 
 get what you can out of him, eh?" 
 
 "Sir!" said Piers sharply. 
 
 "Be quiet, Piers!" ordered his grandfather testily. 
 "Who spoke to you? Well, madam, continue! How 
 much do you consider him good for?"
 
 A Pair of Gloves in 
 
 Piers pulled a coin impetuously from his pocket and 
 slapped it down on the table in front of Gracie. "There 
 you are, Pixie!" he said. "I'm good for that." 
 
 Gracie stared at the coin with widening eyes, not offering 
 to touch it. 
 
 "Oh, Piers!" she said, with a long indrawn breath. 
 " It's a whole sovereign! Oh no!" 
 
 He laughed a reckless laugh, while over her head his 
 eyes challenged his grandfather's. "That's all right, 
 Piccaninny," he said lightly. "Put it in your pocket! 
 And I'll come round with the car to-morrow and run you 
 into Wardenhurst to buy those gloves." 
 
 But Gracie shook her head. "Gloves don't cost all 
 that, " she said practically. "And besides, you won't have 
 any left for yourself. Fancy giving away a whole sovereign 
 at a time!" She addressed Sir Beverley. "It seems 
 almost a tempting of Providence, doesn't it!" 
 
 "The deed of a fool!" said Sir Beverley. 
 
 But Piers, with a sudden hardening of the jaw, stooped 
 over Gracie. " Take it ! " he said. "I wish it." 
 
 She looked up at him. "No, Piers; I mustn't really. 
 It's ever so nice of you." She rubbed her golden head 
 against his shoulder caressingly. "Please don't be cross! 
 I do thank you awfully. But I don't want it. Really, 
 I don't." 
 
 "Rot!" said Piers. "Do as I tell you! Take it!" 
 
 Gracie turned to Sir Beverley. "I can't, can I? Tell 
 him I can't!" 
 
 But Piers was not to be thwarted. With a sudden dive 
 he seized the coin and without ceremony swept Gracie's 
 hair from her shoulders and dropped it down the back of 
 her neck. 
 
 "There!" he said, slipping his hands over her arms and 
 holding her while she squealed and writhed. "It's quite 
 beyond reach. You can't in decency return it now. It's
 
 ii2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 no good wriggling. You won't get it up again unless you 
 stand on your head." 
 
 "You're horrid horrid!" protested Grade; but she 
 reached back and kissed him notwithstanding. "Thank 
 you ever so much. I hope I shan't lose it. But I don't 
 know what I shall do with it all. It's quite dreadful to 
 think of. Please don't be cross with him!" she said to 
 Sir Beverley. " It's awfully kind." 
 
 Sir Beverley smiled sardonically. "And whom are the 
 gloves for? Some other kind youth?" 
 
 "Oh no!" she laughed. "Only Aunt Avery. She tore 
 hers all to bits this afternoon. I expect it was over a dog 
 fight or something, but she wouldn't tell us what. They 
 were nice gloves too. She isn't a bit rich, but she always 
 wears nice gloves." 
 
 "Being a woman!" growled Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Don't you like women?" asked Gracie sympathetically. 
 "I like men best too as a rule. But Aunt Avery is so 
 very sweet. No one could help loving her, could they, 
 Piers?" 
 
 "Have an orange!" said Piers, pulling the dish towards 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, I mustn't stop." Gracie turned to 
 Sir Beverley and lifted her bright face. "Good-bye! 
 Thank you for being so kind." 
 
 There was no irony in her thanks, and even he could 
 scarcely refuse the friendly offer of her lips. He stooped 
 and grimly received her farewell salute on his cheek. 
 
 Piers loaded her with as many oranges as she'could carry, 
 and they finally departed through the great hall which 
 Gracie surveyed with eyes of reverent admiration. 
 
 "It's as big as a church," she said, in an awed whisper. 
 
 Sir Beverley followed them to the front-door, and saw 
 them out into the night. Gracie waved an ardent farewell 
 from her perch on Piers' shoulder, and he heard the merry
 
 A Pair of Gloves 1 13 
 
 childish laugh more than once after they had passed from 
 sight. 
 
 The night air was chilly, and he turned inwards at length 
 with an inarticulate growl, and shut the door. 
 
 Heavily he tramped across to the old carved settle before 
 the fire, and dropped down upon it, his whole bearing 
 expressive of utter weariness. 
 
 David came in with stealthy footfall and softly 
 replenished the fire. 
 
 "Shall I bring the coffee, Sir Beverley?" he asked him. 
 
 "No, " said Sir Beverley. "I'll ring." 
 
 And David effaced himself without sound. 
 
 Half an hour passed, and Sir Beverley still sat there 
 motionless as a statue, with thin lips drawn in a single bitter 
 line, and eyes that gazed aloofly at the fire. The silence 
 was intense. The hall seemed desolate as a vault. Over 
 in a corner a grandfather's clock ticked the seconds away 
 slowly, monotonously, as though very weary of its task. 
 
 Suddenly in the distance there came a faint sound, the 
 opening of a door; and a breath of night-air, pure and cold, 
 blew in across the stillness. In a moment there followed 
 a light, elastic step, and Piers came into view at the other 
 end of the hall. He moved swiftly as though he trod air. 
 His head was thrown back, his face rapt and intent as 
 though he saw a vision. He did not see the lonely figure 
 sitting there before the hearth, but turned aside ere he 
 neared it and entered an unlighted room, shutting himself 
 gently in. 
 
 Again the silence descended, but only for a few seconds. 
 Then softly it was dispelled, as through it there stole the 
 tender, passionate-sweet harmonies of a Chopin nocturne. 
 
 At the first note Sir Beverley started, almost winced as 
 at the sudden piercing of a nerve. Then as the music 
 continued, he leaned rigidly back again and became as 
 still as before.
 
 214 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Very softly the music thrilled through the silence. It 
 might have come from somewhere very far away. There 
 was something almost unearthly about it, a depth and a 
 mystery that seemed to spread as it were invisible wings, 
 filling the place with dim echoes of the Divine. 
 
 It died away at last into a silence like the hush of prayer. 
 And then the still figure of the old man before the fire 
 became suddenly vitalized. He sat up abruptly and 
 seized with impatience a small hand-bell from the table 
 beside him. 
 
 David made his discreet appearance with the coffee almost 
 at the first tinkle. 
 
 "Coffee!" his master flung at him. "And fetch Master 
 Piers!" 
 
 David set down the tray at his master's elbow, and 
 turned to obey the second behest. But the door of the 
 drawing-room opened ere he reached it, and Piers came 
 out. His dark eyes were shining. He whistled softly as he 
 came. 
 
 David stood respectfully on one side, and Piers passed 
 him like a man in a dream. He came to his grandfather, 
 and threw himself on to the settle by his side in silence. 
 
 "Well?" said Sir Beverley. "You took that chattering 
 monkey back, I suppose?" 
 
 Piers started and seemed to awake. "Oh yes, I got her 
 safely home. We had to dodge the Reverend Stephen. 
 But it was all right. She and the boy got in without being 
 caught." 
 
 He stirred his coffee thoughtfully, and fell silent again. 
 
 "You'd better go to bed, " said Sir Beverley abruptly. 
 
 Piers looked up, meeting the hard grey eyes with the 
 memory of his dream still lingering in his own. 
 
 Slowly the dream melted. He began to smile. "I 
 think I'd better," he said. "I'm infernally sleepy, and 
 it's getting late." He drank off his coffee and rose. "You
 
 A Pair of Gloves 115 
 
 must be pretty tired yourself, sir," he remarked. "Time 
 you trotted to bed too." 
 
 He moved round to the back of the settle and paused, 
 looking down at the thick white hair with a curious 
 expression of hesitancy in his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, go on! Go on!" said Sir Beverley irritably. 
 "What are you waiting for?" 
 
 Piers stooped impulsively in response, his hand on the old 
 man's shoulder, and kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 "Good-night, sir!" he said softly. 
 
 The action was purely boyish. It pleaded for tolerance. 
 Sir Beverley jerked his head impatiently, but he did not 
 repulse him. 
 
 "There! Be off with you!" he said. "Go to bed and 
 behave yourself! Good-night, you scamp! Good-night!" 
 
 And Piers went from him lightfooted, a smile upon his 
 lips. He knew that his tacit overture for peace had been 
 accepted for the time at least.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE VISION 
 
 IT was growing very dark in the little church, almost too 
 dark to see the carving of the choir-stalls, and Avery 
 gave a short sigh of weariness. 
 
 She had so nearly finished her task that she had sent the 
 children in to prepare for tea, declaring that she would 
 follow them in five minutes, and then just at the last a 
 whole mass of ivy and holly, upon which the boys had been 
 at work, had slipped and strewn the chancel-floor. She was 
 the only one left in the church, and it behooved her to 
 remove the litter. It had been a hard day, and she was 
 frankly tired of the very sight and smell of the evergreens. 
 
 There was no help for it, however. The chancel must 
 be made tidy before she could go, and she went to the cup- 
 board under the belfry for the dustpan and brush which 
 the sexton's wife kept there. She found a candle also, 
 and thus armed she returned to the scene of her labours 
 at the other end of the dim little church. She tried to put 
 her customary energy into the task, but it would not rise 
 to the occasion, and after a few strenuous seconds she 
 paused to rest. 
 
 It was very still and peaceful, and she was glad of the 
 solitude. All day long she had felt the need of it, and 
 all day long it had been denied her. She had been decorat- 
 ing under Miss Whalley's superintendence, and the task 
 had been no light one. Save for the fact that she had gone 
 
 M6
 
 The Vision 117 
 
 in Mrs. Lorimer's stead, she had scarcely undertaken it. 
 For Miss Whalley was as exacting as though the church 
 were her own private property. She deferred to the Vicar 
 alone, and he was more than willing to leave the matter 
 in her hands. "My capable assistant" was his pet name 
 for this formidable member of his flock, and very con- 
 scientiously did Miss Whalley maintain her calling. She 
 would have preferred to direct Mrs. Lorimer rather than the 
 mother's help, but since the latter had firmly determined 
 to take the former's place, she had accepted her with 
 condescension and allotted to her all the hardest work. 
 
 Avery had laboured uncomplainingly in her quiet, 
 methodical fashion, but now that the stress was over and 
 Miss Whalley safely installed in the Vicarage drawing- 
 room for tea, she found it impossible not to relax somewhat, 
 and to make the most of those few exquisite moments 
 of sanctuary. 
 
 She was very far from expecting any invasion of her 
 solitude, and when after a moment or two she went on with 
 her sweeping she had no suspicion of another presence in 
 the dark building. She had set herself resolutely to finish 
 her task, and so energetic was she that she heard no sound 
 of feet along the aisle behind her. 
 
 Some unaccountable impulse induced her to pause at 
 length and still kneeling, brush in hand, to throw a back- 
 ward glance along the nave. Then it was that she saw a 
 man's figure standing on the chancel-steps, and so un- 
 expected was the apparition that her weary nerves leapt 
 with violence out of all proportion to the event, and she 
 sprang to her feet with a startled cry that echoed weirdly 
 through the empty place. Then with a rush of self -ridicule 
 she recognized Piers Evesham. "Oh, it is you!" she said. 
 "How stupid of me!" 
 
 He came straight to her with an air of determination 
 that would brook no opposition and took the brush out of
 
 ii8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 her hand. "That's not your job," he said. "You gt 
 and sit down!" 
 
 She stared at him in silence, trying to still the wild 
 agitation that his unlooked-for coming had raised in her. 
 He was wearing a heavy motor-coat, but he divested him- 
 self of this, and without further parley bent himself to the 
 task of which he had deprived her. 
 
 Avery sat down somewhat limply on the pulpit-stairs 
 and watched him. He was very thorough and far brisker 
 than she could have been. In a very few minutes the 
 litter was all collected, and Piers turned round and looked 
 back at her across the dim chancel. 
 
 "Feeling better?" he said. 
 
 She did not answer him. "What made you come in 
 like that?" she asked. 
 
 He replied to the question with absolute simplicity. 
 "I've just brought Grade home again. She asked me to 
 tea in the schoolroom, but you weren't there, and they said 
 I should find you here, so I came to fetch you." 
 
 He moved slowly across and stood before her, looking 
 down into her tired eyes with an odd species of relentless- 
 ness in his own. 
 
 "It's an infernal shame that you should work so hard!" 
 he said, with sudden resentment. "You're looking fagged 
 to death." 
 
 Avery smiled a little. "I like hard work," she said. 
 
 "Not such as this!" said Piers. "It isn't fit for you. 
 Why can't the lazy hound do it himself?" 
 
 Her smile passed. "Hush, Piers!" she said. "Not 
 here!" 
 
 He glanced towards the altar, and she thought a shade 
 of reverence came into his face for a moment. But he 
 turned to her again immediately with his flashing, boyish 
 smile. 
 
 "Well, it isn't good for you to overwork, you know,
 
 The Vision 119 
 
 Avery. I hate to think of it. And you have no one to 
 take care of you and see you don't." 
 
 Avery got up slowly. Her own face was severe in the 
 candlelight, but before she could speak he went lightly on. 
 
 "Would you like me to play you something before we 
 go? Or are you too tired to blow? It's rather a shame to 
 suggest it. But it's such a grand opportunity." 
 
 Avery turned at once to the organ with a feeling of 
 relief. As usual she found it very hard to rebuke him as 
 he deserved. 
 
 "Yes, I will blow for you," she said. "But it must be 
 something short, for we ought to be going." 
 
 She sat down and began to blow. 
 
 Piers took his place at once at the organ. It was charac- 
 teristic of him that he never paused for inspiration. His 
 fingers moved over the keys as it were by instinct, and in a 
 few moments Avery forgot that she was tired and dispirited 
 with the bearing of many burdens, forgot all the problems 
 and difficulties of life, forgot even her charges at the Vicarage 
 and the waiting schoolroom tea, and sat wrapt as it were 
 in a golden mist of delight, watching the slow spreading of 
 a dawn such as she had never seen even in her dreams. 
 What he played she knew not, and yet the music was not 
 wholly unfamiliar to her. It waked within her soul har- 
 monies that vibrated in throbbing response. He spoke 
 to her in a language that she knew. And as the magic 
 moments passed, the wonderful dawn so grew and deepened 
 that it seemed to her that all pain, all sorrow, had fallen 
 utterly away, and she stood on the threshold of a new 
 world. 
 
 Wider and wider spread the glory. There came to her 
 an overwhelming sense of greatness about to be revealed. 
 She became strung to a pitch of expectancy that was 
 almost anguish, while the music swelled and swelled like 
 the distant coming of a vast procession as yet unseen.
 
 120 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She stood as it were on a mountain-top before the closed 
 gates of heaven, waiting for the moment of revelation. 
 
 It came. Just when she felt that she could bear no 
 more, just when the wild beating of her heart seemed as 
 if it would choke her, the music changed, became suddenly 
 all-conquering, a paean of triumph, and the gates swung 
 back before her eager eyes. 
 
 In spirit she entered the Holy Place, and the same hand 
 that had admitted her lifted for her the last great Veil. 
 For one moment of unutterable rapture such as no poor 
 palpitating mortal body could endure for long, the vision 
 was her own. She saw Heaven opened. . . . 
 
 And then the Veil descended, and the Gates closed. 
 She came down from the mountain-top, leaving the golden 
 dawn very far behind her. She opened her eyes in darkness 
 and silence. 
 
 Someone was bending over her. She felt warm hands 
 about her own. She heard a voice, sudden and imploring, 
 close to her. 
 
 "Avery! Avery darling! For God's sake, dear, speak 
 tome! What is it? Are you ill?" 
 
 "111!" she said, bewildered. 
 
 His hands gripped hers impetuously. "You gave me 
 such a fright," he said. "I thought you'd fainted. Did 
 you faint?" 
 
 ' ' Of course not ! ' ' she said slowly. ' ' I never faint. Why 
 did you stop playing?" 
 
 "I didn't," said Piers. "At least, you stopped first." 
 
 "Oh, did I forget to blow? " she said. " I'm sorry." 
 
 She knew that she ought not to suffer that close clasp 
 of his, but somehow for the moment she was powerless to 
 resist it. She sat quite still, gazing out before her with a 
 curious sense of powerlessness. 
 
 "You're tired out," said Piers softly. " It was a shame to 
 keep you here. I'm awfully sorry, dear."
 
 The Vision 121 
 
 She stirred at that, beginning to seek for freedom. 
 "Don't, Piers!" she said. "It it isn't right of you. It 
 isn't fair." 
 
 He knelt swiftly down before her. His voice came 
 quick and passionate in answer. "It can't be wrong to 
 love you, " he said. "And you will never be any the worse 
 for my love. Let me love you, Avery ! Let me love you ! " 
 
 The words rushed out tempestuously. His forehead was 
 bowed upon her hands. He became silent, and through 
 the silence she heard his breathing, hard and difficult, 
 the breathing of a man who faces stupendous odds. 
 
 With an effort she summoned her strength. Yet she 
 could not speak harshly to him, for her heart went out in 
 pity. "No, you mustn't, Piers," she said. "You mustn't 
 indeed. I am years older than you are, and it is utterly 
 unsuitable. You must forget it. You must indeed. 
 There! Let us be friends! I like you well enough for 
 that." 
 
 He uttered a laugh that sounded as though it covered a 
 groan. "Yes, you're awfully good to me," he said. "But 
 you're not in one sense anything approaching my age, 
 and pray Heaven you never will be!" 
 
 He raised his head and looked at her. "And you're 
 not angry with me?" he said, half wistfully. 
 
 No, she was not angry. She could not even pretend to 
 be. "But please be sensible!" she begged. "I know it 
 was partly my fault. If I hadn't been so tired, it wouldn't 
 have happened." 
 
 He got to his feet, still holding her hands. "No; you're 
 not to blame yourself," he said. "What has happened 
 was bound to happen, right from the very beginning. 
 But I'm sorry if it has upset you. There is no reason why 
 it should that I can see. You are better now?" 
 
 He helped her gently to rise. They stood face to face 
 in the dim candlelight, and his eyes looked into hers with
 
 122 The Bars of Iron 
 
 such friendly concern that again she had it not in her 
 heart to be other than kind. 
 
 "I am quite well," she assured him. "Please forget 
 my foolishness! Tell me what it was you played just 
 now!" 
 
 "That last thing?" he said. "Surely you know that! 
 It was Handel's Largo" 
 
 She started. "Of course! I remember now! But 
 I've never heard it played like that before." 
 
 A very strange smile crossed his face. "No one but you 
 would have understood," he said. "I wanted you to hear 
 it like that." 
 
 She withdrew her hands from his. Something in his 
 words sent a curious feeling that was almost dread 
 through her heart. 
 
 "I don't quite know what. you mean," she said. 
 
 "Don't you?" said Piers, and in his voice there rang a 
 note of recklessness. "It's a difficult thing to put into 
 words, isn't it? I just wanted you to see the Open Heaven 
 as I have seen it and as I shall never see it again." 
 
 "Piers! "she said. 
 
 He answered her almost fiercely. "No, you won't 
 understand. Of course you can't understand. You will 
 never stand hammering at the bars, breaking your heart 
 in the dark. Wasn't that the sort of picture our kindly 
 parson drew for us on Sunday? It's a pretty theme 
 the tortures of the damned!" 
 
 "My dear Piers!" Avery spoke quickly and vehemently. 
 "Surely you have too much sense to take such a discourse 
 as that seriously! I longed to tell the children not to 
 listen. It is wicked wicked to try to spread spiritual 
 terror in people's hearts, and to call it the teaching of 
 religion. It is no more like religion than a penny-terrible 
 is like life. It is a cruel and fantastic distortion of the 
 truth."
 
 The Vision 123 
 
 She paused. Piers was listening to her with that odd 
 hunger in his eyes that had looked out of them the night 
 before. 
 
 "You don't believe in hell then?" he said quietly, after a 
 moment. 
 
 "As a place of future torment no!" she said. "The 
 only real hell is here on earth here in our hearts when 
 we fall away from God. Hell is the state of sin and all 
 that goes with it the fiery hell of the spirit. It is here and 
 now. How could it be otherwise? Can you imagine a 
 God of Love devising hideous tortures hereafter, for the 
 punishment of the pigmies who had offended Him? Tor- 
 tures that were never to do them any good, but just to 
 keep them in misery for ever and ever? It is unthinkable 
 it's almost ludicrous. What is the good of suffering 
 except to purify? That we can understand and thank 
 God for. But the other oh, the other is sheer imagery, 
 more mythical than Jonah and the whale. It just doesn't 
 go." Again she paused, then very frankly held out her 
 hand to him. " But I like your picture of the Open Heaven, 
 Piers," she said. "Show it me again some day when 
 I'm not as tired and stupid as I am to-day." 
 
 He bent over her hand with a gesture that betrayed the 
 foreign blood in him, and his lips, hot and passionate, 
 pressed her cold fingers. He did not utter a word. Only 
 when he stood up again he looked at her with eyes that 
 burned with the deep fires of manhood, and suddenly all- 
 unbidden the woman's heart in her quivered in response. 
 She bent her head and turned away.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A MAN'S CONFIDENCE 
 
 " A REN'T you going to kiss Aunt Avery under the 
 J\ mistletoe?" asked Grade. 
 
 "No," said Piers. "Aunt Avery may kiss me if she 
 likes." He looked at Avery with his sudden, boyish laugh. 
 "But I know she doesn't like, so that's an end of the 
 matter." 
 
 "How do you know?" persisted Grade. "She's very 
 fond of kissing. And anyone may kiss under the mistletoe. ' ' 
 
 "That quite does away with the charm of it in my 
 opinion," declared Piers. "I don't appreciate things 
 when you can get 'em cheap." 
 
 He moved over to Jeanie's sofa and sat down on the 
 edge. Her soft eyes smiled a welcome, the little thin hand 
 slipped into his. 
 
 "I've been wishing for you all day long, " she said. 
 
 He leaned towards her. "Have you, my fairy queen? 
 Well, I'm here at last." 
 
 Avery, from the head of the schoolroom table, looked 
 across at them with a feeling of fulness at her heart. She 
 never liked Piers so well as when she saw him in company 
 with her little favourite. His gentleness and chivalry 
 made of him a very perfect knight. 
 
 "Yes," said Jeanie, giving his hand a little squeeze. 
 "We're going to have our Christmas Tree to-night, and 
 Dr. Tudor is coming. You don't like him, I know. But 
 he's really quite a nice man." 
 
 124
 
 A Man's Confidence 125 
 
 She spoke the last words pleadingly, in response to a 
 slight frown between Piers' brows. 
 
 "Oh, is he?" said Piers, without enthusiasm. 
 
 "He's been very kind, " said Jeanie in a tone of apology. 
 
 "He'd better be anything else to you!" said Piers, with 
 a smile that was somewhat grim. 
 
 Jeanie's fingers caressed his again propitiatingly. "Do 
 let's all be nice to each other just for to-night!" she said. 
 
 Piers' smile became tender again. "As your gracious 
 majesty decrees!" he said. "Where is the ceremony to 
 beheld?" 
 
 "Up in the nursery. We've had the little ones in here 
 all day, while Mother and Nurse have been getting it ready. 
 I haven't seen it yet." 
 
 "Can't we creep up when no one's looking and have a 
 private view?" suggested Piers. 
 
 Jeanie beamed at the idea. "I would like to, for I've 
 been in the secret from the very beginning. But you must 
 finish your tea first. We'll go when the crackers begin." 
 
 As the pulling of crackers was the signal for every child 
 at the table to make as much noise as possible, it was not 
 difficult to effect their retreat without exciting general 
 attention. A very alone noted their departure and smiled 
 at Jeanie's flushed face as the child nodded farewell to her 
 over Piers' shoulder. 
 
 "You do carry me so beautifully," Jeanie confided to 
 him as he mounted the stairs to the top of the house. "I 
 love the feel of your arms. They are so strong and kind. 
 You're sure I'm not too heavy?" 
 
 "I could carry a dozen of you, " said Piers. 
 
 They found the nursery brilliantly lighted and lavishly 
 adorned with festoons of coloured paper. 
 
 "Aunt A very and I did most of that," said Jeanie 
 proudly. 
 
 Piers bore her round the room, admiring every detail,
 
 126 The Bars of Iron 
 
 finalky depbsiting her in a big arm-chair close to the tall 
 screen that hid the Christmas Tree. Jeanie's leg was 
 mending rapidly, and gave her little trouble now. She 
 lay back contentedly, with shining eyes upon her 
 cavalier. 
 
 "It was very nice of you to be so kind to Gracie last 
 night," she said. "She told me all about it to-day. Of 
 course she ought not to have done it. I hope I hope Sir 
 Beverley wasn't angry about it." 
 
 Piers laughed a little. "Oh no! He got over it. Was 
 Gracie scared?" 
 
 " Not really. She said she thought he wasn't quite pleased 
 with you. I do hope he didn't think it was your fault." 
 
 "My shoulders are fairly broad," said Piers. 
 
 "Yes, but it wouldn't be right," maintained Jeanie. 
 "I think I ought to write to him and explain." 
 
 "No, no!" said Piers. "You leave the old chap alone. 
 He understands quite as much as he wants to understand." 
 
 There was a note of bitterness in his voice which Jeanie 
 was quick to discern. She reached up a sympathetic 
 hand to his. "Dear Sir Galahad!" she said softly. 
 
 Piers looked down at her for a few moments in silence. 
 And then, very suddenly, moved by the utter devotion 
 that looked back at him from her eyes, he went down on 
 his knees beside her and held her to his heart. 
 
 "It's a beast of a world, Jeanie, " he said. 
 
 "Is it?" whispered Jeanie, with his hand pressed tight 
 against her cheek. 
 
 There was silence between them for a little space; then 
 she lifted her face to his, to murmur in a motherly tone, 
 "I expect you're tired." 
 
 "Tired!" said Piers with gloomy vehemence. "Yes, 
 I am tired sick to death of everything. I'm like a dog 
 on a chain. I can see what I want, but it's always just out 
 of my reach."
 
 A Man's Confidence 127 
 
 Jeanie's hand came up and softly stroked his face. "I 
 wish I could get it for you, " she said. 
 
 "Bless you, sweetheart!" said Piers. "You don't so 
 much as know what it is, do you?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Jeanie. She leaned her head back 
 against his shoulder, looking up into his face with all her 
 child's soul shining in her eyes. "It's Aunt Avery; isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "How did you know?" said Piers. 
 
 "I don't know," said Jeanie. "It just came to me 
 that day in the schoolroom when you talked about the 
 ticket of leave. You were unhappy that day, weren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Piers. He added after a moment, "You see, 
 I'm not good enough for her." 
 
 "Not good enough!" Jeanie's face became incredulous 
 and a little distressed. "I'm sure she doesn't think 
 that, " she said. 
 
 "She doesn't know me properly," said Piers. "Nor 
 do you. If you did, you'd be shocked, you'd be horrified." 
 
 He spoke recklessly, almost defiantly; but Jeanie only 
 stretched up a thin arm and wound it about his neck. 
 1 ' Never ! " she told him softly. "No, never ! ' ' 
 
 He held her to him; but he would not be silenced. "I 
 assure you, I'm no saint," he said. "I feel more like a 
 devil sometimes. I've done bad things, Jeanie, I can't 
 tell you how bad. It would only hurt you." 
 
 The words ran out impulsively. His breathing came 
 quick and short; his hold was tense. In that moment the 
 child's pure spirit recognized that the image had crumbled 
 in her shrine, but the brave heart of her did not flinch. 
 Very tenderly she veiled the ruin. The element of worship 
 had vanished in that single instant of revelation; but her 
 love remained, and it shone out to him like a beacon as he 
 knelt there in abasement by her side.
 
 128 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "But you're sorry," she whispered. "You would undo 
 the bad things if you could." 
 
 "God knows I would!" he said. 
 
 "Perhaps He will undo them for you," she murmured 
 softly. "Have you asked Him?" 
 
 "There are some things that can't be undone," groaned 
 Piers. " It would be too big a job even for Him." 
 
 "Nothing is that," said Jeanie with conviction. "If 
 we are sorry and if we pray, some day He will undo all the 
 bad we've ever done." 
 
 "I haven't prayed for six years," said Piers. "Things 
 went wrong with me. I felt as if I were under a curse. 
 And I gave it up." 
 
 "Oh, Piers!" she said, holding him closer. "How 
 miserable you must have been!" 
 
 "I've been in hell!" he said with bitter vehemence. 
 "And the gates tight shut! Not that I was ever very 
 great in the spiritual lines," he added more calmly. "But 
 I used to think God took a friendly interest in my affairs 
 till till I went down into hell and the gates shut on me; 
 and then " he spoke grimly "I knew He didn't care a 
 rap." 
 
 "But, dear, He does care!" said Jeanie very earnestly. 
 
 " He doesn't ! " said Piers moodily. " He can't ! " 
 
 "Piers, He does!" She raised her head and looked him 
 straight in the eyes. " Everyone feels like that sometimes, " 
 she said. "But Aunt Avery says it's only because we are 
 too little to understand. Won't you begin and pray again? 
 It does make a difference even though we can't see it." 
 
 "I can't," said Piers. And then with swift compunction 
 he kissed her face of disappointment. "Never mind, my 
 queen! Don't you bother your little head about me! I 
 shall rub along all right even if I don't come out on top." 
 
 "But I want you to be happy," said Jeanie. "I wish I 
 could help you, Piers, dear Piers."
 
 A Man's Confidence 129 
 
 "You do help me," said Piers. 
 
 There came the sound of voices on the stairs, and he got 
 up. 
 
 Jeanie looked up at him wistfully. "I shall try," she 
 said. "I shall try hard." 
 
 He patted her head and turned away. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer and Miss Whalley entered the room. The 
 former raised his brows momentarily at the sight of Piers, 
 but he greeted him with much geniality. 
 
 "I am quite delighted to welcome you to the children's 
 Christmas party," he declared, with Piers' hand held 
 impressively in his. "And how is your grandfather, my 
 dear lad?" 
 
 Piers contracted instinctively. "He is quite well, 
 thanks, " he said. " I haven't come to stay. I only looked 
 in for a moment." 
 
 He glanced towards Miss Whalley whom he had never 
 met before. The Vicar smilingly introduced him. "This 
 is the Squire's grandson and heir, Miss Whalley. Doubt- 
 less you know him by sight as well as by repute the keen- 
 est sportsman in the county, eh, my young friend?" His 
 eyes disappeared with the words as if pulled inwards by a 
 string. 
 
 "I don't know," said Piers, becoming extremely blunt 
 and British. "I'm certainly keen, but so are dozens of 
 others." He bowed to Miss Whalley with stiff courtesy. 
 "Pleased to meet you," he said formally. 
 
 Miss Whalley acknowledged the compliment with a 
 severe air of incredulity. She had never approved of 
 Piers since a certain Sunday morning ten years before when 
 she had caught him shooting at the choir-boys with a 
 catapult, during the litany, over the top of the squire's 
 large square pew. 
 
 She had reported the crime to the Vicar, and the Vicar 
 had lodged a formal complaint with Sir Beverlcy, who had
 
 130 The Bars of Iron 
 
 soundly caned the delinquent in his presence, and given 
 him half a sovereign as soon as the clerical back had been 
 turned for taking the punishment like a man. 
 
 But in Miss Whalley's eyes Piers had from that moment 
 ceased to be regarded as one of the elect, and his curt 
 reception of the good Vicar's patronage did not further 
 elevate him in her esteem. She made as brief a response 
 to the introduction as politeness demanded, and crossed 
 the room to Jeanie. 
 
 ''I must be off," said Piers. "I've stayed longer than 
 I intended already." 
 
 "Pray do not hurry!" urged Mr. Lorimer. "The 
 festivities are but just beginning." 
 
 But Piers was insistent, and even Jeanie's wistful eyes 
 could not detain him. He waved her a careless farewell, 
 and extricated himself as quickly as possible from sur- 
 roundings that had become uncongenial. 
 
 Descending the stairs somewhat precipitately, he nearly 
 ran into Avery ascending with a troop of children, and 
 stopped to say good-bye. 
 
 "You're not going!" cried Gracie, with keen disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes, I am. I can't stop. It's later than I thought. 
 See you to-morrow!" said Piers. 
 
 He held Avery's hand again in his, and for one fleeting 
 second his eyes looked into hers. Then lightly he pressed 
 her fingers and passed on without further words. 
 
 On the first landing he encountered Mrs. Lorimer. She 
 smiled upon him kindly. "Oh, Piers, is it you?" she said. 
 "Have you been having tea in the schoolroom?" 
 
 He admitted that he had. 
 
 "And must you really go?" she said. "I'm sorry for 
 that. Come again, won't you?" 
 
 Her tone was full of gentle friendliness, and Piers was 
 touched. "It's awfully good of you to ask me, " he said.
 
 A Man's Confidence 131 
 
 "I like to See you here," she answered simply. "And I 
 am so grateful to you for your kindness to my little Jeanie." 
 
 "Oh, please don't!" said Piers. "I assure you it's quite 
 the other way round. I shall certainly come again since 
 you are good enough to ask me." 
 
 He smiled with boyish gallantry into the wistful, faded 
 face, carried her fingers lightly to his lips, and passed on. 
 
 "Such a nice boy!" Mrs. Lorimer murmured to herself 
 as she went up to the nursery. 
 
 "Poor little soul!" was Piers' inward comment as he ran 
 down to the hall. 
 
 Here he paused, finding himself face to face with Lennox 
 Tudor who was taking off his coat preparatory to ascending. 
 
 The doctor nodded to him without cordiality. Neither 
 of them ever pretended to take any pleasure in the other's 
 society. 
 
 "Are you just going?" he asked. "Your grandfather is 
 wanting you." 
 
 "Who says so?" said Piers aggressively. 
 
 "I say so." Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers' 
 quick frown with one equally decided. 
 
 Piers stood still in front of him. "Have you just come 
 from the Abbey?" he demanded. 
 
 "I have." Tudor's tone was non-committal. He stood 
 facing Piers, waiting to pass. 
 
 "What are you always going there for?" burst forth 
 Piers, with heat. "He doesn't want you never follows 
 your advice, and does excellently well without it." 
 
 "Really!" said Tudor. He uttered a short, sarcastic 
 laugh, albeit his thick brows met closely above his glasses. 
 "Well, you ought to know being such a devoted and 
 attentive grandson." 
 
 Piers' hands clenched at the words. He looked suddenly 
 dangerous. "What in thunder do you mean? " he demanded. 
 
 Tudor was nothing loth to enlighten him. He was
 
 132 The Bars of Iron 
 
 plainly angry himself. "I mean," he said, "if you must 
 have it, that the time you spend philandering here would be 
 better employed in looking after the old man, who has 
 spent a good deal over you and gets precious little interest 
 out of the investment." 
 
 "Confound you!" exclaimed Piers violently. "Who the 
 devil are you to talk to me like this? Do you think I'm 
 going to put up with it, what? If so, you're damned well 
 mistaken. You leave me alone and my grandfather too; 
 do you hear? If you don't " He broke off, breathing 
 short and hard. 
 
 But Tudor remained unimpressed. He looked at Piers 
 as one might look at an animal raging behind bars. ' ' Well ? ' ' 
 he said. "Pray finish! If I don't " 
 
 Piers' face was very pale. His eyes blazed out of it, 
 red and threatening. "If you don't I'll murder you!'* 
 he said. 
 
 And at that he stopped short and suddenly wheeled 
 round as he caught the swish of a dress on the stairs. He 
 looked up into Avery's face as she came swiftly down, and 
 the blood rose in a deep, dark wave to his forehead. He 
 made no attempt to cover or excuse his passionate out- 
 burst, which it was perfectly obvious she must have heard. 
 He merely made way for her, his hands still hard clenched, 
 his eyes immovably upon her. 
 
 Avery passed him with scarcely a glance, but her voice 
 as she addressed Lennox Tudor sounded a trifle austere. 
 "I heard you speaking," she said, "and ran down to fetch 
 you upstairs. Will you come up at once, please? The 
 ceremony is just beginning." 
 
 Tudor held out a steady hand. "Very kind of you, Mrs. 
 Denys, " he said. "Will you lead the way?" And then 
 for a moment he turned from her to Piers. "If you have 
 anything further to say to me, Evesham, I shall be quite 
 ready to give you a hearing on a more suitable occasion."
 
 A Man's Confidence 133 
 
 "I have nothing further to say," said Piers, still with 
 his eyes upon Avery. 
 
 She would not look at him. With deliberate intention 
 she ignored his look. "Come, doctor!" she said. 
 
 They mounted the stairs together, Piers still standing 
 motionless, still mutely watching. There was no temper 
 nor anger in his face. Simply he stood and waited. And, 
 as if that silent gaze drew her, even against her will, sud- 
 denly at the top she turned. Her own sweet smile flashed 
 into her face. She threw a friendly glance down to him. 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. Evesham!" she called softly. "A 
 happy Christmas to you!" 
 
 And as if that were what he had been waiting for, Piers 
 bowed very low in answer and at once turned away. 
 
 His face as he went out into the night wore a very curious 
 expression. It was not grim, nor ashamed, nor triumphant, 
 and yet there was in it a suggestion of all three moods. 
 
 He reached his car, standing as he had left it in the 
 deserted lane, and stooped to start the engine. Then, as 
 it throbbed in answer, he straightened himself, and very 
 suddenly he laughed. But it was not a happy laugh; and 
 in a moment more he shot away into the dark as though 
 pursued by fiends. If he had gained his end, if he had in 
 any fashion achieved his desire, it was plain that it did not 
 give him any great satisfaction. He went like a fury 
 through the night.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE SCHEME 
 
 "T OOK here, boy!" Very suddenly, almost fiercely, 
 
 I/ Sir Beverley addressed his grandson that evening as 
 they sat together over dessert. "I've had enough of this 
 infernal English climate. I'm going away." 
 
 Piers was peeling a walnut. He did not raise his eyes or 
 make the faintest sign of surprise. Steadily his fingers con- 
 tinued their task. His lips hardened a little, that was all. 
 
 "Do you hear?" rapped out Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers bent his head. "What about the hunting?" he 
 said. 
 
 "Damn the hunting!" growled Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers was silent a moment. Then: "I suggested it to 
 you myself, didn't I?" he said deliberately, "six weeks ago. 
 And you wouldn't hear of it." 
 
 "Confound your impertinence!" began Sir Beverley. 
 But abruptly Piers raised his eyes, and he stopped. " What 
 do you mean?" he said, in a calmer tone. 
 
 Very steadily Piers met his look. "That's a question 
 I should like to ask, sir," he said. "Why do you want to 
 go abroad? Aren't you well ?" 
 
 "I am perfectly well," declared Sir Beverley, who 
 furiously resented any enquiry as to his health. "Can't 
 a man take it into his head that he'd like a change from this 
 beastly damp hole of a country without being at death's 
 door, I should like to know?"
 
 The Scheme 135 
 
 "You generally have a reason for what you do, sir," 
 observed Piers. 
 
 "Of course I have a reason, " flung back Sir Beverley. 
 
 A faint smile touched the corners of Piers' mouth. 
 "But I am not to know what it is, what?" he asked. 
 
 Sir Beverley glared at him. There were times when he 
 was possessed by an uneasy suspicion that the boy was 
 growing up into a manhood that threatened to overthrow 
 his control. He had a feeling that Piers' submission to his 
 authority had become a matter of choice rather than of 
 necessity. He had inherited his Italian grandmother's 
 fortune, moreover, a sore point with Sir Beverley who 
 would have repudiated every penny had it been left at his 
 disposal and was therefore independent. 
 
 "I've given you a reason. What more do you want?" 
 he growled. 
 
 Piers looked straight at him for a few seconds longer; 
 then broke into his sudden boyish laugh. "All right, sir. 
 When shall we start?" he said. 
 
 Sir Beverley stared. "What the devil are you laughing 
 at?" he demanded. 
 
 Piers had returned to the peeling of his walnut. "No- 
 thing, sir , " he said airily. ' ' At least, nothing more important 
 than your reason for going abroad." 
 
 "Damn your impudence!" said Sir Beverley, and then 
 for some reason he too began to smile. "That's settled 
 then. We'll go to Monte Carlo, eh, Piers? You'll like 
 that." 
 
 "Do you think I am to be trusted at Monte Carlo?" 
 said Piers. 
 
 "I let you go round the world by yourself while you 
 were still an infant, so I almost think I can trust you at 
 Monte Carlo under my own eye," returned Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers was silent. The smile had left his lips. He 
 frowned slightly over his task.
 
 136 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Well?" said Sir Beverley, suddenly and sharply. 
 
 "Well, sir? " Piers raised his brows without looking up. 
 
 The old man brought down an impatient fist on the 
 table. ' ' Why can't you say what you think ? " he demanded 
 angrily. "You sit there with your mouth shut as if 
 as if " His eyes went suddenly to the woman's face on 
 the wall with the red lips that smiled half-sadly, half- 
 mockingly, and the eyes that perpetually followed him 
 but never smiled at all. "Confound you, Piers!" he said. 
 "I sometimes think that voyage round the world did you 
 more harm than good." 
 
 "Why, sir?" said Piers quickly. 
 
 Sir Beverley's look left the smiling, baffling face upon 
 the wall and sought his grandson's. "You were so mad to 
 be off the bearing-rein, weren't you?" he said. "So keen 
 to feel your own feet? I thought it would make a man 
 of you, but I was a fool to do it. I'd better have kept you 
 on the rein after all." 
 
 "I should have run away if you had," said Piers. He 
 poured himself out a glass of wine and raised it to his lips. 
 He looked at Sir Beverley above it with a smile half-sad, 
 half-mocking, and eyes that veiled his soul. "I should 
 have gone to the devil if you had, sir," he said, "and 
 probably I shouldn't have come back." He drank 
 slowly, his eyes still upon Sir Beverley's face. 
 
 When he set the glass down again he was openly laughing. 
 "Besides, you horsewhipped me for something or other, do 
 you remember? It hurts to be horsewhipped at nineteen." 
 
 Sir Beverley growled at him inarticulately. 
 
 "Yes, I know, "said Piers. "But it doesn't affect me 
 so much now. I'm past the sensitive age." He ate his 
 walnut, drained his glass, and rose. 
 
 "You puppy!" said Sir Beverley, looking up at him. 
 
 Piers came to his side. He suddenly knelt down and 
 pulled the old man's arm round his shoulders. "I say,
 
 The Scheme 137 
 
 I'm going to enjoy that trip," he said boyishly. "Let's 
 get away before the New Year!" 
 
 Sir Beverley suffered the action with no further protest 
 than a frown. "You weren't so mighty anxious when I 
 first suggested it, " he grumbled. 
 
 Piers laughed. "Can't a man change his mind? I'm 
 keen enough now." 
 
 "What do you want to go for?" Sir Beverley looked at 
 him suspiciously. 
 
 But Piers' frank return of his look told him nothing. 
 "I love the South as you know, " he said. 
 
 "Damn it, yes!" said Sir Beverley irritably. He could 
 never endure any mention of the Southern blood in Piers. 
 
 "And " Piers' brown fingers grew suddenly tight upon 
 the bony hand he had drawn over his shoulder "I like 
 going away with you." 
 
 "Oh, stow it, Piers!" growled Sir Beverley. 
 
 "The truth, sir!" protested Piers, with eyes that sud- 
 denly danced. " It does me good to be with you. It keeps 
 me young." 
 
 "Young ! " ejaculated Sir Beverley. " You infant ! " 
 
 Piers broke into a laugh. He looked a mere boy when 
 he gave himself up to merriment. "And it'll do you good 
 too," he said, "to get away from that beastly doctor who 
 is always hanging around. I long to give him the boot 
 whenever I see him." 
 
 "You don't like each other, eh?" Sir Beverley's smile 
 was sardonic. 
 
 "We loathe and detest each other," said Piers. All 
 the boyishness went out of his face with the words; he 
 looked suddenly grim, and in that moment the likeness 
 between them was very marked. "I presume this change 
 of air scheme was his suggestion, " he said abruptly. 
 
 "And if it was?" said Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers threw back his head and laughed again through
 
 138 The Bars of Iron 
 
 clenched teeth. "For which piece of consideration he 
 has my sincere gratitude," he said. He pressed his grand- 
 father's hand again and rose. "So it's to be Monte Carlo, 
 is it? Well, the sooner the better for me. I'll tell Victor 
 to look up the trains. We can't get away to-morrow or the 
 next day. But we ought to be able to manage the day 
 after." 
 
 He strolled across to the fire, and stood there with his 
 back to the room, whistling below his breath. 
 
 Sir Beverley regarded him frowningly. There was no 
 denying the fact, he did not understand Piers. He had 
 expected a strenuous opposition to his scheme. He had 
 been prepared to do battle with the boy. But Piers 
 had refused the conflict. What was the fellow's game, he 
 asked himself? Why this prompt compliance with his 
 wishes? He was not to be deceived into the belief that he 
 wanted to go. The attraction was too great for that. 
 Unless indeed he looked across at the bent black head 
 in sudden doubt was it possible that the boy had met 
 with a check in the least likely direction of all? Could it 
 be that the woman's plans did not include him after all? 
 
 No! No! That was out of the question. He knew 
 women. A hard laugh rose to his lips. If she had put 
 a check upon Piers' advances it was not with the ultimate 
 purpose of stopping him. She knew what she was about too 
 well for that, confound her! 
 
 He stared at Piers who had wheeled suddenly from the 
 fire at the sound of the laugh. "Well?" he said irritably. 
 " Well? What's the matter now? " 
 
 The eyes that countered his were hard, with just a hint 
 of defiance. "You laughed, sir," said Piers curtly. 
 
 "Well, what of it?" threw back Sir Beverley. "You're 
 deuced suspicious. I wasn't laughing at you." 
 
 "I know that," said Piers. He spoke deliberately, as 
 one choosing his words. His face was stern. "I don't
 
 The Scheme 139 
 
 want to know the joke if it's private. But I should like 
 to know how long you want to be away." 
 
 "How long? How the devil can I tell?" growled Sir 
 Beverley. "Till I've had enough of it, I suppose." 
 
 "Does it depend on that only?" said Piers. 
 
 Sir Beverley pushed back his chair with fierce impatience. 
 "Oh, leave me alone, boy, do! I'll let you know when it's 
 time to come home again." 
 
 Piers came towards him. He halted with the light from 
 the lamp full on his resolute face. "If you are going to 
 wait on Tudor's convenience," he said, "you'll wait 
 longer than I shall." 
 
 "What the devil do you mean?" thundered Sir Beverley. 
 
 But again Piers turned aside from open conflict. He 
 put a quiet hand through his grandfather's arm. 
 
 "Come along, sir! We'll smoke in the hall," he said. 
 "I think you understand me. If you don't " he paused 
 and smiled his sudden, winning smile into the old man's 
 wrathful eyes "I'll explain more fully when the time 
 comes." 
 
 "Confound you, Piers!" was Sir Beverley's only answer. 
 
 Yet he left the room with the boy's arm linked in his. 
 And the woman's face on the wall smiled behind them 
 the smile of a witch, mysterious, derisive, aloof, yet touched 
 with that same magic with which Piers had learned even 
 in his infancy to charm away the evil spirit that lurked in 
 his grandfather's soul.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE WARNING 
 
 away to-morrow, are you?" said Ina Rose, 
 in her cool young voice. "I hope you'll enjoy it." 
 
 "Thanks!" said Piers. "No doubt I shall." 
 
 He spoke with his eyes on the dainty lace fan he had 
 taken from her. 
 
 Ina frankly studied his face. She had always found 
 Piers Evesham interesting. 
 
 "I should be wild if I were in your place," she remarked, 
 after a moment. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and his brown face slightly 
 smiled. "Because of the hunting?" he said, and turned 
 his eyes upon her fresh, girlish face. "But there's always 
 next year, what?" 
 
 "Good gracious!" said Ina. "You talk as if you were 
 older than your grandfather. It wouldn't comfort me 
 in the least to think of next season's hunting. And I 
 don't believe it does you either. You are only putting it 
 on." 
 
 "All right!" said Piers. His eyes dwelt upon her with a 
 species of mocking homage that yet in a fashion subtly 
 flattered. He always knew how to please Ina Rose, though 
 not always did he take the trouble. "Let us say for the 
 sake of argument that I am quite inconsolable. It doesn't 
 matter to anyone, does it?" 
 
 "I don't know why you should say that," said Ina.
 
 The Warning 141 
 
 "It ought to matter anyhow to your grandfather. Why 
 don't you make him go by himself?" 
 
 Piers laughed a careless laugh, still boldly watching her. 
 "That wouldn't be very dutiful of me, would it?" he 
 said. 
 
 "I suppose you're not afraid of him?" said Ina, who 
 knew not the meaning of the word. 
 
 "Why should you suppose that?" said Piers. 
 
 She met his look in momentary surprise. "To judge by 
 the way you behaved the other day, I should say you 
 were not." 
 
 Piers frowned. "Which day?" 
 
 Ina explained without embarrassment. "The day that 
 girl held up the whole Hunt in Holland's meadow. My 
 word, Piers, how furious the old man was! Does he often 
 behave like that?" 
 
 Piers still frowned. His fingers were working restlessly 
 at the ivory sticks of her fan. "If you mean, does he often 
 thrash me with a horsewhip, no, he doesn't," he said 
 shortly. "And he wouldn't have done it then if I'd had 
 a hand to spare. I'm glad you enjoyed the spectacle. 
 Hope you were all edified." 
 
 "You needn't be waxy, " said Ina calmly. " I assure you, 
 you never showed to greater advantage. I hope your 
 lady friend was duly grateful to her deliverer. I rather 
 liked her pluck, Piers. Who is she?" 
 
 There was a sudden crack between Piers' fingers. He 
 looked down hastily, and in a moment displayed three 
 broken ivory fan-sticks to the girl beside him. "I'm 
 horribly sorry, Ina," he said. 
 
 Ina looked at the damage, and from it to his face of 
 contrition. "You did it on purpose," she said. 
 
 " I did not, " said Piers. 
 
 "You're very rude, " she rejoined. 
 
 "No, I'm not," he protested. "I'm sorry. I hope you
 
 142 The Bars of Iron 
 
 didn't value it for any particular reason. I'll send you 
 another from Paris." 
 
 She spurned the broken thing with a careless gesture. 
 "Not you! You'd be afraid to." 
 
 Piers' brows went up. "Afraid?" 
 
 "Of your grandfather," she. said, with a derisive smile. 
 "If he caught you sending anything to me or to the lady 
 of the meadow " she paused eloquently. 
 
 Piers looked grim. "Of course I shall send you a fan 
 if you'll accept it." 
 
 "How nice of you!" said Ina. "Wouldn't you like to 
 send something for her in the same parcel? I'll deliver it 
 for you if you'll tell me the lady's address." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she made the sugges- 
 tion. Piers frowned yet a moment longer, then laughed 
 back with abrupt friendliness. 
 
 "Thanks awfully! But I won't trouble you. It's 
 decent of you not to be angry over this. I'll get you a 
 ripping one to make up." 
 
 Ina nodded. "That'll be quite amusing. Everyone 
 will think that you're really in earnest at last. Poor 
 Dick will be furious when he knows." 
 
 "You'll probably console him pretty soon, "returned Piers. 
 
 ' ' Think so ? " Ina's eyes narrowed a little ; she looked at 
 Piers speculatively. "That's what you want to believe, 
 is it?" 
 
 "I? Of course not!" Piers laughed again. "I never 
 wished any girl engaged yet." 
 
 "Save one," suggested Ina, and an odd little gleam 
 hovered behind her lashes with the words. "Why won't 
 you tell me her name? You might as well." 
 
 "Why? "said Piers. 
 
 "I shall find it out in any case," she assured him. "I 
 know already that she dwells under the Vicar's virtuous 
 roof, and that the worthy Dr. Tudor finds it necessary to
 
 The Warning 143 
 
 drop in every day. I suppose she is the nurse-cook- 
 housekeeper of that establishment." 
 
 "I say, how clever of you!" said Piers. 
 
 The girl laughed carelessly. "Isn't it? I've studied 
 her in church and you too, my cavalier. I don't believe 
 you have ever attended so regularly before, have you? 
 Did she ever tell you her age?" 
 
 "Never," said Piers. 
 
 " I wonder, " said Ina coolly. And then rather suddenly 
 she rose. "Piers, if I'm a prying cat, you're a hard- 
 mouthed mule! There! Why can't you admit that 
 you're in love with her?" 
 
 Piers faced her with no sign of surprise. "Why don't 
 you tell me that you're in love with Guyes?" he said. 
 
 "Because it wouldn't be true!" She flung back her 
 answer with a laugh that sounded unaccountably bitter. 
 " I have yet to meet the man who is worth the trouble." 
 
 "Oh, really!" said Piers. "Don't flatter us more than 
 you need! I'm sorry for Guyes myself. If he weren't 
 so keen on you, it's my belief you'd like him better." 
 
 "Oh no, I shouldn't!" Ina spoke with a touch of scorn. 
 "I shouldn't like him either less or more, whatever he did. 
 I couldn't. But of course he's extremely eligible, isn't he? " 
 
 "Does that count with you?" said Piers curiously. 
 
 She looked at him. "It doesn't with you of course?" 
 she said. 
 
 "Not in the least," he returned with emphasis. 
 
 She laughed again, and pushed the remnants of her fan 
 with her foot. "It wouldn't. You're so charmingly 
 young and romantic. Well, mind the doctor doesn't 
 cut you out in your absence ! He would be a much more 
 suitable parti for her, you know, both as to age and station. 
 Shall we go back to the ball-room now? I am engaged to 
 Dick for the next dance. I mustn't cut him in his own 
 house."
 
 144 The Bars of Iron 
 
 It was an annual affair but quite informal this Boxing 
 Night dance at the Guyes'. Dick himself called it a 
 survival of his schoolboy days, and it was always referred 
 to in the neighbourhood as "Dick's Christmas party." 
 He and his mother would no more have dreamed of dis- 
 continuing the festivity than of foregoing their Christmas 
 dinner, and the Roses of Wardenhurst were invariably 
 invited and as invariably attended it. Piers was not so 
 constant a guest. Dick had thrown h im an open invitation 
 on the hunting-field a day or two before, and Piers, having 
 nothing better to do, had decided to present himself. 
 
 He liked dancing, and was easily the best dancer among 
 the men. He also liked Ina Rose, or at least she had 
 always thought so, till that night. They were friends of 
 the hunting-field rather than of the drawing-room, but they 
 always drifted together wherever they met. Sir Beverley 
 had never troubled himself about the intimacy. The girl 
 belonged to the county, and if not quite the brilliant match 
 for Piers that he would have chosen, she came at least of 
 good old English stock. He knew and liked her father, and 
 he would not have made any very strenuous opposition to 
 an alliance between the two. The girl was well bred and 
 heiress to the Colonel's estate. She would have added 
 considerably to Piers' importance as a landowner, and she 
 knew already how to hold up her head in society. Also, 
 she led a wholesome, outdoor existence, and was not the 
 sort of girl to play with a man's honour. 
 
 No, on the whole Sir Beverley had no serious objection 
 to the prospect of a marriage between them, save that he 
 had no desire to see Piers married for another five years at 
 least. But Ina could very well afford to wait five years 
 for such a prize as Piers. Meanwhile, if they cared to get 
 engaged it would keep the boy out of mischief, and there 
 would be no harm in it. 
 
 So had run Sir Beverley's thoughts prior to the appear-
 
 The Warning 145 
 
 ance of the mother's help at the Vicarage. But she the 
 woman with the resolute mouth and grey, steadfast eyes 
 had upset all his calculations. It had not needed Lennox 
 Tudor's hint to put him on his guard. He had known 
 whither the boy's wayward fancy was tending before that. 
 The scene in the hunting-field had been sufficient revelation 
 for him, and had lent strength to his arm and fury to his 
 indignation. 
 
 Piers' decision to spend his last night in England at a 
 dance had been a surprise to him, but then the boy had 
 puzzled him a good many times of late. He had even 
 asked himself once or twice if it had been his deliberate 
 intention to do so. But since it was absolutely certain 
 that the schemer at the Vicarage would not be present at 
 Dick Guyes' party, Sir Beverley did not see any urgent 
 necessity for keeping his grandson at his side. He even 
 hoped that Piers would enjoy himself though he deemed 
 him a fool to go. 
 
 And, to judge from appearances, Piers was enjoying 
 himself. Having parted from Ina, he claimed for his 
 partner his hostess, a pretty, graceful woman who danced 
 under protest, but so exquisitely that he would hardly be 
 persuaded to give her up when the dance was over. 
 
 He scarcely left the ball-room for the rest of the evening, 
 and when the party broke up he was among the last to 
 leave. Dick ingenuously thanked him for helping to make 
 the affair a success. He was not feeling particularly happy 
 himself, since Ina had consistently snubbed him throughout ; 
 but he did not hold Piers in any way responsible for her 
 attitude. Dick's outlook on life was supremely simple. 
 He never attempted to comprehend the ways of women, 
 being serenely content to regard them as beyond his compre- 
 hension. He hoped and believed that one day Ina would 
 be kind to him, but he was quite prepared to wait an in- 
 definite time for that day to dawn. He took all rebuffs
 
 146 The Bars of Iron 
 
 with resignation, and could generally muster a smile soon 
 after. 
 
 He smiled tranquilly upon Piers at parting and con- 
 gratulated him upon the prospect of missing the worst of 
 the winter. To which Piers threw back a laugh as he 
 drove away in his little two-seater, coupled with the care- 
 less assurance that he meant to make the most of his time, 
 whatever the weather. 
 
 "Lucky dog!" said Guyes, as he watched him disappear 
 down the drive. 
 
 But if he had seen the expression that succeeded Piers' 
 laugh, he might have suppressed the remark. For Piers' 
 face, as he raced alone through the darkness, was the set, 
 grim face of a man who carries a deadly purpose in his soul. 
 He had laughed and danced throughout the evening, but 
 in his first moment of solitude the devil he had kept at bay 
 had entered into full possession. 
 
 To the rush and throb of his engine, he heard over and 
 over the gibing, malicious words of a girl's sore heart: 
 "Mind the doctor doesn't cut you out in your absence!" 
 
 Obviously then this affair was the common talk of the 
 neighbourhood since news of it had even penetrated to 
 Wardenhurst. People were openly watching the rivalry 
 between Lennox Tudor and himself, watching and speculat- 
 ing as to the result. And he, about to be ignominiously 
 removed from the conflict by his grandfather, at Tudor's 
 suggestion, had become the laughing-stock of the place. 
 Piers' teeth nearly met in his lower lip. Let them laugh! 
 And let them chatter! He would give them ample food 
 for amusement and gossip before he left. 
 
 He had yielded to his grandfather's desire because 
 instinct had told him that his absence just at that stage of 
 his wooing would be more beneficial than his presence. 
 He was shrewd enough to realize that the hot blood in him 
 was driving him too fast, urging him to a pace which might
 
 The Warning 147 
 
 irreparably damage his cause. For that reason alone, he 
 was ready to curb his fierce impetuosity. But to leave 
 a free field for Lennox Tudor was not a part of his plan. 
 He had scarcely begun to regard the man in the light of a 
 serious rival, although fully aware of the fact that Tudor 
 was doing his utmost to remove him from his path. But 
 if Ina thought him so, he had probably underestimated the 
 danger. 
 
 He had always detested Tudor very thoroughly. Piers 
 never did anything by halves, and the doctor's undisguised 
 criticism of him never failed to arouse his fiercest resent- 
 ment. That Tudor disliked him in return was a fact that 
 could scarcely escape the notice of the most careless 
 observer. The two were plainly antipathetic, and were 
 scarcely civil to one another even in public. 
 
 But that night Piers' antagonism flared to a deadly 
 hatred. The smouldering fire had leaped to a fierce blaze. 
 Two nights before he had smothered it with the exultant 
 conviction that Tudor's chances with Avery were practically 
 non-existent. He had known with absolute certainty 
 that he was not the type of man to attract her. But to- 
 night his mood had changed. Whether Tudor's chances 
 had improved or not, he scarcely stopped to question, 
 but that other people regarded them as possibly greater 
 than his own was a fact that sent the mad blood to his 
 head. He tore back through the winter night like a man 
 possessed, with Ina Rose's scoffing warning beating a devil's 
 tattoo in his brain.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE PLACE OF TORMENT 
 
 THE surgery-bell pealed imperiously, and Tudor looked 
 up from his book. It was his custom to read far into 
 the night, for he was a poor sleeper and preferred a cosy 
 fireside to his bed. But that night he was even later than 
 usual. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, he saw 
 that it was a quarter to two. With a shrug of the shoulders 
 expressive rather of weariness than indifference, he rose to 
 answer the bell. 
 
 It pealed again before he reached the door, and the 
 doctor frowned. He was never very tolerant of impatience. 
 He unfastened the bolts without haste. The case might be 
 urgent, but a steady hand and cool nerve were usually even 
 more essential than speed in his opinion. He opened the 
 door therefore with a certain deliberation, and faced the 
 sharp night air with grim resignation. "Well? Who is it? 
 Come in!" 
 
 He expected to see some village messenger, and the sight 
 of Piers, stern-faced, with the fur collar of his motor-coat 
 turned up to his ears, was a complete surprise. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said, staring at him. "Anything wrong?'* 
 
 Piers stared back with eyes of burning hostility. "I want 
 a word with you," he announced curtly. "Will you come 
 out, or shall I come in?" 
 
 "You'd better come in," said Tudor, suppressing a 
 shiver, "unless I'm wanted up at the Abbey." 
 
 148
 
 The Place of Torment 149 
 
 "You're not," said Piers. 
 
 He stepped into the passage, and impetuously stripped 
 off his heavy coat. Tudor shut the door, and turned round. 
 He surveyed his visitor's evening-dress with a touch of 
 contempt. He himself was clad in an ancient smoking- 
 jacket, much frayed at the cuffs; and his carpet-slippers 
 were so trodden down at the heel that he could only just 
 manage to shuffle along in them. 
 
 "Go into the consulting-room!" he said. "There's a 
 light there." 
 
 Piers strode in, and waited for him. Seen by the light of 
 the gas that burned there, his face was pale and set in lines 
 of iron determination. His eyes shone out of it like the 
 eyes of an infuriated wild beast. 
 
 "Do you know what I've come for?" he said, as Tudor 
 shambled into the room. 
 
 Tudor looked him over briefly and comprehensively. 
 "No, I don't," he said. "I hoped I'd seen the last of 
 you." 
 
 His words were as brief as his look. It was obvious that 
 he had no intention of wasting time in mere courtesy. 
 
 Piers' lips tightened at his tone. He looked full and 
 straight at the baffling glasses that hid the other man's 
 contemptuous eyes. 
 
 "I've come for a reckoning with you," he said. 
 
 "Really?" said Tudor. He glanced again at the clock. 
 "Rather an unusual hour, isn't it?" 
 
 Piers passed the question by. He was chafing on his feet 
 like a caged animal. Abruptly he came to the point. 
 
 "I told you the other day that I wouldn't put up with 
 any interference from you. I didn't know then how far 
 your interference had gone. I do know now. This scheme 
 to get me out of the country was of your contrivance. " 
 
 Fiercely he flung the words. He was quivering with 
 passionate indignation. But the effect on Tudor was
 
 150 The Bars of Iron 
 
 scarcely perceptible. He only looked a little colder, a little 
 more satirical, than was his wont. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "What of it?" 
 
 Piers showed his teeth momentarily. His hands were 
 hard gripped behind him, as though he restrained himself 
 by main force from open violence. 
 
 "You don't deny it?" he said. 
 
 "Why should I?" Tudor's thin lips displayed a faint 
 sneer. "I certainly advised your grandfather to go away, 
 and I think the advice was sound." 
 
 "It was from your point of view." A tremor of fierce 
 humour ran through Piers' speech. "But plans even 
 clever ones don't always turn out as they should. This 
 one for instance what do you think you are going to gain 
 by it?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" Tudor stood by the table facing 
 Piers, his attitude one of supreme indifference. He seemed 
 scarcely to feel the stormy atmosphere that pulsated almost 
 visibly around the younger man. His eyes behind their 
 glasses were cold and shrewd, wholly emotionless. 
 
 Piers paused an instant to grip his self-control the harder, 
 for every word he uttered seemed to make his hold the more 
 precarious. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I mean," he said, his voice low and 
 savagely distinct. "I mean that what you've done all this 
 sneaking and scheming to get me out of your way isn't 
 going to serve your purpose. I mean that you shall swear 
 to me here and now to give up the game during my absence, 
 or take the consequences. It is entirely due to you that I 
 am going, but by Heaven you shall reap no advantage 
 from it!" 
 
 His voice rose a little, and the menace of it became more 
 apparent. He bent slightly towards the man he threatened. 
 His eyes blazed red and dangerous. Tudor stood his ground, 
 but it was impossible any longer to ignore Piers' open fury.
 
 The Place of Torment 151 
 
 It was like the blast of a hurricane hurled full against him. 
 He made a slight gesture of remonstrance. 
 
 "My good fellow, all this excitement is utterly uncalled 
 for. The advice I gave your grandfather would, I am con- 
 vinced, have been given by any other medical man in the 
 country. If you are not satisfied with it, you had better 
 get him to have another opinion. As to taking advantage 
 of your absence, I really don't know what you mean, and I 
 think if you are wise you won't stop to explain. It's 
 getting late and if you don't value your night's rest, I can't 
 do without mine. Also, I think when the morning comes, 
 you'll be ashamed of this foolery." 
 
 He spoke with studied coldness. He knew the value of a 
 firm front when facing odds. But he did not know the 
 fiery soul of the man before him, or realize that contempt 
 poured upon outraged pride is as spirit poured upon flame. 
 
 He saw the devil in Piers' eyes too late to change his 
 tactics. Almost in the same moment the last shred of 
 Piers' self-control vanished like smoke in a gale. He uttered 
 a fearful oath and sprang upon Tudor like an animal freed 
 from a leash. 
 
 The struggle that followed was furious if brief. Tudor's 
 temper, once thoroughly roused, was as fierce as any man's, 
 and though his knowledge of the science of fighting was 
 wholly elementary, he made a desperate resistance. It 
 lasted for possibly thirty seconds, and then he found himself 
 flung violently backwards across the table and pinned there, 
 with Piers' hands gripping his throat, and Piers' eyes, grim 
 and murderous, glaring down into his own. 
 
 "Be still!" ordered Piers, his voice no more than a 
 whisper. "Or I'll kill you by Heaven, I will!" 
 
 Tudor was utterly powerless in that relentless grip. His 
 heart was pumping with great hammer-strokes; his breath- 
 ing came laboured between those merciless hands. His 
 own hands were closed upon the iron wrists, but their hold
 
 152 The Bars of Iron 
 
 was weakening moment by moment, he knew their grasp 
 to be wholly ineffectual. He obeyed the order because he 
 lacked the strength to do otherwise. 
 
 Piers slowly slackened his grip. " Now, " he said, speak- 
 ing between lips that scarcely seemed to move, "you 
 will make me that promise. " 
 
 "What promise?" Gaspingly Tudor uttered the 
 question, yet something of the habitual sneer which he 
 always kept for Piers distorted his mouth as he spoke. 
 He was not an easy man to beat, despite his physical 
 limitations. 
 
 Sternly and implacably Piers answered him. "You 
 will swear by all you hold sacred to take no advantage 
 whatever of me while I am away. You had a special 
 purpose in view when you planned to get me out of the 
 way. You will swear to give up that purpose, till I come 
 back." 
 
 "I? "said Tudor. 
 
 Just the one word flung upwards at his conqueror, but 
 carrying with it a defiance so complete that even Piers 
 was for the moment taken by surprise! Then, the devil 
 urging him, he tightened his grip again. "Either that," 
 he said, "or " 
 
 He left the sentence unfinished. His hands completed 
 the threat. He had passed the bounds of civilization, and 
 his savagery whirled him like a fiery torrent through the 
 gaping jaws of hell. The maddening flames were all around 
 him, the shrieking of demons was in his ears, driving him on 
 to destruction. He went, blinded by passion, goaded by 
 the intolerable stabs of jealousy. In those moments he was 
 conscious of nothing save a wild delirium of anger against 
 the man who, beaten, yet resisted him, yet threw him his 
 disdainful refusal to surrender even in the face of over- 
 whelming defeat. 
 
 But the brief respite had given Tudor a transient renewal
 
 The Place of Torment 153 
 
 cf strength. Ere that terrible grip could wholly lock again, 
 he made another frantic effort to free himself. Spasmodic 
 as it was, and wholly unconsidered, yet it had the advantage 
 of being unexpected. Piers shifted his hold, and in that 
 instant Tudor found and gripped the edge of the table. 
 Sharply, with desperate strength, he dragged himself side- 
 ways, and before his adversary could prevent it he was over 
 the edge. He fell heavily, dragging Piers with him, struck 
 his head with violence against the table-leg, and crumpled 
 with the blow like an empty sack. 
 
 Piers found himself gripping a limp, inanimate object, 
 and with a sudden sense of overpowering horror he desisted. 
 He stumbled up, staggering slightly, and drew a long, hard 
 breath. His heart was racing like a runaway engine. All 
 the blood in his body seemed to be concentrated there. 
 Almost mechanically he waited for it to slow down. And, 
 as he waited, the madness of that wild rush through hell 
 fell away from him. The demons that had driven him 
 passed into distance. He was left standing in a place of 
 desolation, utterly and terribly alone. 
 
 A trickle of cold water ran down Tudor's chin. He put 
 up a hesitating, groping hand, and opened his eyes. 
 
 He was lying in tha arm-chair before the fire in which he 
 had spent the evening. The light danced before him in 
 blurred flashes. 
 
 "Hullo!" he muttered thickly. "I've been asleep." 
 
 He remained passive for a few moments, trying, not very 
 successfully, to collect his scattered senses. Then, with an 
 effort that seemed curiously laboured, he slowly sat up. 
 Instinctively, his eyes went to the clock above him, but the 
 hands of it seemed to be swinging round and round. He 
 stared at it bewildered. 
 
 But when he tried to rise and investigate the mystery,
 
 154 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the whole room began to spin, and he sank back with a 
 feeling of intense sickness. 
 
 It was then that he became aware of another presence. 
 Someone came from behind him and, stooping, held a 
 tumbler to his lips. He looked up vaguely, and as in a 
 dream he saw the face of Piers Evesham. 
 
 But it was Piers as he had never before seen him, white- 
 lipped, unnerved, shaking. The hand that held the glass 
 trembled almost beyond control. 
 
 "What's the matter?" questioned Tudor in hazy wonder. 
 "Have you been boozing, or have I?" 
 
 And then, his perceptions growing stronger, he took the 
 glass from the quivering hand and slowly drank. 
 
 The draught steadied him. He looked up with more 
 assurance, and saw Piers, still with that deathly look on his 
 face, leaning against the mantelpiece for support. 
 
 "What on earth's the matter?" said Tudor sharply. 
 
 He felt for his glasses, found them dangling over his shoul- 
 der, and put them on. One of them was cracked across, an 
 illuminating fact which accounted for much. He looked 
 keenly at Piers for several quiet seconds. 
 
 At length with a shade of humour he spoke. "Here 
 endeth the first lesson! You'd make a better show if you 
 had a drink also. I'm sorry there's only one glass. You 
 see, I wasn't expecting any friends to-night. " 
 
 Piers started a little and straightened himself; but his 
 face remained bloodless, and there was a curiously stunned 
 look in his eyes. He did not attempt to utter a word. 
 
 Tudor drained his glass, sat a moment or two longer, 
 then got up. There were brandy and water on his writing- 
 table. He poured out a stiff dose, and turned to Piers 
 with authority. 
 
 "Pull yourself together, Evesham! I should have 
 thought you'd made a big enough fool of yourself for 
 one night. Drink this ! Don't spill it now ! And don't sit
 
 The Place of Torment 155 
 
 down on the fire, for I don't feel equal to pulling you off!" 
 
 His manner was briskly professional, the manner he 
 usually reserved for the hysterical portion of his patients. 
 He was still feeling decidedly shaky himself, but Piers' 
 collapse was an admirable restorative. He stood by, 
 vigilant and resolute, while the brandy did its work. 
 
 Piers drank in silence, not looking at him. All the 
 arrogance had gone out of him. He looked broken and 
 unmanned. 
 
 "Better?" asked Tudor at length. 
 
 He nodded mutely, and set down the glass. 
 
 Tudor surveyed him questioningly. "What happened 
 to you?" he asked finally. 
 
 "Nothing!" Piers found his voice at last, it was low and 
 shamed. "Nothing whatever! You you my God! I 
 thought you were dead, that's all." 
 
 "That all?" said Tudor. He put his hand up to his 
 temple. There was a fair-sized lump there already, and 
 it was swelling rapidly. 
 
 Piers nodded again. The deathly pallor had gone from 
 his face, but he still avoided Tudor's eyes. He spoke again, 
 below his breath, as if more to himself than to Tudor. 
 
 "You looked so horribly like like a man I once saw 
 killed." 
 
 "If you are wise, you will go home to bed," said Tudor 
 gruffly. 
 
 Piers flashed a swift look at him. He stood hesitating. 
 "You're not really hurt?" he questioned, after a moment. 
 
 "Thank you," said Tudor drily, "I am not." 
 
 He made no movement of reconciliation. Perhaps it was 
 hardly to be expected of him. Piers made none either. 
 He turned away in silence. 
 
 The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. Two 
 o'clock! Tudor looked at it with a wry smile. It had 
 been a lively quarter of an hour.
 
 156 The Bars of Iron 
 
 The surgery-door banged upon Piers' departure. He 
 heard his feet move heavily to the gate, and the dull clang 
 of the latter closing behind him. Then, after a protracted 
 pause, there came the sound of his motor. 
 
 As this throbbed away into distance Tudor smiled again 
 grimly, ironically. "Yes, you young ruffian," he said. 
 "It's given your nerves a nasty jolt, and serves you jolly 
 well right ! I never saw any fellow in such a mortal funk 
 before, and from your somewhat rash remark I gather 
 that it's not the first lesson after all. I wonder when and 
 how you killed that other man. " 
 
 He was still speculating as he turned out the light and 
 went to his room.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HORNS AND HOOFS 
 
 IT was the Reverend Stephen Lorimer's custom to have 
 all letters that arrived by the morning post placed 
 beside his breakfast plate to be sorted by him at the 
 end of family prayers, a custom which Gracie freely criti- 
 cized in the sanctuary of the schoolroom, and which her 
 mother in earlier days had gently and quite ineffectually 
 tried to stop. It was always a somewhat lengthy proceeding 
 as it entailed a careful scrutiny of each envelope, especially 
 in the case of letters not addressed to the Reverend Stephen. 
 He was well acquainted with the handwriting of all his 
 wife's correspondents, and was generally ready with some 
 shrewd guess as to their motives for writing. They were 
 usually submitted to him for perusal as soon as she had read 
 them herself, a habit formed by Mrs. Lorimer when she 
 discovered that he looked upon her correspondence as his 
 own property and deeply resented any inclination on her 
 part to keep it to herself. 
 
 Avery's arrival had brought an additional interest to the 
 morning budget. Her letters were invariably examined 
 with bland curiosity and handed on to her with comments 
 appropriate to their appearance. Occasionally envelopes 
 with an Australian postmark reached her, and these always 
 excited especial notice. The brief spell of Avery's married 
 life had been spent in a corner of New South Wales. In the 
 early part of their acquaintance, Mr. Lorimer had sought
 
 158 The Bars of Iron 
 
 to draw her out on the subject of her experiences during 
 this period, but he had found her reticent. And so when- 
 ever a letter came addressed in the strong, masculine hand 
 of her Australian correspondent, some urbane remark was 
 invariably made, while his small daughter Gracie swelled 
 with indignation at the further end of the table. 
 
 "Two epistles for Mrs. Denys!" he announced, as he 
 turned over the morning's mail at the breakfast-table two 
 days after Christmas. "Ah, I thought our Australian 
 friend would be calling attention to himself ere the festive 
 season had quite departed. He writes from Adelaide on 
 this occasion. That indicates a move if I mistake not. 
 His usual pied-cl-terre has been Brisbane hitherto, has it 
 not?" 
 
 His little dark eyes interrogated Avery for a moment be- 
 fore they vanished inwards with disconcerting completeness. 
 
 Avery stiffened instinctively. She was well aware that 
 Air. Lorimer did not like her, but the fact held no disturbing 
 element. To her mind the dislike of the man was prefer- 
 able to his favour and after all she saw but little of him. 
 
 She went on therefore with her occupation of cutting 
 bread and butter for the children with no sign of annoyance 
 save that slight, scarcely perceptible stiffening of the neck 
 which only Gracie saw. 
 
 "I hope you are kind to your faithful correspondent," 
 smiled Mr. Lorimer, still holding the letter between his 
 finger and thumb. "He evidently regards your friendship 
 as a pearl of price, and doubtless he is well-advised to do so. " 
 
 Here he opened his eyes again, and sent a barbed glance 
 at Avery's unresponsive face. 
 
 "Friendship is a beautiful thing, is it not?" he said. 
 
 "It is, " said Avery, deftly cutting her fifth slice. 
 
 The Reverend Stephen proceeded with clerical fervour 
 to embellish his subject, for no especial reason save the 
 pleasure of listening to his own eloquence a pleasure which
 
 Horns and Hoofs 159 
 
 never palled. " It partakes of that divine quality of charity 
 so sadly lacking in many of us, and sheds golden beams 
 of sunshine in the humblest earthly home. It has been 
 aptly called the true earnest of eternity." 
 
 "Really!" said A very. 
 
 "An exquisite thought, is it not?" said the Vicar. 
 "Grace, my child, for the one-and-twentieth time I must 
 beg of you not to swing your legs when sitting at table." 
 
 "I wasn't," said Gracie. 
 
 Her father's brows were elevated in surprise. His eyes 
 as a consequence were opened rather wider than usual, 
 revealing an unmistakably malignant gleam. 
 
 "That is not the way in which a Christian child should 
 receive admonition," he said. "If you were not swinging 
 your legs, you were fidgeting in a fashion which you very 
 well know to be unmannerly. Do not let me have to com- 
 plain of your behaviour again!" 
 
 Gracie's cheeks were crimson, her violet eyes blazing with 
 resentment; and Avery, dreading an outburst, laid a gentle 
 restraining hand upon her shoulder for an instant. 
 
 The action was well-meant, but its results were unfortu- 
 nate. Gracie impulsively seized and kissed the hand with 
 enthusiasm. "All right, Avery dear," she said with 
 pointed docility. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer's brows rose a little higher, but being 
 momentarily at a loss for a suitable comment he contented 
 himself with a return to Avery's correspondence. 
 
 "The other letter," he said, "bears the well-known crest 
 of the Evesham family. Ah, Mrs. Denys!" he shook his 
 head at her. "Now, what does that portend? " 
 
 "What is the crest?" asked Avery, briskly cutting 
 another slice. 
 
 "The devil," said Gracie. 
 
 "My dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Lorimer, with a nervous 
 glance towards her husband.
 
 160 The Bars of Iron 
 
 The Reverend Stephen was smiling, but in a fashion she 
 did not quite like. He addressed A very. 
 
 "The Evesham crest, Mrs. Denys, is a gentleman with 
 horns and hoofs and under him the one expressive word, 
 'Cave.' Excellent advice, is it not? I think we should do 
 well to follow it." He turned the envelope over, and 
 studied the address. "What a curious style of writing 
 the young man has, unrestrained to a degree! This looks 
 as if it had been written in a desperate mood. Mrs. Denys, 
 Mrs. Denys, what have you been doing?" 
 
 He began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Julian, who 
 was seated near him, with a sudden, clumsy movement, 
 upset a stream of cocoa across the breakfast-table. This 
 created an instant diversion. Mr. Lorimer turned upon 
 him vindictively, and soundly smacked his head, Mrs. 
 Lorimer covered her face and wept, and Avery, with 
 Gracie close behind, hurried to remedy the disaster. 
 
 Ronald came to help her in his quiet, gentlemanly way, 
 dabbing up the thick brown stream with his table-napkin. 
 Pat slipped round to his mother and hugged her hard. 
 And Olive, the only unmoved member of the party, looked 
 on with contemptuous eyes the while she continued her 
 breakfast. Jeanie still breakfasted upstairs in the school- 
 room, and so missed the fracas. 
 
 "The place is a pig-sty!" declared Mr. Lorimer, roused 
 out of all complacence and casting dainty phraseology to 
 the winds. "And you, sir," he addressed his second son, 
 "wholly unfit for civilized society. Go upstairs, and 
 if you have any appetite left after this disgusting exhibi- 
 tion satisfy it in the nursery!" 
 
 Julian, crimson but wholly unashamed, flung up his 
 head defiantly and walked to the door. 
 
 "Stop!" commanded Mr. Lorimer, ere he reached 
 it. 
 
 Julian stopped.
 
 Horns and Hoofs 161 
 
 His father looked him up and down with gradually 
 returning composure. "You will not go to the nursery," 
 he said. "You will go to the study and there suffer the 
 penalty for insolence." 
 
 " Stephen!" broke from Mrs. Lorimer in anguished 
 protest. 
 
 "A beastly shame!" cried Gracie vehemently, flinging 
 discretion to the winds; she adored her brother Julian. 
 " He never spoke a single word!" 
 
 "Go, Julian!" said Mr. Lorimer. 
 
 Julian went, banging the door vigorously behind him 
 
 Then, amid an awful silence, the Vicar turned his 
 scrutiny upon his small daughter. 
 
 Gracie stood up under it with all the courage at her dis- 
 posal, but she was white to the lips before that dreadful 
 gaze passed from her to Avery. 
 
 " Mrs. Denys, " said Mr. Lorimer, in tones of icy courtesy, 
 "will you oblige me by taking that child upstairs, undressing 
 her, and putting her to bed? She will remain there until 
 I come." 
 
 Avery, her task accomplished, turned and faced him. 
 She was as white as Gracie, but there was a steadfast light 
 in her eyes that showed her wholly unafraid. 
 
 "Mr. Lorimer," she said, "with your permission I will 
 deal with Gracie. She has done wrong, I know. By-and- 
 bye, she will be sorry and tell you so. " 
 
 Mr. Lorimer smiled sarcastically. "An apology, my dear 
 Mrs. Denys, does not condone the offence. It is wholly 
 against my principles to spare the rod when it is so richly 
 merited, and I shall not do so on this occasion. Will you 
 kindly do as I have requested?" 
 
 It was final, and Avery knew it. Mrs. Lorimer knew it 
 also, and burst into hysterical crying. 
 
 Avery turned swiftly. "Go upstairs, dear!" she said to 
 Gracie, and Gracie went like an arrow. 
 H
 
 1 62 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer started to her feet. " Stephen ! Stephen ! " 
 she cried imploringly. 
 
 But her husband turned a deaf ear. With a contemptu- 
 ous gesture he tossed Avery's letters upon the table and 
 stalked from the room. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer uttered a wild cry of despair, and fell back 
 fainting in her chair. 
 
 For the next quarter of an hour Avery was fully occupied 
 in restoring her, again assisted by Ronald. When she came 
 to herself, it was only to shed anguished tears on Avery's 
 shoulder and repeat over and over again that she could not 
 bear it, she could not bear it. 
 
 Avery was of the same opinion, but she did not say so. 
 She strove instead with the utmost tenderness to persuade 
 her to drink some tea. But even when she had succeeded 
 in this, Mrs. Lorimer continued to be so exhausted and upset 
 that at last, growing uneasy, Avery despatched Ronald 
 for the doctor. 
 
 She sent Olive for the children's nurse and took counsel 
 with her as to getting her mistress back to bed. But Nurse 
 instantly discouraged this suggestion. 
 
 "For the Lord's sake, ma'am, don't take her upstairs!" 
 she said. "The master's up there with Miss Gracie, and 
 he's whipping the poor lamb something cruel. He made me 
 undress her first. " 
 
 ' ' Oh, I cannot have that ! " exclaimed Avery. ' ' Stay here 
 a minute, Nurse, whib I go up!" 
 
 She rushed upstairs in furious anger to the room in 
 which the three little girls slept. The door was locked, but 
 the sounds within were unmistakable. Gracie was plainly 
 receiving severe punishment from her irate parent. Her 
 agonized crying tore Avery's heart. 
 
 She threw herself at the door and battered at it with her 
 fists. "Mr. Lorimer!" she called. "Mr. Lorimer, let me 
 in!"
 
 Horns and Hoofs 163 
 
 There was no response. Possibly she was not even heard, 
 for the dreadful crying continued and, mingled with it, 
 the swish of the slender little riding-switch which in the 
 earlier, less harassed days of his married life the Reverend 
 Stephen had kept for the horse he rode, and which now he 
 kept for his children. 
 
 They were terrible moments for Avery that she spent 
 outside that locked door, listening impotently to a child's 
 piteous cries for mercy from one who knew it not. But 
 they came to an end at last. Gracie's distress sank into 
 anguished sobs, and Avery knew that the punishment was 
 over. Mr. Lorimer had satisfied both his sense of duty and 
 hi? malice. 
 
 She heard him speak in cold, cutting tones. "I have 
 punished you more severely than I had ever expected to 
 find necessary, and I hope that the lesson will be sufficient. 
 But I warn you, Grace, most solemnly that I shall watch 
 your behaviour very closely for the future, and if I detect 
 in you the smallest indication of the insolence and defiance 
 for which I have inflicted this punishment upon you to-day 
 I shall repeat the punishment fourfold. No ! Not another 
 word!" as Gracie made some inarticulate utterance. "Or 
 you will compel me to repeat it to-night!" 
 
 And with that, he walked quietly to the door and unlocked 
 it. 
 
 Avery had ceased to beat upon it; she met him white and 
 stiff in the doorway. 
 
 "I have just sent for the doctor," she said. "Mrs 
 Lorimer has been taken ill." 
 
 She passed him at once with the words, not looking at 
 him, for she could not trust herself. Straight to Gracie, 
 huddled on the floor in her night-dress, she went, and lifted 
 the child bodily to her bed. 
 
 Gracie clung to her, sobbing passionately. Mr. Lorimer 
 lingered in the doorway.
 
 164 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Will you go, please?" said Avery, tight-lipped and 
 rigid, the child clasped to her throbbing heart. 
 
 It was a definite command, spoken in a tone that almost 
 compelled compliance, and Mr. Lorimer lingered no more. 
 
 Then for one long minute Avery sat and rocked the poor 
 little tortured body in her arms. 
 
 At length, through Grade's sobs, she spoke. "Grade 
 darling, I'm going to ask you to do something big for me. " 
 
 "Yes?" sobbed Grade, clinging tightly round her neck. 
 
 "Leave off crying!" Avery said. "Please leave off 
 crying, darling, and be your own brave self!" 
 
 "I can't," cried Grade. 
 
 "But do try, darling! " Avery urged her softly. " Because, 
 you see, I can't leave you like this, and your poor little 
 mother wants me so badly. She is ill, Grade, and I ought 
 to go to her, but I can't while you are crying so. " 
 
 Thus adjured, Gracie made gallant efforts to check 
 herself. But her spirit was temporarily quite broken. She 
 stood passively with the tears running down her face while 
 Avery hastily dressed her again and set her rumpled hair to 
 rights. Then again for a few seconds they held each other 
 very tightly. 
 
 "Bless you, my own brave darling!" Avery whispered. 
 
 To which Gracie made tearful reply: "Whatever should 
 we do without you, dear dear Avery?" 
 
 "And you won't cry any more? " pleaded Avery, who was 
 nearer to tears herself than she dared have owned. 
 
 "No," said Gracie valiantly. 
 
 She began to dry her eyes with vigour a hopeful sign; 
 and after pressing upon Avery another damp kiss was even 
 able to muster a smile. 
 
 "Now you can do something to help me," said Avery. 
 "Give yourself five minutes here's my watch to go by!" 
 She slipped it off her own wrist and on to Gracie's. "Then 
 run up to the nursery and see after the children while Nurse
 
 Horns and Hoofs 165 
 
 is downstairs! And drink a cup of milk, dearie! Mind 
 you do, for you've had nothing yet. " 
 
 "I shall love to wear your watch," murmured Grade, 
 beginning to be comforted. 
 
 " I know you'll take care of it, " Avery said, with a loving 
 hand on the child's hair. "Now you'll be all right, will 
 you? I can leave you without worrying?" 
 
 Gracie gave her face a final polish, and nodded. Spent 
 and sore though she was, her spirit was beginning to revive. 
 "Is Mother really ill?" she asked, as Avery turned to go. 
 
 "I don't know, dear. I'm rather anxious about her," 
 said Avery. 
 
 "It's all Father's fault," said Gracie. 
 
 Avery was silent. She _ could not contradict the 
 statement. 
 
 As she reached the door, Gracie spoke again, but more to 
 herself than to Avery. "I hope when he dies he'll go to 
 hell and stay there for ever and ever and ever!" 
 
 "Oh, Gracie!" Avery stopped, genuinely shocked. 
 "How wrong!" she said. 
 
 Gracie nodded several times. "Yes, I know it's wrong, 
 but I don't care. And I hope he'll die to-morrow. " 
 , " Hush ! Hush ! " Avery said. 
 
 Whereat Gracie broke into a propitiatory smile. "The 
 things I wish for never happen, " she said. 
 
 And Avery departed, wondering if this statement deserved 
 to be treated in the light of an amendment.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE DAY OF TROUBLE 
 
 T ENNOX TUDOR spent hours at the Vicarage that 
 L/ day in close attendance upon Mrs. Lorimer in com- 
 pany with Avery who scarcely left her side. Terrible hours 
 they were, during which they battled strenuously to keep 
 the poor, quivering life in her weary body. 
 
 "There is no reason why she shouldn't pull round," 
 Tudor assured Avery. 
 
 But yet throughout the day she hovered on the verge of 
 collapse. 
 
 By night the worst danger was over, but intense weakness 
 remained. She lay white and still, taking notice of nothing. 
 Only once, when Avery was giving her nourishment, did she 
 rouse herself to speak. 
 
 "Beg my husband not to be vexed with me!" she whis- 
 pered. "Tell him there won't be another little one after 
 all ! He'll be glad to know that. " 
 
 And Avery, cut to the heart, promised to deliver the 
 message. 
 
 A little later she stole away, leaving the children's nurse 
 in charge, and slipped up to the schoolroom for some tea, 
 Tudor had gone to see another patient, but had promised to 
 return as soon as possible. 
 
 The children were all gathered round the table at which 
 Olive very capably presided. Grade, looking wan and 
 subdued, sat on the end of Jeanie's sofa; but she sprang to 
 meet Avery the moment she appeared. 
 
 166
 
 The Day of Trouble 167 
 
 Avery sat down, holding the child's hand in hers. She 
 glanced round the table as she did so. 
 
 "Where is Julian?" 
 
 "Upstairs," said Ronald briefly. "In disgrace." 
 
 Avery felt her heart contract with a sick sense of further 
 trouble in the air. "Has he been there all day ? " she asked. 
 Ronald nodded. "And another flogging to-night if he 
 doesn't apologize. He says he'll die first. " 
 
 "So would I, " breathed Gracie. 
 
 At this juncture the door swung open with stately preci- 
 sion, and Mr. Lorimer entered. Everyone rose, according 
 to established custom, with the exceptions of Avery and 
 Jeanie. Grade's fingers tightened convulsively upon 
 Avery's hand, and she turned as white as the table-cloth. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer, however, looked over her head as if she 
 did not exist, and addressed Avery. 
 
 "Mrs. Denys, be so good as to spare me two minutes in 
 the study!" he said with extreme formality. 
 
 "Certainly," Avery made quiet reply. "I will come 
 to you before I go back to Mrs. Lorimer. " 
 
 He raised his brows slightly, as if he had expected a more 
 prompt compliance with his request. And then his eyes 
 fell upon Gracie, clinging fast to Avery's hand. 
 
 "Grace," he said, in his clear, definite tones, "come 
 here!" 
 
 The child gave a great start and shrank against Avery's 
 shoulder. " Oh no !" she whispered. "No!" 
 
 "Come here!" repeated Mr. Lorimer. 
 
 He extended his hand, but Gracie only shrank further 
 away. She was trembling violently, so violently that 
 Avery felt impelled to pass a sustaining arm around her. 
 
 " Come, my child ! " said the Vicar, the majestic composure 
 of his features gradually yielding to a look of dawning 
 severity. 
 
 "Go, dear!" whispered Avery.
 
 1 68 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "I don't want to," gasped Grade. 
 
 "I shall not punish you," her father said, "unless I find 
 you disobedient or still unrepentant. " 
 
 "Darling, go!" A very urged softly into her ear. "It'll 
 be all right now." 
 
 But Grade, shaking from head to foot and scarcely able 
 to stand, only clung to her the faster, and in a moment 
 she began agitatedly to cry. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer's hand fell to his side. "Still unrepentant, 
 I fear," he said. 
 
 Avery, with the child gathered closely to her, looked 
 across at him with wide, accusing eyes. 
 
 "She is frightened and upset," she said. "It is not fair 
 to judge her in this condition. " 
 
 Mr. Lorimer's eyes gleamed back malignantly. He 
 made her an icy bow. "In that case, Mrs. Denys," he 
 said, "she had better go to bed and stay there until her 
 condition has improved. " 
 
 Avery compressed her lips tightly, and made no rejoinder. 
 
 The Reverend Stephen compressed his, and after a defi- 
 nite pause of most unpleasant tension, he uttered a deep 
 sigh and withdrew. 
 
 "I know he means to do it again!" sobbed Gracie. "I 
 know he does!" 
 
 "He shall not!" said Avery. 
 
 And with the words she put the child from her, rose, and 
 with great determination walked out of the room. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer had scarcely settled himself in what he 
 called his "chair of ease" in the study when her low knock 
 reached him, and she entered. ' Her grey eyes were no 
 longer angry, but very resolute. She closed the door softly, 
 and came straight to the fire. 
 
 "Mr. Lorimer," she said, her voice pitched very low, 
 "I want you to be patient with me just for a minute. 
 Will you?"
 
 The Day of Trouble 169 
 
 Mr. Lorimer sighed again. "I am yearning for the 
 refreshment of a little solitary meditation, Mrs. Denys, " 
 he said. 
 
 "I shall not keep you," Avery rejoined steadily. She 
 stood before him, very pale but wholly composed. "What 
 I have to say can be said in a very few seconds. First, 
 with regard to Gracie; the child is so upset that I 
 think any further punishment would make her downright 
 ill." 
 
 "Pooh, my dear Mrs. Denys!" said the Reverend 
 Stephen. 
 
 Avery paused a moment. "Will you try to listen to me 
 with an open mind?" she said. 
 
 "I am listening," said Mr. Lorimer. 
 
 "I know she was naughty this morning," Avery con- 
 tinued. "I am not trying to defend her behaviour. But 
 her punishment was a very severe one, and it has so terri- 
 fied her that at present she can think of nothing else. 
 Give her time to be sorry ! Please give her time ! " 
 
 Mr. Lorimer glanced at the clock. "She has already 
 had nine hours," he observed. "I shall give her three 
 more. " 
 
 "And then?" said Avery. 
 
 His eyes travelled up to her troubled face. "And if by 
 then," he said deliberately, "she has not come to me to 
 express her penitence, I shall be reluctantly compelled to 
 repeat the punishment." 
 
 "You will drive the child out of her senses if you do!" 
 Avery exclaimed. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "My dear Mrs. Denys, 
 permit me to remind you that I have had considerable 
 experience in the upbringing of children." 
 
 "And they are all afraid of you, " Avery said. 
 
 He smiled. "In my opinion a little wholesome awe is 
 salutary. No, Mrs. Denys, I cannot listen any further
 
 1 70 The Bars of Iron 
 
 to your persuasion. In fact I fear that in Grace's case I 
 have so far erred on the side of laxness. She has become 
 very wild and uncontrolled, and she must be tamed." 
 
 He closed his lips upon the word, and despair entered 
 Avery's heart. She gripped her self-control with all her 
 might, realizing that the moment she lost it, her strength 
 would be gone. 
 
 With a great effort she turned from the subject. "I 
 have a message for you from Mrs. Lorimer, " she said, 
 after a moment, and proceeded to deliver it in a low, 
 steady voice, her eyes upon the fire. 
 
 The man in the chair heard it without the movement 
 of a muscle of his face. "I will endeavour to look in upon 
 her presently," was all the reply he made. 
 
 Avery turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture. 
 
 "Mrs. Denys," he said smoothly, "you forget, I think, 
 that I also had something to say. " 
 
 Avery paused. She had forgotten. 
 
 He turned his eyes deliberately up to hers, as he leaned 
 back in his chair. "I am sorry to have to tell you, "he 
 said, "that in consequence of your unfortunate zeal in 
 encouraging the children in insubordination, I can no longer 
 look upon you as in any sense a help in my household. I 
 therefore desire that you will take a month's notice from 
 now. If I can fill your place sooner, I shall dispense with 
 your services earlier. " 
 
 Calmly, dispassionately, he uttered the words. Avery 
 stood quite still to hear them. And through her like a 
 stab there ran the thought of the poor little woman upstairs. 
 The pain of it was almost unbearable. She caught her 
 breath involuntarily. 
 
 But the next moment she was herself again. She bowed 
 without a word, and turned to go. 
 
 She had nearly reached the door ere she discovered that it 
 stood open, and that Lennox Tudor was on the threshold,
 
 The Day of Trouble 171 
 
 more grimly strong than she had ever before realized him to 
 be. 
 
 He stood back for her to pass, holding the door for her 
 without speaking. And in silence Avery departed.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE STRAIGHT TRUTH 
 
 " A H, my worthy physician, enter, enter!" was Mr. 
 
 /i Lorimer's bland greeting. "What news of the 
 patient?" 
 
 Tudor tramped up to the hearth, looking very square and 
 resolute. "I've come from the schoolroom," he said, 
 "where I went to take a look at Jeanie. But I found 
 Gracie required more of my attention than she did. Are 
 you absolutely mad, I wonder, to inflict corporal punish- 
 ment upon a highly-strung child like that? Let me tell 
 you this! You'll turn her into a senseless idiot if you 
 persist! The child is nearly crazed with terror as it is. 
 I've told them to put her to bed, and I'm going up to give 
 her a soothing draught directly." 
 
 Mr. Lorimer rose with dignity. " You somewhat magnify 
 your office, doctor," he said. 
 
 "No, I don't!" said Tudor rudely. "I do what I must. 
 And I warn you that child is wrought up to a highly danger- 
 ous pitch of excitement. You don't want her to have 
 brain-fever, I suppose?" 
 
 "Pooh!" said Mr. Lorimer. 
 
 Tudor stamped a furious foot, and let himself go. He 
 had no scruples about losing his temper at that moment. 
 He poured forth his indignation in a perfect tornado of 
 righteous anger. 
 
 "That's all you have to say, is it? You a man of God, 
 
 172
 
 The Straight Truth 173 
 
 so-called killing your wife by inches and not caring a damn 
 what suffering you cause ! I tell you, she has been at death's 
 door all day, thanks to your infernal behaviour. She 
 may die yet, and you will be directly responsible. You've 
 crushed her systematically, body and soul. As to the 
 children, if you touch that little girl again or any of 'em 
 I'll haul you before the Bench for cruelty. Do you hear 
 that?" 
 
 Mr. Lorimer, who had been waving a protesting hand 
 throughout this vigorous denunciation, here interposed 
 a lofty : " Sir ! You forget yourself ! ' ' 
 
 "Not I!" flung back Tudor. "I know very well what 
 I'm about. I spoke to you once before about your wife, and 
 you wouldn't listen. But by Heaven you shall listen 
 this time, and hear the straight truth for once. Her life 
 has been a perpetual martyrdom for years. You've tor- 
 tured her through the children as cruelly as any victim 
 was ever tortured on the rack. But it's got to stop now. 
 I don't deal in empty threats. What I've said I shall stick 
 to. You may be the Vicar of the parish, but you're under 
 the same law as the poorest of 'em. And if anything 
 more of this kind happens, you shall feel the law. And a 
 pretty scandal it'll make. " 
 
 He paused a moment, but Mr. Lorimer stood in frozen 
 silence; and almost immediately he plunged on. 
 
 "Now as regards Mrs. Denys; I heard you give her notice 
 just now. That must be taken back if she will consent to 
 stay. For Mrs. Lorimer literally can't do without her yet. 
 Mrs. Lorimer will be an invalid for some time to come, if 
 not for good and all. And who is going to take charge of 
 the house if you kick out the only capable person it contains? 
 Who is going to look after your precious comfort, not to 
 mention that of your wife and children? I tell you Mrs. 
 Denys is absolutely indispensable to you all for the present. 
 If you part with her, you part with every shred of ease
 
 174 The Bars of Iron 
 
 and domestic peace you have. And you will have to keep 
 a properly qualified nurse to look after your wife. And it 
 isn't every nurse that is a blessing in the home, I can assure 
 you." 
 
 He stopped again; and finding Mr. Lorimer still some- 
 what dazed by this sudden attack, he turned and began 
 to pace the room to give him time to recover. 
 
 There followed a prolonged silence. Then at last, with a 
 deep sigh, the Vicar dropped down again in his chair. 
 
 "My good doctor," he said, "I am convinced that your 
 motives are good though your language be somewhat 
 lacking in restraint. I am sorely perplexed; let me admit 
 it! Mrs. Denys is, I believe, a thoroughly efficient house- 
 keeper, but " he paused impressively "her presence is 
 a disturbing element with which I would gladly dispense. 
 She is continually inventing some pretext for presenting 
 herself at the study-door. Moreover, she is extremely 
 injudicious with the children, and I am bound to think of 
 their spiritual welfare before their mere bodily needs." 
 
 He was evidently anxious to avoid an open rupture, so 
 perhaps it was as well that he did not see the look on Tudor 's 
 face as he listened to this harangue. 
 
 "Why don't you pack them off to school?" said Tudor, 
 sticking to the point with commendable resolution. "Peace 
 in the house is absolutely essential to Mrs. Lorimer. All 
 the elder ones would be better out of it with the exception 
 of Jeanie." 
 
 "And why with the exception of Jeanie, may I ask?" 
 There was a touch of asperity in Mr. Lorimer's voice. He 
 had been badly browbeaten, and for some reason he 
 had had to submit. But he was in no docile mood 
 thereafter. 
 
 Tudor heard the note of resentment in his tone, and came 
 back to the hearth. "I have been awaiting a suitable 
 opportunity to talk to you about Jeanie," he said.
 
 The Straight Truth 175 
 
 "What next? What next?" said Mr. Lorimer fretfully. 
 
 Tudor proceeded to tell him, his tone deliberately unsym- 
 pathetic. "She needs most careful treatment, most 
 vigilant watching. There is a weakness of the lungs which 
 might develop at any time. Mrs. Denys understands her 
 and can take care of her. But she is in no state to be 
 entrusted to strangers. " 
 
 "Why was this not mentioned to me before?" said Mr. 
 Lorimer querulously. "Though the head of the house, I 
 am always the last to be told of anything of importance. 
 I suppose you are sure of what you say ? " 
 
 " Quite sure, " said Tudor, "though I should be absolutely 
 willing for you to have another opinion at any time. As 
 to not telling you, I have always found it difficult to get 
 you to listen, and, as a rule, I have no time to waste on per- 
 suasion. " He looked at the clock. "I ought to be going 
 now. You will consider what I have said about sending the 
 other children away to school? You'll find it's the only 
 thing to do. " 
 
 Mr. Lorimer sighed again with deep melancholy. 
 
 Tudor squared his shoulders aggressively. "And with 
 your permission I'll tell Mrs. Denys that you have recon- 
 sidered the matter and hope she will remain for a time at 
 least, if she can see her way to do so." 
 
 He paused very definitely for a reply to this. Mr. 
 Lorimer's mouth was drawn down at the corners, but he 
 looked into the fire with the aloofness of a mind not occupied 
 with mundane things. 
 
 Tudor faced him and waited with grim resolution; but 
 several seconds passed ere his attitude seemed to become 
 apparent to the abstracted Vicar. Then with extreme 
 deliberation his eyelids were raised. 
 
 "Excuse me, doctor ! My thoughts were for the moment 
 elsewhere. Yes, you have my permission to tell her that. 
 And I agree with you. It seems advisable to remove
 
 176 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the elder children from her influence without delay. I shall 
 therefore take steps to do so." 
 
 Tudor nodded with a shrug of the shoulders. It did not 
 matter to him in what garb his advice was dressed, so long 
 as it was followed. 
 
 " Very well, " he said. " I am now going to settle Gracie, 
 and I shall tell her you have issued a free pardon all round, 
 and no more will be said to anyone. I was told one of the 
 boys was in hot water too, but you can let him off for once. 
 You're much more likely to make him ashamed of himself 
 that way." 
 
 Mr. Lorimer resumed his contemplation of the fire 
 without speaking. 
 
 Tudor turned to go. He was fairly satisfied that he had 
 established peace for the time being, and he was not ill- 
 pleased with his success. 
 
 He told himself as he departed that he had discovered 
 how to deal with the Reverend Stephen. It had never 
 occurred to him to attempt such treatment before. 
 
 To Avery later he gave but few details of the interview, 
 but she could not fail to see his grim elation and smiled at it. 
 
 " I am to stay then, am I? " she said. 
 
 "If you will graciously consent to do so," said Tudor, 
 with his brief smile. 
 
 "I couldn't do anything else," she said. 
 
 " I'm glad of that, " he said abruptly, " for my own sake. " 
 
 And with that very suddenly he turned the subject.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE ENCHANTED LAND 
 
 AT ten o'clock that night, Avery went round to bid 
 each child good-night. She found Gracie sleeping 
 peacefully with her bed pushed close to Jeanie's. The 
 latter was awake and whispered a greeting. On the other 
 side of the room Olive slept the sleep of the just. Avery 
 did not pause by her bed, but went straight to Jeanie, who 
 held her hand for a little and then gently begged her to go 
 to bed herself. 
 
 "You must be so tired," she said. 
 
 Avery could not deny the fact. But she had arranged to 
 sleep in Mrs. Lorimer's room, so she could not look forward 
 to a night without care. She did not tell Jeanie this, how- 
 ever, but presently kissed her tenderly and stole away. 
 
 She visited the younger boys, and found them all asleep ; 
 then slipped up to the attic in which the elder lads slept. 
 
 She heard their voices as she reached the closed door. 
 She knocked softly therefore, and in a moment heard one of 
 them leap to open it. 
 
 It was Ronald, clad in pyjamas but unfailingly courteous, 
 who invited her to enter. 
 
 "I knew it must be you, Mrs. Denys. Come in! Very 
 pleased to see you. Wait a second while I light a candle ! " 
 
 He did so, and revealed Julian sitting up in bed with 
 sullen defiance writ large upon his face. But he smiled 
 at sight of her, and patted the side of his bed invitingly. 
 ia . 177
 
 178 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Don't sit on the chair! It's untrustworthy. It's 
 awfully decent of you to look us up like this, that is, if 
 you haven't come to preach." 
 
 "I haven't," said Avery, accepting the invitation since 
 she felt too weary to stand. 
 
 Julian nodded approval. "That's right. I knew you 
 were too much of a brick. I'm awaiting my next swishing 
 for upsetting my cup at breakfast in your defence, so I 
 hardly think I deserve any pi-jaw from you, do I?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm not at all pi, I assure you, " Avery said. "And 
 if it was done for my sake, I'm quite grateful, though I wish 
 you hadn't. " 
 
 Julian grinned at her, and she proceeded. 
 
 " I don't think you need wait any longer for the swishing. 
 Your father has decided, I understand, not to carry the 
 matter any further. " 
 
 Julian opened his eyes wide. "What? You've been 
 at him, have you?" 
 
 Avery smiled even while she sighed. 
 
 "Oh, I'm no good, Julian. I only make things worse 
 when I interfere. No, it's not due to me. But, all the 
 same, I hope and believe the trouble has blown over for the 
 present. Do do try and keep the peace in the future!" 
 
 Her weariness sounded in her voice ; it quivered in spite 
 of her. 
 
 Julian placed a quick, clammy hand on hers and squeezed 
 it affectionately. 
 
 "Anything to oblige!" he promised generously. "Here 
 Ron! Shy over those letters! She wants something to 
 cheer her up. " 
 
 "Letters!" Avery looked round sharply. "I had for- 
 gotten my letters!" she said. 
 
 "Here they are!" Ronald came forward and placed them 
 in her hand. "I picked 'em up this morning, and then 
 when you sent me off for the doc, I forgot all about 'em.
 
 The Enchanted Land 179 
 
 I'm sorry. I only came across them when I was undress- 
 ing, and you were busy in the mater's room, so I thought 
 I'd keep them safe till to-morrow. I hope they are not 
 important, " he added. 
 
 "I don't suppose so," said Avery; yet her heart jerked 
 oddly as she slipped them into her dress. "Thank you for 
 taking care of them. I must be going now. You are going 
 to be good?" 
 
 She looked at Julian, who, still feeling generous, thrust a 
 rough, boyish arm about her neck and kissed her. 
 
 "You're a trump!" he said. "There! Good-night! 
 I'll be as meek as Moses in the morning. " 
 
 It was a definite promise, and Avery felt relieved. She 
 took leave of Ronald more ceremoniously. His scrupulous 
 politeness demanded it. And then with feet that felt 
 strangely light, considering her fatigue, she ran softly down 
 again to Mrs. Lorimer's room. 
 
 In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read 
 her letters. One of them the one with the Australian stamp, 
 characteristically brief but kind was to tell her that the 
 writer, a friend of some standing, was coming to England, 
 and hoped to see her again ere long. 
 
 The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the 
 table unopened till she was undressed and ready to join 
 Mrs. Lorimer. Then for the first time in all that weary 
 day of turmoil Avery stole a few moments of luxury. 
 
 She sat down and opened Piers' letter. 
 
 It began impetuously, without preliminary. "I wonder 
 whether you have any idea what it costs to clear out without 
 a word of farewell. Perhaps you are even thinking that 
 I've forgotten. Or perhaps it matters so little to you 
 that you haven't thought at all. I know you won't tell me, 
 so it's not much good speculating. But lest you should 
 misunderstand in any way, I want to explain that I haven't 
 been fit to come near you since we parted on Christmas
 
 i8o The Bars of Iron 
 
 Eve. You were angry with me then, weren't you? Avery 
 in a temper! Do you remember how it went? At least 
 you meant to be, but somehow you didn't get up the steam. 
 You wished me a happy Christmas instead, and I ought 
 to have had one in consequence. But I didn't. I played 
 the giddy goat off and on all day long, and my grandfather 
 dear old chap thought what a merry infant I was. But 
 you've heard of the worm that dieth not and the fire that 
 is not quenched? The Reverend Stephen has taken care 
 of that. Do you remember his 'penny-terrible' of a Sunday 
 or two ago? You were very angry about it, Avery. I love 
 you when you're angry. And how he dilated on the gates of 
 brass and the bars of iron and the outer darkness etc., etc., 
 till we all went home and shivered in our beds! Well, that's 
 the sort of place I spent my Christmas in, and I wanted 
 to come to you and Jeanie and be made happy, but I 
 couldn't. I was too fast in prison. I felt too murderous. 
 I hunted all the next day to try and get more wholesome. 
 But it was no good. I was seeing red all the time. And at 
 night something happened that touched me off like an 
 exploded train of gunpowder. Has Tudor told you about 
 it yet? Doubtless he will. I tried to murder him, and 
 succeeded in cracking his eye-glass. Banal, wasn't it? 
 And I have an uneasy feeling that he came out top-dog after 
 all, confound him! 
 
 "Avery, whomever else you have no use for, I know you're 
 not in love with him, and in my saner moments I realize 
 that you never could be. But I wasn't sane just then. I 
 love you so! I love you so! It's good to be able to get it 
 right out before you have time to stop me. For I worship 
 you, Avery, my darling! You don't realize it. How 
 should you? You think it is just the passing fancy of a boy. 
 A boy ye gods! 
 
 "I think of you hour by hour. You are always close in 
 your own secret place in my heart. T hold you in my arms
 
 The Enchanted Land 181 
 
 when no one else is near. I kiss your forehead, your eyes, 
 your hair. No, not your lips, dear, even in fancy. I have 
 never in my maddest dreams kissed your lips. But I ache 
 and crave and long for them, though till you give me 
 leave I dare not even pretend that they are mine. Will 
 you ever give me leave? You say No now. Yet I think 
 you will, Avery. I think you will. I have known ever 
 since that first moment when you held me back from flaying 
 poor old Caesar that I have met my Fate, and because I 
 know it I'm trying for your sweet sake to make myself 
 a better man. It's beastly uphill work, and that episode 
 with Tudor has pulled me back. Confound him! By the 
 way though, it's done me good in one sense, for I find I don't 
 detest him quite so hideously as I did. The man has his 
 points. 
 
 "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.
 
 1 82 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Yet for that one night the charm held her. She viewed 
 from afar an enchanted land a land of sunshine 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 
 
 TERNAL sunshine!" said Piers, with a grimace at 
 the deep, deep blue of the slumbering water that 
 stretched below him to the horizon. "And at night eter- 
 nal moonshine. 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 astonishing audacity by a lady with painted 
 eyes who had snatched his only winnings before he could 
 reach them. It was a small episode, and he had let it pass, 
 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, 
 
 183
 
 1 84 The Bars of Iron 
 
 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 massively. 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 morn-
 
 The Coming of a Friend 185 
 
 ing!" 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 suffi- 
 ciently 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. "
 
 i86 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "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 Marseilles." 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 passed turned to 
 stare. For both men were in a fashion remarkable. The 
 massive strength of the elder with his square, dogged face
 
 The Coming of a Friend 187 
 
 and purposeful stride; the lithe, muscular power of the 
 younger with his superb carriage and haughty nobility 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. 
 
 He was still sitting thus when there came the sound of 
 jerky footsteps on the terrace behind him and an irascible 
 voice addressed him with scarcely concealed impatience. 
 
 "Excuse me! I saw you talking to my grandson just 
 now. Do you know where the young fool is gone 
 to?" 
 
 Crowther turned in his solid, imperturbable fashion, 
 looked at the speaker, and got to his feet. 
 
 " I can, " he said, with a smile. "He has gone to procure 
 drinks in my honour. He and I are old friends. " 
 
 "Oh!" said Sir Beverley, and looked him up and down in 
 a fashion which another man might have found offensive. 
 "And who may you be?" 
 
 "My name is Crowther," said the other with simplicity. 
 
 Sir Beverley grunted. "That doesn't tell me much. 
 Never heard of you before. " 
 
 "I daresay not." Crowther was quite unmoved; there 
 was even a hint of humour in his tone. "Your grandson 
 is probably a man of many friends. "
 
 1 88 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Why should you say that?" demanded Sir Beverley 
 suspiciously. 
 
 "Won't you sit down?" said Crowther. 
 
 Sir Beverley hesitated a moment, then abruptly complied 
 with the suggestion. Crowther followed his example, and 
 they faced one another across the little table. 
 
 "I say it, " said Crowther, "because that is the sort of lad 
 I take him to be. " 
 
 Sir Beverley grunted again. "And when and where did 
 you make his acquaintance?" he enquired, with a stern, 
 unsparing scrutiny of the calm face opposite. 
 
 "We met in Australia," said Crowther. "It must be 
 six years or more ago. " 
 
 "Australia's a big place, " observed Sir Beverley. 
 
 Crowther's slow smile appeared. "Yes, sir, it is. It's 
 so mighty big that it makes all the other places of the world 
 seem small. Have you ever been in Queensland ever 
 seen a sheep-farm?" 
 
 "No, I've never been in Queensland," snapped Sir 
 Beverley. "But as to sheep-farms, I've got one of my 
 own." 
 
 "How many acres?" asked Crowther. 
 
 "Oh, don't ask me! Piers will tell you. Piers knows. 
 Where the devil is the boy? Why doesn't he come?" 
 
 "Here, sir, here!" cried Piers, coming up behind him. 
 "I see you have made the acquaintance of my friend. 
 Crowther, let me present you to my grandfather, SirBeverley 
 Evesham! I've just been to look for you," he added to 
 the latter. " But Victor told me you had gone out, and then 
 I spied you out of the window. " 
 
 "I told you I was coming out, didn't I?" growled Sir 
 Beverley. "So this is a friend of yours, is it? How is it 
 I've never heard of him before?" 
 
 "We lost sight of each other," explained Piers, pulling 
 forward a chair between them and dropping into it. "But
 
 The Coming of a Friend 189 
 
 that state of affairs is not going to happen again. How 
 long are you over for, Crowther?" 
 
 "Possibly a year, possibly more." Again Crowther's 
 eyes were upon him, critical but kindly. 
 
 "Going to spend your time in England? " asked Piers. 
 
 Crowther nodded. " Most of it, yes. " 
 
 "Good!" said Piers with satisfaction. "We shall see 
 plenty of you then. " 
 
 "But I am going to be busy," said Crowther, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Of course you are. You can come down and teach me 
 how to make the Home Farm a success," laughed Piers. 
 
 "I shall be very pleased to try," said Crowther, "though," 
 he turned towards Sir Beverley, "I expect you, sir, know 
 as much on that subject as either of us. 
 
 Sir Beverley's eyes were upon him with searching direct- 
 ness. He seemed to be trying to discover a reason for his 
 boy's obvious pleasure in his unexpected meeting with this 
 man who must have been nearly twice his age. 
 
 "I've never done much in the farming line," he said 
 briefly, in answer to Crowther's observation. "It's been 
 more of a pastime with me than anything else. It's the 
 same with Piers here. He's only putting in time with it till 
 the constituency falls vacant." 
 
 "I see," said Crowther, adding with his quiet smile: 
 "There seems to be plenty of time anyhow in the old 
 country, whatever else she may be short of. " 
 
 Piers laughed as he lifted his glass. "Time for every- 
 thing but work, Crowther. She has developed beastly loose 
 morals in her old age. Some day there'll come a nasty bust 
 up, and she may pull herself together and do things again, 
 or she may go to pieces. I wonder which. " 
 
 "I don't," said Crowther. 
 
 "You don't?" Piers paused, glass in hand, looking at him 
 expectantly.
 
 190 The Bars of Iron 
 
 " No, I don't. " Crowther also raised his glass ; he looked 
 Piers straight in the eyes. " Here's to the boys of England, 
 Piers!" he said. "They'll see to it that she comes through." 
 
 Sir Bevei ley also drank, but with a distasteful air. 
 "You've a higher opinion of the young fools than I have, " 
 he remarked. 
 
 "I've made a study of the breed, sir," said Crowther. 
 
 The conversation drifted to indifferent matters, but 
 Piers' interest remained keen. It seemed that all his 
 vitality had reawakened at the coming of this slow-speak- 
 ing man who had looked so long upon the wide spaces of 
 the earth that his vision seemed scarcely adaptable to lesser 
 things. There was that in his personality that caught 
 Piers' fancy irresistibly. Perhaps it was his utter calmness, 
 his unvarying, rock-like strength. Perhaps it was just 
 the good fellowship that looked out of the steady eyes and 
 sounded in every tone of the leisurely voice. Whatever 
 the cause, his presence had made a vast difference to Piers. 
 His boredom had completely vanished. He even forgot 
 to wonder if there were a letter lying waiting for him inside 
 the hotel. 
 
 Crowther excused himself at length and rose to take 
 his leave, whereupon Sir Beverley very abruptly, and to his 
 grandson's surprise and gratification, invited him to dine 
 with them that night. Piers at once seconded the invitation, 
 and Crowther without haste or hesitation accepted it. 
 
 Then, square and purposeful, he went away. 
 
 "A white man!" murmured Piers half to himself. 
 
 "One who knows his own mind anyhow," remarked Sir 
 Beverley drily. 
 
 He did not ask Piers for the history of their friendship, 
 and Piers, remembering this later, wondered a little at the 
 omission.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 A FRIEND'S COUNSEL 
 
 WHEN Piers went to dress that night he found two 
 letters laid discreetly upon his table, awaiting 
 perusal. 
 
 Victor, busily engaged in laying out his clothes, cast a 
 wicked eye back over his shoulder as his young master 
 pounced upon them, then with a shrug resumed his task, 
 smiling to himself the while. 
 
 Both letters were addressed in womanly handwriting, 
 but Piers went unerringly to the one he most desired to 
 read. His hands shook a little as he opened it, but he 
 caught sight of his Christian name at the head of it and 
 breathed a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Dear Piers," so in clear, decided writing the message 
 ran, " I have wondered many times if I ought to be angry 
 as well as sorry over that letter of yours. It was audacious, 
 wasn't it? Only I know so well that you did not mean 
 to hurt me when you wrote it. But, Piers, what I said 
 before, you compel me to say again. This thing must stop. 
 You say you are not a boy, so I shall not treat you as such. 
 But indeed you must take my word for it when I tell you 
 that I shall never marry again. 
 
 "I want to be quite honest with you, so you mustn't 
 think that my two years of married life were by any means 
 idyllic. They were not. The man I married was a failure,
 
 192 The Bars of Iron 
 
 but I loved him, and because I loved him I followed him to 
 the world's end. We were engaged two years before we 
 married. My father disapproved; but when he died I 
 was left lonely, so I followed Eric, whom I had not seen 
 for eighteen months, to Australia. We were married in 
 Sydney. He had work at that time in a shipping-office, but 
 he did not manage to keep it. I did not know why at first. 
 I was young, and I had always led a sheltered life. Then 
 one night I found that he had been drinking, and after that 
 I understood many things. I think I know what you will 
 say of him when you read this. It looks so crude written. 
 But, Piers, he was not a bad man. He had this one fatal 
 weakness, but he loved me, and he was good to me nearly 
 always." 
 
 Piers' teeth closed suddenly and fiercely on his lower lip 
 at this point; but he read on grimly with no other sign of 
 indignation. 
 
 " Do you remember how I took upon myself once to warn 
 you against losing your self-control?" The handwriting 
 was not quite so steady here; the letters looked hurried, 
 as if some agitation had possessed the writer. " I felt I had 
 to do it, for I had seen a man's life completely wrecked 
 through it. I know he was one of the many that go under 
 every day, but the tragedy was so near me. I have never 
 quite been able to shake off the dreadful memories of it. 
 He was to all outward appearance a strong-willed man, 
 but that habit was stronger, though he fought and fought 
 against it. When he failed, he seemed to lose everything, 
 self-respect, self-control, strength of purpose, everything. 
 But when the demon left him, he always repented so bitterly, 
 so bitterly. I had a little money, enough to live on. He 
 used to urge me to leave him, to go back to England, and 
 1 ve in peace. As if I could have done such a thing! And 
 so we struggled on, making a desperately hard fight for it, 
 till one awful night when he came home in raving delirium.
 
 A Friend's Counsel 193 
 
 I can't describe that to you. I don't want you to know 
 what it was like. I nursed him through it, but it was 
 terrible. He did not always know what he was doing. 
 At times he was violent. " 
 
 A drop of blood suddenly ran down Piers' chin ; he pulled 
 out his handkerchief sharply and wiped it away, still 
 reading on. 
 
 "He got over it, but it broke him. He knew we both 
 knew that things were hopeless. We tried for a time to 
 shut our eyes to the fact, but it remained. And then one 
 day very suddenly he roused himself and told me that he 
 had heard of a job up-country and was going to it. I could 
 not stop him. I could not even go with him. And so for 
 the first time since our marriage we parted. He promised 
 to come back to me for the birth of our child. But before 
 that happened he was dead, killed in a drunken brawl. 
 It was just what I had always feared the tragedy that 
 overhung us from the beginning. Piers, that's all. I've 
 told it very badly. But I felt you must know how my 
 romance died; and how impossible it is that I should ever 
 have another. It didn't break my heart. It wasn't 
 sudden enough for that. And now that he is gone, I can 
 see it is best. But the manner of his going that was the 
 dreadful part. I told you about my baby girl, how she 
 was born blind, and how five years ago she died. 
 
 " So now you know my little tragic history from beginning 
 to end. There is no accounting for love. We follow our 
 instincts, I suppose. But it leads us sometimes along paths 
 that we could never bear to travel twice. Is there any pain, 
 I wonder, like the pain of disillusionment, of seeing the 
 beloved idol lying in the dust? This is a selfish point of 
 view, I know; but I want you to realize that you have made 
 a mistake. Dear Piers, I am very, very sorry it has 
 happened. No, not angry at all; somehow I can't be 
 angry. It's such a difficult world to live in, and there are 
 
 13
 
 194 The Bars of Iron 
 
 so many influences at work. But you must forget this wish 
 of yours indeed indeed. I am too old, too experienced, 
 too worldly-wise, too prosaic for you in every way. You 
 must marry a girl who has never loved before. You must 
 have the first and best of a woman's heart. You must have 
 'The True Romance.' 
 
 "That, Piers, will always be the wish and prayer of 
 
 "Your loving friend, 
 
 "AVERY." 
 
 Piers' hands were steady enough now. There was some- 
 thing slow and fatalistic in the way they folded the letter. 
 He looked up from it at length with dark eyes that 
 gazed unwaveringly before him, as though they saw a 
 vision. 
 
 "You will be late, Monsieur Pierre," suggested Victor 
 softly at his elbow. 
 
 "What?" Piers turned those dreaming eyes upon him, 
 and suddenly he laughed and stretched his arms wide as one 
 awaking. The steadfast look went out of his eyes; they 
 danced with gaiety. "Hullo, you old joker! Well, 
 let's dress then and be quick about it!" 
 
 During the process it flashed upon Piers that all mention 
 of Tudor had been avoided in the letter he had just read. 
 He frowned momentarily at the thought. Had she deliber- 
 ately avoided the subject? And if so But on the instant 
 his brow cleared again. No, she had written too frankly 
 for that. She had not mentioned the matter simply because 
 she regarded it as unimportant. The great question lay 
 between herself and him alone. Of that he was wholly 
 certain. He smiled again at the thought. No, he was not 
 afraid of Tudor. 
 
 "Monsieur is well pleased," murmured Victor, with a 
 flash of his round black eyes. 
 
 ''Quite well pleased, mon vieux!" laughed back Piers.
 
 A Friend's Counsel 195 
 
 "C'esl bien!" said Victor, regarding him with the indul- 
 gent smile that he had bestowed upon him in babyhood. 
 "And Monsieur does not want his other letter? But no 
 no!" 
 
 His voice was openly quizzical; he dodged a laughing 
 backhander from Piers with a'neat gesture of apology. It 
 had not escaped his notice that the letter Piers had read 
 had disappeared unobtrusively into an inner pocket. 
 
 "Who's the other letter from?" said Piers, glancing at it 
 perfunctorily. "Oh, I know. No one of importance. 
 She'll keep till after dinner. " 
 
 Ina Rose would not have felt flattered had she heard the 
 statement. The fan Piers had promised to send her had 
 duly arrived from Paris with a brief very brief note from 
 him, requesting her acceptance of it. She had written in 
 reply a letter which she had been at some pains to compose, 
 graciously accepting the gift and suggesting that an account 
 of any adventures that befell him would be received by her 
 with interest. She added that, a spell of frost having put 
 an end to the hunting, life at Wardenhurst had become 
 extremely flat, and she had begun to envy Piers in his exile. 
 Her father was talking of going to Mentone for a few weeks, 
 and wanted her to accompany him. But she was not sure 
 that she would care for it. What did Piers think? 
 
 When Piers did eventually read the letter, he smiled at 
 this point, a smile that was not altogether good to see. 
 He was just going out to the Casino with Crowther. The 
 latter had gone to fetch a coat, and he had occupied the few 
 moments of waiting with Ina's letter. 
 
 He was still smiling over the open page when Crowther 
 joined him ; but he folded the letter at once, and they went 
 out together. 
 
 "Have you had any luck at the tables?" Crowther asked. 
 
 "None," said Piers. "At least I won, eventually, but. 
 Fate, in the form of a powdered and bedizened female
 
 196 The Bars of Iron 
 
 snatched the proceeds before I got the chance. A bad 
 omen, what?" 
 
 "I hope not," said Crowther. 
 
 There was a touch of savagery in Piers' laugh. "It 
 won't happen again, anyhow, " he said. 
 
 They entered the Casino with its brilliant rooms and 
 pushing crowds. The place was thronged. As they 
 entered, a woman with a face of evil beauty, pressed close 
 to Piers and spoke a word or two in French. But he looked 
 at her and through her with royal disdain, and so passed 
 her by. 
 
 They made their way to the table at which Piers had 
 tried his luck the previous night, waited for and finally 
 secured a place. 
 
 " You take it ! " said Crowther. " I believe in your luck. " 
 
 Piers laughed. He staked five francs on the figure five 
 and lost, doubled his stakes and lost again, trebled them 
 and lost again. 
 
 "This is getting serious," said Crowther. 
 
 But still Piers laughed. ' ' Damn it ! " he said. ' ' I will win 
 to-night!" 
 
 "Try another figure!" said Crowther. 
 
 But Piers refused. He laid down twenty-five francs, 
 and with that he won. It was the turning-point. From 
 that moment it seemed he could not do wrong. Stake 
 after stake he won, either with his own money, or 
 Crowther's ; and finally left the table in triumph with full 
 pockets. 
 
 A good many watched him enviously as he went. He 
 refused to try his luck elsewhere, but went arrogantly away 
 with his hand through Crowther's arm. 
 
 "He'll come back to-morrow," observed a shrewd 
 American. "And the next day, and the next. He's just 
 the sort that helps to keep this establishment going. They'll 
 pick him clean. ' '
 
 A Friend's Counsel 197 
 
 But he was wrong. Though elated by victory, Piers was 
 not drawn by the gambling vice. The thing amused him, 
 but it did not greatly attract. He was by no means dazzled 
 by the spoils he carried away. 
 
 They went out to the gardens, and called for liqueurs. 
 The woman who had spoken to Piers yet hovered about 
 the doors. She cursed him through her painted lips as he 
 passed, but he went by her like a prince, haughtily aloof, 
 contemptuously regardless. 
 
 They sat down in a comparatively quiet corner, whence 
 they could watch the ever-shifting picture without being 
 disturbed. A very peculiar mood possessed Piers. He was 
 restless and uneasy in spite of his high spirits. For no 
 definite reason he wanted to keep on the move. In defer- 
 ence to Crowther's wish, he controlled the desire, but it 
 was an obvious effort. 
 
 He seemed to find difficulty also in attending to Crow- 
 ther's quiet remarks, and after a while Crowther ceased 
 to make them. He finished his liqueur and sat smoking 
 with his eyes on the dark, sensitive face that watched 
 the passing crowd so indifferently, yet so persistently. j 
 
 Piers noticed his silence at last, and looked at him 
 enquiringly. "Shall we go?" 
 
 Crowther leaned slowly towards him. The place was 
 public, but their privacy was complete. 
 
 "Piers," he said, "may I take the privilege of an old 
 friend?" 
 
 "You may take anything you like so far as I am 
 concerned," said Piers impetuously. 
 
 Crowther smiled a little. "Thank you. Then I will go 
 ahead. Are you engaged to be married?" 
 
 "What?" said Piers. He looked momentarily startled; 
 then laughed across the table with a freedom that was 
 wholly unaffected. " Am I engaged, did you say? No, I'm 
 not. But I'm going to be married for all that. "
 
 198 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Ah!" said Crowther. "I thought I knew the signs." 
 
 He rose with the words, and instantly Piers sprang up 
 also. "Yes, let's go! I can't breathe here. Come clown to 
 the shore for a breath of air, and I'll tell you all about it!" 
 
 He linked his arm again in Crowther's, obviously glad 
 to be gone; but when they had left the glittering place 
 behind them, he still talked inconsequently about a thou- 
 sand things till in his calm fashion Crowther turned him 
 back. 
 
 "I don't want you to tell me anything personal, " he said, 
 "save one thing. This girl whom you hope to marry 
 I gather you are pretty sure of her?" 
 
 Piers threw back his head with a gesture that defied the 
 world. "I am quite sure of her," he said; and a moment 
 later, with impulsive confidence: "She has just taken the 
 trouble to write at length and tell me why she can't have 
 me." 
 
 "Ah?" Crowther's tone held curiosity as well as kindly 
 sympathy . "A sound reason ? ' ' 
 
 "No reason at all, " flung back Piers, still with his face to 
 the stars. "She knows that as well as I do. I tell you, 
 Crowther, I know the way to that woman's heart, and I 
 could find it blindfold. She is mine already. " 
 
 "And doesn't know it?" suggested Crowther. 
 
 "Yes, she does in her heart of hearts, or soon will. 
 I shall send her a post-card to-morrow and sum up the 
 situation." 
 
 "On a post-card?" 
 
 Crowther sounded puzzled, and Piers broke into a laugh 
 and descended to earth. 
 
 "Yes, in one expressive word 'Rats!' No one else will 
 understand it, but she will. " 
 
 "A little abrupt!" commented Crowther. 
 
 "Yes, I'm going to be abrupt now," said Piers with 
 imperial confidence. "I'm going to storm the position."
 
 A Friend's Counsel 199 
 
 "And you are sure you will carry it?" 
 
 "Quite sure." Piers' voice held not the faintest shade 
 of doubt. 
 
 "I hope you will, lad," said Crowther kindly. "And 
 that being the case may I say what I set out to say? " 
 
 "Oh, go ahead!" said Piers. 
 
 "It's only this," said Crowther, in his slow, quiet way. 
 "Only a word of advice, sonny, which I shouldn't give if I 
 didn't know that your life's happiness hangs on your taking 
 it. You're young, but there's a locked door in your past. 
 Open that door just once before you marry the woman you 
 love, and show her what is behind it ! It'll give her a shock 
 maybe. But it'll be better for you both in the end. Don't 
 let there be any locked doors between you and your wife! 
 You're too young for that, And if she's the right sort, it 
 won't make a pin's difference to her love. Women are like 
 that, thank God!" 
 
 He spoke with the utmost earnestness. He was evidently 
 keenly anxious to gain his point. But his words went into 
 utter silence. Ere they were fully spoken Piers' hand was 
 withdrawn from his arm. His careless, swinging stride 
 became a heavy, slackening tramp, and at last he halted 
 altogether. They stood side by side in silence with their 
 faces to the moon-silvered water. And there fell a long, 
 long pause, as though the whole world stopped and listened.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 AFTER all, it was Crowther who broke that tragic 
 silence; perhaps because he could bear it no longer. 
 The path on which they stood was deserted. He laid 
 a very steady hand upon Piers' shoulder with a compassion- 
 ate glance at the stony young face which a few minutes 
 before had been so full of abounding life. 
 
 "It comes hard to you, eh, lad?" he said. 
 
 Piers stirred, almost made as if he would toss the friendly 
 hand away; but in the end he suffered it, though he would 
 not meet Crowther's eyes. 
 
 " You owe it to her, " urged Crowther gently. "Tell her, 
 lad! She's bound to be up against it sooner or later if 
 you don't. " 
 
 " Yes, " Piers said. " I know. " 
 
 He spoke heavily ; all the youth seemed to have gone out 
 of him. After a moment, as Crowther waited he turned 
 with a gesture of hopelessness and faced him. "I'm like a 
 dog on a chain," he said. "I drag this way and that, and 
 eat my heart out for freedom. But it's all no use. I've 
 got to live and die on it." He clenched his hands in 
 sudden passionate rebellion. "But I'm damned if I'm 
 going to tell anybody! It's hell enough without that!" 
 
 Crowther's hand closed slowly and very steadily on his 
 shoulder. "It's just hell that I want to save you from, 
 sonny, ' ' he said. ' ' It may seem the hardest part to you now, 
 
 200
 
 The Promise 201 
 
 but if you shirk it you'll go further in still. I know very 
 well what I'm saying. And it's just because you're man 
 enough to feel this thing and not a brute beast to forget it, 
 that it's hurt you so infernally all these years. But it'll 
 hurt you worse, lad, it'll wring your very soul, if you keep it 
 a secret between you and the woman you love. It's a big 
 temptation, but if I know you you're going to stand up 
 to it. She'll think the better of you for it in the end. But 
 it'll be a shadow over both your lives if you don't. And 
 there are some things that even a woman might find it hard 
 to forgive. " 
 
 He stopped. Piers' eyes were hard and fixed. He 
 scarcely looked as if he heard. From below them there 
 arose the murmur of the moonlit sea. Close at hand the 
 trees in a garden stirred mysteriously as though they moved 
 in their sleep. But Piers made neither sound nor move- 
 ment. He stood like an image of stone. 
 
 Again the silence began to lengthen intolerably, to stretch 
 out into a desert of emptiness, to become fateful with a 
 bitterness too poignant to be uttered. Crowther said no 
 more. He had had his say. He waited with unswerving 
 patience for the result. 
 
 Piers spoke at last, and there was a queer note of humour 
 in his voice, humour that was tragic. "So I've got to go 
 back again, have I? Back to my valley of dry bones! 
 There's no climbing the heights for me, Crowther, never will 
 be. Somehow or other, I am always tumbled back." 
 
 "You're wrong," Crowther said, with quiet decision. 
 " It's the only way out. Take it like a man, and you'll win 
 through ! Shirk it and well, sonny, no shirker ever yet 
 got anything worth having out of life. You know that as 
 well as I do. " 
 
 Piers straightened himself with a brief laugh. "Yes, I 
 know that much. But I sometimes ask myself if I'm any 
 better than a shirker. Life is such a beastly farce so far as
 
 202 The Bars of Iron 
 
 I am concerned. I never do anything. There's never 
 anything to do. " 
 
 "Oh, rats!" said Crowther, and smiled. "There are not 
 many fellows who do half as much. If to-day is a fair 
 sample of your life, I'm damned if it's an easy one. " 
 
 "I'm used to it," said Piers quickly. "You know, I'm 
 awfully fond of my grandfather always have been. We 
 suit each other marvellously well in some ways." He 
 paused a moment, then, with an effort, "I never told him 
 either, Crowther. I never told a soul." 
 
 "No," Crowther said. "I don't see any reason that you 
 should. But the woman you marry she is different. If 
 you take her into your inner life at all, she is bound to come 
 upon it sooner or later. You must see it, lad. You know 
 it in your heart." 
 
 "And you think she will marry me when she knows I'm a 
 murderer?" Piers uttered the word through clenched 
 teeth. He had the haggard look of a man who has endured 
 long suffering. 
 
 There was deep compassion in Crowther's eyes as he 
 watched him. "I don't think being a woman she will 
 put it in that way, " he said, "not, that is, if she loves you. " 
 
 "How else could she put it?" demanded Piers harshly. 
 "Is there any other way of putting it? I killed the man 
 intentionally. I told you so at the time. The fellow who 
 taught me the trick warned me that it would almost cer- 
 tainly be fatal to a heavy man taken unawares. Why, he 
 himself is now doing five years' penal servitude for the very 
 same thing. Oh, I'm not a humbug, Crowther. I bolted 
 from the consequences. You made me bolt. But I've often 
 wished to heaven since that I'd stayed and faced it out. 
 It would have been easier in the end, God knows. " 
 
 "My dear fellow," Crowther said, "you will never con- 
 vince me of that as long as you live. There was nothing 
 to gain by your staying and all to lose. Consequences
 
 The Promise 203 
 
 there were bound to be and always are. But there was 
 no good purpose to be served by wrecking your life. You 
 were only a boy, and the luck was against you. I couldn't 
 have stood by and seen you dragged under. " 
 
 Piers groaned. "I sometimes wish I was dead!" he 
 said. 
 
 "My dear chap, what's the good of that?" Crowther 
 slipped his hand from his shoulder to his arm, and drew him 
 quietly forward. "You've suffered infernally, but it's 
 made a man of you. Don't forget that! It's the Sculptor 
 and the Clay, lad. He knows how best to fashion a good 
 thing. It isn't for the clay to cry out. " 
 
 "Is that your point of view?" Piers spoke with reckless 
 bitterness. " It isn't mine. " 
 
 "You'll come to it," said Crowther gently. 
 
 They walked on for a space in silence, till turning they 
 began to ascend the winding path that led up to the hotel, 
 the path which Piers had watched Crowther ascend 
 that morning. 
 
 Side by side they mounted, till half-way up Crowther 
 checked their progress. "Piers," he said, "I'm grateful to 
 you for enduring my interference in this matter. " 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Piers, "I owe you that much anyhow." 
 
 "You owe me nothing," said Crowther emphatically. 
 "What I did for you, I did for myself. I've rather a 
 weakness it's a very ordinary one too for trying to 
 manage other people's concerns. And there's something so 
 fine about you that I can't bear to stand aside and see 
 you mess up your own. So, sonny, for my satisfaction, 
 will you promise me not to take a wrong turning over this? " 
 
 He spoke very earnestly, with a pleading that could not 
 give offence. Piers' face softened almost in spite of him. 
 "You're an awfully good chap," he said. 
 
 "Promise me, lad!" pleaded Crowther, still holding his 
 arm in a friendly grasp; then as Piers hesitated: "You
 
 204 The Bars of Iron 
 
 know, I'm an older man than you are. I can see further. 
 You'll be making your own hell if you don't. " 
 
 "But why should I promise?" said Piers uneasily. 
 
 "Because I know you will keep a promise even against 
 your own judgment." Simply, with absolute conviction, 
 Crowther made reply. "I shan't feel happy about you 
 unless you promise." 
 
 Piers smiled a little, but the lines about his mouth were 
 grim. "Oh, all right, " he said, after a moment, " I promise; 
 for I think you are right, Crowther. I think too that 
 I should probably have to tell her whether I wanted to 
 or not. She's that sort the sort that none but a skunk 
 could deceive. But " his voice altered suddenly; he 
 turned brooding eyes upon the sleeping sea "I wonder if 
 she will forgive me," he said. "I wonder." 
 
 "Does she love you?" said Crowther. 
 
 Piers' eyes flashed round at him. "I can make her love 
 me," he said. 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 "I am sure." 
 
 "Then, my son, she'll forgive you. And if you want to 
 play a straight game, tell her soon!" said Crowther. 
 
 And Piers, with all the light gone out of his eyes, answered 
 soberly, "I will."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 DROSS 
 
 IN the morning they hired horses and went towards the 
 mountains. The day was cloudless, but Sir Beverley 
 would not be persuaded to accompany them. 
 
 "I'm not in the mood for exertion," he said to Piers. 
 "Besides, I detest hired animals, always did. I shall 
 spend an intellectual morning listening to the band. " 
 
 "Hope you won't be bored, sir, " said Piers. 
 
 "Your going or coming wouldn't affect that one way or 
 another, " responded Sir Beverley. 
 
 Whereat Piers laughed and went his way. 
 
 He was curiously light-hearted again that morning. 
 The soft Southern air with its many perfumes exhilarated 
 him like wine. The scent of the orange-groves rose as in- 
 cense to the sun. 
 
 The animal he rode danced a skittish side-step from time 
 to time. It was impossible to go with sober mien. 
 
 "It's a good land," said Crowther. 
 
 "Flowing with milk and honey," laughed Piers, with his 
 eyes on the olive-clothed slopes. "But there's no country 
 like one's own, what?" 
 
 "No country like England, you mean," said Crowther. 
 
 "Of course I do, but I was too polite to say so. " 
 
 "You needn't be polite to me," said Crowther with his 
 slow smile. "And England happens to be my country. I 
 
 205
 
 206 The Bars of Iron 
 
 am as British " he glanced at Piers' dark face "perhaps 
 even a little more so than you are." 
 
 "I plead guilty to an Italian grandmother," said Piers. 
 "But you I thought you were Colonial." 
 
 "I am British born and bred, " said Crowther. 
 
 "You?" Piers looked at him in surprise. "You don't 
 belong to Australia then?" 
 
 "Only by adoption. I was the son of an English parson. 
 I was destined for the Church myself for the first twenty 
 years of my life. " Crowther was still smiling, but his eyes 
 had left Piers; they scanned the horizon contemplatively. 
 
 "Great Scott!" said Piers. "Lucky escape for you, 
 what?" 
 
 " I didn't think so at the time, " Crowther spoke thought- 
 fully, sitting motionless in his saddle and gazing straight 
 before him. "You see, I was keen on the religious life. I 
 was narrow in my views I was astonishingly narrow; but 
 I was keen." 
 
 "Ye gods!" said Piers. 
 
 He looked at the square, strong figure incredulously. 
 Somehow he could not associate Crowther with any but a 
 vigorous, outdoor existence. 
 
 "You would never have stuck to it," he said, after a 
 moment. "You'd have loathed the life." 
 
 "I don't think so," said Crowther, in his deliberate way, 
 "though I admit I probably shouldn't have expanded much. 
 It wasn't easy to give it up at the time. " 
 
 "What made you do it?" asked Piers. 
 
 "Necessity. When my father died, my mother was left 
 with a large family and quite destitute. I was the eldest, 
 and a sheep-farming uncle a brother of hers offered me a 
 wage sufficient to keep her going if I would give up the 
 Church and join him. I was already studying. I could 
 have pushed through on my own; but I couldn't have 
 supported her. So I had to go. That was the beginning 

 
 Dross 207 
 
 of my Colonial life. It was five-and-twenty years ago, 
 and I've never been Home since. " 
 
 He turned his horse quietly round to continue the ascent. 
 The road was steep. They went slowly side by side. 
 
 Crowther went on in a grave, detached way, as though 
 he were telling the story of another man's life. "I kicked 
 hard at going, but I've lived to be thankful that I went. 
 I had to rough it, and it did me good. It was just that I 
 wanted. There's never much fun for a stranger in a strange 
 land, sonny, and it took me some time to shake down. In 
 fact just for a while I thought I couldn't stand it. The 
 loneliness out there on those acres and acres of grass-land 
 was so awful; for I was city-bred. I'd never been in the 
 desert, never been out of the sound of church-bells." He 
 began to smile again. "I'd even got a sort of feeling that 
 God wasn't to be found outside civilization," he said. "I 
 think we get ultra-civilized in our ideas sometimes. And 
 the emptiness was almost overpowering. It was like being 
 shut down behind bars of iron with occasional glimpses of 
 hell to enliven the monotony. That was when one went 
 to the townships, and saw life. They didn't tempt me at 
 first. I was too narrow even for that. But the loneliness 
 went on eating and eating into me till I got so desperate 
 in the end I was ready to snatch at any diversion." He 
 paused a moment, and into his steady eyes there came a 
 shadow that made them very human. "I went to hell," 
 he said. " I waded up to the neck in mire. I gave myself 
 up to it body and soul. I wallowed. And all the while 
 it revolted me, though it was so sickeningly easy and 
 attractive. I loathed myself, but I went on with it. It 
 seemed anyhow one degree better than that awful home- 
 sickness. And then one day, right in the middle of it all, 
 I had a sort of dream. Or perhaps it wasn't any more a 
 dream than Jacob had in the desert. But I felt as if I'd been 
 called, and I just had to get up and go. I expect most
 
 208 The Bars of Iron 
 
 people know the sensation, for after all the Kingdom of 
 Heaven is within us ; but it made a bigger impression on me 
 at the time than anything in my experience. So I went 
 back into the wilderness and waited. Old chap, I didn't 
 wait in vain. " 
 
 He suddenly turned his head, and his eyes rested upon 
 Piers with the serenity of a man at peace with his own soul. 
 "That's about all my story," he said with simplicity. "I 
 got the strength for the job, and so carried it through. 
 When my uncle died, I was left in command, and I've 
 stuck to it ever since. But I took a partner a few years 
 back, and now I've handed over the whole thing to him 
 and I'm going Home at last to my old mother. " 
 
 "Going to settle in England?" asked Piers. 
 
 Crowther shook his head. "Not now, lad. I couldn't. 
 There's too much to be done. No; I'm going to fulfil my 
 old ambitions if I can. I'm going to get myself ordained. 
 After that " 
 
 He paused, for Piers had turned to stare at him in open 
 amazement. "You!" he ejaculated. 
 
 Crowther 's smile came over his face like a spreading light. 
 "You don't think much of parsons, f gather, sonny," he 
 said. 
 
 Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "Not as a tribe, I 
 admit. I can't stand any man who makes an ass of himself, 
 whatever his profession. But of course I don't mean to 
 assert that all parsons answer to that description. I've 
 met a few I liked." 
 
 Crowther 's smile developed into a laugh. "Then you 
 won't deprive me of the pleasure of your friendship if I 
 become one?" 
 
 "My dear chap," said Piers forcibly, "if you became 
 the biggest blackguard in creation, you would remain 
 my friend. " 
 
 It was regally spoken, but the speaker was plainly so
 
 Dross 209 
 
 unconscious of arrogance that Crowther's hand came out to 
 him and lay for a moment on his arm. "I gathered that, 
 sonny," he said gently. 
 
 Piers' eyes flashed sympathy. "And what are you 
 going to do then? You say you're not going to settle in 
 England?" 
 
 " I am not, " said Crowther, and again he was looking out 
 ahead of him with eyes that spanned the far distance. 
 "No; I'm going back again to the old haunts. There's 
 a thundering lot to do there. It's more than a one-man 
 job. But, please God, I'll do what I can. I know I can do 
 a little. It's a hell of a place, sonny. You saw the outside 
 edge of it yourself. " 
 
 Piers nodded without speaking. It had been in a sense 
 his baptism of fire. 
 
 "It's the new chums I want to get hold of," Crowther 
 said. "They get drawn in so devilishly easily. They're 
 like children, many of 'em, trying to walk on quicksands. 
 They're bound to go in, bound to go under, and a big per- 
 centage never come up again. It's the children I want to 
 help. I hate to think of fresh, clean lives being thrown 
 on to the dust-heap. It's so futile, such a crying waste. " 
 
 " If anyone can do it, you can, " said Piers. 
 
 "Ah! I wonder. It won't be easy, but I know their 
 temptations so awfully well. I've seen scores go under. 
 I've been under myself. And that makes a lot of difference." 
 
 "Life is infernally difficult for most of us," said Piers. 
 
 They rode in silence for awhile, and then he changed the 
 subject. 
 
 | It was not till they returned that Crowther announced his 
 intention of leaving on the following day. 
 
 "I've no time for slacking," he said. "I didn't come 
 Home to slack. And there's the mother waiting for me. " 
 
 "Oh, man," Piers said suddenly, "how I wish I had a 
 mother!" 
 
 14
 
 210 The Bars of Iron 
 
 And then half-ashamed, he turned and went in search 
 of his grandfather. 
 
 Again that evening Crowther accepted Sir Beverley's 
 invitation to dine at their table. The old man seemed 
 to regard Piers' friend with a kind of suspicious interest. 
 He asked few questions but he watched him narrowly. 
 
 "If you and the boy want to go to the Casino again, 
 don't mind me ! " he said, at the end of dinner. 
 
 "We don't, sir, " said Piers promptly. " Can't we sit out 
 on the terrace all together and smoke?" 
 
 "I don't go beyond the lounge," said Sir Beverley, with 
 decision. 
 
 "All right, we'll sit in the lounge, " said Piers. 
 
 His grandfather frowned at him. "Don't be a fool, 
 Piers! Can't you see you're not wanted?" He thrust 
 out an abrupt hand to Crowther. "Good-night to you! 
 I shall probably retire before you come in. " 
 
 "He is leaving first thing in the morning," said 
 Piers. 
 
 Sir Beverley's frown was transferred to Crowther. He 
 looked at him piercingly. "Leaving, are you? Going 
 to England, eh? I suppose we shall meet again then?" 
 
 "I hope so," said Crowther. 
 
 Sir Beverley grunted. "Do you? Well, we shan't be 
 moving yet. But if you care to look us up at Rodding 
 Abbey when we do get back you can; eh, Piers?" 
 
 "I tell him, he must, sir," said Piers. 
 
 "You are very kind," said Crowther. "Good-bye sir! 
 And thank you!" 
 
 He and Piers went out together, and walked to and fro 
 in the garden above the sea. The orchestra played fitfully 
 in the hotel behind them, and now and then there came the 
 sounds of careless voices and wandering feet. They them- 
 selves talked but little. Piers was in a dreamy mood, and 
 his companion was plainly deep in thought.
 
 Dross 211 
 
 He spoke at length out of a long silence. "Did your 
 grandfather say Rodding Abbey just now?" 
 
 "Yes," said Piers, waking up. 
 
 "It's near a place called Wardenhurst?" pursued 
 Crowther. 
 
 "Yes," said Piers again. "Ever been there?" 
 
 "No," Crowther spoke slowly, as though considering 
 his words. "Someone I know lives there, that's all." 
 
 "Someone you know?" Piers stood still. He looked at 
 Crowther sharply through the dimness. 
 
 "I don't suppose you have ever met her, lad," said 
 Crowther quietly. "From what I know of society in the 
 old country you wouldn't move in the same circle. But as 
 I have promised myself to visit her, it seems better to 
 mention the fact. " 
 
 "Why shouldn't you mention it? What is her name?" 
 Piers spoke quickly, in the imperious fashion habitual to 
 him when not quite at his ease. 
 
 Crowther hesitated. He seemed to be debating some 
 point with himself. 
 
 At length, "Her name," he said slowly, "is Denys. " 
 
 Piers made a sudden movement that passed unexplained. 
 There fell a few moments of silence. Then, in a voice 
 even more measuied than Crowther's, he spoke. 
 
 "As it happens, I have met her. Tell me what you know 
 about her, if you don't mind." 
 
 Again Crowther hesitated. 
 
 "Goon," said Piers. 
 
 They were facing one another in the darkness. The end 
 of Piers' cigar had ceased to glow. He did not seem to be 
 breathing. But in the tense moments that followed his 
 words there came to Crowther the hard, quick beating of 
 his heart like the thud of a racing engine far away. 
 
 Instinctively he put out a hand. "Piers, old chap, " 
 he said.
 
 212 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Go on!" Piers said again. 
 
 He gripped both hand and wrist with nervous fingers, 
 holding them almost as though he would force from him 
 the information he desired. 
 
 Crowther waited no longer, for he knew in that moment 
 that he stood in the presence of a soul in torment. "You'll 
 have to know it," he said, "though why these things 
 happen, God alone knows. Sonny, she is the widow of the 
 man whose death you caused." 
 
 The words were spoken, and after them came silence 
 such a silence as could be felt. Once the hands that gripped 
 Crowther 's seemed about to slacken, and then in a moment 
 they tightened again as the hands of a drowning man cling- 
 ing to a spar. 
 
 Crowther attempted nothing in the way of sympathy or 
 consolation. He merely stood ready. But it was evident 
 that he did not need to be told of the tragedy that had 
 suddenly fallen upon Piers' life. His attitude said as much. 
 
 Very, very slowly at last, as if not wholly sure of his 
 balance, Piers let him go. He took out his cigar with a 
 mechanical movement and looked at it; then abruptly 
 returned it to his lips and drew it fiercely back to life. 
 
 Then, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke. "Crowther, I 
 made you a promise yesterday." 
 
 "You did," said Crowther gravely. 
 
 Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be 
 afraid," he said. "I'm not going to cry off. It's not my 
 way. But I want you to make me a promise in return. " 
 
 "What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety 
 in Crowther's tone. 
 
 Piers made a reckless, half -defiant movement of the head. 
 "It is that you will never whatever the circumstances 
 speak of this thing again to anyone not even to me." 
 
 "You think it necessary to ask that of me?" said 
 Crowther.
 
 Dross 213 
 
 "No, I don't!" Impulsively Piers made answer. "I 
 believe I'm a cur to ask it. But this thing has dogged me so 
 persistently that I feel like an animal being run to earth. 
 For my peace of mind, Crowther; because I'm a coward 
 if you like give me your word on it!" 
 
 He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's 
 shoulder, and impelled him forward. His voice was low 
 and agitated. 
 
 ''Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. " And understand, 
 if you can. It's all you can do to help. " 
 
 "My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and reassuring 
 came Crowther's reply. "If you want my promise, you 
 have it. The business is yours, not mine. I shall never 
 interfere. " 
 
 "Thank you thanks awfully!" Piers said. 
 
 He drew a great breath. His hand went through 
 Crowther's arm. 
 
 "That gives me time to think, "he said. "What an 
 infernal tangle this beastly world is ! I suppose you think 
 there's a reason for everything?" 
 
 "You've heard of gold being tried in the fire," said 
 Crowther. 
 
 Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "I'm not gold, my 
 dear chap, but the tinniest dross that ever was made. 
 Shall we go and have a drink, what? This sort of thing 
 always makes me thirsty." 
 
 It was characteristically abrupt. It ended the matter in 
 a trice. They went together to the hotel buffet, and there 
 Piers quenched his thirst. It was while there that Crowther 
 became aware that his mood had wholly changed. He 
 laughed and joked with the bright-eyed French girl who 
 waited upon them, and seemed loth to depart. Silently, but 
 with a growing anxiety, Crowther watched him. There 
 was certainly nothing forced about his gaiety. It was 
 wildly, recklessly spontaneous; but there was about it a
 
 214 The Bars of Iron 
 
 fevered quality that set Crowther almost instinctively on 
 his guard. He did not know, and he had no means of 
 gauging, exactly how deeply the iron had pierced. But 
 that some sort of wound had been inflicted he could not 
 doubt. It might be merely a superficial one, but he feared 
 that it was something more than that. There was a queer, 
 intangible species of mockery in Piers' attitude, as though he 
 set the whole world at defiance. 
 
 And yet he did not look like a man who had been stunned 
 by an unexpected, sledge-hammer blow of Fate. He was 
 keenly, fiercely alive to his surroundings. He seemed to be 
 gibing rather at a blow that had glanced aside. Uneasily 
 Crowther wondered. 
 
 It was he who finally suggested a move. It was growing 
 late. 
 
 "So it is!" said Piers. "You ought to be turning in if 
 you really mean to make an early start. " 
 
 He stood still in the hall and held out his hand. "Good- 
 night, old chap! I'm not going up at present. " 
 
 "You'd better," said Crowther. 
 
 "No, I can't. I couldn't possibly turn in yet." He 
 thrust his hand upon Crowther. "Good-night! I shall see 
 you in the morning. " 
 
 Crowther took the hand. The hall was deserted. They 
 stood together under a swinging lamp, and by its flaring light 
 Crowther sought to read his companion's face. 
 
 For a moment or two Piers refused to meet his look, then 
 with sudden stubbornness he raised his eyes and stared 
 back. They shone as black and hard as ebony. 
 
 "Good-night!" he said again. 
 
 Crowther's level brows were slightly drawn. His hand, 
 square and strong, closed upon Piers' and held it. 
 
 For a few seconds he did not speak; then: "I don't 
 know that I feel like turning in yet either, sonny, " he said 
 deliberately.
 
 Dross 215 
 
 Piers made a swift movement of impatience. His eyes 
 seemed to grow brighter, more grimly hard. 
 
 "I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me in any case," 
 he said. "I'm going up to see if my grandfather has all he 
 wants." 
 
 It was defiantly spoken. He turned with the words, 
 almost wresting his hand free, and strode away towards 
 the lift. 
 
 Reaching it, some sense of compunction seemed to touch 
 him for he looked back over his shoulder with an abrupt 
 gesture of farewell. 
 
 Crowther made no answering sign. He stood gravely 
 watching. But, as the lift shot upwards, he turned aside 
 and began squarely to ascend the stairs. 
 
 When Piers came out of his room ten minutes later with 
 a coat over his arm he came face to face with him in 
 the corridor. There was a certain grimness apparent 
 about Crowther also by that time. He offered no ex- 
 planation of his presence, although quite obviously he was 
 waiting. 
 
 Piers stood still. There was a dangerous glitter in his 
 eyes that came and went. "Look here, Crowther!" he 
 said. "It's no manner of use your attempting this game 
 with me. I'm going out, and whether you like it or not, 
 I don't care a damn I'm going alone." 
 
 "Where are you going?" said Crowther. 
 
 "To the Casino," Piers flung the words with a gleam of 
 clenched teeth. 
 
 Crowther looked at him straight and hard. "What 
 for?" he asked. 
 
 "What do people generally go for?" Piers prepared to 
 move on as he uttered the question. 
 
 But Crowther deliberately blocked his way. "No, 
 Piers," he said quietly. "You're not going to-night." 
 
 The blood rose in a great wave to Piers' forehead. His
 
 216 The Bars of Iron 
 
 eyes shone suddenly red. "Do you think you're going to 
 stop me?" he said. 
 
 "For to-night, sonny yes." Quite decidedly Crowther 
 made reply. "To-morrow you will be your own master. 
 But to-night well, you've had a bit of a knock out; 
 you're off your balance. Don't go to-night!" 
 
 He spoke with earnest appeal, but he still blocked the 
 passage squarely, stoutly, immovably. 
 
 The hot flush died out of Piers' face ; he went slowly white. 
 But the blaze of wrath in his eyes leaped higher. For the 
 moment he looked scarcely sane. 
 
 "If you don't clear out of my path, I shall throw you!" 
 he said, speaking very quietly, but with a terrible distinct- 
 ness that made misunderstanding impossible. 
 
 Crowther, level-browed and determined, remained where 
 he was. " I don't think you will, " he said. 
 
 "Don't you?" A faint smile of derision twisted Piers' 
 lips. He gathered up the coat he carried, and threw it 
 across his shoulder. 
 
 Crowther watched him with eyes that never varied. 
 "Piers! "he said. 
 
 "Well?" Piers looked at him, still with that slight, grim 
 smile. 
 
 Crowther stood like a rock. " I will let you pass, sonny, 
 if you can tell me on your word of honour as a gentleman 
 that the tables are all you have in your mind." 
 
 Piers tossed back his head with the action of an angry 
 beast. "What the devil has that to do with you? " 
 
 "Everything," said Crowther. 
 
 He moved at last, quietly, massively, and took Piers by 
 the shoulders. " My son, " he said, " I know where you are 
 going. I've been there myself. But in God's name, lad, 
 don't don't go! There are some stains that never come 
 out though one would give all one had to be rid of them. " 
 
 "Let me go!" said Piers.
 
 Dross 217 
 
 He was breathing quickly ; his eyes gazed fiercely into the 
 elder man's face. He made no violent movement, but his 
 whole body was tensely strung to resist. 
 
 Crowther's hands tightened upon him. "Not to-night ! " 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes, now!" Something of electricity ran through 
 Piers ; there came as it were the ripple of muscles contract- 
 ing for a spring. Yet still he stood motionless, menacing 
 but inactive. 
 
 "I will not!" Sudden and hard Crowther's answer 
 came; his hold became a grip. By sheer unexpectedness 
 of action, he forced Piers back against the door behind him. 
 
 It gave inwards, and they stumbled into the darkness of 
 the bedroom. 
 
 "You fool!" said Piers. "You fool!" 
 
 Yet he gave ground, scarcely resisting, and coming up 
 against the bed sat down upon it suddenly as if spent. 
 
 There fell a brief silence, a tense, hard-breathing pause. 
 Then Piers reached up and freed himself. 
 
 "Oh, go away, Crowther!" he said. "You're a kind old 
 ass, but I don't want you. And you needn't spend the 
 night in the corridor either. See? Just go to bed like a 
 Christian and let me do the same!" 
 
 The struggle was over; so suddenly, so amazingly, that 
 Crowther stood dumbfounded. He had girded himself to 
 wrestle with a giant, but there was nothing formidable 
 about the boy who sat on the edge of his bed and laughed at 
 him with easy ridicule. 
 
 "Why don't you switch on the light," he jeered, "and 
 have a good look round for the devil? He was here a 
 minute ago. What ? Don't you believe in devils ? That's 
 heresy. All good parsons ' ' He got up suddenly and went 
 to the switch. In a second the room was flooded with light. 
 He returned to Crowther with the full flare on his face, and 
 the only expression it wore was one of careless friendliness.
 
 218 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He held out his hand. "Good-night, dear old fellow! Say 
 your prayers and go to bed! And you needn't have any 
 more nightmares on my account. I'm going to turn in 
 myself directly." 
 
 There was no mistaking his sincerity, or the completeness of 
 his surrender. Crowther could but take the extended hand, 
 and, in silent astonishment, treat the incident as closed. 
 
 He even wondered as he went away if he had not possibly 
 exaggerated the whole matter, though at the heart of him 
 he knew that this was only what Piers himself desired him 
 to believe. He could not but feel convinced, however, 
 that the danger was past for the time at least. In his 
 own inimitable fashion Piers had succeeded in reassuring 
 him. He was fully satisfied that the boy would keep his 
 word, for his faith in him was absolute. But he felt the 
 victory that was his to be a baffling one. He had conquered 
 merely because Piers of his own volition had ceased to 
 resist. He did not understand that sudden submission. 
 Like Sir Beverley, he was puzzled by it. There was about 
 it a mysterious quality that eluded his understanding. He 
 would have given a good deal for a glimpse of the motive 
 that lay behind. 
 
 But he had to go without it. Piers was in no expansive 
 mood. Perhaps he might have found it difficult to explain 
 himself even had he so desired. 
 
 Whatever the motive that had urged him, it urged him no 
 longer, or it had been diverted into a side-channel. For 
 almost as soon as he was alone, he threw himself down 
 and scribbled a careless line to Ina Rose, advising her to 
 accompany her father to Mentone, and adding that he 
 believed she would not be bored there. 
 
 When he had despatched Victor with the letter, he flung 
 his window wide and leaned out of it with his eyes wide 
 opened on the darkness, and on his lips that smile that was 
 not good to see.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 SUBSTANCE 
 
 IT was a blustering spring day, and Avery, caught in a 
 sudden storm of driving sleet, stood up against the 
 railings of the doctor's house, sheltering as best she might. 
 She was holding her umbrella well in the teeth of the gale, 
 and trying to protect an armful of purchases as well. 
 
 She was alone, Gracie, the black sheep, having been sent 
 to school at the close of the Christmas holidays, and Jeanie 
 being confined to the house with a severe cold. Olive, hav- 
 ing become more and more her father's constant companion, 
 disdained shopping expeditions. The two elder boys and 
 Pat were all at a neighbouring school as weekly boarders, and 
 though she missed them Avery had it not in her heart to 
 regret the arrangement. The Vicarage might at times seem 
 dreary, but it had become undeniably an abode of peace. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer was gradually recovering her strength, and 
 Avery 's care now centred more upon Jeanie than her mother. 
 Though the child had recovered from her accident, she had 
 not been really well all the winter, and the cold spring 
 seemed to tax her strength to the uttermost. Tudor still 
 dropped in at intervals, but he said little, and his manner 
 did not encourage Avery to question him. Privately she 
 was growing anxious about Jeanie, and she wished that he 
 would be more communicative. He had absolutely for- 
 bidden book-work, a fiat to which Mr. Lorimer had yielded 
 under protest. 
 
 219
 
 22O The Bars of Iron 
 
 "The child will grow up a positive dunce," he had 
 declared. 
 
 To which Tudor had brusquely rejoined, "What of it?" 
 
 But his word was law so far as Jeanie was concerned, and 
 Mr. Lorimer had relinquished the point with the sigh of one 
 submitting to the inevitable. He did not like Lennox 
 Tudor, but for some reason he always avoided an open 
 disagreement with him. 
 
 It was of Jeanie that Avery was thinking as she stood 
 there huddled against the railings while the sleet beat a 
 fierce tattoo on her levelled umbrella and streamed from it 
 in rivers on to the ground. She even debated with herself 
 if it seemed advisable to turn and enter the doctor's dwell- 
 ing, and try to get him to speak frankly of the matter as he 
 had spoken once before. 
 
 She dismissed the idea, however, reflecting that he would 
 most probably be out, and she was on the point of collect- 
 ing her forces to make a rush for another sheltered spot fur- 
 ther on when the front door opened unexpectedly behind 
 her, and Tudor himself came forth bareheaded into the 
 rain. 
 
 "What are you doing there, Mrs. Denys?" he said. 
 "Why don't you come inside?" 
 
 He opened the gate for her, and took her parcels without 
 waiting for a reply. And Avery, still with her umbrella 
 poised against the blast, smiled her thanks and passed in. 
 
 The hair grew far back on Tudor's forehead, it was in 
 fact becoming scanty on the top of his head ; and the rain- 
 drops glistened upon it as he entered behind Avery. He 
 wiped them away, and then took off his glasses and wiped 
 them also. 
 
 "Come into the dining-room!" he said. "You are just 
 in time to join me at tea. " 
 
 " You're very kind, " Avery said. " But I ought to hurry 
 back the moment the rain lessens. "
 
 Substance 221 
 
 "It won't lessen yet," said Tudor. "Take off your 
 mackintosh, won't you? I expect your feet are wet. 
 There's a fire to dry them by. " 
 
 Certainly the storm showed no signs of abating. The 
 sky was growing darker every instant. Avery slipped the 
 streaming mackintosh from her shoulders and entered the 
 room into which he had invited her. 
 
 The blaze on the hearth was cheering after the icy gale 
 without. She went to it, stretching her numbed hands 
 to the warmth. 
 
 Tudor pushed forward a chair. "I believe you are 
 chilled to the bone," he said. 
 
 She laughed at that. "Oh no, indeed I am not! But 
 it is a cold wind, isn't it? Have you finished your work 
 for to-day?" 
 
 Tudor foraged in a cupboard for an extra cup and saucer. 
 "No. I've got to go out again later. I've just come 
 back from Miss Whalley's. She's got a touch of jaundice. " 
 
 "Oh, poor thing!" said Avery. 
 
 "Yes; poor thing!" echoed Tudor grimly. "She is very 
 sorry for herself, I can assure you; but as full of gossip 
 as ever. " He paused. 
 
 Avery, with her face to the fire, laughed a little. "Any- 
 thing new?" 
 
 "Miss Whalley," said Tudor deliberately, "always gets 
 hold of something new. Never noticed that?" 
 
 "Wouldn't you like me to pour out?" suggested Avery. 
 
 "No. You keep your feet on the fender. Do you want 
 to hear the latest tittle-tattle or not?" 
 
 There was a wary gleam behind Tudor's glasses; but 
 Avery did not turn her eyes from the fire. A curious 
 little feeling of uneasiness possessed her, a sensation that 
 scarcely amounted to dread yet which quickened the beat- 
 ing of her heart in a fashion that she found vaguely 
 disconcerting.
 
 222 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Don't tell me anything ugly!" she said gently, still not 
 looking at him. 
 
 Tudor uttered a short laugh. "There's nothing espe- 
 cially venomous about it that I can see." He lifted the 
 teapot and began to pour. "Have you heard from young 
 Evesham lately?" 
 
 The question was casually uttered; but Avery's hands 
 made a slight involuntary movement over the fire towards 
 which she leaned. 
 
 "No, "she said. 
 
 At the same moment the cup that Tudor was filling over- 
 flowed, and he whispered something under his breath and 
 set down the tea-pot. 
 
 Avery turned towards him instinctively, to see him 
 dabbing the table with his handkerchief. 
 
 "It's almost too dark to see what one is doing," he said. 
 
 "It is," she assented gravely, and turned back quietly 
 to the fire, not offering to assist. A soft veil of reserve 
 seemed to have descended upon her. She did not speak 
 again until he had remedied the disaster and brought her 
 some tea. Then, with absolute composure, she raised her 
 eyes to his. 
 
 "You were going to tell me something about Piers 
 Evesham, " she said. 
 
 His eyes looked back into hers with a certain steeliness, 
 as though they sought to penetrate her reserve. 
 
 "I was," he said, after a moment, "though I don't sup- 
 pose it will interest you very greatly. I had it from Miss 
 Whalley, but I was not told the source of her information. 
 Rumour says that the young man is engaged to Miss Ina 
 Rose of Wardenhurst. " 
 
 "Oh, really?" said Avery. She took the cup he offered 
 her with a hand that was perfectly steady, though she was 
 conscious of the fact that her face was pale. "They are 
 abroad, I think?"
 
 Substance 223 
 
 "Yes, in the Riviera." Tudor's eyes fell away from 
 hers abruptly. "At least they have been. Someone said 
 they were coming home. " He stooped to put wood on the 
 fire, and there fell a silence. 
 
 A very spoke after a moment. "No doubt he will be 
 happier married. " 
 
 "I wonder," said Tudor. "I should say myself that he 
 has the sort of temperament that is never satisfied. He's 
 too restless for that. I don't think Miss Ina Rose is greatly 
 to be envied." 
 
 "Unless she loves him," said Avery. She spoke almost 
 under her breath, her eyes upon the fire. Tudor, standing 
 beside her with his elbow on the mantelpiece, was still 
 conscious of that filmy veil of reserve floating between 
 them. It chafed him, but it was too intangible a thing 
 to tear aside. 
 
 He waited therefore in silence, watching her face, the 
 tender lines of her mouth, the sweet curves that in childhood 
 must have made a perfect picture of happiness. 
 
 She raised her eyes at length. "Dr. Tudor!" 
 
 And then she realized his scrutiny, and a soft flush rose 
 and overspread her pale face. She lifted her straight brows 
 quest ioningly. 
 
 And all in a moment Tudor found himself speaking, 
 not of his own volition, not the words he had meant to 
 speak, but nervously, stammeringly, giving utterance to 
 the thoughts that suddenly welled over from his soul. 
 " I've been wanting to speak for ages. I couldn't get it out. 
 But it's no good keeping it in, is it? I don't get any nearer 
 that way. I don't want to vex you, make you feel uncom- 
 fortable. No one knows better than I that I haven't 
 much to offer. But I can give you a home and and all 
 my love, if you will have it. It may seem a small thing to 
 you, but it's bigger than the calf-love of an infant like young 
 Evesham. I know he dared to let his fancy stray your way,
 
 224 The Bars of Iron 
 
 and you see now what it was worth. But mine mine isn't 
 fancy." 
 
 And there he stopped ; for Avery had risen and was facing 
 him in the firelight with eyes of troubled entreaty. 
 
 "Oh, please, " she said, "please don't go on!" 
 
 He stood upright with a jerk. The distress on her face 
 restored his normal self-command more quickly than any 
 words. Half -mechanically he reached out and took her 
 tea-cup, setting it down on the mantelpiece before her. 
 
 ' ' Don't be upset ! " he said. ' ' I didn't mean to upset you. 
 I shan't go on, if it is against your wish. " 
 
 "It is, " said Avery. She spoke tremulously, locking her 
 hands fast together. "It must be my own fault, " she said, 
 "I'm dreadfully sorry. I hoped you weren't really in 
 earnest. " 
 
 He smiled at that with a touch of cynicism. "Did you 
 think I was amusing myself or you? Sit down again, 
 won't you? There is no occasion whatever for you to be 
 distressed. I assure you that you are in no way to blame." 
 
 "I am dreadfully sorry," Avery repeated. 
 
 "That's nice of you. I had scarcely dared to flatter 
 myself that you would be glad. So you see, you have 
 really nothing to reproach yourself with. I am no worse off 
 than I was before." 
 
 She put out her hand to him with a quick, confiding 
 gesture. "You are very kind to put it in that way. I 
 value your friendship so much, so very much. Yes, and I 
 value your love too. It's not a small thing to me. Only, 
 you know you know " she faltered a little "I've been 
 married before, and though I loved my husband my 
 married life was a tragedy. Oh yes, he loved me too. It 
 wasn't that sort of misery. It was it was drink. " 
 
 "Poor girl!" said Tudor. 
 
 He spoke with unwonted gentleness, and he held her hand 
 with the utmost kindness. There was nothing of the rejected
 
 Substance 225 
 
 lover in his attitude. He was man enough to give her his 
 first sympathy. 
 
 Avery's lips were quivering. She went on with a visible 
 effort. "He died a violent death. He was killed in a 
 quarrel with another man. I was told it was an accident, 
 but it didn't seem like that to me. And it had an effect 
 on me. It made me hard made me bitter. " 
 
 "You, Avery!" Tudor's voice was gravely incredulous. 
 
 She turned her face to the fire, and he saw on her lashes 
 the gleam of tears. "I've never told anyone that; but it's 
 the truth. It seemed to me that life was cruel, mainly 
 because of men's vices. And women were created only to 
 go under. It was a horrid sort of feeling to have, but it 
 has never wholly left me. I don't think I could ever face 
 marriage a second time. " 
 
 "Oh yes, you could," said Tudor, quietly, "if you loved 
 the man." 
 
 She shook her head. "I am too old to fall in love. I 
 have somehow missed the romance of life. I know what it 
 is, but it will never come to me now." 
 
 "And you won't marry without?" he said. 
 
 "No." 
 
 There fell a pause; then, still with the utmost quietness, 
 he relinquished her hand. "I think you are right," he 
 said. "Marriage without love on both sides is a ship with- 
 out ballast. Yet, I can't help thinking that you are mis- 
 taken in your idea that you have lost the capacity for that 
 form of love. You may know what it is. Most women do. 
 But I wonder if you have ever really felt it." 
 
 "Not to the full," Avery answered, her voice very low. 
 " Then I was too young. Mine was just a child's rapture 
 and it was simply extinguished when I came to know the 
 kind of burden I had to bear. It all faded so quickly, and 
 the reality was so terribly grim. Now now I look on the 
 world with experienced eyes. I am too old. "
 
 226 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "You think experience destroys romance?" said Tudor. 
 
 She looked at him. " Don't you?" 
 
 "No, " he said. "If it did, I do not think you would be 
 afraid to marry me. Don't think I am trying to persuade 
 you! I am not. But are you sure that in refusing me you 
 are not sacrificing substance to shadow?" 
 
 "I don't quite understand you," she said. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I can't be more 
 explicit. No doubt you will follow your own instincts. 
 But allow me to say that I don't think you are the sort of 
 woman to go through life unmated ; and though I may not be 
 romantic, I am sound. I think I could give you a certain 
 measure of happiness. But the choice is yours. I can only 
 bow to your decision. " 
 
 There was a certain dignity in his speech that gave 
 it weight. Avery listened in silence, and into silence the 
 words passed. 
 
 Several seconds slipped away, then without effort Tudor 
 came back to everyday things. "Sit down, won't you? 
 Your tea is getting cold. " 
 
 Avery sat down, and he handed it to her, and after a 
 moment turned aside to the table. 
 
 "As a matter of fact," he said, "I have just come back 
 from the Vicarage. " 
 
 "Oh, have you?" Avery looked round quickly. "You 
 went to see Jeanie?" 
 
 "Yes." Tudor spoke gravely. "I also saw the Vicar. 
 I told him the child must go away. That cough of hers 
 is tearing her to pieces. She ought to go to the South 
 Coast. I told him so. " 
 
 "Oh! What did he say?" Avery spoke with eagerness. 
 She had been longing to suggest that very proposal for 
 some time past. 
 
 Tudor smiled into his cup. "He said it was a total 
 impossibility. That was the starting-point. At the finish
 
 Substance 227 
 
 it was practically decided that you should take her away 
 next week. " 
 
 "I!"saidAvery. 
 
 "Yes, you. Mrs. Lorimer will manage all right now. 
 The nurse can look after her and the little ones without 
 assistance. And the second girl Olive isn't it? can look 
 after the Reverend Stephen. It's all arranged in fact, unless 
 it fails to meet with your approval, in which case of course 
 the whole business must be reconsidered. " 
 
 "But of course I approve," Avery said. "I would do 
 anything that lay in my power. But I don't quite like the 
 idea of leaving Mrs. Lorimer. " 
 
 "She will be all right," Tudor asserted again. "She 
 wouldn't be happy away from her precious husband, and 
 she would sooner have you looking after Jeanie than 
 anyone. She told me so. " 
 
 "She always thinks of others first," said Avery. 
 
 "So does someone else I know," rejoined Tudor. "It's 
 just a habit some women have, not always a good habit 
 from some points of view. We may regard it as settled 
 then, may we? You really have no objections to raise?" 
 
 "None," said Avery. "I think the idea is excellent. I 
 have been feeling troubled about Jeanie nearly all the 
 winter. This last cold has worn her out terribly. " 
 
 Tudor nodded. "Yes." 
 
 He drank his tea thoughtfully, and then spoke again. 
 "I sounded her this afternoon. The left lung is not in a 
 healthy condition. She will need all the attention you can 
 give her if she is going to throw off the mischief. It has not 
 gone very far at present, but to be frank with you I am 
 very far from satisfied that she can muster the strength." 
 He got up and began to pace the room. " I have not said 
 this plainly to anyone else. I don't want to frighten Mrs. 
 Lorimer before I need. The poor soul has enough to bear 
 without this added. Possibly the change will work wonders.
 
 228 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Possibly she will pull round. Children have marvellous 
 recuperative powers. But I have seen this sort of thing a 
 good many times before, and " he came back to the 
 hearth "it doesn't make me happy. " 
 
 " I am glad you have told me, " Avery said. 
 
 "I had to tell you. I believe you more than half sus- 
 pected it." Tudor spoke restlessly; his thoughts were 
 evidently not of his companion at that moment. "There 
 are of course a good many points in her favour. She is a 
 good, obedient child with a placid temperament. And 
 the summer is before us. We shall have to work hard this 
 summer, Mrs. Denys. " He smiled at her abruptly. "It 
 is like building a sea-wall when the tide is out. We've got 
 to make it as strong as possible before the tide comes back. " 
 
 "You may rely on me to do my very best," Avery said 
 earnestly. 
 
 He nodded. "Thank you. I know I may. I always do. 
 Hence my confidence in you. May I give you some more tea ?" 
 
 He quitted the subject as suddenly as he had embarked 
 upon it. There was something very friendly in his treat- 
 ment of her. She knew with unquestioning intuition that 
 for the future he would keep strictly within the bounds of 
 friendship unless he had her permission to pass beyond 
 them. And it was this knowledge that emboldened her at 
 parting to say, with her hand in his: "You are very, very 
 good to me. I would like to thank you if I could. " 
 
 He pressed her hand with the kindness of an old friend. 
 "No, don't thank me!" he said, smiling at her in a way 
 that somehow went to her heart. ' ' I shall always be at your 
 service. But I'd rather you took it as a matter of course. 
 I feel more comfortable that way. " 
 
 Avery left him at length and trudged home through the 
 mud with a curious feeling of uncertainty in her soul. It 
 was as though she had been vouchsafed a far glimpse of 
 destiny which had been too fleeting for her comprehension.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 SHADOW 
 
 THE preparations that must inevitably precede a de- 
 parture for an indefinite length of time kept Avery 
 from dwelling overmuch on what had passed on that gusty 
 afternoon when she had taken shelter in the doctor's 
 house. 
 
 Whether or not she believed the rumour concerning Piers 
 she scarcely asked herself. For some reason into which 
 she did not enter she was firmly resolved to exclude him 
 from her mind, and she welcomed the many occupations 
 that kept her thoughts engrossed. No word from him 
 had reached her since that daring letter written nearly 
 three months before, just after his departure. It seemed 
 that he had accepted her answer just as she had meant him 
 to accept it, and that he had nothing more to say. So at 
 least she viewed the matter, not suffering any inward 
 question to arise. 
 
 She saw Lennox Tudor several times before the last day 
 arrived. He did not seek her out. It simply came about 
 in the ordinary course of things. He was plainly deter- 
 mined that neither in public nor private should there be 
 any secret sense of embarrassment between them. And for 
 this also she was grateful, liking him for his blunt consider- 
 ation for her better than she had ever liked him before. 
 
 It was on the evening of the day preceding her departure 
 with Jeanie that she ran down in the dusk to the post at the 
 
 329
 
 230 The Bars of Iron 
 
 end of the lane with a letter. Her Australian friend had 
 written to propose a visit, and she had been obliged to put 
 him off. 
 
 There was a bitter wind blowing, but she hastened along 
 hatless, with a cloak thrown round her shoulders. Past the 
 church with its sheltering yew-trees she ran, intent only 
 upon executing her errand in as short a time as possible. 
 
 Her hair blew loose about her face, and before she reached 
 her goal she was ashamed of her untidiness, but it was not 
 worth while to return for a hat, and she pressed on with a 
 girl's impetuosity, hoping that she would meet no one. 
 
 The hope was not to be fulfilled. She reached the box 
 and deposited her letter therein, but as she turned from 
 doing so, there came the fall of a horse's hoofs along the 
 road at the end of the lane. 
 
 She caught the sound, and was pierced by a sudden, quite 
 unaccountable suspicion. Swiftly she gathered her cloak 
 more securely about her, and hastened away. 
 
 Instantly it seemed to her that the hoof -beats quickened. 
 The lane was steep, and she realized in a moment that if the 
 rider turned up in her wake, she must very speedily be 
 overtaken. She slackened her pace therefore, and walked 
 on more quietly, straining her ears to listen, not venturing 
 to look back. 
 
 Round the corner came the advancing animal at a brisk 
 trot. She had known in her heart that it would be so. 
 She had known from the first moment of hearing those 
 hoof-beats, that Fate, strong and relentless, was on her 
 track. 
 
 How she had known it she could not have said, but the 
 wild clamour of her heart stifled any reasoning that she 
 might have tried to form. Her breath came and went like 
 the breath of a hunted creature. She could not hurry 
 because of the trembling of her knees. Every instinct was 
 urging her to flee, but she lacked the strength. She drew
 
 Shadow 231 
 
 instead nearer to the wall, hoping against hope that in the 
 gathering darkness he would pass her by. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the hammering hoofs. She could 
 hear the horse's sharp breathing, the creak of leather. And 
 then suddenly she found she could go no further. She 
 stopped and leaned against the wall. 
 
 She saw the animal pulled suddenly in, and knew that she 
 was caught. With a great effort she lifted a smiling face, 
 and simulated surprise. 
 
 "You! How do you do?" 
 
 "You knew it was me, " said Piers rather curtly. 
 
 He dropped from the saddle with the easy grace that 
 always marked his movements, and came to her, leaving 
 the animal free. 
 
 ' ' Why were you running away from me ? " he said. ' ' Did 
 you want to cut me?" 
 
 He must have felt the trembling of her hand, for all in a 
 moment his manner changed. His fingers closed upon 
 hers with warm assurance. He suddenly laughed into 
 her face. 
 
 "Don't answer either of those questions!" he said. 
 "Didn't you expect to see me? We came home yesterday, 
 thank the gods! I'm deadly sick of being away." 
 
 "Haven't you enjoyed yourself?" Avery managed to ask. 
 
 He laughed again somewhat grimly. " I wasn't out for 
 enjoyment. I've been amusing myself more or less. 
 But that's not the same thing, is it ? I should have drowned 
 myself if I'd stayed out there much longer. " 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense!" said Avery. 
 
 She spoke with a touch of sharpness. Her agitation had 
 passed leaving her vexed with herself and with him. 
 
 He received the admonition with a grimace. "Have you 
 heard about my engagement yet?" he enquired irrelevantly, 
 after a moment. 
 
 Avery looked at him very steadily through the falling
 
 232 The Bars of Iron 
 
 dusk. She had a feeling that he was trying to hoodwink 
 her by some means not wholly praiseworthy. 
 
 "Are you engaged?" she asked him, point-blank. 
 
 He made a careless gesture. "Everybody says so." 
 
 "Are you engaged?" Avery repeated with resolution. 
 
 She freed her hand as she uttered the question the second 
 time. She was standing up very straight against the 
 churchyard wall sternly determined to check all trifling. 
 
 Piers straightened himself also. From the pride of his 
 attitude she thought that he was about to take offence, but 
 his voice held none as he made reply. 
 
 "I am not." 
 
 She felt as if some constriction at her heart, of which till 
 that moment she had scarcely been aware, had suddenly 
 slackened. She drew a long, deep breath. 
 
 "Sorry, what?" suggested Piers. 
 
 He began to tap a careless tattoo with his whip on the 
 toe of his boot. He did not appear to be regarding her very 
 closely. Yet she did not feel at her ease. That sudden 
 sense as of strain relaxed had left her curiously unsteady. 
 
 She ignored his question and asked another. "Why is 
 everybody saying that you are engaged?" 
 
 He lifted his shoulders. "Because everybody is more 
 or less of a gossiping fool, I should say. Still," he threw 
 up his head with a laugh, "notions of that sort have their 
 uses. My grandfather for instance is firmly of the opinion 
 that I have come home to be married. I didn't undeceive 
 him." 
 
 "You let him believe what wasn't true?" said Avery 
 slowly. 
 
 He looked straight at her, with his head flung back. "I 
 did. It suited my purpose. I wanted to get home. He 
 thought it was because the Roses had returned to Warden- 
 hurst. I let him think so. It certainly was deadly without 
 them."
 
 Shadow 233 
 
 It was then that Avery turned and began quietly to walk 
 on up the hill. He linked his arm in Pompey's bridle, and 
 walked beside her. 
 
 She spoke after a few moments with something of con- 
 straint. "And how have you been amusing yourself?" 
 
 "I?" Carelessly he made reply. "I have been play- 
 ing around with Ina Rose chiefly to save us both from 
 boredom. " 
 
 There sounded a faint jeering note behind the carelessness 
 of his voice. Avery quickened her pace almost uncon- 
 sciously. 
 
 "It's all right," said Piers. "There's been no damage 
 done." 
 
 "You don't know that," said Avery, without looking at 
 him. 
 
 "Yes, I do. She'll marry Dick Guyes. I told her she 
 would the night before they left, and she didn't say she 
 wouldn't. He's a much better chap than I am, you know, " 
 said Piers, with an odd touch of sincerity. "And he's head 
 over ears in love with her into the bargain. " 
 
 "Are you trying to excuse yourself?" said Avery. 
 
 He laughed. "What for? For not marrying Ina Rose? 
 I assure you I never meant to marry her." 
 
 "For trifling with her. " A very 's voice was hard, but he 
 affected not to notice. 
 
 "A game's a game," he said lightly. 
 
 Avery stopped very suddenly and faced round upon him. 
 "That sort of game, " she said, and her voice throbbed with 
 the intensity of her indignation, "is monstrous is con- 
 temptible a game that none but blackguards ever stoop 
 to play!" 
 
 Piers stood still. "Great Scott!" he said softly. 
 
 Avery swept on. Once roused, she was ruthless in her 
 arraignment. 
 
 "Men some men find it amusing to go through life
 
 34 The Bars of Iron 
 
 breaking women's hearts just for the sport of the thing. 
 They regard it as a pastime, in the same light as fox-hunt- 
 ing or cards or racing. And when the game is over, they 
 laugh among themselves and say what fools women are. 
 And so they may be, and so they are, many of them. But 
 is it honourable, is it manly, to take advantage of their 
 weakness? I never thought you were that sort. I thought 
 you were at least honest. " 
 
 "Did you?" said Piers. 
 
 He was holding himself very straight and stiff, just as he 
 had held himself on that day in the winter when she had so 
 indignantly intervened to save his dog from his ungovernable 
 fury. But he did not seem to resent her attack, and in 
 spite of herself Avery's own resentment began to wane. She 
 suddenly remembered that her very protest was an admis- 
 sion of intimacy of which he would not scruple to avail 
 himself if it suited his purpose, and with this thought in 
 her mind she paused in confusion. 
 
 "Won't you finish?" said Piers. 
 
 She turned to leave him. "That's all I have to say." 
 
 He put out a restraining hand. "Then may I say 
 something?" 
 
 The request was so humbly uttered that she could not 
 refuse it. She remained wnere she was. 
 
 "I should like you to know," said Piers, "that I have 
 never given Miss Rose or any other girl with whom I have 
 flirted the faintest shadow of a reason for believing that I 
 was in earnest. That is the truth on my honour. " 
 
 "I wonder if they would say the same, " said Avery. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " No one ever before accused 
 me of being a lady-killer. As to your other charge against 
 me, it was not I who deceived my grandfather. It was he 
 who deceived himself. " 
 
 "Isn't that a distinction without a difference?" said 
 Avery, in a low voice.
 
 
 Shadow 235 
 
 She was beginning to wish that she had not spoken with 
 such vehemence. After all, what were his delinquencies 
 to her? She almost expected him to ask the question; but 
 he did not. 
 
 "Do you mind explaining?" he said. 
 
 With an effort she made response. "You can't say it was 
 honourable to let your grandfather come home in the belief 
 that you wanted to become engaged to Miss Rose. " 
 
 "Have I said so?" said Piers. 
 
 Avery paused. She had a sudden feeling of uncertainty as 
 if he had kicked away a foothold upon which she had rashly 
 attempted to rest. 
 
 "You admit that it was not?" she said. 
 
 He smiled a little. "I admit that it was not strictly 
 honest, but I didn't see much harm in it. In any case it was 
 high time we came home, and it gave him the impetus to 
 move. " 
 
 "And when are you going to tell him the truth?" said 
 Avery. 
 
 Piers was silent. 
 
 Looking at him through the dusk, she was aware of a 
 change in his demeanour, though as to its nature she was 
 slightly doubtful. 
 
 "And if I don't tell him?" said Piers at length. 
 
 "You will," she said quickly. 
 
 " I don't know why I should. " Piers' voice was dogged. 
 "He'll know fast enough when she gets engaged to 
 Guyes. " 
 
 "Know that you have played a double game," said 
 Avery. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "And if he does?" 
 
 "I think you will be sorry then," she said. 
 
 Somehow she could not be angry any longer. He had 
 accepted her rebuke in so docile a spirit. She did not 
 wholly understand his attitude. Yet it softened her.
 
 236 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Why should I be sorry?" said Piers. 
 
 She answered him quickly and impulsively. "Because 
 it isn't your nature to deceive. You are too honest at heart 
 to do it and be happy. " 
 
 "Happy!" said Piers, an odd note of emotion in his voice. 
 "Do you suppose I'm ever that or ever likely to be?" 
 
 She recoiled a little from the suppressed vehemence of his 
 tone, but almost instantly he put out his hand again to her 
 with a gesture of boyish persuasion. 
 
 "Don't rag me, Avery! I've had a filthy time lately. 
 And when I saw you cut and run at sight of me I just 
 couldn't stand it. I've been wanting to answer your letter, 
 but I couldn't. " 
 
 "But why should you?" Avery broke in gently. "My 
 letter was the answer to yours. " 
 
 She gave him her hand, because she could not help it. 
 
 He held it in a hungry clasp. "I know I know," he 
 said rather incoherently. "It it was very decent of you 
 not to be angry. I believe I let myself go rather what? 
 Thanks awfully for being so sweet about it!" 
 
 "My dear boy," Avery said, "you thank me for nothing! 
 The matter is past. Don't let us re-open it!" 
 
 She spoke with unconscious appeal. His hand squeezed 
 hers in instant response. "All right. We won't. And 
 look here, if you want me to tell my grandfather that he 
 has been building his castle in the air, it'll mean a row 
 of course, but I'll do it." 
 
 "Will you?" said Avery. 
 
 He nodded. "Yes as you wish it. And may I come to 
 tea with Jeanie to-morrow?" 
 
 His dark eyes smiled suddenly into hers as he dropped her 
 hand. She had a momentary feeling of uncertainty as she 
 met them a sense of doubt that disquieted her strangely. 
 It was as if he had softly closed a door against her some- 
 where in his soul.
 
 Substance 237 
 
 With a curious embarrassment she answered him. " Jeanie 
 has not been well all the winter. Dr. Tudor has ordered a 
 change, and we are going she and I to Stanbury Cliffs 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Are you though ? " He opened his eyes . ' ' Just you and 
 she, eh? What a cosy party!" 
 
 "The other children will probably join us for the Easter 
 holidays," Avery said. "It's a nice place, they say. Do 
 you know it?" 
 
 "I should think I do. Victor and I used to go there 
 regularly when I was a kid. It was there I learnt to 
 swim." 
 
 "Who is Victor?" asked Avery, beginning to walk on up 
 the hill. 
 
 "Victor? Oh, he's my French nurse the best chap who 
 ever walked. We are great pals, " laughed Piers. "And so 
 you're off to-morrow, are you? Hope you'll have a good 
 time. Give my love to the kiddie! She isn't really ill, 
 what?" 
 
 "Dr. Tudor is not satisfied about her," Avery said. 
 
 "Oh, Tudor!" Piers spoke with instant disparage- 
 ment. " I don't suppose he's any good. What does he say 
 anyway?" 
 
 "He is afraid of lung trouble," Avery said. "But we 
 hope the change is going to do wonders for her. Do you 
 know, I think I must run in now? I have several little 
 jobs still to get through this evening." 
 
 Piers stopped at once. " Good-bye ! " he said. " I'm glad 
 I saw you. Take care of yourself, Avery! And the next 
 time you see me coming don't run away!" 
 
 He set his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into 
 the saddle. Pompey immediately began to execute an 
 elaborate dance in the roadway, rendering further conver- 
 sation out of the question. Piers waved his cap in careless 
 adieu, and turned the animal round. In another moment
 
 238 The Bars of Iron 
 
 he was tearing down the lane at a gallop, and A very was left 
 looking after him still with that curious sense of doubt 
 lying cold at her heart. 
 
 The sight of a black, clerical figure emerging from the 
 churchyard caused her to turn swiftly and pursue her way 
 to the Vicarage gate. But the sounds of those galloping 
 hoofs still wrought within her as she went. They beat upon 
 her spirit with a sense of swift-moving Destiny.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE EVESHAM DEVIL 
 
 CONFOUND the boy!" said Sir Beverley. 
 Pie rose up from the black oak settle in the 
 hall with a jerky movement of irritation, and tramped to 
 the front-door. 
 
 It had been one of those strange soft days that some- 
 times come in the midst of blustering March storms, and 
 though the sun had long gone down the warmth still 
 lingered. It might have been an evening in May. 
 
 He opened the great door with an impatient hand. What 
 on earth was the boy doing? Had he gone love-making 
 to Wardenhurst? A grim smile touched the old man's 
 grim lips as this thought occurred to him. That he was not 
 wasting his time nearer home he was fairly convinced; 
 for only that morning he had heard from Lennox Tudor 
 that the mother's help at the Vicarage, over whom in the 
 winter Piers had been inclined to make a fool of himself, 
 had taken one of the children away for a change. It 
 seemed more than probable by this time that Piers' wander- 
 ing fancy had wholly ceased to stray in her direction, but 
 the news of her absence had caused Sir Beverley undoubted 
 satisfaction. He hoped his boy would not encounter that 
 impertinent, scheming woman again until he was safely 
 engaged to Ina Rose. That this engagement was imminent 
 Sir Beverley was fully convinced. His only wonder was 
 that it had not taken place sooner. The two had been 
 
 239
 
 240 The Bars of Iron 
 
 thrown together almost daily during the sojourn of Colonel 
 Rose and his daughter at Mentone, and they had always 
 seemed to enjoy each other's society. Of course Sir Bever- 
 ley did not like the girl. He actively disliked the whole 
 female species. But she belonged to the county, and she 
 seemed moreover to be a normal healthy young woman 
 who would be the mother of normal healthy children. 
 And this was the sort of wife Piers wanted. For Piers 
 drat the boy! was not normal. He inherited a good deal 
 of his Italian grandmother's temperament as well as her 
 beauty. And life was not likely to be a very easy matter 
 for him in consequence. 
 
 But an ordinary young English wife of his own rank 
 would be a step in the right direction. So reasoned Sir 
 Beverley, who had taken that fatal step in the wrong one 
 in his youth and had never recovered the ground thus 
 lost. 
 
 Standing there at the open door, he dwelt upon his boy's 
 future with a kind of grim pleasure that was not unmixed 
 with heartache. He and his wife would have to go and 
 live at the Dower House of course. No feminine truck 
 at the Abbey for him! But the lad should continue to 
 manage the estate with him. That would bring them in 
 contact every day. He couldn't do without that much. 
 The evenings would be lonely enough. He pictured the 
 long silent dinners with a weary frown. How infernally 
 lonely the Abbey could be ! 
 
 The steady tick of the clock in the corner forced itself 
 upon his notice. He swore at it under his breath, and 
 went out upon the steps. 
 
 At the same instant a view-halloo from the dark avenue 
 greeted him, and in spite of himself his face softened. 
 
 "Hullo, you rascal!" he shouted back. "What the 
 devil are you up to?" 
 
 Piers came running up, light-footed and alert. "I've
 
 The Evesham Devil 241 
 
 been unlucky," he explained. "Had two punctures. 
 I left the car at the garage and came on as quickly as I 
 could. I say, I'm awfully sorry. I've been with Dick 
 Guyes." 
 
 Sir Beverley growled inarticulately, and turned inwards. 
 So he had not been to the Roses' after all ! 
 
 "Get along with you!" he said. "And dress as fast as 
 you can!" 
 
 And Piers bounded past him and went up the stairs in 
 three great leaps. He seemed to have grown younger 
 during the few days that had elapsed since their return, 
 more ardent, more keenly alive. The English spring seemed 
 to exhilarate him; but for the first time Sir Beverley began 
 to have his doubts as to the reason for his evident pleasure 
 in returning. What on earth had he been to see Guyes 
 for? Guyes of all people who was well-known as one 
 of Miss Ina's most devoted adorers! 
 
 It was evident that the news he desired to hear would not 
 be imparted to him that night, and Sir Beverley considered 
 himself somewhat aggrieved in consequence. He was 
 decidedly short with Piers when he reappeared a fact 
 which in no way disturbed his grandson's equanimity. He 
 talked cheery commonplaces throughout dinner without 
 effort, regardless of Sir Beverley's discouraging attitude, 
 and it was not till dessert was placed upon the table that 
 he allowed his conversational energies to flag. 
 
 Then indeed, as David finally and ceremoniously with- 
 drew, did he suddenly seem to awake to the fact that 
 conversation was no longer a vital necessity, and forthwith 
 dropped into an abrupt, uncompromising silence. 
 
 It lasted for a space of minutes during which neither of 
 them stirred or uttered a syllable, becoming at length 
 ominous as the electric stillness before the storm. 
 
 They came through it characteristically, Sir Beverley 
 staring fixedly before him under the frown that was seldom 
 
 16
 
 242 The Bars of Iron 
 
 wholly absent from his face; Piers, steady-eyed and intent, 
 keenly watching the futile agonies of a night-moth among 
 the candles. There was about him a massive, statuesque 
 look in vivid contrast to the pulsing vitality of a few 
 minutes before. 
 
 It was Sir Beverley who broke the silence at last with a 
 species of inarticulate snarl peculiarly his own. Piers' 
 dark eyes were instantly upon him, but he said nothing, 
 merely waiting for the words to which this sound was the 
 preface. 
 
 Sir Beverley's brow was thunderous. He looked back 
 at Piers with a piercing grim regard. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "What fool idea have you got in 
 your brain now? I suppose I've got to hear it sooner or 
 later." 
 
 It was not a conciliatory speech, yet Piers received it 
 with no visible resentment. "I don't know that I want 
 to say anything very special," he said, after a moment's 
 thought. 
 
 "Oh, don't you?" growled Sir Beverley. "Then what 
 are you thinking about? Tell me that!" 
 
 Piers leaned back in his chair. "I was thinking about 
 Dick Guyes," he said. "He is dining at the Roses' 
 to-night." 
 
 "Oh!" said Sir Beverley shortly. 
 
 A faint smile came at the corners of Piers' mouth. "He 
 wants to propose to Ina for about the hundred and ninetieth 
 time," he said, "but doesn't know if he can screw himself 
 up to it. I told him not to be such a shy ass. She is 
 only waiting for him to speak." 
 
 "Eh?" said Sir Beverley. 
 
 A queer little dancing gleam leaped up in Piers' eyes 
 the gleam that had invariably heralded some piece of 
 especial devilry in the days of his boyhood. 
 
 "I told him she was his for the asking, sir," he said
 
 The Evesham Devil 243 
 
 coolly, "and promised not to flirt with her any more till 
 they were safely married." 
 
 "Damn you!" exclaimed Sir Beverley violently and 
 \vithout warning. 
 
 He had a glass of wine in front of him, and with the 
 words his fingers gripped the stem. In another second 
 he would have hurled the liquid full in Piers' face; but 
 Piers was too quick for him. Quick as lightning, his own 
 hand shot out across the corner of the table and grasped 
 the old man's wrist. 
 
 "No, sir! No !" he said sternly. 
 
 They glared into each other's eyes, and Sir Beverley 
 uttered a furious oath; but after the first instinctive effort 
 to free himself he did no more. 
 
 At the end of possibly thirty seconds Piers took his hand 
 away. He pushed back his chair in the same movement 
 and rose. 
 
 "Shall we talk in the library?" he said. "This room is 
 hot." 
 
 Sir Beverley raised the wine-glass to his lips with a hand 
 that vshook, and drained it deliberately. 
 
 "Yes, " he said then. "We will talk in the library." 
 
 He got up with an agility that he seldom displayed, and 
 turned to the door. As he went he glanced up suddenly 
 at the softly mocking face on the wall, and a sharp spasm 
 contracted his harsh features. But he scarcely paused. 
 Without further words he left the room ; and Piers followed, 
 light of tread, behind him. 
 
 The study windows stood wide open to the night. Piers 
 crossed the room and quietly closed them. Then, without 
 haste and without hesitation, he came to the table and 
 stopped before it. 
 
 "I never intended to marry Ina Rose," he said. "I 
 was only amusing myself and her." 
 
 "The devil you were!" ejaculated Sir Beverlev.
 
 244 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Piers went on with the utmost steadiness. "We are 
 not in the least suited to one another, and we have the 
 sense to realize it. The next time Guyes asks her, I believe 
 she will have him." 
 
 "Sense!" roared Sir Beverley. "Do you dare to talk 
 to me of sense, you you blind fool? Mighty lot of sense 
 you can boast of! And what the devil does it matter 
 whether you suit one another as you call it or not, so 
 long as you keep the whip-hand? You'll tell me next 
 that you're not in love with her, I suppose?" 
 
 The bitterness of the last words seemed to shake him 
 from head to foot. He looked at Piers with the memory 
 of a past torment in his eyes. And because of it Piers 
 turned away his own. 
 
 "It's quite true, sir," he said, in a low voice. "I am 
 not in love with her. I never have been." 
 
 Sir Beverley 's fist crashed down upon the table. " Love ! " 
 he thundered. "Love! Do you want to make me sick? 
 I tell you, sir, I would sooner see you in your coffin than 
 married to a woman with whom you imagined yourself in 
 love. Oh, I know what you have in your mind. I've 
 known for a long time. You're caught in the toils of that 
 stiff-necked, scheming Judy at the Vicarage, who " 
 
 "Sir! "blazed forth Piers. 
 
 He leaned across the table with a face gone suddenly 
 white, and struck his own fist upon the polished oak with a 
 passionate force that compelled attention. 
 
 Sir Beverley ceased his tirade in momentary astonish- 
 ment. Such violence from Piers was unusual. 
 
 Instantly Piers went on speaking, his voice quick and 
 low, quivering with the agitation that he had no time to 
 subdue. "I won't hear another word on that subject! 
 You hear me, sir? Not one word! It is sacred, and as 
 such I will have it treated." 
 
 But the check upon Sir Beverley was but brief, and the
 
 The Evesham Devil 245 
 
 flame of his anger burned all the more fiercely in consequence 
 of it. He broke in upon those few desperate words of 
 Piers' with redoubled fury. 
 
 "You will have this, and you won't have that! Con- 
 found you! What the devil do you mean? Are you master 
 in this house, or am I?" 
 
 "I am master where my own actions are concerned," 
 threw back Piers. "And what I do what I decide to 
 do is my affair alone." 
 
 [ Swiftly he uttered the words. His breathing came quick 
 and short as the breathing of a man hard pressed. He 
 seemed to be holding back every straining nerve with a 
 blind force that was physical rather than mental. 
 
 He drew himself suddenly erect as he spoke. He had 
 flung down the gauntlet of his independence at last, and with 
 clenched hands he waited for the answer to his challenge. 
 
 It came upon him like a whirlwind. Sir Beverley uttered 
 an oath that fell with the violence of a blow, and after it a 
 tornado of furious speech against which it was futile to 
 attempt to raise any protest. He could only stand as it 
 were at bay, like an animal protecting its own, fiery- 
 veined, quivering, yet holding back from the spring. 
 
 Not for any insult to himself would he quit that attitude. 
 He was striving desperately to keep his self-control. He 
 had been within an ace of losing it, as the blood that oozed 
 over his closed fist testified; but, for the sake of that man- 
 hood which he was seeking to assert, he made a Titanic 
 effort to command himself. 
 
 And Sir Beverley, feeling the dumb strength that opposed 
 him, resenting the forbearance with which he was con- 
 fronted, infuriated by the unexpected force of the boy's 
 resistance, turned with a snarl to seize and desecrate that 
 which he had been warned was holy. 
 
 "As for this designing woman, I tell you, she is not for 
 you, not, that is, in any honourable sense. If you choose
 
 246 The Bars of Iron 
 
 to make a fool of her, that's your affair. I suppose you'll 
 sow the usual crop of wild oats before you've done. But 
 as to marrying her " 
 
 "By God, sir!" broke in Piers passionately. "Do you 
 imagine that I propose to do anything else?" 
 
 The words came from him like a cry wrung from a man 
 in torture, and as he uttered them the last of his self- 
 control slipped from his grasp. With a face gone suddenly 
 devilish, he strode round the table and stood before his 
 grandfather, furiously threatening. 
 
 "I have warned you!" he said, and his voice was low, 
 sunk almost to a whisper. "You can say what you like 
 of me. I'm used to it. But if you speak evil of her 
 I'll treat you as I would any other blackguard who dared 
 to insult her. And now that we are on the subject, I will 
 tell you this. If I do not marry this woman whom I love 
 I swear that I will never marry at all! That is my final 
 word!" 
 
 He hurled the last sentence in Sir Beverley's face, and 
 with it he would have swung round upon his heel; but 
 something in that face detained him. 
 
 Sir Beverley's eyes were shining with an icy, intolerable 
 sparkle. His thin lips were drawn in the dreadful semblance 
 of a smile. He was half-a-head taller than Piers, and he 
 seemed to tower above him in that moment of conflict. 
 
 ' ' Wait a minute ! " he said. ' ' Wait a minute ! ' ' 
 
 His right hand was feeling along the leathern surface of 
 the writing-table, but neither his eyes nor Piers' followed 
 the movement. They held each other in a fixed, unalterable 
 glare. 
 
 There followed several moments of complete and terrible 
 silence a silence more fraught with violence than any 
 speech. 
 
 Then, with a slight jerk, Sir Beverley leaned towards 
 Piers. "So." he said, "you defy me, do you?"
 
 The Evesham Devil 247 
 
 His voice was as grim as his look. A sudden, odd sense 
 of fear went through Piers. Sharply the thought ran 
 through his mind that the same Evesham devil possessed 
 them both. It was as if he had caught a glimpse of the 
 monster gibing at his elbow, goading him, goading them 
 both. 
 
 He made a sharp, involuntary movement; he almost 
 flinched from those pitiless, stony eyes. 
 
 "Ha!" Sir Beverley uttered a brief and very bitter 
 laugh. "You've begun to think better of it, eh?" 
 
 "No, sir." Curtly Piers made answer, speaking because 
 he must. "I meant what I said, and I shall stick to it. 
 But it wasn't for the sake of defying you that I said it. 
 I have a better reason than that." 
 
 He was still quivering with anger, yet because of that 
 gibing devil at his elbow he strove to speak temperately, 
 strove to hold back the raging flood of fierce resentment 
 that threatened to overwhelm him. 
 
 As for Sir Beverley, he had never attempted to control 
 himself in moments such as these, and he did not attempt 
 to do so now. Before Piers' words were fairly uttered, 
 he had raised his right hand and in it a stout, two-foot 
 ruler that he had taken from the writing-table. 
 
 "Take that then, you young dog!" he shouted, and 
 struck Piers furiously, as he stood. "And that! And 
 that!" 
 
 The third blow never fell. It was caught in mid-air 
 by Piers who, with eyes that literally flamed in his white 
 face, sprang straight at his grandfather, and closed with 
 him. 
 
 There was a brief a very brief struggle, then a gasping 
 oath from Sir Beverley as the ruler was torn from his grasp. 
 The next moment he was free and tottering blindly. Piers, 
 with an awful smile, swung the weapon back as if he would 
 strike him down with it. Then, as Sir Beverley clutched
 
 248 The Bars of Iron 
 
 instinctively at the nearest chair for support, he flung 
 savagely round on his heel, altering his purpose. There 
 followed the loud crack of rending wood as he broke the 
 ruler passionately across his knee, putting forth all his 
 strength, and the clatter of the falling fragments as he 
 hurled them violently from him. 
 
 And then in a silence more dreadful than any speech, 
 he strode to the door and went out, crashing it furiously 
 shut behind him. 
 
 Sir Beverley, grown piteously feeble, sank down in the 
 chair, and remained there huddled and gasping for many 
 dragging minutes.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 A WATCH IN THE NIGHT 
 
 HE came at last out of what had almost been a stupor of 
 inertia, sat slowly up, turned his brooding eyes upon 
 the door through which Piers had passed. A tremor of 
 anger crossed his face, and was gone. A grim smile took 
 its place. He still panted spasmodically; but he found his 
 voice. 
 
 "Egad!" he said. "The fellow's as strong as a young 
 bear. He's hugged all the wind out of my vitals." i 
 
 He struggled to his feet, straightening his knees with 
 difficulty, one hand pressed hard to his labouring heart. 
 
 " Egad ! " he gasped again. "He's getting out of hand 
 the cub! But he'll come to heel, he'll come to heel! I 
 know the rascal!" 
 
 He stumbled to the bell and rang it. 
 
 David appeared with a promptitude that seemed to 
 indicate a certain uneasiness. 
 
 1 ' Coffee ! ' ' growled his master. ' ' And liqueur ! ' ' 
 
 David departed at as high a rate of speed as decorum 
 would permit. 
 
 During his absence Sir Beverley set himself rigidly to 
 recover his normal demeanour. The encounter had 
 shaken him, shaken him badly; but he was not the man 
 to yield to physical weakness. He fought it with angry 
 determination. 
 
 Before David's reappearance he had succeeded in con- 
 
 249
 
 250 The Bars of Iron 
 
 trolling his gasping breath, though the hand with which he 
 helped himself shook very perceptibly. 
 
 There were two cups on the tray. David lingered. 
 
 "You can go, " said Sir Beverley. 
 
 David cocked one eyebrow in deferential enquiry. 
 "Master Piers in the garden, sir?" he ventured. "Shall 
 I find him?" 
 
 "No!" snapped Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Very good, sir." David turned regretfully to the door. 
 "Shall I keep the coffee hot, Sir Beverley?" he asked, as 
 he reached it, with what was almost a pleading note in 
 his voice. 
 
 Sir Beverley's frown became as menacing as a thunder- 
 cloud. "No! "he shouted. 
 
 David nodded in melancholy submission and withdrew. 
 
 Sir Beverley sat down heavily in his chair and slowly 
 drank his coffee. Finally he put aside the empty cup and 
 sat staring at the closed door, his brows drawn heavily 
 together. 
 
 How had the young beggar dared to defy him so? He 
 must have been getting out of hand for some time by 
 imperceptible degrees. He had always vowed to himself 
 that he would not spoil the boy. Had that resolution of 
 his become gradually relaxed? His frown grew heavier. 
 He had never before contemplated the possibility that 
 Piers might some day become an individual force utterly 
 beyond his control. 
 
 His eye fell upon a fragment of the broken ruler lying 
 under the table and again grimly he smiled. 
 
 "Confound the scamp! He's got some muscle," he 
 murmured. 
 
 Again his look went to the door. Why didn't the young 
 fool come back and apologize? How much longer did he 
 mean to keep him waiting? 
 
 The minutes dragged away, and the silence of emptiness
 
 A Watch in the Night 251 
 
 gathered and brooded in the great room and about the 
 master of the house who sat within it, with bent head, 
 waiting. 
 
 It was close upon ten o'clock when at length he rose and 
 irritably rang the bell. 
 
 "See if you can find Master Piers!" he said to David. 
 "He can't be far away. Look in the drawing-room! 
 Look in the garden! Tell him I want him!" 
 
 David withdrew upon the errand, and again the op- 
 pressive silence drew close. For a long interval Sir 
 Beverley sat quite motionless, still staring at the door 
 as though lie expected Piers to enter at any moment. 
 But when at length it opened, it was only to admit David 
 once more. 
 
 "I'm sorry to say I can't find Master Piers anywhere 
 in the house or garden, Sir Beverley," he said, looking 
 straight before him and blinking vacantly at the lamp. 
 "I'm inclined to believe, sir, that he must have gone into 
 the park." 
 
 Sir Beverley snarled inarticulately and dismissed him. 
 
 During the hour that followed, he did not move from his 
 chair, and scarcely changed his position. But at last, as 
 the stable-clock was tolling eleven, he rose stiffly and 
 walked to the window. It was fastened; he dragged at the 
 catch with impatient fingers. 
 
 His face was haggard and grey as he finally thrust up 
 the sash, and leaned out with his hands on the sill. 
 
 The night was very still all about him. It might have 
 been a night in June. Only very far away a faint breeze 
 was stirring, whispering furtively in the bare boughs of the 
 elm trees that bordered the park. Overhead the stars 
 shone dimly behind a floating veil of mist, and from the 
 garden sleeping at his feet there arose a faint, fugitive scent 
 of violets. 
 
 The old man's face contracted as at some sudden sense
 
 252 The Bars of Iron 
 
 of pain as that scent reached his nostrils. His mouth 
 twitched with a curious tremor, and he covered it with his 
 hand as though he feared some silent watcher in that 
 sleeping world might see and mock his weakness. That 
 violet-bed beneath the window had been planted fifty 
 years before at the whim of a woman. 
 
 "We must have a great many violets," she had said. 
 "They are sweeter than all the roses in the world. Next 
 year I must have handfuls and handfuls of sweetness." 
 
 And the next year the violets had bloomed in the chosen 
 corner, but her hands had not gathered them. And they 
 had offered their magic ever since, year after year even 
 as they offered it to-night to a heart that was too old and 
 too broken to care. 
 
 Fifty years before, Sir Beverley had stood at that same 
 window waiting and listening in the spring twilight for the 
 beloved footfall of the woman who was never again to 
 enter his house. They had had a disagreement, he had 
 spoken harshly, he had been foolishly, absurdly jealous; 
 for her wonderful beauty, her quick, foreign charm drew 
 all the world. But, returning from a long ride that had 
 lasted all day, he had entered with the desire to make 
 amends, to win her sweet and gracious forgiveness. She 
 had forgiven him before. She had laughed with a sweet, 
 elusive mockery and passed the matter by as of no impor- 
 tance. It had seemed a foregone conclusion that she would 
 forgive him again, would reassure him, and set his mind 
 at rest. But he had come back to an empty house every 
 door gaping wide and the beloved presence gone. 
 
 So he had waited for her, expecting her every moment, 
 refusing to believe the truth that nevertheless had forced 
 itself upon him at the last. So now he waited for her 
 grandson the boy with her beauty, her quick and generous 
 charm, her passionate, emotional nature to come back to 
 him. And yet again he waited in vain.
 
 A Watch in the Night 253 
 
 Piers had gone forth in fierce anger, driven by that devil 
 that had descended to him through generations of stiff- 
 necked ancestors ; and for the first time in all his hot young 
 life he had not returned repentant. 
 
 " I treated him like a dog, egad, " murmured Sir Beverley 
 into the shielding hand. "But he'll come back. He 
 always comes back, the scamp." 
 
 But the minutes crawled by, the night-wind rustled and 
 passed; and still Piers did not come. 
 
 It was hard on midnight when Sir Beverley suddenly 
 raised both hands to his mouth and sent a shrill, peculiar 
 whistle through them across the quiet garden. It had been 
 his special call for Piers in his childhood. Even as he sent 
 it out into the darkness, he seemed to see the sturdy, eager 
 little figure that had never failed to answer that summons 
 with delight racing headlong towards him over the dim, 
 dewy lawn. 
 
 But to-night it brought no answer though he repeated it 
 again and yet again; and as twelve o'clock struck heavily 
 upon the stillness he turned from the window and groaned 
 aloud. The boy had gone, gone for good, as he might have 
 known he would go. He had driven him forth with blows 
 and bitter words, and it was out of his power to bring him 
 back again. 
 
 Slowly he crossed the room and rang the bell. He was 
 very cold, and he shivered as he moved. 
 
 It was Victor who answered the summons, Victor with 
 round, vindictive eyes that openly accused him for a 
 moment, and then softened inexplicably and looked 
 elsewhere. 
 
 "You ask me for Monsieur Pierre? 1 ' he said, spreading 
 out his hands, "Mais " 
 
 "I didn't ask for anything," growled Sir Beverley. "I 
 rang the bell to tell you and all the other fools to lock up 
 and go to bed."
 
 254 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "But me!" ejaculated Victor, rolling his eyes upwards 
 in astonishment. 
 
 ' ' Yes, you ! Where's the sense of your sitting up ? Master 
 Piers knows how to undress himself by this time, I suppose ? " 
 
 Sir Beverley scowled at him aggressively, but Victor 
 did not even see the scowl. Like a hen with one chick, and 
 that gone astray, he could think of naught beside. 
 
 "Mais Monsieur Pierre is not here! Where then is 
 Monsieur Pierre?" he questioned in distress. 
 
 "How the devil should I know?" snarled Sir Beverley. 
 "Stop your chatter and be off with you! Shut the window 
 first, and then go and tell David to lock up! I shan't want 
 anything more to-night." 
 
 Victor shrugged his shoulders in mute protest, and went 
 to the window. Here he paused, looking forth with eyes 
 of eager searching till recalled to his duty by a growl of 
 impatience from his master. Then with a celerity remark- 
 able in one of his years and rotundity, he quickly popped 
 in his head and closed the window. 
 
 "Leave the blind!" ordered Sir Beverley. "And the 
 catch too! There! Now go! Allez-vous-en! Don't let 
 me see you again to-night!" 
 
 Victor threw a single shrewd glance at the drawn face, 
 and trotted with a woman's nimbleness to the door. Here 
 he paused, executed a stiff bow; then wheeled and departed. 
 The door closed noiselessly behind him, and again Sir 
 Beverley was left alone. 
 
 He dragged a chair to the window, and sat down to 
 watch. 
 
 Doubtless the boy would return when he had walked 
 off his indignation. He would be sure to see the light in 
 the study, and he would come to him for admittance. He 
 himself would receive him with a gruff word or two of 
 admonition and the whole affair should be dismissed. 
 Grimly he pictured the scene to himself as, ignoring the
 
 A Watch in the Night 255 
 
 anxiety that was growing within him, he settled himself 
 to his lonely vigil. 
 
 Slowly the night dragged on. A couple of owls were 
 hooting to one another across the garden, and far away 
 a dog barked at intervals. Old Sir Beverley never stirred 
 in his chair. His limbs were rigid, his eyes fixed and 
 watchful. But his face was grey grey and stricken and 
 incredibly old. He had the look of a man who carried 
 a burden too heavy to be borne. 
 
 One after another he heard the hours strike, but his 
 position never altered, his eyes never varied, his face 
 remained as though carved in granite a graven image of 
 despair. Unspeakable weariness was in his pose, and yet 
 he did not relax or yield a hair's breadth to the body's 
 importunity. He suffered too bitterly in the spirit that 
 night to be aware of physical necessity. 
 
 Slowly the long hours passed. The night began to 
 wane. A faint grey glimmer, scarcely perceptible, came 
 down from a mist-veiled sky. The wind that had sunk to 
 stillness came softly back and wandered to and fro as 
 though to rouse the sleeping world. Behind the mist the 
 stars went out, and from the rookery in the park a hoarse 
 voice suddenly proclaimed the coming day. 
 
 The grey light grew. In the garden ghostly shapes 
 arose, phantoms of the dawn that gradually resolved into 
 familiar forms of tree and shrub. From the rookery there 
 swelled a din of many raucous voices. The dog in the 
 distance began to bark again with feverish zest, and from 
 the stables came Caesar's cheery answering yell. 
 
 The mist drifted away from the face of the sky. A 
 brightness was growing there. Stiffly, painfully, Sir 
 Beverley struggled up from his chair, stood steadying him- 
 self a figure tragic and forlorn with his hands against 
 the wood of the window-frame, then with a groaning effort 
 thrust up the sash.
 
 256 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Violets! Violets! The haunting scent of them rose to 
 greet him. The air was full of their magic fragrance. 
 For a second he was aware of it; he almost winced. And 
 then in a moment he had forgotten. He stood there 
 motionless a desolate old man, bowed and shrunken and 
 grey staring blindly out before him, unconscious of all 
 things save the despair that had settled in his heart. 
 
 The night had passed and his boy had not returned.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE CONFLICT 
 
 QTANBURY CLIFFS was no more than a little fishing- 
 O town at the foot of the sandy cliff a sheltered nest 
 of a place in which the sound of the waves was heard all 
 day long, but which no bitter wind could reach. The 
 peace of it was balm to Avery's spirit. She revelled in its 
 quiet. 
 
 Jeanie loved it too. She delighted in the freedom and 
 the warmth, and almost from the day of their arrival her 
 health began to improve. 
 
 They had their quarters in what was little more than 
 a two-storey cottage belonging to one of the fishermen, 
 and there was only a tiny garden bright with marigolds 
 between them and the shore. Day after day they went 
 through the little wicket gate down a slope of loose sand 
 to the golden beach where they spent the sunny hours in 
 perfect happiness. The waves that came into the bay were 
 never very rough, though they sometimes heard them 
 raging outside with a fury that filled the whole world with 
 its roaring. Jeanie called it "the desired haven," and 
 confided to Avery that she was happier than she had ever 
 been in her life before. 
 
 Avery was happy too, but with a difference; for she knew 
 
 in her secret heart that the days of her tranquillity were 
 
 numbered. She knew with a woman's sure instinct that 
 
 the interval of peace would be but brief, that with or with- 
 
 17 257
 
 258 The Bars of Iron 
 
 out her will she must soon be drawn back again into the 
 storm and stress of life. And knowing it, she waited, 
 strengthening her defences day by day, counting each day 
 as a respite while she devoted herself to the child and 
 rejoiced to see the change so quickly wrought in her. 
 Tudor's simile of the building of a sea-wall often recurred 
 to her. She told herself that the foundation thereof should 
 be as secure as human care could make it, so that when the 
 tide came back it should stand the strain. 
 
 The Vicar would have been shocked beyond words by the 
 life of complete indulgence led by his small daughter. 
 She breakfasted in bed every day, served by A very who 
 was firm as to the amount of nourishment taken but comfort- 
 ably lax on all other points. When the meal was over, 
 A very generally went marketing while Jeanie dressed, and 
 they then went to the shore. If there were no marketing 
 to be done, Avery would go down to the beach alone and 
 wait for her there. There was a sheltered corner that 
 they both loved where, protected by towering rocks, they 
 spent many a happy hour. It was just out of reach of the 
 sea, exposed to the sun and sheltered from the wind an 
 ideal spot ; and here they brought letters, books, or needle- 
 work, and were busy or idle according to their moods. 
 
 Jeanie was often idle. She used to lie in the soft sand 
 and dream, with her eyes on the far horizon ; but of what she 
 dreamed she said no word even to Avery. But she was 
 always happy. Her smile was always ready, the lines of 
 her mouth were always set in perfect content. She seemed 
 to have all she desired at all times. They did not often 
 stray from the shore, for she was easily tired; but they used 
 to roam along it and search the crevices of the scattered 
 rocks which held all manner of treasures. They spent the 
 time in complete accord. It was too good to last, Avery 
 told herself. The way had become too easy. 
 
 It was on a morning about a week after their arrival that
 
 The Conflict 259 
 
 she went down at an early hour to their favourite haunt. 
 There had been rain in the night, and a brisk west wind was 
 blowing ; but she knew that in that sheltered spot they would 
 be protected, and Jeanie was pledged to join her there as 
 soon as she was ready. The tide was coming in, and the 
 sun shone amidst scudding white clouds. It was a morning 
 on which to be happy for no other reason than lightness 
 of heart; and Avery, with her work-bag on her arm, sang 
 softly to herself as she went. 
 
 As usual she met no one. It was a secluded part of 
 the shore. The little town was out of sight on the other 
 side of a rocky promontory, and the place was lonely to 
 desolation. 
 
 But Avery did not feel the loneliness. She had had a 
 letter only that morning from Crowther, the friend of those 
 far-off Australian days, and he expressed a hope of being 
 able to pay her a flying visit at Stanbury Cliffs before 
 settling down to work in grim earnest for the accomplish- 
 ment of his life's desire. She would have welcomed 
 Edmund Crowther at any time. He was the sort of friend 
 whose coming could never bring anything but delight. 
 
 She wondered as she walked along which day he would 
 choose. She was rather glad that he had not fixed a 
 definite date. It was good to feel that any day might 
 bring him. 
 
 Nearing her destination she became aware of light feet 
 running on the firm sand behind her. She glanced over 
 her shoulder, but the sun shone full in her eyes, and she 
 only managed to discern vaguely a man's figure drawing 
 near. He could not be pursuing her, she decided, and 
 resumed her walk and her thoughts of Crowther the 
 friend who had stood by her at a time when she had been 
 practically friendless. 
 
 But the running feet came nearer and nearer. She 
 suddenly realized that they meant to overtake her, and
 
 260 The Bars of Iron 
 
 with the knowledge the old quick dread pierced her heart. 
 She wheeled abruptly round and stood still. 
 
 He was there, not a dozen yards from her. He hailed 
 her as she turned. 
 
 She clenched her hands with sudden determination and 
 went to meet him. 
 
 "Piers!" she said, and in her voice reproach and severity 
 were oddly mingled. 
 
 But Piers was unabashed. He ran swiftly up to her, 
 and caught her hands into his with an impetuous rush of 
 words. "Here you are at last! I've been waiting for you 
 for hours. But I was in the water when you first appeared, 
 and I hadn't any towels, or I should have caught you up 
 before." 
 
 He was laughing as he spoke, but it seemed to Avery 
 that there was something not quite normal about him. 
 His black hair lay in a wet plaster on his forehead, and 
 below it his eyes glittered oddly, as if he were putting some 
 force upon himself. 
 
 "How in the world did you get here?" she said. 
 
 He laughed again between his teeth. "I tell you, I've 
 been here for hours. I came last night. But I couldn't 
 knock you up at two in the morning. So I had to wait. 
 How are you and Jeanie getting on?" 
 
 Avery gravely withdrew her hands, and turned to pursue 
 her way towards her rocky resting-place. "Jeanie is 
 better," she said, in a voice that did not encourage any 
 further solicitude on either Jeanie's behalf or her own. 
 
 Piers marched beside her, a certain doggedness in his 
 gait. The laughter had died out of his face. He looked 
 pale and stern, and fully as determined as she. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell us to expect you?" Avery asked 
 at last. 
 
 "Were you not expecting me?" he returned, and hi* 
 voice had the sharpness of a challenge.
 
 The Conflict 261 
 
 She looked at him steadily for a moment or two, meeting 
 eyes that flung back her scrutiny with grim defiance. 
 
 "Of couise I was not expecting you, " she said. 
 
 "And yet you were not altogether surprised to see 
 me, " he rejoined, a faint jeering echo in his voice. 
 
 Avery walked on till she reached her sheltered corner. 
 Then she laid her work-bag down in the accustomed place, 
 and very resolutely turned and faced him. 
 
 "Tell me why you have come!" she said. 
 
 He gazed at her for a moment fiercely from under his 
 black brows; then suddenly and disconcertingly he seized 
 her by the wrists. 
 
 "I'll tell you," he said, speaking rapidly, with feverish 
 utterance. "I've come because before Heaven I can't 
 keep away. Avery, listen to me! Yes, you must listen. 
 I've come because I must, because you are all the world 
 to me and I want you unutterably. I don't believe I can't 
 believe that I am nothing to you. You can't with honesty 
 tell me so. I love you with all my soul, with all there is 
 of me, good and bad. Avery Avery, say you love me too!" 
 
 Just for an instant the arrogance went out of his voice, 
 and it sank to pleading. But Avery stood mute before 
 him, very pale, desperately calm. She made not the faintest 
 attempt to free herself, but her hands were hard clenched. 
 There was nothing passive in her attitude. 
 
 He was aware of strong resistance, but it only goaded 
 him to further effort. He lifted the clenched hands and 
 held them tight against his heart. 
 
 "You needn't try to cast me off, " he said, "for I simply 
 won't go. I know you care. You wouldn't have taken the 
 trouble to write that letter if you didn't. And so listen! 
 I've come now to marry you. We can go up to town to-day, 
 Jeanie too, if you like. And to-morrow to-morrow we 
 will be married by special licence. I've thought it all out. 
 You can't refuse. I have money of my own plenty of
 
 262 The Bars of Iron 
 
 money. And you belong to me already. It's no good 
 trying to deny it any more. You are my mate my mate; 
 and I won't try to live without you any longer!" 
 
 Wildly the words rushed out, spending themselves as 
 it were upon utter silence. Avery's hands were no longer 
 clenched. They lay open against his breast, and the mad 
 beating of his heart thrilled through and through her as 
 she stood. 
 
 He bent towards her eagerly, passionately. His hands 
 reached out to clasp her ; yet he paused. ' ' Avery ! Avery ! ' ' 
 he whispered very urgently. 
 
 Her eyes were raised to his, grey and steady and fearless. 
 Not by the smallest gesture did she seek to escape him. 
 She suffered the hands upon her shoulders. She suffered 
 the fiery passion of his gaze. 
 
 Only at last very clearly, very resolutely, she spoke. 
 "Piers no!" 
 
 His face was close to hers, glowing and vital and tensely 
 determined. "I say 'Yes,'" he said, with brief decision. 
 
 Avery was silent. His hands were drawing her, and 
 still she did not resist; but in those moments of silent 
 inactivity she was stronger than he. Her personality 
 was at grips with his, and if she gained no ground at least 
 she held her own. 
 
 "Avery!" he said suddenly and sharply. "What's the 
 matter with you? Why don't you speak?" 
 
 "I am waiting," she said. 
 
 "Waiting!" he echoed. "Waiting for what?" 
 
 "Waiting for you to come to yourself, Piers," she made 
 steadfast answer. 
 
 He laughed at that, a quick, insolent laugh. "Do you 
 think I don't know what I'm doing, then?" 
 
 "I am quite sure," she answered, "that when you know, 
 you will be more ashamed than any honourable man should 
 ever have reason to be."
 
 The Conflict 263 
 
 He winced at the words. She saw the hot blood surge in 
 a great wave to his forehead, and she quailed inwardly 
 though outwardly she made no sign. His grip was growing 
 every instant more compelling. She knew that he was 
 bracing himself for one great effort that should batter 
 down the strength that withstood him. His lips were so 
 close to hers that she could feel his breath, quick and hot, 
 upon her face. And still she made no struggle for freedom, 
 knowing instinctively that the instant her self-control 
 yielded, the battle was lost. 
 
 Slowly the burning flush died away under her eyes. His 
 face changed, grew subtly harder, less passionate. "So," 
 he said, with an odd quietness, "I'm not to kiss you. It 
 would be dishonourable, what?" 
 
 She made unflinching reply. "It would be despicable 
 and you know it to kiss any woman against her will."" 
 
 "Would it be against your will?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, it would." Firmly she answered him, yet a quiver 
 of agitation went through her. She felt her resolution 
 begin to waver. 
 
 But in that moment something in Piers seemed to give 
 way also. He cried out to her as if in sudden, intolerable 
 pain. "Avery! Avery! Are you made of stone? Can't 
 you see that this is life or death to me?" 
 
 She answered him instantly; it was almost as if she had 
 been waiting for that cry of his. "Yes, but you must 
 get the better of it. You can if you will. It is unworthy 
 of you. You are trying to take what is not yours. You 
 have made a mistake, and you are wronging yourself and 
 me." 
 
 "What?" he exclaimed. "You don't love me then!" 
 
 He flung his arms wide upon the words, with a gesture 
 of the most utter despair, and turned from her. A moment 
 he stood swaying, as if bereft of all his strength; and then 
 with abrupt effort he began to move away. He stumbled
 
 264 The Bars of Iron 
 
 blindly, heavily, as he went, and the crying of the wheeling 
 sea-gulls came plaintively through a silence that could be 
 felt. 
 
 But ere that silence paralysed her, Avery spoke, raising 
 her voice, for the urgency was great. 
 
 "Piers, stop!" 
 
 He stopped instantly, but he did not turn, merely stood 
 tensely waiting. 
 
 She collected herself and went after him. She laid a 
 hand that trembled on his arm. 
 
 "Don't leave me like this!" she said. 
 
 Slowly he turned his head and looked at her, -and the 
 misery of that look went straight to her heart. All the 
 woman's compassion in her throbbed up to the surface. 
 She found herself speaking with a tenderness which a 
 moment before no power on earth would have drawn from 
 her. 
 
 "Piers, something is wrong; something has happened. 
 Won't you tell me what it is?" 
 
 "I can't," he said. 
 
 His lower lip quivered unexpectedly and she saw his 
 teeth bite savagely upon it. " I'd better go, " he said. 
 
 But her hand still held his arm. "No; wait!" she said. 
 "You can't go like this. Piers, what is the matter with 
 you? Tell me!" 
 
 He hesitated. She saw that his self-control was tottering. 
 Abruptly at length he spoke. "I can't. I'm not master 
 of myself. I I " He broke off short and became 
 silent. 
 
 "I knew you weren't," she said, and then, acting upon 
 an impulse which she knew instinctively that she would 
 never regret, she gave him her other hand also. "Let 
 us forget all this!" she said. 
 
 It was generously spoken, so generously that it could 
 not fail to take effect. He looked at her in momentary
 
 The Conflict 265 
 
 surprise, began to speak, stopped, and with a choked, 
 unintelligible utterance took her two hands with the utmost 
 reverence into his own, and bowed his forehead upon them. 
 The utter abandonment of the action revealed to her in 
 that moment how completely he had made her the domi- 
 nating influence of his life.. 
 
 "Shall we sit down and talk?" she said gently. 
 
 She could not be other than gentle with him. The appeal 
 of his weakness was greater than any display of strength. 
 She could not but respond to it. 
 
 He set her free and dropped down heavily upon a rock, 
 leaning his head in his hands. 
 
 She waited a few moments beside him; then, as he re- 
 mained silent, she bent towards him. 
 
 "Piers, what is it?" 
 
 With a sharp movement he straightened himself, and 
 turned his face to the sea. 
 
 "I'm a fool," he said, speaking with an odd, unsteady 
 vehemence. "Fact is, I've been out all night on this 
 beastly shore. I've walked miles. And I suppose I'm 
 tired." 
 
 He made the confession with a shamefaced laugh, still 
 looking away to the horizon. 
 
 "All night!" Avery repeated in astonishment. "But, 
 Piers!" 
 
 He nodded several times, emphatically. "And those 
 infernal sea-birds have been squawking along with those 
 thrice-accursed crows ever since day-break. I'd like to 
 wring their ugly necks, every jack one of 'em!" 
 
 Avery laughed in spite of herself. "We all feel peevish 
 sometimes," she said, as one of the offenders sailed over- 
 head with a melancholy cry. "But haven't you had any 
 breakfast? You must be starving." 
 
 " I am! " said Piers. " I feel like a wolf. But you needn't 
 be afraid to sit down. I shan't gobble you up this time."
 
 266 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She heard the boyish appeal in his voice and almost 
 unconsciously she yielded to it. She sat down on the 
 rock beside him, but he instantly slipped from it and 
 stretched himself in a dog-like attitude at her feet. 
 
 His chin was propped in his hands, his face turned to the 
 white sand on which he lay. . She looked down at his 
 black head with more than compassion in her eyes. It was 
 horribly difficult to snub this boy-lover of hers. 
 
 She sat and waited silently for him to speak. 
 
 He dropped one hand at length and began to dig his 
 brown fingers into the powdery sand with irritable energy; 
 but a minute or more passed before very grumpily he 
 spoke. 
 
 "I've had a row with my grandfather. We both of us 
 behaved like wild beasts. In the end, he thought he was 
 going to give me a caning, and that was more than I could 
 stand. I smashed his ruler for him and bolted. I should 
 have struck him with it if I hadn't. And after that, I 
 cleared out and came here. And I'm not going back." 
 
 So with blunt defiance he made the announcement, and 
 as he did so, it came to A very suddenly and quite con- 
 vincingly that she had been the cause of the quarrel. A 
 shock of dismay went through her. She had not antici- 
 pated this. She felt that the suspicion must be verified 
 or refuted at once. 
 
 "Piers," she said quickly, "why did you quarrel with 
 your grandfather? Was it because of your affair with 
 Miss Rose?" 
 
 "I never had an affair with Miss Rose," said Piers 
 rather sullenly. He dug up a small stone, and flung it with 
 vindictive force at the face of the cliff. Ask her, if you 
 don't believe me!" 
 
 He paused a moment, then went on in a dogged note: 
 "I told him of a certain intention of mine. He tackled 
 me about it first, was absolutely intolerable. I just couldn't
 
 The Conflict 267 
 
 hold myself in. And then somehow we got violent. It 
 was his fault. Anyway, he began it." 
 
 "You haven't told me yet what you quarrelled 
 about, " said Avery, with a sinking heart. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her. 
 "It doesn't matter, does it?" 
 
 She made answer with a certain firmness. "Yes, I 
 think it does." 
 
 "Well, then," abruptly he raised himself and faced 
 round, his dark eyes raised to hers, "I told him, Avery, 
 that if I couldn't marry the woman I loved, I would never 
 marry at all." 
 
 There was no sullenness about him now, only steadfast 
 purpose. He looked her full in the face as he said it, and 
 she quivered a little before the mastery of his look. 
 
 He laid a hand upon her knee as she sat above him in 
 sore perplexity. "Would you have me do anything else?" 
 he said. 
 
 She answered him with a conscious effort. "I want you 
 to love and marry the right woman." 
 
 He uttered a queer, unsteady laugh and leaned his head 
 against her. "Oh, my dear," he said, "there is no other 
 woman but you in all the world." 
 
 Something fiery that was almost like a dart of pain went 
 through Avery at his words. She moved instinctively, 
 but it was not in shrinking. After a moment she laid her 
 hand upon his. 
 
 "Piers," she said, "I can't bear hurting you." 
 
 "You wouldn't hurt a fly," said Piers. 
 
 She smiled faintly. "Not if I could help it. But that 
 doesn't prove that I am fond of flies. And now, Piers, I am 
 going to ask a very big thing of you. I wonder if you will 
 doit." 
 
 " I wonder, " said Piers. 
 
 He had not moved at her touch, yet she felt his fingers
 
 268 The Bars of Iron 
 
 close tensely as they lay upon her knee, and she guessed 
 that he was still striving to control the inner tumult that 
 had so nearly overwhelmed him a few minutes before. 
 
 "I know it is a big thing," she said. "Yet for my 
 sake if you like I want you to do it." 
 
 "I will do anything for your sake," he made passionate 
 answer. 
 
 "Thank you," she said gently. "Then, Piers, I want 
 you please to go back to Sir Beverley at once, and make 
 it up." 
 
 He withdrew his hand sharply from hers, and sat up, 
 turning his back upon her. "No!" he said harshly. 
 "No!" 
 
 "Please, Piers!" she said very earnestly. 
 
 He locked his arms round his knees and sat in silence, 
 staring moodily out to sea. 
 
 "Please, Piers!" she said again, and lightly touched his 
 shoulder with her fingers. 
 
 He hunched the shoulder away from her with a gesture 
 of boyish impatience, and then abruptly, as if realizing 
 what he had done, he turned back to her, caught the hand, 
 and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 "I'm a brute, dear. Forgive me! Of course if you 
 wish it I'll go back. But as to making it up, well " 
 he gulped once or twice "it doesn't rest only with me, you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, Piers, " she said, "you are all he has. He couldn't 
 be hard to you!" 
 
 Piers smiled a wry smile, and said nothing. 
 
 "Besides," she went on gently, "there is really nothing 
 for you to quarrel about, that is, if I am the cause of the 
 trouble. It is perfectly natural that your grandfather 
 should wish you to make a suitable marriage, perfectly 
 natural that he should not want you to run after the wrong 
 woman. You can tell him, Piers, that I absolutely see his
 
 The Conflict 269 
 
 point of view, but that so far as I am concerned, he need 
 not be anxious. It is not my intention to marry again." 
 
 "All right, "said Piers. 
 
 He gave her hand a little shake and released it. For a 
 second only a second she caught a sparkle in his eyes 
 that seemed to her almost like a gleam of mockery. And 
 then with characteristic suddenness he sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Well, I'd better be going," he said in a voice that was 
 perfectly normal and free from agitation, "I can't stop to see 
 the kiddie this time. I'm glad she's going on all right. 
 I wonder when you'll be back again." 
 
 "Not at present, I think," said A very, trying not to be 
 disconcerted by his abruptness. 
 
 He looked down at her whimsically. "You're a good 
 sort, A very, " he said. "I won't be so violent next time." 
 
 "There mustn't be a next time," she said quickly. 
 "Please Piers, that must be quite understood!" 
 
 "All right," he said again. "I understand." 
 
 And with that very suddenly he left her, so suddenly 
 that she sat motionless on her rock and stared after him t 
 not believing that he was really taking his leave. 
 
 He did not turn his head, however, and very soon he 
 passed round the jutting headland, and was gone from her 
 sight. Only when that happened did she draw a long, 
 long breath and realize how much of her strength had been 
 spent to gain what after all appeared to be but a very barren 
 victory.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE RETURN 
 
 H! Cest Monsieur Pierre enfin!" Eagerly Victor 
 greeted the appearance of his young master. He 
 looked as if he would have liked to embrace him. 
 
 Piers' attitude, however, did not encourage any display 
 of tenderness. He flung himself gloomily down into a 
 chair and regarded the man with sombre eyes. 
 
 "Where's Sir Beverley?" he said. 
 
 Victor spread forth expressive hands. "Mais, Sir 
 Beverley, he sit up all the night attending you, mon petit 
 monsieur. Et moi, I sit up also. Mais Monsieur Pierre! 
 Monsieur Pierre!" 
 
 He began to shake his head at Piers in fond reproof, 
 but Piers paid no attention. 
 
 "Sat up all night, what?" he said. "Then where is he 
 now? In bed?" 
 
 There was a deep line between his black brows; all the 
 gaiety and sparkle had gone from his eyes. He looked 
 tired out. 
 
 It was close upon the luncheon-hour, and he had tramped 
 up from the station. There were refreshments in front 
 of him, but he bluntly refused to touch them. 
 
 "Why can't you speak, man?" he said irritably. "Tell 
 me where he is!" 
 
 "He has gone for his ride as usual, " V'ctor said, speaking 
 through pursed lips. "But he is very, very feeble to-day, 
 
 270
 
 The Return 271 
 
 Monsieur Pierre. We beg him not to go. But what would 
 you? He is the master. We could not stop him. But 
 he sit in his saddle like this." 
 
 Victor's gesture descriptive of the bent, stricken figure 
 that had ridden forth that morning was painfully true to life. 
 
 Piers sprang to his feet. "And he isn't back yet ? Where 
 on earth can he be? Which way did he go? " 
 
 Victor raised his shoulders. "He go down the drive 
 as always. Apr&s cela, je ne sais pas." 
 
 "Confusion!" ejaculated Piers, and was gone. 
 
 He had returned by a short cut across the park, but now 
 he tore down the long avenue, running like a trained athlete, 
 head up and elbows in, possessed by the single purpose of 
 reaching the lodge in as brief a time as possible. They 
 would know at the lodge which way his grandfather had 
 gone. 
 
 He found Marshall just turning in at his gate for the 
 midday meal, and hailed him without ceremony. 
 
 The old man stopped and surveyed him with sour dis- 
 approval. The news of Piers' abrupt disappearance on 
 the previous night had spread. 
 
 No, Marshall could give him no news as to the master's 
 whereabouts; he had been out all the morning. 
 
 "Well, find Mrs. Marshall!" ordered Piers impatiently. 
 "She'll know something. She must have opened the 
 gate." 
 
 Mrs. Marshall, summoned by a surly yell from her 
 husband, stood in the door-way, thin-lipped and austere, 
 and announced briefly that Sir Beverley had gone down 
 towards the Vicarage; she didn't know no more than that. 
 
 It was enough for Piers. He was gone again like a bird 
 on the wing. The couple at the lodge looked after him 
 with a species of unwilling admiration. His very arrogance 
 fed their piide in him, disapprove though they might of 
 his wild, foreign ways. Whatever the mixture in his veins,
 
 272 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the old master's blood ran there, and they would always be 
 loyal to that. 
 
 That run to the Vicarage taxed even Piers' powers. 
 The steep hill at the end made him aware that his strength 
 had its limits, and he was forced to pause for breath when 
 he reached the top. He leaned against the Vicarage gate- 
 post with the memory of that winter evening in his mind 
 when Avery had come swift-footed to the rescue, and had 
 cooled his fury with a bucket of cold water. 
 
 A step in the garden made him straighten himself 
 abruptly. He turned to see a tall, black-coated figure 
 emerge. The Reverend Stephen Lorimer came up with 
 dignity and greeted him. 
 
 "Were you about to enter my humble abode?" he 
 enquired. 
 
 "Is my grandfather here?" asked Piers. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer smiled benignly. He liked to imagine 
 himself upon terms of intimacy with Sir Beverley though 
 the latter did very little to justify the idea. 
 
 "Well, no," he said, "I have not had the pleasure of 
 seeing him here to-day. Did he express the intention of 
 paying me a visit?" 
 
 "No, sir, no!" said Piers impatiently. "I only thought 
 it possible, that's all. Good-bye!" 
 
 He swung round and departed, leaving the worthy 
 Vicar looking after him with a shrewd and not over-friendly 
 smile at the corners of his eyes. 
 
 Beyond the Vicarage the road wound round again to the 
 park, and Piers followed it. It led to a gate that opened 
 upon a riding which was a favourite stretch for a gallop 
 with both Sir Beverley and himself. Through this he 
 passed, no longer running, but striding over the springy 
 turf between the budding beech saplings at a pace that 
 soon took him into the heart of the woodland. 
 
 Pressing on, he came at length to a cross-riding, and
 
 The Return 273 
 
 here on boggy ground he discovered recent hoof-marks. 
 There were a good many of them, and he was puzzled for 
 a time as to the direction they had taken. The animal 
 seemed to have wandered to and fro. But he found a 
 continuous track at length and followed it. 
 
 It led to an old summer-house perched on a slope that 
 overlooked the scene of Jeanie's accident in the winter. 
 A cold wind drove down upon him as he ascended. The 
 sky was grey with scurrying clouds. The bare downs 
 looked indescribably desolate. 
 
 Piers hastened along with set teeth. The dread he would 
 not acknowledge hung like a numbing weight upon him. 
 Somehow, inexplicably, he knew that he was nearing the 
 end of his quest. 
 
 The long moan of the wind was the only sound to be 
 heard. It seemed to fill the world. No voice of bird or 
 beast came from near or far. He seemed to travel through a 
 vast emptiness the only living thing astir. 
 
 He reached the thatched summer-house at last, noted 
 with a curious detachment that it was beginning to look 
 dilapidated, wondered if he would find it after all deserted, 
 and the next moment was nearly overwhelmed by a huge 
 grey body that hurled itself upon him from the interior of 
 the little arbour. 
 
 It was Caesar the great Dalmatian who greeted him thus 
 effusively, and Piers realized in an instant that the dog had 
 some news to impart. He pushed him aside with a brief 
 word of welcome and entered the ivy-grown place. 
 
 ' ' Hullo ! ' ' gasped a voice with painful utterance. ' ' Hullo ! " 
 
 And in a moment he discerned Sir Beverley crouched in 
 a corner, grey-faced, his riding-whip still clutched in his 
 hand. 
 
 Impetuously he went to him, stooped above him. "What 
 on earth has happened, sir? You haven't been thrown?" 
 he queried anxiously. 
 
 18
 
 274 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Thrown! I!" Sir Beverley's voice cracked derisively. 
 "No! I got off to have a look at the place, and the 
 brute jibbed and gave me the slip." 
 
 The words came with difficult jerks, his breathing was 
 short and laboured. Piers, bending over him, saw a spasm 
 of pain contract the grey face that nevertheless looked so 
 indomitably into his. 
 
 "He'll go back to stables," growled Sir Beverley. "It's 
 a way colts have when they've had their fling. What 
 have you come back for, eh? Thought I couldn't do 
 without you?" 
 
 There was a stony glint in his eyes as he asked the 
 question. His thin lips curved sardonically. 
 
 Piers, still with anxiety lying cold at his heart, had no 
 place left for resentment. He made swift and winning 
 answer. "I've been a brute, sir. I've come back to ask 
 your forgiveness." 
 
 The sardonic lips parted. "Instead of a hiding eh?" 
 gasped Sir Beverley. 
 
 Piers drew back momentarily; but the grey, drawn face 
 compelled his pity. He stifled his wrath unborn. "I'll 
 take that first, sir, " he said steadily. 
 
 Sir Beverley's frown deepened, but his breathing was 
 growing less oppressed. He suddenly collected his energies 
 and spoke with his usual irascibility. 
 
 "Oh, don't try any of your damned heroics on me, sir! 
 Apologize like a gentleman if you can! If not if not " 
 He broke off panting, his lips still forming words that he 
 lacked the strength to utter. 
 
 Piers sat down beside him on the crazy bench. "I will 
 do anything you wish, sir," he said. "I'm horribly sorry 
 for the way I've treated you. I'm ready to make any 
 amends in my power." 
 
 "Oh, get away!" growled out Sir Beverley. But with 
 the words his hand came gropingly forth and fastened in a
 
 The Return 275 
 
 hard grip on Piers' arm. "You talk like a Sunday-school 
 book, " he said. "What the devil did you do it for, eh?" 
 
 It was roughly spoken, but Piers was quick to recognize 
 the spirit behind the words. He clapped his own hand 
 upon his grandfather's, and was shocked afresh at its icy 
 coldness. 
 
 " I say, do let's go!" he said. "We can't talk here. It's 
 downright madness to sit in this draughty hole. Come 
 along, sir!" He thrust a vigorous arm about the old 
 man and hoisted him to his feet. 
 
 "Oh, you're mighty strong!" gasped Sir Beverley. 
 "Strong enough to kick over the traces, eh?" 
 
 "Never again, sir," said Piers with decision. 
 
 Whereat Sir Beverley looked at him searchingly, and 
 gibed no more. 
 
 They went out together on to the open wind-swept hill- 
 side, Piers still strongly supporting him, for he stumbled 
 painfully. It was a difficult progress for them both, and 
 haste was altogether out of the question. 
 
 Sir Beverley revived somewhat as they went, but more 
 than once he had to pause to get his breath. His weakness 
 was a revelation to Piers though he sought to reassure him- 
 self with the reflection that it was the natural outcome of 
 his night's vigil; and moment by moment his compunction 
 grew. 
 
 They were no more than a mile from the Abbey, but it 
 took them the greater part of two hours to accomplish 
 the distance, and at the end of it Sir Beverley was hanging 
 upon Piers in a state that bordered upon collapse. 
 
 His animal had just returned riderless, and considerable 
 consternation prevailed. Victor, who was on the watch, 
 rushed to meet them with characteristic nimbleness, and 
 he and Piers between them carried Sir Beverley in, and laid 
 him down before the great hall fire. 
 
 But though so exhausted as to be scarcely conscious, he
 
 276 The Bars of Iron 
 
 still clung fast to Piers, not suffering him to stir from his 
 side; and there Piers remained, chafing the cold hands and 
 administering brandy, while Victor, invaluable in an 
 emergency, procured pillows, blankets, hot-water bottles, 
 everything that his fertile brain could suggest to restore the 
 failing strength. 
 
 Again, though slowly, Sir Beverley rallied, recovered 
 his faculties, came back to full understanding. "Had any- 
 thing to eat?" he rapped out so suddenly that Piers, 
 kneeling beside him, jumped with astonishment. 
 
 "I, sir? No, I'm not hungry, " he said. "You're feeling 
 better, what? Can I get you something?" 
 
 "Oh, don't be a damn' fool!" said Sir Beverley. "Tell 
 'em to fetch some lunch!" 
 
 It was the turning-point. From that moment he began 
 to recover in a fashion that amazed Piers, cast aside blankets 
 and pillows, sternly forbade Piers to summon the doctor, 
 and sat up before the fire with a grim refusal to be coddled 
 any longer. 
 
 They lunched together in the warmth of the blazing 
 logs, and Sir Beverley became so normal in his attitude 
 that Piers began at last to feel reassured. 
 
 He did not broach the matter that lay between them, 
 knowing well that his grandfather's temperament was not 
 such as to leave it long in abeyance; and they smoked 
 together in peace after the meal as though the strife of 
 the previous evening had never been. 
 
 But the memory of it overhung them both, and finally 
 at the end of a lengthy silence Sir Beverley turned his 
 stone-grey eyes upon his grandson and spoke. 
 
 "Well? What have you to say for yourself?" 
 
 Piers came out of a reverie and looked up with a faint 
 rueful smile. "Nothing, sir," he said. 
 
 ' ' Nothing ? What do you mean by that ? " Sir Beverley f s 
 voice was sharp. "You go away like a raving lunatic,
 
 The Return 277 
 
 and stay away all night, and then come back with nothing 
 to say. What have you been up to ? Tell me that !" 
 
 Piers leaned slowly forward, took up the poker and 
 gently pushed it into the fire. "She won't have me," 
 he said, with his eyes upon the leaping flames. 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Sir Beverley. "You've been after 
 that hussy again?" 
 
 Piers' brows drew together in a thick, ominous line; but 
 he merely nodded and said, "Yes." 
 
 "The devil you have!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. "And 
 she refused you?" 
 
 "She did." Again very softly Piers poked at the blazing 
 logs, his eyes fixed and intent. "It served me right in a 
 way," he said, speaking meditatively, almost as if to 
 himself. "I was a hound to ask her. But somehow 
 I was driven. However," he drove the poker in a little 
 further, "it's all the same now as she's refused me. That's 
 why," he turned his eyes suddenly upon Sir Beverley, 
 "there's nothing to be said." 
 
 There was no defiance in his look, but it held something 
 of a baffling quality. It was almost as if in some fashion 
 he were conscious of relief. 
 
 Sir Beverley stared at him, angry and incredulous. 
 " Refused you! What the devil for? Wanted my consent, 
 I suppose? Thought I held the purse-strings, eh?" 
 
 "Oh no," said Piers, again faintly smiling, "she didn't 
 care a damn about that. She knows I am not dependent 
 upon you. But she has no use for me, that's all." 
 
 "No use for you!" Sir Beverley's voice rose. "What 
 the what the devil does she want then, I should like to 
 know?" 
 
 "She doesn't want anyone," said Piers. "At least 
 she thinks she doesn't. You see, she's been married 
 before." 
 
 There was a species of irony in his voice that yet was
 
 278 The Bars of Iron 
 
 without bitterness. He turned back to his aimless stirring 
 of the fire, and there fell a silence between them. 
 
 But Sir Beverley's eyes were fixed upon his grandson's 
 face in a close, unsparing scrutiny. "So you thought 
 you might as well come back, " he said at last. 
 
 "She made me," said Piers, without looking round. 
 
 "Made you!" 
 
 Again Piers nodded. "I was to tell you from her that 
 she quite understands your attitude; but that you needn't 
 be anxious, as she has no intention of marrying again." 
 
 "Confound her impudence!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Oh no!" Piers' voice sounded too tired to be indignant. 
 "I don't think you can accuse her of that. There has 
 never been any flirtation between us. It wasn't her fault. 
 I made a fool of myself. It just happened in the ordinary 
 course of things." 
 
 He ceased to speak, laid down the poker without sound, 
 and sat with clasped hands, staring blindly before him. 
 
 Again there fell a silence. The clock in the corner 
 ticked on with melancholy regularity, the logs hissed and 
 spluttered viciously; but the two men sat in utter stillness, 
 both bowed as if beneath a pressing burden. 
 
 One of them moved at last, stretched out a bony, 
 trembling hand, laid it on the other's shoulder. 
 
 "Piers boy," Sir Beverley said, with slow articulation, 
 "believe me, there's not a woman on this earth worth 
 grizzling about. They're liars and impostors, every one." 
 
 Piers started a little, then with a very boyish movement, 
 he laid his cheek against the old bent fingers. "My dear 
 sir," he said, "but you're a woman-hater!" 
 
 "I know," said Sir Beverley, still in that heavy, fateful 
 fashion. "And I have reason. I tell you, boy, and I 
 know, you would be better off in your coffin than linked 
 to a woman you seriously cared for. It's hell on earth 
 hell on earth!"
 
 The Return 279 
 
 "Or paradise," muttered Piers. 
 
 "A fool's paradise, boy; a paradise that turns to dust 
 and ashes." Sir Beverley's voice quivered suddenly. 
 He withdrew his hand to fumble in an inner pocket. In 
 a moment he stretched it forth again with a key lying on 
 the palm. 
 
 "Take that!" he said. "Open that bureau thing behind 
 you! Look in the left-hand drawer! There's something 
 there for you to see." 
 
 Piers obeyed him. There was that in Sir Beverley's 
 manner that silenced all questioning. He pulled out the 
 drawer and looked in. It contained one thing only a 
 revolver. 
 
 Sir Beverley went on speaking, calmly, dispassionately, 
 wholly impersonally. "It's loaded has been loaded for 
 fifty years. But I never used it. And that not because 
 my own particular hell wasn't hot enough, but just because 
 I wouldn't have it said that I'd ever loved any she-devil 
 enough to let her be my ruin. There were times enough 
 when I nearly did it. I've sat all night with the thing in my 
 hand. But I hung on for that reason, till at last the fire 
 burnt out, and I didn't care. Every woman is the same to 
 me now. I know now and you've got to know it too 
 that woman is only fit to be the servant, not the mistress, 
 of man, and a damn' treacherous servant at that. She 
 was made for man's use, and if he is fool enough to let her 
 get the upper hand, then Heaven help him, for he certainly 
 won't be in a position to help himself!" 
 
 He stopped abruptly, and in the silence Piers shut and 
 relocked the drawer. He dropped the key into his own 
 pocket, and came back to the fire. 
 
 Sir Beverley looked up at him with something of an 
 effort. "Boy," he said, "you've got to marry some day, 
 I know. You've got to have children. But you're 
 young, you know. There's plenty of time before you.
 
 280 The Bars of Iron 
 
 You might wait a bit just a bit till I'm out of the way. 
 I won't keep you long; and I won't beat you often either 
 if you'll condescend to stay with me." 
 
 He smiled with the words, his own grim ironical smile; 
 but the pathos of it cut straight to Piers' heart. He went 
 down on his knees beside the old man and thrust his arm 
 about the shrunken shoulders. 
 
 "I'll never leave you again, sir," he vowed earnestly. 
 "I've been a heartless brute, and I'm most infernally sorry. 
 As to marrying, well there's no more question of that for 
 me. I couldn't marry Ina Rose. You understand that?" 
 
 "Never liked the chit," growled Sir Beverley "Only 
 thought she'd answer your purpose better than some. For 
 you've got to get an heir, boy; remember that! You're 
 the only Evesham left." 
 
 "Oh, damn!" said Piers very wearily. "What does it 
 matter?" 
 
 Sir Beverley looked at him from under his thick brows 
 piercingly but without condemnation. "It's up to you, 
 Piers," he said. 
 
 " Is it? " said Piers, with a groan. "Well, let's leave it at 
 that for the present! Sure you've forgiven me?" 
 
 Sir Beverley's grim face relaxed again. He put his arm 
 round Piers and held him hard for a moment. 
 
 Then: "Oh, drat it, Piers!" he said testily. "Get 
 away, do! And behave yourself for the future!" 
 
 Whereat Piers laughed, a short, unsteady laugh, and 
 went back to his chair.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE DECISION 
 
 " '""PHE matter is settled," said the Reverend Stephen 
 I Lorimer, in the tones of icy decision with which his 
 wife was but too tragically familiar. "I engaged Mrs. 
 Denys to be a help to you, not exclusively to Jeanie. The 
 child is quite well enough to return home, and I do not feel 
 myself justified in incurring any further expense now that 
 her health is quite sufficiently restored." 
 
 "But the children were all counting on going to Stanbury 
 Cliffs for the Easter holidays," protested Mrs. Lorimer 
 almost tearfully. "We cannot disappoint them, Stephen ! " 
 Mr. Lorimer's lips closed very firmly for a few seconds. 
 Then, "The change home will be quite sufficient for them," 
 he said. "I have given the matter my full consideration, 
 my dear Adelaide, and no argument of yours will now 
 move me. Mrs. Denys and Jeanie have been away for a 
 month, and they must now return. It is your turn for a 
 change, and as soon as Eastertide is over I intend to take 
 you away with me for ten days or so and leave Mrs. Denys 
 in charge of the bear-garden, as I fear it but too truly 
 resembles. You are quite unfit for the noise and racket 
 of the holidays. And I myself have been feeling lately 
 the need of a little shall I call it re-creation?" Mr. 
 Lorimer smiled self-indulgently over the term. He liked 
 to play with words. "I presume you have no vital 
 objection to accompanying me?" 
 
 281
 
 282 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Oh, of course not. I should like it above all things," 
 Mrs. Lorimer hastened to assure him, "if it were not for 
 Jeanie. I don't like the thought of bringing her home just 
 when her visit is beginning to do her so much good." 
 
 "She cannot remain away for ever," said Mr. Lorimer. 
 "Moreover, her delicacy must have been considerably 
 exaggerated, or such a sudden improvement could scarcely 
 have taken place. At all events, so it appears to me. 
 She must therefore return home and spend the holidays in 
 wholesome amusements with the other children; and when 
 they are over, I really must turn my serious attention to her 
 education which has been so sadly neglected since Christ- 
 mas. Mrs. Denys is doubtless a very excellent woman in 
 her way, but she is not, I fear, one to whom I could safely 
 entrust the intellectual development of a child of Jeanie's 
 age." He paused, looking up with complacent enquiry 
 at his wife's troubled face. "And now what scruples are 
 stirring in the mind of my spouse?" he asked, with playful 
 affection. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer did not smile in answer. Her worried 
 little face only drew into more anxious lines. "Stephen," 
 she said, "I do wish you would consult Dr. Tudor before 
 you quite decide to have Jeanie home at present." 
 
 The Vicar's mouth turned down, and he looked for a 
 moment so extremely unpleasant that Mrs. Lorimer 
 quailed. Then, "My dear," he said deliberately, "when 
 I decide upon a specific course of action, I carry it through 
 invariably. If I were not convinced that what I am about 
 to do were right, I should not do it. Pray let me hear no 
 more upon the subject! And remember, Adelaide, it is 
 my express command that you do not approach Dr. Tudor 
 in this matter. He is a most interfering person, and would 
 welcome any excuse to obtain a footing in this house again. 
 But now that I have at length succeeded in shaking him 
 off, I intend to keep him at a distance for the future. And
 
 The Decision 283 
 
 he is not to be called in understand this very clearly, if 
 you please except in a case of extreme urgency. This is a 
 distinct order, Adelaide, and I shall be severely displeased 
 if you fail to observe it. And now, " he resumed his lighter 
 manner again as he rose from his chair, "I must hie me to 
 the parish room where my good Miss Whalley is awaiting 
 me." 
 
 He stretched forth a firm, kind hand and patted his wife's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "We must see what we can do to bring a little colour 
 into those pale cheeks," he said. "A fortnight in the 
 Cornish Riviera perhaps. Or we might take a peep at 
 Shakespeare's country. But we shall see, we shall see! 
 I will write to Mrs. Denys and acquaint her with my 
 decision this evening." 
 
 He was gone, leaving Mrs. Lorimer to pace up and down 
 his study in futile distress of mind. Only that morning a 
 letter from A very had reached her, telling her of Jeanie's 
 continued progress, and urging her to come and take her 
 place for a little while. It was such a change as her tired 
 soul craved, but she had not dared to tell her husband so. 
 And now, it seemed, Jeanie's good time also was to be 
 terminated. 
 
 There was no doubt about it. Rodding did not suit the 
 child. She was never well at home. The Vicarage was 
 shut in by trees, a damp, unhealthy place. And Dr. 
 Tudor had told her in plain terms that Jeanie lacked the 
 strength to make any headway there. She was like a 
 wilting plant in that atmosphere. She could not thrive 
 in it. Dry warmth was what she needed, and it had made 
 all the difference to her. Avery's letter had been full of 
 hope. She referred to Dr. Tudor's simile of the building 
 of a sea-wall. "We are strengthening it every day," she 
 wrote. "In a few more weeks it ought to be proof against 
 any ordinary tide."
 
 284 The Bars of Iron 
 
 A few more weeks! Mrs. Lorimer wrung her hands. 
 Stephen did not know, did not realize ; and she was powerless 
 to convince him. Avery would not convince him either. 
 He tolerated only Avery because she was so useful. 
 
 She knew exactly the sort of letter he would write, 
 desiring their return ; and Avery, for all her quiet strength, 
 would have to submit. Oh, it was cruel cruel! 
 
 The tears were coursing down her cheeks when the door 
 opened unexpectedly and Olive entered. She paused at 
 sight of her mother, looking at her with just the Vicar's 
 air of chill enquiry. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer turned hastily to the window and began to 
 dry her eyes. 
 
 Olive went to a bookshelf and stood before it. After a 
 moment she took out a book and deliberately turned the 
 leaves. Her attitude was plainly repressive. 
 
 Finally she returned the book to the shelf and turned. 
 "Why are you crying, Mother?" 
 
 Mrs. Loiimer leaned her head against the window-frame 
 with a heavy sigh. "I am very miserable, Olive," she 
 said, a catch in her voice. 
 
 "No one need be that," observed Olive. "Father says 
 that misery is a sign of mental weakness." 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer was silent. 
 
 "Don't you think you had better leave off crying and 
 find something to do?" suggested her daughter in her cool, 
 young voice. 
 
 Still Mrs. Lorimer neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 Olive came a step nearer. There was obvious distaste 
 on her face. "I wish you would try to be a little brighter 
 for Father's sake," she said. "I don't think you treat 
 him very kindly." 
 
 It was evident that she spoke from a sense of duty. Mrs. 
 Lorimer straightened herself with another weary sigh.
 
 The Decision ,285 
 
 "Run along, my dear!" she said. "I am sure you are 
 busy." 
 
 Olive turned, half- vexed and half -relieved, and walked 
 to the door. Her mother watched her wistfully. It was in 
 her mind to call her back, fold her in her arms, and appeal 
 for sympathy. But the severity of the child's pose was 
 too suggestive of the Vicar's unbending attitude towards 
 feminine weakness, and she restrained the impulse, knowing 
 that she would appeal in vain. There was infinitely more 
 comfort to be found in the society of Baby Phil, and, smiling 
 wanly at the thought, she went up to the nursery in search 
 of it.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE LAST DEBT 
 
 '"PHERE was no combating the Vicar's decision. Avery 
 1 realized that fact from the outset even before Mrs. 
 Lorimer's agitated note upon the subject reached her. The 
 fiat had gone forth, and submission was the only course. 
 
 Jeanie received the news without a murmur. "I don't 
 mind really, " she said. "It's very nice here, but then it's 
 nice at home too when you are there. And then there is 
 Piers too. " 
 
 Yes, there was Piers, another consideration that filled 
 Avery with uneasiness. No word from Piers had reached 
 her since that early morning on the shore, but his silence 
 did not reassure her. She had half expected a boyish letter 
 of apology, some friendy reassurance, some word at least of 
 his return to Rodding Abbey. But she had heard nothing. 
 She did not so much as know if he had returned or not. 
 
 Neither had she heard from her friend Edmund Crowther. 
 With a sense of keen disappointment she wrote to his home 
 in the North to tell him of the change in her plans. She 
 could not ask him to the Vicarage, and it seemed that she 
 might not meet him after all. 
 
 She also sent a hurried note to Lennox Tudor, but they 
 had only three days in which to terminate their visit, and 
 she received no reply. Later, she heard that Tudor had 
 been away for those days and did not open the note until 
 the actual day of their return. 
 
 286
 
 The Last Debt 287 
 
 The other children were expected home from school 
 during the week before Easter, and Mr. Lorimer desired 
 that Avery should be at the Vicarage to prepare for them. 
 So, early in the week, they returned. 
 
 It seemed that Spring had come at last. The hedges were 
 all bursting into tenderest green, and all the world looked 
 young. 
 
 "The primroses will be out in the Park woods," said 
 Jeanie. "We will go and gather heaps and heaps. " 
 
 "Are you allowed to go wherever you like there?" asked 
 Avery, thinking of the game. 
 
 "Oh no, " said Jeanie thoughtfully. " But we always do. 
 Mr. Marshall chases us sometimes, but we always get away. " 
 
 She smiled at the thought, and Avery frankly rejoiced 
 to see her enthusiasm for the wicked game of trespassing in 
 the Squire's preserves. She did not know that the amuse- 
 ment had been strictly prohibited by the Vicar, and it did 
 not occur to Jeanie to tell her. None of the children had 
 ever paid any attention to the prohibition. There were 
 some rules that no one could keep. 
 
 The return of the rest of the family kept the days that 
 succeeded their return extremely lively. Jeanie was in 
 higher spirits than Avery had ever seen her. She seemed 
 more childish, more eager for fun, as though some of the 
 zest of life had got into her veins at last. Her mother 
 ascribed the change to Avery's influence, and was pathetic 
 in her gratitude, though Avery disclaimed all credit declar- 
 ing that the sea-air had wrought the wonder. 
 
 When Lennox Tudor saw her, he looked at Avery with an 
 odd smile behind his glasses. "You've built the wall," he 
 said. 
 
 They had met by the churchyard gate, and Jeanie and 
 Pat were having a hopping race down the hill. Avery 
 looked after them with a touch of wistfulness. " But I wish 
 she could have been away longer."
 
 288 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Tudor frowned. "Yes. Why on earth not? The Rever- 
 end Stephen again, I suppose. I wish I had had your letter 
 sooner, though as a matter of fact I'm not in favour just now, 
 and my interference would probably weigh in the wrong 
 balance. Keep the child out as much as possible! It's 
 the only way. She has made good progress. There is no 
 reason at present why she should go back again. " 
 
 No, there was no reason ; yet A very 's heart misgave her. 
 She wished she might have had longer for the building of 
 that wall. Good Friday was more or less a day of penance 
 in the Vicar's family. It began with lengthy prayers in the 
 dining-room, so lengthy that A very feared that Mrs. Lorimer 
 would faint ere they came to an end. Then after a rigor- 
 ously silent breakfast the children were assembled in the 
 study to be questioned upon the Church Catechism a 
 species of discipline peculiarly abhorrent to them all 
 by reason of the Vicar's sarcastic comments upon their 
 ignorance. 
 
 At the end of this dreary exercise they were dismissed to 
 prepare for church where there followed a service which 
 Avery regarded as downright revolting. It consisted 
 mainly of prayers as many prayers as the Vicar could get 
 in, rendered in an emotionless monotone with small regard 
 for sense and none whatever for feeling. The whole thing 
 was drab and unattractive to the utmost limit, and Avery 
 rose at length from her knees with a feeling of having been 
 deliberately cheated of a thing she valued. She left the 
 church in an unwonted spirit of exasperation, which lasted 
 throughout the midday meal, which was as oppressively 
 silent as breakfast had been. 
 
 The open relief with which the children trooped away to 
 the schoolroom found a warm echo in her heart. She even 
 almost smiled in sympathy when Julian breathed a deep 
 thanksgiving that that show was over for one more year. 
 
 Neither Piers nor his grandfather had been in the church,
 
 The Last Debt 289 
 
 and their absence did not surprise her. She did not feel 
 that she herself could ever face such a service again. The 
 memory of Piers at the organ came to her as she dressed 
 to accompany the children upon their primrosing expedi- 
 tion, and a sudden passionate longing followed it to hear 
 that music again. She was feeling starved in her soul that 
 day. 
 
 But when they reached the green solitudes of the park 
 woodlands the bitterness began to pass away. It was all so 
 beautiful; the mossy riding up which they turned was so 
 springy underfoot, and the singing of a thousand birds made 
 endless music whichever way they wandered. 
 
 "It's better than church, isn't it?" said Jeanie softly, 
 pressing close to her. And Avery smiled in answer. It 
 was balm to the spirit. 
 
 The Squire's preserves were enclosed in wire netting, 
 and over this they climbed into their primrose paradise. 
 Several partridges rose from the children's feet, and whirred 
 noisily away, to the nuge delight of the boys but to Avery's 
 considerable dismay. However, Marshall was evidently not 
 within earshot, and they settled down to the serious business 
 of filling their baskets for the church decorations without 
 interference. 
 
 The primroses grew thickly in a wonderful carpet that 
 spread in all directions, sloping down to a glade where 
 gurgled a brown stream. Down this glade Avery directed 
 her party, keeping a somewhat anxious eye upon Gracie 
 and the three boys who were in the wildest spirits after the 
 severe strain of the morning. She and Jeanie picked 
 rapidly and methodically. Olive had decided not to 
 accompany the expedition. She did not care for prim- 
 rosing, she told Avery, and her father had promised to read 
 the Testament in Greek with her later in the afternoon, an 
 intellectual exercise which she plainly regarded as extremely 
 meritorious. 
 19
 
 290 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Her absence troubled no one; in fact Julian, having over- 
 heard her excuse, remarked rudely that if she was going to 
 put on side, they were better off without her; and A very 
 secretly agreed with him. 
 
 So in cheery accord they went their careless way through 
 the preserves, scaring the birds and filling their baskets with 
 great industry. They had reached the end of the glade 
 and were contemplating fording the brook when like a bolt 
 from the blue discovery came upon them. A sound, like 
 the blare of an angry bull, assailed them a furious inarticu- 
 late sound that speedily resolved into words. 
 
 "What the devil are you mischievous brats doing there?" 
 
 The whole party jumped violently at the suddenness of 
 the attack. Avery's heart gave a most unpleasant jerk. 
 She knew that voice. 
 
 Swiftly she turned in the direction whence it came, and 
 saw again the huge white horse of the trampling hoofs that 
 had once before been urged against her. 
 
 He was stamping and fretting on the other side of the 
 stream, the banks of which were so steep as almost to form 
 a chasm, and from his back the terrible old Squire hurled 
 the vials of his wrath. 
 
 Ronald drew near to Avery, while Jeanie slipped a 
 nervous hand into hers. Julian, however, turned a defiant 
 face. " It's all right. He can't get at us, " he said audibly. 
 
 At which remark Gracie laughed a little hysterically, and 
 Pat made a grimace. 
 
 Perhaps it was this last that chiefly infuriated the Squire, 
 for he literally bellowed with rage, snatched his animal back 
 with a merciless hand, and then with whip and spur set him 
 full at the stream. 
 
 It was a dangerous leap, for the ground on both banks was 
 yielding and slippery. Avery stood transfixed to watch 
 the result. 
 
 The horse made a great effort to obey his master's behests.
 
 The Last Debt 291 
 
 It almost seemed as if he were furious too, A very thought, as 
 he pounded forward to clear the obstacle. His leap was 
 superb, clearing the stream by a good six feet, but as he 
 landed among the primroses disaster overtook him. It 
 must have been a rabbit-hole, Avery reflected later; for he 
 blundered as he touched the ground, plunged forward, and 
 fell headlong. 
 
 There followed a few moments of sickening confusion 
 during which the horrified spectators had time to realize 
 that Sir Beverley was pinned under the kicking animal; 
 then with a savage effort the great brute rolled over and 
 struggled to his feet. 
 
 With a promptitude that spoke well for his nerve, Julian 
 sprang forward and caught the dangling bridle. The 
 creature tried to jib back upon his prostrate master, but he 
 dragged him forward and held him fast. 
 
 Old Sir Beverley lay prone on the ground, in an awful 
 stillness, with his white face turned to the sky. His eyes 
 were fast shut, his arms flung wide, one hand still grasping 
 the whip which he had wielded so fiercely a few seconds 
 before. 
 
 "Is he dead?" whispered Jeanie, clinging close to Avery. 
 
 Avery gently released herself and moved forward. " No, 
 dear, no! He he is only stunned. " 
 
 She knelt beside Sir Beverley, overcoming a horrible 
 sensation of sickness as she did so. The whole catastrophe 
 had been of so sudden and so violent a nature that she felt 
 almost stunned herself. 
 
 She slipped an arm under the old man's head, and it hung 
 upon her like a leaden weight. 
 
 "Oh, Avery, how dreadful!" exclaimed Gracie, aghast. 
 
 "Take my handkerchief!" said Avery quickly. "Run 
 down and soak it in the stream! Mind how you go! It's 
 very steep." 
 
 Gracie went like the wind.
 
 292 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Avery began with fingers that shook in spite of her utmost 
 resolution, to try to loosen Sir Beverley's collar. 
 
 "Let me!" said Ronald, gently. 
 
 She glanced up gratefully and relinquished the task to 
 him. Ronald was neat in all his ways. 
 
 The return of Gracie with the wet handkerchief gave her 
 something to do, and she tenderly moistened the stark, 
 white face. But the children's fears were crowding thick 
 in her own heart. That awful inertness looked so terribly 
 like death. 
 
 And then suddenly the grim lips parted and a quivering 
 sigh passed through them. 
 
 The next moment abruptly the grey eyes opened and 
 gazed full at Avery with a wide, glassy stare. 
 
 "What the what the " stammered Sir Beverley, and 
 broke off with a hard gasp. 
 
 Avery sought to raise him higher, but his weight was too 
 much for her even with Ronald assisting. 
 
 "Find my flask!" jerked out Sir Beverley, with panting 
 breath. 
 
 Ronald began to search in his pockets and finally drew it 
 forth. He opened it and gave it to Avery who held it to the 
 twitching lips. 
 
 Sir Beverley drank and closed his eyes. "I shall be 
 better soon," he said, in a choked whisper. 
 
 Avery waited, supporting him as strongly as she could, 
 listening to the short laboured breathing with deep 
 foreboding. 
 
 "Couldn't I run down to the Abbey for help?" suggested 
 Julian, who had succeeded at length in tying the chafing 
 animal to a tree. 
 
 Avery considered. " I don't know. How far is it?" 
 
 " Not more than a mile. P'r'aps I should find Piers there. 
 I'm sure I'd better go, " the boy urged, with his eyes on the 
 deathly face.
 
 The Last Debt 293 
 
 And after a moment Avery agreed with him. "Yes, I 
 think perhaps you'd better. Grade and Pat might go for 
 Dr. Tudor meanwhile. I do hope you will find Piers. 
 Tell him to bring two men, and something that they can 
 carry him on. Jeanie dear, you run home to your mother 
 and tell her how it is that we shall be late for tea. You 
 won't startle her, I know. " 
 
 They fell in with her desires at once. There was not 
 one of them who would not have done anything for her. 
 And so they scattered, departing upon their several missions, 
 leaving Ronald only to share her vigil by the old Squire's 
 side. 
 
 For a long time after their departure, there was no change 
 in Sir Beverley's state. He lay propped against Avery's 
 arm and Ronald's knee breathing quickly, with painful 
 effort, through his parted lips. He kept his eyes closed, but 
 they knew that he was conscious by the heavy frown that 
 drew his forehead. Once Avery offered him more brandy, 
 but he refused it impatiently, and she desisted. 
 
 The deathly pallor had, however, begun to give place to a 
 more natural hue, and as the minutes passed his breathing 
 gradually grew less distressed. Once more his eyes opened, 
 and he stared into Avery's face. 
 
 "Help me to sit up!" he commanded. 
 
 They did their best, he struggling with piteously feeble 
 efforts to help himself. Finally he managed to drag him- 
 self to a leaning position on one elbow, though for several 
 seconds thereafter his gasping was terrible to hear. 
 
 Avery saw his lips move several times before any sound 
 came from them. At length, ; 'Send that boy away!" 
 he gasped out. 
 
 Avery and Ronald looked at each other, and the boy got 
 to his feet with an undecided air. 
 
 " Do you hear? Go!" rapped out Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Shall I, Avery?" whispered Ronald.
 
 294 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She nodded. "Yes, just a little way! I'll call you if I 
 want you." 
 
 And half-reluctantly Ronald obeyed. 
 
 'Has he gone?" asked Sir Beverley. 
 
 "Yes." Avery remained on her knees beside him. 
 He looked as if he might collapse at any moment. 
 
 For awhile he lay struggling for breath with his face 
 towards the ground; then very suddenly his strength 
 seemed to return. He raised his head and regarded her 
 piercingly. 
 
 "You," he said curtly, "are the young woman who 
 refused to marry my grandson." 
 
 The words were so totally unexpected that Avery literally 
 gasped with astonishment. To be taken to task on this 
 subject was an ordeal for which she was wholly unprepared. 
 
 "Well?" he said irritably. "That is so, I believe? 
 You did refuse to marry him?" 
 
 "Yes," Avery admitted, feeling the hot colour flood her 
 face under the merciless scrutiny of the stone-grey eyes. 
 "But but " 
 
 "Well?" he said again, still more irritably. "But 
 what?" 
 
 "Oh, need we discuss it?" she said appealingly. "I 
 would so much rather not. " 
 
 "I desire to discuss it," said Sir Beverley autocratically. 
 " I desire to know what objection you have to my grand- 
 son. Many women, let me tell you, of far higher social 
 standing than yourself would jump at such a chance. But 
 you you take upon yourself to refuse it. I desire to know 
 why." 
 
 He spoke with a stubbornness that overbore all bodily 
 weakness. He would be a tyrant to his last breath. 
 
 But Avery could not bring herself to answer him. She 
 felt as if he were trying to force his way into a place which 
 she regarded as peculiarly sacred, from which in some
 
 The Last Debt 295 
 
 fashion she owed it to Piers as well as to herself to bar him 
 out. 
 
 " I am sorry, " she said gently after a moment, "but I am 
 afraid that is just what I can't tell you. " 
 
 She saw Sir Beverley's chin thrust out at just the indomit- 
 able angle with which Piers had made her familiar, and she 
 realized that he had no intention of abandoning his point. 
 
 "You told him, I suppose?" he demanded gruffly. 
 
 A faint sense of amusement arose within her, her anxiety 
 notwithstanding. It struck her as ludicrous that she 
 should be browbeaten on this point. 
 
 She made answer with more assurance. "I told him 
 that the idea was unsuitable, out of the question, that he 
 ought to marry a girl of his own age and station not a 
 middle-aged widow like me." 
 
 "Pshaw!" exclaimed Sir Beverley impatiently. "You 
 belong to the same generation, don't you? What more do 
 you want?" 
 
 If he had slapped her face, Avery would scarcely have 
 felt more amazed. She gazed at him in silence, wondering 
 if she could have heard aright. 
 
 Sir Beverley frowned upon her fiercely, the iron will of 
 him scorning and surmounting his physical weakness. 
 
 "You've got nothing against the boy, I suppose?" he 
 pursued, with the evident determination to get at the 
 truth despite all opposition. "He has never given you 
 any cause for complaint? He's behaved himself like a 
 gentleman, hey?" 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course!" Avery said in distress. "It's 
 not that!" 
 
 Sir Beverley frowned still more heavily. "Then what 
 the devil is it?" he demanded. "Don't you like him well 
 enough? Aren't you in love with him ?" His lips curled 
 ironically over the words; they sounded inexpressibly bitter. 
 
 Avery's eyes fell before his pitiless stare. She began
 
 296 The Bars of Iron 
 
 with fingers that trembled to pluck the primroses that grew 
 in a large tuft close to her, saying no word. 
 
 "Well?" said Sir Beverley, with growing impatience. 
 
 She kept her eyes lowered, for she felt she could not 
 meet his look as she made reluctant answer. "No, it is 
 not either. In fact, if I were a girl if I had not been 
 married before I think I should say Yes. But but " 
 she paused, searching for words, striving to restrain a rising 
 agitation, "as it is, I don't think it would be quite fair to 
 him. I don't know if I could make him happy. I am not 
 young enough, fresh enough, gay enough. I can't offer 
 him a girl's first love, and that is what he ought to have. 
 I so want him to have the best. I so want him to be 
 happy." 
 
 The words were out with a rush, almost before she was 
 aware of uttering them, and suddenly her eyes were full of 
 tears, tears that caught her off her guard, so that she had 
 neither time nor strength to check them. She turned 
 quickly from him, fighting for self-control. 
 
 Sir Beverley uttered a grunt that might have denoted 
 either surprise or disgust, and there followed a silence that 
 she found peculiarly difficult to bear. 
 
 "So," he said at last, in a tone that was strictly devoid 
 of feeling, "you care for him too much to marry him? Is 
 that it?" 
 
 It sounded preposterous, but she was still too near tears 
 for any sense of humour to penetrate her distress. She 
 felt as if he had remorselessly wrested from her and dragged 
 to light a treasure upon which she herself had scarcely dared 
 to look. She continued feverishly to pluck the pale flowers 
 that grew all about them, her eyes fixed upon her task. 
 
 With a growling effort, Sir Beverley raised himself, 
 thrust forward a quivering hand and gripped hers. 
 
 Startled, she turned towards him, meeting not hostility 
 but a certain grim kindliness in the hard old eyes.
 
 The Last Debt 297 
 
 "Will you honour me with your attention for a moment? " 
 he asked, with ironical courtesy. 
 
 "I am attending," she answered meekly. 
 
 "Then, " he said, dropping all pretence at courtesy with- 
 out further ceremony, "permit me to say that if you don't 
 marry my grandson, you'll be a bigger fool than I take you 
 for. And in my opinion, a sober-minded woman like you 
 who will see to his comfort and be faithful to him is more 
 likely to make him happy than any of your headlong, 
 flighty girls." 
 
 He stopped; but he did not relinquish his hold upon her. 
 There was to A very something oddly pathetic in the close 
 grasp of those unsteady fingers. It was as if they made an 
 appeal which he would have scorned to utter. 
 
 "You really wish me to marry him?" she said. 
 
 He snarled at her like a surly dog. "Wish it? I! 
 Good Heavens above, if I had my way I'd never let him 
 marry at all! But unfortunately circumstances demand 
 it; and the boy himself the boy himself, well " his 
 voice softened imperceptibly, rasped on a note of tender- 
 ness, "he wants looking after; he's young, you know. 
 He'll be all alone very soon, and it isn't considered good 
 for a man to live alone not a young man anyway. " 
 
 He broke off, still looking hard at Avery from under 
 his drawn white brows as if daring her to dispute the 
 matter. 
 
 But she said nothing, and after a moment he resumed 
 more equably: "That's all I have to say on the subject. 
 I wish you to understand that for the boy's sake and for 
 other considerations I have withdrawn my opposition. 
 You can marry him as soon as you like." 
 
 He sank down again on his elbow, and she saw a look of 
 exhaustion on his face. His head drooped forward on his 
 chest, and, watching him, she realized that he was an old, 
 old man and very tired of life.
 
 298 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Suddenly he jerked his head up again and met her 
 pitying eyes. 
 
 "I'm done, yes," he said grimly, as if in response to her 
 unspoken thought. "But I've paid my debts all of 'em, 
 including this last. " His voice began to fail, but he forced 
 it on, speaking spasmodically, with increasing difficulty. 
 "You sent my boy back to me the other day against 
 his will. Now I make you a present of him in return. 
 There's good stuff in the lad, nothing shabby about him. 
 If you care for him at all you ought to be able to hold 
 him make him happy. Anyway anyway you might 
 try!" 
 
 The appeal in the last words, whispered though they 
 were, was undisguised; and swiftly, impulsively, almost 
 before she knew what she was doing, Avery responded 
 to it. 
 
 "Oh, I will try!" she said very earnestly. "I will 
 indeed!" 
 
 He looked at her fixedly for a moment with eyes of deep 
 searching that she never forgot, and then his head dropped 
 forward heavily. 
 
 "You have said it!" he said, and sank unconscious 
 upon the ground.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 " IV /I Y good Mrs. Denys, it is quite fruitless for you to 
 
 I V 1 argue the matter. Nothing you can say can alter 
 the fact that you took the children trespassing in the 
 Rodding Park preserves against my most stringent com- 
 mands, and this deplorable accident to the Squire is the direct 
 outcome of the most flagrant insubordination. I have 
 borne a good deal from you, but this I cannot overlook. 
 You will therefore take a month's notice from to-day, 
 and as it is quite impossible for me to reconsider my decision 
 in this respect it would be wasted effort on your part to 
 lodge any appeal against it. As for the children, I shall 
 deal with them in my own way." 
 
 The Vicar's thin lips closed upon the words with the 
 severity of an irrevocable resolution. Avery heard him 
 with a sense of wild rebellion at her heart to which she 
 knew she must not give rein. She stood before him, a 
 defenceless culprit brought up for punishment. 
 
 It was difficult to be dignified under such circumstances, 
 but she did her best. 
 
 "I am extremely sorry that I took the children into the 
 preserves," she said. "But I accept the full responsibility 
 for having done so. They were not greatly to blame 
 in the matter." 
 
 "Upon that point," observed Mr. Lorimer, "I am the 
 best judge. The children will be punished as severely as I 
 
 299
 
 3oo The Bars of Iron 
 
 deem necessary. Meantime, you quite understand, do you 
 not, that your duties here must terminate a month from 
 now? I am only sorry that I allowed myself to be per- 
 suaded to reconsider my decision on the last occasion. 
 For more than one reason I think it is to be regretted. 
 However, " he completed the sentence with a heavy 
 sigh and said no more. 
 
 It was evident that he desired to close the interview, yet 
 Avery lingered. She could not go with the children's fate 
 still in the balance. 
 
 He looked at her interrogatively with raised brows. 
 
 "You will not surely punish the children very severely?" 
 she said. 
 
 He waved a hand of cool dismissal. "I shall do what- 
 ever seems to me right and advisable," he said. 
 
 It came to Avery that interference on this subject would 
 do more harm than good, and she turned to go. At the door 
 his voice arrested her. "This day month then, Mrs. Denys ! " 
 
 She bent her head in silent acquiescence, and went out. 
 
 In the passage Gracie awaited her and wound eager arms 
 about her. 
 
 "Was he very horrid to you, Avery darling? What did 
 he say?" 
 
 Avery went with her to the schoolroom where the other 
 offenders were assembled. It seemed to her almost cruel 
 to attempt to suppress the truth, but their reception of it 
 went to her heart. Jeanie the placid, sweet-tempered 
 Jeanie wept tears of such anguished distress that she 
 feared she would make herself ill. Gracie was too angry to 
 weep. She wanted to go straight to the study and beard 
 the lion in his den, and only Avery 's most strenuous opposi- 
 tion restrained her. And into the midst of their tribula- 
 tion came Mrs. Lorimer to mingle her tears with theirs. 
 
 "What I shall do without you, Avery, I can't think," 
 was the burden of her lament.
 
 The Message 301 
 
 Avery couldn't think either, for she knew better even 
 than Mrs. Lorimer herself how much the latter had come 
 to lean upon her. 
 
 She had to turn her energies to comforting her disconso- 
 late companions, but this task was still unaccomplished 
 when the door opened and the Vicar stalked in upon them. 
 
 He observed his wife's presence with cold displeasure, and 
 at once proceeded to dismiss her. 
 
 "I desire your presence in the study for a few moments, 
 Adelaide. Perhaps you will be kind enough to precede 
 me thither. " 
 
 He held the door open for her with elaborate ceremony, 
 and Mrs. Lorimer had no choice but to obey. She departed 
 with a scared effort to check her tears under the stern 
 disapproval of his look. 
 
 He closed the door upon her and advanced to the table, 
 gazing round upon them with judicial severity. 
 
 "I am here," he announced, "to pass sentence." 
 
 Jeanie, crying softly in her corner, made desperate 
 attempts to control herself under the awful look that was 
 at this point concentrated upon her. 
 
 After a pause the Vicar proceeded, with a spiteful glance 
 at Avery. "It is my intention to impose a holiday-task 
 of sufficient magnitude to keep you all out of mischief during 
 the rest of the holidays. You will therefore commit to 
 memory various different portions of Milton's Paradise 
 Lost which I shall select, and which must be repeated to me 
 in their entirety without mistake on my return from my own 
 hard-earned holiday. And let me give you all fair warning, ' ' 
 he raised his voice and looked round again, regarding poor 
 Jeanie with marked austerity, "that if any one of you is not 
 word-perfect in his or her task by the day of my return boy 
 or girl I care not, the offence is the same he or she will 
 receive a sound caning and the task will be returned." 
 
 Thus he delivered himself, and turned to go; but paused at
 
 302 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the door to add, "Also, Mrs. Denys, will you be good 
 enough to remember that it is against my express command 
 that either you or any of the children should, enter any part 
 of Rodding Park during my absence. I desire that to be 
 clearly understood." 
 
 " It is understood, " said A very in a low voice. 
 
 "That is well," said the Reverend Stephen, and walked 
 majestically from the room. 
 
 A few seconds of awed silence followed his departure; 
 then to Avery's horror Grade snatched off one of her shoes 
 <md flung it violently at the door that he had closed behind 
 him. Luckily for Gracie, her father was at the foot of the 
 stairs before this episode took place and beyond earshot also 
 of the furious storm of tears that followed it, with which 
 even Avery found it difficult to cope. 
 
 It had been a tragic day throughout, and she was thank- 
 ful when at length it drew to a close. 
 
 But when night came at last, and she lay down in the 
 darkness, she found herself much too full of thought for 
 sleep. Till then, she had not had time to review the day's 
 happenings, but they crowded upon her as she lay, driving 
 away all possibility of repose. 
 
 What was she going to do? Over and over again she 
 asked herself the question, bringing herself as it were each 
 time to contemplate afresh the obstacle that had arisen 
 in her path. Had she really promised to marry Pier:;: 1 
 The Squire evidently thought she had. The memory cf 
 those last words of his came back to her again and again. 
 He had been very much in earnest, veiy anxious to provide 
 for his boy's future, desperately afraid of leaving him alone. 
 How would he view his impetuous action, she wondered, 
 on the morrow? Had he not even now possibly begun 
 to repent? Would he really desire her to take him literally? 
 
 And Piers, what of Piers? A sudden, warm thrill ran 
 through her. She glowed from head to foot. She had not
 
 The Message 303 
 
 seen Piers since that morning by the sea. She had a feeling 
 that he was purposely avoiding her, and yet deep in the 
 secret heart of her she knew that what she had rejected over 
 and over again was still irrevocably her own. He would 
 come back to her. She knew he would come back. And 
 again that strange warmth rilled her veins. The memory 
 of him just then was like a burst of sunshine after a day of 
 storm. 
 
 He had not been at home when Julian had taken the news 
 of the Squire's accident to the Abbey, and only menservants 
 had come to the rescue. She had accompanied them part 
 of the way back, but Tudor had overtaken them in the 
 drive, and she and the boys had turned back. Sir Beverley 
 had been exhausted and but half -conscious, and he had not 
 uttered another word to her. She wished Dr. Tudor had 
 looked in on his way home, and then wondered if the Squire's 
 condition were such as to necessitate his spending the night 
 at the Abbey. He had once told her that Sir Beverley 
 suffered from a weakness of the heart which might develop 
 seriously at any time ; but though himself fully aware of the 
 fact, the old man had never permitted Piers to be told. 
 She had deemed it unfair to Piers, but it was no matter for 
 interference. A great longing to know what was happening 
 possessed her. Surely surely Mr. Lorimer would send up 
 in the morning to enquire ! 
 
 Her thoughts took another turn. She had been given 
 definite notice to go. In her efforts to console Mrs. Lori- 
 mer, and the children, she had scarcely herself realized all 
 that it would imply. She began to picture the parting, and 
 a quiver of pain went through her. How they had all grown 
 abut her heart! How would she bear to say good-bye to 
 her little delicate Jeanie? And how would the child fare 
 without her? She hardly dared to think. 
 
 And then again that blinding ray of sunshine burst 
 riotously through her clouds. If the impossible happened,
 
 304 The Bars of Iron 
 
 if she ever married Piers for the first time she deliberately 
 faced and contemplated the thought would she not be at 
 least within reach if trouble came? A little thrill of spiteful 
 humour ran through her at this point. She was quite sure 
 that under such circumstances she would not be refused 
 admittance to the Vicar's home. As Piers' wife, its doors 
 would always be open to her. 
 
 As Piers' wife! She found herself repeating the words, 
 repeating and repeating them till their strangeness began 
 to give place to a certain familiarity. Was it after all true, 
 as he had once so vehemently asserted, that they were meant 
 for each other, belonged to each other, that the fate of each 
 was bound in that of the other? What if she were a woman 
 grown? What if her years outnumbered his? Had he not 
 waked in her such music as her soul had never known be- 
 fore? Had he not opened for her the gates of the forbidden 
 land? And was there after all, any actual reason that she 
 should refuse to enter? That land where the sun shone al- 
 ways and the flowers bloomed without fading! That land 
 where it was always spring! 
 
 There came in her soul a sudden swift ecstasy that was 
 like the singing of many birds in the dawning, thrilling her 
 through and through. She rose from her bed as though in 
 answer to a call, and went to her open window. 
 
 There before her, silver against the darkness, there 
 shone a single star. The throbbing splendour of it seemed 
 to pierce her. She held her breath as one waiting for a 
 message. 
 
 And, as she stood waiting, through her heart, softly, 
 triumphantly, the message came, spoken in the voice she 
 had come to hear through all other voices. 
 
 "It is the Star of Hope, A very ; yours and mine." 
 
 But even as she watched with all her spirit a-quiver with 
 the wonder of it, the vision passed; the star was veiled.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE DARK HOUR 
 
 A VERY was very early at the church on the following 
 morning, and had begun the work of decorating even 
 before Miss Whalley appeared on the scene. It was a day 
 of showers and fleeting gleams of sunshine, and the interior 
 of the little building flashed from gloom to brilliance, and 
 from brilliance back to gloom with fitful frequency. 
 
 Daffodils and primroses were littered all around Avery, 
 and a certain subdued pleasure was hers as she decked the 
 place with the spring flowers. She was quite alone, for by 
 the Vicar's inflexible decree all the elder children, with the 
 exception of Olive, were confined to the schoolroom for the 
 morning with their respective tasks. 
 
 The magnitude of these tasks had struck dismay to 
 Avery 's heart. She did not privatety believe that any one 
 of them could ever be accomplished in the prescribed time. 
 But the day of reckoning was not yet, and she put it reso- 
 lutely from her mind. It was useless to forestall trouble, 
 and her own burden of toil that day demanded all her 
 energies. 
 
 The advent of Miss Whalley, thin and acid, put an end to 
 all enjoyment thereof. She bestowed a cool greeting upon 
 Avery, and came at once to her side to criticize her decora- 
 tion of the font. Miss Whalley always assumed the direc- 
 tion of affairs on these occasions, and she regarded A very 's 
 assistance in the place of Mrs. Lorimer's weak efforts in 
 something of the light of an intrusion. 
 20 - 305
 
 306 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Avery stood and listened to her suggestions with grave 
 forbearance. She never disputed anything with Miss 
 Whalley, which may have been in part the reason for the 
 latter's somewhat suspicious attitude towards her. 
 
 They were still standing before the font while Miss 
 Whalley unfolded her scheme when there came the sound 
 of feet in the porch, and Lennox Tudor put his head in. 
 
 His eyes fell at once upon Avery. He hesitated a moment 
 then entered. 
 
 She turned eagerly to meet him. "Oh, how is the Squire 
 this morning? Have you been up to the Abbey yet?" 
 
 ' ' The Squire ! ' ' echoed Miss Whalley. " Is he ill ? I was 
 not aware of it. " 
 
 Avery 's eyes were fixed on Tudor's face, and all in a 
 moment she realized that he had been up all night. 
 
 He did not seem to notice Miss Whalley, but spoke to 
 Avery, and to her alone. " I have just come back from the 
 Abbey. The Squire died about an hour ago." 
 
 "The Squire ! " said Miss Whalley again, in staccato tones, 
 
 Avery said nothing, but she turned suddenly white, 
 so white that Tudor was moved to compunction. 
 
 "I shouldn't have blurted it out like that. Sit down! 
 The poor old chap never rallied really. He had a little talk 
 with Piers half-an-hour or so before he went. But it was 
 only the last flicker of the candle. We couldn't save him. " 
 
 He bent down over her. "Don't look like that! It 
 wasn't your fault. It was bound to come. I've foreseen it 
 for some little time. I told him it was madness to go out 
 riding as he did; but he wouldn't listen to me. Avery, I 
 say! Avery!" His voice sank to an undertone. 
 
 She forced her stiff lips to smile faintly in answer to the 
 concern it held. With an effort she commanded herself. 
 
 "What of Piers?" she said. 
 
 He stood up again with a sharp gesture, and turned from 
 her to answer Miss Whalley's eager questions.
 
 The Dark Hour 307 
 
 "Surely it is very sudden ! " the latter was saying. " How 
 did it happen? Will there be an inquest? " 
 
 "There will not," said Tudor curtly. "I have been 
 attending the Squire for some time, and I knew that sooner 
 or later this would happen. The Vicar is not here?" He 
 turned to A very. "I promised to look in on him on my 
 way back. Shall I find him at the Vicarage?" 
 
 He was gone almost before she could answer, and Avery 
 was left on the seat by the door, staring before her with a 
 wildly throbbing heart, still asking herself with a curious 
 insistence, "What of Piers? What of Piers? " 
 
 Miss Whalley surveyed her with marked disapproval. 
 She considered it great presumption on Avery's part to be 
 upset by such a matter, and her attitude said as much as she 
 walked with a stately air down the church and commenced 
 her own self-appointed task of decorating the pulpit. 
 
 Avery did not stir for several seconds ; and when she did 
 it was to go to the open door and stand there looking out into 
 the spring sunshine. She felt strangely incapable of grasp- 
 ing what had happened. She could not realize that that 
 dominant personality that had striven with her only yester- 
 day only yesterday had passed utterly away in a few 
 hours. It seemed incredible, beyond the bounds of possi- 
 bility. Again and again Sir Beverley's speech and look 
 returned to her. How emphatic he had been, how reso- 
 lutely determined to attain his end! He had discharged 
 his obligation, as he had said. He had paid his last debt. 
 And in the payment of it he had laid upon her a burden 
 which she had felt compelled to accept. 
 
 Would it prove too much for her, she wondered ? Had she 
 yet again taken a false step that could never be retraced? 
 Again the thought of Piers went through her, piercing her 
 like a sword. Piers alone! Piers in trouble! She wished 
 that Dr. Tudor had answered her question even though she 
 regretted having asked it. How would he bear his solitude.
 
 308 The Bars of Iron 
 
 she wondered with an aching heart; and a sudden great 
 longing arose within her to go and comfort him, as she 
 alone possessed the power to comfort. All selfish considera- 
 tions departed with the thought. She realized poignantly 
 all that Sir Beverley had visualized when he had told her 
 that very soon his boy would be all alone. She knew fully 
 why he had pressed upon her the task of helping Piers 
 through his dark hour. He had known as she also knew 
 how sore would be his need of help. And as this came home 
 to her, her strength that strength which was the patient 
 building of all the years of her womanhood came back 
 to her, and she felt renewed and unafraid. 
 
 She returned to her work with a steadfastness of purpose 
 that even Miss Whalley viewed with distant admiration; 
 working throughout the morning while the minute bell tolled 
 overhead, rendering honour to the departed Squire. 
 
 When she left at length to return to the Vicarage for the 
 midday meal, her portion was done. 
 
 But it was not till night came again that she found time to 
 write the few brief words that she had been revolving in her 
 mind all day long. 
 
 "DEAR PIERS, 
 
 "I am thinking of you constantly, and longing to help you 
 in your trouble. Let me know if there is anything whatever 
 that I can do, and I shall be ready at any time. 
 
 "With love from A very. " 
 
 Her face glowed softly over the writing of the note. She 
 slipped out and posted it before she went to bed. 
 
 He would get it in the morning, and he would be com- 
 forted. For he would understand. She was sure that he 
 would understand. 
 
 Of herself all through that second wakeful night she did 
 not think at all, and so no doubts rose to torment her. She
 
 The Dark Hour 309 
 
 lay in a species of tired wonder. She was keeping her 
 promise to the dead man, and in the keeping of it there was 
 peace. 
 
 The great square Abbey pew at the top of the church was 
 empty throughout Easter Sunday. A heavy gloom reigned 
 at the Vicarage. Avery and the children were in dire 
 disgrace, and Mrs. Lorimer spent most of the day in tears. 
 She could not agree with the Vicar that they were directly 
 responsible for the Squire's death. Dr. Tudor had been 
 very emphatic in assuring them that what had happened 
 had been the inevitable outcome of a disease of long stand- 
 ing. But this assurance did not in any way modify the 
 Vicar's attitude, and he decided that the five children 
 should spend their time in solitary confinement until after 
 the day fixed for the funeral. 
 
 This was to be Easter Tuesday, and he himself had 
 arranged to depart the day after an event to which the 
 entire household, with the single exception of Olive, looked 
 forward with the greatest eagerness. 
 
 No message came from Piers that night, and Avery 
 wondered a little, but without uneasiness. He must have 
 so very much to think of and do at such a time, she reflected. 
 He would scarcely even have begun to feel the dreadful 
 loneliness. 
 
 But when the next day passed, and still no answer came, 
 a vague anxiety awoke within her. Surely her message had 
 reached him ! Surely he must have read it ! The Piers she 
 knew would have dashed off some species of reply at once. 
 How was it he delayed? 
 
 The day of the funeral came, and the Easter flowers were 
 all taken away. The Vicarage blinds were drawn, the bell 
 tolled again, and Jeanie, weighed down with a dreadful 
 sense of wickedness, lay face downwards on the schoolroom 
 sofa and wept and wept. 
 
 Avery was very anxious about her. The disgrace and
 
 310 The Bars of Iron 
 
 punishment of the past few days had told upon her. She 
 was sick with trouble and depression, and Avery could find no 
 means of comforting her. She had meant herself to slip out 
 and to go to the funeral for Piers' sake, but she felt she could 
 not leave the child. So she sat with her in the darkened 
 room, listening to her broken sobbing, aware that in the 
 solitude of her room Gracie was crying too, and longing 
 passionately to gather together all five of the luckless 
 offenders and deliver them from their land of bondage. 
 
 But there was to be no deliverance that day, nor any 
 lightening of the burden. The funeral over, the Vicar re- 
 turned and sent for each child separately to the study for 
 prayer and admonition. Jeanie was the last to face this 
 ordeal and before it was half over Avery was sent for also 
 to find her lying on the study sofa in a dead faint. 
 
 Avery's indignation was intense, but she could not give 
 it vent. Even the Vicar was a little anxious, and when 
 Avery's efforts succeeded at length in restoring her, he 
 reprimanded Jeanie severely and reduced her once more 
 to tears of uncontrollable distress. 
 
 The long, dreary day came to an end at last, and the 
 thought of a happier morrow comforted them all. But 
 Avery, though she slept that night, was troubled by a dream 
 that came to her over and over again throughout the long 
 hours. She seemed to see Piers, as he had once described 
 himself, a prisoner behind bars ; and ever as she looked upon 
 him he strove with gigantic efforts that were wholly vain, 
 to force the bars asunder and come to her. She could not 
 help him, could not even hear his voice. But the agony of 
 his eyes haunted her haunted her. She awoke at last 
 in anguish of spirit, and slept no more.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE SUMMONS 
 
 WITH the morning came a general feeling of relief 
 The Vicar was almost jocose, and Mrs. Lorimei 
 made timid attempts to be mirthful though the parting 
 with her children sorely tried her fortitude. 
 
 The boys' spirits were subdued, but they burst forth 
 uproariously as soon as the station-cab was well outside 
 the gate. Ronald and Julian cheered themselves hoarse, 
 and Pat scuttled off to the back of the house to release Mike 
 from his chain to participate in the great rejoicing. 
 
 There was no disguising the fact that everyone was 
 pleased everyone except Olive who went away to her 
 father's study which had been left in her especial charge, 
 and locked herself in for a morning of undisturbed reading. 
 
 Avery could not feel joyful. The thought of Piers was 
 still with her continually. She had heard so little of him 
 merely that he had followed his grandfather to the grave 
 supported by the old family solicitor from Wardenhurst, 
 Lennox Tudor, and a miscellaneous throng of neighbours; 
 that he had borne himself without faltering, and had gone 
 back to his solitude with no visible sign of suffering. Only 
 indirectly had she heard this, and she yearned to know more. 
 
 She knew that like herself he was practically devoid of 
 relatives, the last of his race, a figure of splendid isolation 
 that would appeal to many. She knew that as a wealthy 
 and unmarried baronet, he would be greatly sought after 
 
 3"
 
 312 The Bars of Iron 
 
 and courted; made much of by the whole county, and half 
 London as well. He was so handsome, so romantic, so 
 altogether eligible in every way. Was it for this that he had 
 left that note of hers unanswered? Did he think that now 
 that his horizon had widened the nearer haven was hardly 
 worth attaining? Above all, if he decided to take that 
 which she had so spontaneouly offered, would it satisfy him? 
 Would he be content therewith? Had she not done better 
 to have waited till he came again to ask of her that which 
 she had till the day of his bereavement withheld? 
 
 It was useless to torture herself with such questionings. 
 Because of her promise to the dead, she had acted, and she 
 could now but await the result of her action. If he never 
 answered, well, she would understand. 
 
 So passed yet another day of silence. 
 
 She was busy with the household accounts that night 
 which Mrs. Lorimer in her woe had left in some confusion, 
 and they kept her occupied till long after the children had 
 gone to bed, so late indeed that the servants also had retired 
 and she was left alone in the dining-room to wrestle with her 
 difficulties. 
 
 She found it next to impossible to straighten out the 
 muddle, and she came at length reluctantly to the con- 
 clusion that it was beyond her powers. Wondering what 
 the Reverend Stephen would have said to such a crime, she 
 abstracted a few shillings from her own purse and fraudu- 
 lently made up the deficit that had vexed Mrs. Lorimer's 
 soul. 
 
 " I can write and tell her now that it has come right, " she 
 murmured to herself, as she rose from the table. 
 
 It was close upon eleven o'clock. The house was shut- 
 tered and silent. The stillness was intense; when suddenly, 
 as she was in the act of lighting a candle, the electric bell 
 pinged through the quiet of the night. 
 
 She started and listened. The thought of Piers sprang
 
 The Summons 313 
 
 instinctively to her mind. Could it be he? But surely even 
 Piers would not come to her at this hour ! It must be some 
 parishioner in need of help. 
 
 i She turned to answer the summons, but ere she reached 
 the hall it was repeated twice, with nervous insistence. She 
 hastened to withdraw the bolts and open the door. 
 
 At once a voice accosted her, and a sharp pang of dis- 
 appointment or anxiety, she knew not which, went through 
 her. 
 
 " Mrs. Denys, is she here? " it said. " May I speak with 
 her?" 
 
 It was the unmistakable speech of a Frenchman. By the 
 light of the hall-lamp, Avery saw the plump, anxious face 
 and little pointed moustache of the speaker. He entered 
 uninvited and stood before her. 
 
 " Ah ! But you are Mrs. Denys ! " he exclaimed with relief. 
 "Madame, I beg that you will pardon me! I am come to 
 you in distress the most profound. You will listen to me, 
 yes?" 
 
 He regarded her with quick black eyes that both con- 
 fided and besought. Avery's heart was beating in great 
 throbs, she felt strangely breathless and uncertain of herself. 
 "Where do you come from?" she said. "Who are you?" 
 But she knew the answer before it came. "I am Victor, 
 madame, Victor Lagarde. I am the valet of Monsieur 
 Pierre almost since he was born. He calls me his bonne!" 
 A brief smile touched his worried countenance and was gone. 
 "And now I am come to you, madame, not by his desire. 
 Mais non, he does not know even that I am here. But 
 because he is in great, great misery, and I cannot console 
 him. I have not the power. And he is all alone all 
 alone. And I fear I fear " He broke off with eloquent 
 hands outspread. Avery saw the tears standing in his eyes- 
 She closed the door softly. "What is it?" she said 
 "Tell me what you fear!"
 
 314 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He looked at her, mastering his emotion with difficulty. 
 "Madame, Monsieur Pierre has sentiments the most pro- 
 found. He feel passionnement. He try to hide his senti- 
 ments from me. But me I know. He sit alone in the 
 great hall and look and look. He sleep never at all. 
 He will not even go to bed. And in the great hall is an 
 escritoire, and in it a drawer." Victor's voice sank myste- 
 riously. "To-night when he think he is alone he open 
 that drawer, and I see inside. It hold a revolver, madame. 
 And he look at it, touch it, and then shake his head. But I 
 am so afraid so afraid. So enfin in my trouble I come 
 to you. You have the influence with him, is it not so? 
 You have the power to console. Madame chere madame 
 will you not come and speak with him for five little 
 minutes? Just to encourage him, madame, in his sadness; 
 for he is all alone!" 
 
 The tears ran down Victor's troubled face as he made 
 his earnest appeal. He mopped them openly, making 
 no secret of his distress which was too pathetic to be 
 ludicrous. 
 
 Avery looked at him in dismay. She knew not what 
 to say or do ; and even as she stood irresolute the hall-clock 
 struck eleven through the silence of the house. 
 
 Victor watched her anxiously. " Madame is married," 
 he insinuated. " She can please herself , no ? And Monsieur 
 Pierre " 
 
 "Wait a minute, please!" she interrupted gently. "I 
 want to think. " 
 
 She went to the unlatched door and stood with her face to 
 the night. She felt as if a call had come to her, but some- 
 how for no selfish reason she hesitated to answer. Some 
 unknown influence held her back. 
 
 Victor came softly up and stood close to her. ' ' Madame, ' ' 
 he said in a whisper, "I tell you a secret I, Victor, who 
 have known Monsieur Pierre from his infancy. He loves
 
 The Summons 315 
 
 you, madame. He loves you much. C'est la grande passion 
 which comes only once in a life only once." 
 
 The low words went through her, seeming to sink into her 
 very heart. She made a slight, involuntary gesture as of 
 wincing. There was something in them that was almost 
 more than she could bear. 
 
 She stood motionless with the chill night-air blowing in 
 upon her, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to bring 
 herself to face and consider the matter before she made her 
 decision. But it was useless. Those last words had 
 awaked within her a greater force than she could control. 
 From the moment of their utterance she was driven irresist- 
 ibly, the decision was no longer her own. 
 
 Piers was alone. Piers loved her wanted her. His soul 
 cried to hers through the darkness. She saw him again 
 as in her dream wrestling with those cruel iron bars, striving 
 with vain agony to reach her. And all doubt went from her 
 like a cloud. 
 
 She turned to Victor with grey eyes shining and resolute. 
 "Let us go!" she said. 
 
 She took a cloak from a peg in the hall, lowered the 
 light, took the key from the lock, and passed out into the 
 dark. 
 
 Victor followed her closely, softly latching the door 
 behind him. He had known from the outset that the 
 English madame would not be able to resist his appeal. 
 Was not Monsieur Pierre as handsome and as desirable 
 as though he had been a prince of the blood? He walked 
 a pace behind her, saying no word, fully satisfied with 
 the success of his mission. 
 
 Avery went with swift unerring feet ; yet it seemed to her 
 afterwards as if she had moved in a dream, for only the 
 vaguest impression of that journey through the night 
 remained with her. It was dark, but the darkness did not 
 hinder her. She went as if drawn irresistibly even against
 
 316 The Bars of Iron 
 
 her will. At the back of her mind hovered the consciousness 
 that she was doing a rash thing, but the woman's heart in it 
 was too deeply stirred to care for minor considerations. 
 The picture of Piers in his lonely hall hung ever before her, 
 drawing her on. 
 
 He had not sent for her. She knew now that he would 
 not send. Yet she went to him on winged feet. For she 
 knew that his need of her was great. 
 
 There was no star in the sky and the night-wind moaned 
 in the trees as they went up the long chestnut avenue 
 to the Abbey. The loneliness was great. It folded them in 
 on every hand. It seemed to hang like a pall about the 
 great dim building massed against the sky, as though the 
 whole place lay beneath a spell of mourning. 
 
 Emerging from the deep shadow of the trees, she paused 
 for the first time in uncertainty. Victor pressed forward 
 instantly to her side. 
 
 "We will enter by the library, madame. See, I will show 
 you the way. From there to the great hall, it is only a few 
 steps. And you will find him there. I leave you alone to 
 find him." 
 
 He led her across a dew-drenched lawn and up a flight of 
 steps to the door of a conservatory which gave inwards at his 
 touch. 
 
 Obedient to his gesture, Avery entered. Her heart was 
 beating hard and fast. She was conscious of a wild mis- 
 giving which had not assailed her during all the journey 
 thither. What if he did not want her after all? What if 
 her coming were unwelcome? 
 
 Silently Victor piloted her, and she could not choose but 
 follow, though she felt sick with the sudden apprehension 
 that had sprung to life as she left the sleeping world outside. 
 She seemed to be leaving her freedom, all she valued, behind 
 her as she entered this shadowy prison. And all for what? 
 Her quivering heart could find no answer.
 
 The Summons 317 
 
 There was a heavy scent of hothouse flowers in the air. 
 She almost gasped for breath in the exotic fragrance of the 
 unseen blossoms. A strong impulse possessed her to turn 
 and flee by the way she had come. 
 
 "Madame!" It was Victor's voice, low and entreat- 
 ing. He had opened an inner door, and stood waiting 
 for her. 
 
 Had he seen her wavering resolution, she wondered? 
 Was he trying to hasten her ere it should wholly evaporate 
 to close the way of escape ere she could avail herself of 
 it? Or was he anxious solely on Piers' account lest afte? 
 all she might arrive too late? 
 
 She could not determine, but the urgency of his whisper 
 moved her. She passed him and entered the room beyond. 
 
 It was dimly lighted by a single shaded electric lamp 
 that illumined a writing-table. She saw that it was the 
 ancient library of the Abbey, a wonderful apartment which 
 she knew to contain an almost priceless collection of old 
 parchments. It was lined with bookshelves and had the 
 musty smell inseparable from aged bindings. 
 
 Victor motioned her silently to a door at the further end, 
 but before either of them could reach it there came a sudden 
 footfall on the other side, the handle turned sharply, and it 
 opened. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Victor, and fell back as one caught 
 red-handed in a crime. 
 
 Avery stood quite motionless with her heart beating up 
 against her throat, and a tragic sense of trespass over- 
 whelming her. She could not find a single word to say, so 
 sudden and so terrible was the ordeal. She could only 
 wait in silence. 
 
 Piers stood still as one transfixed, with eyes that blazed 
 sleepless out of a drawn, pale face; then at length with a 
 single snap of the fingers imperiously he dismissed Victor by 
 the still open door.
 
 318 The Bars of Iron 
 
 It closed discreetly upon the Frenchman's exit, and then 
 only did Piers move forward; he came to Avery, drew her 
 to a chair, knelt mutely down before her, and bowed his 
 head upon her lap.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 "LA GRANDE PASSION" 
 
 SHE spoke to him at last, half -frightened by his silence 
 yet by his attitude wholly reassured. For he wanted 
 her still, of that no doubt remained. His hands were clasped 
 behind her. He could have held her in his arms; but he 
 did not. He only knelt there at her feet in utter silence, 
 his black head pillowed on her hands. 
 
 1 ' Piers ! " she said . ' ' Piers ! Let me help you ! ' ' 
 
 He groaned in answer, and she felt a great shiver run 
 through him. She knew intuitively that he was battling for 
 self-control and dared not for the moment show his face. 
 
 "You can't, " he said at last. 
 
 " But I think I can, " she urged gently. " It isn't so very 
 long ago that you wanted me." 
 
 "I was an infernal blackguard to tell you so!" he made 
 answer. 
 
 And then suddenly his arms tightened about her, and he 
 held her fast. "That you you, Avery, should come to 
 me like this!" he said. 
 
 She freed one of her hands and laid it on his bent head. 
 "Shall I tell you what made me come, Piers?" 
 
 He shook his head in silence, but there was passion in the 
 holding of his arms. 
 
 For a space he continued to hold her so, speaking no word, 
 and through his silence there came to her the quick, fierce 
 beat of his heart. Then at length very suddenly, almost 
 
 319
 
 320 The Bars of Iron 
 
 with violence, he flung his arms wide and started to his 
 feet. 
 
 "Avery, " he said, "you were a saint to come to me like 
 this. I shan't forget it ever. But there's nothing nothing 
 you can do, except leave me to my own devices. It's only 
 just at first, you know, that the loneliness seems so 
 awful." His voice shook unexpectedly; he swung round 
 away from her and walked to the end of the room. 
 
 He came back almost immediately and stood before her. 
 "Victor was a criminal fool to bring you here. He meant 
 well though. He always does. That note of yours I 
 ought to have answered it. I was just coming in here 
 to do so. I shouldn't have kept you waiting so long, but 
 somehow somehow " Again, in spite of him, his voice 
 quivered. He turned sharply and walked to the fireplace, 
 leaned his arms upon it, and stood so, his back to her, his 
 head bent. 
 
 "It was so awfully good of you," he went on after a 
 moment. "You always have been awfully good. My 
 grandfather realized that, you know. I think he told you so, 
 didn't he? He wasn't really sorry that I wouldn't marry 
 Ina Rose. By the way, she is engaged to Dick Guyes 
 already, so there was not much damage done in that direc- 
 tion. I told you it was nothing but a game, didn't I? You 
 didn't quite believe me, what?" 
 
 It came to her that he was talking to gain time, that he 
 was trying to muster strength to give the lie to the passion 
 that had throbbed in the holding of his arms, that for some 
 reason he deemed it incumbent upon him to mask his feel- 
 ings and hide from her the misery that had driven Victor in 
 search of her. 
 
 She rose quietly and moved across the room till she stood 
 beside him. "Piers," she said, "tell me what is wrong!" 
 
 He stiffened at her approach, straightened himself, faced 
 her. "Avery," he said, "do you know, dear, it would be
 
 " La Grande Passion " 321 
 
 better if you went straight back again? I hate to say it. 
 It was so dear of you, so so great of you to come. But 
 no, there's nothing wrong, nothing that is, that hasn't 
 been wrong for ages. Fact is, I'm not fit to speak to you, 
 never have been ; far less make love to you. And I was a 
 cur and a brute to do it. I've had a bit of a shake-up 
 lately. It's made me feel my responsibilities, see things as 
 they are. I've got an awful lot to see to just -now. I'm 
 going to work mighty hard. I mustn't think of other 
 things. " 
 
 He stopped. He was looking at her, looking at her, with 
 the red fire of passion kindling in his eyes, a gleam so fierce 
 and so insistent that she was forced to lower her own. It 
 was as if his soul cried out to her all that he restrained his 
 lips from uttering. 
 
 He saw her instinctive avoidance of his gaze, and turned 
 away from her, leaning again upon the mantelpiece as if 
 spent. 
 
 "I can't help it, Avery. I'm so dog-tired, and I can't 
 sleep. I'm horribly sorry, but I'm nothing but a brute- 
 beast to-night. Really really you had better go." 
 
 There was desperation in his voice. He bowed his head 
 upon his arms, and she saw that his hands were clenched. 
 
 But she could not leave him so. That inner urging that 
 had impelled her thither warned her to remain, even against 
 her own judgment, even against her will. The memory of 
 Victor's fears came back to her. She could not turn and 
 
 go- 
 
 "My dear boy," she said, speaking very gently, "do you 
 think I don't know that you are miserable, lonely, wretched? 
 That is why I am here!" 
 
 "God knows how lonely!" he whispered. 
 
 Her heart stirred within her at the desolation of the words. 
 "Nearly all of us go through it some time, " she said gently. 
 "And if there isn't a friend to stand by, it's very hard to
 
 3 22 The Bars of Iron 
 
 bear. That is the part I want to play if you will let me. 
 Won't you treat me as a friend?" 
 
 But Piers neither moved nor spoke. With his head still 
 upon his arms he stood silent. 
 
 She drew nearer to him. "Piers, I think I understand. 
 I think you are a little afraid of going too far, of of " 
 her voice faltered a little in spite of her "of hurting my 
 feelings. Is that it? Because, my dear, you needn't 
 be afraid any longer. If you really think I can make you 
 happy, I am willing quite willing to try." 
 
 The words were spoken, and with them she offered all she 
 had, freely, generously, with a quick love that was greater 
 possibly than even she realized. 
 
 She was standing close to him waiting for him to turn 
 and clasp her in his arms, as he had so nearly clasped her 
 once against her will. But seconds passed and he did not 
 move, and a cold foreboding began to knock at her heart lest 
 after all lest after all his love for her had waned. 
 
 He stirred at last, just as she was on the point of turning 
 from him, stretched out a groping hand that found and 
 drew her to his side. But still he did not look at her or so 
 much as raise his head. 
 
 He spoke after a moment in a choked voice that seemed 
 to be wrung from him by sheer physical torture. "Avery, 
 don't don't tempt me. I daren't!" 
 
 The anguish of the words went through her, banishing 
 all thought of anything else. Very suddenly she knew that 
 he was fighting a desperate battle for her sake, that he was 
 striving with all the strength that was in him to set her 
 happiness before his own. And something that was greater 
 than pity entered into her with the knowledge, something 
 so great as to be all-possessing, compelling her to instant 
 action. 
 
 She slipped her arm about his bent shoulders with a 
 gesture of infinite tenderness. "Piers dear boy, what is
 
 " La Grande Passion " 323 
 
 it?" she said softly. "Is there some trouble in your 
 past something you can't bear to speak of? Remember, I 
 am not a girl, I may understand some things better 
 than you think." 
 
 She felt his hold upon her tighten almost convulsively, 
 but for a while he made no answer. 
 
 Then at length slowly he raised his head and looked 
 at her. "Do you really think the past matters?" he 
 said. 
 
 She met his eyes with their misery and their longing, and 
 a tremor of uncertainty went through her. 
 
 "Tell me, Avery!" he insisted. "If you felt yourself 
 able to get away from old burdens, and if if there was no 
 earthly reason why they should hamper your future " 
 He broke off, and again his arm tightened. " It's damnable 
 that they should!" he muttered savagely. 
 
 "My dear, I don't know how to answer you," she said. 
 "Are you afraid to be open with me? Do you think I 
 shouldn't understand?" 
 
 His eyes fell abruptly. "I am quite sure," he said, 
 "that it would be easier for me to give you up. " And with 
 that he suddenly set her free and stood up before her 
 straight and stiff. "Let me see you home!" he said. 
 
 They faced one another in the dimness, and Avery marked 
 afresh the weariness of his face. He looked like a man who 
 had come through many days and nights of suffering. 
 
 He glanced up as she did not speak. "Shall we go?" 
 he said. 
 
 But Avery stood hesitating, asking herself if this could 
 indeed be the end, if the impulse that had drawn her thither 
 had been after all a mistaken one, or if even yet it might 
 not carry her further than she had ever thought to go. 
 
 He turned towards the conservatory-door by which she 
 had entered, and quietly opened it. A soft wind blew 
 through to her., laden with the scent .of the wet earth and a
 
 324 The Bars of Iron 
 
 thousand opening buds. It seemed to carry the promise 
 of eternal hope on unseen wings straight to her heart. 
 
 Slowly she followed him across the room, reached him, 
 passed through into the scented darkness. A few steps 
 more and she would have been in the open air, but she was 
 uncertain of the way. The place was too dim for her to see 
 it. She paused for him to guide her. 
 
 The door closed behind her; she heard it softly swing 
 on its hinges, and then came his light footfall close to her. 
 
 "Straight on!" he said, and his voice sounded oddly cold 
 and constrained. "There are three steps at the end. Be 
 careful how you go ! Perhaps you would rather wait while 
 I fetch alight." 
 
 His tone hurt her subtly, wounding her more deeply than 
 she had realized that he had it in his power to wound. 
 
 She moved forward blindly with a strangled sensation at 
 her throat and a rush of hot tears in her eyes. She had 
 never dreamed that Piers the warm-hearted, the eager 
 had it in him to treat her so. 
 
 The instinct to escape awoke within her. She quickened 
 her steps and reached the further door. Before her lay the 
 open night, immense and quiet and very dark. She pressed 
 forward, hoping he would not follow, longing only for 
 solitude and silence. 
 
 But in her agitation she forgot his warning, forgot to 
 tread warily, and missed her footing on the steps. She 
 slipped with a sharp exclamation and went down, catching 
 vainly at the door-post to save herself. 
 
 Piers exclaimed also, and sprang forward. His arms 
 were about her before she reached the ground. He lifted 
 her bodily ere she could recover her balance; and suddenly 
 she knew that with the touch of her the fire of his passion 
 had burst into scorching flame knew herself powerless a 
 woman in the hold of her captor. 
 
 For he held her so fast that she gasped for breath, and
 
 "La Grande Passion" 325 
 
 with her head pressed back against his shoulder, he kissed 
 her on the lips, fiercely, violently, hungrily kissed her 
 eyes, her hair, and again her lips, sealing them closely with 
 his own, making protest impossible. Neither could she 
 resist him, for he held her gathered up against his heart, 
 bearing her whole weight with a strength that mocked her 
 weakness, compelling her to lie at his mercy while the wild 
 storm of his passion swept on its way. 
 
 She was as one caught in the molten stream of a volcano, 
 and carried by the fiery current that seethed all about her, 
 consuming her with its heat. 
 
 Once when his lips left hers she tried to whisper his name, 
 to call him back from his madness; but her voice was gone. 
 She could only gasp and gasp till with an odd, half-savage 
 laugh he silenced her again with those burning kisses that 
 made her feel that he had stormed his way to the last 
 and inner sanctuary of her soul, depriving her even of the 
 right to dispute his overwhelming possession. 
 
 Later it seemed to her that she must have been near to 
 fainting, for though she knew that he bore her inwards from 
 the open door she could not so much as raise a hand in 
 protest. She was utterly spent and almost beyond caring, 
 so complete had been his conquest. When he set her on her 
 feet she tottered, clinging to him nervelessly for support. 
 
 He kept his arm about her, but his hold was no longer 
 insistent. She was aware of his passion still; it seemed to 
 play around her like a lambent flame; but the first fierce 
 flare was past. He spoke to her at last in a voice that was 
 low but not without the arrogance of the conqueror. 
 
 "Are you very angry with me, I wonder?" 
 
 She did not answer him, for still she could not. 
 
 He went on, a vein of recklessness running through his 
 speech. "It won't make any difference if you are. Do 
 you understand? I've tried to let you go, but. I can't. 
 I must have you or die. "
 
 326 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He paused a moment, and it seemed as if the tornado of 
 his passion were sweeping back again; but, curiously, he 
 checked it. 
 
 "That's how it is with me, Avery," he said. "The 
 fates have played a ghastly joke on me, but you are mine in 
 spite of it. You came to tell me so; didn't you?" 
 
 Was there a note of pleading in his voice? She fancied so; 
 but still she could not speak in answer. She leaned against 
 him with every pulse throbbing. She dared not turn her 
 face to his. 
 
 "Are you afraid of me, Avery?" he said, and this time 
 surely she heard a faint echo of that boyish humour that had 
 first won her. "Because it's all right, dear," he told her 
 softly. "I've got myself in hand now. You know, I 
 couldn't hold you in my arms just then and not not 
 kiss you. You don't hate me for it, do you? You 
 understand?" 
 
 Yes, she understood. Yet she felt as if he had raised a 
 barrier between them which nothing could ever take away. 
 She tried to ignore it, but could not. The glaring fact 
 that he had not cared how much or how little she had 
 desired those savage kisses of his had begun already to 
 torment her, and she knew that she would carry the scorch- 
 ing memory of those moments with her for the rest of her 
 life. 
 
 She drew herself slowly from him. "I am going now," 
 she said. 
 
 He put out a hand that trembled and laid it on her 
 shoulder. "If I will let you go, Avery!" he said, and she 
 was again aware of the leaping of the flame that had scarcely 
 died down but a moment before. 
 
 She straightened herself and resolutely faced him. " I am 
 going, Piers, " she said. 
 
 His hand tightened sharply. He caught his breath for a 
 few tense seconds. Then very slowly his hold relaxed; his
 
 " La Grande Passion " 327 
 
 hand fell. "You will let me see you back, " he said, and she 
 knew by his voice that he was putting strong force upon 
 himself. 
 
 She turned. "No. I will go alone." 
 
 He did not move. "Please, Avery!" he said. 
 
 Her heart gave a quick throb at the low-spoken words. 
 She paused almost involuntarily, realizing with a great rush 
 of thankfulness that he would not stir a step to follow unless 
 she gave him leave. 
 
 For an instant she stood irresolute. Then: "Come if 
 you wish!" she said. 
 
 She heard him move, and herself passed on, descending 
 the steps into the dewy garden with again that odd feeling 
 of unreality, almost as if she walked in a dream. 
 
 He came behind her, silent as a shadow, and not till she 
 deliberately waited for him did he overtake and walk beside 
 her. 
 
 No words passed between them as they went. They 
 seemed to move through a world of shadows, a spell- 
 bound, waiting world. And gradually, as if a soothing 
 hand had been laid upon her, Avery felt the wild tumult 
 at her heart subside. She remembered that he had re- 
 frained himself almost at her first word, and slowly her 
 confidence came back. He had appealed to her to under- 
 stand, and she could not let his appeal go wholly un- 
 answered. 
 
 As they passed at length through the gate that led into 
 the Vicarage lane, she spoke. "Piers, I am not angry." 
 
 "Aren't you?" he said, and by the eager relief of his 
 voice she knew that her silence had been hard to bear. 
 
 She put out a hand to him as they walked. " But, Piers, 
 that is not the way to make me love you. " 
 
 "I know I know," he said quickly; and then haltingly: 
 "I've been so beastly lonely, Avery. Make allowances 
 for me forgive me ! ' '
 
 328 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He had not taken her hand; she slipped it into his. "1 
 do," she said simply. She felt his fingers close tensely, 
 but in a moment they opened again and set her free. 
 
 He did not utter another word, merely walked on beside 
 her till they reached the Vicarage gate. She thought he 
 would have left her there,, but he did not. They went up 
 the drive together to the porch. 
 
 From his kennel at the side of the house Mike barked 
 a sharp challenge that turned into an unmistakable note 
 of welcome as they drew near. Avery silenced him with 
 a reassuring word. 
 
 She found the key, and in the darkness of the porch she 
 began to fumble for the lock. 
 
 Piers stooped. ' ' Let me ! " 
 
 She gave him the key, and as she stood up again she 
 noted the brightness of the fanlight over the floor. She 
 thought that she had lowered the light at leaving; she had 
 certainly intended to do so. 
 
 Very softly Piers opened the door. It swung noiselessly 
 back upon its hinges, and the full light smote upon them. 
 
 In the same instant a slim, white figure came calmly 
 forward through the hall and stopped beneath the lamp. 
 
 Olive Lorimer, pale, severe, with fixed, accusing eyes, 
 stood confronting them. 
 
 "Mrs. Denys!" she said, in accents of frozen surprise.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 
 
 THE encounter was so amazing, so utterly unlocked 
 for, that A very had a moment of downright con- 
 sternation. The child's whole air and expression were so 
 exactly reminiscent of her father that she almost felt as if 
 she stood before the Vicar himself a culprit caught in a 
 guilty act. 
 
 She looked at Olive without words, and Olive looked 
 straight back at her with that withering look of the righteous 
 condemning the ungodly which so often regarded a dumb 
 but rebellious congregation through the Vicar's stern eyes. 
 
 Piers, however, was not fashioned upon timid lines, 
 and he stepped into the hall without the faintest sign of 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " Hullo, little girl ! " he said. "Why aren't you in bed? " 
 
 The accusing eyes turned upon him. Olive seemed to 
 swell with indignation. " I was in bed long ago, " she made 
 answer, still in those frozen tones. "May I ask what you 
 are doing here, Mr. Evesham?" 
 
 "I?" said Piers jauntily. "Now what do you suppose?" 
 
 "I cannot imagine," the child said. 
 
 "Not really?" said Piers. "Well, perhaps when you 
 are a little older your imagination will develop. In the 
 meantime, if you are a wise little girl, you will run back to 
 bed and leave your elders to settle their own affairs." 
 
 Olive drew herself up with dignity. "It is not my 
 
 329
 
 330 The Bars of Iron 
 
 intention to go so long as you are in the house, " she said 
 with great distinctness. 
 
 ' ' Indeed ! " said Piers. ' ' And why not ? ' ' 
 
 He spoke with the utmost quietness, but Avery caught 
 the faintest tremor in his voice that warned her that Olive 
 was treading dangerous ground. 
 
 She hastened to intervene. "But of course you are 
 going now," she said to him. "It is bedtime for us all. 
 Good-night! And thank you for walking home with me!" 
 
 Her own tone was perfectly normal. She turned to him 
 with outstretched hand, but he put it gently aside. 
 
 ' ' One minute ! " he said. ' ' I should like an answer to my 
 question first. Why are you so determined to see me out of 
 the house?" 
 
 He looked straight at Olive as he spoke, no longer 
 careless of mien, but implacable as granite. 
 
 Olive, however, was wholly undismayed. She was the 
 only one of the Vicar's children who had never had cause to 
 feel a twinge of fear. "You had better ask yourself that 
 question," she said, in her cool young treble. "You pro- 
 bably know the answer better than I do. " 
 
 Piers' expression changed. For a single instant he looked 
 furious, but he mastered himself almost immediately. 
 "It's a lucky thing for you that you are not my little 
 girl," he observed grimly. "If you were, you should have 
 the slapping of your life to-night. As it is, well, you have 
 asked me for an explanation of my presence here, and you 
 shall have one. I am here in the capacity of escort to Mrs. 
 Denys. Have you any fault to find with that?" 
 
 Olive returned his look steadily with her cold grey eyes 
 while she considered his words. She seemed momentarily 
 at a loss for an answer, but Piers' first remarks were scarcely 
 of a character to secure goodwill or allay suspicion. She 
 rapidly made up her mind. 
 
 "I shall tell Miss Whalley in the morning," she said.
 
 The Sword of Damocles 331 
 
 " My father said I was to go to her if anything went wrong." 
 She added, with a malevolent glance towards Avery, "I sup- 
 pose you know that Mrs. Denys is under notice to leave at 
 the end of her month?" 
 
 Piers glanced at Avery too a glance of swift interro- 
 gation. She nodded very slightly in answer. 
 
 He looked again at Olive with eyes that gleamed in a 
 fashion that few could have met without quailing. 
 
 " Is she indeed? " he said. "I venture to predict that she 
 will leave before then. If you are anxious to impart news 
 to Miss Whalley, you may tell her also that Mrs. Denys 
 is going to be my wife, and that the marriage will take 
 place " he looked at Avery again and all the hardness 
 went out of his face "just as soon as she will permit." 
 
 Dead silence followed the announcement. Avery's face 
 was pale, but there was a faint smile at her lips. She met 
 Piers' look without a tremor. She even drew slightly nearer 
 to him; and he, instantly responding, slipped a swift hand 
 through her arm. 
 
 Olive, sternly judicial, stood regarding them in silence, 
 for perhaps a score of seconds. And then, still undismayed, 
 she withdrew her forces in good order from the field. 
 
 "In that case," she said, with the air of one closing a 
 discussion, "there is nothing further to be said. I suppose 
 Mrs. Denys wishes to be Lady Evesham. My father told 
 me she was an adventuress. I see he was right. " 
 
 She went away with this parting shot, stepping high and 
 holding her head poised loftily an absurd parody of the 
 Vicar in his most clerical moments. 
 
 Avery gave a little hysterical gasp of laughter as she 
 passed out of sight. 
 
 Piers' arm was about her in a moment. He held her 
 against his heart. "What a charming child, what?" he 
 murmured. 
 
 She hid her face on his shoulder. "I think myself she
 
 33 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 was in the right, " she said, still half laughing. "Piers, you 
 must go. " 
 
 "In a moment. Let me hear from your own dear lips 
 first that you are not not angry i" He spoke the words 
 softly into her ear. There was only tenderness in the 
 holding of his arms. 
 
 "I am not," she whispered back. 
 
 "Nor sorry?" urged Piers. 
 
 She turned her face a little towards him. " No, dear, not 
 a bit sorry; glad!" 
 
 He held her more closely but with reverence. "Avery, 
 you don't love me, do you?" 
 
 "Of course I do!" she said. 
 
 "There can't be any 'of course* about it," he declared 
 almost fiercely. " I've been a positive brute to you. Avery 
 Avery, I'll never be a brute to you again. " 
 
 And there he stopped, for her arms were suddenly about 
 his neck, her lips raised in utter surrender to his. 
 
 "Oh, Piers, " she said in a voice that thrilled him through 
 and through, "do you think I would have less of your love 
 even if it hurts me? It is the greatest thing that has 
 ever come into my life." 
 
 He held her head between his hands and looked into her 
 eyes of perfect trust . ' ' Avery ! Avery ! " he said . 
 
 "I mean it ! " she told him earnestly. " I have been draw- 
 ing nearer to you all the while in spite of myself though 
 I tried so hard to hold back. Piers, my past life is a dream, 
 and this this is the awaking. You asked me a long 
 while ago if the past mattered. I couldn't answer you 
 then. I was still half-asleep. But now now you have 
 worked the miracle my heart is awake, dear, and I will 
 answer you. The past is nothing to you or me. It matters 
 not one jot ! " 
 
 Her words throbbed into the silence of his kiss. He held 
 her long and closely. Once twice he tried to speak to
 
 The Sword of Damocles 333 
 
 her and failed. In the end he gave himself up mutely to 
 the rapture of her arms. But his own wild passion had sunk 
 below the surface. He sought no more than she offered. 
 
 " Say good-bye to me now! " she whispered at length ; and 
 he kissed her again closely, lingeringly, and let her go. 
 
 She stood in the doorway as he passed into the night, and 
 his last sight of her was thus, silhouetted against the dark- 
 ness, a tall, gracious figure, bending forward to discern him 
 in the dimness. 
 
 He went back to his lonely home, back to the echoing 
 emptiness, the listening dark. He entered again the great 
 hall where Sir Beverley had been wont to sit and wait for 
 him. 
 
 Victor was on the watch. He glided apologetically for- 
 ward with shining, observant eyes upon his young master's 
 weary face. 
 
 " Monsieur Pierre!" he said insinuatingly. 
 
 Piers looked at him heavily. "Well?" 
 
 "I have put some refreshment for you in the dining- 
 room. It is more more comfortable, " said Victor, gently 
 indicating the open door. "Will you not when you have 
 eaten go to bed, mon cher, et peut-etre dormir?" 
 
 Very wistfully the little man proffered his suggestion. 
 His eyes followed Piers' movements with the dumb worship 
 of an animal. 
 
 "Oh yes, I'll go to bed," said Piers. 
 
 He turned towards the dining-room, and entered. There 
 was no elation in his step ; rather he walked as a man who 
 carries a heavy burden, and Victor marked the fact with 
 eyes of keen anxiety. 
 
 He followed him in and poured out a glass' of wine, 
 setting it before him with a professional adroitness that 
 did not conceal his solicitude. 
 
 Piers picked up the glass almost mechanically, and in 
 doing so caught sight of some letters lying on the table.
 
 334 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Oh, damn!" he said wearily. "How many more?" 
 
 There were bundles of them on the study writing-table. 
 They poured in by every post. 
 
 Victor groaned commiseratingly. "I will take them 
 away, yes?" he suggested. "You will read them in the 
 morning when you have slept." 
 
 "Yes, take 'em away!" said Piers. "Stay a minute! 
 What's that top one? I'll look at that. " 
 
 He took up the envelope. It was addressed in a man's 
 square, firm writing to "Piers Evesham, Esq., Rodding 
 Abbey." 
 
 "Someone who doesn't know," murmured Piers, and slit 
 it open with a sense of relief. Some of the letters of con- 
 dolence that he had received had_been as salt rubbed into 
 a wound. 
 
 He took out the letter and glanced at the signature: 
 " Edmund Crowther!" 
 
 Suddenly a veil seemed to be drawn across his eyes. He 
 looked up with a sharp, startled movement, and through a 
 floating mist he saw his grandmother's baffling smile from 
 the canvas on the wall. The blood was singing in his ears. 
 He clenched his hands involuntarily. Crowther! He had 
 forgotten Crowther! And Crowther knew how much? 
 
 But he had Crowther's promise of secrecy, so after all 
 what had he to fear? Nothing nothing! Yet he felt 
 as if a devil were laughing somewhere in the room. They 
 had caught him, they had caught him, there at the very 
 gates of deliverance. They were dragging him back to his 
 place of torment. He could hear the clanking of the chains 
 which he had so nearly burst asunder, could feel them 
 coiling cold about his heart. For he also was bound by a 
 promise, the keeping of which meant utter destruction to all 
 he held good in life. 
 
 And not that alone. It meant the rending in pieces of 
 that which was holy, the trampling into the earth of that
 
 The Sword of Damocles 335 
 
 sacred gift which had only now been bestowed upon him. 
 It meant the breaking of a woman's heart that of the only 
 woman in the world, the woman he worshipped, body and 
 soul, the woman who in spite of herself had come to love 
 him also. 
 
 He flung up his arms with a wild gesture. The torment 
 was more than he could bear. 
 
 "No!" he cried. "No!" And it was as if he cried out 
 of the midst of a burning, fiery furnace. "I'm damned 
 I'm damned if I will!" 
 
 " Monsieur Pierre ! Monsieur Pierre!" It was Victor's 
 voice beside him, full of anxious remonstrance. 
 
 He looked round with dazed eyes. His arms fell to his 
 sides. "All right, my good Victor; I'm not mad," he said. 
 "Don't be scared! Did you ever hear of a chap called 
 Damocles? He's an ancestor of mine, and history has a 
 funny fashion of repeating itself. But there'll be a differ- 
 ence this time all the same. He couldn't eat his dinner 
 for fear of a naked sword falling on his head. But I'm 
 going to eat mine whatever happens; and enjoy it too." 
 
 He raised his glass aloft with a reckless laugh. His 
 eyes sought those of the woman on the wall with a sparkle 
 of bitter humour. He made her a brief, defiant bow. 
 
 "And you, madam, may look on and smile!" he said. 
 
 He drank the wine without tasting it and swung round to 
 depart. And again, as he went, it seemed to him that 
 somewhere near at hand possibly in his own soul a devil 
 laughed and gibed. 
 
 Yet when he lay down at length, he slept for many hours 
 in dreamless, absolute repose as a voyager who after long 
 buffeting with wind and tide has come at last into the quiet 
 haven of his desire.
 
 PART II 
 THE PLACE OF TORMENT 
 
 337
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DEAD SEA FRUIT 
 
 " [ DOUBT if the County will call," said Miss Whalley, 
 
 1 "unless the fact that Sir Piers is to stand for the di- 
 vision weighs with them. And Colonel Rose's patronage may 
 prove an added inducement. He probably knows that the 
 young man has simply married this Mrs. Denysoutof pique, 
 oince his own charming daughter would have none of him. 
 I must say that personally I am not surprised that Miss 
 Rose should prefer marriage with a man of such sterling 
 worth as Mr. Guyes. Sir Piers may be extremely handsome 
 and fascinating ; but no man with those eyes could possibly 
 make a good husband. I hear it is to be a very grand 
 affair indeed, dear Mrs. Lorimer, far preferable in my 
 opinion to the hole-in-a-corner sort of ceremony that took 
 place this morning. " 
 
 "They both of them wished it to be as quiet as possible, " 
 murmured Mrs. Lorimer. "She being a widow and he 
 poor lad! in such deep mourning." 
 
 "Indecent haste, I call it," pronounced Miss Whalley 
 severely, "with the earth still fresh on his poor dear grand- 
 father's grave! A May wedding too! Most unsuitable!" 
 
 "He said he was so lonely," pleaded Mrs. Lorimer 
 gently. "And after all it was what his grandfather wished, 
 so he told me." 
 
 Miss Whalley gave a high-bred species of snort. "My 
 dear Mrs. Lorimer, that young man would tell you anything. 
 
 339
 
 34 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Why, his grandfather was an inveterate woman-hater, as all 
 the world knows. " 
 
 "I know, " agreed Mrs. Lorimer. "That was really what 
 made it so remarkable. I assure you, Miss Whalley, 
 Piers came to me only last night and told me with tears 
 in his eyes that just at the last poor Sir Beverley said to 
 him: 'I believe you've pitched on the right woman after 
 all, lad. Anyway, she cares for you more than ordinary. 
 Marry her as quick as you can and my blessing on you 
 both!' They were almost the last words he spoke," said 
 Mrs. Lorimer, wiping her own eyes. "I thought it was so 
 dear of Piers to tell me. " 
 
 "No doubt," sniffed Miss Whalley. "He is naturally 
 anxious to secure your goodwill. But I wonder very much 
 what point of view the dear Vicar takes of the matter. If I 
 mistake not, he took Mrs. Denys's measure some time ago. " 
 
 "Did he?" said Mrs. Lorimer vaguely. 
 
 Miss Whalley looked annoyed. The Vicar's wife obvi- 
 ously lacked sufficient backbone to quarrel on the sub- 
 ject. She was wont to say that she detested invertebrate 
 women. 
 
 "I think the Vicar was not altogether surprised," Mrs. 
 Lorimer went on, in her gentle, conversational way. "You 
 see, Piers had been somewhat assiduous for some time. I 
 myself, however, did not fancy that dear Avery wished 
 to encourage him." 
 
 "Pooh!" said Miss Whalley. "It was the chance of her 
 life." 
 
 A faint flush rose in Mrs. Lorimer 's face. "She is a dear 
 girl," she said. "I don't know what I shall do without 
 her." 
 
 "The children are getting older now, " said Miss Whalley. 
 " Jeanie ought to be able to take her place to a very great 
 extent." 
 
 "My little Jeanie is not strong," murmured Mrs. Lori-
 
 Dead Sea Fruit 341 
 
 mer. "She does what she can, but her lessons tire her so. 
 She never has much energy left, poor child. She has not 
 managed to finish her holiday-task yet, and it occupies all 
 her spare time. I told the Vicar that I really did not think 
 she was equal to it. But " the sentence went into a 
 heavy sigh, and further words failed. 
 
 "The Vicar is always very judicious with his children,'* 
 observed Miss Whalley. 
 
 "He does not err on the side of mercy," said his wife 
 pathetically. "And he does not seem to realize that Jeanie 
 lacks the vitality of the others, though how they ever got 
 through their tasks I can't imagine. It must have been 
 dear Avery's doing. She is a genius with children. They 
 all managed it but poor Jeanie. How ever we shall get on 
 without her I cannot think. " 
 
 "But she was under notice to go, I am told," observed 
 Miss Whalley. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know. But I had hoped that the Vicar 
 might relent. You see, she has been invaluable to us in so 
 many ways. However, I hope when she comes back that 
 we shall see a great deal of her. She is so good to the 
 children and they adore her. " 
 
 " I doubt if she will have much time to bestow upon them 
 if the County really do decide to accept her," remarked 
 Miss Whalley. "You forget that she is now Lady Eve- 
 sham, my dear Mrs. Lorimer, and little likely to remember 
 old friends now that she has attained the summit of her 
 ambition." 
 
 "I don't think Avery would forget us if she became a 
 royal princess," said Mrs. Lorimer, with a confidence that 
 Miss Whalley found peculiarly irritating. 
 
 "Ah well, we shall see, we shall see!" she said. "I for 
 one shall be extremely surprised if she elects to remain on 
 the same intimate footing. From mother's help at the 
 Vicarage to Lady Evesham of Rodding Abbey is a consider-
 
 34 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 able leap, and she will be scarcely human if it does not 
 turn her head. " 
 
 But Mrs. Lorimer merely smiled and said no more. Sh. 
 knew how little Avery was drawn by pomp and circum* 
 stance, but she would not vaunt her knowledge before one 
 so obviously incapable of understanding. In silence she let 
 the subject pass. 
 
 "And where is the honeymoon to be spent? "enquired 
 Miss Whalley, who was there to glean information and did 
 not mean to go empty away. 
 
 But Mrs. Lorimer shook her head. "Even I don't know 
 that. Piers had a whim to go just where they fancied. 
 They will call for letters at certain post-offices on certain 
 days; but he did not want to feel bound to stay at any parti- 
 cular place. Where they are at the present moment or 
 where they will spend to-night, I have not the faintest 
 idea. Nobody knows!" 
 
 "How extremely odd!" sniffed Miss Whalley. "But 
 young Evesham always was so ill-balanced and eccentric. 
 Is it true that Dr. Tudor went to the wedding this 
 morning?" 
 
 "Quite true," said Mrs. Lorimer. "I thought it was so 
 kind of him. He arrived a little late. Avery did not know 
 he was there until it was over. But he came forward 
 then and shook hands with them both and wished them 
 happiness. He and young Mr. Guyes, who supported 
 Piers, were the only two present besides the Eveshams' 
 family solicitor from Wardenhurst and ourselves. I 
 gave the dear girl away," said Mrs. Lorimer with gentle 
 pride. "And my dear husband conducted the service so 
 impressively." 
 
 "I am sure he would, " said Miss Whalley. " But I think 
 it was unfortunate that so much secrecy was observed. 
 People are so apt to talk uncharitably. It was really most 
 indiscreet."
 
 Dead Sea Fruit 343 
 
 Could she have heard the remark which Piers was making 
 at that identical moment to his bride, she would have 
 understood one of the main reasons for his indiscretion. 
 
 They were sitting in the deep, deep heart of a wood an 
 enchanted wood that was heavy with the spring fragrance of 
 the mountain-ash, and Piers, the while he peeled a stick 
 with the deftness of boyhood, observed with much complac- 
 ence: "Well, we've done that old Whalley chatterbox out 
 of a treat anyway. Of all the old parish gossips, that woman 
 is the worst. I never pass her house without seeing her peer 
 over her blind. She always looks at me with a suspicious, 
 disapproving eye. It's rather a shame, you know," he 
 wound up pathetically, "for she has only once in her life 
 found me out, and that was a dozen years ago. " 
 
 Avery laughed a little. "I don't think she approves of 
 any men except the clergy. " 
 
 "Oh yes, she clings like a leech to the skirts of the 
 Church, " said Piers irreverently. " There are plenty of her 
 sort about wherever there are parsons, in fact. Of course 
 it's the parsons' fault. If they didn't encourage 'em they 
 wouldn't be there. " 
 
 "I don't know that, " said Avery, with a smile. " I think 
 you're a little hard on parsons. " 
 
 "Do you? Well, I don't know many. The Reverend 
 Stephen is enough for me. I fight shy of all the rest." 
 
 "My dear, how very narrow of you!" said Avery. 
 
 He turned to her boyishly. "Don't tell me you want to 
 be a female curate like the Whalley! I couldn't bear it!" 
 
 "I haven't the smallest leaning in that direction, " Avery 
 assured him. "But at the same time, one of my greatest 
 friends is about to enter the Church, and I do want you to 
 meet and like him." 
 
 A sudden silence followed her words. Piers resumed the 
 peeling of his stick with minute attention. "I am sure to 
 like him if you do, " he remarked, after a moment.
 
 344 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She touched his arm lightly. ' ' Thank you, dear. He is an 
 Australian, and the very greatest-hearted man I ever met. 
 He stood by me in a time of great trouble. I don't know 
 what I should have done without him. I hope he won't 
 feel hurt, but I haven't even told him of my marriage yet. " 
 
 "We have been married just ten hours, " observed Piers, 
 still intent upon his task. 
 
 She laughed again. "Yes, but it is ten days since we 
 became engaged, and I owe him a letter into the bargain. 
 He wanted to arrange to meet me in town one day; but he 
 is still too busy to fix a date. He is studying very hard." 
 
 "What's his name?" said Piers. 
 
 "Crowther Edmund Crowther. He has been a farmer 
 for years in Queensland. " A very paused a moment. "It 
 was he who broke the news to me of my husband's death, " 
 she said, in a low voice. "I told you about that, Piers." 
 
 "You did," said Piers. 
 
 His tone was deliberately repressive, and a little quiver 
 of disappointment went through Avery. She became 
 silent, and the magic of the woods closed softly in upon them. 
 Evening was drawing on, and the long, golden rays of sun- 
 shine lay like a benediction over the quiet earth. 
 
 The silence between them grew and expanded into some- 
 thing of a barrier. From her seat on a fallen tree Avery 
 gazed out before her. She could not see Piers' face which 
 was bent above the stick which he had begun to whittle 
 with his knife. He was sitting on the ground at her feet, 
 and only his black head was visible to her. 
 
 Suddenly, almost fiercely, he spoke. "I know Edmund 
 Crowther." 
 
 Avery 's eyes came down to him in astonishment. "You 
 know him!" 
 
 "Yes, I know him." He worked furiously at his stick 
 without looking up. His words came in quick jerks, as if 
 for some reason he wanted to get them spoken without
 
 Dead Sea Fruit 345 
 
 delay. "I met him years ago. He did me a good turn 
 helped me out of a tight corner. A few weeks ago when I 
 was at Monte Carlo with my grandfather I met him again. 
 He told me then that he knew you. Of course it was a rum 
 coincidence. Heaven only knows what makes these things 
 happen. You needn't write to him, I will." 
 
 He ceased to speak, and suddenly A very saw that his 
 hands were trembling trembling violently as the hands of 
 a man with an ague. She watched them silently, wonder- 
 ing at his agitation, till Piers, becoming aware of her scru- 
 tiny, abruptly flung aside the stick upon which he had been 
 expending so much care and leaped to his feet with a laugh 
 that sounded oddly strained to her ears. 
 
 "Come along!" he said. "If we sit here talking like 
 Darby and Joan much longer, we shall forget that it's 
 actually our wedding-day. " 
 
 Avery looked up at him without rising, a queer sense of 
 foreboding at her heart. "Then Edmund Crowther is a 
 friend of yours, " she said. "A close friend? " 
 
 He stood above her, and she saw a very strange look in 
 his eyes almost a desperate look. 
 
 " Quite a close friend, " he said in answer. " But he won't 
 be if you waste any more thought on him for many days to 
 come. I want your thoughts all for myself. " 
 
 Again he laughed, holding out his hands to her with a 
 gesture that compelled rather than invited. She yielded 
 to his insistence, but with a curious, hurt feeling as of one 
 repulsed. It was as if he had closed a door in her face, 
 not violently or in any sense rudely, yet with such evident 
 intention that she had almost heard the click of the key in 
 the lock. 
 
 Hand in hand they went through the enchanted wood; 
 and for ever after, the scent of mountain-ash blossom was to 
 Avery a bitter-sweet memory of that which should have 
 been wholly sweet.
 
 34 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 As for Piers, she did not know what was in his mind, 
 though she was aware for a time of a lack of spontaneity 
 behind his tenderness which disquieted her vaguely. She 
 felt as if a shadow had fallen upon him, veiling his inner 
 soul from her sight. 
 
 Yet when they sat together in the magic quiet of the 
 spring night in a garden that had surely been planted for 
 lovers the cloud lifted, and she saw him again in all the 
 ardour of his love for her. For he poured it out to her there 
 in the silence, eagerly, burningly, the worship that had 
 opened to her the gate of that paradise which she had never 
 more hoped to tread. 
 
 She put her doubts and fears away from her, she answered 
 to his call. He had awaked the woman's heart in her, and 
 she gave freely, impulsively, not measuring her gift. If she 
 could not offer him a girl's first rapture, she could bestow 
 that which was infinitely greater the deep, strong love of a 
 woman who had suffered and knew how to endure. 
 
 They sat in the dewy garden till in the distant woods the 
 nightingales began their passion-steeped music, and then 
 because the ecstasy of the night was almost more than she 
 could bear A very softly freed herself from her husband's 
 arm and rose. 
 
 "Going?" he asked quickly. 
 
 He remained seated holding her hand fast locked in his. 
 She looked down into his upraised face, conscious that her 
 own was in shadow and that she need not try to hide the 
 tears that had risen inexplicably to her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, dear," she answered, with an effort at lightness. 
 "You haven't had a smoke since dinner. I am going to 
 leave you to have one now." 
 
 But he still held her, as if he could not let her go. 
 
 She bent to him after a moment with that sweet impulsive- 
 ness of hers that so greatly charmed all who loved her. 
 "What is it, Piers? Don't you want me to go?"
 
 Dead Sea Fruit 347 
 
 He caught her other hand in his and held them both 
 against his lips. 
 
 "Want you to go!" he muttered almost inarticulately; 
 and then suddenly he raised his face again to hers. 
 "A very A very, promise me swear to me that, whatever 
 happens, you will never leave me!" 
 
 "But, my dearest, haven't I already sworn only to- 
 day?" she said, surprised by his vehemence and his request. 
 "Of course I shall never leave you. My place is by your 
 side." 
 
 "I know! I know!" he said. "But it isn't enough. I 
 want you to promise me personally, so that I shall always 
 feel quite sure of you. You see, Avery, " his words came 
 with difficulty, his upturned face seemed to beseech her, 
 "I'm not the sort of impossible, chivalrous knight that 
 Jeanie thinks me. I'm horribly bad. I sometimes think 
 I've got a devil inside me. And I've done things I've 
 done things " His voice shook suddenly; he ended 
 abruptly, with heaving breath. "Before I ever met you, 
 I wronged you." 
 
 He would have let her go then, but it was her hands that 
 held. She stooped lower to him, divinely tender, her love 
 seeming to spread all about him like wings, folding him in. 
 
 "My dear," she said softly, "whatever there is of bad in 
 you, remember, the best is mine!" 
 
 He caught at the words. "The best the best! You 
 shall always have that, Avery. But, my darling, you 
 understand you do understand how utterly unworthy 
 that best is of you? You must understand that before 
 before " 
 
 Again his voice went into silence; but she saw his eyes 
 glow suddenly, hotly, in the gloom, and her heart gave a 
 quick hard throb that caught her breath and held it for the 
 moment suspended, waiting. 
 
 He went on after a second, mastering himself with obvi-
 
 34 8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 ous effort. "What I am trying to say is this. It's easier 
 or at least not impossible to forfeit what you've never 
 had. But afterwards afterwards " His hands closed 
 tightly upon hers again; his voice sounded half -choked. 
 "Avery, I couldn't let you go afterwards," he said. 
 
 "But, my own Piers," she whispered, "haven't you said 
 that there is no reason no earthly reason " 
 
 He broke in upon her almost fiercely. "There is no 
 reason none whatever I swear it! You said yourself 
 that the past was nothing tc you. You meant it, Avery, 
 Say you meant it!" 
 
 "But of course I meant it!" she told him. "Only, Piers, 
 there is no secret chamber in my life that ycu may not enter. 
 Perhaps some day, dear, when you come to realize that I am 
 older than Jeanie, you will open all your doors to me!" 
 
 There was pleading in her voice, notwithstanding its 
 note of banter; but she did not stay to plead. With the 
 whispered words she stooped and softly kissed him. Then 
 ere he could detain her longer she gently released herself 
 and was gone. 
 
 He saw her light figure flit ghost-like across the dim 
 stretch of grass and vanish into the shadows. And he 
 started to his feet as if he would follow or call her back. 
 But he did neither. He only stood swaying on his feet with 
 a face of straining impotence as of a prisoner wrestling 
 vainly with his iron bars until she had gone wholly from his 
 sight. And then with a stifled groan he dropped down 
 again into his chair and covered his face. 
 
 He had paid a heavy price to enter the garden of his 
 desire; but already he had begun to realize that the fruit 
 he gathered there was Dead Sea Fruit.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THAT WHICH IS HOLY 
 
 NO bells had rung at the young Squire's wedding. It 
 had been conducted with a privacy which Miss 
 Whalley described as "almost indecent." But there was 
 no privacy about his return, and Miss Whalley was shocked 
 afresh at the brazen heartlessness of it after his recent 
 bereavement. For Sir Piers and his wife motored home 
 at the end of July through a village decked with flags and 
 bunting and under a triumphant arch that made Piers' 
 little two-seater seem absurdly insignificant ; while the bells 
 in the church-tower clanged the noisest welcome they could 
 compass, and Gracie home for the holidays mustered the 
 school-children to cheer their hardest as the happy couple 
 passed the schoolhouse gate. 
 
 Avery would fain have stopped to greet the child, but 
 Piers would not be persuaded. 
 
 "No, no! To-morrow!" he said. "The honeymoon 
 isn't over till after to-night." 
 
 So they waved and were gone, at a speed which made 
 Miss Whalley wonder what the local police could be about. 
 
 Once past the lodge-gates and Marshall's half -grudging, 
 half-pleased smile of welcome, the speed was doubled. 
 Piers went like the wind, till Avery breathlessly cried to 
 him to stop. 
 
 "You'll kill us both before we get there!" she protested. 
 
 In answer to which Piers moderated the pace, remark- 
 
 ,349
 
 350 The Bars of Iron 
 
 ing as he did so, "But you would like to die by my side, 
 what?" 
 
 Victor was on the steps to receive them, Victor dancing 
 with impatience and delight. For his young master's pro- 
 longed honeymoon had represented ten weeks of desolation 
 to him. 
 
 Old David was also present, inconspicuous and dignified, 
 waiting to pour out tea for the travellers. 
 
 And Csesar the Dalmatian who had mourned with Victor 
 for his absent deity now leapt upon him in one great rush of 
 ecstatic welcome that nearly bore him backwards. 
 
 It was a riotous home-coming, for Piers was in boisterous 
 spirits. They had travelled far that day, but he was in a 
 mood of such restless energy that he seemed incapable of 
 feeling fatigue. 
 
 Avery on her part was thoroughly weary, but she would 
 not tell him so, and they spent the whole evening in wander- 
 ing about house and gardens, discussing the advisability 
 of various alterations and improvements. In the end Piers 
 awoke suddenly to the fact that she was looking utterly 
 exhausted, and with swift compunction piloted her to her 
 room. 
 
 "What a fool I am!" he declared. "You must be dead 
 beat. Why didn't you say you wanted to rest?" 
 
 " I didn't, dear, " she answered simply. " I wanted to be 
 with you." 
 
 He caught her hand to his lips. " You are happy with me 
 then?" 
 
 She uttered a little laugh that said more than words. 
 " My own boy, you give me all that the most exacting woman 
 could possibly desire and then ask me that!" 
 
 He laughed too, his arm close about her. "I would give 
 you the world if I had it. Avery, I hate to think we've come 
 home that the honeymoon is over and the old beastly 
 burdens waiting to be shouldered " He laid his fore-
 
 That Which Is Holy 35 1 
 
 Head against her neck with a gesture that made her fancy 
 he did not wish her to see his face for the moment. " P'r'aps 
 I'm a heartless brute, but I never missed the old chap all the 
 time I was away, " he whispered. " It's like being dragged 
 under the scourge again just when the old scars were 
 beginning to heal to come back to this empty barrack." 
 
 She slid a quick arm round his neck, all the woman's 
 heart in her responding to the cry from his. 
 
 "The place is full of him," Piers went on; "I meet him 
 at every corner. I see him in his old place on the settle in 
 the hall, where he used to wait for me, and and row me 
 every night for being late." He gave a broken laugh. 
 "Avery, if it weren't for you, I I believe I should shoot 
 myself." 
 
 "Come and sit down ! " said Avery gently. She drew him 
 to a couch, and they sat down locked together. 
 
 During all the ten weeks of their absence he had scarcely 
 even mentioned his grandfather. He had been gay and 
 inconsequent, or fiercely passionate in his devotion to her. 
 But of his loss he had never spoken, and vaguely she had 
 known that he had shut it out of his life with that other grim 
 shadow that dwelt behind the locked door she might not 
 open. She had not deemed him heartless, but she had 
 regretted that deliberate shirking of his grief. She had 
 known that sooner or later he would have to endure the 
 scourging of which he spoke and that it would not grow 
 the lighter with postponement. 
 
 And now as she held him against her heart, she was in a 
 sense relieved that it had come at last, thankful to be there 
 with him while he stripped himself of all subterfuge and 
 faced his sorrow. 
 
 He could not speak much as he sat there clasped in her 
 arms. One or two attempts he made, and then broke 
 down against her breast. But no words were needed. 
 Her arms were all he desired for consolation, and if they
 
 35 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 waked in him the old wild remorse, he stifled it ere it could 
 take full possession. 
 
 Finally, when the first bitterness had passed, they sat 
 and talked together, and he found relief in telling her of the 
 life he had lived in close companionship with the old man. 
 
 "We quarrelled a dozen times," he said. "But some- 
 how we could neither of us keep it up. I don't know why. 
 We were violent enough at times. There's an Evesham 
 devil somewhere in our ancestry, and he has a trick of crop- 
 ping up still in moments of excitement. You've met him 
 more than once. He's a formidable monster, what?" 
 
 "I am not afraid of him," said A very, with her cheek 
 against his black head. 
 
 He gave a shaky laugh. "You'd fling a bucket of water 
 over Satan himself ! I love you for not being afraid. But 
 I don't know how you manage it, and that's a fact. Dar- 
 ling, I'm a selfish brute to wear you out like this. Send me 
 away when you can't stand any more of me!" 
 
 "Would you go?" she said, softly stroking his cheek. 
 
 He caught her hand again and kissed it hotly, devour- 
 ingly, in answer. "But I mustn't wear you out," he said, 
 a moment later, with an odd wistfulness. "You mustn't 
 let me, Avery. " 
 
 She drew her hand gently away from the clinging of his 
 lips. " No, I won't let you, " she said, in a tone he did not 
 understand. 
 
 He clasped her to him. "It's because I worship you so," 
 he whispered passionately. "There is no one else in the 
 world but you. I adore you! I adore you!" 
 
 She closed her eyes from the fiery worship that looked 
 forth from his. "Piers, " she said, "wait, dear, wait!" 
 
 "Why should I wait?" he demanded almost fiercely. 
 
 "Because I ask you. Because just now to be loved 
 like that is more than I can bear. Will you can you 
 kiss me only once, and go?"
 
 That Which Is Holy 353 
 
 He held her in his arms. He gazed long and burningly 
 upon her. In the end he stopped and with reverence he 
 kissed her. "I am going, Avery," he said. 
 
 She opened her eyes to him. "God bless you, my own 
 Piers!" she murmured softly, and laid her cheek for a 
 moment against his sleeve ere he took his arm away. 
 
 As for Piers, he went from her as if he feared to trespass, 
 and her heart smote her a little as she watched him go. 
 But she would not call him back. She went instead to one 
 of the great bay windows and leaned against the framework, 
 gazing out. He was very good to her in all things, but 
 there were times when she felt solitude to be an absolute 
 necessity. His vitality, his fevered desire for her, wore upon 
 her nerves. His attitude towards her was not wholly 
 natural. It held something of a menace to her peace which 
 disquieted her vaguely. She had a feeling that though she 
 knew herself to be all he wanted in the world, yet she did 
 not succeed in fully satisfying him. He seemed to be 
 perpetually craving for something further, as though 
 somewhere deep within him there burned a fiery thirst that 
 nothing could ever slake. Her lightest touch seemed to 
 awake it, and there were moments when his unfettered 
 passion made her afraid. 
 
 Not for worlds would she have had him know it. Her 
 love for him was too deep to let her shrink; and she knew 
 that only by that love did she maintain her ascendancy, 
 appealing to his higher nature as only true love can appeal. 
 But the perpetual strain of it told upon her, and that night 
 she felt tired in body and soul. 
 
 The great bedroom behind her with its dark hangings 
 and oak furniture seemed dreary and unhome-like. She 
 viewed the ancient and immense four-poster with misgiving 
 and wondered if Queen Elizabeth had ever slept in it. 
 
 After a time she investigated Piers' room beyond, and 
 found it less imposing though curiously stiff and wholly
 
 354 The Bars of Iron 
 
 lacking in ordinary cheery comfort. Later she discovered 
 the reason for this grim severity of arrangement. No 
 woman's touch had softened it for close upon half a century. 
 
 She went back to her own room and dressed. Piers had 
 wanted her to have a maid, but she had refused until other 
 changes should be made in the establishment. There 
 seemed so much to alter that she felt bewildered. A house- 
 hold of elderly menservants presented a problem with 
 which she knew she would find it difficult to deal. 
 
 She put the matter gently before Piers that night, but 
 he dismissed it as trivial. 
 
 "You can't turn 'em off of course," he said. "But 
 you can have a dozen women to adjust the balance if you 
 want 'em." 
 
 Avery did not, but she was too tired to argue the point. 
 She let the subject slide. 
 
 They dined together in the oak-panelled dining-room 
 where Piers had so often sat with his grandfather. The 
 table seemed to stretch away inimitably into shadows, and 
 Avery felt like a Lilliputian. From the wall directly facing 
 her the last Lady Evesham smiled upon her her baffling, 
 mirthless smile that seemed to cover naught but heartache. 
 She found herself looking up again and again to meet those 
 eyes of mocking comprehension; and the memory of what 
 Lennox Tudor had once told her recurred to her. This was 
 Piers' Italian grandmother whose patrician beauty had 
 descended to him through her scapegrace son. 
 
 "Are you looking at that woman with the smile?" said 
 Piers abruptly. 
 
 She turned to him. "You are so like her, Piers. But I 
 wouldn't like you to have a smile like that. There is 
 something tragic behind it." 
 
 "We are a tragic family, " said Piers sombrely. "As for 
 her, she ruined her own life and my grandfather's too. She 
 might have been happy enough with him if she had tried. "
 
 That Which Is Holy - 355 
 
 "Oh, Piers, I wonder!" Avery said, with a feeling that 
 that smile revealed more to her than to him. 
 
 "I say she might," Piers reiterated, with a touch of 
 impatience. "He thought the world of her, just as just 
 as ;" he smiled at her suddenly "I do of you. He 
 never knew that she wasn't satisfied until one fine day she 
 left him. She married again afterwards, and then died. 
 He never got over it. " 
 
 But still Avery had a vagrant feeling of pity for the 
 woman who had been Sir Beverley's bride. "I expect 
 they never really understood each other, " she said. 
 
 Piers' dark eyes gleamed. "Do you know what I would 
 have done if I had been in his place?" he said. "I would 
 have gone after her and brought her back even if I'd killed 
 her afterwards. " 
 
 His voice vibrated on a deep note of savagery. He 
 poured out a glass of wine with a hand that shook. 
 
 Avery said nothing, but through the silence she was con- 
 scious of the hard throbbing of her heart. There was some- 
 thing implacable, something almost cruel, about Piers at 
 that moment. She felt as if he had bruised her without 
 knowing it. 
 
 And then in his sudden, bewildering way he left his chair 
 and came to her, stooped boyishly over her. " My darling, 
 you're so awfully pale to-night. Have some wine to 
 please me!" 
 
 She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed 
 her eyes. "I am a little tired, dear; but I don't want any 
 wine. I shall be all right in the morning. " 
 
 He laid his cheek against her forehead. "I want you to 
 drink a toast with me. Won't you?" 
 
 "We won't drink to each other," she protested, faintly 
 smiling. "It's too like drinking to ourselves." 
 
 "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," he 
 declared. "But we won't toast ourselves. We'll drink to
 
 35 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 the future, Avery, atid " he lowered his voice "and all 
 it contains. What?" 
 
 Her eyes opened quickly, but she did not move. "Why 
 do you say that?" 
 
 "What?" he said again very softly. 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 He reached a hand for his own glass. "Drink with me, 
 sweetheart!" he said persuasively. 
 
 She suffered him to put it to her lips and drank sub- 
 missively. But in a moment she put up a restraining hand. 
 "You finish it ! " she said, and pushed it gently towards him. 
 
 He took it and held it high. The light gleamed crimson in 
 the wine ; it glowed like liquid fire. A moment he held it so, 
 then without a word he carried it to his lips and drained it. 
 
 A second later there came the sound of splintering glass, 
 and Avery, turning in her chair, discovered that he had flung 
 it over his shoulder. 
 
 She gazed at him in amazement astonished by his action. 
 "Piers!" 
 
 But something in his face checked her. "No one will 
 wer drink out of that glass again," he said. "Are you 
 7eady? Shall we go in the garden for a breath of air?" 
 
 She went with him, but on the terrace outside he stopped 
 impulsively. "Avery darling, I don't mean to be a selfish 
 beast ; but I've got to prowl for a bit. Would you rather go 
 to bed?" 
 
 His arm was round her; she leaned against him half- 
 laughing. "Do you know, dear, that bedroom frightens 
 me with its magnificence! Don't prowl too long!" 
 
 He bent to her swiftly. "Avery! Do you want me?" 
 
 "Just to scare away the bogies, " she made answer, with 
 a lightness that scarcely veiled a deeper feeling. "And 
 when you've done that quite thoroughly perhaps " 
 She stopped. 
 
 "Perhaps " whispered Piers.
 
 That Which Is Holy 357 
 
 "Perhaps I'll tell you a secret," she said still lightly. 
 "By the way, dear, I found a letter from Mr. Crowther 
 waiting for me. I put it in your room for you to read. He 
 writes so kindly. Wouldn't you like him to be our first 
 visitor?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence before Piers made answer. 
 
 "To be sure," he said then. "We mustn't forget Crow- 
 ther. You wrote and told him everything, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, everything. He seems very fond of you, Piers. 
 But you must read his letter. It concerns you quite as 
 much as it does me. There! I am going. Good-bye! 
 Come up soon!" 
 
 She patted his shoulder and turned away. Somehow it 
 had not been easy to speak of Crowther. She had known 
 that in doing so she had introduced an unwelcome subject. 
 But Crowther was too great a friend to ignore. She felt 
 that she had treated him somewhat casually already; for it 
 was only the previous week that she had written to tell him 
 of her marriage. 
 
 Crowther was in town, studying hard for an examination, 
 and she felt convinced that he would be willing to pay them 
 a visit. She also knew that for some reason Piers was 
 reluctant to ask him, but she felt that that fact ought not to 
 influence her. For she owed a debt of gratitude to Crowther 
 which she could never forget. 
 
 But all thought of Crowther faded from her mind when 
 she found herself once more in that eerie, tapestry-hung 
 bedroom. The place had been lighted with candles, but 
 they only seemed to emphasize the gloom. She wondered 
 how often the last Lady Evesham the warm-blooded, 
 passionate Italian woman with her love of the sun and all 
 things beautiful had stood as she stood now and shuddered 
 at the dreary splendour of her surroundings. How home- 
 sick she must have been, Avery thought to herself, as 
 she undressed in the flickering candle-light ! How her soul
 
 358 The Bars of Iron 
 
 must have yearned for the glittering Southern life she had 
 left! 
 
 She thought of Sir Beverley. He must have been very 
 like Piers in his youth, less fierce, less intense, but in many 
 ways practically the same, giving much and demanding 
 even more, restless and exacting, but withal so lovable, so 
 hard to resist, so infinitely dear. All her love for Piers 
 throbbed suddenly up to the surface. How good he was 
 to her ! What would life be without him ? She reproached 
 herself for ingratitude and discontent. Life was a beautiful 
 thing if -only she would have it so. 
 
 She knelt down at length by the deep cushioned window- 
 seat and began to pray. The night was dim and quiet, and 
 as she prayed she gradually forgot the shadows behind her 
 and seemed to lose herself in the immensity of its peace. 
 She realized as never before that by her love she must 
 prevail. It was the one weapon, unfailing and invincible, 
 that alone would serve her, when she could rely upon no 
 other. She knew that he had felt its influence, that there 
 were times when he did instinctive reverence to it, as 
 to that which is holy. She knew moreover that there was 
 that within him that answered to it as it were involuntarily 
 a fiery essence in which his passion had no part which 
 dwelt deep down in his turbulent heart a germ of greatness 
 which she knew might blossom into Love Immortal. 
 
 He was young, he was young. He wanted life, all he 
 could get of it. And he left the higher things because as yet 
 he was undeveloped. He had not felt that hunger of the 
 spirit which only that which is spiritual can satisfy. It 
 would come. She was sure it would come. She was 
 watching for it day by day. His wings were still untried. 
 He did not want to soar. But by-and-bye the heights 
 would begin to draw him. And then then they would soar 
 together. But till that day dawned, her love must be the 
 guardian of them both.
 
 That Which Is Holy 359 
 
 There came a slight sound in the room behind her. She 
 turned swiftly. "Piers!" 
 
 He was close to her. As she started to her feet his arms 
 enclosed her. He looked down into her eyes, holding her 
 fast pressed to him. 
 
 "I didn't mean to disturb you, " he said. "But when I 
 saw you were praying I had to come in. I wanted so 
 awfully to know if you would get an answer." 
 
 "But, Piers!" she protested. 
 
 He kissed her lips. "Don't be angry, Avery! I'm not 
 scoffing. I don't know enough about God to scoff at Him. 
 Tell me ! Do you ever get an answer, or are you content to 
 go jogging on like the rest of the world without?" 
 
 She made an effort to free herself. "Do you know, 
 Piers, I can't talk to you about holy things when you are 
 holding me like this. " 
 
 He looked stubborn. "I don't know what you mean by 
 holy things. I'm not a believer. At least I don't believe in 
 prayer. I can get all I want without it. " 
 
 "I wonder!" Avery said. 
 
 She was still trying to disengage herself, but as he held 
 her with evident determination she desisted. 
 
 There followed a silence during which her grey eyes met 
 his black ones steadily, fearlessly, resolutely. Then in a 
 whisper Piers spoke, his lips still close to hers. "Tell me 
 what you were praying for, sweetheart!" 
 
 She smiled a little. "No, dear, not now! It's nothing 
 that's in your power to give me. Shall we sit on the 
 window-seat and talk?" 
 
 But Piers was loth to let her go from his arms. He knelt 
 beside her as she sat, still holding her. 
 
 She put her arm round his neck. "Do you remember 
 your Star of Hope ? ' ' she asked him softly. 
 
 " I remember, " said Piers, but he did not turn his eyes to 
 the night sky; they still dwelt upon her.
 
 360 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Avery's face was toward the window. The drapery fell 
 loosely away from her throat. He stooped forward suddenly 
 and pressed his hot lips upon her soft white flesh. 
 
 A little tremor went through her at his touch; she kept 
 her face turned from him. 
 
 "Have you really got all you want?" she asked after L 
 moment. " Is there nothing at all left to hope for ? " 
 
 "Didn't we drink to the future only to-night?" he said. 
 
 His arms were drawing her, but still she kept her face 
 turned away. "Did you mean anything by that?" she 
 asked. "Were you were you thinking of anything 
 special?" 
 
 He did not at once answer her. He waited till with an 
 odd reluctance she turned her face towards him. Then: 
 "I was thinking of you," he said. 
 
 Her heart gave a quick throb. " Of me? " she questioned 
 below her breath. 
 
 "Of you," he said again. "For myself, I have got all I 
 can ever hope for. But you you would be awfully happy, 
 wouldn't you, if " 
 
 "If " murmured Avery. 
 
 He stooped again to kiss her white bosom. "And it 
 would be a bond between us, " he said, as if continuing some 
 remark he had not uttered. 
 
 She turned more fully to him. "Do we need that?" she 
 said. 
 
 "We might some day," he answered, in a tone that 
 somehow made it impossible for her to protest. "Anyhow, 
 my darling, I knew, I guessed. And I'm awfully glad for 
 your sake. " 
 
 She bent towards him. "Not for your own?" she 
 whispered pleadingly. 
 
 He laid his head suddenly down upon her knees with a 
 sound that was almost a groan. 
 
 "Piers!" she said in distress.
 
 That Which Is Holy 361 
 
 He was silent for a space, then slowly raised himself. 
 She had a sense of shock at sight of his face. It looked 
 haggard and grey, as if a withering hand had touched him 
 and shorn away his youth. 
 
 "Avery, oh, A very, " he said, "I wish I were a better 
 man!" 
 
 It was a cry wrung from his soul the hungry-cry which 
 she had longed to hear, and it sent a great joy through her 
 even though it wrung her own soul also. 
 
 She bent to him swiftly. "Dearest, we all feel that 
 sometimes. And I think it is the Hand of God upon us, 
 opening our eyes." 
 
 He did not answer or make any response to her words. 
 Only as he clasped her to him, she heard him sigh. And 
 she knew that, strive as he might to silence that soul-craving 
 with earthly things, it would beat on unsatisfied through 
 all. She came nearer to understanding him that night 
 that ever before.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE FIRST GUEST 
 
 " I AM greatly honoured to be your first guest," said 
 
 1 Crowther. 
 
 "The honour is ours to get you," A very declared. 
 
 She sat on the terrace whither she had conducted him, 
 and smiled at him across the tea-table with eyes of shining 
 friendship. 
 
 Crowther smiled back, thinking to himself how pleasant 
 a picture she made. She was dressed in white, and her face 
 was flushed and happy, even girlish in its animation. 
 There was a ring of laughter in her voice when she talked 
 that was very good to hear. She had herself just brought 
 him from the station in Piers' little two-seater, and her 
 obvious pleasure at meeting him still hung about her, making 
 her very fair to see. 
 
 "Piers is so busy just now, " she told him. "He sent all 
 sorts of messages. He had to go over to Wardenhurst to 
 see Colonel Rose. The M. P. for this division retired at 
 the end of the Session, and Piers is to stand for the con- 
 stituency. They talk of having the election in October. " 
 
 "Will he get in? " asked Crowther, still watching her with 
 friendly appreciation in his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I expect so. He gets most things 
 that he sets his heart on. His grandfather you knew 
 Sir Beverley? was so anxious that he should enter Par- 
 liament." 
 
 362
 
 The First Guest 363 
 
 "Yes, I knew Sir Beverley," said Crowther. "He 
 thought the world of Piers." 
 
 "And Piers of him," said Avery. 
 
 "Ah! Was it a great blow to him when the old man 
 died?" 
 
 "A very great blow, " she answered soberly. "That was 
 the main reason for our marrying so suddenly. The poor 
 boy was so lonely I couldn't bear to think of him by himself 
 in this great house." 
 
 " He was very lucky to get you, " said Crowther gravely. 
 
 She smiled. "I was lucky too. Don't you think so? 
 I never in my wildest dreams pictured such a home as this 
 for myself." 
 
 A great magnolia climbed the house behind her with 
 creamy flowers that shed their lemon fragrance all about 
 them. Crowther compared her in his own mind to the 
 wonderful blossoms. She was so sweet, so pure, yet also in 
 a fashion so splendid. 
 
 "I think it is a very suitable setting for you, Lady 
 Evesham!" he said. 
 
 She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him. 
 "Do call me Avery!" she said. 
 
 "Thank you," he answered, with a smile. "It certainly 
 seems more natural. How long have you been in this home 
 of yours, may I ask?" 
 
 "Only a fortnight," she said, laughing. "Our honey- 
 moon took ten weeks. Piers wanted to make it ten years; 
 but the harvest was coming on, and I knew he ought to come 
 back and see what was happening. And then Mr. Ferrars 
 resigned his seat, and it became imperative. But isn't it 
 a beautiful place? " she ended. " I felt overwhelmed by the 
 magnificence of it at first, but I am getting used to it now." 
 
 "A glorious place," agreed Crowther. "Piers must be 
 very proud of it. Have you begun to have many visitors 
 yet?"
 
 364 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She shook her head. "No, not many. Nearly all the 
 big people have gone to Scotland. Piers says they will 
 come later, but I shall not mind them so much then. I 
 shall feel less like an interloper by that time. " 
 
 "I don't know why you should feel like that," said 
 Crowther. Avery smiled. "Well, all the little people 
 think that I set out to catch Piers for his money and his 
 title." 
 
 " Does what the little people think have any weight with 
 you?" asked Crowther. 
 
 She flushed faintly under the kindly directness of his gaze. 
 "Not really, I suppose. But one can't quite shake off the 
 feeling of it. There is the Vicar for instance. He has never 
 liked me. He congratulates me almost every time we meet." 
 
 "Evidently a cad," commented Crowther in his quiet 
 way. 
 
 Avery laughed a little. She had always liked this man's 
 plain speech. "He is not the only one," she said. 
 
 "But you have friends real friends also?" he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 "Oh yes; indeed! The Vicarage children and their 
 mother are the greatest friends I have." Avery spoke 
 with warmth. "The children are having tea down in one 
 of the cornfields now. We must go and see them presently. 
 You are fond of children, I know. " 
 
 "I sort of love them," said Crowther with his slow, kind 
 smile. "Ah, Piers, my lad, are you trying to steal a march 
 on us? Did you think I didn't know?" 
 
 He spoke without raising his voice. Avery turned 
 sharply to see her husband standing on the steps of a room 
 above them. One glimpse she had of Piers' face ere he 
 descended and joined them, and an odd feeling of dismay 
 smote her. For that one fleeting moment there seemed 
 to be something of the cornered beast in his aspect. 
 
 But as he came straight down to Crowther and wrung his
 
 The First Guest 365 
 
 hand, his dark face was smiling a welcome. He was in 
 riding-dress, and looked very handsome and young. 
 
 "How did you know it was I? Awfully pleased to see 
 you! Sorry I couldn't get back sooner. I've been riding 
 like the devil. A very explained, did she?" He threw 
 himself into a chair, and tossed an envelope into her lap. 
 "An invitation to Ina Rose's wedding on the twenty-third. 
 That's the week after next. They are sorry they can't man- 
 age to call before, hope you'll understand and go. I said 
 you should do both." 
 
 "Thank you, Piers." A very laid the envelope aside 
 unopened. She did not feel that he was being very cordial 
 to Crowther. "I am not sure that I shall go." 
 
 "Oh yes, you will," he rejoined quickly. "You must. 
 It's an order, see?" His dark eyes laughed at her, but 
 there was more than a tinge of imperiousness in his manner. 
 "Well, Crowther, how are you? Getting ready to scatter 
 the Philistines? Don't give me milk, Avery! You know 
 I hate it at this time of day. " 
 
 She looked at him in surprise. He had never used that 
 impatient tone to her before. "I didn't know," she 
 observed simply, as she handed him his cup. 
 
 "Well, you know now," he rejoined with an irritable 
 frown. "Hurry up, Crowther! I want you to come and 
 see the crops." 
 
 Avery was literally amazed by his manner. He had 
 never been so frankly and unjustifiably rude to her be- 
 fore. She came to the conclusion that something had 
 happened at the Roses' to annoy him; but that he 
 should visit his annoyance upon her was a wholly new 
 experience. 
 
 He drank his tea, talking hard to Crowther the while, 
 and finally sprang to his feet as if in a ferment to be gone. 
 
 "Won't Lady Evesham come too?" asked Crowther, as 
 he rose.
 
 366 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Avery rose also. "Yes, I have promised the children 
 to join them in the cornfield," she said. 
 
 Piers said nothing; but she had a very distinct impression 
 that he would have preferred her to remain behind. The 
 wonder crossed her mind if he were jealous because he 
 could no longer have her exclusively to himself. 
 
 They walked down through the park to the farm. It was 
 a splendid August evening. The reaping was still in 
 progress, and the whirr of the machine rose slumbrous 
 through the stillness. But of the Vicarage children there 
 was at first no sign. 
 
 Avery searched for them in surprise. She had sent a 
 picnic basket down to the farm earlier in the afternoon, and 
 she had expected to find them enjoying the contents thereof 
 in a shady corner. But for a time she searched in vain. 
 
 "They must have gone home, " said Piers. 
 
 But she did not believe they would have left without 
 seeing her, and she went to the farm to make enquiries. 
 
 Here she heard that the picnic-party had taken place 
 and that the basket had been brought back by one of the 
 men, but for some reason the children had evidently gone 
 home early, for they had not been seen since. 
 
 Avery wanted to run to the Vicarage and ascertain if all 
 were well, but Piers vetoed this. 
 
 "It's too hot," he said. "And you'll only come in for 
 some row with the Reverend Stephen. I won't have you 
 go, Avery. Stay with us!" 
 
 His tone was peremptory, and Avery realized that his 
 assumption of authority was intentional. A rebellious 
 spirit awoke within her, but she checked it. Something 
 had gone wrong, she was sure. He would tell her presently 
 what it was. 
 
 She yielded therefore to his desire and remained with 
 them. They spent a considerable time in the neighbour- 
 hood of the farm, in all of which Crowther took a keen
 
 The First Guest 367 
 
 interest. Avery tried to be interested too, but Piers' 
 behaviour troubled and perplexed her. He seemed to be 
 all on edge, and more than once his manner to Crowther also 
 verged upon abruptness. 
 
 They were leaving the farm to turn homeward when 
 there came to Avery the sound of flying feet along the lane 
 outside. She went to the gate, and beheld Gracie, her face 
 crimson with heat, racing towards her. 
 
 Avery moved to meet her, surprised by her sudden 
 appearance. She was still more surprised when Gracie 
 reached her, flung tempestuous arms about her, and broke 
 into stormy crying on her breast. 
 
 "My dear! My dear! What has happened?" Avery 
 asked in distress. 
 
 But Gracie was for the moment quite beyond speech. 
 She hung upon Avery, crying as if her heart would break. 
 
 Piers came swiftly "clown the path. "Why, Pixie, what's 
 the matter?" he said. 
 
 He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gently to 
 lean against himself, for in her paroxysm of weeping she 
 had thrown herself upon Avery with childish unrestraint. 
 
 "Who's been bullying you, Pixie?" he said. 
 
 "Nobody! Nobody!" sobbed Gracie. She transferred 
 herself to his arms almost mechanically, so overwhelming 
 was her woe. "Oh, it's dreadful ! It's dreadful ! " she cried. 
 
 He patted her soothingly, his cheek against her fair hair. 
 "Well, what is it, kiddie? Let's hear! One of the 
 youngsters in trouble, what? Not Jeanie, I say?" 
 
 " No, no, no ! It's Mike. " The name came out with a 
 great burst of tears. 
 
 "Mike!" Piers looked at Avery, mystified for the 
 moment. "Ah, to be sure! The dog! Well, what's 
 happened to him? He isn't dead, what?" 
 
 "He is! He is!" sobbed Gracie. "He he has been 
 killed by by his own chain!"
 
 368 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "What!" said Piers again. 
 
 Gaspingly she told him the tragic tale. "Father always 
 will have him kept on the chain, and and " 
 
 "An infernally cruel thing to do!" broke indignantly 
 from Piers. 
 
 "Yes, we we all said so. And we tried to give him 
 little outings sometimes to to make up. But to-day 
 somehow we forgot him, and and he must have seen us 
 go, and jumped the wall after us. Pat and I went back 
 afterwards to fetch him, and found him found him 
 oh, Piers!" She cried out in sudden agony and said no 
 more. 
 
 "Choked?" said Piers. "Choked with his own chain, 
 poor devil!" He looked up again at Avery with something 
 unfathomable in his eyes. "Oh, don't cry so, child!" he 
 said. "A chained creature is happier dead a thousand 
 times happier!" 
 
 He spoke passionately, so passionately that Grade's wild 
 grief was stayed. She lifted her face, all streaming with 
 tears. "Do you think so really?" 
 
 "Of course I think so, " he said. "Life on a chain is misery 
 unspeakable. No one with any heart could condemn a 
 dog to that! It's the refinement of cruelty. Don't wish the 
 poor beast back again! Be thankful he's gone!" 
 
 The vehemence of his speech was such that it carried 
 conviction even to Gracie's torn heart. She looked up at 
 him with something of wonder and of awe. "If only he 
 hadn't suffered so!" she whispered. 
 
 He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed back the 
 clustering hair. "You poor kid!" he said pityingly. 
 "You've suffered much more than he did at the end. But 
 it's over. Don't fret! Don't fret!" 
 
 Gracie lifted trembling lips to be kissed. He was drying 
 her eyes with his own handkerchief as tenderly as any 
 woman. He stooped and kissed her. " Look here! I'll
 
 The First Guest 369 
 
 walk home with you, " he said. " Avery, you go back with 
 Crowther! I shan't be late." 
 
 Avery turned at once. The sight of Piers soothing the 
 little girl's distress had comforted her subtly. She felt that 
 his mood had softened. 
 
 "Won't you go too?" said Crowther, as she joined him. 
 "Please don't stay on my account! I am used to being 
 alone, and I can find my own way back. " 
 
 "Oh no!" she said. "I had better come with you. I 
 shan't be wanted now. " 
 
 They started to walk back among the shocks of corn; 
 but they had not gone many yards when Gracie came 
 running after them, reached them, flung her arms about 
 Avery. 
 
 "Good-bye, darling Avery!" she said. 
 
 Avery held her close. She was sobbing still, but the 
 first wild anguish of her grief was past. 
 
 "Good-bye, darling!" Avery whispered, after a moment. 
 
 Gracie's arms tightened. "You think like Piers does?'* 
 she murmured. "You think poor Mikey is happier now?" 
 
 Avery paused an instant. The memory of Piers' look 
 as he had uttered the words: "Choked with his own chain, 
 poor devil ! ' ' seemed to grip her heart . Then : ' ' Yes, dearie, ' ' 
 she said softly. "I think as Piers does. I am glad for 
 poor Mikey 's sake that his troubles are over." 
 
 "Then I'll try and be glad too," sobbed poor Gracie. 
 "But it's very, very difficult. Pat and I loved him so, 
 and he he loved us. " 
 
 " My dear, that love won't die, " Avery said gently. 
 
 "The gift immortal," said Crowther. "The only thing 
 that counts." 
 
 She looked round at him quickly, but his eyes were gazing 
 straight into the sunset steadfast eyes that saw to the 
 very heart of things. 
 
 "And Life in Death," he added quietly.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PRISONER IN THE DUNGEON 
 
 A VERY was already dressed when she heard Piers 
 enter his room and say a word to Victor. She stood 
 by her window waiting. It was growing late, but she felt 
 sure he would come to her. 
 
 She heard Victor bustling about in his resilient fashion, 
 and again Piers' voice, somewhat curt and peremptory, 
 reached her through the closed door. He was evidently 
 dressing at full speed. She was conscious of a sense of 
 disappointment, though she kept it at bay, reminding 
 herself that they must not keep their guest waiting. 
 
 But presently, close upon the dinner-hour, she went 
 herself to the door of her husband's room and knocked. 
 
 His voice answered her immediately, but it still held that 
 unwonted quality of irritation in it. "Oh, Avery, I can't 
 let you in. I'm sorry. Victor's here. " 
 
 Something a small, indignant spirit sprang up within 
 her in response. " Send Victor away !" she said. "I want 
 to come in. " 
 
 "I shall be late if I do, " he made answer. "I'm horribly 
 late as it is." 
 
 But for once Avery's habitual docility was in abeyance. 
 "Send Victor away!" she reiterated. 
 
 She heard Piers utter an impatient word, and then in a 
 moment or two he raised his voice again. "Come in then! 
 What is it?" 
 
 370
 
 The Prisoner in the Dungeon 371 
 
 She opened the door with an odd unaccustomed feeling of 
 trepidation. 
 
 He was standing in his shirt-sleeves brushing his hair 
 vigorously at the table. His back was towards her, 
 but the glass reflected his face, and she saw that his 
 brows were drawn into a single hard black line. His 
 lips were tightly compressed. He looked undeniably 
 formidable. 
 
 "Don't you want me, Piers?" she asked, pausing in the 
 doorway. 
 
 His eyes flashed up to hers in the glass, glowing with the 
 smouldering fire, oddly fitful, oddly persistent. "Come 
 in!" he said, without turning. "What is it?" 
 
 She went forward to him. "Did you go to the Vicar- 
 age ? ' ' she asked. ' ' Are they in great trouble ? " 
 
 She thought she saw relief in his face at her words. " Oh 
 yes, " he said. " Mrs. Lorimer crying as usual, Jeanie try- 
 ing to comfort her. I did my best to hearten them up* 
 but you know what they are. I 'say, sit down!" 
 
 "No, I am going," she answered gently. "Did you get 
 on all right this afternoon?" 
 
 "Oh yes," he said again. "By the way, we must get a 
 wedding-present for Ina Rose and another for Guyes. 
 You'll come to the wedding, Avery?" 
 
 " If you wish it, dear, " she said quietly. 
 
 He threw down his brushes and turned fully to her. 
 "Avery darling, I'm sorry I was bearish this afternoon. 
 You won't punish me for it?" 
 
 4 ' Punish you, my own Piers ! ' ' she said. 
 
 ''Because I can't stand it, "he said recklessly. " There 
 are certain forms of torture that drive a man crazy. Bear 
 with me all you can!" 
 
 His quick pleading touched her, went straight to her 
 heart. She put her hands on his shoulders, lifting her face 
 for his kiss. "It's all right, dear, " she said.
 
 37 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Is it?" he said. "Is it?" He took her face between 
 his hands, gazing down at her with eyes of passionate 
 craving. "Say you love me!" he urged her suddenly. 
 "Say it!" 
 
 Her heart sank within her. She made a movement as if 
 to withdraw herself; but he caught her fiercely to him, his 
 hot lips sought and held her own. She felt as if a flame 
 encompassed her, scorching her, consuming her. 
 
 "Say you love me!" he whispered again between those 
 fiery kisses. "Avery, I must have your soul as well. Do 
 more than bear with me! Want me want me!" 
 
 There was more than passion in the words. They came 
 to her like a cry of torment. She braced herself to meet 
 his need, realizing it to be greater than she knew. 
 
 "Piers! Piers!" she said. "I am altogether yours. I 
 love you. Don't you know it ?" 
 
 He drew a deep, quivering breath. "Yes yes, I do 
 know it, " he said. "But but Avery, I would go through 
 hell for you. You are my religion, my life, my all. I am 
 not that to you. If if I were dragged down, you wouldn't 
 follow me in." 
 
 His intensity shocked her, but she would not have him 
 know it. She sought to calm his agitation though she pos- 
 sessed no key thereto. "My dear," she said, "you are 
 talking wildly. You don't know what you are to me, and 
 I can't even begin to tell you. But surely by now you 
 can take me on trust. " 
 
 He made a curious sound that was half -laugh, half -groan. 
 "You don't know yourself, Avery, " he said. 
 
 "But you don't doubt my love, Piers," she protested 
 very earnestly. "You know that it would never fail you. " 
 
 "Your love is like the moonlight, Avery," he answered. 
 "It is all whiteness and purity. But mine mine is red 
 like the fire that is under the earth. And though sometimes 
 it scorches you, it never quite reaches you. You stoop to
 
 The Prisoner in the Dungeon 373 
 
 me, but you can't lift me. You are too far above. And 
 the moonlight doesn't always reach to the prisoner in the 
 dungeon either. " 
 
 "All the same dear, don't be afraid that it will ever fail 
 you!" she said. 
 
 He kissed her again, hotly, lingeringly, and let her go. 
 "Perhaps I shall remind you of that one day," he said. 
 
 All through dinner his spirits were recklessly high. He 
 talked incessantly, playing the host with a brilliant ease 
 that betrayed no sign of strain. He did not seem to have 
 a care in the world, and Avery marvelled at his versatility. 
 
 She herself felt weary and strangely sick at heart. Those 
 few words of his had been a bitter revelation to her. She 
 knew now what was wanting between them. He desired 
 passion from her rather than love. He had no use for 
 spiritual things. And she, she knew that she shrank 
 inwardly whenever she encountered that fierce, untamed 
 desire of his. It fettered her spirit, it hung upon her like 
 an overpowering weight. She could not satisfy his wild 
 Southern nature. He crushed her love with the very 
 fierceness of his possession and ever cried to her for more. 
 He seemed insatiable. Even though she gave him all she 
 had, he still hungered, still strove feverishly to possess 
 himself of something further. 
 
 She felt worn out, body and soul, and she could not hide 
 it. She was unspeakably glad when at length the meal was 
 over and she was able to leave the table. 
 
 Crowther opened the door for her, looking at her with 
 eyes of kindly criticism. 
 
 "You look tired," he said. "I hope you don't sit up 
 late." 
 
 She smiled at him, "Oh no! We will make Piers play 
 to us presently, and then I will say good-night. " 
 
 " Then we mustn't keep you waiting long, " he said. "So 
 Piers is a musician, is he? I didn't know."
 
 374 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "You had better go to bed, Avery; it's late," said Piers 
 abruptly. " I can't play to-night. The spirit doesn't move 
 me. " He rose from the table with a careless laugh. "Say 
 good-night to her, Crowther, and let her go ! We will smoke 
 in the garden. " 
 
 There was finality in his tone, its lightness notwithstand- 
 ing. Again there came to Avery the impulse to rebel, and 
 again instinctively she caught it back. She held out her 
 hand to Crowther. 
 
 "I am dismissed then," she said. "Good-night!" 
 
 His smile answered hers. He looked regretful, but very 
 kindly. "I am glad to see Piers takes care of you, " he said. 
 
 She laughed a little drearily as she went away, making 
 no other response. 
 
 Crowther turned back to the table with its shaded candles 
 and gleaming wine. He saw that Piers' glass was practically 
 untouched. 
 
 Piers himself was searching a cabinet for cigars. He 
 found what he sought, and turned round with the box in 
 his hand. 
 
 "I don't know what you generally smoke," he said. 
 "Will you try one of these? It's a hot night. We may as 
 well have coffee in the garden. " 
 
 He seemed possessed with a spirit of restlessness, just as he 
 had been on that night at the Casino in the spring. Crowther, 
 massive and self-contained, observed him silently. 
 
 They went out on to the terrace, and drank their coffee 
 in the dewy stillness. But even there Piers could not sit 
 still. He prowled to and fro eternally, till Crowther set 
 down his cup and joined him, pushing a quiet hand through 
 his arm. 
 
 "It's a lovely place you've got here, sonny," he said; "a 
 regular garden of Paradise. I almost envy you." 
 
 "Oh, you needn't do that. There's a serpent in every 
 Eden, " said Piers, with a mirthless laugh.
 
 The Prisoner in the Dungeon 375 
 
 He did not seek to keep Crowther at arm's length, but 
 neither did he seem inclined for any closer intimacy. His 
 attitude neither invited nor repelled confidence. Yet 
 Crowther knew intuitively that his very indifference was 
 in itself a barrier that might well prove insurmountable. 
 
 He walked in silence while Piers talked intermittently of 
 various impersonal matters, drifting at length into silence 
 himself. 
 
 | In the western wing of the house a light burned at an 
 upper window, and Crowther, still quietly observant, noted 
 how at each turn Piers' eyes went to that light as though 
 drawn by some magnetic force. 
 
 Gently at length he spoke. "She doesn't look altogether 
 robust, sonny. " 
 
 Piers started sharply as if something had pricked him. 
 "What? A very do you mean? No, she isn't over and 
 above strong just now." 
 
 He uttered the last two words as if reluctantly, yet as if 
 some measure of pride impelled him. 
 
 Crowther's hand pressed his arm, in mute sympathy. 
 "You are right to take care of her, " he said simply. "And 
 Piers, my lad, I want to tell you how glad I was to know 
 that you were able to win her after all. I somehow felt you 
 would." 
 
 It was his first attempt to pass that intangible barrier, 
 and it failed. Piers disregarded the words as if they had not 
 reached him. 
 
 "I don't know if I shall let her stay here through the 
 winter," he said. "I am not sure that the place suits her. 
 It's damp, you know; good hunting and so on, but a bit 
 depressing in bad weather. Besides I'd rather have her 
 under a town doctor. The new heir arrives in March," 
 he said, with a slight laugh that struck Crowther as un- 
 consciously pathetic. 
 
 "I'm very pleased to hear it, sonny," said Crowther.
 
 37 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "May he be the first of many! What does Avery think 
 about it? I'll warrant she's pleased?" 
 
 "Oh yes, she's pleased enough." 
 
 "And you, lad?" 
 
 " Oh yes, I'm pleased too, " said Piers, but his tone lacked 
 complete satisfaction and he added after a moment, "I'd 
 rather have had her to myself a bit longer. I'm a selfish 
 brute, you know, Crowther. I want all I can get and even 
 that's hardly enough to keep me from starvation. " 
 
 There was a note of banter in his voice, but there was 
 something else as well that touched Crowther's kindly 
 heart. 
 
 " I don't think Avery is the sort of woman to sacrifice her 
 husband to her children, " he said. "You will always come 
 first, sonny, if I know her. " 
 
 "I couldn't endure anything else," said Piers, with sudden 
 fire. "She is the mainspring of my life. " 
 
 "And you of hers, " said Crowther. 
 
 Piers stopped dead in his walk and faced him. "No, 
 no, I'm not!" he said, speaking quickly, unrestrainedly. 
 "I'm a good deal to her, but I'm not that. She gives, 
 but she never offers. If I went off on a journey round 
 the world to-morrow, she'd see me go quite cheerfully, 
 and she'd wait serenely till I came back again. She'd 
 never fret. Above all, she'd never dream of coming to 
 look forme." 
 
 The passionate utterance went into a sound that re- 
 sembled a laugh, but it was a sound of such bitterness 
 that Crowther was strongly moved. 
 
 He put his hand on Piers' shoulder and gave it an admoni- 
 tory shake. " My dear lad, don't be a fool ! " he said with 
 slow force. "You're consuming your own happiness and 
 hers too. You can't measure a woman's feelings like that. 
 They are immeasurable. You can't even begin to fathom 
 a woman's restraint a woman's reserve. How can she
 
 The Prisoner in the Dungeon 377 
 
 offer when you are always demanding ? As to her love, it is 
 probably as infinitely great, as infinitely deep, as infinitely 
 selfless, as yours is passionate, and fierce and insatiable. 
 There are big possibilities in you, Piers; but you're not 
 letting 'em grow. It would have done you good to have 
 been kept waiting ten years or more. You're spoilt; that's 
 what's the matter with you. You got your heart's desire 
 too easily. You think this world is your own damn' play- 
 ground. And it isn't. Understand? You're put here to 
 work, not play; to develop yourself, not batten on other 
 people. You won her like a man in the face of desperate 
 odds. You paid a heavy price for her. But even so, you 
 don't deserve to keep her if you forget that she has paid too. 
 By Heaven, Piers, she must have loved you a mighty lot to 
 have done it!" 
 
 He paused, for Piers had made a sharp, involuntary 
 movement as of a man in intolerable pain. He almost 
 wrenched himself from Crowther's hand, and walked 
 to the low wall of the terrace. Here he stood for 
 many seconds quite motionless, gazing down over the quiet 
 garden. 
 
 Finally he swung round, and looked at Crowther. "Yes, " 
 he said, in an odd tone as of one repeating something learned 
 by heart. " I've got to remember that, haven't I? Thanks 
 for reminding me!" He stopped, seemed to collect him- 
 self, moved slowly forward. "You're a good chap, Crow- 
 ther," he said. "I wonder you've never got married 
 yourself, what?" 
 
 Crowther waited for him quietly, in his eyes that look of 
 the man who has gazed for long over the wide spaces of the 
 earth. 
 
 "I never married, sonny," he said, "because I had 
 nothing to offer to the woman I cared for, and so she 
 never knew. " 
 
 "By gad, old chap, I'm sorry," said Piers impulsively.
 
 378 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Crowther held out a steady hand. " I'm happy enough, " 
 he said simply. " I've got all I want. " 
 
 "All?" echoed Piers incredulously. 
 
 Crowther was smiling. He lifted his face to the night 
 'sky. " Yes, thank God, all ! " he said.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SWORD FALLS 
 
 AS Miss Whalley had predicted, Ina Rose's wedding was 
 a very grand affair indeed. Everyone who was any- 
 one attended it, and a good many besides. It took place 
 in the midst of a spell of sultry weather, during which the 
 sun shone day after day with brazen strength and the heat 
 was intense. 
 
 It was the sort of weather Piers revelled in. It suited 
 his tropical nature. But it affected Avery very differently. 
 All her customary energy wilted before it, and yet she was 
 strangely restless also. A great reluctance to attend the 
 wedding possessed her, wherefore she could not have said. 
 But for some reason Piers was determined that she should 
 go. He was even somewhat tyrannical on the subject, and 
 rather than have a discussion Avery had yielded the point. 
 For Piers was oddly difficult in those days. Crowther's 
 visit, which had barely run into forty-eight hours, seemed to 
 have had a disquieting effect upon him. There had de- 
 veloped a curious, new-born mastery in his attitude towards 
 her, which she sometimes found it hard to endure. She 
 missed the chivalry of the early days. She missed the 
 sweetness of his boyish adoration. 
 
 She did not understand him, but she knew that he was not 
 happy. He never took her into his confidence, never 
 alluded by word or sign to the change which he must have 
 realized that she could not fail to notice. And Avery on 
 
 379
 
 380 The Bars of Iron 
 
 her part made no further effort to open the door that was so 
 strenuously locked against her. With an aching heart she 
 gave herself to the weary task of waiting, convinced that 
 sooner or later the nature of the barrier which he so stub- 
 bornly ignored would be revealed to her. But it was 
 impossible to extend her full confidence to him. Moreover, 
 he seemed to shrink from all intimate subjects. Instinct- 
 ively and wholly involuntarily she withdrew into herself, 
 meeting reserve with reserve. Since he had become master 
 rather than lover, she yielded him obedience, and she hid 
 away her love, not deliberately or intentionally, but rather 
 with the impulse to protect from outrage that which was 
 holy. He was not asking love of her just then. 
 
 She saw but little of him during the day. He was busy 
 on the estate, busy with the coming election, busy with a 
 hundred and one matters that evidently occupied his 
 thoughts very fully. The heat seemed to imbue him with 
 inexhaustible energy. He never seemed tired after the 
 most strenuous exertion. He never slacked for a moment or 
 seemed to have a moment to spare till the day was done. 
 He was generally late for meals, and always raced through 
 them at a speed that Avery was powerless to emulate. 
 
 He was late on the day of Ina Rose's wedding, so late 
 that Avery, who had dressed in good time and was lying on 
 the sofa in her room, began to wonder if he had after all 
 abandoned the idea of going. But she presently heard 
 him race into his own room, and immediately there came 
 the active patter of Victor's feet as he waited upon him. 
 
 She lay still, listening, wishing that the wedding were 
 over, morbidly dreading the heat and crush and excite- 
 ment which she knew awaited her and to which she felt 
 utterly unequal. 
 
 A quarter of an hour passed, then impetuously, without 
 preliminary, her door opened and Piers stood on the thresh- 
 old. He had the light behind him, for Avery had lowered
 
 The Sword Falls 381 
 
 the blinds, and so seeing him she was conscious of a sudden 
 thrill of admiration. For he stood before her like a prince. 
 She had never seen him look more handsome, more patri- 
 cian, more tragically like that woman in the picture- 
 frame downstairs who smiled so perpetually upon them 
 both. 
 
 He came to her with his light, athletic tread, stooped, and 
 lifted her bodily in his arms. He held her a moment before 
 he set her on her feet, and then in his hot, fierce way he 
 kissed her. 
 
 "You beautiful ghost!" he said. 
 
 She leaned against him, breathing rather hard. "I 
 wish I wish we needn't go, " she said. 
 
 "Why? "said Piers. 
 
 He held her to him, gazing down at her with his eyes of 
 fiery possession that always made her close her own. 
 
 "Because because it's so hot," she said quiveringly. 
 "There will be no one I know there. And I and I " 
 
 "That's just why you are going," he broke in. "Don't 
 you know it will be your introduction to the County? 
 You've got to find your footing, Avery. I'm not going to 
 have my wife overlooked by anyone." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, " she said, with a faint laugh, " I don't care 
 two straws about the County. They've seen me once 
 already, most of them, in a ditch and covered with mud. 
 If they want to renew the acquaintance they can come and 
 call." 
 
 He kissed her again with lips that crushed her own. "We 
 won't stay longer than we can help," he said. "You 
 ought to go out more, you know. It isn't good for you to 
 stay in this gloomy old vault all day. We will really get to 
 work and make it more habitable presently. But I've 
 got such a lot on hand just now. " 
 
 " I know, " she said quietly. " Please don't bother about 
 me ! Lunch is waiting for us. Shall we go ? "
 
 382 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He gave her a quick, keen look, as if he suspected her of 
 trying to elude him ; but he let her go without a word. 
 
 They descended to lunch, and later went forth into the 
 blazing sunshine where the car awaited them. Avery 
 sank back into the corner and closed her eyes. Her head was 
 aching violently. The sense of reluctance that had possessed 
 her for so long amounted almost to a premonition of evil. 
 
 "Avery!" Her husband's voice, curt, imperious, with 
 just a tinge of anxiety broke in upon her. "Are you feeling 
 faint or anything?" 
 
 She looked at him. He was watching her with a frown 
 between his eyes. 
 
 "No, I am not faint," she said. "The heat makes my 
 head ache, that's all." 
 
 "You ought to see a doctor," he said restlessly. "But 
 not that ass, Tudor. We'll go up to town to-morrow. 
 Avery," his voice softened suddenly, "I'm sorry I dragged 
 you here if you didn't want to come. " 
 
 She put out her hand to him instantly. It was the old 
 Piers who had spoken, Piers the boy-lover who had won her 
 heart so irresistibly, so completely. 
 
 He held the hand tightly, and she thought his face 
 quivered a little as he said: "I don't mean to be a tyrant, 
 dear. But somehow somehow, you know I can't always 
 help it. A man with a raging thirst will take anything 
 he can get. " 
 
 His eyes were still upon her, and her heart quickened to 
 compassion at their look. They seemed to cry to her for 
 mercy out of a depth of suffering that she could not bear 
 to contemplate. 
 
 She leaned swiftly towards him. "Piers, my dear, 
 what is it? What is it?" she said, under her breath. 
 
 But in that instant the look vanished. The old fierce 
 flare of passion blazed forth upon her, held her burningly, 
 till finally she drew back before it in mute protest. "So
 
 The Sword Falls 383 
 
 you will forgive me, " he said, in a tone that seemed to con- 
 tain something of a jeering quality. "We are all human, 
 what? You're looking better now. Egad, Avery, you're 
 splendid!" 
 
 Her heart died within her. She turned her face away, 
 as one ashamed. 
 
 The church at Wardenhurst was thronged with a chatter- 
 ing crowd of guests. Piers and Avery arrived late, so late 
 that they had some difficulty in finding seats. Tudor, 
 who was present and looking grimly disgusted with him- 
 self, spied them at length, and gave up his place to Avery. 
 
 The bride entered almost immediately afterwards, 
 young, lovely, with the air of a queen passing through her 
 subjects. Dick Guyes at the altar was shaking with nervous- 
 ness, but Ina was supremely self-possessed. She even sent 
 a smile of casual greeting to Piers as she went. 
 
 She maintained her attitude of complete sang-froid 
 throughout the service, and Piers watched her critically 
 with that secret smile at the corners of his lips which was not 
 good to see. 
 
 He did not seem aware of anyone else in the church till 
 the service was over, and the strains of the Wedding March 
 were crashing through the building. Then very suddenly 
 he turned and looked at his wife with that in his dark eyes 
 that thrilled her to the soul. 
 
 A man's voice accosted him somewhat abruptly. "Are 
 you Sir Piers Evesham? I'm the best man. They want 
 you to sign the register. " 
 
 ; Piers started as one rudely awakened from an entrancing 
 dream. An impatient exclamation rose to his lips which he 
 suppressed rather badly. He surveyed the man who 
 addressed him with a touch of hauteur. 
 
 Avery surveyed him also, and as not very favourably 
 impressed. He was a small man with thick sandy eyebrows 
 and shifty uncertain eyes. He looked hard at Piers in
 
 384 The Bars of Iron 
 
 answer to the latter's haughty regard, and A very became 
 aware of a sudden sharp change in his demeanour as he did 
 so. He opened his eyes and stared in blank astonishment. 
 
 "Hullo!" he ejaculated softly. "You!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Piers. 
 
 It was a challenge, albeit spoken in an undertone. He 
 stood like a man transfixed as he uttered it. There came 
 to Avery a quick hot impulse to intervene, to protect him 
 from some hidden danger, she knew not what, that had 
 risen like a serpent in his path. But before she could 
 take any action, the critical moment was passed. Piers 
 had recovered himself. 
 
 He stepped forward. "All right. I will come, " he said. 
 
 She watched him move away in the direction of the vestry 
 with that free, proud gait of his, and a great coldness came 
 down upon her, wrapping her round, penetrating to her very 
 soul. Who was that man with the shifty eyes ? Why had 
 he stared at Piers so? Above all, why had Piers stood with 
 that stiff immobility of shock as though he had been stabbed 
 in the back? 
 
 A voice spoke close to her. "Lady Evesham, come and 
 wait by the door! There is more air there. " 
 
 She turned her head mechanically, and looked at Lennox 
 Tudor with eyes that saw not. There was a singing in her 
 ears that made the crashing chords of the organ sound 
 confused and jumbled. 
 
 His hand closed firmly, sustainingly, upon her elbow. 
 
 "Come with me!" he said. 
 
 She went with him blindly, unconscious of the curious 
 eyes that watched her go. 
 
 He led her quietly down the church and into the porch. 
 The air from outside, albeit hot and sultry, was less oppres- 
 sive than within. She drew great breaths of relief as it 
 reached her. The icy grip at her heart seemed to relax. 
 
 Tudor watched her narrowly. "What madness brought
 
 The Sword Falls 385 
 
 you here?" he said presently, as she turned at last and 
 mustered a smile of thanks. 
 
 She countered the question. "I might ask you the 
 same," she said. 
 
 His eyes contracted behind the shielding glasses. "So 
 you might, " he said briefly. "Well, I came on the chance 
 of meeting you. " 
 
 "Of meeting me ! " She looked at him in surprise. 
 
 He nodded. "Just so. I want a word with you; but it 
 can't be said here. Give me an opportunity later if you 
 can!" 
 
 His hand fell away from her elbow, he drew back. The 
 bridal procession was coming down the church. 
 
 Ina was flushed and laughing. Dick Guyes still obviously 
 nervous, but, also obviously, supremely happy. They 
 went by Avery into a perfect storm of rose-leaves that 
 awaited them from the crowd outside. Yet for one moment 
 the eyes of the bride rested upon Avery, meeting hers 
 almost as if they would ask her a question. And behind 
 her immediately behind her came Piers. 
 
 His eyes also found Avery, and in an instant with a 
 haughty disregard of Tudor, he had swept her forward with 
 him, his arm thrust imperially through hers. They also 
 weathered the storm of rose-leaves, and as they went Avery 
 heard him laugh, the laugh of the man who fights with his 
 back to the wall. 
 
 They were among the first to offer congratulations to the 
 bride and bridegroom, and again Avery was aware of the 
 girl's eyes searching hers. . 
 
 "I haven't forgotten you, " she said, as they shook hands. 
 "I knew you would be Lady Evesham sooner or later after 
 that day when you kept the whole Hunt at bay. " 
 
 Avery felt herself flush. There seemed to her to be a 
 covert insinuation in the remark. "I was very grateful to 
 you for taking my part, " she said. 
 
 as
 
 386 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "It was rather generous certainly," agreed the bride 
 coolly. "Dick, do get off my train! You're horribly 
 clumsy to-day. " 
 
 The bridegroom hastened to remove himself to a respect- 
 ful distance, while Ina turned her pretty cheek to Piers. 
 "You may salute the bride," she said graciously. "It's 
 the only opportunity you will ever have. " 
 
 Piers kissed the cheek as airily as it was proffered, his 
 dark eyes openly mocking. "Good luck to you, Ina!" 
 he said lightly. " I wish you the first and best of all that's 
 most worth having." 
 
 Her red lips curled in answer. "You are superlatively 
 kind," she said. 
 
 Other guests came crowding round with congratulations, 
 and they moved on. 
 
 Piers knew everyone there, and presented one after 
 another to his wife till she felt absolutely bewildered. He 
 did not present the best man, who to her relief seemed dis- 
 posed to keep out of their way. She wondered greatly if 
 anything had passed between him and Piers, though by the 
 latter at least the incident seemed to be wholly forgotten. 
 He was in his gayest, most sparkling mood, and she could 
 not fail to see that he was very popular whichever way he 
 turned. People kept claiming his attention, and though he 
 tried to remain near her he was drawn away at last by the 
 bridegroom himself. 
 
 Avery looked round her then for a quiet corner where 
 Tudor might find her if he so desired, but while she was 
 searching she came upon Tudor himself. 
 
 He joined her immediately, with evident relief. "For 
 Heaven's sake, let us get away from this gibbering crowd !" 
 he said. "They are like a horde of painted monkeys. 
 Come alone to the library! I don't think there are many 
 people there. " 
 - Avery accompanied him, equally thankful to escape.
 
 The Sword Falls 387 
 
 They found the library deserted, and Tudor made her 
 sit down by the window in the most comfortable chair the 
 room contained. 
 
 "You look about as fit for this sort of show as Mrs. 
 Lorimer," he observed drily. "She had the sense to stay 
 away. " 
 
 "I couldn't," A very said. 
 
 "For goodness' sake," he exclaimed roughly, "don't let 
 that young ruffian tyrannize over you! You will never 
 know any peace if you do." 
 
 Avery smiled a little and was silent. 
 
 "Why are you so painfully thin ? " he pursued relentlessly. 
 "What's the matter with you? When I saw you in church 
 just now I had a positive shock." 
 
 She put out her hand to him. "I am quite all right," she 
 assured him, still faintly smiling. "I should have sent for 
 you if I hadn't been. " 
 
 " It's high time you sent for me now, " said Tudor. 
 
 He looked at her searchingly through his glasses, holding 
 her hand firmly clasped in his. 
 
 "Are you happy?" he asked her suddenly. 
 
 She started at the question, started and flushed. "Why 
 - why do you ask me that ? " she said in confusion. 
 
 "Because you don't look it," he said plainly. "No, 
 don't be vexed with me! I speak as a friend a friend who 
 desires your happiness more than anything else on earth. 
 And do you know, I think I should see a doctor pretty soon 
 if I were you. If you don't, you will probably regret it. 
 Get Piers to take you up to town! Maxwell Wyndham is 
 about the best man I know. Go to him!" 
 
 "Thank you," Avery said. "Perhaps I will." 
 
 It was at this point that a sudden uproarious laugh 
 sounded from below the window near which they sat. 
 Avery looked round startled, and Tudor frowned. 
 
 "It's that little brute of a best man drunk as a lord.
 
 388 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He's some sort of cousin of Guyes', just home from Austra- 
 lia; and the sooner he goes back the better for the com- 
 munity at large, I should say. " 
 
 "Piers knows him!" broke almost involuntarily from 
 Avery. 
 
 And with that swiftly she turned her head to listen, for 
 the man outside had evidently gathered to himself an 
 audience at the entrance of a tent that had been erected 
 for refreshments, and was declaiming at the top of his 
 voice. 
 
 "Eric Denys was the name of the man. He was a chum 
 of mine. Samson we used to call him. This Evesham 
 fellow killed him in the first round. I've never forgotten it. 
 I recognized him the minute I set eyes on him, though it's 
 years ago now. And he recognized me ! I wish you'd seen 
 his face'" Again came the uncontrolled, ribald laughter. 
 "A bully sort of squire, eh? I suppose he's a justice of the 
 peace now, a law-giver, eh? Damn' funny, I call it!" 
 
 Tudor was on his feet. He looked at Avery, but she sat 
 like a statue, making no sign. 
 
 Another man was speaking in a lower tone, as though he 
 were trying to restrain the first; but his efforts were plainly 
 useless, for the best man had more to say. 
 
 " Oh, I can tell you a Queensland crowd is no joke. He'd 
 have been manhandled if he hadn't bolted. Mistaken? 
 Not I! Could anyone mistake a face like that? Go and 
 ask the man himself, if you don't believe me! You'll find 
 he won't deny it!" 
 
 " Shall we go? " suggested Tudor brusquely. 
 
 Avery made a slight movement, wholly mechanical; but 
 she did not turn her head. Her whole attitude was one of 
 tense listening. 
 
 " I think I'll go in any case, " said Tudor, after a moment. 
 "That fellow will make an exhibition of himself if someone 
 doesn't interfere. "
 
 The Sword Falls 389 
 
 He went to the door, but before he reached it Avery 
 turned in her chair and spoke. 
 
 "He has gone inside for another drink. You had better 
 let him have it. " 
 
 There was that in her voice that he had never heard 
 before. He stopped short, looking back at her. 
 
 "Let him have it!" she reiterated. "Let him soak him- 
 self with it! You won't quiet him any other way. " 
 
 Even as she spoke, that horrible, half-intoxicated laugh 
 came to them, insulting the beauty of the summer after- 
 noon. Avery shivered from head to foot. 
 
 "Don't go!" she said. "Please!" 
 
 She rose as Tudor came back, rose and faced him, her 
 face like death. 
 
 "I think I must go home," she said. "Will you find 
 the car? No, I am not ill. I " She paused, seemed 
 to grope for words, stopped, and suddenly a bewildered look 
 came into her face. Her eyes dilated. She gave a sharp 
 gasp. Tudor caught her as she fell.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MASK 
 
 THE bride and bridegroom departed amid a storm of 
 rice and good wishes, Ina's face still wearing that 
 slightly contemptuous smile to the last. Piers, in the fore- 
 most of the crowd, threw a handful straight into her lap as 
 the car started, but only he and Dick Guyes saw her gather 
 it up with sudden energy and fling it back in his face. 
 
 Piers dropped off the step laughing. "Ye gods! What 
 fun for Dick Guyes!" he said. 
 
 A hand grasped his shoulder, and he turned and saw 
 Lennox Tudor. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said, sharply freeing himself. 
 
 "I want a word with you, " said Tudor briefly. 
 
 A wary look came into Piers' face on the instant. He 
 looked at Tudor with the measuring eye of a fencer. 
 
 "What about?" he asked. 
 
 "I can't tell you here. Will you walk back with me? 
 Lady Evesham has already gone in the car." 
 
 Piers' black brows went up, "Why was that? Wasn't 
 she well ? 
 
 "No," said Tudor curtly. 
 
 "But she will send the car back," said Piers, stubbornly 
 refusing to betray himself. 
 
 "No, she won't. I told her we would walk." 
 
 "The devil you did!" said Piers. 
 
 He turned his back on Tudor, and went into the house.
 
 The Mask 391 
 
 But Tudor was undaunted. In a battle of wills, he was 
 fully a match for Piers. He kept close behind. 
 
 Eventually, Piers turned upon him. "Look here! I'll 
 give you five minutes in the library. I'm not going to walk 
 three miles with you in this blazing heat. It would be. 
 damned unhealthy for us both. Moreover, I've promised 
 to spend the evening with Colonel Rose. " 
 
 It was the utmost he could hope for, and Tudor had the 
 sense to accept what he could get. He followed him to the 
 library in silence. 
 
 They found it empty, and Tudor quietly turned the key. 
 
 "What's that for?" demanded Piers sharply. 
 
 " Because I don't want to be disturbed, " returned Tudor. 
 
 He moved forward into the middle of the room and faced 
 Piers. 
 
 " I have an unpleasant piece of news for you, " he said, in 
 a grim, emotionless voice. "That cousin of Guyes' you 
 have met him before, I think? He claims to know some- 
 thing of your past, and he has been talking somewhat 
 freely." 
 
 "What has he been saying?" said Piers. 
 
 He stood up before Tudor with the arrogance of a man 
 who mocks defeat, but there was a gleam of desperation in 
 his eyes something of the cornered animal in his very 
 nonchalance. 
 
 A queer touch of pity moved Tudor from his attitude of 
 cold informer. There was an undercurrent of something 
 that was almost sympathy in his voice as he made reply. 
 
 "The fellow was more or less drunk, but I am afraid he 
 was rather circumstantial. He recognized in you a man 
 who had killed some chum of his years ago, in Queensland. " 
 
 "Well? "said Piers. 
 
 Just the one word, uttered like a command! Tudor 's 
 softer impulse passed. 
 
 "He was bawling it out at the top of his voice. A good
 
 39 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 many people must have heard him. I was in this room 
 with Lady Evesham. We heard also. " 
 
 "Well?" Piers said again. 
 
 He spoke without stirring an eyelid, and again, involun- 
 tarily, Tudor was moved, this time with a species of unwill- 
 ing admiration. The fellow was no coward at least. 
 
 He went on steadily. "It was impossible not to hear 
 what the beast said. He mentioned names also, your 
 name and the name of the man whom he alleged you had 
 killed. Lady Evesham heard it. We both heard it." 
 
 He paused. Piers had not moved. His face was like a 
 mask in its composure, but it was a dreadful mask. Tudor 
 had a feeling that it hid unutterable things. 
 
 "What was the man's name?" Piers asked, after a 
 moment. 
 
 " Denys Eric Denys. " 
 
 Piers nodded, as one verifying a piece of informa- 
 tion. His next question came with hauteur and studied 
 indifference. 
 
 "Lady Evesham heard, you say? Did she pay any 
 attention to these maudlin revelations?" 
 
 "She fainted, " said Tudor shortly. 
 
 " Oh ? And what happened then ? ' ' 
 
 It was maddeningly cold-blooded; but it was the mask 
 that spoke. Tudor recognized that. 
 
 "I brought her round, " he made answer. "No one else 
 was present. She begged me to let her go home alone. I 
 did so." 
 
 "She also asked you to make full explanation to me?" 
 came in measured tones from Piers. 
 
 "She did. " Tudor paused a moment as though he found 
 some difficulty in forming his next words. But he went on 
 almost at once with resolution. "She said to me at part- 
 ing: 'I must be alone. I must think. Beg Piers to under- 
 stand ! Beg him not to see me again to-day ! I will talk to
 
 The Mask 393 
 
 him in the morning!' I promised to deliver the message 
 exactly as she gave it. " 
 
 "Thank you," said Piers. He turned with the words, 
 moved away to the window, and looked forth at the now 
 deserted marquee. 
 
 Tudor stood mutely waiting; he felt as if it had been laid 
 upon him to wait. 
 
 Suddenly Piers jerked his head round and glanced at the 
 chair in which Avery had been sitting, then abruptly turned 
 himself and looked at Tudor. 
 
 "What were you and my wife doing in here?" he said. 
 
 Tudor frowned impatiently at the question. "Oh, don't 
 be a fool, Evesham!" he said with vehemence. 
 
 " m not a fool. " Piers left the window with the gait of 
 a prowling animal ; he stood again face to face with the other 
 man. But though his features were still mask-like, his eyes 
 shone through the mask; and they were eyes of leaping 
 flame. " Oh, I am no fool, I assure you, " he said, and in his 
 voice there sounded a deep vibration that was almost like a 
 snarl. "I know you too well by this time to be hood- 
 winked. You would come between us if you could." 
 
 "You lie!" said Tudor. 
 
 He did not raise his voice or speak in haste. His vehe- 
 mence had departed. He simply made the statement as if 
 it had been a wholly impersonal one. 
 
 Piers' hands clenched, but they remained at his sides. 
 He looked at Tudor hard, as if he did not understand him. 
 
 After a moment Tudor spoke again. "I am no friend 
 of yours, and I never shall be. But I am the friend of your 
 wife, and whether you like it or not I shall remain so. 
 For that reason, whatever I do will be in your interests as 
 well as hers. I have not the smallest intention or desire 
 to come between you. And if you use your wits you will see 
 that I couldn't if I tried. Your marriage with her tied 
 my hands."
 
 394 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "What proof have I of that?" said Piers, his voice low 
 and fierce. 
 
 Tudor made a slight gesture of disgust. "I am dealing 
 with facts, not proofs, " he said. "You know as well as I do 
 that though you obtained her love on false pretences, still 
 you obtained it. Whether you will keep it or not remains 
 to be seen, but she is not the sort of woman to solace her- 
 self with anyone else. If you lose it, it will be because 
 you failed to guard your own property not because 
 anyone deprived you of it. " 
 
 "Damnation!" exclaimed Piers furiously, and with the 
 word the storm of his anger broke like a fiery torrent, , 
 sweeping all before it, "are you taking me to task, you 
 you for this accursed trick of Fate? How was I to know 
 that this infernal little sot would turn up here? Why, I 
 don't so much as know the fellow's name ! I had forgotten 
 his very existence! Where the devil is he? Let me find 
 him, and break every bone in his body!" He whirled 
 round to the door, but in a moment was back again. 
 " Tudor ! Damn you ! Where's the key ? " 
 
 "In my pocket," said Tudor quietly. "And, Piers, 
 before you go since I am your ally in spite of myself let 
 me warn you to keep your head! There's no sense in 
 murdering another man. It won't improve your case. 
 There's no sense in running amok. Sit down for Heaven's 
 sake, and review the situation quietly!" 
 
 The calm words took effect. Piers stopped, arrested in 
 spite of himself by the other's steady insistence. He looked 
 at Tudor with half-sullen respect dawning behind his 
 ungoverned fury. 
 
 " Listen ! " Tudor said. "The fellow has gone. I packed 
 him off myself. It was a piece of sheer ill-luck that brought 
 him home in time for this show. He starts for America 
 en route for Australia in less than a week, and it is utterly 
 unlikely that either you or any of your friends will see or
 
 The Mask 395 
 
 hear anything more of him. Guyes himself is by no means 
 keen on him and only had him as best man because a friend 
 failed him at the last minute. If you behave rationally the 
 whole affair will probably pass off of itself. Everyone 
 knows the fellow was intoxicated, and no one is likely to pay 
 any lasting attention to what he said. Treat the matter 
 as unworthy of notice, and you will very possibly hear 
 no more of it ! But if you kick up a row, you will simply 
 court disaster. I am an older man than you ares Take my 
 word for it, I know what I am talking about. " 
 
 Piers listened in silence. The heat had gone from his 
 face, but his eyes still gleamed with a restless fire. 
 
 Tudor watched him keenly. Not by his own choice 
 would he have ranged himself on Piers' side, but circum- 
 stances having placed him there he was oddly anxious to 
 effect his deliverance. He was fighting heavy odds, and he 
 knew it, but there was a fighting strain in his nature also. 
 He relished the odds. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake don't be a fool and give the whole 
 show away!" he urged. "You have no enemies. No one 
 will want to take the matter up if you will only let it lie. 
 No one wants to believe evil of you. Possibly no one will. " 
 
 "Except yourself!" said Piers, with a smile that showed 
 his set teeth. 
 
 "Quite so." Tudor also smiled, a grim brief smile. 
 "But then I happen to know you better than most. You 
 gave yourself away so far as I am concerned that night in 
 the winter. I knew then that once upon a time in your 
 career you had killed a man." 
 
 "And you didn't tell Avery!" The words shot out 
 unexpectedly. Piers was plainly astonished. 
 
 "I'm not a woman!" said Tudor contemptuously. 
 "That affair was between us two." 
 
 "Great Scott!" said Piers. 
 
 "At the same time," Tudor continued sternly, "if I had
 
 396 The Bars of Iron 
 
 known what I know now, I would have told her everything 
 sooner than let her ruin her happiness by marrying you. " 
 
 Piers made a sharp gesture that passed unexplained. 
 He had made no attempt at self-defence; he made none 
 then. Perhaps his pride kicked at the idea; perhaps in the 
 face of Tudor's shrewd grip of the situation it did not seem 
 worth while. 
 
 He held out his hand. " May I have that key?" 
 
 Tudor gave it to him. He was still watching narrowly, 
 but Piers' face told him nothing. The mask had been 
 replaced, and the man behind it was securely hidden from 
 scrutiny. Tudor would have given much to have rent it 
 aside, and have read the thoughts and intentions it covered. 
 But he knew that he was powerless. He knew that he was 
 deliberately barred out. 
 
 Piers went to the door and fitted the key into the lock. 
 His actions were all grimly deliberate. The volcanic 
 fires which Tudor had seen raging but a few seconds before 
 had sunk very far below the surface. Whatever was 
 happening in the torture-chamber where his soul agonized, 
 it was certain that no human being save possibly one 
 would ever witness it. What he suffered he would suffer 
 in proud aloofness and silence. It was only the effect of 
 that suffering that could ever be made apparent, when the 
 soul came forth again, blackened and shrivelled from the 
 furnace. 
 
 Yet ere he left Tudor, some impulse moved him to look 
 back. 
 
 He met Tudor's gaze with brooding eyes which neverthe- 
 less held a faint warmth like the dim reflection of a light 
 below the horizon. 
 
 "I am obliged to you," he said, and was gone before 
 Tudor could speak again.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE GATES OF HELL 
 
 UP and down, up and down, in a fever of restlessness, 
 A very walked. She felt trapped. The gloomy, 
 tapestried room seemed to close her in like a prison. The 
 whole world seemed to have turned into a monstrous place 
 of punishment. One thing only was needed to complete 
 the anguish of her spirit, and that was the presence of her 
 husband. 
 
 She could not picture the meeting with him. Body and 
 soul recoiled from the thought. It would not be till the 
 morning; that was her sole comfort. -By the morning this 
 fiery suffering would have somewhat abated. She would 
 be calmer, more able to face him and hear his defence if 
 defence there could be. Somehow she never questioned the 
 truth of the story. She knew that Tudor had not ques- 
 tioned it either. She knew moreover that had it been 
 untrue, Piers would have been with her long ago in vehe- 
 ment indignation and wrath. 
 
 No, the thing was true. He was the man who had 
 Wrecked her life at its beginning, and now now he had 
 wrecked it again. He was the man whose hands were 
 stained with her husband's blood. He had done the deed 
 in one of those wild tempests of anger with which she was so 
 familiar. He had done the deed, possibly unintentionally, 
 but certainly with murderous impulse; and then deliberately 
 cynically, he had covered it up, and gone his arrogant way. 
 
 397
 
 39 8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He had met her, he had desired her ; with a few, quickly- 
 stifled qualms he had won her, trusting to luck that his sin 
 would never find him out. And so he had made her his own, 
 his property, his prisoner, the slave of his pleasure. She 
 was bound for ever to her husband's murderer. 
 
 Again body and soul shrank in quivering horror from the 
 thought, and a wild revolt awoke within her. She could 
 not bear it. She must break free. The bare memory of his 
 passion sickened her. For the first time in her life hatred, 
 fiery, intense, kindled within her. The thought of his touch 
 filled her with a loathing unutterable. He had become 
 horrible to her, a thing unclean, abominable, whose very 
 proximity was pollution. She felt as if the blood on his 
 hands had stained her also the blood of the man she 
 had once loved. For a space she became like a woman 
 demented. The thing was too abhorrent to be endured. 
 
 And then by slow degrees her brain began to clear again. 
 She grew a little calmer. Monstrous though he was, he was 
 still human. He was, in a fashion, at her mercy. He had 
 sinned, but it was in her hands that his punishment lay. 
 
 She was stronger than he. She had always known it. 
 But she must keep her strength. She must not waste it in 
 futile resentment. She would need it all. He had entered 
 her kingdom by subtlety; but she would drive him forth in 
 the strength of a righteous indignation. To suffer him to 
 remain was unthinkable. It would be to share his guilt. 
 
 Her thoughts tried to wander into the future, but she 
 called them resolutely back. The future would provide 
 for itself. Her immediate duty was all she now needed to 
 face. When that dreaded interview was over, when she had 
 shut him out finally and completely then it would be time 
 enough to consider that. Probably some arrangement 
 would have to be made by which they would meet occa- 
 sionally, but as husband and wife never, never more. 
 
 It was growing late. The dinner-gong had sounded, but
 
 The Gates of Hell 399 
 
 she would not go down. She rang for Victor, and told him 
 to bring her something on a tray. It did not matter what. 
 
 He looked at her with keen little eyes of solicitude, and 
 swiftly obeyed her desire. He then asked her if the dinner 
 were to be kept for Monsieur Pierre, who had not yet 
 returned. She did not know what to say, but lest he should 
 wonder at her ignorance of Piers' doings, she answered in 
 the negative, and Victor withdrew. 
 
 Then, again lest comment should be made, she forced her- 
 self to eat and drink, though the food nauseated her. A 
 feeling of sick suspense was growing upon her, a strange, 
 foreboding fear that hung leaden about her heart. What 
 was Piers doing all this time ? What effect had that message, 
 delivered by Tudor, had upon him? Why had he not 
 returned? 
 
 Time passed. The evening waned and became night. A 
 full moon rose red and wonderful out of a bank of inky 
 cloud, lighting the darkness with an oddly tropical effect. 
 The night was tropical, breathless, terribly still. It seemed 
 as if a storm must be upon its way. 
 
 She began to undress at last there in the moonlight. 
 The heat was too intense to veil the windows, and she would 
 not light the candles lest bats or moths should be attracted. 
 At another time the eeriness of the shadowy room would 
 have played upon her nerves, but to-night she was not 
 even aware of it. The shadows within were too dark, 
 too sinister. 
 
 A great weariness had come upon her. She ached for 
 rest. Her body felt leaden, and her brain like a burnt-out 
 furnace. The very capacity for thought seemed to have 
 left her. Only the horror of the day loomed gigantic 
 whichever way she turned, blotting out all beside. Prayer 
 was an impossibility to her. She felt lost in a wilderness of 
 doubt, forsaken and wandering, and terribly alone. 
 
 If she could rest, if she could sleep, she thought that
 
 400 The Bars of Iron 
 
 strength might return to her the strength to grapple with 
 and overthrow the evil that had entered into and tainted 
 her whole life. But till sleep should come to her, she was 
 impotent. She was heavy and numb with fatigue. 
 
 She lay down at length with a vague sense of physical 
 relief beneath her crushing weight of trouble. How 
 unutterably weary she was ! How tired how tired of 4ife ! 
 
 Time passed. The moon rose higher, filling the room 
 with its weird cold light. Avery lay asleep. 
 
 Exhaustion had done for her what no effort of will could 
 have accomplished, closing her eyes, drawing a soft veil of 
 oblivion across her misery. 
 
 But it was only a temporary lull. The senses were too 
 alert, too fevered, for true repose. That blessed interval 
 of unconsciousness was all too short. After a brief, brief 
 respite she began to dream. 
 
 And in her dream she saw a man being tortured in a 
 burning, fiery furnace, imprisoned behind bars of iron, 
 writhing, wrestling, agonizing, to be free. She saw the 
 flames leaping all around him, and in the flames were 
 demon-faces that laughed and gibed and jested. She saw 
 his hands all blistered in the heat, reaching out to her, 
 straining through those cruel bars, beseeching her vainly 
 for deliverance. And presently, gazing with a sick horror 
 that compelled, she saw his face. . . . 
 
 With a gasping cry she awoke, started up with every 
 nerve stretched and quivering, her heart pounding as if it 
 would choke her. It was a dream it was a dream! She 
 whispered it to herself over and over again, striving to 
 control those awful palpitations. Surely it was all a 
 dream! 
 
 Stay ! What was that ? A sound in the room beyond a 
 movement a step ! She sprang up, obeying blind impulse, 
 sped softly to the intervening door, with hands that trembled 
 shot the bolt. Then, like a hunted creature, almost dis-
 
 The Gates of Hell 401 
 
 tracted by the panic of her dream, she slipped back to the 
 gloomy four-poster, and cowered down again. 
 
 Lying there, crouched and quivering, she began to count 
 those hammering heart-beats, and wondered wildly if the 
 man on the other side of the door could hear them also. She 
 was sure that he had been there, sure that he had been 
 on the point of entering when she had shot the bolt. 
 
 He would not enter now, she whispered to her quaking 
 heart. She would not have to meet him before the morning. 
 And by then she would be strong. It was only her weari- 
 ness that made her so weak to-night ! 
 
 She grew calmer. She began to chide herself for her 
 senseless panic she the bearer of other people's burdens, 
 who prided herself upon her steady nefve and calmness of 
 purpose. She had never been hysterical in her life before. 
 Surely she could muster self-control now, when her need of it 
 was so urgent, so imperative. 
 
 And then, just as a certain measure of composure had 
 returned to her, something happened. Someone passed 
 down the passage outside her room and paused at the outer 
 door. Her heart stood still, but again desperately she 
 steadied herself. That door was bolted also. 
 
 Yes, it was bolted, but there was a hand upon it, a hand 
 that felt softly for the lock, found the key outside, softly 
 turned it. 
 
 Then indeed panic came upon Avery. Lying there, 
 tense and listening, she heard the quiet step return along 
 the passage and enter her husband's room, heard that door 
 also close and lock, and knew herself a prisoner. 
 
 "Avery!" 
 
 Every pulse leapt, every nerve shrank. She started up, 
 wide-eyed, desperate. 
 
 "I will talk to you in the morning, Piers," she said, 
 steadying her voice with difficulty. " Not now ! Not now ! " 
 
 "Open this door!" he said. 
 26
 
 402 The Bars of Iron 
 
 There was clear command in his voice, and with it the old 
 magnetic force reached her, quick, insistent, vital. She 
 threw a wild look round, but only the dazzling moonlight 
 met her eyes. There was no escape for her no escape. 
 
 She turned her face to the door behind which he stood. 
 "Piers, please, not to-night!" she said beseechingly. 
 
 "Open the door!" he repeated inexorably. 
 
 Again that force reached her. It was like an electric cur- 
 rent suddenly injected into her veins. Her whole body 
 quivered in response. Almost before she knew it, she had 
 started to obey. 
 
 And then horror seized her a dread unutterable. She 
 stopped. 
 
 "Piers, will you promise " 
 
 " I promise nothing, " he said, in the same clear, imperious 
 voice, "except to force this door unless you open it within 
 five seconds." 
 
 She stood in the moonlight, trembling, unnerved. He 
 did not sound like a man bereft of reason. And yet and 
 yet something in his voice appalled her. Her strength 
 was utterly gone. She was just a weak, terrified woman. 
 
 "Avery, " his voice came to her again, short and stern, 
 "I don't wish to threaten you; but it will be better for us 
 both if I don't have to force the door. " 
 
 She forced herself to speak though her tongue felt stiff 
 and dry. " I can't let you in now, " she said. " I will hear 
 what you have to say in the morning. " 
 
 He made no reply. There was an instant of dead silence. 
 Then there came a sudden, hideous shock against the panel 
 of the door. The socket of the bolt gave with the strain, 
 but did not wholly yield. Avery shrank back trembling 
 against the shadowy four-poster. She felt as if a raging 
 animal were trying to force an entrance. 
 
 Again came that awful shock. The wood splintered and 
 rent, socket and bolt were torn free ; the door burst inwards.
 
 The Gates of Hell 403 
 
 There came a brief, fiendish laugh, and Piers broke in 
 upon her. 
 
 He recovered himself with a sharp effort, and stood 
 breathing heavily, looking at her. The moonlight was full 
 upon him, showing him deadly pale, and in his eyes there 
 shone the red glare of hell. 
 
 "Did you really think a locked door would keep me 
 out?" he said, speaking with an odd jerkiness, with lips 
 that twitched. 
 
 She drew herself together with an instinctive effort at 
 self-control. " I thought you would respect my wish, " she 
 said, her voice very low. 
 
 "Did you?" said Piers. "Then why did you lock the 
 door?" 
 
 He swung it closed behind him and came to her. 
 
 " Listen to me, A very ! " he said. "You are not your own 
 any longer to give or to take away. You are mine." 
 
 She faced him with all the strength she could muster, but 
 she could not meet those awful eyes that mocked her, that 
 devoured her. 
 
 " Piers, " she said, almost under her breath, "remember, 
 what happens to-night we shall neither of us ever forget. 
 Don't make me hate you!" 
 
 "Haven't you begun to hate me then?" he demanded. 
 "Would you have locked that door against me if you 
 hadn't?" 
 
 She heard the rising passion in his voice, and her heart 
 fainted within her. Yet still desperately she strove for 
 strength. 
 
 "I don't want to do anything violent or unconsidered. 
 I must have time to think. Piers, you have me at your 
 mercy. Be merciful!" 
 
 He made a sharp movement. "Are you going to be 
 merciful to me?" he said. 
 
 She hesitated. There was something brutal in the ques-
 
 404 The Bars of Iron 
 
 tion, yet it pierced her. She knew that he had divined all 
 that had been passing within her during that evening of 
 misery. She did not answer him, for she could not. 
 
 "Listen!" he said again. "What has happened has 
 happened by sheer ill-luck. The past is nothing to you. 
 You have said so yourself. The future shall not be sacri- 
 ficed to it. If you will give me your solemn promise to put 
 this thing behind you, to behave as if it had never been, I 
 will respect your wishes, I will do my utmost to help you to 
 forget. But if you refuse " He stopped. 
 
 "If I refuse " she repeated faintly. 
 
 He made again that curious gesture that was almost one 
 of helplessness. "Don't ask for mercy!" he said. 
 
 In the silence that followed there came to her the certain 
 knowledge that he was suffering, that he was in an inferno of 
 torment that goaded him into fierce savagery against her, 
 like a mad animal that will wreak its madness first upon the 
 being most beloved. It was out of his torment that he did 
 this thing. She saw him again agonizing in the flames. 
 
 If he had had patience then, that divine pity of hers 
 might have come to help them both; but he read into her 
 silence the abhorrence which a little earlier had possessed 
 her soul; and the maddening pain of it drove him beyond 
 all bounds. 
 
 He seized her suddenly and savagely between his hands. 
 "Are you any the less my wife, " he said, speaking between 
 his teeth, "because you have found out what manner of man 
 lam?" 
 
 She resisted him, swiftly, instinctively, her hands against 
 his breast, pressing him back. "I may be your wife," she 
 said gaspingly. " I am not your slave. " 
 
 He laughed a fiendish laugh. Her resistance fired him. 
 He caught her fiercely to him. He covered her face, her 
 throat, her arms, her hands, with kisses that burned her 
 through and through, seeming to sear her very soul.
 
 The Gates of Hell 45 
 
 He crushed her in a grip that bruised her, that suffocated 
 her. He pressed his lips, hot with passion, to hers. 
 
 "And now!" he said. "And now!" 
 
 She lay in his arms spent and quivering and helpless. 
 The cruel triumph of his voice silenced all appeal. 
 
 He went on deeply, speaking with his lips so close that she 
 felt his breath scorch through her like the breath of a fiery 
 furnace. 
 
 "You are bound to me for better for worse, and nothing 
 will ever set you free. Do you understand? If you will 
 not be my wife, you shall be my slave. " 
 
 Quiveringly, through lips that would scarcely move 
 she spoke at last. " I shall never forgive you. " 
 
 "I shall never ask your forgiveness," he said. 
 
 So the gates of hell closed upon Avery also. She went 
 down into the unknown depths. And in an agony of shame 
 she learned the bitterest lesson of her life.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 
 
 "AXT'HY, Avery dear, is it you? Come in!" Mrs. 
 
 V V Lorimer looked up with a smile of eager welcome 
 on her little pinched face and went forward almost at a run 
 to greet her. 
 
 The brown holland smock upon which she had been at 
 work fell to the ground. It was Avery who, after a close 
 embrace, stooped to pick it up. 
 
 "Who is this for? Baby Phil? You must let me lend a 
 hand, " she said. 
 
 "Ah, my dear, I do miss you," said Mrs. Lorimer wist- 
 fully. "The village girl who comes in to help is no good at 
 all at needlework, and you know how busy Nurse always is. 
 Jeanie does her best, and is a great help in many ways. 
 But she is but a child. However," she caught herself up, 
 "I mustn't start grumbling the moment you enter the 
 house. Tell me about yourself, dear! You are looking 
 very pale. Does the heat try you? " 
 
 "A little," Avery admitted. 
 
 She was spreading out the small garment on her knee, 
 looking at it critically, with eyes downcast. She certainly 
 was pale that morning. The only colour in her face seemed 
 concentrated in her lips. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer looked at her uneasily. There was some- 
 thing not quite normal about her, she felt. She had never 
 seen Avery look so statuesque. She missed the quick 
 
 406
 
 A Friend in Need 407 
 
 sweetness of her smile, the brightness and animation of her 
 glance. 
 
 "It is very dear of you to come and see me," she said 
 gently, after a moment. "Did you walk all the way? I 
 hope it hasn't been too much for you." 
 
 "No, " Avery said. " It did me good. " 
 
 She was on the verge of saying something further, but the 
 words did not come. 
 
 She continued to smooth out the little smock with minute 
 care, while Mrs. Lorimer watched her anxiously. 
 
 "Is all well, dear?" she ventured at last. 
 
 Avery raised her brows slightly, but her eyes remained 
 downcast. "I went to the wedding yesterday," she said, 
 after a momentary pause. 
 
 "Oh, did you, dear? Stephen went, but I stayed at 
 home. Did you see him ?" 
 
 "Only from a distance, " said Avery. 
 
 "It was a very magnificent affair, he tells me." Mrs. 
 Lorimer was becoming a little nervous. She had begun 
 to be conscious of something tragic in the atmosphere. 
 "And did you enjoy it, dear? Or was the heat too great?" 
 
 "It was hot," Avery said. 
 
 Again she seemed to be about to say something more, 
 and again she failed to do so. Her lips closed. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer remained silent also for several seconds. 
 Then softly she rose, went to Avery, put her arms about her. 
 
 "My darling!" she said fondly. 
 
 That was all. No further questioning, no anxious 
 probing, simply her love poured out in fullest measure upon 
 the altar of friendship! And it moved Avery instantly 
 and overwhelmingly, shattering her reserve, sweeping away 
 the stony ramparts of her pride. 
 
 She turned and hid her face upon Mrs. Lorimer's breast 
 in an anguish of tears. 
 
 It lasted for several minutes, that paroxysm of weeping.
 
 408 The Bars of Iron 
 
 It was the pent misery of hours finding vent at last. All 
 she had suffered, all the humiliation, the bitterness of 
 desecrated love, the utter despair of her soul, was in those 
 tears. They shook her being to the depths. They seemed 
 to tear her heart asunder. 
 
 At last in broken whispers she began to speak. Still with 
 those scalding tears falling between her words, she imparted 
 the whole miserable story; she bared her fallen pride. 
 There was no other person in the world to whom she could 
 thus have revealed that inner agony, that lacerating shame. 
 But Mrs. Lorimer, the despised, the downtrodden, was as 
 an angel from heaven that day. A new strength was hers, 
 born of her friend's utter need. She held her up, she sus- 
 tained her, through that the darkest hour of her life, with a 
 courage and a steadfastness of which no one had ever 
 deemed her capable. 
 
 When A very whispered at length, " I can never, never go 
 back to him!" her answer was prompt. 
 
 " My dear, you must. It will be hard, God knows. But 
 He will give you strength. Oh Avery, don't act for yourself, 
 dear! Let Him show the way !" 
 
 "If He will!" sobbed Avery, with her burning face 
 hidden against her friend's heart. 
 
 "He will, dearest, He will," Mrs. Lorimer asserted with 
 conviction. "He is much nearer to us in trouble than most 
 of us ever realize. Only let Him take the helm; He will 
 steer you through the storm. " 
 
 " I feel too wicked," whispered Avery, " too overwhelmed 
 with evil." 
 
 ; "My dear, feelings are nothing," said the Vicar's wife, 
 with a decision that would have shocked the Reverend 
 Stephen unspeakably. "We can't help our feelings, but we 
 can put ourselves in the way of receiving help. Oh, don't 
 you think He often lets us miss our footing just because 
 He wants us to lean on Him?"
 
 A Friend in Need 409 
 
 " I don't know, " A very said hopelessly. " But I think it 
 will kill me to go back. Even if if I pretended to forgive 
 him I couldn't possibly endure to to go on as if nothing 
 had happened. Eric my first husband will always 
 stand between us now. " 
 
 "Dear, are you sure that what you heard was not an 
 exaggeration?" Mrs. Lorimer asked gently. - 
 
 "Oh yes, I am sure." There was utter hopelessness 
 in Avery's reply. "I have always known that there was 
 something in his past, some cloud of which he would never 
 speak openly. But I never dreamed never guessed 
 She broke off with a sharp shudder. "Besides, he has 
 offered no explanation, no excuse, no denial. He lets me 
 believe the worst, and he doesn't care. He is utterly 
 callous utterly brutal. That is how I know that the 
 worst is true." She rose abruptly, as if inaction had 
 become torture to her. "Oh, I must leave him!" she cried 
 out wildly. "I am nothing to him. My feelings are less 
 than nothing. He doesn't really want me. Any woman 
 could fill my place with him equally well!" 
 
 "Hush!" Mrs. Lorimer said. She went to A very and 
 held her tightly, as if she would herself do battle with the 
 evil within. ' ' You are not to say that, A very . You are not 
 to think it. It is utterly untrue. Suffering may have 
 goaded him into brutality, but he is not wicked at heart. 
 And, my dear, he is in your hands now to make or to mar. 
 He worships you blindly, and if his worship has become 
 an unholy thing, it is because the thought of losing you has 
 driven him nearly distracted. You can win it back if 
 you will." 
 
 "I don't want to win it back!" Avery said. She suf- 
 fered the arms about her, but she stood rigid in their em- 
 brace, unyielding, unresponding. "His love is horrible to 
 me' I abhor it!" 
 
 ' ' Avery ! Your husband ! ' '
 
 4 J o The Bars of Iron 
 
 "He is a murderer!" Avery cried passionately. "He 
 would murder me too if if he could bring himself to do 
 without me! He hates me in his soul. " 
 
 "Avery, hush! You are distraught. You don't know 
 what you are saying. " Mrs. Lorimer drew her back to her 
 chair with tender insistence. "Sit down, darling! And 
 try do try to be quiet for a little! You are worn out. 
 I don't think you can have had any sleep. " 
 
 "Sleep!" Avery almost laughed, and then again those 
 burning, blinding tears rushed to her eyes. " Oh, you don't 
 know what I've been through!" she sobbed. "You don't 
 know! You don't know!" 
 
 "God knows, darling," whispered Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 Minutes later, when Avery was lying back exhausted, no 
 longer sobbing, only dumbly weeping, there came a gentle 
 knock at the door. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer went to it quickly, and met her eldest 
 daughter upon the point of entering. Jeanie looked up at 
 her enquiringly. 
 
 "Is anyone here?" 
 
 "Yes, dear. Avery is here. She isn't very well this 
 morning. Run and fetch her a glass of milk!" 
 
 Jeanie hastened away. Mrs. Lorimer returned to 
 Avery. 
 
 " My darling, " she said, " do you know I think I can see a 
 way to help you?" 
 
 Avery's eyes were closed. She put out a trembling 
 hand. "You are very good to me." 
 
 "I wonder how often I have had reason to say that to 
 you," said Mrs. Lorimer softly. "Listen, darling! You 
 must go back. Yes, Avery, you must! You must! But 
 you shall take my little Jeanie with you." 
 
 Avery's eyes opened. Mrs. Lorimer was looking at her 
 with tears in her own. 
 
 "I know I may trust her to you," she said. "But oh,
 
 A Friend in Need 411 
 
 you will take care of her ! Remember how precious she is 
 and how fragile ! ' ' 
 
 "But, my dear you couldn't spare her!" Avery said. 
 
 "Yes, I can, I will!" Mrs. Lorimer hastily rubbed her 
 eyes and smiled a resolute smile. "You may have her, 
 dear. I know she will be happy with you. And Piers is so 
 fond of her too. She will be a comfort to you to you both, 
 please God. She comforts everyone my little Jeanie. It 
 seems to be her role in life. Ah, here she comes ! You shall 
 tell her, dear. It will come better from you." 
 
 "May I come in?" said Jeanie at the door. 
 
 Her mother went to admit her. Avery sat up, and 
 pushed her chair back against the window-curtain. 
 
 Jeanie entered, a glass of milk in one hand and a plate in 
 the other. "Good morning, dear Avery!" she said, in her 
 gentle, rather tired voice. "I've brought you a hot cake 
 too straight out of the oven. It smells quite good." 
 She came to Avery's side, and stood within the circle of her 
 arm; but she did not kiss her or look into her piteous, tear- 
 stained face. "I hope you like currants, " she said. " Baby 
 Phil calls them flies. Have you seen Baby Phil lately? 
 He has just cut another tooth. He likes everybody to look 
 at it." 
 
 "I must see it presently," Avery said, with an effort. 
 
 She drank the milk, and broke the cake, still holding 
 Jeanie pressed to her side. 
 
 Jeanie, gravely practical, held the plate. "I saw Piers 
 ride by a little while ago," she remarked. "He was on 
 Pompey. But he was going so fast he didn't see me. He 
 always rides fast, doesn't he? But I think Pompey likes 
 it, don't you?" 
 
 "I don't know." There was an odd frozen note in 
 Avery's voice. "He has to go whether he likes it or not. " 
 
 "But he is very fond of Piers, " said Jeanie. "And so is 
 Caesar. " She gave a little sigh. " Poor Mikey ! Do you
 
 412 The Bars of Iron 
 
 remember how angry he used to be when Caesar ran 
 by?" 
 
 Avery suppressed a shiver. Vivid as a picture flung on a 
 screen, there rose in her brain the memory of that winter 
 evening when Piers and Mike and Caesar had all striven 
 together for the mastery. Again she seemed to hear those 
 savage, pitiless blows. She might have known! She 
 might have known ! 
 
 Sharply she wrenched herself back to the present. 
 "Jeanie darling," she said, "your mother says that you 
 may come and stay at the Abbey for a little while. Do you 
 would you like to come?" 
 
 Her voice was unconsciously wistful. Jeanie turned 
 for the first time and looked at her. 
 
 "Oh, Avery!" she said. "Stay with you and Piers?" 
 
 Her eyes were shining. She slid a gentle arm round 
 A very 's neck. 
 
 "You would like to?" Avery asked, faintly smiling. 
 
 "I would love to," said Jeanie earnestly. She looked 
 aero ss at her mother . "Shall you be able to manage, dear ? ' ' 
 she asked in her grown-up way. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer stifled a sigh. "Oh yes, Jeanie dear. I 
 shall do all right. Gracie will help with the little ones, you 
 know." 
 
 Jeanie smiled at that. "I think I will go and talk to 
 Gracie, " she said, quietly releasing herself from Avery's arm. 
 
 But at the door she paused. "I hope Father won't 
 mind," she said. "But he did say I wasn't to have any 
 more treats till my Easter holiday-task was finished." 
 
 "I will make that all right, dear," said Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 "Thank you," said Jeanie. "Of course I can take it 
 wich me. I expect I shall get more time for learning it at 
 the Abbey. You might tell him that, don't you think?" 
 
 "I will tell him, darling," said Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 And Jeanie smiled and went her way.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE GREAT GULF 
 
 HULLO!" said Piers. "Has the Queen of all good 
 fairies come to call?" 
 
 He strode across the garden with that high, arrogant 
 air of his as of one who challenges the world, and threw 
 himself into the vacant chair by the tea-table at which 
 his wife sat. 
 
 The blaze of colour that overspread her pale face at his 
 coming faded as rapidly as it rose. She glanced at him 
 momentarily, under fluttering lids. 
 
 " Jeanie has come to stay, " she said, her voice very low. 
 
 His arm was already round Jeanie who had risen to meet 
 him. He pulled her down upon his knee. 
 
 "That is very gracious of her, " he said. "Good Heavens, 
 child ! You are as light as a feather ! Why don't you eat 
 more ? ' ' 
 
 " I am never hungry, " explained Jeanie. She kissed him 
 and then drew herself gently from him, sitting down by his 
 side with innate dignity. " Have you been riding all day ? " 
 she asked. "Isn't Pompey tired?" 
 
 "Caesar and Pompey are both dead beat," said Piers. 
 " 'And I " he looked deliberately at Avery, " am as fresh 
 as when I started." 
 
 Again, as it were in response to that look, her eyelids 
 fluttered; but she did not raise them. Again the colour 
 started and died in her cheeks. 
 
 413
 
 414 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Have you had anything to eat?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing," said Piers. 
 
 He took the cup she offered him, and drained it. There 
 was a fitful gleam in his dark eyes as of a red, smouldering 
 fire. 
 
 But Jeanie's soft voice intervening dispelled it. "How 
 very hungry you must be!" she said in a motherly 
 tone. "Will bread and butter and cake be enough for 
 you?" 
 
 "Quite enough," said Piers. "Like you, Jeanie, I am 
 not hungry." He handed back his cup to be filled again. 
 "But I have a lively thirst, " he said. 
 
 " It has been so hot to-day, " observed A very. 
 
 "It is never too hot for me," he rejoined. "Hullo! 
 Who's that?" 
 
 He was staring towards the house under frowning brows. 
 A figure had just emerged upon the terrace 
 
 "Dr. Tudor!" said Jeanie. 
 
 Again Piers' eyes turned upon his wife. He looked at her 
 with a sombre scrutiny. After a moment she lifted her 
 own and resolutely returned the look. 
 
 "Won't you go and meet him?" she said. 
 
 He rose abruptly, and strode away. 
 
 Avery's eyes followed him, watching narrowly as the two 
 men met. Lennox Tudor, she saw, offered his hand, and 
 after the briefest pause, Piers took it. They came back 
 slowly side by side. 
 
 Again, unobtrusively, Jeanie rose. Tudor caught sight of 
 her almost before he saw Avery. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said. "What are you doing here?" 
 
 Jeanie explained with her customary old-fashioned air of 
 responsibility: "I have come to take care of Avery, as she 
 isn't very well." 
 
 Tudor 's eyes passed instantly and very swiftly to Avery's 
 face. He bent slightly over the hand she gave him.
 
 The Great Gulf 415 
 
 "A good idea!" he said brusquely. "I hope you will 
 take care of each other." 
 
 He joined them at the tea-table, and talked of indifferent 
 things. Piers talked also with that species of almost 
 fierce gaiety with which A very had become so well acquainted 
 of late. She was relieved that there was no trace of hos- 
 tility apparent in his manner. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this fact, she received a shock of 
 surprise when at the end of a quarter of an hour he got up 
 with a careless: "Come along, my queen! We'll see if 
 Pompey has got the supper he deserves. " 
 
 Even Tudor looked momentarily astonished, but as he 
 watched Piers saunter away with his arm round Jeaaie's 
 thin shoulders his expression changed. He turned to her 
 abruptly. "How are you feeling to-day?" he enquired. 
 ' ' I had to come in and ask. " 
 
 "It was very kind of you, " she answered. 
 
 He smiled in his rather grim fashion. "I came more for 
 my own satisfaction than for yours," he observed. "You 
 are better, are you?" 
 
 She smiled also. "There is nothing the matter with me, 
 you know. " 
 
 He gave her a shrewd look through his glasses. "No," 
 he said. "I know." 
 
 He said no more at all about her health, nor did he touch 
 upon any other intimate subject, but she had a very distinct 
 impression that he did not cease to observe her closely 
 throughout their desultory conversation. She even tried 
 to divert his attention, but she knew she did not 
 succeed. 
 
 He remained with her until they saw Piers and Jeanie 
 returning, and then somewhat suddenly he took his leave. 
 He joined the two on the lawn, sent Jeanie back to her, 
 and walked away himself with his host. 
 
 What passed between them she did not know and could
 
 416 The Bars of Iron 
 
 not even conjecture, for she did not see Piers again till they 
 met in the hall before dinner. Jeanie was with her, looking 
 delicately pretty in her white muslin frock, and it was to her 
 that Piers addressed himself. 
 
 "Come here, my queen! I want to look at you." 
 
 She went to him readily enough. He took her by the 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Are you made of air, I wonder? I should be ashamed 
 of you, Jeanie, if you belonged to me. " 
 
 Jeanie looked up into the handsome, olive face with eyes 
 that smiled love upon him. "I expect it's partly because 
 you are so big and strong, ' ' she said. 
 
 "No, it isn't, " said Piers. "It's because you're so small 
 and weak. Avery will have to take you away to the sea 
 again, what? You'd like that." 
 
 "And you too!" said Jeanie. 
 
 "I? Oh no, you wouldn't want me. Would you, 
 Avery?" 
 
 He deliberately addressed her for the first time that day. 
 Over the child's head his eyes flashed their mocking message. 
 She felt as if he had struck her across the face. 
 
 "Would you?" he repeated, with arrogant insistence. 
 
 She tried to turn the question aside. "Well, as we are 
 not going " 
 
 "But you are going, " he said. "You and Jeanie. How 
 soon can you start? To-morrow?" 
 
 Avery looked at him in astonishment. "Are you in 
 earnest?" 
 
 "Of course I'm in earnest, " he said, with a frown that was 
 oddly boyish. "You had better go to Stanbury Cliffs. 
 It suited you all right in the spring. Fix it up with Mrs. 
 Lorimer first thing in the morning, and go down in the 
 afternoon!" 
 
 He spoke impatiently. Opposition or delay always set 
 him chafing.
 
 The Great Gulf 417 
 
 Jeanie looked at him with wonder in her eyes. "But 
 you, Piers!" she said. "What will you do?" 
 
 "I? Oh, I shall be busy," he said. "I've got a lot on 
 hand just now. Besides, " again the gibing note was in his 
 voice, "you'll get along much better without me. Avery 
 says so." 
 
 "She didn't!" exclaimed Jeanie, with a sudden rare touch 
 of indignation. 
 
 "All right. She didn't," laughed Piers. " My mistake!" 
 He flicked the child's cheek teasingly, and then abruptly 
 stooped and kissed it. "Don't be angry, Queen of the 
 fairies! It isn't worth it. " 
 
 She slipped her arm round his neck on the instant. 
 "I'm not, dear Piers. I'm not angry. But we shouldn't 
 want to go away and leave you alone. We shouldn't really." 
 
 He laughed again, carelessly, without effort. "No, but 
 you'd get on all right without me. You and Avery are 
 such pals. What do you say to it, Avery? Isn't it a good 
 idea?" 
 
 "I think perhaps it is," she said slowly, her voice very 
 low. 
 
 He straightened himself, and looked at her, and again that 
 vivid, painful blush covered her face and neck as though a 
 flame had scorched her. She did not meet his eyes. 
 
 "Very well then. It's settled, " he said jauntily. " Now 
 let's go and have some dinner!" 
 
 He kept up his light attitude throughout the meal, save 
 that once he raised his wine-glass mockingly to the woman 
 on the wall. But his mood was elusive. Avery felt it. 
 It was as if he played a juggling game on the edge of the pit 
 of destruction, and she watched him with a leaden heart. 
 
 She rose from the table earlier than usual, for the atmos- 
 phere of the dining-room oppressed her almost unbearably. 
 It was a night of heavy stillness. 
 
 "You ought to go to bed, dear," she said to Jeanie.
 
 4i 8 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Oh, must I?" said Jeanie wistfully. "I never sleep 
 much on these hot nights. One can't breath so well lying 
 down." 
 
 Avery looked at her with quick anxiety, but she had 
 turned to Piers and was leaning against him with a gentle 
 coaxing air. 
 
 "Please, dear Piers, would it tire you to play to us?" she 
 begged. 
 
 He looked down at her for a moment as if he would refuse ; 
 then very gently he laid his hand on her head, pressing back 
 the heavy, clustering hair from her forehead to look into her 
 soft eyes. 
 
 "What do you want me to play? " he said. 
 
 She made a wide gesture of the hands and let them fall. 
 "Something big," she said. "Something to take to bed 
 with us and give us happy dreams. " 
 
 His lips those mobile, sensitive lips curved in a smile 
 that made Avery avert her eyes with a sudden hot pang. 
 He released Jeanie, and turned away to the door. 
 
 "I'll see what I can do," he said. "You had better go 
 into the garden you and Avery." 
 
 They went, though Jeanie looked as if she would have 
 preferred to accompany him to the music-room. It was 
 little cooler on the terrace than in the house. The heat 
 brooded over all, dense, black, threatening. 
 
 "I hope it will rain soon," said Jeanie, drawing her 
 chair close to Avery's. 
 
 "There will be a storm when it does, " Avery said. 
 
 "I like storms, don't you?" said Jeanie. 
 
 Avery shook her head. "No, dear. " 
 
 She was listening in tense expectancy, waiting with a 
 dread that was almost insupportable for the music that 
 Piers was about to make. They were close to the open 
 French window of the music-room, but there was no light 
 within. Piers was evidently sitting there silent in the dark-
 
 The Great Gulf 419 
 
 ness. Her pulses were beating violently. Why did he sit 
 so still ? Why was there no sound ? 
 
 A flash of lightning quivered above the tree-tops and was 
 gone. Jeanie drew in her breath, saying no word. Avery 
 shrank and closed her eyes. She could hear her heart 
 beating audibly, like the throbbing of a distant drum. The 
 suspense was terrible. 
 
 There came from far away the growl and mutter of the 
 rising storm. The leaves of the garden began to tremble. 
 And then, ere that roll of distant thunder had died away, 
 another sound came through the darkness a sound that was 
 almost terrifying in its suddenness, and the grand piano be- 
 gan to speak. 
 
 What music it uttered, Avery knew not. It was such as 
 she had never heard before. It was unearthly, it was 
 devilish, a fiendish chorus that was like the laughter of a 
 thousand demons a pandemonium that shocked her 
 unutterably. 
 
 Just as once he had drawn aside for her the veil that 
 shrouded the Holy Place, so now he rent open the gates of 
 hell and showed her the horrors of the prison-house, forcing 
 her to look upon them, forcing her to understand. 
 
 She clung to Jeanie's hand in nightmare fear. The 
 anguish of the revelation was almost unendurable. She 
 felt as if he had caught her quivering soul and was thrusting 
 it into an inferno from which it could never rise again. 
 Through and above that awful laughter she seemed to hear 
 the crackling of the flames, to feel the blistering heat that 
 had consumed so many, to see the red glare of the furnace 
 gaping wide before her. 
 
 She cried out without knowing it, and covered her face. 
 "0 God, " she prayed wildly, "save us from this! Save us! 
 Save us!" 
 
 The man at the piano could not have heard her cry. Of 
 that she was certain. But their souls were in more subtle
 
 420 The Bars of Iron 
 
 communion than any established by bodily word or touch. 
 He must have known, have fathomed her anguish. For 
 quite suddenly, as if a restraining hand had been laid 
 upon him, he checked that dread torrent of sound. A few 
 bitter chords, a few stray notes that somehow spoke to her of 
 a spirit escaped and wandering alone and naked in a desert 
 of indescribable emptiness, and then silence a crushing, 
 fearful silence like the ashes of a burnt-out fire. 
 
 "And in hell he lift up his eyes." . . . Why did those 
 words flash through her brain as though a voice had uttered 
 them? She bowed her head lower, lower, barely conscious 
 of Jeanie's enfolding arms. She was as one in the pres- 
 ence of a vision, hearing words that were spoken to her 
 alone. 
 
 "And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments. ..." 
 
 She waited quivering. Surely there was more to come. 
 She listened for it even while she shrank in every nerve. 
 
 It came at length slowly, heavily, like a death-sentence 
 uttered within her. "Between us and you there is a great 
 gulf fixed : so that they which would pass from hence to you 
 cannot ; neither can they pass to us, that would come from 
 thence." 
 
 The words were spoken, the vision passed. A very sat 
 huddled in her chair as one stricken to the earth, rapt 
 in a trance of dread foreboding from which Jeanie was 
 powerless to rouse her. 
 
 The lightning flashed again, and the thunder crashed 
 above them like the clanging of brazen gates. From the 
 room behind them came the sound of a man's laugh, but it 
 was a laugh that chilled her to the soul. 
 
 Again there came the sound of the piano, a tremendous 
 chord, then a slow-swelling volume of harmony, a muffled 
 burst of music like the coming of a great procession still 
 far away. 
 
 A very sprang upright as one galvanized into action by an
 
 The Great Gulf 421 
 
 electric force. "I cannot bear it!" she cried aloud. "I 
 cannot bear it!" 
 
 She almost thrust Jeanie from her. "Oh, go, child, go! 
 Tell him tell him " Her voice broke, went into a 
 gasping utterance more painful than speech, finally dropped 
 into hysterical sobbing. 
 
 Jeanie sprang into the dark room with a cry of, "Piers, 
 oh, Piers!" and the music stopped, went out utterly as 
 flame extinguished in water. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Piers. 
 
 His voice sounded oddly defiant, almost savage. But 
 Jeanie was too precipitate to notice it. 
 
 "Oh, please, will you go to A very?" she begged breath- 
 lessly. " I think she is frightened at the storm. " 
 
 Piers left the piano with a single, lithe movement that 
 carried him to the window in a second. He passed Jeanie 
 and was out on the terrace almost in one bound. 
 
 He discerned A very on the instant, as she discerned him. 
 A vivid flash of lightning lit them both, lit the whole scene, 
 turned the night into sudden, glaring day. Before the 
 thunder crashed above them he had caught her to him. 
 They stood locked in the darkness while the great rever- 
 berations rolled over their heads, and as he held her he felt 
 the wild beating of her heart against his own. 
 
 She had not resisted him, she did not resist him. She 
 even convulsively clung to him. But her whole body was 
 tense against his, tense and quivering like a stretched wire. 
 
 As the last of the thunder died, she raised her head and 
 spoke. 
 
 "Piers, haven't you tortured me enough?" 
 
 He did not speak in answer. Only she heard his breath 
 indrawn sharply as though he checked some headlong word 
 or impulse. 
 
 She stifled a great sob that took her unawares, and even as 
 she did so she felt his arms slacken. He set her free.
 
 422 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "There is nothing to be afraid of," he said. "Better come 
 indoors before the rain begins. " 
 
 They went within, Jeanie pressing close to Avery in 
 tender solicitude. 
 
 They turned on the lights, but throughout the frightful 
 storm that followed, Piers leaned against the window- 
 frame sombrely watching. 
 
 Avery sat on a sofa with Jeanie, her throbbing head lean- 
 ing against the cushions, her eyes closed. 
 
 Nearly half an hour passed thus, then the storm rolled 
 sullenly away ; and at last Piers turned. 
 
 As though his look pierced her, Avery's eyes opened. She 
 looked back at him, white as death, waiting for him to 
 speak. 
 
 "Hadn't you better send Jeanie to bed ? " he said. 
 
 Jeanie rose obediently. "Good-night, dear Avery." 
 
 Avery sat up. Her hand was pressed hard upon her 
 heart. "I am coming with you, " she said. 
 
 Piers crossed the room to the door. He held it open for 
 them. 
 
 Jeanie lifted her face for his kiss. An unaccustomed 
 shyness seemed to have descended upon her. "Good- 
 night," she whispered. 
 
 He bent to her. "Good-night, Jeanie!" 
 
 Her arms were round his neck in a moment. "Piers, 
 thank you for your music, but but " 
 
 "Good-night, dear!" said Piers again gently, but with 
 obvious decision. 
 
 "Good-night!" said Jeanie at once. 
 
 She would have passed out instantly, but Avery paused, 
 detaining her. 
 
 Her eyes were raised steadily to her husband's face. "I 
 will say good-night, too," she said. "I am spending the 
 night with Jeanie. She is not used to sleeping alone, and 
 the storm may come back."
 
 The Great Gulf 423 
 
 She was white to the lips as she said it. She looked as if 
 she would faint. 
 
 "Oh, but " began Jeanie, " I don't mind really. I " 
 
 With a brief, imperious gesture Piers silenced her for the 
 second time. He looked over her head, straight into Avery's 
 eyes for a long, long second. 
 
 Then: "So be it!" he said, and with ironical ceremony he 
 bowed her out.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SANCTUARY 
 
 HULLO, sonny! You!" 
 Edmund Crowther turned from his littered writing- 
 table, and rose to greet his visitor with a ready smile of 
 welcome. 
 
 "Hullo!" said Piers. "How are you getting on? I was 
 in town and thought I'd look you up. By Jove, though, 
 you're busy! I'd better not stay. " 
 
 "Sit down!" said Crowther. 
 
 He took him by the shoulders with kindly force and made 
 him sit in his easy-chair. "I'm never too busy to be pleased 
 to see you, Piers," he said. 
 
 "Very decent of you," said Piers. 
 
 He spoke with a short laugh, but his dark eyes roved 
 round restlessly. There was no pleasure in his look. 
 
 The light from Crowther's unshaded lamp flared full 
 upon him. In his faultless evening dress he looked every 
 inch an aristocrat. That air of the old-Roman patrician was 
 very strong upon him that night. But there was something 
 behind it that Crowther was quick to note, something that 
 reminded him vividly of an evening months before when he 
 had fought hand to hand with the Evesham devil and had 
 with difficulty prevailed. 
 
 He pushed his work to one side and foraged in his cup- 
 board for drinks. 
 
 Piers watched him with an odd, half -scoffing smile about 
 
 424
 
 Sanctuary 425 
 
 his lips. " Do you never drink when you are by yourself?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Not when I'm working," said Crowther. 
 
 " I see ! Work is sacred, what ? ' ' 
 
 Crowther looked at him. The mockery of the tone had 
 been scarcely veiled ; but there was no consciousness of the 
 fact in Crowther 's quiet reply. "Yes; just that, sonny." 
 
 Piers laughed again, a bitter, gibing laugh. "I suppose 
 it's more to you than your own soul or anyone else's," he 
 said. 
 
 Crowther paused in the act of pouring out. "Now what 
 do you mean?" he said. 
 
 His eyes, direct and level, looked full at Piers. They 
 held no anger, no indignation, only calm enquiry. 
 
 Piers faced the look with open mockery. "I mean, my 
 good friend," he said, "that if I asked you to chuck it all 
 and go round the world with me you'd see me damned 
 first." 
 
 Crowther's eyes dropped gravely to the job in hand. 
 "Say when!" he said. 
 
 Piers made a restless movement. "Oh, that's enough! 
 Strong drink is not my weakness. Why don't you answer 
 my question?" 
 
 "I didn't know you asked one," said Crowther. 
 
 He set the tumbler in front of Piers and began to help 
 himself. 
 
 Piers watched him for a couple of seconds longer, then 
 leapt impulsively to his feet. "Oh, I'm going!" he said. 
 "I was a fool to come!" 
 
 Crowther set down the decanter and straightened himself. 
 He did not seem to move quickly, but he was at the door 
 before Piers reached it. 
 
 He stood massively before him, blocking the way. 
 "You've behaved foolishly a good many times in your life, 
 my lad/' he said. " But I shouldn't call you a fool. Why do
 
 426 The Bars of Iron 
 
 you want me to go round the world with you? Tell me 
 that!" 
 
 His tone was mild, but there was a certain grimness 
 about him notwithstanding. He looked at Piers with a 
 faint smile in his eyes that had in it a quality of resolution 
 that made itself felt. Piers stood still before him, half- 
 chafing, half-subdued. 
 
 "Tell me!" Crowther said again. 
 
 "Oh, what's the good?" With a defiance that was 
 oddly boyish Piers flung the question. "I see I've applied 
 in the wrong quarter. Let me go!" 
 
 "I will not," Crowther said. Deliberately he raised a 
 hand and pointed to the chair from which Piers had just 
 sprung. "Sit down again, sonny, and we'll talk." 
 
 Piers swung round with an impatient gesture and went 
 to the window. He threw it wide, and the distant roar 
 of traffic filled the quiet room like the breaking of the sea. 
 
 After a distinct pause Crowther followed him. They 
 stood together gazing out over the dim wilderness of 
 many roofs and chimneys to where the crude glare of an 
 advertisement lit up the night sky. 
 
 Piers was absolutely motionless, but there was a species 
 of violence in his very stillness, as of a trapped animal 
 preparing to make a wild rush for freedom. His attitude 
 was feverishly tense. 
 
 Suddenly and very quietly Crowther's hand came forth 
 and linked itself in his arm. "What is it, lad?" he said. 
 
 Piers made a jerky movement as if to avoid the touch, but 
 the hand closed slowly and steadily upon him. He turned 
 abruptly and met Crowther's eyes. 
 
 ' ' Crowther, ' ' he said, "I've behaved like a cur. I broke 
 that promise I made to you. " 
 
 He ground out the words savagely, between clenched 
 teeth. Yet his look was defiant still. He held himself as 
 a man defying shame.
 
 Sanctuary 427 
 
 Crowther's eyes never varied. They looked straight 
 back with a wide kindliness greater than 'compassion, 
 wholly devoid of reproach. 
 
 "All right, Piers, " he said simply. 
 
 Piers stared at him for a moment as one in blank amaze- 
 ment, then very strangely his face altered. The hardness 
 went from it like a mask suddenly rent away. He made an 
 inarticulate sound and turned from the open window. 
 
 A second later he was sunk in Crowther's chair with his 
 head in his hands, sobbing convulsively, painfully, uncon- 
 trollably, in an agony that tore like a living thing at the very 
 foundations of his being. 
 
 A smaller man than Crowther might have been at a loss to 
 deal with such distress, but Crowther was ready. He had 
 seen men in extremities of suffering before. He knew 
 how to ease a crushing burden. He sat down on the arm 
 of the chair and thrust a strong hand over Piers' shoulder, 
 saying no word. 
 
 Minutes passed ere by sheer violence that bitter anguish 
 wore itself out at last. There came a long, piteous silence, 
 then Piers' hand feeling blindly upwards. Crowther's grip 
 encompassed it like a band of iron, but still for a space no 
 word was spoken. 
 
 Then haltingly Piers found his voice. "I'm sorry 
 beastly sorry to have made such an ass of myself. You're 
 jolly decent to me, Crowther." 
 
 To which Crowther made reply with a tenderness as 
 simple as his own soul. "You're just a son to me, lad." 
 
 "A precious poor specimen!" muttered Piers. 
 
 He remained bowed for a while longer, then lifted at 
 length a face of awful whiteness and leaned back upon 
 Crowther's arm, still fast holding to his hand. 
 
 "You know, you're such an awfully good chap," he said, 
 "that one gets into the way of taking you for granted. But 
 I won't encroach on your goodness much longer. You're
 
 428 The Bars of Iron 
 
 busy, what?" He smiled a quivering smile, and glanced 
 momentarily towards the littered table. 
 
 "It will keep," said Crowther quietly. 
 
 "No, it won't. Life isn't long enough. On my soul, do 
 you know it's like coming into sanctuary to enter a place like 
 this? I feel as if I'd shut my own particular devil on the 
 other side of the door. But he'll wait for me all right. We 
 shan't lose each other on that account. " 
 
 He uttered a laugh that testified more to the utter 
 weariness of his soul than its bitterness. 
 
 "Where are you staying?" said Crowther. 
 
 "At Marchmont's. At least I've got a room there. I 
 haven't any definite plans at present. " 
 
 "Unless you go round the world with me, " said Crowther. 
 
 Piers' eyes travelled upwards sharply. " No, old chap. I 
 didn't mean it. I wouldn't have you if you'd come. It 
 was only a try-on, that." 
 
 "Some try-ons fit," said Crowther gravely. He turned 
 towards the table, and reached for the drink he had prepared 
 for Piers. "Look here, sonny! Have a drink!" 
 
 Piers drank in silence, Crowther steadily watching. 
 
 "You would have to be back by March," he said 
 presently. 
 
 "What? "said Piers. 
 
 It was like a protest, the involuntary startled outcry of 
 the patient under the probe. Crowther's hand grasped 
 his more closely. "I'll go with you on that understand- 
 ing, Piers," he said. "You'll be wanted then." 
 
 Piers groaned. "If it hadn't been for that," he said, 
 "I'd have ended the whole business with a bullet before 
 now." 
 
 "No, you wouldn't," said Crowther quietly. "You 
 don't know yourself, boy, when you talk like that. You've 
 given up Parliament for the present?" 
 
 "For good," said Piers. He paused, as if bracing him-
 
 Sanctuary 429 
 
 self for a great effort. "I went to Colonel Rose yesterday 
 and told him I must withdraw. He had heard the rumours 
 of course, but he advised me to hold on. I told him I told 
 him " Piers stopped and swallowed hard, then forced 
 himself on, " I told him there was truth in it, and then he 
 let me go." 
 
 There fell a painful silence, broken by Crowther. "How 
 did this rumour get about?" 
 
 "Oh, that was at Ina Rose's wedding." Piers' words 
 came more freely now, as if the obstruction were passed. 
 "A cousin of Guyes', the bridegroom, was there. He came 
 from Queensland, had been present that night when I fought 
 and killed Denys, and he recognized me. Then he got 
 tight and told everybody who would listen. It was rotten 
 luck, but it had to happen." He paused momentarily; 
 then: "I wasn't enjoying myself, Crowther, before it 
 happened, " he said. 
 
 "I saw that, sonny." Crowther's arm pressed his 
 shoulder in sympathy. It was characteristic of the man 
 to display understanding rather than pity. He stood ever 
 on the same level with his friends, however low that level 
 might be. 
 
 Again Piers looked at him as if puzzled by his atti- 
 tude. "You've done me a lot of good," he said abruptly. 
 "You've made me see myself as you don't see me, dear 
 old fellow, and never would. Well, I'm going. Thanks 
 awfully!" 
 
 He made as if he would rise, but Crowther restrained him. 
 "No, lad. I'm not parting with you for to-night. We'll 
 send round for your traps. I'll put you up." 
 
 "What? No, no, you can't! I shall be all right. Don't 
 worry about me!" 
 
 Piers began to make impulsive resistance, but Crowther's 
 hold only tightened. 
 
 "I'm not parting with you to-night," he reiterated
 
 43 The Bars of Iron 
 
 firmly. "And look here, boy ! You've come to me for help, 
 and, to the best of my ability, I'll help you. But first, 
 are you sure you are justified in leaving home ? Are you 
 sure you are not wanted ? ' ' 
 
 "Wanted! I!" Piers looked at him from under eye- 
 lids that quivered a little. "Yes, " he said, after a moment, 
 with a deliberation that sounded tragically final. "I am 
 quite sure of that, Crowther. " 
 
 Crowther asked no more. He patted Piers' shoulder 
 gently and rose. 
 
 "Very well," he said. "I'll take that six months' trip 
 round the world with you." 
 
 "But you can't!" protested Piers. "I never seriously 
 thought you could! I only came to you because " he 
 halted, and a slow, deep flush mounted to his forehead 
 "because you've saved me before," he said. "And I was 
 so so horribly near the edge of the pit this time. " 
 
 He spoke with an odd boyishness, and Crowther's lips 
 relaxed in a smile that had in it something of a maternal 
 quality. "So long as I can help you, you can count on me, " 
 he said. 
 
 "You're the only man in the world who can help me," 
 Piers said impulsively. "At least " he smiled himself 
 " I couldn't take it from anyone else. But I'm not taking 
 this from you, Crowther. You've got your own pet job 
 on hand, and I'm not going to hinder it. " 
 
 Crowther was setting his writing-table in order. He did 
 not speak for a few seconds. Then: "I am a man under 
 authority, sonny," he said. "My own pet job, as you call 
 it, doesn't count if it isn't what's wanted of me. It has 
 waited twenty-five 3 r ears; it'll keep easy for another six 
 months." 
 
 Piers got up. "I'm a selfish brute if I let you, " he said, 
 irresolutely. 
 
 "You can't help yourself, my son." Crowther turned
 
 Sanctuary 431 
 
 calm eyes upon him. "And now just sit down here and 
 write a line home to say what you are going to do!" 
 
 He had cleared a space upon the table ; he pulled forward 
 a chair. 
 
 " Oh, I can't ! I can't ! " said Piers quickly. 
 
 But Crowther's hand was on his shoulder. He pressed 
 him down. "Do it, lad! It's got to be done," he said. 
 
 And with a docility that sat curiously upon him, Piers 
 submitted. He leaned his head on his hand, and wrote.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE FALLING NIGHT 
 
 ' ' W OU ought to rest, you know, ' ' said Tudor. ' ' This sort 
 I of thing is downright madness for you. " 
 
 They were walking together in the February twilight 
 along the long, dark avenue of chestnuts that led to Rodding 
 Abbey. Avery moved with lagging feet that she strove 
 vainly to force to briskness. 
 
 " I don't think I do too much, " she said. " It isn't good 
 for me to be idle. It makes me it makes me mope. " 
 
 The involuntary falter in the words spoke more elo- 
 quently than the words themselves, but she went on after a 
 moment with that same forced briskness to which she was 
 trying to compel her dragging limbs. " I only ran down to 
 the Vicarage after lunch because it is Jeanie's birthday. It 
 is no distance across the Park. It seemed absurd to go in 
 state. " 
 
 "You are not wise, " said Tudor in a tone that silenced all 
 argument. 
 
 Avery gave a little sigh and turned from the subject. " I 
 thought Jeanie looking very fragile. Mrs. Lorimer has 
 promised that she may come to me again just as soon as I am 
 able to have her. " 
 
 "Ah! Jeanie is a comfort to you?" said Tudor. 
 . To which she answered with a catch in her breath, "The 
 greatest comfort." 
 
 They reached the great grey house and entered. A letter 
 
 432
 
 The Falling Night 433 
 
 lay on the table by the door. Avery took it up with a sharp 
 shiver. 
 
 "From Piers?" asked Tudor abruptly. 
 
 She bent her head. "He writes every week." 
 
 "When is he coming home?" He uttered the question 
 with a directness that sounded almost brutal, but Avery 
 caught the note of anxiety behind it and understood. 
 
 She opened the letter in silence, and read it by the waning 
 light of the open door. The crackling of the fire behind 
 her was the only sound within. Without, the wind moaned 
 desolately through the bare trees. It was going to rain. 
 
 Slowly Avery raised her head at last and gazed out into 
 the gathering dark. 
 
 "Come inside!" said Tudor peremptorily. 
 
 His hand closed upon her arm, he almost compelled her. 
 "How painfully thin you are!" he said, as she yielded. 
 "Are you starving yourself of food as well as rest? " 
 
 Again she did not answer him. Her eyes were fixed, 
 unseeing. They focused their gaze upon the fire as he led 
 her to it. She sat down in the chair he placed for her 
 and then very suddenly she began to shiver as if with an 
 ague. 
 
 "Don't!" said Tudor sharply. 
 
 He bent over her, his hands upon her shoulders, holding 
 her. 
 
 She controlled herself, and leaned back. "Do sit down, 
 doctor! I'm afraid I'm very rude very forgetful. Will 
 you ring for tea? Piers is in town. He writes very kindly, 
 very very considerately. He is only just back from 
 Egypt he and Mr. Crowther. The last letter was from 
 Cairo. Would you do you care to see what he says?" 
 
 She offered him the letter with the words, and after the 
 faintest hesitation Tudor took it. 
 
 "I have come back to be near you." So without pre- 
 liminary the letter ran. ' ' You will not want me, I know, but 
 
 88
 
 434 The Bars of Iron 
 
 still I am here. For Heaven's sake, take care of yourself, 
 and have anything under the sun that you need. Your 
 husband, Piers." 
 
 It only covered the first page. Tudor turned the sheet 
 frowningly and replaced it in its envelope. 
 
 "He always writes like that," said Avery. "Every 
 week all through the winter just a sentence or two. I 
 haven't written at all to him though I've tried till I 
 couldn't try any more." 
 
 She spoke with a weariness so utter that it seemed to 
 swamp all feeling. Tudor turned his frowning regard upon 
 her. His eyes behind their glasses intently searched her 
 face. 
 
 "How does he get news of you?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "Through Mrs. Lorimer. She writes to him regularly, I 
 believe, either she or Jeanie. I suppose presently " 
 
 Avery stopped, her eyes upon the fire, her hands tightly 
 clasped before her. 
 
 "Presently?" said Tudor. 
 
 She turned her head slightly, without moving her eyes. 
 "Presently there will have to be some mutual arrange- 
 ment made. But I can't see my way yet. I can't consider 
 the future at all. I feel as if night were falling. Perhaps 
 for me there is no future." 
 
 " May I take your pulse?" said Tudor. 
 
 She gave him her hand in the same tired fashion. He 
 took it gravely, feeling her pulse, his eyes upon her 
 face. 
 
 "Have you no relations of your own?" he asked her 
 suddenly. 
 
 She shook her head. "No one near. My parents were 
 both only children. " 
 
 "And no friends?" he said. 
 
 "Only Mrs. Lorimer. I lost sight of people when I 
 married. And then " Avery halted momentarily
 
 The Falling Night 435 
 
 "after my baby girl died, for a long time I didn't seem to 
 care for making new friends. " 
 
 "Ah-!" said Tudor, his tone unwontedly gentle. "You 
 will soon have another child to care for now. " 
 
 She made a slight gesture as of protest. " Do you know 
 I can't picture it ? I do not feel that it will be so. I believe 
 one of us or both will die. " 
 
 She spoke calmly, so calmly that even Tudor, with all his 
 experience, was momentarily shocked. "Avery!" he said 
 sharply. ' ' You are morbid ! ' ' 
 
 She looked at him then with her tired eyes. "Am I?" 
 she said. "I really don't feel particularly sad only worn 
 out. When anyone has been burnt badly burnt it 
 destroys the nerve tissues, doesn't it? They don't suffer 
 after that has happened. I think that is my case. " 
 
 "You will suffer," said Tudor. 
 
 He spoke brutally; he wanted to rouse her from her 
 lethargy, to pierce somehow that dreadful calm. 
 
 But he failed ; she only faintly smiled. 
 
 "I can bear bodily suffering," she said, "particularly 
 if it leads to freedom and peace. " 
 
 He got up as if it were he who had been pierced. "You 
 won't die!" he said harshly. "I won't let you die!" 
 
 Her eyes went back to the fire, as if attracted thereto 
 irresistibly. "Most of me died last August," she said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "You are wrong!" He stood over her almost threaten- 
 ingly. "When you hold your child in your arms you will 
 see how wrong. Tell me, when is your husband coming 
 back to you?" 
 
 That reached her. She looked up at him with a quick, 
 hunted look. ' ' Never ! ' ' she said. 
 
 He looked back at her mercilessly. ' ' Never is a long time, 
 Lady Evesham. Do you think he will be kept at arm's 
 length when you are through your trouble? Do you think
 
 43 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 whatever his sins that he has no claim upon you? 
 Mind, I don't like him. I never did and I never shall. 
 But you you are sworn to him." 
 
 He had never spoken so to her before. She flinched as 
 if he had struck her with a whip. She put her hands over 
 her face, saying no word. 
 
 He stood for a few moments stern, implacable, looking 
 down at her. Then very suddenly his attitude changed. 
 His face softened. He stooped and touched her shoulder. 
 
 "Avery!" His voice was low and vehement; he spoke 
 into her ear. "When you first kicked him out, I was mean 
 enough to feel glad. But I soon saw that he took all that 
 is vital in you with him. Avery, my dear, for God's 
 sake have him back!" 
 
 She did not speak or move, save for a spasmodic shudder- 
 ing that shook her whole frame. 
 
 He bent lower. "Avery, I say, can't you for the baby's 
 sake anyway consider it?" 
 
 She flung out her hands with a cry. "The child is 
 cursed! The child will die!" There was terrible con- 
 viction in the words. She lifted a tortured face. "Oh, 
 don't you see, " she said piteously, "how impossible it is for 
 me? Don't don't say any more !" 
 
 "I won't," said Tudor. 
 
 He took the outflung hands and held them closely, 
 restrainingly, soothingly. 
 
 "I won't," he said again. "Forgive me for saying so 
 much! Poor girl! Poor girl!" 
 
 His lips quivered a little as he said it, but his hold was 
 full of sustaining strength. She grew gradually calmer, and 
 finally submitted to the gentle pressure with which he laid 
 her back in her chair. 
 
 "You are always so very good to me, " she said presently. 
 "I sometimes wonder how I ever came to to " She 
 stopped herself abruptly.
 
 The Falling Night 437 
 
 "To refuse me?" said Tudor quietly. "I always knew 
 why, Lady Evesham. It was because you loved another 
 man. It has been the case for as long as I have known you. " 
 
 He turned from her with the words wholly without 
 emotion and took up his stand on the hearth-rug. 
 
 "Now may I talk to you about your health?" he said 
 professionally. 
 
 She leaned forward slowly. "Dr. Tudor, first will you 
 make me a promise?" 
 
 He smiled a little. " I don't think so. I never do make 
 promises. " 
 
 "Just this once!" she pleaded anxiously. "Because it 
 means a great deal to me." 
 
 "Well? "said Tudor. 
 
 "It is only " she paused a moment, breathing quickly 
 "only that you will not whatever the circumstances 
 let Piers be sent for." 
 
 " I can't promise that, " said Tudor at once. 
 
 She clasped her hands beseechingly. "You must 
 please you must!" 
 
 He shook his head. " I can't. I will undertake that he 
 shall not come to you against your will. I can't do more 
 than that." 
 
 "Do you suppose you could keep him out?" A very said, 
 a note of quivering bitterness in her voice. 
 
 "I am quite sure I can," Tudor answered steadily. 
 "Don't trouble yourself on that head ! I swear that, unless 
 you ask for him, he shall not come to you. " 
 
 She shivered again and dropped back in her chair. "I 
 shall never do that never never so long as I am 
 myself!" 
 
 "Your wishes whatever they are shall be obeyed," 
 Tudor promised gravely. 
 
 And with that gently but very resolutely he changed the 
 subject.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 HOW many times had he paced up and down the ter- 
 race? Piers could not have said. He had been 
 there for hours, years, half a lifetime, waiting waiting 
 eternally for the summons that never came. 
 
 Could it have been only that morning that Mrs. Lorimer's 
 urgent telegram had reached him? Only that morning 
 that he had parted from Crowther for the first time in six 
 months? It seemed asons ago. And yet here he was in 
 the cold grey dusk, still waiting to be called to his wife's 
 side. 
 
 The night was fast approaching a bitter, cheerless 
 night with a driving wind that seemed to promise snow. 
 It was growing darker every moment. Only her window 
 shone like a beacon in the gloom, How long would he have 
 to wait? How long? How long? 
 
 He had brought a doctor with him in obedience to Mrs. 
 Lorimer's message, transmitting Tudor's desire. Tudor 
 was not satisfied. He wanted Maxwell Wyndham, the 
 great surgeon a man still comparatively young in years 
 but high in his profession a man in whose presence so 
 it was said no patient ever died. That of course was an 
 exaggeration some hysterical woman's tribute to his 
 genius. But genius he undoubtedly possessed and that of 
 a very high order. 
 
 If anyone could save her, it would be Maxwell Wyndham.
 
 The Dream 439 
 
 So Piers told himself each time he turned in his endless 
 pacing and looked at that lighted window. Tudor believed 
 in him. And yes, he believed in him also. There had 
 been something in the great man's attitude, something 
 of arrogant self-assurance that had inspired him with con- 
 fidence almost against his will. He had watched him 
 saunter up the stairs with his hands thrust into his pockets 
 and an air of limitless leisure pervading his every movement, 
 and he had been exasperated by the man's deliberation and 
 subtly comforted at the same time. He was thankful that 
 he had been able to secure him. 
 
 Ah, what was that? A cry in the night! The weird, 
 haunting screech of an owl! He ridiculed himself for the 
 sudden wild thumping of his heart. But would they never 
 call him? This suspense was tearing at the very roots of 
 his being. 
 
 Away in the distance a dog was barking, fitfully, peevish- 
 ly the bark of a chained animal. Piers stopped in his 
 walk and cursed the man who had chained him. Then as 
 though driven by an invisible goad he pressed on, walk- 
 ing resolutely with his back turned upon the lighted win- 
 dow, forcing himself to pace the whole length of the terrace. 
 
 He had nearly reached the further end when a sudden 
 fragrance swept across his path pure, intoxicating, 
 exquisitely sweet. Violets! The violets that grew in the 
 great bed under the study- window! The violets that Sir 
 Beverley's bride had planted fifty years ago ! 
 
 The thought of his grandfather went through him like a 
 stab through the heart. He clenched his hands and held 
 his breath while the spasm passed. Never since the night 
 Victor had summoned A very to comfort him, had he felt so 
 sick a longing for the old man's presence. For a few linger- 
 ing seconds it was almost more than he could bear. Then 
 he turned about and faced the chill night-wind and that 
 lighted window, and the anguish of his vigil drove out all
 
 44 The Bars of Iron 
 
 other griefs. How long had he yet to wait? How long? 
 How long? 
 
 There came a low call behind him on the terrace. He 
 wheeled, strangling a startled exclamation in his throat. A 
 man's figure a broad, powerful figure lounged towards 
 him. He seemed to be wearing carpet slippers, for he made 
 no sound. It was Maxwell Wyndham, and Piers' heart 
 ceased to beat. He stood as if turned to stone. All the 
 blood in his body seemed to be singing in his ears. His 
 head was burning, the rest of him cold cold as ice. He 
 would have moved to meet the advancing figure, but 
 he could not stir. He could only stop and listen to 
 that maddening tarantella beating out in his fevered 
 brain. 
 
 "I say, you know " the voice came to him out of an 
 immensity of space, as though uttered from another world 
 "it's a bit too chilly for this sort of thing. Why didn't you 
 put on an overcoat?" 
 
 A man's hand, strong and purposeful, closed upon his 
 arm and impelled him towards the house. 
 
 Piers went like an automaton, but he could not utter a 
 word. His mouth felt parched, his tongue powerless. 
 
 Avery ! Avery ! The woman he had wronged the woman 
 he worshipped so madly for whom his whole being mental 
 and physical craved desperately, yearning, unceasingly, 
 without whom he lived in a torture that was never dor- 
 mant! Avery! Avery! Was she lying dead behind that 
 lighted window? If so, if so, those six months of torment 
 had been in vain. He would end his misery swiftly and 
 finally before it turned his brain. 
 
 Maxwell Wyndham was guiding him towards the con- 
 servatory where a dim light shone. It was like an altar- 
 flame in the darkness that place where first their lips had 
 met. The memory of that night went through him like a 
 sword-thrust. Oh, Avery! Oh, Avery!
 
 The Dream 441 
 
 " Now look here, " said Maxwell Wyndham, in his steady, 
 emotionless voice; "you're wanted upstairs, but you can't 
 go unless you are absolutely sure of yourself. " 
 
 Wanted! His senses leapt to the word. Instinctively 
 he pulled himself together, collecting all his strength. He 
 spoke, and found to his surprise that speech was not 
 difficult. 
 
 "She has asked for me?" 
 
 "Yes; but," Wyndham's tone was impressive, "I warn 
 you, she is not altogether herself. And she is very 
 desperately ill." 
 
 "The child?" questioned Piers. 
 
 "The child never breathed." Curt and cold came the 
 answer. "I have had to concentrate all my energies upon 
 saving the mother's life, and to be open with you I don't 
 think I have succeeded. There is still a chance, but " 
 He left the sentence unfinished. 
 
 They had reached the conservatory, and, entering, it 
 was Piers who led the way. His face, as they emerged into 
 the library, was deathly, but he was absolute master of 
 himself. 
 
 "I believe there is a meal in the dining-room," he said. 
 "Will you help yourself while I go up?" 
 
 "No," said Wyndham briefly. "I am coming up with 
 you." 
 
 He kept a hand upon Piers' arm all the way up the stairs, 
 deliberately restraining him, curbing the fevered impetu- 
 osity that urged him with a grim insistence that would not 
 yield an inch to any chafing for freedom. 
 
 He gave utterance to no further injunctions, but his 
 manner was eloquent of the urgent need for self-repression. 
 When Piers entered his wife's room, that room which he had 
 not entered since the night of Ina's wedding, his tread was 
 catlike in its caution, and all the eagerness was gone from his 
 face.
 
 44 2 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Then only did the doctor's hand fall from him, so that 
 he advanced alone. 
 
 She was lying on one side of the great four-poster, straight 
 and motionless as a recumbent figure on a tomb. Her 
 head was in deep shadow. He could see her face only in 
 vaguest outline. 
 
 Softly he approached, and Mrs. Lorimer, rising silently 
 from a chair by the bedside, made room for him. He sat 
 down, sinking as it were into a great abyss of silence, 
 listening tensely, but hearing not so much as a breath. 
 
 The doctor took up his stand at the foot of the bed. 
 In the adjoining room sat Lennox Tudor, watching cease- 
 lessly, expectantly, it seemed to Piers. Behind him moved 
 a nurse, noiselessly intent upon polishing something that 
 flashed like silver every time it caught his eye. 
 
 Suddenly out of the silence there came a voice. " If I go 
 down to hell, Thou art there also. If I take the wings of 
 the morning the wings of the morning " There came 
 a pause, the difficult pause of uncertainty " the wings 
 of the morning " murmured the voice again. 
 
 Piers leaned upon the pillow. "Avery!" he said. 
 
 She turned as if some magic moved her. Her hands 
 came out to him, piteously weak and trembling. "Piers, 
 my darling!" she said. 
 
 He gathered the poor nerveless hands into a tight clasp, 
 kissing them passionately. He forgot the silent watcher at 
 the foot of the bed, forgot little Mrs. Lorimer hovering in the 
 shadows, and Tudor waiting with the nurse behind him. 
 They all slipped into nothingness, and Avery his wife 
 alone remained in a world that was very dark. 
 
 Her voice came to him in a weak whisper. "Oh, Piers, 
 I've been wanting you so!" 
 
 "My own darling!" he whispered back. "I will never 
 leave you again!" 
 
 " Oh yes, you will ! " she answered drearily. "You always
 
 The Dream 443 
 
 say that, but you are always gone in the morning. It's 
 only a dream only a dream!" 
 
 He slipped his arms beneath her and drew her to his 
 breast. "It is not a dream, A very, " he told her very 
 earnestly. "I am here in the flesh. I am holding you." 
 
 "I know, " she said. "It's always so. " 
 
 The weary conviction of her tone smote cold to his 
 heart. He gathered her closer still. He pressed his lips 
 to her forehead. 
 
 "Avery, can't you feel me?" he said. 
 
 Her head sank against his shoulder. "Yes yes," she 
 said. "But you have always done that." 
 
 "Done what, darling?" 
 
 " Imposed your will on mine made me feel you. " Her 
 voice quivered; she began to cry a little, weakly, like a tired 
 child. "Do you remember what you said about about 
 the ticket of leave ? ' ' she said. ' ' You leave your dungeon 
 my poor Piers. But you have to go back again when 
 the leave has expired. And I I am left alone. " 
 
 The tears were running down her face. He wiped them 
 tenderly away. 
 
 "My dearest, if you want me if you need me, I will 
 stay, " he said. 
 
 "But you can't," she said hopelessly. "Even to-night 
 even to-night I thought you were never coming. And I 
 went at last to look for you behind your iron bars. But, 
 oh, Piers, the agony of it ! And I couldn't reach you after 
 all, though I tried so hard so hard. " 
 
 "Never mind, my darling!" he whispered. "We are 
 together now. " 
 
 "But we shan't be when the morning comes," sobbed 
 Avery. "I know it is all a dream. It's happened so 
 many, many times. " 
 
 He clasped her closer, hushing her with tender words, 
 vowing he would never leave her, while the Shadow of
 
 444 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Death gathered closer about them, threatening every 
 instant to come between. 
 
 She grew calmer at last, and presently sank into a state 
 of semi-consciousness lying against his breast. 
 
 Time passed. Piers did not know how it went. With his 
 wife clasped in his arms he sat and waited, waited for the 
 falling of a deeper night or the coming of the day he knew 
 not which. His brain felt like a stopped watch; it did not 
 seem to be working at all. Even the power to suffer seemed 
 to have left him. He felt curiously indifferent, strangely 
 submissive to circumstances, like a man scourged into the 
 numbness of exhaustion. He knew at the back of his mind 
 that as soon as his vitality reasserted itself the agony would 
 return. The respite could not last, but while it lasted he 
 knew no pain. Like one in a state of coma, he was not even 
 aware of thought. 
 
 It might have been hours later, or possibly only minutes, 
 that Maxwell Wyndham came round to his side and bent 
 over him, a quiet hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "You had better lay her down," he said. "She won't 
 wake now." 
 
 "What?" said Piers sharply. 
 
 The words had stabbed him back to understanding in a 
 second. He glared at the doctor with eyes half-savage, 
 half-frightened. 
 
 "No, no!" said Wyndham gently. "I don't mean that. 
 She is asleep. She is breathing. But she will rest better if 
 you lay her down. " 
 
 The absolute calmness with which he spoke took effect 
 upon Piers. He yielded, albeit not very willingly, to the 
 mandate. 
 
 They laid her down upon the pillow between them, and 
 then for many seconds Wyndham stood, closely watching, 
 almost painfully intent. Piers waited dumbly, afraid to 
 move, afraid to speak.
 
 The Dream 445 
 
 The doctor turned to him at last. "What about that 
 meal you spoke of? Shall we go down and get it? " 
 
 Piers stared at him. "I am not leaving her, " he said in 
 a quick whisper. 
 
 Wyndham's hand was on his shoulder again a steady, 
 compelling hand. "Oh yes, you are. I want to talk to 
 you," he said. "She is sleeping naturally, and she won't 
 wake for some time. Come!" 
 
 There was nothing peremptory about him, yet he gained 
 his end. Piers rose. He hung for a moment over the bed, 
 gazing hungrily downwards upon the shadowy, motionless 
 form, then in silence turned. 
 
 Tudor had risen. He met them in the doorway, and 
 between him and the London doctor a few words passed. 
 Then the latter pushed his hand through Piers' arm, and 
 drew him away. 
 
 They descended the wide oak stairs together and entered 
 the dining-room. Piers moved like a man dazed. His 
 companion went straight to the table and poured out a 
 drink, which he immediately held out to Piers, looking at 
 him with eyes that were green and very shrewd. 
 
 " I think we shall save her, " he said. 
 
 Piers drank in great gulps, and came to himself. " I say, 
 I'm beastly rude!" he said, with sudden boyishness. "For 
 goodness' sake, help yourself! Sit down, won't you?" 
 
 Maxwell Wyndham seated himself with characteristic 
 deliberation of movement. He had fiery red hair that 
 shone brazenly in the lamplight. 
 
 "I can't eat by myself, Sir Piers," he remarked, after a 
 moment. "And it isn't particularly good for you to drink 
 without eating either, in your present frame of mind. " 
 
 Piers sat down, his attitude one of intense weariness. 
 "You really think she'll pull through?" he said. 
 
 "I think so," Wyndham answered. "But it won't be a 
 walk over. She will be ill for a long time. "
 
 44 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "I'll take her away somewhere," said Piers. "A quiet 
 time at the sea will soon pick her up. " 
 
 Maxwell Wyndham said nothing. 
 
 Piers glanced at him with quick impatience. "Don't 
 you advise that?" 
 
 The green eyes countered his like the turn of a sword- 
 blade. "Certainly quiet is essential," said Wyndham 
 enigmatically. 
 
 Piers made a chafing movement . ' ' What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 "I mean," very calmly came the answer, "that if you 
 really value your wife's welfare, you will let someone else 
 take her away." 
 
 It was a straight thrust, and it went home. Piers 
 flinched sharply. But in a moment he had recovered 
 himself. He was on guard. He looked at Wyndham with 
 haughty enquiry. 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Because her peace of mind depends upon it." Wynd- 
 ham's answer came with brutal directness. "You will 
 find, when this phase of extreme weakness is past, that your 
 presence is not desired. She may try to hide it from you. 
 That depends upon the kind of woman she is. But the fact 
 will remain does remain that for some reason best known 
 to yourself, she shrinks from you. I am not speaking rashly 
 without knowledge. When a woman is in agony she can't 
 help showing her soul. I saw your wife's soul to-day. ' ' 
 
 Piers was white to the lips. He sat rigid, no longer look- 
 ing at the doctor, but staring beyond him fixedly at a 
 woman's face on the wall that smiled and softly mocked. 
 
 "What did she say to you?" he said, after a moment. 
 
 "She said," curtly Wyndham made reply, "it was at a 
 time when she could hardly speak at all 'Even if I ask for 
 my husband, don't send don't send!" 
 
 "Yet you fetched me ! " Piers' eyes came swiftly back' to 
 him; they shone with a fierce glint.
 
 The Dream 447 
 
 But Wyndham was undismayed. "I fetched you to 
 save her life, " he said. "There was nothing else to be done. 
 She was in delirium, and nothing else would calm her. " 
 
 "And she wanted me!" said Piers. "She begged me 
 to stay with her!" 
 
 "I know. It was a passing phase. When her brain is 
 normal, she will have forgotten." 
 
 Piers sprang to his feet with sudden violence. "But 
 damn it she is my wife!" he cried out fiercely. 
 
 Maxwell Wyndham leaned across the table. "She is 
 your wife yes," he said. "But isn't that a reason for 
 considering her to the very utmost ? Have you always done 
 that, I wonder? No, don't answer! I've no right to ask. 
 Only you know, doctors are the only men in the world who 
 know just what women have to put up with, and the know- 
 ledge isn't exactly exhilarating. Give her a month or two 
 to get over this! You won't be sorry afterwards. " 
 
 It was kindly spoken, so kindly that the flare of anger 
 died out of Piers on the instant, and the sweetness dormant 
 in him that latent sweetness that had won Avery's heart 
 came swiftly to the surface. 
 
 He threw himself down again, looking into the alert, 
 green eyes with an oddly rueful smile. "All right, doctor!" 
 he said. " I shan't go to her if she doesn't want me. But 
 I've got to make sure she doesn't, haven't I? What?" 
 
 There was a wholly unconscious note of pathos in the 
 last word that sent the doctor's mouth up at one corner 
 in a smile that was more pitying than humorous. "I 
 should certainly do that," he said. "But I'm afraid 
 you'll find I've told you the beastly truth." 
 
 "For which I am obliged to you, " said Piers, with a bow.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE HAND OF THE SCULPTOR 
 
 DURING the week that followed, no second summons, 
 came to Piers from his wife's room. He hung about 
 the house, aimless, sick at heart, with hope sinking ever 
 lower within him like a fire dying for lack of replenishment. 
 
 He could neither sleep nor eat, and Victor watched him 
 with piteous though unspoken solicitude. Victor knew 
 the wild, undisciplined temperament of the boy he had 
 cherished from his cradle, and he lived in hourly dread of 
 some sudden passionate outburst of rebellion, some desper- 
 ate act that should lead to irremediable disaster. He had not 
 forgotten that locked drawer in the old master's bureau 
 or the quick release it contained, and he never left Piers 
 long alone in its vicinity. 
 
 But he need not have been afraid. Piers' thoughts 
 never strayed in that direction. If his six months in 
 Crowther's society had brought him no other comfort, they 
 had at least infused in him a saner outlook and steadier 
 balance. Very little had ever passed between them on the 
 subject of the tragedy that had thrown them together. 
 After the first bitter outpouring of his soul, Piers had 
 withdrawn himself with so obvious a desire for privacy that 
 Crowther had never attempted to cross the boundary 
 thus clearly defined. But his influence had made itself 
 felt notwithstanding. It would have been impossible to 
 have lived with the man for so long without imbibing some 
 
 448
 
 The Hand of the Sculptor 449 
 
 of that essential greatness of soul that was his main char- 
 acteristic, and Piers was ever swift to feel the effect of 
 atmosphere. He had come to look upon Crowther with 
 a reverence that in a fashion affected his daily life. That 
 which Crowther regarded as unworthy, he tossed aside him- 
 self without consideration. Crowther had not despised 
 him at his worst, and he was determined that he would 
 show himself to be not .despicable. He was moreover 
 under a solemn promise to return to Crowther when he 
 found himself at liberty, and in very gratitude to the man 
 he meant to keep that promise. 
 
 But, albeit he was braced for endurance, the long hours 
 of waiting were very hard to bear. His sole comfort lay in 
 the fact that Avery was making gradual progress in the right 
 direction. It was a slow and difficult recovery, as Maxwell 
 Wyndham had foretold, but it was continuous. Tudor 
 assured him of this every day with a curt kindliness that had 
 grown on him of late. It was his own fashion of showing 
 a wholly involuntary sympathy of which he was secretly 
 half-ashamed, and which he well knew Piers would have 
 brooked in no other form. It established an odd sort 
 of truce between them of which each was aware the while he 
 sternly ignored it. They could never be friends. It was 
 fundamentally impossible, but at least they had, if only 
 temporarily, ceased to be enemies. 
 
 Little Mrs. Lorimer's sympathy was also of a half- 
 ashamed type. She did not want to be sorry for Piers, but 
 she could not wholly restrain her pity. The look in his eyes 
 haunted her. Curiously it made her think of some splen- 
 did animal created for liberty, and fretting its heart out in 
 utter, hopeless misery on a chain. 
 
 She longed with all her motherly heart to comfort him, 
 
 and by the irony of circumstance it fell to her to deal the 
 
 final blow to what was left of his hope. She wondered 
 
 afterwards how she ever brought herself to the task, but it 
 
 29
 
 45 The Bars of Iron 
 
 was in reality so forced upon her that she could not evade 
 it. Avery, lying awake during the first hours of a still 
 night, heard her husband's feet pacing up and down the 
 terrace, and the mischief was done. She was thrown into 
 painful agitation and wholly lost her sleep in consequence. 
 When Mrs. Lorimer arrived about noon on the following 
 day, she found her alarmingly weak, and the nurse in 
 evident perplexity. 
 
 "I am sure there is something worrying her, " the latter 
 said to Mrs. Lorimer. " I can't think what it is. '" 
 
 But directly Mrs. Lorimer was alone with Avery, the 
 trouble came out. For she reached out fevered hands to 
 her, saying, "Why, oh, why did you persuade me to come 
 back here? I knew he would come if I did ! " 
 
 Again the emergency impelled Mrs. Lorimer to a display 
 of common-sense with which few would have credited her. 
 
 "Oh, do you mean Piers, dear?" she said. "But surely 
 you are not afraid of him ! He has been here all the time 
 ever since you were so ill. " 
 
 "And I begged you not to send!" groaned Avery. 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Lorimer very gently, "it was his 
 right to be here." 
 
 "Then that night that night " gasped Avery, "he 
 really did come to me that night after the baby was born. " 
 
 " My darling, you begged for him so piteously, " said Mrs 
 Lorimer apologetically. 
 
 Avery 's lip quivered. "That was just what I feared 
 what I wanted to make impossible, " she said. "When one 
 is suffering, one forgets so. " 
 
 "But surely it was the cry of your heart, darling, " urged 
 Mrs. Lorimer tremulously. "And do you know poor lad! 
 he looks so ill, so miserable. " 
 
 But Avery 's face was turned away. "I can't help it," 
 she said. " I can't possibly see him again. I feel as if 
 as if there were a curse upon us both, and that is why the
 
 The Hand of the Sculptor 451 
 
 baby died. Oh yes, morbid, I know; perhaps wrong. But 
 I have been steeped in sin. I must be free for a time. I 
 can't face him yet. I haven't the strength. " 
 
 "Dearest, he will never force himself upon you," said 
 Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 A very 's eyes went instinctively to the door that led into 
 the room that Piers had occupied after his marriage. The 
 broken bolt had been removed, but not replaced. A great 
 shudder went through her. She covered her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 "Oh, beg him beg him to go away," she sobbed, "till 
 I am strong enough to go myself!" 
 
 Argument was useless. Mrs. Lorimer abandoned it 
 with the wisdom born of close friendship. Instead, she 
 clasped Avery tetfderly to her and gave herself to the task of 
 calming her distress. 
 
 And when that was somewhat accomplished, she left her 
 to go sadly in search of Piers. 
 
 She found him sitting on the terrace with the morning- 
 paper beside him and Csesar pressed close to his legs, his 
 great mottled head resting on his master's knee/ 
 
 He was not reading. So much Mrs. Lorimer perceived 
 before with a sharp turn of the head he discovered her. 
 He was on his feet in a moment, and she saw his boy- 
 ish smile for an instant, only for an instant, as he came to 
 meet her. She noted with a pang how gaunt he looked and 
 how deep were the shadows about his eyes. Then he had 
 reached her, and was holding both her hands almost before 
 she realized it. 
 
 "I say, you're awfully good to come up every day like 
 this," he said. "I can't think how you make the time. 
 Splendid sun to-day, what? It's like a day in summer, 
 if you can get out of the wind. Come and bask with 
 me!" 
 
 He drew her along the terrace to his sheltered corner,
 
 452 The Bars of Iron 
 
 and made her sit down, spreading his newspaper on the 
 stone seat for her accommodation. Her heart went out to 
 him as he performed that small chivalrous act. She could 
 not help it. And suddenly the task before her seemed so 
 monstrous that she felt she could not fulfil it. The tears 
 rushed to her eyes. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Piers gently. He sat down 
 beside her, and slipped an encouraging hand through her 
 arm. "Was it something you came out to say? Don't 
 mind me! You don't, do you?" 
 
 His voice was softly persuasive. He leaned towards her, 
 his dark eyes searching her face. Mrs. Lorimer felt as if she 
 were about to hurt a child. 
 
 She blew her nose, dried her eyes, and took the brown 
 hand very tightly between her own. "My dear, I'm so 
 sorry for you so sorry for you both!" she said. 
 
 A curious little glint came and went in the eyes that 
 watched her. Piers' fingers closed slowly upon hers. 
 
 "I've got to clear out, what?" he said. 
 
 She nodded mutely; she could not say it. 
 
 He was silent awhile; then: "All right," he said. "I'll 
 go this afternoon. " 
 
 His voice was dead level, wholly emotionless, but for a 
 few seconds his grip taxed her endurance to the utmost. 
 Then, abruptly, it relaxed. 
 
 He bent his black head and kissed the nervous little 
 hands that were clasped upon his own. 
 
 " Don't you fret now ! " he said, with an odd kindness that 
 was to her more pathetic than any appeal for sympathy. 
 "You've got enough burdens of your own to bear without 
 shouldering ours. How is Jeanie ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer choked down a sob. " She isn't a bit well. 
 She has a cold and such a racking cough. I'm keeping her 
 in bed." 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry, " said Piers steadily. "Give her my
 
 The Hand of the Sculptor 453 
 
 love ! And look here, when Avery is well enough, let them 
 go away together, will you? It will do them both good." 
 
 "It's dear of you to think of it," said Mrs. Lorimer 
 wistfully. "Yes, it did do Jeanie good in the autumn. 
 But Avery " 
 
 "It will do Avery good too," he said. "She can take 
 that cottage at Stanbury Cliffs for the whole summer if she 
 likes. Tell her to! And look here! Will you take her a 
 message from me?" 
 
 "A written message?" asked Mrs. Lorimer. 
 
 He pulled out a pocket-book. "Six words," he said. 
 
 He scrawled them, tore out the leaf and gave it to her, 
 holding it up before her eyes that she might read it. 
 
 "Good-bye till you send for me. Piers." 
 
 "That's all, " he said. "Thanks awfully. She'll under- 
 stand that. And now I say, you're not going to cry any 
 more, are you?" He shook his head at her with a laugh in 
 his eyes. "You really mustn't. You're much too tender- 
 hearted. I say, it was a pity about the baby, what? I 
 thought the baby might have made a difference. But 
 it'll be all the same presently. Sne's wanting me really. 
 I've known that ever since that night you know ever 
 since I held her in my arms. " 
 
 He spoke with absolute simplicity. She had never liked 
 him better than at that moment. His boyishness had 
 utterly disarmed her, and not till later did she realize how 
 completely he had masked his soul therewith. 
 
 She parted with him with a full heart, and had a strictly 
 private little cry on his account ere she returned to Avery. 
 Poor lad ! Poor lad ! And when he wasn't smiling, he did 
 look so ill ! 
 
 The same thought struck Crowther a few hours later as 
 Piers sat with him in his room, and devoted himself with 
 considerable adroitness to making his fire burn through as 
 quickly as possible, the while he briefly informed him that
 
 454 The Bars of Iron 
 
 his wife was considered practically out of danger and had no 
 further use for him for the present. 
 
 Crowther's heart sank at the news though he gave no 
 sign of dismay. 
 
 "What do you think of doing, sonny?" he asked, after a 
 moment. 
 
 "I? Why, what is there for me to do?" Piers glanced 
 round momentarily. "I wonder what you'd do, Crowther, " 
 he said, with a smile that was scarcely gay. 
 
 Crowther came to his side, and stood there massively, 
 while he filled his pipe. "Piers," he said, "I presume she 
 knows all there is to know of that bad business?" 
 
 Piers rammed the poker a little deeper into the fire and 
 said nothing. 
 
 But Crowther had broken through the barricade of silence 
 at last, and would not be denied. 
 
 ' ' Does she know, Piers ? " he insisted. " Did you ever tell 
 her how the thing came to pass? Does she know that the 
 quarrel was forced upon you that you took heavy odds 
 that you did not of your own free will avoid the conse- 
 quences? Does she know that you loved her before you 
 knew who she was?" 
 
 He paused, but Piers remained stubbornly silent, still 
 prodding at the red coals. 
 
 He bent a little, taking him by the shoulder. "Piers, 
 answer me!" 
 
 Again Piers' eyes glanced upwards. His face was hard. 
 "Oh, get away, Crowther!" he growled. "What's the 
 good ? " And then in his winning way he gripped Crowther's 
 hand hard. " No, I never told her anything, ' ' he said. ' ' And 
 I made it impossible for her to ask. I couldn't urge extenu- 
 ating circumstances because there weren't any. Moreover, 
 it wouldn't have made a ha'porth's difference if I had. So 
 shunt the subject like a good fellow ! She must take me at 
 my worst at my worst, do you hear? or not at all. "
 
 The Hand of the Sculptor 455 
 
 "But, my dear lad, you owe it to her," began Crowther 
 gravely. 
 
 Piers cut him short with a recklessness that scarcely 
 veiled the pain in his soul. "No, I don't! I don't owe 
 her anything. She doesn't think any worse of me than I am. 
 She knows me jolly well, better than you do, most worthy 
 padre-elect. If she ever forgives me, it won't be because 
 she thinks I've been punished enough, but just because she 
 is my mate, and she loves me. " His voice sank upon the 
 words. 
 
 "And you are going to wait for that?" said Crowther. 
 
 Piers nodded. He dropped the poker with a careless 
 clatter and stretched his arms high above his head. "You 
 once said something to me about the Hand of the Sculptor, " 
 he said. "Well, if He wants to do any shaping so far as I am 
 concerned, now is His time. I am willing to be shaped. " 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Crowther. 
 
 Piers' eyes were half-closed, and there was a drawn look 
 about the lids as of a man in pain. "I mean, my good 
 Crowther, " he said, "that the mire and clay have ceased to 
 attract me. My house is empty swept and garnished, 
 but it is not open to devils at present. You want to know 
 my plans. I haven't any. I am waiting to be taken in 
 hand." 
 
 He spoke with a faint smile that moved Crowther to deep 
 compassion. "You will have to be patient a long while, 
 maybe, sonny," he said. 
 
 "I can be patient," said Piers. He shifted his position 
 slightly, clasping his hands behind his head, so that his face 
 was in shadow. "You think that is not much like me, 
 Crowther, " he said. "But I can wait for a thing if I feel I 
 shall get it in the end. I have felt that ever since the 
 night after I went down there. She was so desperately ill. 
 She wanted me just to hold her in my arms. " His voice 
 quivered suddenly. He stopped for a few seconds, then
 
 45 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 went on in a lower tone. "She wasn't quite herself at the 
 time or she would never have asked for me. But it made 
 a difference to me all the same. It made me see that pos- 
 sibly just possibly there is a reason for things, that 
 even misery and iron may have their uses that there may 
 be something behind it all what? Something Divine." 
 
 He stopped altogether, and pushed his chair further still 
 into shadow. 
 
 Crowther was smoking. He did not speak for several 
 seconds, but smoked on with eyes fixed straight before him 
 as though they scanned a far-distant horizon. At length: 
 "I rather think the shaping has begun, sonny," he said. 
 "You don't believe in prayer now?" 
 
 "No, I don't," said Piers. 
 
 Crowther 's eyes came down to him. "Can't you pray 
 without believing?" he said slowly. 
 
 Piers made a restless movement. "What should I pray 
 for?" 
 
 Crowther was smiling slightly the smile of a man who 
 has begun to see, albeit afar off, the fulfilment of a beloved 
 project. 
 
 "Do you know, old chap," he said, "I expect I seem a 
 fool to you; but it's the fools who confound the wise, isn't 
 it? I believe a thundering lot in prayer. But I didn't 
 always. I prayed without believing for a long time first. " 
 
 "That seems to me like offering an insult to God," said 
 Piers. 
 
 "I don't think He views it in that light," said Crowther, 
 "any more than He blames a blind man for feeling his way. 
 The great thing is to do it to get started. You're wanting 
 a big thing in life. Well, ask for it! Don't be afraid of 
 asking! It's what you're meant to do." 
 
 He drew a long whiff from his pipe and puffed it slowly 
 forth. v 
 
 There fell a deep silence between them. Piers sat in
 
 The Hand of the Sculptor 457 
 
 absolute stillness, gazing downwards into the fire with 
 eyes still half -closed. 
 
 Suddenly he jerked back his head. "It's a bit of a 
 farce, what?" he said. "But I'll do it on your recom- 
 mendation. I'll give it a six months' trial, and see what 
 comes of it. That's a fair test anyhow. Something ought 
 to turn up in another six months. " 
 
 He got to his feet with a laugh, and stood in front of 
 Crowther with a species of challenge in his eyes. He looked 
 as if he expected rebuke, and were prepared to meet it with 
 arrogance. 
 
 But Crowther uttered neither reproach nor admonition. 
 He met the look with the utmost kindliness the most 
 complete understanding. 
 
 "Something will turn up, lad," he said, with steady 
 conviction. "But not probably in the way you expect. " 
 
 Piers' face showed a momentary surprise. "How on 
 earth do you know?" he said. 
 
 "I do know," Crowther made steadfast reply; but he 
 offered no explanation for his confidence. 
 
 Piers thrust out an impulsive hand. "You may be right 
 and you may not; but you've been a brick to me, old 
 fellow, " he said, a note of deep feeling in his voice, "several 
 kinds of a brick, and I'm not likely to forget it. If you 
 ever get into the Church, you'll be known as the parson who 
 doesn't preach, and it'll be a reputation to be proud of." 
 
 Crowther's answering grip was the grip of a giant. There 
 was a great tenderness in the far-seeing grey eyes as he 
 made reply. " It would be rank presumption on my part to 
 preach to you, lad. You are made of infinitely finer stuff 
 than I. " 
 
 "Oh, rats!" exclaimed Piers in genuine astonishment. 
 
 But the elder man shook his head with a smile. "No; 
 facts, Piers!" he said. "There are greater possibilities in 
 you than I could ever attain to. "
 
 458 The Bars of Iron 
 
 " Possibilities for evil then. " said Piers, with a very bitter 
 laugh. 
 
 Crowther looked him straight in the eyes. "And possi- 
 bilities for good/my son, " he said. " They grow together, 
 thank God. "
 
 PART III 
 THE OPEN HEAVEN 
 
 45?

 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE VERDICT 
 
 " IT'S much better than learning by heart," said Jeanie, 
 
 1 with her tired little smile. "Somehow, you know, I 
 can't learn by heart at least not long things. Father says 
 it is because my brain is deficient. But Mother says hers 
 is just the same, so I don't mind so much. " 
 
 "My dear, it will take you hours to read through all 
 this," said Avery, surveying with dismay the task which 
 the Vicar had set his small daughter. 
 
 "Yes, " said Jeanie. " I am to devote three hours of every 
 day to it. I had to promise I would." She gave a short 
 sigh. "It's very good for me, you know, " she said. 
 
 "Is it?" said Avery. She smoothed back the brown 
 hair lovingly. "You mustn't overwork, Jeanie darling," 
 she said. 
 
 "I can't help it," said Jeanie quietly. "You see, I 
 promised. " 
 
 That she would keep her promise, whatever the cost, was 
 evidently a foregone conclusion ; and Avery could say nothing 
 against it. 
 
 She left the child to work therefore, and wandered down 
 herself to the shore. 
 
 It was June. A soft breeze came over the sea, salt and 
 pure, with the life-giving quality of the great spaces. She 
 breathed it deeply, thankfully, conscious of returning 
 strength.
 
 462 The Bars of Iron 
 
 She and Jeanie had arrived only the week before, and she 
 was sure their 'visit was going to do wonders for them both. 
 Her own convalescence had been a protracted one, but she 
 told herself as she walked along the beach towards the 
 smiling, evening sea that she was already stronger than her 
 companion. The old lassitude was evidently very heavy 
 upon Jeanie. The smallest exertion seemed to tax her 
 energies to the utmost. She had never shaken off her 
 cough, and it seemed to wear her out. 
 
 Avery had spoken to Lennox Tudor about her more than 
 once, but he never discussed the subject willingly. He was 
 never summoned to the Vicarage now, and, when they 
 chanced to meet, the Vicar invariably reserved for him the 
 iciest greeting that courtesy would permit. Tudor had 
 defeated him once on his own ground, and he was not the 
 man to forget it. So poor Jeanie's ailments were given 
 none but home treatment to alleviate them, and it seemed to 
 Avery that her strength had dwindled almost perceptibly 
 of late. 
 
 She pondered the matter as she strolled along the shore, 
 debating with herself if she would indeed take a step that 
 she had been contemplating for some time, and, now that 
 Jeanie was in her care, take her up to town and obtain 
 Maxwell Wyndham's opinion with regard to her. It was 
 a project she had mentioned to no one, and she hesitated 
 a good deal over putting it into practice. That Mrs. Lori- 
 mer would readily countenance such an act she well knew, 
 but she was also aware that it would be regarded as a piece 
 of rank presumption by the child's father which might 
 easily be punished by the final withdrawal of Jeanie from 
 her care. That was a contingency which she hardly desired 
 to risk. Jeanie had become so infinitely precious to her in 
 those days. 
 
 Unconsciously her feet had turned towards their old 
 haunt. She found herself halting by the low square rock
 
 The Verdict 463 
 
 on which Piers once had sat and cursed the sea-birds in 
 bitterness of spirit. Often as she had visited the spot since, 
 she had never done so without the memory of that spring 
 morning flashing unbidden through her brain. It went 
 through her now like a sharp dart of physical pain; the 
 boyish figure, the ardent eyes, the black hair plastered 
 wet on the wide, patrician brow. Her heart contracted. 
 She seemed to hear again the eager, wooing words. 
 
 He never wrote to her now. She believed he was in town, 
 probably amusing himself as he had amused himself at 
 Monte Carlo, passing the time in a round of gaieties, care- 
 less flirtations, possibly deeper intrigues. Crowther had 
 probably kept him straight through the winter, but she did 
 not believe that Crowther's influence would be lasting. 
 There was a sting in the very thought of Crowther. She was 
 sure now that he had always known the bitter secret that 
 Piers had kept from her. It had been the bond between 
 them. Piers had obviously feared betrayal, but Crowther 
 had not deemed it his business to betray him. He had 
 suffered the deception to continue. She recognized that 
 his position had been a difficult one; but it did not soften 
 her heart towards him. Her heart had grown hard towards 
 all men of late. She sometimes thought that but for 
 Jeanie it would have atrophied altogether. There were so 
 few things nowadays that seemed to touch her. She could 
 not even regret her lost baby. But yet the memory of 
 Piers sitting on that rock at her feet pierced her oddly; 
 Piers, the passionate, the adoring, the hot-blooded; Piers 
 the invincible; Piers the prince! 
 
 She turned from the spot with a wrung feeling of heart- 
 break. She wished how she wished that she had died! 
 
 In that moment she realized that she was no longer alone. 
 A man's figure, thick-set and lounging, was sauntering 
 towards her along the sand. He seemed to move with 
 extreme leisureliness, yet his approach was but a matter of
 
 464 The Bars of Iron 
 
 seconds. His hands were in his pockets, his hat rammed 
 down over his eyes. 
 
 There seemed to her to be something vaguely familiar 
 about him, though wherein it lay she could not have told. 
 She stood and awaited him with the certainty that he was 
 coming with the express purpose of joining her. She knew 
 him; she was sure she knew him, though who he was she 
 had not the faintest idea. 
 
 He reached her, lifted his cap, and the sun glinted on a 
 head of fiery red hair. "I thought I was not mistaken, 
 Lady Evesham, " he said. 
 
 She recognized him with an odd leap of the pulses, and 
 in a moment held out her hand. "Dr. Wyndham!" she 
 said. " How amazing !" 
 
 "Why amazing?" said Wyndham. He held her hand 
 for a second while his green eyes scanned her face. When 
 he dropped it she felt that he had made a full and exhaustive 
 inspection, and she was strangely disconcerted, as if in some 
 fashion he had gained an unfair advantage over her. 
 
 "Amazing that you should be here," she explained, with 
 a flush of embarrassment. 
 
 "Oh, not in the least, I assure you," he said. "I am 
 staying at Brethaven for a couple of days with my wife's 
 people. It's only ten miles away, you know. And I 
 bicycled over here on the chance of seeing you. " 
 
 "But how did you know I was here? " she asked. 
 
 "From your husband. I told him I was coming in this 
 direction, and he suggested that I should come over and 
 look you up. " Very casually he made reply, and he could 
 not have been aware of the flood ef colour his words sent to 
 her face, for he continued in the same cool fashion as he 
 strolled by her side. "I was afraid you might consider it an 
 unpardonable liberty, but he assured me you wouldn't. 
 So " the green eyes smiled upon her imperturbably 
 "as I am naturally interested in your welfare, I took my
 
 The Verdict 465 
 
 courage in both hands and, at the risk of being considered 
 unprofessional, I came. " 
 
 It was unexpected, but it was disarming. Avery found 
 herself smiling in answer. 
 
 "I am very pleased to see you," she said. "But your 
 coming just at this time is rather amazing all the same, for 
 I was thinking of you, wishing I could see you, only a few 
 minutes ago." 
 
 "What can I do for you?" said Maxwell Wyndham. 
 
 She hesitated a little before the direct question; then as 
 simply as he had asked she answered, laying the matter 
 before him without reservation. 
 
 He listened in his shrewd, comprehending way, asking 
 one or two questions, but making no comments. 
 
 "There need be no difficulty about it, " he said, when she 
 ended. "You say the child is tractable. Keep her in bed 
 to-morrow, and say a medical friend of yours is coming over 
 to see if he can do anything for her cough ! Then if you'll 
 ask me to lunch I'll do the rest." 
 
 He smiled as he ended, and thrust out his hand. 
 
 "I'll be going now. I left my bicycle in the village and 
 hope to find it still there. Now remember, Lady Evesham, 
 my visit to-morrow is to be of a strictly unprofessional 
 character. You didn't send for me, so I shall assume the 
 privilege of coming as a friend. Is that understood?" 
 
 He spoke with smiling assurance, and seeing that he 
 meant to gain his point she yielded it. 
 
 Not till he was gone did she come to ponder the errand 
 that had brought him thither. 
 
 She went back to Jeanie, and found her with aching eyes 
 fixed resolutely on her book. Yes, she was a little tired, but 
 she would rather go on, thank you. Oh no, she did not 
 mind staying in bed to-morrow to please Avery, and she was 
 sure she would like Avery's doctor though she didn't expect 
 he would manage to stop the cough. She would have to do 
 30
 
 466 The Bars of Iron 
 
 her task though all the same; dear Avery mustn't mind. 
 You see, she had promised. But she would certainly stay 
 in bed if Avery wished. 
 
 And then came the tired sigh, and then that racking, 
 cruel cough that seemed to rend her whole frame. No, she 
 would not finish for another hour yet. Really she must go 
 on. 
 
 The brown head dropped on to the little bony hands, and 
 Jeanie was immersed once more in her task. 
 
 More than once in the night Avery awoke to hear that 
 tearing, breathless cough in the room next to hers. It was 
 no new thing, but in view of the coming ordeal it filled her 
 with misgiving. 
 
 When she rose herself in the morning she felt weighed 
 down with anxious foreboding. 
 
 Yet, when Maxwell Wyndham arrived in his sauntering, 
 informal fashion at about noon, she was able to meet him 
 with courage. There was something electric about his 
 personality that seemed almost unconsciously to impart 
 strength to the downhearted. He had drawn her back from 
 the very Door of Death, and her confidence in him was 
 absolute. 
 
 They lunched alone together, and talked of many things. 
 More than once, wholly incidentally, he mentioned her 
 husband. She gathered that he did not know of their 
 bitter estrangement. He talked of the polo-craze, with 
 which it seemed Piers was badly bitten, and commented 
 on his splendid horsemanship. 
 
 "Yes, he is a wonderful athlete," Avery said. 
 
 She wondered if he deemed her unresponsive, but decided 
 that he set her coldness down to anxiety ; for he finished his 
 luncheon without lingering and declared himself ready for 
 the business in hand. 
 
 He became in fact strictly business-like from that moment, 
 and throughout the examination that followed she had not
 
 The Verdict 467 
 
 the faintest notion as to what was passing in his mind. To 
 Jeanie he was curtly kind, but to herself he was as utterly 
 uncommunicative as if he had been a total stranger. 
 
 The examination was a protracted one, and more painful 
 than Avery had thought possible. It taxed poor Jeanie's 
 powers of endurance to the uttermost, and long before it was 
 finished she was weeping from sheer exhaustion. He was 
 absolutely patient with her, but he insisted upon carrying 
 the matter through, remaining when it was at last over 
 until she had somewhat recovered from the ordeal. 
 
 To Avery the suspense was well-nigh unbearable; but she 
 dared not show the impatience that consumed her. She 
 had a feeling that in some fashion the great doctor was 
 depending upon her self-control, her strength of mind; and 
 she was determined that he should not find her wanting. 
 
 Yet, when she at length preceded him downstairs and 
 into the little sitting-room she wondered if the hammering 
 of her heart reached him, so tremendous were its strokes. 
 They seemed to her to be beating out a death-knell in her 
 soul. 
 
 "You will tell me the simple truth, I know," she said, 
 and waited, straining to catch his words above the clamour. 
 
 He answered her instantly with the utmost quietness, the 
 utmost kindness. 
 
 "Lady Evesham, your own heart has already told you the 
 truth." 
 
 She put out a quick hand, and he took it and held it 
 firmly, sustainingly, while he went on. 
 
 "There is nothing whatever to be done. Give her rest, 
 that's all; absolute rest. She looks as if she has been 
 worked beyond her strength. Is that so?" 
 
 Avery nodded mutely. 
 
 "It must stop," he said. "She is in a very precarious 
 state, and any exertion, mental or physical, is bound to 
 hasten the end which cannot, in any case, be very far off. "
 
 468 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He released Avery's hand and walked to the window, 
 where he stood gazing out to sea with drawn brows. 
 
 "The disease is of a good many months' standing," he 
 said. "It has taken very firm hold. Such a child as that 
 should have been sheltered and cosseted, shielded from 
 every hardship. Even then very possibly this would 
 have developed. No one can say for certain." 
 
 "Can you advise nothing?" said A very in a voice that 
 sounded oddly dull and emotionless even to herself. 
 
 "Nothing," said Maxwell Wyndham. "No medical 
 science can help in a case like this. Give her everything 
 she wants, and give her rest! That is all you can do for 
 her now." 
 
 Avery came and stood beside him. The blow had fallen, 
 but she had scarcely begun to feel its effects. There was 
 so much to be thought of first. 
 
 "Please be quite open with me!" she said. "Tell me 
 how long you think she will live!" 
 
 He turned slightly and looked at her. "I can tell you 
 what I think, Lady Eveshajn, " he said. "But, remember, 
 that does not bring the end any nearer. " 
 
 "I know," she said. 
 
 She looked straight back at him with eyes unflinching, 
 and after a moment's thought he spoke. 
 
 "I think that given every care she may live through 
 the summer, but I do not consider it likely." 
 
 Avery's face was very pale, but still she did not flinch. 
 "Will she suffer?" she asked. 
 
 He raised his brows at the question. " My dear lady, she 
 has suffered already far more than you have any idea of. 
 One lung is practically gone, wholly useless. The other is 
 rapidly going the same way. She has probably suffered for 
 a year or more, first lassitude, then shortness of breath, 
 and pretty often actual paiu. Hasn't she complained eC 
 these things?"
 
 The Verdict 469 
 
 " She is a child who never complains, " A very said. "But 
 both her mother and I thought she was wasting. " 
 
 "She is mere skin and bone," he said. "Now about 
 her people, Lady Evesham; who is going to tell them? 
 You or I?" 
 
 She hesitated. "But I could hardly ask you to do that, " 
 she said. 
 
 "You may command me in any way, " he answered. "If 
 I may presume to advise, I should say that the best course 
 would be for me to go to Rodding, see the doctor there, and 
 get him to take me to the Vicarage. " 
 
 "Oh, but they mustn't take her from me!" Avery said. 
 "Let her mother come here! She can't she mustn't go 
 back home!" 
 
 "Exactly what I was going to say," he returned, in his 
 quiet practical fashion. "To take her back there would be 
 madness. But look here, Lady Evesham, you must have a 
 nurse. " 
 
 "Oh, not yet ! ' ' said Avery. ' ' I am quite strong now. I 
 am used to nursing. I have no other call upon me. Let 
 me do this!" 
 
 "None?" he said. 
 
 His tone re-called her. She coloured burningly. " My 
 husband would understand, " she said, with difficulty. 
 
 He passed the matter by. "Will you promise to send 
 me a message if you find night-nursing a necessity?" 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 He frowned. "Lady Evesham, you must promise me 
 this in fairness to the child as well as to yourself. Also, you 
 will give me your word that you will never under any 
 circumstances sleep with her." 
 
 She saw that he would have his way, and she yielded both 
 points rather than fight a battle which instinct warned 
 her she could not win. 
 
 "Then I will be going," he said.
 
 470 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He turned back into the room, and again she was aware of 
 his green eyes surveying her closely, critically. But he 
 made no reference whatever to her health, and inwardly 
 she blessed him for his forbearance. 
 
 She did not know that as he rode away, he grimly 
 remarked to himself: "The best tonics generally taste the 
 bitterest, and she'll drink this one to the dregs, poor girl! 
 But it'll help her in the end. "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE TIDE COMES BACK 
 
 her everything she wants!" How often in the 
 days that followed were those words in Avery's 
 mind! She strove to fulfil them to the uttermost, but 
 Jeanie seemed to want so little. The only trouble in her 
 existence just then was her holiday-task, and that she 
 steadily refused to relinquish unless her father gave her 
 leave. 
 
 A few days after Maxwell Wyndham's departure there 
 came an agonized letter from Mrs. Lorimer. Olive had 
 just developed scarlet fever, and as they could not afford 
 a nurse she was nursing her herself. She entreated Avery 
 to send her daily news of Jeanie and to telegraph at once 
 should she become worse. She added in a pathetic post- 
 script that her husband found it difficult to believe that 
 Jeanie could be as ill as the great doctor had represented, 
 and she feared he was a little vexed that Maxwell Wynd- 
 ham's opinion had been obtained. 
 
 It was exactly what Avery had expected of him. She 
 wrote a soothing letter to Mrs. Lorimer, promising to keep 
 her informed of Jeanie's condition, promising to lavish 
 every care upon the child, and begging her to persuade Mr. 
 Lorimer to remit the task which had become so heavy a 
 burden. 
 
 The reply to this did not come at once, and Avery had 
 repeated the request twice very urgently and was con-
 
 472 The Bars of Iron 
 
 templating addressing a protest to the Reverend Stephen in 
 person when another agitated epistle arrived from Mrs. 
 Lorimer. Her husband had decided to run down to them 
 for a night and judge of Jeanie's state for himself. 
 
 Avery received the news with dismay which, however, 
 she was careful to conceal. Jeanie heard of the impending 
 visit with as much perturbation as her tranquil nature 
 would allow, and during the day that intervened before his 
 arrival gave herself more sedulously than ever to her task. 
 She had an unhappy premonition that he would desire to 
 examine her upon what she had read, and she was guiltily 
 aware that her memory had not retained very much of it. 
 
 So for the whole of one day she strove to study, till she 
 was so completely tired out that Avery actually took the 
 book from her at last and declared that she should not 
 worry herself any more about it. Jeanie yielded sub- 
 missively, but a wakeful night followed, and in the morn- 
 ing she looked so wan that Avery wanted to keep her in 
 bed. 
 
 On this point, however, Jeanie was less docile than usual. 
 " He will think I am shamming, " she protested. "He never 
 likes us to lie in bed unless we are really ill. " 
 
 So, since she was evidently anxious to get up, Avery 
 permitted it, though she marked her obvious languor with 
 a sinking heart. 
 
 The Vicar arrived at about noon, and Avery saw at a 
 glance that he was in no kindly mood. 
 
 "Dear me, what is all this fuss?" he said to Jeanie. 
 "You look to me considerably rosier than I have seen you 
 for a long time. " 
 
 Jeanie was indeed flushed with nervous excitement, and 
 Avery thought she had never seen her eyes so unnaturally 
 bright. She endured her father's hand under her chin with 
 evident discomfort, and the Vicar's face was somewhat 
 severe when he finally released her.
 
 The Tide Comes Back 473 
 
 "I am afraid you are getting a little fanciful, my child, " 
 he said gravely. "I know that our kind friend, Lady 
 Evesham " his eyes twinkled ironically and seemed 
 to slip inwards "has always been inclined to indulge your 
 whims. Now how do you occupy your time?" 
 
 "I read, " faltered Jeanie. 
 
 "And sew, I presume," said the Vicar, who prided 
 himself upon bringing up his daughter to be useful. 
 
 "A little, " said Jeanie. 
 
 He opened his eyes upon her again with that suggestion 
 of severity in his regard which Jeanie so plainly dreaded. 
 "But you have done none since you have been here? 
 Jeanie, my child, I detect in you the seeds of idleness. If 
 your time were more fully occupied, you would find your 
 general health would considerably improve. Now, do you 
 rise early and go for a bathe before breakfast?" 
 
 "No, " said Jeanie, with a little shiver. 
 
 He shook his head at her. "Then let us institute the 
 habit at once! I cannot have you becoming slack just 
 because you are away from home. If this indolence con- 
 tinue, I shall be compelled to have you back under my own 
 eye. I clearly see that the self-indulgent life you lead here 
 is having disastrous results. You will bathe with me 
 to-morrow at seven-thirty, after which we will have half an 
 hour of physical exercise. Then after a wholesome break- 
 fast you will feel renewed and ready for the day's work." 
 
 Avery, when this programme was laid before her, looked 
 at him in incredulous amazement. 
 
 "But surely Dr. Wyndham explained to you the serious 
 condition she is in!" she exclaimed. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer smiled his own superior smile. "He 
 explained his point of view most thoroughly, my dear Lady 
 Evesham." He always pronounced her name and title 
 with satirical emphasis. "But that very curious as it may 
 appear to you does not prevent my holding a very strong
 
 474 The Bars of Iron 
 
 opinion of my own. And it chances to be in direct opposi- 
 tion to that expressed by Dr. Maxwell Wyndham. I know 
 my own child, her faults and her tendencies. She has 
 been allowed to become extremely lax with regard to her 
 daily duties, and this laxness is in my opinion the root of 
 the evil. I shall therefore take my own measures to correct 
 it, and if they are in any way resisted or neglected I shall at 
 once remove the child from your care. I trust I have made 
 myself quite explicit." 
 
 He had. But Avery's indignation could not be 
 contained. 
 
 "You will kill her if you persist!" she said. "Even as it 
 is even as it is her days are numbered. " 
 
 "The days of all of us are numbered, " said the Reverend 
 Stephen. "And it behoves us to make the very utmost 
 of each one of them. I cannot allow my child's character 
 to be ruined on account of a physical weakness which a 
 little judicious discipline will speedily overcome. The 
 spirit must triumph over the flesh, Lady Evesham. A 
 hard rule for worldlings, I grant you, but one which must be 
 observed by all who would enter the Kingdom of Heaven. " 
 
 Argument was futile. Avery realized it at the outset. He 
 would have his way, whatever the cost, and no warning or 
 entreaty would move him. For the rest of that day she had 
 to stand by in impotent anguish, and watch Jeanie's martyr- 
 dom. During the afternoon he sat alone with her, conduct- 
 ing the intellectual examination which Jeanie had so dreaded, 
 reprimanding, criticizing, scoffing at her ignorance. In 
 the evening he took her for what he called a stroll upon 
 which Avery was not allowed to accompany them. Mr. 
 Lorimer playfully remarking that he wished to give his 
 young daughter the benefit of his individual attention 
 during the period of his brief sojourn with them. 
 
 They returned from their expedition at eight. Avery 
 was walking to and fro by the gate in a ferment of anxiety.
 
 The Tide Comes Back 475 
 
 They came by the cliff-road, and she went eagerly to meet 
 them. 
 
 Jeanie was hanging on her father's arm with a face of 
 deathly whiteness, and looked on the verge of collapse. 
 
 The Reverend Stephen was serenely satisfied with himself, 
 laughed gently at his child's dragging progress, and assured 
 A. very that a little wholesome fatigue was a good thing at the 
 end of the day. 
 
 Jeanie said nothing. She seemed to be speechless with 
 exhaustion, almost incapable of standing alone. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer recommended a cold bath, a brisk rub-down, 
 and supper. 
 
 "After which," he said impressively, "I shall hope to 
 conduct a few prayers before we retire to rest. " 
 
 "That will be impossible, I am afraid," Avery rejoined. 
 "Jeanie is overtired and must go at once to bed. " 
 
 She spoke with quiet decision, but inwardly she was 
 quivering with fierce anger. She longed passionately to 
 have the child to herself, to comfort and care for her and 
 ease away the troubles of the day. 
 
 But Mr. Lorimer at once asserted his authority. " Jeanie 
 will certainly join us at supper, " he said. " Run along, my 
 child, and prepare for the meal at once!" 
 
 Jeanie went up the stairs like an old woman, stumbling at 
 every step. 
 
 Avery followed her, charing but impotent. 
 
 At the top of the stairs Jeanie began to cough. Sh 
 turned into her own room with blind, staggering movements 
 and sank down beside the bed. 
 
 The coughing was spasmodic and convulsive. It shook 
 her whole frame. In the end there came a dreadful tearing 
 sound, and she caught her handkerchief to her mouth. 
 
 Avery knelt beside her, supporting her. She saw the 
 white linen turn suddenly scarlet, and she called sharply 
 to Mr. Lorimer to come to them.
 
 47 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He came, and between them they got her on to the bed. 
 
 "This is most unfortunate," said Mr. Lorixner. "Pray 
 how did it happen?" 
 
 And then Avery's pent fury blazed suddenly forth upon 
 him. " It is your doing ! " she said. " You and you alone 
 are responsible for this!" 
 
 He looked at her malignantly. "Pshaw, my dear Lady 
 Evesham! You are hysterical!" he said. 
 
 Avery was bending over the bed. " Go!" she said, with- 
 out looking up. "Go quickly, and fetch a doctor!" 
 
 And, very curiously, Mr. Lorimer obeyed her.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE GAME 
 
 I EANIE rallied. As though to comfort Avery's distress, 
 wJ she came back for a little space ; but no one not even 
 her father could doubt any longer that the poor little 
 mortal life nad nearly run out. 
 
 "My intervention has come too late, alas!" said Mr. 
 Lo rimer. 
 
 Which remark was received by A very in bitter silence. 
 
 She had no further fear of being deprived of the child. 
 It was quite out of the question to think of moving her, and 
 she knew that Jeanie was hers for as long as the frail cord 
 of her earthly existence lasted. 
 
 She was thankful that the advent of a nurse made it 
 impossible for the Vicar to remain, and she parted from 
 him with almost open relief. 
 
 "We must bow to the Supreme Will," he said, with his 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 And again Avery was silent. 
 
 " I fear you are rebellious, " he said with severity. 
 
 "Good-bye!" said Avery. 
 
 Her heart bled more for Mrs. Lorimer than for herself 
 just then. She knew by instinct that she would not be 
 allowed to come to her child. 
 
 The nurse was middle-aged and kindly, and both she 
 and Jeanie liked her from the outset. She took the 
 night duty, and the day was Avery's, a division that pleased 
 them all. 
 
 477
 
 478 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Mr. Lorimer had demurred about having a nurse at all, 
 but Avery had swept the objection aside. Jeanie was in her 
 care, and she would provide all she needed. Mr. Lorimer 
 had conceded the point as gracefully as possible, . for it 
 seemed that for once his will could not be regarded as para- 
 mount. Of course, as he openly reflected, Lady Evesham 
 was very much in their debt, and it was but natural that 
 she should welcome this opportunity to repay somewhat 
 of their past kindness to her. 
 
 So, for the first time in her life, little Jeanie was sur- 
 rounded with all that she could desire; and very slowly, 
 like a broken flower coaxed back to life, she revived again. 
 
 It could scarcely be regarded in the light of an improve- 
 ment. It was just a fluctuation that deceived neither 
 A very nor the nurse; but to the former those days were 
 infinitely precious. She clung to them hour by hour, refus- 
 ing to look ahead to the desolation that was surely coming, 
 cherishing her darling with a passion of devotion that 
 excluded all other griefs. 
 
 The long summer days slipped away. June passed like a 
 dream. Jeanie lay in the tiny garden with her face to the 
 sea, gazing forth with eyes that were often heavy and wist- 
 ful but always ready to smile upon Avery. The holiday- 
 task was put away, not because Mr. Lorimer had remitted 
 it, but because Avery with rare despotism had insisted 
 upon removing it from her patient's reach. 
 
 "Not till you are better, darling," she said. "That is 
 your biggest duty now, just to get back all the strength you 
 can." 
 
 And Jeanie had smiled her wistful, dreamy smile, and 
 submitted. 
 
 Avery sometimes wondered if she knew of the great 
 Change that was drawing so rapidly near. If so, it had no 
 terrors for her; and she thanked God that the Vicar was not 
 at hand to terrify the child. The journey from Redding to
 
 The Game 479 
 
 Stanbury Cliffs was not an easy one by rail, and parish 
 matters were fortunately claiming his attention very fully 
 just then. As he himself had remarked more than once, he 
 was not the man to permit mere personal matters to inter- 
 fere with Duty, and many a weak soul depended upon his 
 ministrations. 
 
 So Jeanie was left entirely to Avery's motherly care 
 while the golden days slipped by. 
 
 With July came heat, intense, oppressive, airless; and 
 Jeanie flagged again. A copper-coloured mist rose every 
 morning over the sea, blotting out the sky-line, veiling the 
 passing ships. Strange voices called through the fog, 
 sirens hooted to one another persistently. 
 
 "They are like people who have lost each other," Jeanie 
 said once, and the simile haunted Avery's imagination. 
 
 And then one sunny day a pleasure-steamer passed 
 quite near the shore with a band on board. They were 
 playing The Little Grey Home in the West, and very oddly 
 Jeanie's eyes filled with sudden tears. 
 
 Avery did not take any notice for a few moments, but 
 as the strains died away over the glassy water, she leaned 
 towards the child. 
 
 "My darling, what is it?" she whispered tenderly. 
 
 Jeanie's hand found its way into hers. "Oh, don't you 
 ever want Piers?" she murmured wistfully. "I do!" 
 
 It was the first time she had spoken his name to Avery 
 since they had left him alone nearly a year before, and 
 almost as soon as she had uttered it she made swift 
 apology. 
 
 "Please forgive me, dear Avery! It just slipped out." 
 
 "My dear'" Avery said, and kissed her. 
 
 There fell a long silence between them. Avery's eyes 
 were on the thick heat-haze that obscured the sky-line. In 
 her brain there sounded again those words that Maxwell 
 Wyndham had spoken so shoit a time before. "Give
 
 480 The Bars of Iron 
 
 her everything she wants! It's all you can do for her 
 now." 
 
 But behind those words was something that shrank and 
 quivered like a frightened child. Could she give her this 
 one thing? Could she? Could she? 
 
 It would mean the tearing open of a wound that was 
 scarcely closed. It would mean a calling to life of a bitter- 
 ness that was hardly past. It would mean it would 
 mean 
 
 "A very darling!" Softly Jeanie's voice broke through 
 her agitated thoughts. 
 
 A very turned and looked at her, the frail, sweet face 
 with its shining eyes of love. 
 
 " I didn't mean to hurt you, " whispered Jeanie. " Don't 
 think any more about it!" 
 
 "Do you want him so dreadfully?" Avery said. 
 
 Jeanie's eyes were full of tears again. She tried to 
 answer, but her lips quivered. She turned her face aside, 
 and was silent. 
 
 The day waxed hotter, became almost insupportable. 
 In the afternoon Jeanie was attacked by breathlessness and 
 coughing, both painful to witness. She could find no rest 
 or comfort, and Avery was in momentary dread of a return 
 of the hemorrhage. 
 
 It did not return, but when evening came at length and 
 with it the blessed coolness of approaching night, Jeanie was 
 so exhausted as to be unable to speak above a whisper. She 
 lay white and still, scarcely conscious, only her difficult 
 breathing testifying to the fluttering life that had ebbed so 
 low. 
 
 The nurse's face was very grave as she came on duty, 
 but after an interval of steady watching, during which the 
 wind blew in with rising freshness from the sea, she turned 
 to Avery, saying, "I think she will revive." 
 
 Avery nodded and slipped away.
 
 The Game 481 
 
 There was not much time left. She ran all the way to 
 the post-office and scribbled a message there with trembling 
 fingers. 
 
 "Jeanie wants you. Will you come? A very. " 
 
 She sent the message to Rodding Abbey. She knew 
 they would forward it from there. 
 
 Passing out again into the road, a sudden sense of sick- 
 ness swept over her. What had she done ? What uncon- 
 trolled force would that telegram unfetter? Would he 
 come to her like a whirlwind and sweep her back into his own 
 tempestuous life? Would he break her will once more to 
 his ? Would he drag her once more through the hell of his 
 passion, kindle afresh for her the flame that had consumed 
 her happiness? 
 
 She dared not face the possibility. She felt as if an iron 
 hand had closed upon her, drawing her surely, irresistibly, 
 back towards those gates of brass through which she had 
 escaped into the desert. That fiery torture would be in- 
 finitely harder to bear now, and she knew that the fieriest 
 point of it all would be the desperate, aching longing to 
 know again the love that had shone and burnt itself out in 
 the blast-furnace of his sin. He had loved her once; she 
 was sure he had loved her. But that love had died with his 
 boyhood, and it could never rise again. He had trodden 
 it underfoot and her own throbbing heart with it. He 
 had destroyed that which she had always believed to be 
 indestructible. 
 
 She never wanted to see him again. She would have 
 given all she had to have avoided the meeting. Her whole 
 being recoiled from the thought of it. And yet and yet 
 she saw again the black head laid against her knee, and 
 heard the low, half-rueful words: "Oh, my dear, there is no 
 other woman but you in all the world!" 
 
 The vision went with her all through the night. She 
 could not escape it.
 
 482 The Bars of Iron 
 
 In the morning she rose with a sense of being haunted, 
 and a terrible weariness that hung upon her like a chain. 
 
 The day was cooler. Jeanie was better. She had had a 
 nice sleep, the nurse said. But there could be no question 
 of allowing her to leave her bed that day. 
 
 "You are looking so tired," the nurse said, in her kind 
 way to A very. "I am not wanting to go off duty till this 
 afternoon. So won't you go and sit down somewhere on 
 the rocks ? Please do ! " 
 
 She was so anxious to gain her point that Avery yielded. 
 She felt too feverishly restless to be a suitable companion 
 for Jeanie just then. She went down to her favourite corner 
 to watch the tide come in. But she could not be still. She 
 paced the shore like a caged creature seeking a way of 
 escape, dreading each turn lest it should bring her face to 
 face with the man she had summoned. 
 
 The tide came in and drove her up the beach. She 
 went back not unwillingly, for the suspense had become 
 insupportable. 
 
 Had he come? But surely not! She was convinced he 
 would have followed her to the shore if he had. 
 
 She entered the tiny hall. It was square, and served 
 them as a sitting-room. Coming in from the glare without, 
 she was momentarily dazzled. And then all suddenly her 
 eyes lighted upon an unaccustomed object, and her heart 
 ceased to beat. A man's tweed cap lay carelessly tossed 
 upon the back of a chair! 
 
 She stood quite still, feeling her senses reel, knowing 
 herself to be on the verge of fainting, and clinging with all 
 her strength to her tottering self-control. 
 
 Gradually she recovered, felt her heart begin to beat 
 again and the deadly faintness pass. There was a telegram 
 on the table. She took it up, found it addressed to herself, 
 opened it with fumbling fingers. 
 
 "Tell Jeanie I am coming to-day. Piers."
 
 The Game 483 
 
 It had arrived an hour before, and she was conscious of 
 a vague sense of thankfulness that she had been spared that 
 hour of awful certainty. 
 
 A door opened at the top of the stairs. A voice spoke. 
 "I'll come back, my queen. But I've got to pay my re- 
 spects, you know, to the mistress of the establishment, or 
 she'll be cross. Do you remember the Avery symphony? 
 We'll have it presently. " 
 
 A light step followed the voice. Already he was on the 
 stairs. He came bounding down to her like an eager boy. 
 For one wild moment she thought he was going to throw his 
 arms about her. But he stopped himself before he reached 
 her. 
 
 " I say, how ill you look!" he said. 
 
 That was all the greeting he uttered, and in the same 
 moment she saw that the black hair above his forehead was 
 powdered with white. It sent such a shock through her as 
 no word or action of his could have caused. 
 
 She stood for a moment gazing at him in stiff inaction. 
 Then, still stiffly, she held out her hand. But she could not 
 utter a word. She felt as if she were going to burst into 
 tears. 
 
 He took the hand. His dark eyes interrogated her, but 
 they told her nothing. "It's all right," he said rapidly. 
 "I'm Jeanie's visitor. I shan't forget it. It was decent 
 of you to send. I say, you you are not really ill, what?" 
 
 No, she was not ill. She heard herself telling him so in 
 a voice she did not know. And all the while she felt as if her 
 heart were bleeding, bleeding to death. 
 
 He let her hand go, and straightened himself with the 
 old free arrogance of movement. "May I have some- 
 thing to eat ? " he said. "Your message only got to me this 
 morning. I was at breakfast, and I had to leave it to catch 
 the train. So I've had practically nothing. " 
 
 That moved her to activity. She led the way into the
 
 484 The Bars of Iron 
 
 little parlour where luncheon had been laid. He sat down 
 at the table, and she waited upon him, almost in silence, 
 yet no longer with embarrassment. 
 
 "Aren't you going to join me?" he said. 
 
 She sat down also, and took a minute helping of cold 
 chicken. 
 
 "I say, you're not going to eat all that!" ejaculated 
 Piers. 
 
 She had to laugh a little, though still with that horrified 
 sense of tragedy at her heart. 
 
 He laughed too his careless boyish laugh, and in a moment 
 all the electricity of the past few moments had gone out 
 of the atmosphere. He leaned forward unexpectedly and 
 transferred a wing of chicken from his plate to hers. 
 
 "Look here, Avery! You must eat. It's absurd. So 
 fire away like a sensible woman!" 
 
 There was no tenderness in his tone, but, oddly, she 
 thrilled to its imperiousness, conscious of the old magnetism 
 compelling her. She began to eat in silence. 
 
 Piers ate too in his usual quick fashion, glancing at 
 her once or twice but making no further comment. 
 
 "Tell me about Jeanie!" he said, finally. "What has 
 brought her to this? Can't we do anything take her to 
 Switzerland or somewhere?" 
 
 Avery shook her head. "Can't you see?" she said, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 He frowned upon her abruptly. "I see lots," he said 
 enigmatically. " It's quite hopeless, what? Wyndham told 
 me as much. But I don't believe in hopeless things. ' ' 
 
 Avery looked at him, mystified by his tone. "She is 
 dying, " she said. 
 
 "I don't believe in death either," said Piers, in the tone 
 of one who challenged the world. "And now look here 
 Avery! Let's make the best of things for the kiddie's sake! 
 She's had a rotten time all her days. Let's give her a decent
 
 The Game 485 
 
 send-off, what? Let's give her the time of her life before 
 she goes!" 
 
 He got up suddenly from his chair and went to the open 
 window. 
 
 Avery turned her head to watch him, but for some reason 
 she could not speak. 
 
 He went on vehemently, his face turned from her. "In 
 Heaven's name don't let's be sorry ! It's such a big thing 
 to go out happy. Let's play the game! I know you 
 can; you were always plucky. Let's give her everything 
 she wants and some over! What, Avery, what? I'm not 
 asking for myself. " 
 
 She did not know exactly what he was asking, but she did 
 not dare to tell him so. She sat quite silent, feeling her 
 heart quicken, striving desperately to be calm. 
 
 He flung round suddenly, and came to her. "Will you 
 do it?" he said. 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. She was white to the lips. 
 
 He made one of his quick, half-foreign gestures. " Don't ! " 
 he said harshly. " You make me feel such a brute. Can't 
 you trust me can't you pretend to trust me for Jeanie's 
 sake?" His hand closed fiercely on the back of her chair. 
 He bent towards her. "It's only a hollow bargain. You'll 
 hate it of course. Do you suppose I shall enjoy it any 
 better ? Do you suppose I would ask it of you for any reason 
 but this?" 
 
 Something in his face or voice pierced her. She felt 
 again that dreadful pain at her heart, as if the blood 
 were draining from it with every beat. 
 
 " I don't know what to say to you, Piers, " she said at last. 
 
 He bit his lip in sheer impatience, but the next moment he 
 controlled himself. "I'm asking a difficult thing of you," 
 he said, forcing his voice to a quiet level. "It isn't par- 
 ticularly easy for rne either; perhaps in a sense, it's even 
 harder. But you must have known when you sent for me
 
 486 The Bars of Iron 
 
 that something of the kind was inevitable. What you 
 didn't know possibly was that Jeanie is grieving badly 
 over our estrangement. She wants to draw us together 
 again. Will you suffer it? Will you play the game with 
 me? It won't be for long. " 
 
 His eyes looked straight into hers, but they held only a 
 great darkness in which no flicker of light burned. Avery 
 felt as if the gulf between them had widened to a measure- 
 less abyss. Once she could have read him like an open 
 book; but now she had not the vaguest clue to his feelings 
 or his motives. He had as it were withdrawn beyond her 
 ken. 
 
 "Is it to be only make-believe?" she asked at last. 
 
 "Just that," he said, but she thought his voice rang 
 hard as he said it. 
 
 An odd little tremor went through her. She put her 
 hand up to her throat. "Piers, I don't know I am afraid 
 ' ' She broke off in agitation. 
 
 He leaned towards her. "Don't be afraid!" he said. 
 "There is nothing so damning as fear. Shall we go up to 
 her now? I promised I wouldn't be long. " 
 
 She rose. He was still standing close to her, so close that 
 she felt the warmth of his body, heard the sharp indrawing 
 of his breath. 
 
 For one sick second she thought he would snatch her to 
 him ; but the second passed and he had not moved. 
 
 "Shall we go?" he said again. "And I say, can you put 
 me up ? I don't care where I sleep. Any sort of shakedown 
 will do. That sofa " he glanced towards the one by the 
 window upon which Jeanie had been wont to lie. 
 
 "If you like, " Avery said. 
 
 She felt that the power to refuse him had left her. He 
 would do as he thought fit. 
 
 They went upstairs together, and she saw Jeanie's face 
 light up as they entered. Piers was behind. Coming
 
 The Game 487 
 
 forward, he slipped a confident hand through Avery's arm. 
 She felt his ringers close upon her warningly, checking her 
 slight start ; and she knew with an odd mixture of relief 
 and dismay that this was the beginning of the game. She 
 forced herself to smile in answer, and she knew that she 
 succeeded; but it was one of the greatest efforts of her life.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN 
 
 FOR a week after Piers' arrival, Jeanie was better, so 
 much better that she was able to be carried down- 
 stairs and into the garden where she loved to lie. There was 
 a piano in the sitting-room, and Piers would sit at it by the 
 hour together, playing anything she desired. She loved his 
 music, would listen entranced for any length of time while 
 he led her through a world of delight that she had never 
 explored before. It soothed her restlessness, comforted 
 her in weariness, made her forget her pain. 
 
 And then the summer weather broke. There came a 
 spell of rainy days that made the garden impossible, and 
 immediately Jeanie's strength began to wane. It went 
 from her very gradually. She suffered but little, save 
 when her breathing or her cough troubled her. But it was 
 evident to them all that her little craft was putting out to 
 sea at last. 
 
 Piers went steadfastly on with the role he had assigned to 
 himself. He never by word or look reminded Avery of the 
 compact between them. He merely took her support for 
 granted, and probably in consequence of this it never 
 failed him. 
 
 The nurse declared him to be invaluable. He always had 
 a salutary effect upon her patient. For even more than at 
 the sight of Avery did Jeanie brighten at his coming, and 
 she was always happy alone with him. It even occurred to 
 
 488
 
 The Kingdom of Heaven 489 
 
 Avery sometimes that her presence was scarcely needed, 
 so completely were they at one in understanding and 
 sympathy. 
 
 One evening, entering the room unexpectedly, she found 
 Piers on his knees beside the bed. He rose instantly and 
 made way for her in a fashion she could not ignore; but, 
 though Jeanie greeted her with evident pleasure, it was 
 obvious that for the moment she was not needed, and an odd 
 little pang went through her with the knowledge. 
 
 Piers left the room almost immediately, and in a few 
 moments they heard him at the piano downstairs. 
 
 "May I have the door open?" whispered Jeanie. 
 
 Avery opened it, and drawing up a chair sat down with 
 her work at the bedside. 
 
 And then, slowly rolling forth, there came that wonderful 
 music with which he had thrilled her soul at the very 
 beginning of his courtship. 
 
 Wordless, magnificent, the great anthem swelled through 
 the falling dusk, and like a vision the unutterable arose and 
 possessed her soul. Her eyes began to behold the Land 
 that is very far off. 
 
 And then, throbbing through the wonder of that vision, 
 she heard the coming of the vast procession. It was like a 
 dream, and yet it was wholly real. As yet lost in distance, 
 veiled in mystery, she heard the tread of the coming host. 
 
 Her hands were fast gripped together ; she forgot all beside. 
 It was as if the eyes of her soul had been opened, and 
 she looked upon the Infinite. A voice at her side began to 
 speak, or was it the voice of her own heart ? It was only a 
 whisper, but every word of it pierced her consciousness. 
 She listened with parted lips. 
 
 " I saw Heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and He 
 that sat upon him was called Faithful and True. . . His Eyes 
 were as a flame of fire and on His Head were many crowns. 
 . . . And He was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood. . . .
 
 490 The Bars of Iron 
 
 And the armies which were in Heaven followed Him upon 
 white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean. . . . 
 And He treadeth the wine-press. . . . He treadeth the 
 wine-press. ..." 
 
 The voice paused. Avery was listening with bated breath 
 for more. But it did not come at once. Only the Veil 
 began to lift, so that she saw the Opening Gates and the 
 Glory behind them. 
 
 Then, and not till then, the dream-voice spoke again. 
 "Surely surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our 
 sorrows. . . . And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity 
 of us all. " The music crashed into wonder-chords such as 
 Avery had never heard before, swelled to a climax that 
 reached the Divine, held her quivering as it were upon wings 
 in a space that was more transcendent than the highest 
 mountain-top ; then softly, strangely, died. . , . 
 
 "That is Heaven," whispered the voice by her side. 
 "Oh, Avery, won't it be nice when we are all there 
 together?" 
 
 But Avery sat as one in a trance, rapt and still. She felt 
 as if the spirit had been charmed out of her body, and she 
 did not want to return. 
 
 A little thin hand slid into hers and clasped it close, 
 recalling her. "Wasn't it beautiful?" said Jeanie. "He 
 said he would make me see the Kingdom of Heaven. You 
 saw it too, dear Avery, didn't you?" 
 
 Yes, Avery had seen it too. She still felt as if the earth 
 were very far below them both. 
 
 Jeanie's voice had grown husky, but she still spoke in a 
 tremulous whisper. "Did you see the Open Gates, dear 
 Avery? He says they are never shut. And anyone who 
 can reach them will be let in, it doesn't matter who. Do 
 you know, I think Piers is different from what he used to 
 be? I think he is learning to love God. " 
 
 Absolutely simple words! Why did they send such
 
 The Kingdom of Heaven 491 
 
 a rush of feeling tumultuous, indescribable feeling 
 through Avery ? Was this the explanation ? Was this how 
 it came to pass that he treated her with that aloof reverence 
 day by day? Was he indeed learning the supreme lesson 
 to worship God with love? 
 
 She sat for a while longer with Jeanie, till, finding her 
 drowsy, she slipped downstairs. 
 
 Piers was sitting in the hall, deep in a newspaper. He 
 rose at her coming with an abruptness suggestive of 
 surprise, and stood waiting for her to speak. 
 
 But curiously the only words that she could utter were of 
 a trivial nature. She had come to him indeed, drawn by 
 a power irresistible, but the moment she found herself 
 actually in his presence she felt tongue-tied, helpless. 
 
 "Don't you want a light?" she said nervously. "I am 
 sure you can't see to read. " 
 
 He stood silent for a moment, and the old tormenting 
 doubt began to rise within her. Would he think she desired 
 to make an overture? Would he take for granted that 
 because his magnetism had drawn her he could do with her 
 as he would? 
 
 And then very quietly he spoke, and she experienced an 
 odd revulsion of feeling that was almost disappointment. 
 
 " Have you been reading the papers lately? " 
 
 She had not. Jeanie occupied all her waking thoughts. 
 
 He glanced down at the sheet he held. ' ' There is going to 
 be a bust-up on the Continent, " he said, and there was that 
 in his tone a grim elation which puzzled her at the 
 moment. "The mightiest bust-up the world has ever 
 known. We're in for it, Avery; in for the very deuce of 
 a row." His voice vibrated suddenly.. He stopped as 
 though to check some headlong force that threatened to 
 carry him away. 
 
 Avery stood still, feeling a sick horror of impending 
 disaster at her heart. "What can you mean?" she said.
 
 492 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He leaned his hands upon the table facing her, and she 
 saw in his eyes the primitive, savage joy of battle. "I 
 mean war," he said. "Oh, it's horrible; yes, of course it's 
 horrible. But it'll bring us to our senses. It'll make men 
 of us yet. " 
 
 She shrank from his look. ' ' Piers ! Not not a European 
 war!" 
 
 He straightened himself slowly. "Yes," he said. "It 
 will be that. But there's nothing to be scared about. 
 It'll be the salvation of the Empire." 
 
 "Piers!" she gasped again through white lips. "But 
 modern warfare! Modern weapons! It's Germany of 
 course?" 
 
 "Yes, Germany. " He stretched up his arms with a wide 
 gesture and let them fall. "Germany who is going to cut 
 out all the rot of party politics and bind us together as one 
 man! Germany who is going to avert civil war and teach 
 us to love our neighbours! Nothing short of this would 
 have saved us. We've been a mere horde of chattering 
 monkeys lately. Now all thanks to Germany! we're 
 going to be men!" 
 
 "Or murderers!" said Avery. 
 
 The word broke from her involuntarily, she scarcely knew 
 that she had uttered it until she saw his face. Then in a 
 flash she saw what she had done, for he had the sudden 
 tragic look of a man who has received his death-wound. 
 
 He made her a curious stiff bow as if he bent himself with 
 difficulty. His face at that moment was whiter than hers, 
 but his eyes glowed red with a deep anger. 
 
 " I shall remember that, " he said, "when I go to fight for 
 my country. " 
 
 With the words he turned to the door. But she cried 
 after him, dismayed, incoherent. 
 
 "Oh Piers, you know you know I didn't mean that!" 
 
 He did not pause or look back. "Nevertheless you said
 
 The Kingdom of Heaven 493 
 
 it," he rejoined in a tone that made her feel as if he had 
 flung an icy shower of water in her face; and the next 
 moment she heard his quick tread on the garden path and 
 realized that he was gone. 
 
 It was useless to attempt to follow him. Her knees were 
 trembling under her. Moreover, she knew that she must 
 return to Jeanie. White-lipped, quivering, she moved to 
 the stairs. 
 
 He had utterly misunderstood her; she had but voiced the 
 horrified thought that must have risen in the minds of 
 thousands when first brought face to face with that world- 
 wide tragedy. But he had read a personal meaning into 
 her words. He had deemed her deliberately cruel, ungener- 
 ous, bitter. That he could thus misunderstand her set her 
 heart bleeding afresh. Oh, they were better apart! How 
 was it possible that there could ever be any confidence, any 
 intimacy, between them again? 
 
 Tears, scalding, blinding tears ran suddenly down her 
 face. She bowed her head in her hands, leaning upon 
 the banisters. . . . 
 
 A voice called to her from above, and she started. What 
 was she doing, weeping here in selfish misery, when Jeanie 
 Swiftly she commanded herself and mounted the stairs. 
 The nurse met her at the top. 
 
 " The little one isn't so well, " she said. " I thought she 
 was asleep, but I am afraid she is unconscious." 
 
 "Oh, nurse, and I left her!" 
 
 There was a sound of such heart-break in Avery's voice 
 that the nurse's grave face softened in sympathy. 
 
 "My dear, you couldn't have done anything," she said. 
 "It is just the weakness before the end, and we can do 
 nothing to avert it. What about her mother? Can she 
 come?" 
 
 Avery shook her head in despair. "Not for a week." 
 
 "Ah ! " the nurse said ; and that was all. But Avery knew
 
 494 The Bars of Iron 
 
 in that moment that only a few hours more remained ere 
 little Jeanie Lorimer passed through the Open Gates. 
 
 She would not go to bed that night though the child lay 
 wholly unconscious of her. She knew that she could not 
 sleep. 
 
 She did not see Piers again till late. The nurse slipped 
 down to tell him of Jeanie's condition, and he came up, 
 white and sternly composed, and stood for many minutes 
 watching the slender, quick-breathing figure that lay 
 propped among pillows, close to the open window. 
 
 Avery could not look at his face during those minutes; 
 she dared not. But when he turned away at length he bent 
 and spoke to her. 
 
 "Are you going to stay here?" 
 
 "Yes," she whispered. 
 
 He made no attempt to dissuade her. All he said was, 
 "May I wait in your room? I shall be within call there. " 
 
 "Of course," she answered. 
 
 "And you will call me if there is any change?" 
 
 "Of course," she said again. 
 
 He nodded briefly and left her. 
 
 Then began the long, long night-watch. It was raining, 
 and the night was very dark. The slow, deep roar of the 
 sea rose solemnly and filled the quiet room. The tide was 
 coming in. They could hear the water shoaling along the 
 beach. 
 
 How often Avery had listened to it and loved the sound ! 
 To-night it filled her soul with awe, as the Voice of Many 
 Waters. 
 
 Slowly the night wore on, and ever that sound increased 
 in volume, swelling, intensifying, like the coming of a mighty 
 host as yet far off. The rain pattered awhile and ceased. 
 The sea-breeze blew in, salt and pure. It stirred the brown 
 tendrils of hair on Jeanie's forehead, and eddied softly 
 through the room.
 
 The Kingdom of Heaven 495 
 
 The nurse sat working beside a hooded lamp that threw 
 her grave, strong face into high relief, but only accentuated 
 the shadows in the rest of the room. Avery sat close to the 
 bed, not praying, scarcely thinking, waiting only for the 
 opening of the Gates. And in that hour she longed, oh, 
 how passionately! that when they opened she also might 
 be permitted to pass through. 
 
 It was in the darkest hour of the night that the tide 
 began to turn. She looked almost instinctively for a change 
 but none came. Jeanie stirred not, save when the nurse 
 stooped over her to give her nourishment, and each time she 
 took less and less. 
 
 The tide receded. The night began to pass. There came 
 a faint greyness before the window. The breeze freshened. 
 
 And very suddenly the breathing to which Avery had 
 listened all the night paused, ceased for a second or two, 
 then broke into the sharp sigh of one awaking from sleep. 
 
 She rose quickly, and the nurse looked up. Jeanie's eyes 
 dark, unearthly, unafraid, were opened wide. 
 
 She gazed at Avery for a moment as if slightly puzzled. 
 Then, in a faint whisper: "Has Piers said good-night?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No, darling. But he is waiting to. I will call him," 
 Avery said. 
 
 "Quickly!" whispered the nurse, as she passed her. 
 
 Swiftly, noiselessly, Avery went to her own room. But 
 some premonition of her coming must have reached him; 
 for he met her on the threshold. 
 
 His eyes questioned hers for a moment, and then together 
 they turned back to Jeanie's room. No words passed 
 between them. None were needed. 
 
 Jeanie's face was turned towards the door. Her eyes 
 looked beyond Avery and smiled a welcome to Piers. He 
 came to her, knelt beside her. 
 
 "Dear Sir Galahad!" she said.
 
 496 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He shook his head. "No, Jeanie, no!" 
 
 She was panting. He slipped his arm under the pillow 
 to support her. She turned her face to his. 
 
 "Oh, Piers," she breathed, "I do so want you to be 
 happy. " 
 
 "I am happy, sweetheart," he said. 
 
 But Jeanie's vision was stronger in that moment than it 
 had ever been before, and she was not deceived. " You are 
 not happy, dear Piers," she said. "Avery is not happy 
 either." 
 
 Piers turned slightly. "Come here, Avery!" he said. 
 
 The old imperious note was in his voice, yet with a differ- 
 ence. He stretched his free hand up to her, drawing her 
 down to his side, and as she knelt also he passed his arm 
 about her, pressing her to him. 
 
 Jeanie's eyes were upon them both, dying eyes that shone 
 with a mystic glory. They saw the steadfast resolution 
 in Piers' face as he held his wife against his heart. They 
 saw the quivering hesitation with which she yielded. 
 
 "You're not happy yet, " she whispered. "But you 
 will be happy." 
 
 Thereafter she seemed to slip away from them for a space, 
 losing touch as it were, yet still not beyond their reach. 
 Once or twice she seemed to be trying to pray, but they 
 could not catch her words. 
 
 The dawn-light grew stronger before the window. The 
 sound of the waves had sunk to a low murmuring. From 
 where she knelt Avery could see the far, dim line of sea. 
 Piers' arm was still about her. She felt as though they two 
 were kneeling apart before an Altar invisble, waiting to 
 receive a blessing. 
 
 Jeanie's breathing was growing less hurried. She seemed 
 already beyond all earthly suffering. Yet her eyes also 
 watched that far dim sky-line as though they waited for a 
 sign.
 
 The Kingdom of Heaven 497 
 
 Slowly the light deepened, the shadows began to lift. 
 Piers' eyes were fixed unswervingly upon the child's quiet 
 face. The light of the coming Dawn was reflected there. 
 The great Change was very near at hand. 
 
 Far away to the left there grew and spread a wondrous 
 brightness. The sky seemed to recede, turned from grey to 
 misty blue. A veil of cloud that had hidden the stars all 
 through the night dissolved softly into shreds of gold, and 
 across the sea with a diamond splendour there shot the first 
 great ray of sunlight. 
 
 It was then that Jeanie seemed to awake, to rise as it 
 were from the depths of reverie. Her eyes widened, grew 
 intense; then suddenly they smiled. 
 
 She sought to raise herself, and never knew that it was by 
 Piers' strength alone that she was lifted. She gave a gasp 
 that was almost a cry, but it was gladness not pain that it 
 expressed. 
 
 For a few panting moments she gazed out as one rapt in 
 delight, gazing from a mountain-peak upon a wider view 
 than earthly eyes could compass. 
 
 Then eagerly she turned to Piers. "I saw Heaven 
 opened ..." she said, and in her low voice there throbbed 
 a rapture that could not be uttered in words. 
 
 She would have said more, but something stopped her. 
 She made a gesture as though she would clasp him round the 
 neck, failed, and sank down in his arms. 
 
 He held her closely to him, and so holding her, felt the 
 last quivering breath slip from the little tired body. . . . 
 
 33
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE DESERT ROAD 
 
 '""THAT is just where you make a mistake, my good 
 
 1 Crowther. You're an awfully shrewd chap in some 
 ways, but you understand women just about as thoroughly 
 as I understand theology." 
 
 Piers clasped his hands behind his head, and regarded 
 his friend affectionately. 
 
 "Do you .think so?" said Crowther a little drily. 
 
 Piers laughed. "Now I've trodden on your pet corn. 
 Bear up, old chap! It'll soon be better. " 
 
 Crowther's own face relaxed, but he did not look satis- 
 fied. "I'm not happy about you, my son," he said. "I 
 think you've missed a big opportunity. " 
 
 "You think wrong," said Piers, unmoved. "I couldn't 
 possibly have stayed another hour. I was in a false posi- 
 tion. So poor girl ! was she. We buried the hatchet for 
 the kiddie's sake, but it wasn't buried very deep. I did my 
 best, and I think she did hers. But even that last night 
 we kicked against it. There was no sense in pretending 
 any longer. The game was up. So I came away. " 
 
 He uttered the last words nonchalantly ; but if Crowther's 
 knowledge of women was limited, he knew his own species 
 very thoroughly, and he was not deceived. 
 
 "You didn't see her at all after the little girl died?" he 
 asked. 
 
 498
 
 The Desert Road 499 
 
 "Not at all," said Piers. "I came away by the first 
 train I could catch." 
 
 "And left her to her trouble!" Crowther's wide brow 
 was a little drawn. There was even a hint of sternness 
 in his steady eyes. 
 
 "Just so," said Piers. "I left her to mourn in peace." 
 
 "Didn't you so much as write a line of explanation?" 
 Crowther's voice was troubled, but it held the old kindliness, 
 the old human sympathy. 
 
 Piers shook his head, and stared upwards at the ceiling. 
 "Really there was nothing to explain," he said. "She 
 knows me so awfully well." 
 
 "I wonder," said Crowther. 
 
 The dark eyes flashed him a derisive glance. "Better 
 than you do, dear old man, though, I admit, I've let you 
 into a few of my most gruesome corners. I couldn't have 
 done it if I hadn't trusted you. You realize that ? " 
 
 Crowther looked him straight in the face. "That being 
 so, my son," he said, "you needn't be so damned light- 
 hearted for my benefit. " 
 
 A gleam of haughty surprise drove the smile out of Piers' 
 eyes. He straightened himself sharply. "On my soul, 
 Crowther " he began; then stopped and leaned back 
 again in his chair. "Oh, all right. I forgot. You say any 
 silly rot you like to me. " 
 
 "And now and then the truth also," said Crowther. 
 
 Piers' eyes fenced with his, albeit a faint smile hovered 
 about the corners of his mouth. "I really am not such a 
 humbug as you are pleased to imagine," he said, after a 
 moment with an oddly boyish touch of pride. "I'm feeling 
 lighthearted, and that's a fact. " 
 
 "Then you are about the only man in England to-day 
 who is, " responded Crowther. 
 
 " That may be, " carelessly Piers made answer. "Nearly 
 everyone is more or less scared. I'm not. It's going to be
 
 500 The Bars of Iron 
 
 a mighty struggle a Titanic struggle but we shall come 
 out on top." 
 
 "At a frightful cost," Crowther said. 
 
 Piers leapt to his feet. "We shan't shirk it on that 
 account. See here, Crowther! I'll tell you something if 
 you'll swear to keep it dark!" 
 
 Crowther looked up at the eager, glowing face and a very 
 tender look came into his own. "Well, Piers?" he said. 
 
 Piers caught him suddenly by the shoulders. ' ' Crowther, 
 Crowther, old chap, congratulate me! I took the King's 
 shilling to-day ! " 
 
 "Ah!" Crowther said. 
 
 He gripped Piers' arms tightly, feeling the vitality of 
 him pulse in every sinew, every tense nerve. And before 
 his mental sight there rose the dread vision of war the 
 insatiable striding like a devouring monster over a whole 
 continent. With awful clearness he saw the fields of 
 slain. . . . 
 
 His eyes came back to Piers, splendid in the fire of his 
 youth, flushed already with the grim joy of the coming 
 conflict. He got up slowly, still looking into the handsome, 
 olive face with its patrician features and arrogant self- 
 confidence. And a cold hand seemed to close upon his heart. 
 
 "Oh, boy! "he said. 
 
 Piers frowned upon him, still half-laughing. "What? 
 Are we down-hearted? Buck up, man! Congratulate me! 
 I was one of the first." 
 
 But congratulation stuck in Crowther's throat. "I 
 wish this had come twenty years ago!" was all he found 
 to say. 
 
 "Thank Heaven it didn't!" ejaculated Piers. "Why, 
 don't you see it's the one thing for me about the only 
 stroke of real luck I've ever had in my life?" 
 
 "And your wife doesn't know?" said Crowther. 
 
 "She does not. And I won't have her told. Mind
 
 The Desert Road 5 01 
 
 that!" Piers' voice was suddenly determined. "She 
 knows I shan't keep out of it, and that's enough. If she 
 wants me which she won't she can get at me through 
 Victor or one of them. But that won't happen. Don't 
 you worry yourself as to that, my good Crowther! I know 
 jolly well what I'm doing. Don't you see it's the chance 
 of my life? Do you think I'm going to miss it, what?" 
 
 " I think you're going to break her heart, " Crowther said 
 gravely. 
 
 "That's because you don't understand," Piers made 
 steady reply. "Nothing will alter so long as I stay. But 
 this war is going to alter everything. We shall none of us 
 come out of it as we went in. When I come back things 
 will be different." 
 
 He spoke sombrely. The boyish ardour had gone out 
 of him. Something of fatefulness, something of solemn 
 realization, of steadfast fortitude, had taken its place. 
 
 "I tell you, Crowther," he said, "I am not doing this 
 thing without weighing the cost. But I* haven't much 
 to lose, and I've all to gain. Even if it doesn't do what 
 I hope, it'll steady me down, it'll make a man of me and 
 not a murderer." 
 
 His voice sank on the last word. He freed himself from 
 Crowther's hold and turned away. 
 
 Once more he opened the window to the roar of London's 
 life; and 20 standing, with his back to Crowther, he spoke 
 again jerkily, with obvious effort. "Do you remember 
 telling me that something would turn up? Well, it has. 
 I'm waiting to see what will come of it. But if it's any 
 satisfaction to you to know it I've got clear of my own 
 particular hell at last. I haven't got very far, mind, and 
 it's a beastly desert road I'm on. But I know it'll lead 
 somewhere; so I shall stick to it now. " 
 
 He paused a moment; then flung round and faced 
 Crowther with a certain air of triumph.
 
 502 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "Meantime, old chap, don't you worry yourself about 
 either of us! My wife will go to her friend Mrs. Lorimer 
 till I come home again. Then possibly with any luck 
 she'll come to me. " 
 
 He smiled with the words and came back to the table. 
 "May I have a drink?" he said. 
 
 Crowther poured one out for him in silence. Somehow he 
 could not speak. There was that about Piers that stirred 
 him too deeply for speech just then. He lifted his own 
 glass with no more than a gesture of goodwill. 
 
 "I say, don't be so awfully jolly about it!" laughed 
 Piers. "I tell you it's going to end all right. Life is like 
 that." 
 
 His voice was light, but it held an appeal to which 
 Crowther could not fail to respond. 
 
 "God bless you, my son!" he said. "Life is such a 
 mighty big thing that even what we call failure doesn't 
 count in the long run. You'll win through somehow." 
 
 "And p'r'ap a little over, what ? " laughed Piers. " Who 
 knows?" 
 
 "Who knows?" Crowther echoed, with a smile. 
 
 But he could not shake free from the chill foreboding 
 that had descended upon him, and when Piers had gone he 
 stood for a long time before his open window, wrestling 
 with the dark phantom, trying to reason away a dread 
 which he knew to be beyond all reasoning. 
 
 And all through the night that followed, those words of 
 Piers' pursued him, marring his rest : " It's a beastly desert 
 road I'm on, but I know it'll lead somewhere. " And the 
 high courage of his bearing! The royal confidence of his 
 smile ! 
 
 Ah, God! Those boys of the Empire, going forth so 
 gallantly to the sacrifice!
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 PIERS was right. When Avery left Stanbury Cliffs 
 she went back to her old life at Rodding Vicarage. 
 
 Local gossip regarding her estrangement from her hus- 
 band had practically exhausted itself some time before, and 
 in any case it would have been swamped by the fevered 
 anxiety that possessed the whole country during those 
 momentous days. 
 
 She slipped back into her old niche almost as if she had 
 never left it. Mrs. Lorimer was ill with grief and over- 
 work. It seemed only natural that Avery should take up 
 the burden of her care. Even the Vicar could say nothing 
 against it. 
 
 Avery sometimes wondered if Jeanie's death had pierced 
 the armour of his self-complacence at any point. If it had, 
 it was not perceptible ; but she did fancy now and then that 
 she detected in him a shade more of consideration for his 
 wife than he had been wont to display. He condescended 
 to bestow upon her a little more of his kindly patronage, 
 and he was certainly less severe in his dealings with the 
 children. 
 
 Of the blank in Mrs. Lorimer's life only Avery had any 
 conception, for she shared it with her during every hour of 
 the day. Perhaps her own burden weighed more heavily 
 upon her than ever before at that time, for the anxiety she 
 suffered was sometimes more than she could bear. For 
 
 503
 
 504 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Piers had gone from her without a word. Straight from 
 Jeanie's death-bed he had gone, without a single word of 
 explanation or farewell. That she had wounded him 
 deeply, albeit inadvertently, on that last day she knew; 
 but with his arm closely clasping her by Jeanie's bedside 
 she had dared to hope that he had forgiven the wound. 
 Now she felt that it was otherwise. He had gone from her 
 in bitterness of soul, and the barrier between them was such 
 that she could not call him back. More and more the 
 conviction grew upon her that those moments of tender- 
 ness had been no more than a part of the game he had 
 summoned her to play for Jeanie's sake. He had called it a 
 hollow bargain. He had declared that for no other reason 
 would he have proposed it to her. And now that the farce 
 was over, he had withdrawn from it. He had said that he 
 had not found it easy. He had called it mere pretence. 
 And now she had begun to think that he meant their 
 separation to be final. If he had uttered one word of fare- 
 well, if he had but sent her a line later, she knew that 
 she would have responded in some measure even though the 
 gulf between them remained unbridged. But his utter 
 silence was unassailable. The conviction grew upon her 
 that he no longer desired to bridge the gulf. He meant 
 to accept their estrangement as inevitable. He had left 
 her, and he did not wish to return. 
 
 Through the long weary watches of many nights Avery 
 pondered his attitude, and sought in vain for any other ex- 
 planation. She came at last to believe that the fierce flame 
 of his passion had wholly burnt itself out, consuming all the 
 love he had ever known ; and that only ashes remained. 
 
 So she could not call him back, and for a time she even 
 shrank from asking news of him. Then one day she met 
 Victor sorrowfully exercising Caesar along the confines of 
 the Park, and stopped him when with a melancholy salute 
 he would have passed her by.
 
 The Encounter 505 
 
 His eyes brightened a little at her action, but he volun- 
 teered no information and she decided later that he had 
 obeyed orders in adopting this attitude. With an effort 
 she questioned him. How was it he was not with his 
 master? 
 
 He spread out his hands in mournful protest. Mais Mon- 
 sieur Pierre had not required his services depuis longtemps. 
 He was become very independent. But yes, he was engaged 
 upon war work. In the Army? But yes again. Did 
 not Madame know? And then he became vague and 
 sentimental, bemoaning his own age and consequent 
 inactivity, and finally went away with brimming eyes and 
 the dubiously expressed hope that le bon Dieu would fight 
 on the right side. 
 
 It was all wholly unsatisfactory, and Avery yearned to 
 know more. But the pain of investigating further held her 
 back. If that growing conviction of hers were indeed the 
 truth, she shrank morbidly from seeming to make any 
 advance. No one seemed to know definitely what had 
 become of Piers. She could not bring herself to apply to 
 outsiders for information, and there was no one to take up 
 her case and make enquiries on her behalf. Lennox Tudor 
 had volunteered for service in the Medical Corps and had 
 been accepted. She did not so much as know where he was, 
 though he was declared by Miss Whalley, who knew most 
 things, to be on Salisbury Plain. She sometimes wondered 
 with wry humour if Miss Whalley could have enlightened 
 her as to her husband's whereabouts; but that lady's atti- 
 tude towards her was invariably expressive of such icy dis- 
 approval that she never ventured to put the wonder into 
 words. 
 
 And then one afternoon of brilliant autumn she was shop- 
 ping with Gracie in Wardenhurst, and came face to face with 
 Ina Guyes. 
 
 Dick Guyes had gone into the Artillery, arid Ina had
 
 506 The Bars of Iron 
 
 returned to her father's house. She and Avery had not 
 met since Ina's wedding-day more than a year before ; but 
 their recognition was mutual and instant. 
 
 There was a moment of hesitation on both sides, a difficult 
 moment of intangible reluctance; then Avery held out her 
 hand. 
 
 "How do you do?" she said. 
 
 Ina took the hand perfunctorily between her fingers and 
 at once relinquished it. She was looking remarkably 
 handsome, Avery thought; but her smile was not con- 
 spicuously amiable, and her eyes held something that was 
 very nearly akin to condemnation. 
 
 "Quite well, thanks," she said, with her off-hand air of 
 arrogance which had become much more marked since her 
 marriage. ' ' You all right ? ' ' 
 
 Avery felt herself grow reticent and chilly as she made 
 reply. The girl's eyes of scornful enquiry made her stiffen 
 instinctively. She was prepared to bow and pass on, but 
 for some reason Ina was minded to linger. 
 
 "Has Piers come down yet?" she asked abruptly. "I 
 saw him in town two nights ago. I've been up there for a 
 day or two with Dick, but he has rejoined now. It's been 
 embarkation leave. They're off directly. " 
 
 Off! Avery 's heart gave a single hard throb and stood 
 still. She looked at Ina wordlessly. The shop in which 
 they stood suddenly lost all form and sound. It seemed to 
 float round her in nebulous billows. 
 
 "Good gracious!" said Ina. "Don't look like that! 
 What's up ? Aren't you well ? Here, sit down ! Or better 
 still, come outside!" 
 
 She gripped Avery's arm in a tense, insistent grasp and 
 piloted her to the door. 
 
 Avery went, hardly knowing what she did. Ina turned 
 commandingly to Gracie. 
 
 "Look here, child! You stay and collect the parcels!
 
 The Encounter 507 
 
 I'm going to take Lady Evesham a little way in the car. 
 We'll come back for you in a few minutes. " 
 
 She had her own way, as she had always had it on every 
 occasion, save one, throughout her life. 
 
 When A very felt her heart begin to beat again, she was 
 lying back in a closed car with Ina seated beside her, very 
 upright, extremely alert. 
 
 "Don't speak!" the latter said, as their eyes met. "I'll 
 tell you all I know. Dick and I have been stopping at 
 Marchmont's for the last five days, and one night Piers 
 walked in. Of course we made him join us. He was very 
 thin, but looked quite tough and sunburnt. He is rather 
 magnificent in khaki like a prince masquerading. I think 
 he talked without ceasing during the whole evening, but 
 he didn't say a single word that I can remember. He 
 expects to go almost any day now. He is in a regiment 
 of Lancers, but I couldn't get any particulars out of him. 
 He didn't choose to be communicative, so of course I left 
 him alone. He is turning white about the temples; did you 
 know?" 
 
 Avery braced herself to answer the blunt question. 
 There was something merciless about Ina's straight regard. 
 It pierced her; but oddly she felt no resentment, only a 
 curious sensation of compassionate sympathy. 
 
 "Yes, I saw him some weeks ago, " she said. 
 
 "You have not decided to separate then? Everyone 
 said you had." 
 
 Ina's tone was brutally direct, yet still, strangely, Avery 
 felt no indignation. 
 
 "We have not been friends for the last year," she 
 said. 
 
 "Ah! I thought not. And why? Just because of that 
 story about your first husband's death that Dick's hateful 
 cousin spread about on our wedding-day?" 
 
 Ina looked at her with searching, challenging eyes, and
 
 508 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Avery felt suddenly as if she were the younger and weaker 
 of the two. 
 
 "Was it because of that?" Ina insisted. 
 
 "Yes, "she admitted. 
 
 "And you let such a thing as that come between you and 
 and Piers!" There was incredulous amazement in 
 Ina's voice. "You actually had the the the presump- 
 tion ! " Coherent words suddenly seemed to fail her, but she 
 went on regardless, not caring how they came. ' ' A man like 
 Piers, a a Triton like that, such a being as is only 
 turned out once in in a dozen centuries ! Oh, fool ! Fool ! " 
 She clenched her hands, and beat them impotently upon her 
 lap. . "What did it matter what he'd done? He was yours. 
 He worshipped you. And the worship of a man like Piers 
 must be must be " She broke off, one hand caught 
 convulsively to her throat ; then swallowed hard and rushed 
 on. "You sent him away, did you? You wouldn't live 
 with him any longer? My God! Piers!" Again her 
 throat worked spasmodically, and she controlled it with 
 fierce effort. "He won't stay true to you of course," she 
 said, more quietly. "You don't expect that, do you? 
 You can't care since you wouldn't stick to him. You've 
 practically forced him into the mire. I sometimes think 
 that one virtuous woman can do more harm in the world 
 than a dozen of the other sort. You've embittered him for 
 life. You've made him suffer horribly. I expect you've 
 suffered too. I hope you have! But your sorrows are not 
 to be compared with his. He has red blood in his veins, 
 but you're too attenuated with goodness to know what real 
 suffering means. You had the whole world in your grasp 
 and you threw it away for a whim, just because you were 
 too small, too contemptibly mean, to understand. You 
 thought you loved him, I daresay. Well, you didn't. Love 
 is a very different thing. Love never casts away. But of 
 course you can't understand that. You are one of those
 
 The Encounter 509 
 
 women who keep down all the blinds lest the sunshine 
 should fade their souls. You don't know even the begin- 
 nings of Love!" 
 
 Passionately she uttered the words, but in a voice pitched 
 so low that. Avery only just caught them. And having 
 uttered them almost in the same breath, she took up the 
 speaking-tube and addressed the chauffeur. 
 
 Avery sat quite still and silent. She felt as if she had 
 been attacked and completely routed by a creature consider- 
 ably smaller, but infinitely more virile, more valiant, than 
 herself. 
 
 Ina did not speak to her again for several minutes. She 
 threw herself back against the cushion with an oddly 
 petulant gesture, and leaned there staring moodily out. 
 
 Then, as they neared their starting-point, she sat up 
 and spoke again with a species of bored indifference. "Of 
 course it's no affair of mine. I don't care two straws how 
 you treat him. But surely you'll try and give him some sort 
 of send-off? I wouldn't let even Dick go without that. 'i 
 
 Even Dick! There, was a world of revelation in those 
 words. Avery's heart stirred again in pity, and still her 
 indignation slumbered. 
 
 They reached the shop before which Gracie was waiting 
 for them, and stopped. 
 
 "Good-bye!" Avery said gently. 
 
 "Oh, good-bye!" Ina looked at her with eyes half closed. 
 "I won't get out if you don't mind. I must be getting 
 back." 
 
 She did not offer her hand, but she did not refuse it 
 when very quietly Avery offered her own. It was not 
 a warm hand-clasp on either side, but neither was it 
 unfriendly. 
 
 As she drove away, Ina leaned forward and bowed with an 
 artificial smile on her lips. And Avery saw that she was 
 very pale.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE PLACE OF REPENTANCE 
 
 LIKE a prince masquerading! How vivid was the 
 picture those words called up to Avery's mind ! The 
 regal pose of the body, the turn of the head, the faultless 
 beauty of the features, and over all, that nameless pride of 
 race, arrogant yet wholly unconscious the stamp of the 
 old Roman patrician, revived from the dust of ages ! 
 
 Aloof, yet never out of her ken, that picture hung before 
 her all through the night, the centre-piece of every vision 
 that floated through her weary brain. In the morning she 
 awoke to a definite resolve. 
 
 He had left her before she could stay him ; but she would 
 go to him now. Whether or not he wanted her, yes, even 
 with the possibility of seeing him turn from her, she would 
 seek him out. Yet this once more she would offer to him 
 that love and faith which he had so cruelly sullied. If he 
 treated her with cold contempt, she would yet offer to him 
 all that she had all that she had. Not because she had 
 forgiven him or in any sense forgotten; but because she 
 must; because neither forgiveness nor forgetfulness came 
 into the matter, but only those white hairs above his 
 temples that urged her, that drove her, that compelled 
 her. 
 
 There were no white hairs in her own brown tresses. 
 Could it be that he had really suffered more than she? If 
 so, God pity him ! God help him !
 
 The Place of Repentance 511 
 
 For the first time since their parting, the prayer for 
 him that rose from her heart kindled within her a glow 
 that burned as fire from the altar. She had prayed. She 
 had prayed. But her prayers had seemed to come back 
 to her from a void immeasurable that held nought but the 
 echoes of her cry. 
 
 But now was it because she was ready to act as well 
 as to pray? it seemed to her that her appeal had reached 
 the Infinite. And it was then that she began to learn that 
 prayer is not only a passive asking, but the eager straining 
 of every nerve towards fulfilment. 
 
 It seemed useless to go to the Abbey for news. She 
 would master her reluctance and go to Crowther. She was 
 sure that he would be in a position to tell her all there was 
 to know. 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer warmly applauded the idea. The con- 
 tinued estrangement of the two people whom she loved so 
 dearly was one of her greatest secret sorrows now. She 
 urged Avery to go, shedding tears over the thought of Piers 
 going unspeeded into the awful dangers of war. 
 
 So by the middle of the morning Avery was on her way. 
 It seemed to her the longest journey she had ever travelled. 
 She chafed at every pause. And through it all, Ina's 
 fierce words ran in a perpetual refrain through her brain: 
 "Love never casts away Love never casts away." 
 
 She felt as if the girl had ruthlessly let a flood of light in 
 upon her gloom, dazzling her, bewildering her, hurting 
 her with its brilliance. She had forced aside those drawn 
 blinds. She had pierced to the innermost corners. And 
 Avery herself was shocked by that which had been revealed. 
 It had never before been given to her to see her own motives, 
 her own soul, thus. She had not dreamed of the canker 
 of selfishness that lay at the root of all. With shame she 
 remembered her assurance to her husband that her love 
 should never fail him. What of that love now Love the
 
 512 The Bars of Iron 
 
 Invincible that should have shattered the gates of the 
 prison-house and led him forth in triumph ? 
 
 Reaching town, she drove straight to Crowther's rooms. 
 But she was met with disappointment. Crowther was 
 out. He would be back in the evening, she was told, but 
 probably not before. 
 
 Wearily she went down again and out into the seething 
 life of the streets to spend the longest day of her life wait- 
 ing for his return. Looking back upon that day afterwards, 
 she often wondered how she actually spent the time. To 
 and fro, to and fro, this way and that; now trying to ease her 
 soul by watching the soldiers at drill in the Park, the long, 
 long khaki lines and sunburnt faces ; now pacing the edge of 
 the water and seeking distraction in the antics of some 
 water-fowl; now back again in the streets, moving with the 
 crowd, seeing soldiers, soldiers on every hand, scanning each 
 almost mechanically with the vagrant hope of meeting one 
 who moved with a haughty pride of carriage and looked like 
 a prince in disguise. Sometimes she stood to see a whole 
 troop pass by, splendid boys swinging along with laughter 
 and careless singing. She listened to the tramping feet and 
 merry voices with a heart that sank ever lower and lower. 
 She had started the day with a quivering wonder if the end 
 of it might find her in his arms. But ever as the hours 
 passed by the certainty grew upon her that this would not 
 be. She grew sick with the longing to see his face. She 
 ached for the sound of his voice. And deep in the heart of 
 her she knew that this futile yearning was to be her portion 
 for many, many days. For over a year he had waited, 
 and he had waited in vain. Now it was her turn. 
 
 It was growing dusk when she went again in search of 
 Crowther. He had not returned, but she could not endure 
 that aimless wandering any longer. She went in to wait 
 for him, there in the room where Piers had found sanctuary 
 during some of the darkest hours of his life.
 
 The Place of Repentance 513 
 
 She was too utterly wearied to move about, but sat 
 sunk in the chair by the window, almost too numbed with 
 misery and fatigue for coherent thought. The dusk 
 deepened about her. The roar of London's life came 
 vaguely from afar. Through it and above it she still seemed 
 to hear the tread of the marching feet as the gallant lines 
 swung by. And still with aching concentration she seemed 
 to be searching for that one beloved face. 
 
 What did it matter what he had done? He was hers. 
 He was hers. And, O God, how she wanted him! How 
 gladly in that hour would she have yielded him all all 
 that she had to offer! 
 
 There came a quiet step without, a steady hand on the 
 door. She started up with a wild hope clamouring at her 
 heart. Might he not be there also? It was possible! 
 Surely it was possible ! 
 
 She took a quick step forward. No conventional word 
 would rise to her lips. They only stiffly uttered the one 
 name: "Piers!" 
 
 And Crowther answered her, just, as though no interval 
 of more than a year lay between them and the old warm 
 friendship. "He left for the Front to-day." 
 
 With the words he reached her, and she remembered 
 later the sustaining strength with which his hands upheld 
 her when she reeled beneath the blow. 
 
 He put her down again in the chair, and knelt beside 
 her, for she clung to him convulsively, scarcely knowing 
 what she did. 
 
 "He ought to have let you know," he said. "But he 
 wouldn't be persuaded. I believe right up to the last he 
 hoped he would hear something of you. But you know 
 him, his damnable pride, or was it chivalry this time? 
 On my soul, I scarcely know which. He behaved almost as 
 if he were under an oath not to make the first advance. I 
 am very sorry, Avery. But my hands were tied." 
 
 33
 
 514 The Bars of Iron 
 
 He paused, and she knew that he was waiting for a word 
 from her of kindness or reproach some intimation of her 
 feelings towards himself. But she could only utter voice- 
 lessly, "I shall never see him again." 
 
 He pressed her icy hands close in his own, but he said 
 no word of hope. He seemed to know instinctively that it 
 was not the moment. 
 
 "You can write to him," he said. "You can write now 
 to-night. The letter will reach him in a few days at most. 
 He calls himself Beverley Private Beverley. Let me give 
 you some tea, and you can sit down and write straight 
 away." 
 
 Kindly and practical, he offered her the consolation of 
 immediate action; and the crushing sense of loss began 
 gradually to lose its hold upon her. 
 
 "I am going to tell you everything all I know," he 
 said. "I told him I should do so if you came to me. I 
 only wish you had come a little sooner, but that is beside 
 the point. " 
 
 Again he paused. Her eyes were upon him, but she said 
 nothing. 
 
 Finding her hold had slackened, he got up, lighted a 
 lamp, and sat down with its light streaming across his 
 rugged face. 
 
 "I don't know what you have been thinking of me all 
 this time, " he said, "if you have stooped to think of me at 
 all." 
 
 "I have often thought of you," Avery answered. "But 
 I had a feeling that you that you " she hesitated 
 "that you could scarcely be in sympathy with us both," 
 she ended. 
 
 " I see. " Crowther's eyes met hers with absolute direct- 
 ness. "But you realize that that was a mistake, " he said. 
 
 She answered him in the affirmative. Before those 
 straight eyes of his she could not do otherwise.
 
 The Place of Repentance 515 
 
 "I could not express my sympathy with you," he said. 
 "I did not even know that it would be welcome, and I 
 could not interfere without your husband's consent. I was 
 bound by a promise. But " he smiled faintly "I told 
 him clearly that if you came to me I should not keep that 
 promise. I should regard it as my release. " 
 
 "What have you to tell me?" Avery asked. 
 
 "Just this," he said. "It isn't a very long story, but I 
 don't think you have heard it before. It's just the story of 
 one of the worst bits of bad luck that ever befell a man. He 
 was only a lad of nineteen, and he went out into the world 
 with all his life before him. He was rich and successful in 
 every way, full of promise, brilliant. There was something 
 so splendid about -him that he seemed somehow to belong to 
 a higher planet. He had never known failure or disgrace. 
 But one night an evil fate befell him. He was forced to 
 fight against his will; and he killed his man. It was an 
 absolutely unforeseen result. He took heavy odds, and 
 naturally he matched them with all the skill at his command. 
 But it was a fair fight. I testify to that. He took no mean 
 advantage. " 
 
 Crowther's eyes were gazing beyond Avery. He spoke 
 with a curious deliberation as if he were 'describing a vision 
 that hung before him. 
 
 "He himself was more shocked by the man's death than 
 anyone I have ever seen. He accepted the responsibility 
 at once. There is a lot of nobility at the back of that man's 
 soul. He wanted to give himself up. But I stepped in. 
 I took the law into my own hands. I couldn't stand by and 
 see him ruined. I made him bolt. He went, and I saw no 
 more of him for six years. That ends the first chapter of 
 the story." 
 
 He paused, as if for question or comment; but Avery 
 sat in unbroken silence. Her eyes also were fixed as it 
 were upon something very far away.
 
 516 The Bars of Iron 
 
 After a moment, he resumed. "Six years after, I stopped 
 at Monte Carlo on my way home, and I chanced upon him 
 there. He was with his old grandfather, living a life that 
 would have driven most young men crazy with boredom. 
 But I told you there was something fine about him he 
 treated the whole thing as a joke, and I saw that he was 
 the apple of the old man's eye. He hailed me as an old 
 friend. He welcomed me back into his life as if I were 
 only associated with pleasant things. But I soon saw that 
 he was not happy. The memory of that tragedy was 
 hanging on him like a millstone. He was trying to drag 
 himself free. But he was like a dog on a chain. He could 
 see his liberty, but he could not reach it. And the fact 
 that he loved a woman, and believed that he had won her 
 love made the burden even heavier. So I gathered, though 
 he had his intervals of reckless happiness when nothing 
 seemed to matter. I didn't know who the woman was at 
 first, but I urged him strongly to tell her the truth before 
 he married her. And then somehow, while we were walk- 
 ing together one night, it came out that trick of Fate; 
 and in his horror and despair the boy very nearly went under 
 altogether. It was just the fineness of his nature that kept 
 him up. " 
 
 "And your help," said Avery quietly. 
 
 His eyes comprehended her for a moment. "Yes, I did 
 my best," he said. "But it was his own nobility in the 
 main that gave him strength. Have you never noticed 
 that about him? He has the greatness that only comes 
 to most men after years of struggle. " 
 
 "I have noticed, " Avery said, her voice very low. 
 
 Crowther went on in his slow, steady way. "Well, after 
 that, I left. And the next thing I knew was that the old 
 man had died, and he was married to you. You didn't let 
 me into the secret very soon, you know." He smiled 
 a little. "Of course I realized that you had gone to him
 
 The Place of Repentance 517 
 
 rather suddenly to comfort his loneliness. It was just the 
 sort of thing I should have expected of you. And I thought 
 too that he had told you all, and you had loved him well 
 enough to forgive him. It wasn't till I came to see you 
 that I realized that this was not so, and I had been in the 
 house some hours even then before it dawned on me." 
 
 Again he spoke as one describing something seen afar. 
 
 "Of course I was sorry," he said. "I knew that sooner 
 or later you were bound to come up against it. I couldn't 
 help. I just waited. And as it chanced, I didn't have to 
 wait very long. Piers came to me one night in August, and 
 told me that the whole thing had come out, and that you had 
 refused to live with him any longer. I understood your 
 fee'fings. It was inevitable that at first you should feel like 
 that. But I knew you loved him. I knew that sooner 
 or later that would make a difference. And I tried to 
 hearten him up. For he poor lad ! was nearly mad with 
 trouble." 
 
 Avery's hands closed tightly upon each other in her lap. 
 She sat in strained silence, still gazing straight before her. 
 
 Gently Crowther finished his tale. "That's about all 
 there is to tell, except that from the day he left you to 
 this, he has borne his burden like a man, and he has never 
 once done anything unworthy of yotfc He is a man, Avery, 
 not a boy any longer. He is a man you can trust, for he 
 will never deceive you again. If he hasn't yet found his 
 place of repentance, it hasn't been for lack of the seeking. 
 If you can send him a line of forgiveness, he will go into this 
 war with a high heart, and you will have reason to be proud 
 of him when you meet again. " 
 
 He got up and moved in his slow, massive way across the 
 room. 
 
 "Now you will let me give you some tea," he said. "I 
 am sure you must be tired. " 
 
 Had he seen the tears rolling down her face as she sat
 
 516 The Bars of Iron 
 
 there? If so he gave no sign. Quietly he busied himself 
 with his preparations, and before he came back to her, she 
 had wiped them away. 
 
 He waited upon her with womanly gentleness, and later 
 he went with her to the hotel at which Piers usually stayed, 
 and saw her established there for the night. 
 
 It was not till the moment of parting that she found any 
 words in which to express herself. 
 
 Then, with her hand in his, she whispered chokingly, 
 "I feel as if as if I had failed him just when he needed 
 me most. He was in prison, and I left him there." 
 
 Crowther's steady eyes looked into hers with kindness 
 that was full of sustaining comfort. "He has broken out 
 of his prison," he said. "Don't fret don't fret!" 
 
 Her lips were quivering painfully. She turned her face 
 aside. "He will scarcely need me now, " she said. 
 
 "Write and ask him!" said Crowther gently. 
 
 She made a piteous gesture of hopelessness. " I have got 
 to find my own place of repentance first, " she said. 
 
 "I shouldn't wait," said Crowther. "Write to-night!" 
 
 And so for half the night Avery sat writing a letter to her 
 husband which he was destined never to receive.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE RELEASE OF THE PRISONER 
 
 HOW long was it since the fight round the chateau? 
 Piers had no idea. The damp chill of the autumn 
 night was upon him and he was cold to the bone. 
 
 It had been a desperate fight in which quarter had been 
 neither asked nor given, hand to hand and face to face, 
 with wild oaths and dreadful laughter. He had not noticed 
 the tumult at the time, but the echoes of it still rang in his 
 ears. A desperate fight against overwhelming odds! For 
 the chateau had been strongly held, and the struggle for 
 it had seemed Titanic, albeit only a detail of a rearguard 
 action. There had been guns there that had harried them 
 all the previous day. It had become a matter of necessity 
 to silence those guns. So the effort had been made, a glori- 
 ous effort crowned with success. They had mastered the 
 garrison, they had silenced the guns; and then, within an 
 hour of their victory, disaster had come upon them. Great 
 numbers of the enemy had swept suddenly upon them, had 
 surrounded them and swallowed them up. 
 
 It was all over now. The tide of battle had swept on. 
 The place was silent as the grave. He was the only man left, 
 flung as it were upon a dust-heap in a corner of the world 
 that had ceased to matter to anyone. 
 
 He had lain for hours unconscious till those awful chills 
 had awakened him. Doubtless he had been left for dead 
 among his dead comrades. He wondered why he was not 
 
 519
 
 520 The Bars of Iron 
 
 dead. He had a distinct recollection of being shot through 
 the heajt. And the bullet had gone out at his back. He 
 vividly remembered that also the red-hot anguish as it had 
 torn its way through him, the awful emptiness of death 
 that had followed. 
 
 How had he escaped if he had escaped? How had he 
 returned from that great silence ? Why had the dread Door 
 shut against him only, imprisoning him here when all the 
 rest had passed through ? There seemed to be some mystery 
 about it. He tried to follow it out. Death was no difficult 
 matter. He was convinced of that. Yet somehow Death 
 had eluded him. He was as a man who had lost his way 
 in a fog. Doubtless he would find it again. He did not 
 want to wander alone in this valley of dry bones. He 
 wanted to get free. He was sure that sooner or later that 
 searing, red-hot bullet would do its work. 
 i For a space he drifted back into the vast sea of uncon- 
 sciousness in which he had been submerged for so long. 
 Even that was bound to lead somewhere. Surely there was 
 no need to worry ! 
 
 But very soon it ceased to be a calm sea. It grew troubled. 
 It began to toss. He felt himself flung from billow to 
 billow, and the sound of a great storm rose in his ears. 
 
 He opened his eyes suddenly wide to a darkness that 
 could be felt, and it was as though a flame of agony went 
 through him, a raging thirst that burned him fiendishly. 
 
 Ah! He knew the meaning of that! It was horribly 
 familiar to him. He was back in hell back in the torture- 
 chamber where he had so often agonized, closed in behind 
 those bars of iron which he had fought so often and so 
 fruitlessly to force asunder. 
 
 He stretched out his hands and one of them came into 
 contact with the icy cold of a dead man's face. It was 
 the man who had shot him, and who in his turn had been 
 shot. He shuddered at the touch, shrank into himself.
 
 The Release of the Prisoner 521 
 
 And again the fiery anguish caught him, set him writhing; 
 shrivelled him as parchment is shrivelled in the flame. He 
 went through it, racked with torment, conscious of nought 
 else in all the world, so pierced and possessed by pain 
 that it seemed as if all the suffering that those dead men 
 had missed were concentrated within him. He felt as if 
 it must shatter him, soul and body, dissolve him with its 
 sheer intensity. And yet somehow his straining flesh 
 endured. He came through his inferno, sweating, gasping, 
 with broken prayers and the wrung, bitter crying of smitten 
 strength ! 
 
 Again the black sea took him, bearing him to and fro, 
 deadening his pain but giving him no rest. He tossed on 
 the troubled waters for interminable ages. He watched 
 a full moon rise blood-red and awful and turn gradually 
 to a whiteness of still more appalling purity. For a long, 
 long time he watched it, trying to recall something which 
 eluded him, chasing a will-o'-the-wisp memory round and 
 round the fevered labyrinths of his brain. 
 
 Then at last very suddenly it turned and confronted him. 
 There in the old-world garden that was every moment 
 growing more distinct and definite, he looked once more 
 upon his wife's face in the moonlight, saw her eyes of 
 shrinking horror raised to his, heard her low-spoken words: 
 " I shall never forgive you. " 
 
 The vision passed, blotted out by returning pain. He 
 buried his head beneath his arms and groaned. . . . 
 
 Again hours after, it seemed, the great cloud of his 
 agony lifted. He came to himself, feeling deadly sick 
 but no longer gripped by that fiendish torture. He raised 
 himself on his elbows and faced the blinding moonlight. 
 It seemed to pierce him, but he forced himself to meet it. 
 He looked forth over the silent garden. 
 
 Strange silhouettes of shrubs weirdly fashioned filled the 
 place. At a little distance he caught the gleam of white
 
 522 The Bars of Iron 
 
 marble, and there came to him the tinkle of a fountain. He 
 became aware again of raging thirst thirst that tore at 
 the very root of his being. He gathered himself together 
 for the greatest effort of his life. The sound of the water 
 mocked him, maddened him. He would drink he would 
 drink before he died! 
 
 The man at his side lay with face upturned starkly to the 
 moonlight. It gleamed upon eyes that were glazed and 
 sightless. The ground all around them was dark with 
 blood. 
 
 Slowly Piers raised himself, feeling his heart pump with 
 the effort, feeling the stiffened wound above it tear and gape 
 asunder. He tried to hold his breath while he moved, but 
 he could not. It came in sharp, painful gasps, sawing its 
 way through his tortured flesh. But in spite of it he man- 
 aged to lift himself to his hands and knees; and then for a 
 long, long time he dared attempt no more. For he could 
 feel the blood flowing steadily from his wound, and a 
 deadly faintness was upon him against which he needed all 
 his strength to fight. 
 
 He thought it must have overwhelmed him for a time at 
 least ; yet when it began to lessen he had not sunk down 
 again. He was still propped upon hands and knees the 
 only living creature in that place of dead men. 
 
 He could see them which ever way he looked over the 
 trampled sward figures huddled or outstretched in the 
 moonlight, all motionless, ashen-faced. 
 
 He saw none wounded like himself. Perhaps the wounded 
 had been already collected, perhaps they had crawled to 
 shelter. Or perhaps he was the only one against whom the 
 Door had been closed. He had been left for dead. He had 
 nothing to live for. Yet it seemed that he could not 
 die. 
 
 He looked at the man at his side lying wrapt in the aloof- 
 ness of Death. Poor devil ! How horrible he looked, and
 
 The Release of the Prisoner 523 
 
 how indifferent ! A sense of shuddering disgust came upon 
 Piers. He wondered if he would die as hideously. 
 
 Again the fountain mocked him softly from afar. Again 
 the fiery torment of his thirst awoke. He contemplated 
 attempting to walk, but instinct warned him against the 
 risk of a headlong fall. He began with infinite difficulty to 
 crawl upon hands and knees. 
 
 His progress was desperately slow, the suffering it en- 
 tailed was sometimes unendurable. And always he knew 
 that the blood was draining from him with every foot of 
 ground he covered. But ever that maddening fountain 
 lured him on ... 
 
 The night had stretched into untold ages. He wondered 
 if in his frequent spells of unconsciousness he had somehow 
 missed many days. He had seen the moon swing half across 
 the sky. He had watched with delirious amusement the 
 dead men rise to bury each other. And he had spent hours 
 in wondering what would happen to the last of them. His 
 head felt oddly light, as if it were full of air, a bubble of 
 prismatic colours that might burst into nothingness at any 
 moment. But his body felt as if it were fettered with a 
 thousand chains. He could hear them clanking as he moved. 
 
 But still that fountain with its marble basin seemed the 
 end and aim of his existence. Often he forgot to be thirsty 
 now, but he never forgot that he must reach the fountain 
 before he died. 
 
 Sometimes his thirst would come back in burning spasms 
 to urge him on, and he always knew that there was a great 
 reason for perseverance, always felt that if he slackened he 
 would pay a terrible penalty. 
 
 The fountain was very far away. He crawled along 
 with ever-increasing difficulty, marking the progress of his 
 own shadow in the strong moonlight. There was something 
 pitiless about the moon. It revealed so much that might 
 have been mercifully veiled.
 
 524 The Bars of Iron 
 
 From the far distance there came the long roll of cannon, 
 shattering the peace of the night, but it was a long way off. 
 In the chateau-garden there was no sound but the tinkle 
 of the fountain and the laboured, spasmodic breathing of a 
 man wounded wellnigh unto death. 
 
 Only a few yards separated him now from the running 
 water. It sounded like a fairy laughter, and all the grue- 
 some horrors of the place faded into unreality. Surely it 
 was fed by the stream at home that flowed through the 
 preserves the stream where the primroses grew! 
 
 Only a few more yards! But how damnably difficult it 
 was to cover them! He could hardly drag his weighted 
 limbs along. It was the old game. He knew it well. But 
 how devilish to fetter him so ! It had been the ruin of his 
 life. He set his teeth, and forced himself on. He would 
 win through in spite of all. 
 
 The moonlight poured dazzlingly upon the white marble 
 basin, and on the figure of a nymph who bent above it, 
 delicately poised like a butterfly about to take wing. He 
 wondered if she would flee at his approach, but she did not. 
 She stood there waiting for him, a thing of infinite daintiness, 
 the one object untouched in that ravaged garden. Perhaps 
 after all it was she and not the fountain that drew him so 
 irresistibly. He had a great longing to hear her speak, but 
 he was afraid to address her lest he should scare her away. 
 She was so slight, so spiritual, so exquisite in her fairy 
 grace. She made him think of Jeanie little Jeanie who 
 had prayed for his happiness and had not lived to see her 
 prayer fulfilled. 
 
 He drew near with a certain stealthiness, fearing to startle 
 her. He would have risen to his feet, but his strength was 
 ebbing fast. He knew he could not. 
 
 And then just ere he reached the marble basin, the goal 
 of that long, bitter journey he saw her turn a little towards 
 him ; he heard her speak.
 
 The Release of the Prisoner 525 
 
 "Dear Sir Galahad!" 
 
 ' ' Jeanie ! " he gasped. 
 
 She seemed to sway above the gleaming water. Even 
 then even then he was not sure of her till he saw her 
 face of childish purity and the happy smile of greeting in her 
 eyes ! 
 
 "How very tired you must be ! " she said. 
 
 "I am, Jeanie! I am!" he groaned in answer. "These 
 chains these iron bars I shall never get free!" 
 
 He saw her white arms reach out to him. He thought her 
 fingers touched his brow. And he knew quite suddenly that 
 the journey was over, and he could lie down and rest. 
 
 Her voice came to him very softly, with a hushing tender- 
 ness through the miniature rush and gurgle of the water. 
 As usual she sought to comfort him, but he heard a thrill 
 of triumph as well as sympathy in her words. 
 
 "He hath broken the gates of brass," she said. "And 
 smitten the bars of iron in sunder." 
 
 His fingers closed upon the edge of the pool. He felt 
 the water splash his face as he sank down ; and though he was 
 too spent to drink he thanked God for bringing him thither. 
 
 Later it seemed to him that a Divine Presence came 
 through the garden, that Someone stooped and touched him, 
 and lo, his chains were broken and his burden gone! And 
 he roused himself to ask for pardon; which was granted to 
 him ere that Presence passed away. 
 
 He never knew exactly what happened after that night in 
 the garden of the ruined chateau. There were a great many 
 happenings, but none of them seemed to concern him very 
 vitally. 
 
 He wandered through great spaces of oblivion, inter- 
 sected with terrible streaks of excruciating pain. During 
 the intervals of this fearful suffering he was acutely con-
 
 526 The Bars of Iron 
 
 sclous, but he invariably forgot everything again when the 
 merciful unconsciousness came back. He knew in a vague 
 way that he lay in a hospital-tent with other dying men, 
 knew when they moved him at last because he could not 
 die, suffered agonies unutterable upon an endless road that 
 never seemed to lead to anywhere, and finally awoke to 
 find that the journey had been over for several days. 
 
 He tried very hard not to wake. Waking invariably 
 meant anguish. He longed unspeakably for Death, but 
 Death was denied him. And when someone came and 
 stooped over him and took his nerveless hand, he whispered 
 with closed eyes an earnest request not to be called back. 
 i "It's such a ghastly business " he muttered piteously 
 " this waking. " 
 
 "Won't you speak to a friend, Piers? " a voice said. 
 
 He opened his eyes then. He had not heard his own name 
 for months. He looked up into eyes that gleamed hawk- 
 like through glasses, and a throb of recognition went through 
 his heart. 
 
 "You!" he whispered, striving desperately to master the 
 sickening pain that that throb had started. 
 
 "All right. Don't speak for a bit!" said Tudor quietly. 
 " I think I can help you. " 
 
 He did help, working over him steadily, with the utmost 
 gentleness, till the worst of the paroxysm was past. 
 
 Piers was pathetically grateful. His high spirit had sunk 
 very low in those days. No one that he could remember had 
 ever done anything to ease his pain before. 
 
 " It's been so infernal, " he whispered presently. " You 
 know I was shot through the heart. " 
 
 Tudor's face was very grave. "Yes, you're pretty bad, " 
 he said. "But you've pulled through so far. It's in your 
 favour, that. And look here, you must lie flat on your 
 back always. Do you understand? It's about your only 
 chance. "
 
 The Release of the Prisoner 527 
 
 " Of living ? " whispered Piers. " But I don't want to live. 
 I want to die." 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" said Tudor. 
 
 "I'm not a fool. I hate life!" A tremor of passion ran 
 through the words. 
 
 Tudor laid a hand upon him. "Piers, if ever any man 
 had anything to live for, you are that man, " he said. 
 
 "What do you mean?" Piers' eyes, dark as the night 
 through which he had come, looked up at him. 
 
 " I mean just that. If you can't live for your own sake, 
 live for hers! She wants you. It'll break her heart if you 
 go out now. " 
 
 "Great Scott, man! You're not in earnest!" whispered 
 Piers. 
 
 "I am in earnest. I know exactly what I am saying. I 
 don't talk at random. She loved you. She wants you. 
 You've lived for yourself all your life. Now you've got to 
 live for her." 
 
 Tudor's voice was low and vehement. A faint sparkle 
 came into Piers' eyes as he heard it. 
 
 "By George!" he said softly. "You're rather a brick, 
 what ? But haven't you thought what might happen if 
 if I went out after all ? You used to be rather great at 
 getting me out of the way. " 
 
 "I didn't realize how all-important you were," rejoined 
 Tudor, with a bitter smile. " You needn't go any further in 
 that direction. It leads to a blank wall. You've got to live 
 whether you like it or not. I'm going to do all I can to make 
 you live, and you'll be a hound if you don't back me up. " 
 
 His eyes looked down upon Piers, dominant and piercingly 
 intent. And perhaps it was mere physical weakness, or 
 possibly the voluntary yielding of a strong will that was in 
 its own way as great as the strength to which it yielded 
 Piers surrendered with a meekness such as Tudor had never 
 before witnessed in him.
 
 528 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "All right," he said. "I'll do my best." 
 And so oddly they entered into a partnership that had 
 for its sole end and aim the happiness of the woman they 
 loved; and in that partnership their rivalry was for ever 
 extinguished. 

 
 , HOLY GROUND 
 
 " nPHEY say he will never fight again, " said Crowther 
 
 1 gravely. "He may live. They think he will live. 
 But he will never be strong. " 
 
 " If only I might see him ! " Avery said. 
 
 "Yes, I know. That is the hardest part. But be pa- 
 tient a little longer ! So much depends on it. I was told 
 only this morning that any agitation might be fatal. No 
 one seems to understand how it is that he has managed to 
 live at all. He is just hanging on, poor lad, just hanging 
 on." 
 
 " I want to help him, " Avery said. 
 
 " I know you do. And so you can if you will. But not 
 by going to him. That would do more harm than good. " 
 
 "How else can I do anything?" she said. "Surely 
 surely he wants to see me ! " 
 
 She was standing in Crowther's room, facing him with 
 that in her eyes that moved him to a great compassion. 
 
 He put his hand on her shoulder. " My dear, of course 
 he wants to see you; but there will be no keeping him quiet 
 when he does. He isn't equal to it. He is putting up the 
 biggest fight of his life, and he wants all his strength for it. 
 But you can do your part now if you will. You can go down 
 to Rodding Abbey and make ready to receive him there. 
 And you can send Victor to help me with him as soon as he 
 is able to leave the hospital. He and I will bring him down 
 
 34 529
 
 530 The Bars of Iron 
 
 to you. And if you will be there just in the ordinary way, 
 I think there will be less risk of excitement. Will you do 
 this, Avery? Is it asking too much of you?" 
 
 His grey eyes looked straight down into hers with the 
 wide friendliness that was as the open gateway to his soul, 
 and some of the bitter strain of the past few weeks passed 
 from her own as she looked back. 
 
 "Nothing would be too much," she said. "I would do 
 anything anything. But if he should want me and I 
 were not at hand? If if he should die " Her voice 
 sank. 
 
 Crowther's hand pressed upon her. "He is not going to 
 die," he said stoutly. "He doesn't mean to die. But he 
 will probably have to go slow for the rest of his life. That is 
 where you will be able to help him. His only chance lies 
 in patience. You must teach him to be patient. " 
 
 Her lips quivered in a smile. " Piers !" she said. "Can 
 you picture it?" 
 
 "Yes, I can. Because I know that only patience can 
 have brought him to where he is at present. They say it is 
 nothing short of a miracle, and I believe it. God often 
 works His miracles that way. And I always knew that 
 Piers was great." 
 
 Crowther's slow smile appeared, transforming his whole 
 face. He held Avery's hand for a little, and let it go. 
 
 "So you will do this, will you?" he said. "I think the 
 
 boy would be just about pleased to find you there. And 
 
 you can depend on me to bring him down to you as soon as 
 
 he is able to bear it." 
 
 i "You are very good," Avery said. "Yes, I will go." 
 
 But, as Crowther knew, in going she accepted the hardest 
 part; and the weeks that she then spent at Rodding Abbey 
 waiting, waiting with a sick anxiety, left upon her a mark 
 which no time could ever erase. 
 
 When Crowther's message came to her at last, she was
 
 Holy Ground 531 
 
 almost too crushed to believe. Everything was in readiness, 
 had been in readiness for weeks. She had prepared in 
 fevered haste, telling herself that any day might bring him. 
 But day had followed day, and the news had always been 
 depressing, first of weakness, fits of pain, terrible collapses, 
 and again difficult recoveries. Not once had she been told 
 that any ground had been gained. 
 
 And so when one day a telegram reached her earlier than 
 usual, she hardly dared to open it, so little did she anticipate 
 that the news could be good. 
 
 And even when the words stared her in the face: "Bring- 
 ing Piers this afternoon, Crowther, " she could not for 
 awhile believe them, and sought instinctively to read into 
 them some sinister meaning. 
 
 How she got through that day, she never afterwards knew. 
 The hours dragged leaden-footed. There was nothing to be 
 done. She would not leave the house lest by some impos- 
 sible chance he might arrive before the afternoon, but she 
 felt that to stay within its walls was unendurable. So for 
 the most part she paced the terrace, breathing the dank, 
 autumnal air, picturing every phase of his journey, but 
 never daring to picture his arrival, praying piteous, dis- 
 jointed prayers that only her own soul seemed to hear. 
 
 The afternoon began to wane, and dusk came down. A 
 small drifting rain set in with the darkness, but she was not 
 even aware of it till David, very deferential and subdued, 
 came to her and suggested that if she would wait in the hall 
 Sir Piers would see her at once, as he had taken the liberty 
 to turn on all the lights. 
 
 She knew that the old man made the suggestion out of 
 the goodness of his heart, and she fell in with it, realizing the 
 wisdom of going within. But when she found herself in the 
 full glare of the great hall, alone with those shining suits of 
 armour that mounted guard on each side of the fireplace, the 
 awful suspense came upon her with a force that nothing
 
 532 The Bars of Iron 
 
 could alleviate. She turned with sick loathing from the 
 tea-tray that David had placed for her so comfortingly close 
 to the fire. Every moment that passed was an added 
 torture. It was dark, it was late. The conviction was 
 growing in her heart that when they came at last, they 
 would bring with them only her husband's dead body. 
 
 She rose and went to the open door. Where was his 
 spirit now, she wondered? Had he leapt ahead of that 
 empty, travelling shell? Was he already close close his 
 arm entwined in hers ? She covered her face with her hands. 
 "Oh, Piers, I can't go on alone," she sobbed. "If you are 
 dead I must die too!" 
 
 And then, as though in obedience to a voice that had 
 spoken within her, she raised her head again and gazed forth. 
 The rain had drifted away. Through scudding clouds of 
 darkness there shone, serene and splendid, a single star. 
 Her heart gave a great throb, and was still. 
 
 "The Star of Hope!" she murmured wonderingly. 
 "The Star of Hope!" 
 
 And in that moment inexplicably yet convincingly she 
 knew that her prayers that had seemed so fruitless had been 
 heard, and that an answer was very near at hand. . . . 
 
 There came the sound of a horn from the direction of the 
 lodge. They were coming. 
 
 She turned her head and looked down the dark avenue. 
 But she was no longer agitated or distressed by fear. She 
 knew not what might be in store for her, but somehow, 
 mystically, she had been endued with strength to meet it 
 unafraid. 
 
 She heard the soft buzz of a high-powered car, and pre- 
 sently two lights appeared at the further end. They came 
 towards her swiftly, almost silently. It was like the swoop 
 of an immense bird. And then in the strong glare shed 
 forth by the hall-lamps she saw the huge body of an ambu- 
 lance-car, and a Red Cross flared svmbolic in the light.
 
 , Holy Ground 533 
 
 The car came to a stand immediately before her, and for a 
 few moments nothing happened. And still she was not 
 afraid. Still she was as it were guided and sustained 
 and lifted above all turmoil. She seemed to stand on a 
 mountain-top, above the seething misery that had for so 
 long possessed her. She was braced to look upon even 
 Death unshaken, undismayed. 
 
 Steadily she moved. She went down to the car. Old 
 David was behind her. He came forward and opened the 
 door with fumbling, quivering hands. She had time to 
 notice his agitation and to be sorry for him. 
 
 Then a voice came to her from within, and a great 
 throb went through her of thankfulness, of relief, of joy 
 unspeakable. 
 
 "Victor, you old ass, what are you blubbing for? Anyone 
 would think A sudden pause, then in a low, eager 
 tone, "Hullo, A very?" 
 
 The incredulous interrogation of the words cut her to the 
 heart. She went up the step and into the car as if drawn 
 by an irresistible magnetism, seeing neither Crowther nor 
 Victor, aware only of a prone, gaunt figure on a stretcher, 
 white-haired, skeleton-featured, that reached a trembling 
 hand to her and said again, "Hullo!" 
 
 For one wild second she felt as if she were in the pres- 
 ence of old Sir Beverley, so striking was the likeness that 
 the drawn, upturned face bore to him. Then Piers' eyes, 
 black as the night, smiled up at her, half-imperious, half- 
 pleading, and the illusion was gone. 
 
 She stooped over him, that trembling hand fast clasped in 
 hers; but she could not speak. No words would come. 
 
 "Been waiting, what?" he said. "I hope not for long?" 
 
 But still she could not speak. She felt choked. It was 
 all so unnatural, so cruelly hard to bear. 
 
 "I shan't be like this always," he said. "Afraid I look 
 an awful guy just at present. "
 
 534 The Bars of Iron 
 
 V 
 
 That was all then, for Crowther came gently between 
 them; and then he and Victor, with infinite care, lifted the 
 stretcher and bore the master of the house into his own 
 home. 
 
 Half an hour later Avery turned from waving a farewell 
 to Crowther, who had insisted upon going back to town 
 with the car that had brought them, and softly shut out the 
 night. 
 
 She had had the library turned into a bedroom for Piers, 
 and she crossed the hall to the door with an eagerness that 
 carried her no further. There, gripping the handle, she was 
 stayed. 
 
 Within, she could hear Victor moving to and fro, but she 
 listened in vain for her husband's voice, and a great shyness 
 came upon her. She could not ask permission to enter. 
 
 Minutes passed while she stood there, minutes of tense 
 listening, during which she scarcely seemed to breathe. Then 
 very suddenly she heard a sound that set every nerve 
 a-quiver a groan that was more of weariness than pain, 
 but such weariness as made her own heart throb in 
 passionate sympathy. 
 
 Almost without knowing it, she turned the handle of the 
 door, and opened it. A moment more, and she was in the 
 room. 
 
 He was lying flat in the bed, his dark eyes staring up- 
 wards out of deep hollows that had become cruelly distinct. 
 There was dumb endurance in every line of him. His 
 mouth was hard set, the chin firm as granite. And even 
 then in his utter helplessness there was about him a great- 
 ness, a mute, unconscious majesty, that caught her by the 
 throat. 
 
 She went softly to the bedside. 
 
 He turned his head at her coming, not quickly, not with 
 any eagerness of welcome ; but with that in his eyes, a slow
 
 Holy Ground 535 
 
 kindling, that seemed to surround her with the glow of a 
 great warmth. 
 
 But when he spoke, it was upon no intimate subject. 
 "Has Crowther gone?" he asked. 
 
 His voice was pitched very low. She saw that he spoke 
 with deliberate quietness, as if he were training himself 
 thereto. 
 
 "Yes, " she made answer. " He wouldn't stay. " 
 
 "He couldn't," said Piers. "He is going to be ordained 
 to-morrow. " 
 
 " Oh, is he ? " she said in surprise. " He never told me ! " 
 
 "He wouldn't," said Piers. "He never talks about 
 himself." He moved his hand slightly towards her. 
 "Won't you sit down?" 
 
 She glanced round. Victor was advancing behind her 
 with a chair. Piers' eyes followed hers, and an instant 
 later, turning back, she saw his quick frown. He raised 
 his hand and snapped his fingers with the old imperious 
 gesture, pointing to the door; and in a moment Victor, with a 
 smile of peculiar gratification, put down the chair, trotted 
 to it, opened it with a flourish, and was gone. 
 
 Avery was left standing by the bed, slightly uncertain, 
 wanting to smile, but wanting much more to cry. 
 
 Piers' hand fell heavily. For a few seconds he lay per- 
 fectly still, with quickened breathing and drawn brows. 
 Then his fingers patted the edge of the bed. "Sit down, 
 sweetheart!" he said. 
 
 It was Piers the boy-lover who spoke to her with those 
 words, and, hearing them, something seemed to give way 
 within her. It was as if a tight band round her heart had 
 suddenly been torn asunder. 
 
 She sank down on her knees beside the bed, and hid her 
 face in his pillow. Tears tears such as she had not shed 
 since the beginning of their bitter estrangement came 
 welling up from her heart and would not be restrained. She
 
 53 6 The Bars of Iron 
 
 sobbed her very soul out there beside him, subconsciously 
 aware that in that hour his strength was greater than hers. 
 
 Like an overwhelming torrent her distress came upon her, 
 caught her tempestuously, swept her utterly from her own 
 control, tossed her hither and thither, flung her at last 
 into a place of deep, deep silence, where, still kneeling with 
 head bowed low, she became conscious, strangely, intimately 
 conscious, of the presence of God. 
 
 It held her like a spell, that consciousness. She was -as 
 one who kneels before a vision. And even while she knelt 
 there, lost in wonder, there came to her the throbbing glad- 
 ness of faith renewed, the certainty that all would be well. 
 
 Piers' hand was on her head, stroking, caressing, soothing. 
 By no words did he attempt to comfort her. It was strange 
 how little either of them felt the need of words. They were 
 together upon holy ground, and in closer communion each 
 with each than they had ever been before. Those tears cf 
 Avery's had washed away the barrier. 
 
 Once, some time later, he whispered to her, "I never 
 asked you to forgive me, Avery; but " 
 
 And that was the nearest he ever came to asking her 
 forgiveness. For she stopped the words with her lips on his, 
 and he never thought of uttering them again.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE and children's voices singing in the 
 night ! Two figures by the open window listening a 
 man and a woman, hand in hand in the dark ! 
 
 " Don't let them see us yet ! " It was the woman's voice, 
 low but with a deep thrill in it as of full and complete con- 
 tent. " I knew they were coming. Gracie whispered it to 
 me this morning. But I wasn't to tell anyone. She was so 
 afraid their father might forbid it." 
 
 The man answered with a faint, derisive laugh that yet 
 had in it an echo of the woman's satisfaction. He did not 
 speak, for already through the winter darkness a single, 
 boyish voice had taken up another verse : 
 
 "He comes, the prisoners to release 
 In Satan's bondage held; 
 The gates of brass before Him burst, 
 The iron fetters yield." 
 
 The woman's fingers clung fast to his. "Love opens every 
 door," she whispered. 
 
 His answering grip was close and strong. But he said 
 nothing while the last triumphant lines were repeated. 
 
 "The gates of brass before Him burst, 
 The iron fetters yield." 
 
 The next verse was sung by two voices in harmony, very soft 
 and hushed. 
 
 537
 
 538 The Bars of Iron 
 
 "He comes the broken heart to bind, 
 The bleeding soul to cure, 
 And with the treasures of His grace 
 To bless the humble poor." 
 
 Then came a pause, while through the quiet night there 
 floated the sound of distant bells. 
 
 "Look!" said Piers suddenly. 
 
 And Avery, kneeling beside him, raised her eyes. 
 
 There, high above the trees, alone and splendid, there 
 shone a great, quivering star. 
 
 His arm slid round her neck. "The Star of Hope, 
 Avery, " he whispered. "Yours and mine. " 
 
 She clung to him silently, with a closeness that was 
 passionate. 
 
 And so the last verse, very clear and strong, came to 
 them out of the night. 
 
 " Our glad hosannas, Prince of Peace, 
 Thy welcome shall proclaim, 
 And Heaven's eternal arches ring 
 With Thy beloved Name. 
 And Heaven's eternal arches ring 
 With Thy beloved Name." 
 
 Avery leaned her head against her husband's shoulder. "I 
 hear an angel singing, " she said. 
 
 Ten minutes later, Gracie stood in the great hall with the 
 red glow of the fire spreading all about her, her bright eyes 
 surveying the master of the house who lay back in a low 
 easy-chair with his wife kneeling beside him and Csesar the 
 Dalmatian curled up with much complacence at his feet. 
 
 "Plow very comfy you look!" she remarked. 
 
 And, "We are comfy," said Piers, with a smile.
 
 Jt Selection from the 
 Catalogue of 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 Complete Catalogues sent 
 on application
 
 " Jl born teller of stories. She certainly has the 
 right stuff In her.*' London Standard. 
 
 The Way of an Eagle 
 
 By 
 
 Ethel M. Dell 
 
 Author of " The Knave of Diamonds " 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 " In these days of overmuch involved plot and 
 diction in the writing of novels, a book like this 
 brings a sense of refreshment, as much by the 
 virility and directness of its style as by the 
 interest of the story it tells. . . . The human 
 interest of the book is absorbing. The descrip- 
 tions of life in India and England are delightful. 
 . . . But it is the intense humanity of the 
 story above all, that of its dominating charac- 
 ter, Nick Ratcliffe, that will win for it a swift 
 appreciation." Boston Transcript. 
 
 " Well written, wholesome, overflowing with 
 sentiment, yet never mawkish. Lovers of good 
 adventure will enjoy its varied excitement, while 
 the frankly romantic will peruse its pages with 
 joy." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 Frontispiece in Color by John Cassel 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 The 
 Keeper of the Door 
 
 By Ethel M. Dell 
 
 Author of " The Way of an Eagle," " The Rocks of ValpreY* 
 " The Knave of Diamonds," etc. 
 
 The Keeper of the Door, a physician whose 
 duty it is to guard the portal through which 
 the world-sick soul seeks escape. He must 
 fight the enemy Death, even when the latter 
 comes in friendly guise. On an impulse more 
 generous than wise the heroine puts into 
 practice the other view, that in an extreme 
 case of hopeless suffering the extra drop in 
 the spoon that converts a harmless sedative 
 into a death-dealing potion, is the only fair 
 way. The story revolves around this act, 
 its effect on the heroine, the physician whom 
 she loves, and one who seeks revenge. It 
 shows the author's remarkable story-telling 
 genius at its best. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 The 
 Lamp in the Desert 
 
 By 
 
 Ethel M. Dell 
 
 Author of " Greatheart," "The Way of an Eagle," 
 " Bars of Iron," etc. 
 
 The story of a great love. 
 
 Once again Miss Dell transports us to India, 
 that India which she knows so well, the land 
 of mystery, intrigue, and deep passion. She 
 shows us a man, a strong man who is ready to 
 sacrifice fame and ambition, and even life 
 itself, to shield from sorrow the woman he 
 loves. In that darkest hour when the young 
 mother realizes that she is wife in name only, 
 even then the memory of his strength upholds 
 her, and across the desert, her bitter desert 
 of ashes, the lamp still shines throughout 
 the darkness of pain and sorrow until the 
 dawning of their new day of love and perfect 
 recompense. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 GREATHEART 
 
 By Ethel M. Dell 
 
 '"THERE, were two of them as unlike as two 
 men could be. Sir Eustace, big, domineer- 
 ing, haughty, used to sweeping all before him 
 with the power of his personality. 
 
 The other was Stumpy, small, insignificant, 
 quiet, with a little limp. 
 
 They clashed over the greatest question that 
 may come to men the love of a girl. 
 
 She took Sir Eustace just because she could 
 not help herself and was swept ahead on the 
 tide of his passion. 
 
 And then, when she needed help most on 
 the day before the wedding Stumpy saved her 
 and the quiet flame of his eyes was more 
 than the brute power of his brother. 
 
 How did it all come out? Did she choose 
 wisely ? Is Greatheart more to be desired than 
 great riches? The answer is the most vivid 
 and charming story that Ethel M. Dell has 
 written in a long time. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
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