I. A. R. Wylie

“ The faces that came and peered at her were the faces of people whom she had known and loved. There was Chris among them. He seemed to have grown taller—finer-looking, and there was a puzzled, hurt expression on his handsome face.
"But she is quite different," he said. "We're different people now——"
"We can't wait," John Tudor said in a towering rage. "The world can't stand still for that!"
He went off indignantly, but Chris lingered. He seemed to be trying to subdue his look of horror and distress. He tried to smile at her. But his smile was a grimace. It awakened murder in her heart. ”

“ Mackay beat his hands on the chair arms. He leant forward, his dark, bearded face terribly convulsed.
"And you take a damnable advantage of your strength," he stammered. "If I could stand upright you would not have dared——" His voice broke, rising to a scream. "Go—go—if you have a shred of decent feeling left in you—get out here before I want to kill you—you—you cur!"
Instinctively Tudor's clenched hand went up. But in the same instant he saw what Jean Mackay had seen once before—the sudden abject cringing—the utter pitiful collapse. He turned away calmed and contemptuous. "God pity you!" ”

“ The clamour of the streets rose up to her ceaselessly—the roar of 'buses, the hooting of taxis, the subdued, unbroken undertone of passing feet And involuntarily a faint smile dawned in her expression, as though the hubbub was to her something familiar, beloved, something attuned to her own spirit which even now she heard joyfully.
Her companion stood opposite her, leaning against the lintel of the window, his arms folded, and watched her. Seeing him, it was easy to understand why the room had had to be spacious and free from little things. For the man was big and dominant and powerful. ”

“ Amidst them she seemed to see the desolate, tragic house she had left for ever, the shadowy room—the minister figure of hate and madness, coiled in the dusk, waiting to fling itself upon her. She had not been afraid—she was not afraid now. But the strong earth had been torn from under her feet She had been flung down from the clear, serene heights from which she had viewed life into the seething mysteries of human degradation. Men could become like that—men who had been chivalrous and generous and brave could become like that—— The gulf between good and evil could be taken in a man's stride. ”

“ And she herself would start out of her dreams to the consciousness of his scrutiny and to an uneasy questioning. What lay behind those furtive eyes? Madness—terror or sheer hatred? She did not know. But more and more often an answering flame of revolt burnt up in her.
"A servant is all he needs," she told herself, "and he chains me here. ”

“ There was one man who, though he remained aloof and silent, in some subtle yet unmistakable way belonged to them. He sat in the shelter of the deck-cabins, huddled up to the chin in wraps and so motionless that people jostled him and remained unconscious of his very existence. His head had fallen forward as though in sleep, but his eyes were wide open and fixed in an absorbed stare on something in the near distance. ”

“ She opened the door to him and after one glance at her white face he went past her into the sitting-room where Chris Mackay lived every day of his return. He was there now, brooding in his chair by the empty fire-place, but as the newcomer entered he jerked up violently, spasmodically, as though the string of the marionette had been pulled by accident, and then dropped back into a limp heap.
"I can't get up," he said, "I can't——"
"I know," Tudor answered. "It's rotten bad luck. ”

“ They tortured you, Chris."
"That was nothing. It is what they made of me——"
She had dropped down in the chair opposite him and he looked across at her, and she saw what had lain hidden behind his eyes. It was as though he threw down his last defence before her. "It is terrible to become a murderer and a coward," he said. ”

“ Jean Mackay went out into the passage and the man seated by the window heard the bolts drawn and the sound of voices. He leant forward in his chair so that he could hear them better. Old Andrews sounded querulous and overwrought with fatigue.
"Why, yes, it isn't often I comes these ways—and for a bit of a letter like that too! But maybe, as you don't get many, you'll be glad of it. I hope so. Three miles through this rain comes hard on an old man——"
He did not hear her answer. But his hands clenched themselves bloodless as he listened to her silence. Then old Andrews broke in again. ”

“ But even after the last stragglers had passed over, the man in the chair did not move, and a sailor coming upon him suddenly stumbled and cursed luridly.
"Isn't yer mother come to fetch yer?" he asked in conclusion and with elaborate sarcasm. "Want someone to carry yer?"
The man divested himself of his wraps, showing first his face and then his whole body. The action was deliberate, like that of a performer displaying something astonishing to his audience.
"As a matter of fact I want two people," he said. "You see, I'm a good weight." ”

“ It's not a personal matter. It's bigger than any single human being—than a whole herd of human beings. It's our job—yours and mine—and you dare not fail."
She lifted her head eagerly. The victorious look of youth and hope brightened through her pallor like a flame.
"I'll not leave the ship in the storm," she said, "I couldn't—I promise you—I'd rather die——"
She gave him her hand in a quick strong pressure and then turned and was gone.
III
The taxi-driver and the passer-by who had been called in to assist set their burden down in the arm-chair gingerly and rather doubtfully. ”

“ He waited for a moment but she did not answer, and his morose, amber-coloured eyes resumed their furtive scrutiny of his surroundings. "So we've neither of us anything to complain of. You've done well for yourself too. I can see that. You've grown even—there's more colour about you. And the place—it's bigger than—than our old rabbit-hutch—much bigger——"
"Yes—it's brighter—there's more light——"
"And more money——"
"I thought I told you in one of my letters—Mr. Tudor had raised my salary——"
"So you're still working with him. You've kept my job, after all. ”

“ And no beastly fighting. Just lounging about all day in one's best clothes. The Turks are decent fellows—fine fellows. I—I tell you—I don't need any of your infernal pity." He looked from one to the other with his yellow, piercing eyes. A little sinister smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "I suppose you've come to offer me my old job," he said abruptly.
Tudor turned away from the crouching figure in the chair. ”

“ He bent towards her, peering at her through the dusk with a direct intentness that would have been brutal had it not been so utterly impersonal.
"I wish I could see your face," he said. "Then I should know what to say to you. But I can't. And I'm not the man to stand here guessing. Nor are you the woman to play a humbugging game with a friend. ”