Margaret Pedler

“ Something of the immensity of love, its heights and depths, had been revealed to her in those tense silences she had shared with Peter, and she knew that she had been untrue to the love within her—untrue from the very beginning when she had first pledged herself to Roger.
She had rushed headlong into her engagement with him, driven by cross currents that had whirled her hither and thither. Afterward, when the full realization of her love for Peter had overwhelmed her, her pride—the dogged, unyielding pride of the Davenants, whose word was their bond—had held her to her promise. ”

“ The words came pouring from her lips. “I'd try every surgeon in the world before I'd give up hope, and if they failed, I'd try what love—just patient, helpful love—could do! One thinks of a thousand ways which might cure when one loves,” she added.
“Love is a great healer,” said Nan gently. “I'm not sure that anything is impossible if you have both love and faith.” She paused, her foot on the step of the car. “I think—I think, some day, Roger will open the door of his heart to you, Isobel,” she ended softly. ”

“ When she had directed it to “Roger Trenby, Esq.,” she leaned back in her chair, feeling curiously tired, but conscious of a sense of peace and tranquillity that had been absent from her since the day on which she had promised to marry Roger.
Now—now she was free! Though she would never know the supreme joy of mating with the man she loved, she had at least escaped the prison which the wrong man's love can make for a woman. Just as no other man than Peter would ever hold her heart, so henceforth no kiss but his would ever touch her lips. But for Peter the burden would be heavier. ”

“ Her eyes were dry and burning in their sockets.
“There's very bad news about Roger,” said Kitty, in the low tones of one who has hardly yet recovered from the shock of unexpectedly grave tidings. “His spine is so injured that he'll never be able to walk again. He”—she choked over the telling of it—“his legs will always be paralyzed.”
Nan stared at her vacantly, as though she hardly grasped the meaning of the words. Then, without speaking, she covered her face with her hands. The room seemed to be full of silence—a heavy, terrible silence, charged with calamity. ”

“ Sudden tears filled Kitty's eyes. She pitied Roger from the bottom of her heart, but she must still fight for the happiness of Nan and Peter.
“I know,” she acquiesced unhappily. “But, don't you see, if he doesn't bear this, too, Nan will have to bear a twofold burden for the rest of her life. Oh, Barry! Don't fail me! It's a man's job—this. No woman could do it without making Roger feel it frightfully. A man so hates to discuss any physical disablement with a woman. It hurts his pride. ”

“ Nan smiled at her curiously.
“Roger will never get over the consequences of his accident,” she said. “Can you imagine what it's going to mean to him to be tied down to a couch for the rest of his days? An outdoor man like Roger, who has hunted and shot and fished all his life?”
“Of course I can imagine! It's all too dreadful to think of! But now Peter's free, you can't—you can't mean to give him up for Roger!”
“I must,” answered Nan quietly. “I can't take the last thing he values from a man who's lost nearly everything.”
Kitty grasped her by the arm. ”

“ A minute later Sandy was speeding back to the Hall.
“It's pretty ghastly,” said Kitty as she and Nan turned away together. “Poor old Roger!”
“Yes,” replied Nan mechanically. “Poor Roger.”
A sudden thought had sprung into her mind, overwhelming her with its significance. The letter she had written to Roger—she couldn't send it now! Common humanity forbade that it should go. It would have to wait—wait till Roger had recovered. The disappointment, cutting across a deep and real sympathy with the injured man, was sharp and bitter. ”

“ I'm going away with Maryon, and by this afternoon, when you come to fetch me for our motor spin, I shall have taken the first step on the new road. Nothing you could have said would have altered my determination, so you need never think that, Sandy boy. I know your first impulse will be to follow me. But you can spare your petrol, for even if you overtook me, I shouldn't come back. I don't expect to find happiness, but life with Maryon can never be dull. There'd never be anything to occupy my mind at Trenby—except soup jellies. ”

“ As far as the neighborhood—and Roger Trenby—were concerned, she might just as well run away with Maryon Rooke as return with Sandy McBain at that ungodly hour! She would be equally compromised.
Sandy began to see that the plans which he and Kitty had hastily thrown together in the dire emergency of the moment might serve well enough by way of temporary cover, but that in the long run they would rather complicate matters. Suddenly into his harassed mind sprang the thought of Mallory. Of all men in the world, surely he, who loved Nan, would find a way to save her! ”

“ I'm not feeling particularly proud of myself just now, and it always spoils my enjoyment of things if I can't be genuinely pleased with my ego. Don't cut me when next we meet, if fortune is ever kind enough to me to let us meet again. Because, for once in my life, I'm really sorry for my sins. I believe that somewhere in the ramshackle thing I call my soul, I'm glad Sandy took you away from me. Though there are occasional moments when I feel murderous toward him. Yours, Maryon.
Nan laid down the closely written sheet with a half smile, half sigh. ”

“ Why should I? I've only made Roger either furious or wretched ever since we were engaged. It isn't as if I could do any good by going back!”
“Isn't it something good to have kept faith?” There was a stern note in his voice.
She looked at him wistfully.
“If it had been you, Peter. It's easy to keep faith when one loves.”
“And are you being faithful—even to our love?” he asked quietly.
“To our love?” she whispered.
“There is a faithfulness of the spirit, Nan—the only faithfulness possible to those who are set apart as we are.” ”

“ I suppose it's that damned cad who painted her portrait—Maryon Rooke?”
Barry smiled a little.
“No,” he answered. “The man she loves is Peter Mallory.”
“Mallory!” Roger repeated in blank astonishment. Then he added swiftly, and with a gleam of triumph in his eyes: “But he's married!”
“His wife has just died—out in India.”
“So that's why you came?” sneered Roger. “Well, you can tell Nan that she won't marry Peter Mallory with my consent. I'll never set her free to be another man's wife—there's only one thing left to me in the world, and that's Nan! ”

“ But that's just like a man! When the woman he cares for acts in a way that's entirely inconsistent with all he knows of her, he never thinks of trying to work backward to find out the cause. The effect's enough for him! Oh, I do think Peter and Nan are most difficult people to manage. If it were only that—just a lovers' squabble—one might fix things up. But now, just when every obstacle in the world is removed and they: could be happily married, Nan must needs decide that it's her duty to marry Roger! ”

“ Then suddenly he asked:
“When's Nan coming to see me? I told Isobel to telephone over to Mallow this morning.”
“You're hardly up to visitors,” said Barry, searching for delay. “I don't suppose I ought to have come, really.”
Roger looked at him with eyes that burned fiercely underneath his shaggy brows.
“I'm as right as you are—except for my confounded back,” he answered. “I've not got a scratch on me. Only something must have struck me as the car overturned—and injured my spine.”
“You may not be so badly injured as you think,” ventured Barry. ”

“ Roger swung round upon him furiously, his hands clenched, his forehead suddenly gnarled with knotted veins.
“By God, Rooke!” he exclaimed. “You go too far! You will exhibit Nan's portrait—you will hang it in your house! And you think I'll stand by and tolerate such damned impertinence? Understand! Nan's portrait hangs at Trenby Hall—or nowhere!”
Rooke regarded him apparently unmoved.
“I've yet to learn the law which compels a man to part with his work,” he remarked indifferently. ”

“ Unless,” he added suddenly, “I paint a portrait of you while I'm here!”
Nan glanced at him delightedly.
“I should love it. Only you won't paint my soul, will you, Maryon, as you did Mrs. T. van Decken's?”
“I don't know, Nan. I think I should rather like to paint it. Your soul would be an intricate piece of work.”
“I'm sure it wouldn't make nearly as nice a picture as my face. I think it's rather a plain soul.”
“The answer to that is obvious,” he replied lightly. “Well, I shall talk to Trenby about the portrait. I suppose permission from headquarters would be advisable?” ”

“ And in a way it is loyal to you, too, Roger, because as you have known from the beginning—I could never give you all that a man has a right to expect from the woman he marries. One can't “share out” love in bits. I've learned that love means all or nothing, and, as I cannot give you all, it must be nothing. And of this you may be sure—perhaps it may make you feel that I have behaved less badly to you—I am not breaking off our engagement in order to marry some one else. I shall never marry any one, now. Nan read it through, then slipped it into an envelope and sealed it. ”

“ He was beginning to recognize the hopelessness of any effort to turn or influence the man.
“Yes. And tell Nan,” said Roger derisively, “that I shall expect my truly devoted fiancée here this afternoon.”
CHAPTER XXXVII. It was late in the afternoon when the Mallow car once more purred up to the door of Trenby Hall, and Nan descended from it. She was looking very pale, her face like a delicate white cameo beneath the shadow of her hat, while the clinging black of her gown accentuated the slender lines—too slender, now—of her figure. ”

“ You know, she's a frightfully restless, excitable woman, and, after having sunstroke, she was ordered to keep quiet and rest as much as possible until she was able to come home. She declined to do either—rest, or come home. She continued to ride and dance and amuse herself exactly as if there were nothing the matter. The result is that, at the present moment, she is practically insane. No one can manage her. So they've sent for Peter, and, of course, like the angel he is, he will go. He's—he's too idealistic for this world, is Peter!” And Kitty's voice broke a little.
Nan was silent. ”

“ A man often gets a bad spill out of his car and is driving again within a few weeks.”
“We shall hear soon,” replied Nan levelly. “Sandy said he would let us know the result of the doctor's examination.”
“Well, come for a stroll in the rose garden, then. It's hateful—waiting to hear,” said Kitty rather shakily.
“Get Barry to go with you. I'd rather stay here, I think.” Nan spoke quickly. She felt that she could not bear to go into the rose garden where she had given that promise to Roger which bade fair to wreck the happiness of two lives—her own and Peter's. ”

“ She obeyed while he watched her in silence. The silence lasted so long that at last, finding it almost unbearable, she broke it.
“Roger, I'm so—so grieved to see you—like this.” She leaned forward in her chair, her hands clasped tightly together. “But don't give up hope yet,” she went on earnestly. “You've only had one specialist's opinion. He might easily be wrong. After a time you may be walking about again as well as any other man. ”

“ Besides, Lady Gertrude's malady vanished the minute she heard Roger was injured. I think her illness was mostly due to the fact that Isobel was away, so of course she wanted to keep Roger by her side all the time.”
A general smile acknowledged the truth of Sandy's diagnosis, but it was quickly smothered. The suddenness and gravity of the accident which had befallen Roger had shocked them all.
“What does the doctor say?” asked Penelope.
“He hasn't said anything very definite yet,” replied Sandy. “He's afraid there's some injury to the spine, so he's wired for a Plymouth consultant. ”

“ In a few minutes they had started, the taxi slipping swiftly away through the lamp-lit streets. It had turned a corner and was out of sight by the time the parlor maid, hearing the sound of the street door closing, had hurried upstairs only to find an empty studio. She could not give Rooke, on his return, the slightest information as to what had become of his guests—the lady, or the two gentlemen who, she told him, had called shortly after he left, apparently expecting to find Miss Davenant there. ”

“ Wennys,” remarked Nan impassively.
“No. But Sandy left his car in Exeter, and we shall motor from there.”
“You won't be able to keep Roger ignorant of the fact that I've been away,” pursued Nan.
“He will know nothing about it,” said Peter quietly.
She looked dubious.
“I think,” she observed slowly, “that you may find it more difficult than you expect—to manage that. Some one is sure to find out and tell him.”
“Not necessarily,” he answered.
“What about the servants?” persisted Nan. “They'll hardly allow my arrival at Mallow in the early hours of the morning to pass without comment! ”

“ Wennys, where he dismounted to buy a package of cigarettes. It was a quaint little village, typical of the West country, with its double row of small houses climbing the side of a steep hill, capped at the summit by an ancient church of weather-beaten stone. The bright June sunshine winked against the panes of the cottage windows and flickered down upon the knobby surface of the cobbled pavements, while in the dust of the wide road an indiscriminate group of children and dogs played joyously together. ”

“ Nan drew in her breath sharply.
“I suppose we shall hear to-night,” said Kitty. “The Plymouth man will get here early this afternoon.”
“I'll come over and let you know the report,” answered Sandy. “I'm going back to Trenby now, to see if I can do any errands or odd jobs for them. A man's a useful thing to have about the place at a time like this.”
Kitty nodded soberly.
“Quite right, Sandy. And if there's anything any of us can do to help, phone down at once.” ”

“ Kitty clicked her tongue sharply against her teeth and, crossing to the chimney piece, took down a letter which was resting there. “I'd forgotten this! Nan left it to be given to you when you called for her this afternoon. I wanted her to phone and put you off, but she said you would understand when you'd read the letter and that there was something she wanted you to do for her.”
Sandy ripped open the envelope and his eyes flew down the page. It began abruptly:
Sandy Dear: I'm going to vanish out of your life, but we've been such good pals that I can't do it without just a word of good-by. ”