A Monk of Cruta Read online

  CHAPTER VIII

  "I AM WEARY OF A HOPELESS LOVE"

  Paul and Arthur shared a bachelor residence in Mayfair; shared it,that is to say, insomuch as Paul had purchased it, and was the soleproprietor, and Arthur used it whenever he could get leave from hisregiment. It was here Paul found his brother on the morning of hisarrival in London.

  They shook hands in silence; Paul did not wish to say anything for amoment. His brother's appearance had choked him. It was one o'clock,but he was still in his dressing-gown; with sunken, pale cheeks, savefor one bright spot, and with faint, dark rims underneath his eyes.There were a pile of blue papers and some ominous-looking envelopeson the table before him, and Paul could not help noticing the intensepallor of the hand which rested upon them.

  "I wish you would let a fellow know what time you were coming," Arthursaid, rather peevishly, but with an attempt at a smile. "I didn'texpect you till evening, so I was having a shack before dressing. Iwas late last night!"

  Paul banished his gravity, as far as possible, and stood with hishands in his pockets, leaning against the mantel-piece. He heartilydisliked the part of mentor, and he did not wish to play it, unless hewere obliged.

  "It was beastly early to get up," he said, "but the connection atNormanton is so much better. One has to wait two hours by the latetrain, and Normanton is such a hole. I don't know that I should havecome up to town at all, just yet," he continued after a slight pause,"only that I'm on the committee at the club this term, you know, and Ihaven't attended a single meeting yet. Besides, I promised Westoverto put him up this time, and the half-yearly meeting's to-morrow, youknow. Got any engagement? If not, you might dine with me there. Alwaysa full night election time, you know!"

  "Beastly sorry! but my leave's up to night," Arthur answered ruefully."I shall have to go down to Aldershot by the four o'clock train, anddo a week's close grind."

  Paul nodded. "I'm sorry; I'd have liked you to run down home with mefor a few days, and see the mater. The Westovers have some very nicepeople coming to the Castle, and are going to get up some theatricals.Lady May says they must have you! Will you come in a week, if I workthe Colonel?"

  "I'm afraid I can't," Arthur answered, with a slight flush in hischeeks. "I have some engagements for next week, and--and--I'm sure Ican't manage it."

  "The mater'll be disappointed," Paul said quietly. "She is counting onseeing you, and it's some time since you were down, isn't it? Tell youwhat, old man! I'd try and manage it, if I were you!"

  "I can't promise! I will, if I can manage it! I'll write you fromAldershot!"

  "You don't look quite the thing," Paul said kindly. "Nothing thematter, is there?"

  "Nothing at all," Arthur assured him hastily. "I'm quite well. A bitof a head, that's all."

  "Not too many of those bits of paper about, eh?" Paul asked, pointingto an oblong strip of blue paper which lay, face uppermost, on thetable.

  Arthur coloured, and threw a book over it.

  "I am sorry I saw it," Paul went on; "but it was there to be seen,wasn't it?"

  "Oh, yes! that's all right! I oughtn't to have left it about, that'sall. I'm not exactly a Croesus, like you, you know, Paul, and nowand then I'm obliged to raise the wind somehow. Yes! I know whatyou're going to say. My allowance is a good one, and I ought to makeit do. But, you see, sometimes I can't."

  "I hope you won't mind my asking, Arthur, but is that an acceptance ofyour own?"

  Arthur nodded. "There are a few accounts which I must pay," he said."So I'm going to ask Plimsoll to do it for me. He's a decent fellow ofhis sort, you know! Lots of fellows go to him!"

  Paul stretched out his hand. "Give it to me," he said, "and I willdiscount it for you. Thanks!"

  Paul took it, and, just glancing at the amount, threw it into thefire. "I haven't my cheque book here," he said, "but we will call atthe bank on our way to the club, and I can get the money. I'm glad Isaw it!"

  "It's awfully good of you," Arthur said hesitatingly. "I shouldn'thave thought of asking you. I must owe you an awful lot already."

  "Never mind what you owe me! I'll write it all off, Arthur, and thislast amount too, if you'll do me a favour. Come down home with me nextweek, as soon as you can get leave."

  Arthur rose to his feet, and then, leaning against the mantel-board,buried his face in his hands. "I can't leave London, Paul!--or, ifI did, it could only be for a day," he said in a low tone. "I wish Icould tell you why, but I can't; you wouldn't understand!"

  "I think I know," Paul said quietly. "There is some one whom you donot care to leave! Is that not it?"

  Arthur looked up quickly. His face was very white, and his lip wasquivering.

  "Who told you that? What do you know?"

  "I know nothing! I want you to tell me. Perhaps I could help you.There is a--lady in the case, isn't there?"

  Arthur stood up on the hearthrug, and spoke, with a subdued passiontrembling in his tone.

  "Yes! it's Adrea Kiros, the dancer! I daresay you've heard all aboutit! I don't see why you shouldn't! I can't leave her! I know all thatyou would say! It doesn't make any difference. She isn't good! Well!I know it! She doesn't care for me! I don't believe she does. She'sas cruel as a woman can be. Sometimes, when I am away from her, thethought of going back makes me shudder; and yet, I could no more keepaway than lift the roof from this house. Of course, this sounds likerigmarole to you. You think I'm raving! I don't blame you. Only it isso, and I can't help it! I am as much a prisoner as any poor devil inNewgate."

  Paul laid his hand upon his brother's shoulder, and looked kindly intohis face. "Arthur, I'm very sorry! And don't think I don't understand!I do! I do not know much of A--of Adrea Kiros, but I know enoughto tell me that she is a very dangerous woman. Can't I help you,somehow?"

  "I--I don't think you can! I don't think any one can," Arthurexclaimed unsteadily. He had been prepared for a lecture, for goodadvice, for a little contempt even; but his brother's attitude wasunexpected, and it almost unnerved him. "It is the uncertainty of itall that is so tormenting," he went on. "Sometimes she is so kind,and sweet, and thoughtful, that I could almost worship her. And then,without any cause, she will suddenly become cold, and hard, and cruel,till I hate myself for bearing quietly all that she says. But I do! Ican't help it! I am never quite happy even when she is in one of hersweetest moods, for I never know how long it will last. The moment Ileave her I begin to get anxious, and wonder how she will be the nextday."

  "Try what a change will do, Arthur!" his brother begged.

  Arthur shook his head. "It's no use; I've tried! If I went away Ishould only be miserable, and hurry back by the first train. Oh, ifonly I could make you understand!" he cried, with a little passionategesture, which gained pathos and almost dignity from the expression onhis white, sorrowing face. "Adrea is as necessary to me as the air webreathe! The sun has no light, and the day no ending, till I have seenher! She is the measure of all things to me: joy, grief, happiness,misery, it is her hand that deals them out to me! She can play uponthe chords of my being as she chooses. A look or word from her canpull me down into hell, or transport me into a seventh heaven! Whogave her this power, I cannot tell! But she has it! she has it!"

  Paul said no more. Perhaps he recognised that, for the present atany rate, it was useless. He walked up and down the room for a fewminutes, in sympathetic silence. When he spoke again he made noreference to the subject, but Arthur understood. "Get your things on,and come out to lunch with me," he said pleasantly. "I am too hungryto be sympathetic, and we can call at Coutts' on the way."

  Arthur nodded and disappeared. Paul took his chair for a while, and,as he sat there gazing into the fire, his face grew grey and haggard.Was Adrea Kiros seeking vengeance on the son of her father's murderer?he wondered. If so, it seemed as though she were indeed succeeding.How could he save Arthur? and what would happen if those rumoursshould reach his mother's ears, as some day they certainly would? Atany rate, he would see Adrea himself before he left London. He hadmade up
his mind that, if Arthur refused to listen to him, that shouldbe his course.

  Things somehow seemed brighter when they walked down to the clubtogether. Dress makes so much difference to a man, and Arthur, spruceand _debonair_, with a gardenia in his button-hole, and every partof his attire almost "faultily faultless," according to the canonsof London fashion, presented a very different appearance to thetragical-looking personage of half an hour ago. There was a slight airof subdued feverishness about him, though, not altogether healthy, andthe dark rims had not quite vanished from underneath his eyes.

  "Paul, I wonder whether you will do something for me?" he asked, asthey were crossing Pickadilly. "I hate asking you!"

  "I'll try," Paul answered. "What is it?"

  "I don't believe you'll like it, but--the fact is, Adrea wants you togo and see her. I promised that I would do my best to get you to callwith me this afternoon. If you don't mind, I wish you would," he addedwistfully.

  "I will go with you certainly, if you wish it," Paul answered, not toocordially, for he did not wish his brother to know that it was whathe had already planned to do. "Did she tell you that we had already aslight acquaintance?"

  "Yes! You rode home in a cab together from Lady Swindon's, didn't you?There was only one, and it was raining, so you shared it. Adrea toldme that."

  Paul nodded. He meant, after he had seen Adrea, to consider whetherit would not be best to tell his brother everything. But, for thepresent, her story was enough. They turned into Pall Mall, and, almostimmediately, Arthur's hat was in his hand, and he was on the edge ofthe pavement, colouring with pleasure. A small victoria had pulled upby the side, and Paul found himself face to face with Adrea.

  She was muffled up in rich brown furs, and almost invisible, but herdark eyes flashed into his from underneath her thick veil. After thefirst greeting she scarcely noticed Arthur; it was Paul upon whom hereyes were bent.

  "You are in London again, then, Mr. de Vaux," she remarked. "Have youdiscovered that, after all, the country is a little _triste_ in thisland of damp and fogs--the country in November, I mean--or is it onlyimportant business which has brought you up!"

  "The latter," he answered, "as it happens. I am glad to see that thedamp and fogs which you complain of have not affected your health."

  "I am quite well, thanks," she answered. "How long are you staying intown?"

  "For less than a week, I think."

  "Well, it is too cold to talk here. Will you come and let me give yousome tea this afternoon, after the fashion of you strange islanders? Iwant you to, please."

  Paul looked her straight in the face. "You are very kind; I shall beglad to," he answered.

  She nodded. "About five o'clock. I go to sleep till then. Shall youcome, Arthur?" she added carelessly.

  "I cannot, so late as that," he answered despondently.

  "Ah, I forgot. You are going down to Aldershot, aren't you? Don'toverwork yourself."

  She nodded, and the carriage drove on. Arthur watched it until itwas out of sight. "She might have said a little earlier," he remarkeddespondently. "She knew I couldn't come so late as that."

  Paul passed his arm through his brother's and was silent. He knew verywell that Adrea had thought of this when she had made the arrangement.

  They lunched together, and Paul did his utmost to make the timepass pleasantly for his brother. When they parted, too, late in theafternoon, he referred once more to Mrs. de Vaux's desire that heshould come down to the Abbey for a few days.

  "I want you to think of it seriously, Arthur," he said, as they shookhands through the carriage window. "The mother is very anxious to haveyou, and I am sure we can make things pleasant for you. I shall speakto Drummond about leave if I see him to-morrow."

  Arthur assented dubiously, and without any enthusiasm.

  "Awfully good of you to want me," he remarked. "I daresay I'll be ableto come. I'll try, anyhow--just for a day or two."

  The train steamed off, and Paul walked slowly back to his carriage.

  "Where to, sir?" the man asked.

  Paul hesitated for a moment. Then he gave Adrea's address, and wasdriven away.