The Hundredth Chance

CHAPTER XXXI
THE NEW BOSS

What was that red light burning? Symbol of undying Love! Symbol of the Immortal! The Lamp that burns for ever before the High Altar of Heaven!

Over the wide, sandy desert it shone, the only light in leagues and leagues of darkness. A great many wayfarers were drawing towards it, but they were very far away from it and from each other. Billows and billows of sandy waste stretched between. But they could all see the lamp. It shone like a red, still beacon, giving light to the outcast, guiding the feet of the wanderers.

Ah, the long sandy ridges-how weary for the feet! Who could have faced the journey if God had not lifted up that lamp in the desert? Who could ever have hoped to reach the goal? Even as it was, the journey was long-so long, and the light so far away!

Who was that speaking? Was it the Voice that had not sounded in tempest or fire, but only at the very last, when all other things were past? "Love is only gained by Love, – by the complete renunciation of self. Love is a joyful sacrifice, – to give and give without measure, not counting the cost, rejoicing only in the power to give, till it all comes back a thousand-fold-Love the Invincible. Love the Divine, Love the Perfect Gift."

Surely it was Love Itself that spoke those words-Love that had raised that eternal beacon-Love that drew the pilgrims out of the long, dark night! And the sandy desert faded and became a garden where white lilies bloomed-lilies that faded not, such lilies as decked the High Altar of Heaven.

There were no wayfarers here. There was no journeying for tired feet. Only a peace ineffable, beyond the power of words to describe. The lilies grew tall and white, unspeakably pure, fairer than any earthly flowers, dazzling in splendour, decked in holiness. Very peaceful was that quiet garden, with no song of birds to break the stillness, no whisper of fountains, no faintest echo of voices. Perfect rest was there, a calm as the calm of still waters, a hush that was Divine. Like a veil the solitude lay spread, stretching into the great spaces of eternity. And the lilies stood waiting, waiting, to be laid upon the Altar of God.

How long had they stood waiting thus? Were they yet not pure enough? How long had they still to wait? Would the gates of that garden never open and the angel that served the Altar come to gather the flowers? Ah! Surely they were opening now! There came a waft of air, the scent and sound of the earth. But no one entered, and the lilies never stirred. Only the gates remained open, and the peace that wrapt the garden quivered like a filmy veil.

Very far away from that quiet place someone was calling, calling. At first it was suggestion rather than sound, a vague murmur from the old, sad world so many millions of miles away. But gradually it grew till it seemed the echo of a cry, and at last the cry itself became articulate, – a cry of anguish rising from the void.

"Come back! Come back! O God, send her back to me! Send her back!"

The lilies were moving now. They seemed to be listening, whispering together. The wind that blew through the open gates rustled among their ranks. Someone was lost then. Someone was wanted. Someone was sought through the great spaces of eternity. Was it a sod that had drifted free too soon? Would the searcher ever find that drifting soul? Did the one great Bond that nought could ever sever hang between them, linking each to each? It was only by the drawing closer of this Bond that they would ever find each other.

And the way back was long and dark and stormy. Other worlds were there, other worlds and other voices. And once there came a great sound of singing as of men and angels praising God before the High Altar of Heaven.

Then the darkness of earth rushed upwards like the smoke from a mighty furnace, and all was blotted out…

Someone was holding her. Someone was whispering her name. She opened her eyes upon the old world of cloud and sunshine, and knew that the Bond had brought her back. Through all the great spaces of Eternity he bad drawn her to his side. She looked into his face, and it was the face of a man who had suffered agony.

"Thank God!" he said. "O thank God!"

Then she remembered in what cause she had spent herself. "What of-The Hundredth Chance?" she said.

He caught his breath. His lips were quivering. "He's safe enough. But-my girl-what made you do it?"

She looked at him wonderingly. "But it was all I could do," she said.

He bent his head over something that he was holding, and it came to her with a little start of surprise that it was her own hand swathed in bandages.

"Oh, Jake," she said, "am I ill? Have I been hurt?"

He did not look at her. "Thank God, not seriously," he said, speaking with an odd jerkiness. "The colt knocked you down. You were stunned. You scorched your hands over that infernal bolt. But the wind blew the fire away from you. You weren't actually burnt."

"Is the fire out?" she asked anxiously. "Tell me what happened!"

Jake's head was still bent. She thought that he suppressed a shudder. "Yes, they soon got it under. There wasn't much left to burn that side. It was a good thing the wind held, or the whole show might have been gutted. It's all safe now."

Maud's eyes wandered round the panelled parlour and came back to his bent head. "I feel so strange," she said, "as if I had been a long, long journey, and as if it had all happened ages and ages ago. Is it so very long ago, Jake?"

"About four hours," said Jake. "Dr. Burrowes has been in. He chanced to be passing in his dog-cart. He was on his way to a case, and couldn't stay except to give you first aid. He is coming back presently."

"And you have been here with me ever since?" she said, with a touch of shyness. "Didn't you want to be looking after the animals?"

He shook his head, gazing steadily downwards.

"Have you been-anxious about me, Jake?" she whispered.

"Yes." Just the one word spoken with an almost savage emphasis.

"But Dr. Burrowes must have known if-if I were in any danger," she said.

He answered her with what she felt to be a great effort. "Burrowes was anxious too. He was afraid of the shock for you. He thought there was-danger."

She moved her hand a little, and in a moment, as though he feared to hurt her, he laid it gently down.

"I am so sorry you have been worried about me," she said.

"It doesn't matter now," said Jake. He reached out for a glass that stood on the table. "Burrowes left this for you. Can you manage to drink it?"

He held it to her lips with a hand that was not so steady as usual. She drank and felt revived.

Her brain was becoming more active. There was something in Jake's attitude that required explanation. "I am better now," she said. "Tell me a little more! How did I get here? Who found me?"

"I found you. The Hundredth Chance came tearing out. We had some trouble to catch him. And then one of the boys suddenly said-" Jake stopped and swallowed hard-"said-said you had been in the yard, and must have set him free. I-got to you-just in time."

"You saved me?" she said swiftly.

He nodded.

She raised herself, leaning towards him. "Jake! Were you hurt?"

"No." He kept his eyes stubbornly lowered.

"No one has been hurt?" she persisted.

"No one but you." His tone was almost surly.

But something urged her on. "Jake," she said wistfully, "aren't you glad your animals are all safe?"

"They belong to the new boss," he said doggedly. "They don't belong to me."

Her face changed a little. "I think they belong to you first, Jake," she said. "You love them so."

He made a sharp gesture. "It's quite likely the new boss will tell me to shunt."

"Oh, he won't do that, Jake!" she protested quickly. "I'm sure he won't do that. You-you are one of the best trainers in England."

His mouth twitched a little; she thought he wryly smiled. "One of the best blackguards too, my girl," he said grimly.

She opened her eyes in surprise. "Jake, what do you mean? Are people saying hateful things against you?"

He gripped his hands between his knees. "It ain't that I meant. People can say what they damn please. No, it's just my own estimate of myself. I'm going to chuck the animals. They've come near costing me too dear. I'm going to give in to you now. You can do what you like with me. I'll serve you to the best of my ability, fetch and carry and generally wait around on you till you're tired of me. Then I'll go."

"Jake! Jake!" She was half-laughing, but there was remonstrance in her voice. "But I never wanted you to give up the animals. Why, I don't believe you could live without them, could you?"

He gave himself an odd, half-angry shake. "I've done with 'em!" he declared almost fiercely. "I can't serve two masters. If the new boss don't chuck me, I shall chuck him."

"But the horses, Jake!" she urged. "And The Hundredth Chance! You can't be in earnest. You-you have always loved them better than anything else in the world!"

He winced sharply. "You're wrong! And I am in earnest. If-if you had lost your life over the colt, I'd have shot him first and myself after. What sort of brute do you take me for? Do you think I'm without any heart at all? All animal and no heart?"

The question was passionate, but yet he did not look at her as he uttered it. He was gazing downwards at his clenched hands.

He was formidable at that moment, but she did not shrink from him. Rather she drew nearer. "Of course I don't think so," she said. "But-but-am I first with you, Jake? Am I really first?"

He made a choked sound in his throat as if many emotions struggled for utterance. Then, almost under his breath, "An easy first!" he muttered. "An easy first!"

Her bandaged hand slipped on to his arm. Her eyes were shining. "Oh, Jake, thank you for telling me that," she said. "You-I know you didn't want to tell me. And-now-I've got to tell you something-that I don't want to tell you either-that I don't know how to tell you. Oh, Jake, do help me! Don't-don't be angry!"

He turned towards her, but he did not lift his eyes. He seemed almost afraid to look her in the face. "My girl, you've no call to be afraid of me," he said.

But there was constraint in his tone, constraint in his attitude, and her heart sank.

"I'm so-horribly afraid-of hurting you," she said.

A faint, faint gleam of humour crossed his face. "Oh, I guess I'm down," he said. "You needn't be afraid of that either."

She tried to clasp his arm. "Jake, if-if I really come first with you, perhaps-perhaps-you'll be able to forgive me. It's because you came first with me too-a very, very long way first-" her voice shook-"that I was able to do it. It's because I wanted you to have what you wanted without-without feeling under an obligation to me or anyone. It's because-because your happiness is more to me-a thousand times more-than anything else in the world!" Her breast began to heave; Jake's eyes were suddenly upon her, but it was she who could not, dared not meet their look. "Ah, I haven't told you yet!" she said brokenly. "How shall I tell you? It's-it's the animals, Jake. It's the Stud!"

"What about the Stud?" he said. His voice was sunk very low, it sounded stern.

With a great effort she mastered her agitation and answered him. "It's yours, Jake, all yours. The new boss is-is just an invention of Mr. Rafford's. You-you are-the new boss."

"What?" he said.

He got up suddenly, with a movement that verged upon violence, and stood over her, she felt, almost threateningly.

Through quivering distress she answered him again.

"I've played a double game. I met Mr. Rafford first at Liverpool and then I chanced to meet him again here after-after you had refused to have my money. And he was kind and sympathetic and offered to help me. I wanted you so to have the horses. And I couldn't bear to think that you should lose them through me. Oh, Jake, don't look so-so terrible!"

She sank back panting on her cushions. That one brief glimpse of his face had appalled her. He had the look of a man hard pressed and nearing the end of his strength. She saw that his hands were clenched.

He spoke after several tense seconds. "Why have you done this thing?"

She made a piteous gesture. "Oh, Jake, only-only because I loved you."

"Only!" he said, and with the word she saw his hand unclench.

For a moment a wild uncertainty possessed her, and then it was gone. Jake dropped down on his knees beside her and took her into his arms.

"Maud-" he said, and again "Maud!"

But no further words would come. His voice broke. He hid his face against her breast with a great sob.

Her arms were round his neck in an instant, her cheek was pressed against his hair. All doubts were gone forever. "My darling!" she whispered. "My darling!"

And through the great storm of emotion that shook Jake, she said the soft words over and over, holding his head against her heart, kissing the cropped hair above his temple, drawing him nearer, ever nearer, to the inner sanctuary of her soul, till at length by the shattering of her own reserve she broke down the last of his also. He lifted his face to her with no attempt to hide his tears, and in the long, long kiss that passed between them they found each other at last where the sand of the desert turns to gold.

CHAPTER XXXII
OLD SCORES

Someone was whistling on the garden-path below the parlour-window. Someone had sauntered up by way of the orchard through an April night of radiant moonlight, and was softly whistling an old, old love-song with a waltz-refrain.

There was a light burning in the parlour, and at the table a woman sat with bent head working. She did not look up as the sweet, rhythmic sound reached her. She worked steadily on.

The waltz-refrain came to an end. There fell a step outside the window. A wicked, mischievous face peered in.

"What! All alone, queen of the roses? Will you grant me admittance?"

She looked across at him then, but she did not rise. "Come in, certainly, if you wish!" she said.

He came in with the air of one conferring a royal favour. He moved round the table to her side, bent, and lightly kissed her hand.

She suffered him with an enigmatic smile, scarcely pausing in her work.

"And where is the worthy cow-puncher?" he said.

She raised her brows ever so slightly. "Are you speaking of Jake-my husband?"

He smiled briefly, derisively. "Even so. Of Jake-your husband."

She smiled also, but her smile was wholly sweet. "He will be in soon. He has gone round to see that all is well. Sit down, won't you, and wait till he comes?"

"Oh ho!" said Saltash. He sat down facing her, closely watching her every movement with his queer, restless eyes. "Do you think he will be pleased to see me?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "As pleased as I am," she said.

"Are you pleased?" He flung the question as though he scarcely expected an answer.

But she answered it with serenity. "Yes, I am quite pleased to see you, Charlie. I have been half-expecting you all day."

"Really!" he said.

She bent her head. "Ever since I heard of your return to the Castle. It was kind of you to come round so soon. And we want to thank you-Jake and I-for letting us use the stables till the new ones at Graydown are leady."

"Really!" Saltash said again. He added, "As half are already demolished and the other half will be pulled down as soon as the Stud goes, it was not much of a favour to grant. Do I understand that Jake is to continue in command under the new regime?"

She smiled again as she answered, "In absolute command."

He frowned momentarily. "A fortunate thing for Jake!"

"He thinks so too," she said.

He began to finger his cigarette case. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not in the least." She raised her eyes suddenly and fully to his. "Please remember that you are in the house of friends!" she said, with a slight emphasis on the last word.

"You amaze me!" said Saltash.

She laid aside her work with heightened colour. "Charlie, I have some rather serious things to say to you."

"My dear girl," he protested, "must you?"

"Yes, I must, and you must listen." She spoke with resolution. "I will be as brief as I possibly can, but I must speak. Smoke-please smoke-if you want to!"

He laughed a little, leaning towards her. "On second thoughts, I don't. This promises to be interesting, after all. Do you know when I came in just now you looked so prim that I was nearly frightened quite away?"

She was looking him straight in the face. "Charlie, why did you come?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Ask the needle why it follows the magnet!" he said.

His eyes caressed her, but she steadily faced them. "I ought to hate you," she said. "But I don't. I think of you always-in spite of myself-as a friend. I suppose that is a woman's way-to be tricked and to forgive. Anyhow, I forgave you a long while ago. I believe I have even begun to forget. Charlie, I know that you are capable of a sincere friendship. I can't help knowing it."

"You deceive yourself," he said lightly. His eyes still dwelt upon her, but it was with a half-tender mockery, as one who smiles at the make-believe of a child.

Her lips quivered a little. "No," she said. "It is the truth. You are pleased to wear a mask-but I know-the real man. I know that you are often crooked in your dealings, often cruelly malicious and vindictive; but at the back of it all there is a man capable of big things, of chivalry, generosity, and honest kindness of heart. Charlie, I appeal to that man!"

"What do you want of him?" said Saltash. And still he looked at her, but again his look had changed. The mockery had given place to a species of dispassionate curiosity. His ugly face had the odd melancholy as of something longed for but hopelessly lost which may be seen on the face of a monkey.

Because of that look she suddenly stretched out her hands to him impulsively, generously.

"I want fair play," she said. "Perhaps I don't deserve it. I haven't always treated you fairly. But I want you to put the past away from you-as I have done. I want to trust you again."

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. He held her hands hard pressed in his.

"A dangerous experiment, Maud of the roses," he said. "But if you will you must. What more do you want?"

She answered him quickly, pleadingly. "Charlie, you have a grudge against-my husband! I want it put right away-right away. I don't think you have the power to hurt him, but even if you had, I want to know that you wouldn't use it. He has always served you faithfully. I want fair play for him."

Saltash's dark face showed a faint, twisted smile. "You certainly credit me with considerable generosity," he said.

"He deserves fair play from you," she insisted. "You have tried to undermine his reputation, and you have failed. But you might have succeeded, although you know, as well as I do-that he is a white man."

"Do I?" said Saltash.

"You do! You do!" she said with conviction. "You have no right to cherish a grudge against him. He has done nothing to deserve it."

"And how do you know that?" said Saltash.

"I know him," she said with simplicity.

"I see." His smile became a little more marked. "Did he ever tell you the funny story of my double?" he asked.

She gave a great start, and in a moment her face was burning.

"I see," he said again. "You needn't answer. And you tell me that I have no right to cherish a grudge against him."

She spoke with difficulty. "He did not accuse you of anything."

Saltash laughed. "Left you to draw your own conclusions, eh? Score number one! And after that, when he knew that I was coming home, when he knew that you were mine for the asking, didn't he race you into marriage with him before you had time to find your breath?"

Her face burned more hotly. "Wouldn't you have done the same?" she said.

He looked sardonic. "You must remember that I am not-a white man, my queen of the roses. My standards won't compare with his. Score number two then! And hasn't he baulked me at every turn ever since? When have I ever got back any of my own-except once when I made you see him as he wasn't-a drunkard, and except when one night of moonshine I held you in my arms and you gave your lips to mine?" His voice suddenly thrilled.

She caught her breath sharply. "I was mad!" she said. "I was mad!"

She would have withdrawn her hands from his, but he frustrated her. A gleam of mischief flashed in his eyes. "No, Maud of the roses, it was just-a dream. Have you never said to yourself, That was the happiest dream of my life?"

She shook her head. "That part of my life is over-quite over. I have come into reality, and-Charlie-it is better than any dream. That is why I want all that is evil to be taken away. If Jake has ever wronged you, then I have wronged you. And I appeal to your kindness of heart, your generosity, for forgiveness."

The mischief died out of the eyes that watched her. Saltash bent a little over the hands he held. "But why should you take that trouble-if I have ceased to count?" he said.

"You do count," she answered quickly and earnestly.

"Surely not if-as you say-it is out of my power to hurt him." There was a hint of banter in the words, but they held no venom.

"It isn't that," she said. "I want to know that the hatchet is buried, that there will be no more ill feeling. Jake is his own master, and I know he will make his mark. But I want him to have a fair chance, free from all handicap."

"What do you mean by that?" Saltash suddenly broke in. "I presume he is still a paid servant though it may no longer be my privilege to employ him."

She lifted her head a little. "No. Jake is his own master. The Stud was bought with my money. It belongs to him."

Saltash's brows went up. "Your money? You never had any!"

"Never before last winter," she said. "I inherited a very large fortune from my uncle in the North. It came to me-just in time."

Saltash's brows were working up and down like a monkey's. "And you-bought the Stud? Then all this American business was bunkum! Did my agent know of this?"

She shook her head. "No; no one knows yet except Jake, Bunny, and me."

He let her hands go abruptly, and began to pace the room.

She stood motionless, watching him. "Even Jake did not know till it had all gone through," she said, after a moment. "I told him-on the night of the fire."

"What did he say?" Saltash tossed the words over his shoulder. His dark face was drawn, almost distorted.

Maud hesitated. Then: "He asked me why I had done it," she said, in a low voice.

He paused in his walk. "And you struck a bargain with him? He was to let you go your own way for all time, please yourself, live your own life! Wasn't that it?"

Her eyes fell involuntarily before the sudden fire in his. "Oh no!" she said quickly. "Oh no! I didn't want that."

"What then?" He wheeled and came to her, stood before her. "Surely you didn't give him all that for nothing!"

She faced him again steadily. "He wouldn't have taken it," she said.

"Then-" he was standing close to her; his odd eyes gazed, deeply craving, into hers.

But she did not flinch. "I gave it to him-for love," she said.

He made a sudden movement; his features were for a moment convulsed. Then swiftly he controlled himself. "You-love the man!" he said.

She clasped her hands together tightly. Her eyes never wavered for an instant from his. "Yes, I love him," she said.

He flung violently away from her. "Why didn't I destroy him long ago?" he said.

Again he paced the room with sharp, jerky movements. Suddenly he flung two questions over his shoulder. "That was why you changed your mind after sending me that ring? That was what you came to me to the Castle to tell me?"

She bent her head. "I believe that was the reason. But I couldn't have told you that then. I didn't know it myself."

"How long have you known it?"

He was not looking at her, and very piteously she smiled. "It came to me-quite suddenly-in the hall at 'The Anchor' when you told me-you told me-that he wouldn't be such a fool as to believe in me. I left him without seeing him again. And then-and then-just when my uncle died-he came to me. And I knew that he did believe in me after all."

Saltash broke into a laugh-the laugh of a man who hides pain. "It was my doing then! Come, you owe me something after all. But it seems I have been misspending my energies ever since. I thought you wanted to be rid of him."

Again abruptly he came back to her, stopped in front of her. "And so it all came out on the night of the fire," he said.

She looked at him, and her blue eyes shone. "Yes," she said softly. "There have been no misunderstandings since then."

He smiled a little with twisted brows. "Do you know who was responsible for that fire?"

She started. "No!"

"A certain scoundrel named Stevens," he said. "The same scoundrel who pulled the Albatross at the Cup Meeting, and was thrashed for it by the virtuous cow-puncher. Do you know who was at the back of that scoundrel?"

Her eyes fell before the grim bitterness of his. "Charlie!" she faltered.

"Yes, Charlie," he said. "Charles Burchester, Lord Saltash, another scoundrel blacker than the first who had suffered a similar punishment for a somewhat similar offence from the same virtuous hands. Scoundrel number one won't trouble you again. I have shipped him off to Australia. Scoundrel number two is awaiting his orders to go to-another place."

Her lips suddenly quivered. She put out a trembling hand. "Charlie, I don't believe it of you!"

"Believe it or not," he said, "it's true. I'm a spiteful devil. You said so yourself a minute ago." But he held her hand almost as one pleading for clemency.

She raised her eyes to his. The fascination of the man drew her, but-possibly for the first time-not against her better judgment. "Let us forget it all!" she said. "Let us be friends!"

He laughed in a fashion that moved her to pity, and bending kissed her hand. "If Jake agrees-Amen!" he said.

And then sharply, like an animal trapped, he turned towards the window and met Jake face to face.

They stood for a moment so, confronting each other in dead silence. Then lightly Saltash spoke.

"Caught trespassing, but not poaching!" he said. "Your wife and I have been settling-old scores."

Jake's eyes went past him to his wife's face. She made no sign of any kind, save that she met the look.

Jake came quietly forward. "You are very welcome, my lord," he said, and held out a steady hand.

A gleam of surprise crossed Saltash's dark face. He took the hand, looking at Jake whimsically. "You are the fellow who is not accustomed to being beaten at the winning-post," he said. "Well, you were a bad starter and the odds were dead against you, but you've got there. I congratulate you."

"You are very good, my lord." Jake's eyes, red-brown and resolute, looked into his.

Saltash shrugged his shoulders, with a slight grimace. "The rôle is thrust upon me. I wonder if I shall be able to sustain it."

Something in the word reached Jake. His lips parted in a sudden smile that banished all the hardness from his face. His hand squarely gripped and held. For a second-just a second-there was a gleam of comradeship in his eyes. "I guess it's up to you, my lord," he said.

The moment passed and Saltash turned aside, laughing with a certain royal graciousness that was all his own. "The odds are ninety-nine to one, Bolton," he said. "But you are too accustomed to that to be dismayed."

"I put my money on the hundredth chance," Jake answered in his slow, sure fashion. "And I reckon I shan't lose it."