The Hundredth Chance. Ethel M. Dell

were all plainly very dear to his heart. He introduced them as friends. His pockets were stuffed with sugar which both she and Bunny helped to distribute, and not till dusk came upon them did they realize the lateness of the hour.

      It was at the last minute that Jake suddenly summoned a little man who was lounging in the gateway. "Here, Sam! I've been telling the lady about your tumble and how they put you together again. It interested her."

      Sam approached with a sheepish grin. "I thought I was a goner," he said. "But Mr. Bolton--" he looked at Jake and his grin widened--"he's one of the Never-say-die sort. And the Yankee doctor, well, he was a regular knock-out, he was. Mended me as clean--well, there, you wouldn't never have known I'd had a smash."

      One eye wandered down to Bunny in his long chair as he spoke; but he discreetly refrained from comment, and it was Bunny who eagerly broke in with: "What happened to you? Was it your spine? Let's hear!"

      Sam was only too willing to oblige. He settled down to his story like a horse into its stride, and for nearly a quarter of an hour Maud stood listening to the account of the miracle which, according to Sam Vickers, the great American doctor had performed.

      Bunny drank it all in with feverish avidity. Maud did not like to watch his face. The look it wore went to her heart.

      She did not want to glance at Jake either though after a time she felt impelled to do so. His eyes were fixed upon Bunny, but on the instant they came straight to hers as if she had spoken. She avoided them instinctively, but she felt them none the less, as though a dazzling searchlight had suddenly and mercilessly been turned upon her, piercing straight to her soul.

      It was soon after this that he quietly intervened to put an end to Sam's reminiscences. It was growing late, and they ought to be moving.

      Maud agreed; Bunny protested, and was calmly overruled by Jake. They started back through a pearly greyness of dusk that heralded the rising of the moon. They spoke but little as they went. Bunny seemed suddenly tired, and it did not apparently occur to either of his companions to attempt to make conversation.

      Only, as they descended the winding road that led down to Fairharbour and a sudden clamour of church-bells arose through the evening mist, Jake glanced again at the girl who was walking rather wearily by Bunny's side, and said, "Wouldn't you like to go to Church now? I'll see to the youngster."

      She shook her head. "Thank you very much; I don't think so."

      "Oh, go on, Maud!" exclaimed Bunny, emerging from his reverie. "I don't want you if Jake will stay. I'd sooner have Jake. He doesn't fuss like you."

      "I'll get him to bed," Jake went on, as if he had not spoken. "You can trust me to do that, you know. I won't let him talk too much either. Say, Miss Brian, it's a good offer; you'd better close with it."

      She heard the smile in the words; and because of it she found she could not refuse. "But I don't like to give you so much trouble," she said.

      "You give me pleasure," he answered simply.

      At the gate of the churchyard he stopped. "I'll say good-bye," he said. "But don't hurry back! I shall stay as long as I am wanted."

      She knew that she could rely upon him in that respect as upon no one else in the world. She gave him her hand with another low word of thanks.

      "May I walk to the door with you?" he said, and drew Bunny's chair to one side.

      It would have been churlish to refuse. She suffered him in silence.

      The church was on an eminence that overlooked the harbour. Reaching the porch, the whole wide view of open sea lay spread before them, flooded in moonlight. The clanging bells above them had sunk to stillness. A peace that seemed unearthly wrapped them round. They stood for the moment quite alone, gazing out to the far, dim sky-line.

      And suddenly Maud heard the beating of her heart in the silence, and was conscious of an overwhelming sense of doom.

      With an effort that seemed to tear at the very foundations of her being, she turned and walked down a narrow path between the tombstones. He followed her till in breathless agitation she turned again.

      "Mr. Bolton!"

      Her voice was no more than a whisper. She was thankful that her face was in shadow.

      He stood silently, his eyes, alert and bright, fixed intently upon her.

      "I must ask you," she said, "--I must beg you--to regard what I said the other day as final. If I am friendly with you, I want you to understand that it is solely for Bunny's sake--no other reason."

      "That is understood," said Jake.

      She drew the quick breath of one seeking relief. "Then you will forget that--that impossible notion? You will let me forget it too?"

      "I shan't remind you of it," said Jake.

      "And you will forget it yourself?" she insisted.

      He lowered his eyes suddenly, and it was as if a light had unexpectedly gone out. She waited in the dark with a beating heart.

      And then with a great clash the bells broke out overhead and further speech became impossible. Jake wheeled without warning, and walked away.

      She stood and watched him go, still with that sense of coming fate upon her. Her heart was leaping wildly like a chained thing seeking to escape.

      As for Jake, he rejoined Bunny and squarely resumed the journey back to the town, without the smallest sign of discomposure.

      He seemed somewhat absent, however, trudging along in almost unbroken silence; and it was not until he laid the boy down at length in his own room that he said, "Now, look here, youngster! If you can't be decently civil to your sister, I've done with you. Understand?"

      Bunny turned impulsively and buried his face in Jake's sleeve. "All right. Don't jaw!" he begged in muffled accents.

      Jake remained unmoved. "I've been wanting to punch your head most of the afternoon," he remarked severely.

      "You can do it now if you like," muttered Bunny, burrowing a little deeper.

      Jake did not respond to the invitation. "Why can't you behave yourself anyway?" he said.

      He settled Bunny's pillows with a sure hand, and laid him gently back upon them. But Bunny clung to him still.

      "You aren't really savage with me, Jake?" he said.

      "All right. I'm not," said Jake. "But I won't have it all the same; savvy?"

      He put his hand for a moment on Bunny's head and rumpled the dark hair. Bunny's lips quivered unexpectedly.

      "It's so--beastly--being managed always by women," he said.

      "You don't know when you're lucky," said Jake.

      Bunny's emotion passed. He looked at his friend shrewdly. "I suppose you're in love with her," he remarked after a moment.

      Jake's eyes met his instantly and uncompromisingly. "Well?" he said.

      "Nothing," said Bunny. "Of course she's my sister."

      "And so you think you're entitled to a voice in the matter?" Jake's tone was strictly practical.

      Bunny's fingers slipped into his. "I'm the head of the family, you know, Jake," he said.

      The man's face softened to a smile. "Yes, I reckon that's so," he said. "Well? What has the head of the family to say to the notion?"

      Bunny turned rather red. "You see,--you're not a mister, are you?" he said.

      "Not a gentleman, you mean?" suggested Jake.

      Bunny's uneasiness increased. He squeezed Jake's hand very hard in silence.

      "All right, little chap," said Jake. "Don't agitate yourself! I'm not what you call a gentleman,--not even a first-class imitation. Let's go on from there! Any other objections?"

      "I don't want to be a cad, Jake!" burst from Bunny. "But you know--you