The Hundredth Chance. Ethel M. Dell

to her appeal that he did so. She tingled with a burning embarrassment, which vanished all in a moment as he said: "Say, now, do you mind if I light my pipe before I follow you? Don't wait! I'll catch you up."

      And she made her way out into the fleeting sunlight and racing wind with a strong sense of relief. The pipe was not a particularly aristocratic feature of Jake's existence, but it was an extremely characteristic one, and it placed matters on a normal footing at once. Jake was never disconcerting or formidable when he was smoking a pipe. She consented to it gladly.

      And Jake turned back into the room with a grim smile on his lips, picked up a letter from the table, and thrust it deep into the fire.

      After that he lighted his pipe with the charred remnants thereof, and followed Maud into the open.

      CHAPTER XIV

      THE WAY OF ESCAPE

      The sun shone out again as they went down the hill, and the sea gleamed below them like a sheet of silver.

      "You like this place?" asked Jake.

      "I could like it," she made answer.

      He smiled. "Then I reckon you shall. Say, does Bunny know about your coming up here to me?"

      She coloured deeply. "He knew I came, yes. He did not know why."

      Jake was still smiling. "Guess he'll be pleased," he said. He added, between puffs at his pipe: "We'll make him happy between us. We'll give him the time of his life."

      She drew a deep breath. Surely no sacrifice was too great for that!

      They passed the church on the hill, and descended the steep road to the town.

      "There are some rooms I know of along this road," said Jake. "Kept by the wife of one of our stable-men. Shall we go in and have a look at 'em?"

      She hesitated. "Bunny will wonder where I am."

      He glanced at her. "Well, look here! You leave me to see to it. I'll fix up something, and then I'll come on after you and we'll get the boy away."

      She met his look somewhat doubtfully.

      "Why not?" said Jake.

      She answered him with an effort. "You do understand, don't you, that I couldn't--I can't--accept help from you before--before--our marriage?"

      "Why not?" he said again. "Reckon you mean to stick to your bargain?"

      "Oh, it isn't that," she said painfully. "Of course--of course--I shall keep my word with you. But I have a little pride left--just a little--and----"

      "And I'm to humour it, eh?" said Jake. "Well, you shall have it your own way. But let me do the fixing for you! I know just what you want. It's only for a few days either."

      He smiled at her, and she yielded.

      But when they separated at length she paused uneasily. "Jake!"

      "Your servant!" said Jake promptly.

      She stretched a nervous hand towards him. "Jake, if you meet--my step-father, you will not--not----"

      "Most unfortunately I can't," said Jake. He held her hand for a moment, and let it go. "There! Good-bye! I won't do anything indiscreet, I promise you. There is too much at stake. Now you get back to Bunny as quick as you can! I shan't be long after you."

      And Maud went with a feeling at the heart of relief and dread oddly mingled. She knew that Jake would keep his word. There was a rocklike strength about him that nothing could ever shake. For good or ill, he would stick to a bargain, be the price what it might. But she saw him overriding every obstacle to attain his purpose. He would never flinch from possible consequences; of that she was certain. What he had said he would do, that he would do, and no power on earth would divert him therefrom.

      She shivered suddenly and violently as she walked. The relentless force of the man had in it an element that was terrible. What had she done? What had she done?

      She encountered her mother as she mounted the hotel stairs.

      "Oh, my dear, here you are at last!" was her greeting. "I have been so worried about you. Come into my room!"

      But Maud resisted her. "I must go to Bunny. He has been alone for so long."

      "No, dear, no! Bunny's all right for the present. I've been to see. He doesn't want anything. He told me so. Come into my room--just for a moment, dear child! We can't talk in the passage."

      As Mrs. Sheppard was plainly bent upon talking, Maud concluded she had something to say; and followed her.

      "Shut the door, my darling! That's right. How white you look this morning! Dearie, I am more sorry than I can say for what happened last night. Giles told me about it. But he says he is quite willing now to let bygones be bygones. So you won't bear malice, darling; will you? Of course I know he ought not to have done it," with a slightly uneasy glance at her daughter's rigid face. "I told him so. But he assured me he only did it for your good, dear. And he seems to think that you were rather rude to him earlier in the day. He is old-fashioned, you know. He thinks a whipping clears the air, so to speak. It's better anyhow than saving up grievance after grievance, isn't it, dear? You'll start afresh now, and be much better friends. At least it won't be his fault if you're not. He is quite ready to treat you as his own daughter."

      She paused for breath.

      Maud was standing stiff and cold against the door. "Is that what you called me in here to say?" she asked.

      Mrs. Sheppard still looked uneasy though she tried to laugh it off. "Not quite all, dear. But I really should go and make friends with him if I were you. He isn't a bit angry with you any more. In fact he has been joking about it, says his arm is so stiff this morning he can hardly use it. You couldn't possibly keep it up if you heard him."

      "I shall not hear him," said Maud.

      White and proud she faced her mother, and the latter's half-forced merriment died away.

      "Child, don't look so tragic! What is it? Come, he didn't hurt you so badly surely! Can't you forgive and forget?"

      "No," Maud said. "I shall never do either. I am going away with Bunny to-day. And I hope--with all my heart--that I shall never see his face again."

      "Going away?" Mrs. Sheppard opened startled eyes. "But, Maud----"

      "I am going to marry Jake Bolton," Maud said, her voice very deep and quiet. "He will take me and Bunny too."

      "Oh, my dear. That man!" Her mother gazed at her in consternation. "He--he is infinitely rougher than Giles," she said.

      "I know he is rough. But he cares for Bunny. That matters most," said Maud. "In fact, I believe he likes Bunny best!"

      "My dear, it's you he wants--not Bunny," said Mrs. Sheppard, with a rare flash of insight. "I saw that at the very beginning of things--at our wedding-party. He looked at you as if he could devour you."

      Maud put out a quick hand of protest. "Mother, please! That doesn't prove he cares about me--any more than I care for him. It--it's just the way with men of his sort. He--he has been very kind, and he is genuinely fond of Bunny, and--and--in fact it's the only thing to be done. I can't--possibly--stay here any longer."

      Her lip quivered unexpectedly. She turned to go. But her mother intercepted her quickly, endearingly.

      "Maud, darling, wait a minute! I haven't finished. You took my breath away. But listen a moment! This sacrifice won't be necessary, I am sure, I am sure. You couldn't marry that horsey creature. You would never bear life with him. You are not adaptable enough nor experienced enough. You could never endure it. It would be infinitely worse than poor Giles and his tantrums. No, but listen, dear! If you really feel you must go, I think a way of escape is going to be offered to you and poor little Bunny too. I have had a letter from your Uncle Edward, and he is coming expressly to see you both."

      "Mother!" Maud almost tore herself free, gazing at her with that in her eyes that was to haunt Mrs. Sheppard for many days.