The Great Amulet

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Then, with a stunned incredulity, he realised what was happening.
Stealthily, insistently, the old craving was reasserting its dominion
over him. He had been prepared for the possibility of its
recrudescence once or twice in the event of illness or mental strain,
before he could count it conquered for good. But that it should have
come so soon, and upon so slight a provocation, knocked all the heart
out of him; blackened for the time being his whole outlook on life. In
ordinary circumstances, he would have found it an unspeakable relief to
share the trouble with his wife; to give her the chance she had once so
desired of helping him to fight against it. But now they were rarely
alone together for long; and her lightly detached attitude tended to
establish rather than dispel his native instinct of reserve. Moreover,
she was so happily absorbed in ministering to his friend, that he
shrank from shadowing her bright nature with the cloud that darkened
his own;--a mistake arising from his rudimentary knowledge of women.
For an appeal to her deeper sympathies might have wakened her
undeveloped mother instinct; and by drawing them into closer union
might have averted much. But in the last event, it is 'character that
makes circumstance, and character is inexorable.'

Thus Lenox, lying back in his chair, was still far from recognising his
fundamental error. He was simply pondering Quita's last words to him,
and endorsing their truth with characteristic honesty. He had put
himself in the wrong by his manner of broaching the subject; but the
belief in his right to speak of it remained. He was prepared to put up
with a good deal for Dick, but not for others; and it was beginning to
dawn upon him that Dick was in all likelihood the first of a series;
that only so could her need for varied companionship be satisfied. An
idea that suggested disturbing contingencies. His mind reverted to
Garth, to Sir Roger Bennet, and to the nameless unknowns who had
probably bridged the space between. Since her frank confession of
loyalty at Kajiar, he had refrained from expressing curiosity on the
subject. But a man cannot always keep his mind from straying into
forbidden places. "If only she would not treat the whole crew as if
they were her brothers; and favourite brothers at that!" had been his
thought more than once during the past few months. It was all very
well with Dick,--a gentleman through and through, without a grain of
conceit in him; but there were scores of others who would not
understand. Garth, for instance, had clearly not understood; and for
her sake, as well as his own, Lenox did not choose that she should
multiply mistakes of that kind.

With a sigh, he drew out his watch, remembering that he had consented
to be one of the judges at the Punjab Infantry sports, in which some of
his own men and Native officers were taking part. Perhaps Quita would
drive down with him: but he would not press the point.

Her infectious laughter seemed to challenge and rebuke his black mood,
as he opened the drawing-room door to find her taking her patient for a
walking tour, his hand resting on her shoulder; her face alight with
encouragement, looking up into his. For it was this big man, with his
dependence, and his simplicity of character, who had wakened the mother
spirit in Quita after all; though she was not yet alive to the fact.

They stood still when Lenox appeared, Richardson a little breathless
from some recent effort.

"He tripped over your bear's head, and I saved him from falling!" Quita
explained triumphantly. "I wanted him to try without the crutch,
because Dr Courtenay takes him in to dinner to-night; and he hardly had
to lean on me at all!"

"I told Mrs Lenox you'd be down on me if I turned her into a
walking-stick," Richardson added in half-laughing apology. "But she
insisted. And you know how much chance a fellow has when she insists!"

"Yes--_I_ know," Lenox answered, such depth of conviction in his tone
that Quita laughed again.

"_Mon Dieu_--listen to the man! One would think I spent half my time
insisting on his doing what he hates; which is a rank libel! Now, Mr
Richardson, back to your chair, please. You've done enough for one
while."

Lenox put out a hand to steady him across the room.

"He's going to beat me at picquet now, by way of gratitude," Quita
remarked, shaking out his pillows and settling him in. "Are _you_ off
anywhere, _mon cher_?"

"Yes: to the P. I. sports. I'm one of the judges."

"Then it would be quite useless to go with you. But I'll ride down, if
you like."

Lenox hesitated. He had seen the shadow of disappointment in his
subaltern's eyes.

"N . . no," he said at length. "Better stop and play with Dick. When
I come back I'll get you up into the trap, old man, and take you for a
drive before dinner. Who's coming, Quita? Just the Desmonds and
Courtenay?"

"Yes; and the Ollivers."

"I'm glad. She's good company."

"Which is more than I can say of _him_," Quita remarked, as the door
closed behind her husband. "And he takes me in. Poor me! But you'll
be on the other side; and you must be very kind to me to make up."

He smiled gravely upon her, without replying. She had established
herself on a low stool fronting him; elbows on knees, hands framing her
face, her fearless eyes searching his own.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked.

"The notion of a great buffer like me being 'kind' to _you_. It's you
and Lenox who are a long sight too kind to me. You're spoiling me
between you. Why didn't you go to the sports with him just now?"

"Because I didn't choose!" she answered sweetly. "And as for
spoiling,--what else did we have you here for? The only thing I ask in
return is that you will give up this nonsense about not letting me
paint your portrait. Will you, please?"

He was silent a moment, tugging at his fair moustache, his eyes
avoiding hers. Then:

"It wouldn't be worth all the work you'd put into it," he objected with
an uneasy laugh.

"I'm the best judge of that. Inspiration's been dead in me for months;
and now that you have set the spark ablaze, it's hardly fair or
gracious to fling cold water on the poor thing. But of course if the
sittings would bore you, now you can move about a bit----"

"Bore me? Mrs Lenox!" He looked straight at her now, emphatic denial
in his gaze; and she nodded contentedly, knowing that her point was
gained.

"That's a mercy," she said. "Put on your service kit to-morrow
morning, and we'll start in earnest. I'm longing to begin. But in the
meantime you are generously permitted to beat me at picquet!"

The dinner that evening was, as Quita explained, "Just a family
affair," to celebrate Richardson's good progress, and drink success to
the punitive expedition, which on that very day was filing through the
Gomal Pass into Mahsud territory, to take toll, not only in men's
lives, but 'in steer and gear and stack' for that day of treachery and
black disaster, whose hidden motive still remained a mystery even to
those most intimate with the tribes of the district.

Honor, who had not seen Lenox for nearly a week, was struck by a change
in him, whose significance she understood too well. The lurking shadow
in his eyes, the bitterness in his tone,--recalling 'bad days' last hot
weather,--so troubled her that she found surface talk and laughter an
effort, and felt grateful to Frank, who could always be counted upon
for more than her share of both.

She rallied him on his gravity, in happy ignorance of the cause.

"Sure ye're just in low water, Captain Lenox," she declared with her
big laugh, "because your dapper little screw guns have been left out of
the show. You want to be hitting the scoundrels back with your own
shells, eh?"

To which Lenox replied in an undertone of savage conviction that
puzzled Honor.

"You never made a straighter shot, Mrs Olliver. I'd give five years of
my life to be taking the Battery through the Gomal to-day."

But if Lenox had little to say for himself, Quita was not in the same
dilemma. In fact, it seemed to Desmond that she talked a little too
daringly, a little too much; and for the first lime he found his
appreciation tinged with criticism.

He had gathered from Lenox that she knew little or nothing of his
hidden trouble; but it struck him that a wife of the right sort (Honor,
for instance) would have guessed the truth by now. He knew how little
Lenox appreciated the constant influx of men to tea and dinner; and one
or two people--of the social vulture species--had already spoken to him
of her friendship with Richardson in the tone of voice which made
Desmond clench and pocket his fists, lest he should knock them down out
of hand. He took advantage of his seat next the Gunner to mention,
under cover of general conversation, his anxiety about Lenox's health;
and managed also to take part in most of his talk with Quita throughout
the meal.

She redoubled her friendliness to Richardson by way of flinging down
her gage; whereupon Desmond with admirable _insouciance_ retired from
the lists. Once or twice her eyes challenged his, half-puzzled,
half-defiant. Her quick perception detected his critical attitude, and
in her present mood the undernote of antagonism acted as a spur rather
than a check upon the dare-devil strain in her, which was responsible
for her odd mingling of folly and heroic self-devotion.

Before the ladies left the table, the success and thoroughness of the
expedition was proposed with cheers; followed by a second toast, drunk
in silence, to the memory of the three men who had been alive in their
midst less than a month ago: and later in the evening--when the
Ollivers, Richardson, and Courtenay were absorbed in whist, and Honor
had gone out with Lenox into the garden, where a late moon was
rising--Desmond lured Quita to the piano at the far end of the room by
asking her to sing.

At the close of the second song, he leaned his elbow on the top of the
instrument, and stood so, searching her face with such discomposing
directness that a burning wave of colour submerged her, and she dropped
her eyes.

"I don't believe you ever criticised me till to-night, Major Desmond,"
she murmured, striking soft chords at random with her left hand.

"Not since I really came to know you," he answered in the same tone.
"You have never given me cause."

"Well--I don't like it."

"Few of us do. You prefer indiscriminate admiration?"

The flush deepened, but she looked up.

"I prefer your approval to your disapproval," she said, still moving
her hand over the notes. "But I have always gone my own way; and I
warn you that nothing rouses the devil in me like being scolded or
dictated to."

"My dear Quita, I have no right nor wish to do either. I only want to
ask you a question or two--if I may?"

"What about?"

"Your husband. He won't consult Courtenay; and I am getting anxious.
Would you mind telling me about how much sleep he has had this last
week?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"As far as I know he hardly ever comes to bed at all."

"Quita, you are exaggerating!"

"I only mean, it's no use asking me for accurate information."

"But do you know that insomnia's a serious thing--especially for him?"

"Yes. I made a fuss when he first began working late. It's bad for
him and a nuisance for me. But I have given that up now. He's as
obstinate as I am about going his own way. It's almost the only
quality we share in common."

"Don't you feel it might be worth trying again?"

"Possibly. If _you_ think I ought."

Desmond's eyes twinkled at the implied compliment.

"I do think it."

She sighed.

"Oh, well,--I don't promise, and we've had enough of the dismal subject
for now. One never seems allowed to enjoy one's self in peace. D'you
want more music, or--would you prefer whist?"

"I'm to cut in, and leave Richardson free. Is that it?"

The blush that still burned in her cheeks spread slowly over her neck
to the soft lace at her breast; and the man felt that in his momentary
vexation he had struck too hard. Then her eyes flashed fire into his.

"Major Desmond, if you begin saying things like that to me--I shall
_hate_ you."

"No, Quita. It'll never be that between us. I apologise. But you
know I care immensely for your husband, and it angers me to see
you--apparently indifferent . . ."

"Indifferent? How _dare_ you . . . ?" she breathed low and
passionately, her breath coming in small gasps.

"I understand. But I'm not sorry I roused you.--Here comes Honor. I
know she wants to get home early. Good-night to you. Am I forgiven?"

"No. But you will be--to-morrow morning. I believe one could forgive
you almost anything."

"I'll not be base enough to take advantage of such a generous
admission," he answered, smiling and grasping her hand.

Lenox, with a keen glance at his wife's face, followed the Desmonds
into the verandah, and helped Honor into her seat.

"You'll keep your promise, won't you?" she pleaded. "And go straight
to bed without even looking into your study. Never mind if the lamp
burns there all night. You can charge me for the kerosene!"

"That's a bargain then," he answered, laughing. "It's like old times
to have _you_ laying commands on me again!"

"Not only to-night, remember: a whole week of nights and more."

"Trust me. I have promised. Good-night, Mrs Desmond, and thank you."

As the dog-cart turned into the open road, Honor spoke: "Theo, if she
lets him go to pieces again . . . I shall never, never forgive her."

There was a break in her low voice, and Desmond slipping a hand through
her arm, pressed it close against him.

"You dear blessed woman, no fear of that. She cares,--with all her
heart. But there are faults and difficulties on both sides; and I'm
afraid they have still a lot of rough ground to get over before they
settle into their stride."

And Quita, the perverse, Quita, the inconsistent, cried herself to
sleep that night upon her husband's shoulder.

CHAPTER XXX

"Hearts are like horses; they come and go without whip or spur."
--_Native Proverb_.

"Only ten minutes more; a bare ten minutes. Then you shall 'ease off'
and stretch your legs a little. I'm sure by this time you must be
wishing all artists at the bottom of the sea!"

"N-no; I haven't got quite as far as that yet," Richardson answered
with lazy good-humour, flicking the ash off his cigar.

"You will, though, before I've done with you! I know I have been
exacting to-day, for the eyes are the crux of a portrait. Unless the
individual soul looks out of them, it's a dead thing. D'you know, I
once told Eldred that yours were like bits of sea water with sunbeams
caught in them; and the effect isn't easy to produce on canvas. But
I'm succeeding--I'm succeeding _a merveille_. That's why I must get
the effect while my hand is in; and you've not once hampered me by
looking bored or impatient. How is one to reward you for such angelic
behaviour?"

"There are ways and ways. Am I allowed to choose?"

"Perhaps,--within limits! But we'll discuss that when I can give my
mind to the subject. Now, your head a little more to the right,
please. That's better. You get out of position when you talk."

"Sorry. I may lean back though, mayn't I?"

"Why, of course! I only wonder you don't get up and throw the chair at
my head!"

He laughed and leaned back accordingly, blowing an endless chain of
smoke-rings, and watching her face, her supple slenderness, the deft
movements of her hand, with a contentment whose vital ingredients he
either could not or would not recognise--yet.

For a full week he had spent many hours of each day in smoking and
watching her thus; and the fact that he had never yet found the
occupation monotonous was a danger-signal in itself. But your
comfort-loving man is singularly obtuse in the matter of
danger-signals: and loyalty apart, Richardson was too genuinely devoted
to his friend to admit the possibility of that which was almost an
accomplished fact. The man was not built for high tragedy; and, in
truth, the sittings were an equal pleasure to him when Lenox joined
them, as he often did; the two men smoking and talking horses or their
beloved 'shop,' while Quita worked and listened, and interrupted
without scruple whenever the spirit moved her.

Yet beneath the smooth-seeming surface of things Lenox was more than
ever aware of her curious detachment, of a disturbing sense that his
hold over her was still an imperfect thing. Nor was he altogether
mistaken. Quita had not yet learned to give herself royally. The fact
that she had put her heart and life into the hands of the man she loved
did not prevent her from going her own way; from feeling--as she had
always felt--responsible to herself alone for her words and actions.

And the past week had seemed to emphasise these idiosyncrasies;
because, at the first mysterious breath of inspiration, the submerged
artist in her had risen again with power, had, for the time being,
dominated her,--body and soul: and she may surely be forgiven if the
'world-lifting joy' of creation swept her off her feet; if she had eyes
and thoughts for little else save the picture coming to life under her
hand. Perhaps it needs an artist, one who has felt the Divine breath
stir a spark into a flame, rightly to understand and make allowance for
such spiritual intoxication. Michael,--shallow-hearted egoist though
he might be,--would have understood: because he was an artist. But
Lenox, being simply a man and a soldier, found it difficult to
distinguish between her absorption in the picture and in the subject of
the picture; difficult to realise her momentary freedom from the
personal equation.

What with incessant sittings, and equally incessant people to tea and
dinner, he had little intimate speech of her in the daytime; and in the
long hours of wakefulness as he lay beside her listening to her even
breathing, he faced the fact that his growing irritability was due to
jealousy;--not the jealousy that doubts or suspects,--of that he was
incapable; but the primitive man's demand for exclusive possession of
his own. Probably Desmond, in such a case, would have lost his temper
and cleared the air in half an hour. But temperament is destiny: and
Lenox was not so made. He merely shut the door upon the evil thing;
and tried--not very successfully--to ignore its existence. And with
three evil spirits in possession of him, it is not surprising if at
times he gave place to the devil.

Of all this Quita was airily unaware. Since he had given up coming to
bed at unearthly hours, she concluded that he slept. Mixed motives had
held him silent in regard to the threatening shadow of opium, even
during her moment of collapse and self-reproach after the expedition
dinner; and of his dawning jealousy he was at once too ashamed and too
proud to speak.

This morning his repressed irritability had been more marked than
usual; and Quita had decided that once free from her enthralling
picture, she must devote herself definitely to 'cheering him up.' But
for the present she discouraged troublesome thoughts; and now, while
Richardson sat smoking and watching her, she was conscious of nothing
on earth save the exhilaration of success.

She let fall both hands at last, with a sigh of supreme satisfaction.

"There! I can do no more to it--for the present. You are released.
You may come and look."

He obeyed; and stood beside her lost in uncomprehending admiration of
her skill.

It was Quita who spoke first. "We have achieved a rather remarkable
bit of work between us, you and I."

"We?" he echoed in amaze. "I don't quite see where I come in."

"No: you wouldn't: and I'm afraid I can't enlighten you. But the fact
remains. Would you mind if I sent it to the Academy, just as a
Portrait of a Soldier?"

"The Academy? Good Lord! I should be proud."

"Thank you. I believe they'll hang it; and hang it well. That will be
_my_ reward. But what about yours?"

She looked up at him now, letting her eyes rest confidently in his: and
the glad light in them held him, dazzled him, so that he forgot to
answer her; forgot much that he ought to have remembered, in the
flashlight of a revelation so simple yet so astounding that it took him
several seconds to understand what had befallen him.

"Well?" she asked, smiling. "Is it so tremendous?" And the spell was
broken. But reality remained.

He felt something in him throb strangely; the pain of it melting into a
glow more startling than the first shock; and with an awkward laugh he
turned abruptly away from her;--too abruptly, as a twinge in his left
leg gave warning, so that the laugh ended in an involuntary sound of
pain.

"Mr Richardson, do be careful," she reproved him gently. "What has
come to you? And why do you go off like that without answering my
question?"

For he had crossed to the mantelpiece; and a photo of her portrait of
Lenox seemed to be absorbing his attention. Nor did he take his eyes
from it in speaking.

"Because--well, because it struck me that perhaps you wouldn't be so
keen about rewarding me,--if you knew . . . ."

"What? _Is_ there anything to know?"

"Yes: worse luck. I ought to have spoken sooner. But I shirked it,
especially after what you said out driving. You remember--that
letter--long ago?"

"Am I likely to forget? What about it?"

This time he faced her deliberately, though the blood mounted to his
forehead.

"I am the chap who wrote it. I'm the man you have been hating all
these years; the man you _hate still_."

She came a step closer and stood gazing at him blankly, reorganising
her sensations.

"You wrote it? _You_?"

"Yes; I."

"But did you really know anything about me, or about Sir Roger Bennet?"

"Nothing on earth. I was simply repeating idle gossip."

"Oh, how could you! And look what came of it. The years of bitterness
and estrangement----!" He winced under her passionate reproach.

"It was done in ignorance, remember; though, as you reminded me not
long since, that doesn't soften facts. Slang me; hate me for it, if
you must. It can't be helped."

"But I don't hate you, _mon ami_; I couldn't if I tried for a month."

This was disconcerting. He had thought to snap the cord of their
friendship, and so make it easier to see less of her in future.

"Not even now you know?" he persisted desperately. And she shook her
head.

"Yet you told me distinctly that you could never forgive that unlucky
chap."

"But then I never guessed it was _you_," she retorted with true woman's
logic. "How _could_ one hate you, after what happened last month.
Eldred told me."

"That,"--he shrugged his shoulders,--"that was a mere nothing."

"Excuse me, as men go now it was a good deal. But still--I am puzzled.
If you shirked telling me all this while, what made you tell me to-day?"

This also was disconcerting. But he did his best.

"I don't know. Perhaps it was talking of rewards. Besides--I'm one of
those clumsy fools who never feel quite comfortable until he has
blurted out the truth."

He tried to laugh, but her direct look broke the sound in his throat.

"I rather admire that kind of fool," she said, with quiet emphasis.
"And you have lost nothing by your folly,--nothing."

"Does that mean you have quite forgiven me?" For the life of him he
could not stifle the exultation in his tone.

"Quite--quite. Will that do for your reward? Shake hands on
it,--please: and I promise never to speak or think of it again."

Before their hands fell apart Lenox entered, and a slight shadow
crossed his face.

"A note for you, Dick," he said quietly. "The man wants an answer."

Richardson's relief was evident.

"Thanks. I won't keep him waiting." And he departed without opening
the envelope.

"Don't be too long; and don't change your coat," Quita called after
him. "There's some detail work that I might get in before tea." Then
conscious of gathering storm, she turned hurriedly to her husband.

"What were you and Dick shaking hands about at this time of day!" he
asked as the door closed upon his subaltern.

She had meant to tell him as a matter of course. But something in his
tone roused her fatal spirit of perversity--and up went her chin into
the air.

"We were striking a bargain. Have you any objection?"

"No. Not the smallest. Would it be any use if I had?"

She paused, weighing the question.

"I don't think it would. Petty tyranny of that kind is the last thing
I could put up with; the last thing one would expect from you."

"Quite so. At the same time--marriage means compromise. You
understand?"

"When a man says that he usually implies that the woman will do most of
the compromising, in order that he may have his own way."

"Within limits, a man has a certain right to his own way in his own
house."

"And generally gets it!" she answered lightly.

Lenox shrugged his shoulders, and going over to the easel, contemplated
in silence the living likeness of his friend: while Quita, watching
him, was increasingly aware of slumbering electricity that might at any
moment break into a lightning-flash of speech.

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