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CHAPTER XXIX
THE DUTIFUL WIFE

"Well, my dearie, this is the biggest treat I've had for I don't know how long. Sit you down and tell me all your news! Is it true, what my Tom tells me, as you've come into a pot of money? Well, there now, I am pleased! Put your feet on the fender, my dear! There's a cruel wind blowing to-day. We'll have some hot buttered toast for tea."

"I hope you're not busy, Mrs. Wright." Maud clasped the round, dumpy form very closely for a minute.

"Lor' no, my dear; not a bit. It's early closing to-day. Fancy your thinking of that now! And fancy your coming to see me of all people! Why, I feel just as if a princess had stepped out of a fairy-tale."

"I don't feel a bit like a princess," Maud said.

She sat down before the cheery little fire in Mrs. Wright's back parlour and stretched out her hands to the blaze.

The old woman hovered over her tenderly. "You look like one, my dear," she said. "I think it's just wonderful that you should condescend to be friendly with the likes of me."

"Oh, Mrs. Wright, don't-please-put it like that!" Maud leaned quickly back, turning up a face of flushed protest. "I don't like that aspect of myself at all," she said. "I don't think I am that sort of person indeed."

"I always think of you as Jake's princess, dear," Mrs. Wright maintained. "I don't see why it should distress you. I like to think of you so."

Maud laughed a little. "I wish you wouldn't. And I wish Jake wouldn't either. Perhaps once I was foolish and proud, but really I have got over that now. I am very humble, nowadays."

"Are you happy, dearie? That's the great thing," said Mrs. Wright.

Maud stooped again over the fire. "I'm-trying to be," she said. "I don't succeed perhaps all the time. But-" She stopped. "Don't let us talk about my affairs till I have heard all yours!" she said. "How is Tom? When is he going to be married?"

It was the signal for Mrs. Wright to plunge into personal gossip, and she did so with zest. But she kept a motherly eye upon her visitor notwithstanding, missing no detail of her appearance and general demeanour. There was plenty to be said, Mrs. Wright was always voluble, but she was not a selfish talker. She did not monopolize the conversation, and she never lost sight of her listener.

Maud's sympathy was quite unfeigned. She liked to hear about Mrs. Wright's various interests, and there was a genial warmth in the atmosphere that did her good.

"Let me come into the kitchen with you and help you make the toast!" she begged at length.

And after a brief demur, Mrs. Wright consented. Tom was out and there would be no one to disturb them. She would not have dreamed of permitting Tom to sit down in the kitchen with Jake's princess.

So to the kitchen they went, and finding it cosier than the parlour, decided to remain there to partake of the meal they had prepared, Mrs. Wright, albeit sorely against her will occupying the wooden armchair of state, while Maud sat close to her knees on the fender.

"You're looking very thin, dear," Mrs. Wright checked her chatter to observe, as she put down her final cup of tea.

"It's my nature to be thin," Maud said.

Mrs. Wright permitted herself a more critical survey. "I wonder what Jake thinks," she said. "I shouldn't feel happy about you if I were Jake."

Maud smiled faintly into the fire and said nothing.

Mrs. Wright's plump hand stole down to her shoulder. "I hope as he's being good to you, dearie," she murmured.

Maud leaned back against her knee. "He is trying to be," she said. "You know that the Stud has been sold?"

"It really has?" said Mrs. Wright.

"Yes, it really has. The animals were to have been sent to Tattersall's, but a man we know-an American-came at the very beginning of the year and made an offer on behalf of a friend of his that Lord Saltash's agent thought too good to refuse. He has gone back to America now, and no doubt his principal will make his appearance soon. The idea is to build new Stables nearer to Graydown. Jake is negotiating about some land there. It's such a pretty part, and there will have to be a house for him too. We shall probably be allowed to stay on at the Burchester Stables till it is all ready. Jake is hoping that it may all be done in a year, I think," she smiled again with a hint of wistfulness. "I think Jake is going to enjoy himself."

"And you, dearie?" whispered Mrs. Wright, tenderly persistent.

Maud reached up a hand to clasp hers. "I have been lost in the desert for a long, long time, dear Mrs. Wright," she said. "But I am just beginning to find myself."

Mrs. Wright stooped impulsively and carried the soft hand to her lips. "May it please the dear Lord to guide you, dear!" she said.

"He is guiding me," Maud said with simplicity. "But I've some way to travel yet before I reach my goal. And-it's very sandy travelling sometimes, Mother Wright." She lifted her face with its sweet quivering smile. "And there are stones too, sometimes," she said. "But-I'd like you to know that I've passed the worst. I've left off yearning for-for-the mirage. It doesn't draw me any more-at all. I've left it all behind me, – like an evil dream and I can never, never, never be deceived by it again."

"My darling!" murmured Mrs. Wright very tenderly. "My darling!"

Maud suddenly clung to her closely. "I'm beginning to find out," she whispered tremulously, "that the thing I took for a rank weed growing beside my path is the one flower I have always wanted in my garden. I've tried for ever so long to uproot it, but now-but now-I'm trying to make it grow. I want it-but this is a secret! – more than anything else on earth."

Mrs. Wright's own eyes were full of tears. "I am sure you will have it, darling," she said. "I am sure-quite sure-your want will be satisfied."

She kissed the quivering face on her bosom and fondled the soft dark hair. They remained so for a space not speaking; then very gently Maud withdrew herself.

"Did I tell you that Bunny is allowed to play hockey this term? It is horribly dangerous-I went up to watch it last Saturday-but he enjoys it tremendously; and they say it will do him good. He is growing fast, getting quite a man."

"I am very pleased to hear it," Mrs. Wright said warmly. "Dearie me, just to think of the poor little weakly thing he was a year ago! Do you remember that day I first looked in on you, and how you gave me them violets? I've never forgotten it."

Maud flushed a little. "You were so good to me, and I had been so ungracious. I wonder you ever forgave me."

"What rubbish, dear! What rubbish!" softly interpolated Mrs. Wright. "I loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you that night at Giles Sheppard's. And that reminds me. How is your mother doing now?"

"She is living in London," Maud said. "I believe Giles Sheppard went to Canada. She doesn't seem to trouble about him, but has settled down quite happily in a boarding-house in Bayswater. I invested some of Uncle Edward's money in an annuity for her. It seemed the best plan."

"I am so glad you have got that money, dear," said Mrs. Wright simply.

"Thank you," Maud said. "But-you know-I could have been quite happy without it. At least I think I could. We should have had to emigrate. And I-" she smiled momentarily, "I suppose I should have been a cow-puncher's wife in earnest."

"You wouldn't have liked that," said Mrs. Wright with conviction.

"Shouldn't I? I wonder. I am beginning to think that external circumstances haven't much to do with happiness." Maud spoke thoughtfully. "Still-now I am used to the idea-I am glad to have the money. Uncle Edward left all his affairs in such perfect order that they will probably be wound up very soon now. Mr. Craven, the solicitor, said it was one of the simplest matters he had ever had to deal with, which is all the better for me. He is in a position to raise almost any amount for me even now." Maud was smiling again, that faint, half-wistful smile that had become hers. "It will be useful when it comes to furnishing the new house, won't it?" she said.

"My dear, you will just love that," said Mrs. Wright. "And what does Jake say to it all? Isn't he pleased to know as you and little Sir Bernard are provided for as befits your rank and station?"

Maud's smile became a laugh. "Dear Mother Wright, you are incorrigible!" she declared. "No, Jake is not over and above pleased. I think he has a lurking fear that I want to take him away from his horses and make him lead a life of elegant idleness. He doesn't guess how thankful I was to know that he would not have to give them up after all. For he loves his animals as he loves nothing else on earth."

"Oh, tut, tut, dearie!" remonstrated Mrs. Wright. "And it really is settled for him to keep on in his present position?"

"Practically settled. He says he must wait and see his boss before he regards it as a sure thing. Meantime, he is carrying out Mr. Rafford's instructions as far as possible. He has gone over to Graydown to-day about the building-site for the new stables. I hope he will secure it. It is on a southern slope. It would be splendid for the animals."

"Why, you are getting quite enthusiastic!" said Mrs. Wright, with a chuckle.

"I believe I am," Maud admitted. "I never thought so much of them till it seemed that we were going to lose them. I think it would almost have broken Jake's heart."

"He don't keep his heart in the stables," said Mrs. Wright wisely, "nor yet in the training-field. What, my dear, you're not thinking of going yet? Why, it's quite early!"

"Yes, I ought to be going," Maud said. "I like to be in first, to give him his tea and so on. He is much too polite to say so, but I fancy he likes it."

"Of course he likes it, dear. And I think he's a very, very lucky man." Mrs. Wright spoke with great emphasis.

Maud was on her feet. She looked down at her half-laughing. "Oh, do you? I wonder why."

"To have such a dutiful wife, dear," said Mrs. Wright. "I hope you're not going to spoil him, now. It would be a pity to do that."

Maud uttered a funny little sigh. "Oh no, I shan't spoil him. He is most careful not to take anything for granted. In fact, I sometimes wonder-" She paused.

"What, darling?" Mrs. Wright looked up at her with loving admiration.

Maud's face was flushed. "Oh, nothing very much. I was only going to say that I sometimes wonder if he has any real use for the dutiful wife after all. I try to please him, but all he seems really to want me to do is to please myself."

Mrs. Wright rose up in her own resilient fashion. "Oh, there now! How like a man!" she said. "They're as cussed as mules, my dear. But never you mind! You'll catch him off his guard one of these days if you keep on. And then'll be your time. You step in and take possession before he can turn round and stop you. It's only a question of patience, dear. It'll come. It'll come."

Maud smiled again as she bent to kiss her. "You're such a good friend to me," she said. "I'll be sure to take your advice-if I can."

"God bless you, my darling!" said Mrs. Wright, with great fervour.

CHAPTER XXX
THE LANE OF FIRE

An icy wind was blowing as Maud climbed the steep road by the church. It whirled down on her with a fierceness that made quick progress out of the question. Nevertheless, she fought valiantly against it, fearing that Jake would have returned before her.

It was not dark. The tearing wind had chased all clouds from the sky, and the daylight still lingered. Ahead of her the North Star hung like a beacon, marvellously bright. There was a smell of smoke in the air that seemed to accentuate the bitter coldness.

The church clock struck six as she passed it, and she sought to quicken her steps, she did not want Jake to come in search of her. For some reason she did not greatly want to tell him how she had been spending the afternoon.

Round the bend of the road the wind caught her mercilessly. She had to battle against it with all her might to make any progress at all. It was while she was struggling round this bend that there suddenly came to her the sound of galloping hoofs and a man's voice wildly shouting. She drew to one side, and stood against the hedge; and in a moment a horseman dashed into view and thundered past her. He was lying forward on the animal's neck, urging him like a jockey.

He was gone like a whirlwind into the dusk, and Maud was left with a throbbing heart that seemed to have been touched by a hand that was icy-cold. She was nearly sure that the animal had come from the Stables and that the man was Sam Vickers. He was not a furious rider as a rule. What had induced him to ride like that to-night? Something was wrong-something was wrong! The certainty of it stabbed her like a knife. What could it be? What? What? Had Jake met with an accident? Was Sam tearing thus madly down to Fairharbour to find the doctor?

The strength of a great fear entered into her. She began to run up the hill in the teeth of the wind. She had only half a mile to go. She would soon know the worst.

But she had not gone twenty yards before her progress was checked. She became aware of a drifting mist all about her, a mist that made her gasp and choke. She ran on in the face of it, but it was with failing progress, for the further she went the more it enveloped her like the smoke of a vast bonfire.

The coldness at her heart became a tangible and ever-growing fear. She tried to tell herself that the suffocating vapour blowing down on her came from a group of ricks that stood not far from the entrance to the Stables. Some mischievous person had fired them, and Sam had discovered it and gone to raise the alarm. But deep within her there clamoured an insistent something that refused to be reassured. Struggling on through the blinding, ever-thickening smoke, the conviction forced itself upon her that no hayricks were responsible for that headlong gallop of Sam's. He had gone as a man going for his life. His progress had been winged by tragedy.

Gasping, stumbling, with terror in her soul, she fought her way on, till a further bend in the road revealed to her the driving smoke all lurid with the glare of flames behind. By that curve she escaped from the direct drift of it and found herself able to breathe more freely. The shoulder of the hill protected her at this point in some degree from the wind also. She covered the ground more quickly and with less effort.

It was here that there first came to her that awful sound as of a rending, devouring monster-the fierce crackling and roaring of fire. The horror of it set all her pulses leaping, but its effect upon her senses was curiously stimulating. Where another might have been paralysed by fear, she was driven forward as though goaded irresistibly. It came to her-whence she knew not-that something immense lay before her. A task of such magnitude as she had never before contemplated had been laid upon her; and strength-such strength as had never before been hers-had been given to her for its accomplishment.

She did not know exactly when her fear became certainty, but when that happened all personal fear passed utterly away from her. She forgot herself completely. All her being leapt to the fulfilment of the unknown task.

The last curve in the uphill road brought her within view of the red flames rushing skyward and curling over like fiery waves before the wind. Through the roar of the furnace there came to her the shouting of men's voices and the wild stampeding of horses. And twice ere she reached the gates she heard the terrible cry of a horse. Then as though she moved on wings, she was there in the stable-yard in the thick of the confusion, with the fire roaring ahead of her and the red glare all around.

The whole stone-paved space seemed crowded with men and horses, and for the first few seconds the noise and movement bewildered her. Then she grasped the fact that only one side of the double row of stables was alight and that in consequence of the driving north wind the other side was in comparative safety.

They were leading the terrified animals out through a passage that led to further buildings on this safe side. But the task was no light one, for they were all maddened by fear and almost beyond control.

As she drew nearer however Maud saw that the men themselves were grappling with the situation with energy and resolution, and there was no panic among them. One-a mere lad-gripping a plunging horse by the forelock, recognized her and shouted a warning through the din.

She came to him, unheeding the trampling hoofs. "Is Mr. Bolton back?" she cried.

He shook his head, striving to back the animal away from her. He had a halter flung over his shoulder which he had not stopped to adjust.

Maud took it from him, and between them, with difficulty, they slipped it over the terrified creature's head. Then, obtaining a firmer hold, the boy shouted further information.

"No, the boss ain't back yet. He'll be in any minute now. Sam's gone for the fire-engine. He thinks the house will be safe if the wind don't veer. But the other side'll be burnt out before he gets back at this rate. We've got most all the animals out now though."

"Not all?" Maud cried the words with a momentary wild misgiving.

The boy yelled back again, still wrestling with the struggling horse. "All but The Hundredth Chance. He's gone by this time. We couldn't save 'im. It's like an open furnace along there."

Then she knew what it was that lay before her, the task for which this great new strength had been bestowed. She left the boy and ran up the yard in the rear of that raging fire. She did not feel the stones under her feet. The seething crowd of men and horses became no more than shadows on the wall. Twice as she went she narrowly escaped death from the plunging hoofs, and knew it not…

The heat was terrific, but the smoke was all blown away from her. She felt no suffocation. But when she reached the stone passage that led to the group of loose-boxes where once she had stood horror-stricken and listened to Jake reprimanding Dick Stevens in the language of the stables, she realized the truth of what the boy had said. It was like an open furnace.

Yet there seemed a chance-the faintest chance-that that one loose-box at the southern corner, the best loose-box in the whole of the Stables-might yet be untouched by the devouring flames. The block of buildings was alight and burning fiercely, but it was not yet alight from end to end. It looked like a lane of fire at the end of that stone passage, but she could see the line of loose-boxes beyond, fitfully through wreaths of smoke. All the doors stood open as far as she could see. They had evidently taken the animals in order, and it had been the fate of The Hundredth Chance to be left till last.

And how to reach him! It had baffled his rescuers. For the moment it baffled her also. She stood at the entrance to the stone passage looking through, feeling the stones under her feet hot like a grid, seeing the red flames leaping from roof to roof.

Then the driving wind came swirling behind her, and she felt as if a hand had pushed her. She plunged into the passage and ran before it.

She emerged in that lane of fire. It roared all around her. She felt the heat envelop her with a fiery, blistering intensity, but ever that unseen hand seemed to urge her. She hesitated no more, though she rushed into a seething cauldron of flame.

And ever the thought of Jake was with her, Jake who loved his animals as he loved nothing else on earth.

She reached that line of boxes, how she knew not. The roof was burning now from end to end, but as she tore past the open doors there came to her an awful cry, and she knew that the colt still lived.

The smoke came down on her here, blinding her, but though it stopped her breath it could not stop her progress. It seemed as though no power on earth could do that now until she had reached her goal. Crouching, with lungs that felt like bursting, she forced a way over those last desperate yards.

Every door was open save that one, and against that one there came a maddened wild tattoo. The Hundredth Chance was fighting for life.

She reached the door through swirling smoke. The flames were shooting over her head. She caught at the bolt. It was burning hot as the door of an oven; but she knew no pain. She dragged it back.

Again there came that fearful shriek and the battering of heels against the wood. The animal was plunging about his prison like a mad thing. She mustered all her strength and pushed upper and lower doors inwards at the same moment.

Instantly there came the rush of hoofs. She was flung violently backwards, falling headlong on the stones. The Hundredth Chance galloped free; and she was left shattered, inert, with the fire raging all around her.

But the deed was done, the great task accomplished. And nothing mattered any more. Jake loved his animals as he loved nothing else on earth…