The Odds. Ethel M. Dell
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said Hill.
"I'm glad of that," Dot said. "I would rather you knew about it. Only"—her voice quivered again—"I don't know how to tell you."
"You are sure you would rather I knew?" he said.
"Yes." She spoke with decision. "You've got to know if—if—" She broke off.
"If we are going to be married?" he suggested.
"Yes," whispered Dot.
Hill walked a few paces in silence. Then, unexpectedly, he drew the nervous little hand he held through his arm. "Well, you needn't tell me any more," he said. "I know the rest."
She started and stood still. There was quick fear in the look she threw him. "You mean Jack told you—"
"No, I don't," said Hill. "Jack has never yet told me anything I couldn't have told him ages before. I knew from the beginning. It was the fellow they called Buckskin Bill, wasn't it?"
She quivered from head to foot and was silent.
Hill went on ruthlessly. "First, by a stroke of luck, he saved you from death by snake-bite. He always had the luck on his side, that chap. I should have caught him but for that. I'd got him—I'd got him in the hollow of my hand. But you"—for the first time there was a streak of tenderness in his speech—"you were a new chum then—you held me up. Remember how you covered his retreat when we came up? Did you really think I didn't know?"
She uttered a sobbing laugh. "I was very frightened, too. I always was scared at the law."
Hill nodded. He also was grimly smiling.
"But you dared it. You'd have dared anything for him that day. He always got the women on his side."
She winced a little.
"It's true," he asserted. "I know what happened—as well as if I'd seen it. He made love to you in a very gallant, courteous fashion. I never saw Buckskin Bill, but I believe he was always courteous when he had time. And he promised to come back, didn't he—when he'd given up being a thief and a swindler and had turned his hand to an honest trade? All that—for your sake! … Yes, I thought so. But, my dear child, do you really imagine he meant it—after all these years?"
She looked at him with a piteous little smile. "He—he'd be worth having—if he did, wouldn't he?" she said.
"I wonder," said Hill.
He waited for a few moments, then laid his hand upon her shoulder with a touch that seemed to her as heavy as the hand of the law.
"I can't help thinking," he said, "that you'd find a plain man like myself more satisfactory to live with. It's for you to decide. Only—it seems a pity to waste your life waiting for someone who will never come."
She could not contradict him. The argument was too obvious. She longed to put that steady hand away from her, but she felt physically incapable of doing so. An odd powerlessness possessed her. She was as one caught in a trap.
Yet after a second or two she mustered strength to ask a question to which she had long desired an answer. "Did you ever hear any more of him?"
"Not for certain. I believe he left the country, but I don't know. Anyway, he found this district too hot to hold him, for he never broke cover in this direction again. I should have had him if he had."
Fletcher Hill spoke with a grim assurance. He was holding her before him, one hand on her shoulder, the other grasping hers. Abruptly he bent towards her.
"Come!" he said. "It's going to be 'Yes,' isn't it?"
She looked up at him with troubled eyes. Suddenly she shivered as if an icy blast had caught her. "Oh, I'm frightened!" she said. "I'm frightened!"
"Nonsense!" said Hill.
He drew her gently to him and held her. She was shaking from head to foot. She began to sob, hopelessly, like a lost child.
"Don't!" he said. "Don't! It's all right. I'll take care of you. I'll make you happy. I swear to God I'll make you happy!"
It was forcibly spoken, and it showed her more of the man's inner nature than she had ever seen before. Almost in spite of herself she was touched. She leaned against him, fighting her weakness.
"It isn't—fair to you," she murmured at last.
"That's my affair," said Hill.
She kept her face hidden from him, and he did not seek to raise it; but there was undoubted possession in the holding of his arms.
After a moment or two she spoke again. "What will you do if—if you find you're not—happy with me?"
"I'll take my chance of that," said Fletcher Hill. He added, under his breath, "I'll be good to you—in any case."
That moved her. She lifted her face impulsively. "You—you are much nicer than I thought you were," she said.
He bent to her. "It isn't very difficult to be that," he said, with a somewhat sardonic touch of humour. "I haven't a very high standard to beat, have I?"
It was not very lover-like. Perhaps, he feared to show her too much of his soul just then, lest he seem to be claiming more than she was prepared to offer. Perhaps that reserve of his which clothed him like a coat of mail was more than even he could break through. But so it was that then—just then, when the desire of his heart was actually within his grasp, he contented himself with taking a very little. He kissed her, indeed, though it was but a brief caress—over before her quivering lips could make return; nor did he seek to deter her as she withdrew herself from his arms.
She stood a moment, looking small and very forlorn. Then she turned to retrace her steps.
"Shall we go back?" she said.
He went back with her in silence till they reached the gate that led into the yard. Then for a second he grasped her arm, detaining her.
"It is—'Yes?'" he questioned.
She bent her head in acquiescence, not looking at him. "Yes," she said, in a whisper.
And Fletcher let her go.
CHAPTER V
THE LOST ROMANCE
Jack looked in vain for any sign of elation on his friend's face when he entered. He read nothing but grim determination. Dot's demeanour also was scarcely reassuring. She seemed afraid to lift her eyes.
"Isn't it nearly bed-time?" she murmured to Adela as she passed.
Adela looked at her with frank curiosity. There were no fine shades of feeling about Adela. She always went straight to the point—unless restrained by Jack.
"Oh, it's quite early yet," she said, wholly missing the appeal in the girl's low-spoken words. "What have you two been doing? Moonshining?"
Fletcher looked as contemptuous as his immobile countenance would allow, and sat down by his untouched drink without a word.
But it took more than a look to repress Adela. She laughed aloud. "Does that mean I am to draw my own conclusions, Mr. Hill? Would you like me to tell you what they are?"
"Not for my amusement," said Hill, dryly. "Where did you get this whisky from, Jack? I hope it's a legal brand."
"I hope it is," agreed Jack. "I don't know its origin. I got it through Harley. You know him? The manager of the Fortescue Gold Mine."
"Yes, I know him," said Hill. "He is retiring, and another fellow is taking