The Hundredth Chance. Dell Ethel May
but with Bunny- She clenched her hands in impotent anguish. There was only one person in the world willing to lift the burden from her, only one person besides herself who really cared for Bunny. She suddenly began to tremble. That sense of approaching doom was upon her again. The current had caught her surely, surely, and was whirling her away.
Bunny stirred-as though somehow caught in the net of her emotions-stirred and came out of uneasy slumber.
"I say, Maud!"
"What is it, darling? Are you uncomfortable?" There was a wealth of mother-love in her low voice as she bent above him.
Bunny put out a cold, moist hand. "I say, Maud," he said again, "Jake's a good sort. You like Jake, don't you?"
"Yes, darling," she answered soothingly.
He turned his head on the pillow; she could feel his fingers opening and closing in the restless way he had. "I like him too," he said. "I like him awfully. He's-the real thing. I wish-"
"What, Bunny?" There was constraint in her voice, and she knew it, but it was a subject upon which she could not bring herself to speak freely. She dreaded his answer more than she could have said.
Possibly he divined the fact, for he heaved a sharp sigh and said, "Nothing," in a tone that told her that he was very far from satisfied.
But she could not pursue the matter. Thankfully she let it drop.
The evening wore away. There was only one candle in the room. By it she and Bunny ate the supper which Maud herself had fetched from the kitchen. No one had time to wait upon them. The boy was still trying to make the best of things, and she marvelled at his courage.
When the meal was over he looked at her with a faint smile under his drawn brows. "Look here, Maud! There's that bed in the corner. Can't you make it comfortable and get a good night for once?"
She looked at him in surprise. It was very unusual for Bunny to give a thought to her comfort.
"Yes, I want you to," he said. "Go and undress, and then bring your blankets up here! You can't sit up all night in a straight-backed chair, so you may as well be comfortable. Don't stare! Go and do it!"
The bed in the corner was a thing of broken springs and crippled frame-work, but it had a mattress of straw albeit bedclothes were lacking. Bunny's suggestion seemed feasible, and since it was plain that he would not be content unless she followed it she yielded without demur. Her own room was only a flight of stairs away, and she had already fetched several things from it for his comfort. She hoped to get him down to it on the following day, if only Jake would come. It was neither warm nor spacious, but it was preferable to this fireless attic.
She brought the blankets, and arranged the bed. "I don't think I'll undress, Bunny," she said.
"You are to," said Bunny. "Jake says no one can possibly rest properly without."
She was inclined to resent this assertion of Jake's teaching, but again she yielded. Bunny was in a mood to work himself into a fever if his behests were not obeyed.
She went down and undressed therefore, and presently slipped up to him again, hoping to find him asleep. But he was wide-eyed and restless.
"It's so beastly cold," he said. "I can't sleep. My feet are like stones. Where's the fur rug?"
She looked round for it. "Oh, Bunny, I'm so sorry. I must have left it in your room downstairs. Never mind! Here's a blanket instead!"
She was already pulling it off her bed when Bunny asserted himself once more.
"Maud, I won't have it! I will not have it! Do you hear? Put it back again! Why can't you go and fetch the fur rug?"
"My dear, I can't go down like this," she objected.
"Rot!" said Bunny. "Everyone's gone to bed by now. If you don't get it, they'll be turning the room out in the morning, and it'll get lost. Besides, you look all right."
She was wearing no more than a light wrap over her night-dress; but, as Bunny said, it was probable that everyone had retired, for the hour was late. Only a few dim lights were left burning in the passages. There would be no one about, and it would not take two minutes to slip down and get the rug. She dropped the blanket he had refused, and went softly out.
CHAPTER XII
THE RECKONING
The whole house was in silence as noiselessly she stole down the stairs. It was close upon midnight, and she did not meet or hear anyone. The place might have been empty, so still was it.
The long, long roar of the sea came to her as she groped her way down the winding, dark passage that led to the room from which Bunny had been so rudely ejected a few hours before. There was no light here, but she knew her way perfectly, and, finding the door, softly opened it and turned on the electric light.
The room was just as she had left it, the sofa drawn up by the burnt-out fire. She had collected all Bunny's things earlier in the evening, but, since the rug had been forgotten, she thought it advisable to take the opportunity of ascertaining if anything else had been left behind. She found the rug, pushed the sofa back against the wall, and began a quiet search of all the drawers and other receptacles the room contained.
She had almost finished her task, and was just closing the writing-table drawer when a sudden sound made her start. A creaking footstep came from the passage beyond the open door. She turned swiftly with a jerking heart to see her step-father, bloated and malignant, standing on the threshold.
For a single instant he stood there looking at her, and a great throb of misgiving went through her at the savage triumph in his eyes. He had been drinking, drinking heavily she was sure; but he did not seem to be intoxicated, only horribly sure of himself, brutally free from any trammels of civilization. He closed the door with decision, and moved forward.
In the same moment she moved also towards the sofa over which she had thrown the rug she had come to fetch. Her heart was beating hard and fast, but she would not address a single word to him, would not so much as seem to see him. Supremely disdainful, she prepared to gather up her property and go.
But as she turned to the door she found him barring the way. He spoke, thickly yet not indistinctly.
"Not so fast, my fine madam! I've got to have a reckoning with you."
She drew herself up to the utmost of her slim height, and gave him a single brief glance of disgust. "Be good enough to let me pass!" she said, in tones of clear command.
But Sheppard did not move. He had been fortifying himself against any sudden strain such as this all day long.
"Not so fast!" he said again, with a gleam of teeth under his dark moustache. "You made a mistake this morning, young woman; a very big mistake. Don't make another to-night!"
Maud froze to an icier contempt. The steady courage of her must have shamed any man in his sober senses.
"Stand aside instantly," she said, "or I shall ring the bell and rouse the house!"
He laughed at that, a cruel, vindictive laugh. "Oh, you don't come over me that way! You mean to have your lesson, I see, and p'raps it's as well. It's been postponed too long already. There's a deal too much spirit about you, and too much lip too. You think I'll put up with anything, don't you? Think yourself much too high and mighty to associate with the likes of me? Think you can call me any darn' names you please, and I'll bear 'em like a lamb?"
His voice rose. Obviously his temper was already beyond control. He was in fact lashing it on to fury. Maud knew the process well.
It was enough for her, and she waited for no more. She stepped quietly to the bell.
She was nearer to it than he, and she did not for a moment imagine that he would dare to molest her. But she had not realized the maddened condition to which he had wrought himself; and even when he suddenly and violently strode forward she did not draw back or dream that he would touch her.
Only as his hand caught her outstretched arm did the knowledge that he was as utterly beyond control as a wild beast burst upon her. She uttered a desperate cry, and began a sharp, instinctive struggle to escape.
It