The Top of the World by Ethel M. Dell

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At the end of a very few minutes Burke arose. Guy sprang instantly
to his feet.

"Are you off? I'm coming!"

"No--no," Burke said shortly. "Stay where you are!"

"I tell you I'm coming," said Guy, pushing aside his chair.

Burke, already ac the door, paused and looked at him. "Better
not," he said. "You're not up to it--and this infernal sand----"

"Damn the sand!" said Guy, with vehemence. "I'm coming!"

He reached Burke with the words. His hand sought the door. Burke
swallowed the rest of his remonstrance.

"Please yourself!" he said, with a shadowy smile; and then for a
moment his eyes went to Sylvia. "You will stay in this afternoon,"
he said.

It was a definite command, and she had no thought of defying it.
But the tone in which it was uttered hurt her.

"I suppose I shall do as I am told," she said, in a low voice.

He let Guy go and returned to her. He bent swiftly down over her
and dropped a small key into her lap. "I leave you in charge of
all that I possess," he said. "Good-bye!"

She looked up at him quickly. "Burke!" she stammered. Burke!
There is no--danger?"

"Probably not of the sort you mean," he answered. And then
suddenly his arms were round her. He held her close and hard. For
a second she felt the strong beat of his heart, and then forgot it
in an overwhelming rush of emotion that so possessed her as almost
to deprive her of her senses. For he kissed her--he kissed
her--and his kiss was as the branding of a hot iron. It seemed to
burn her to the soul.

The next moment she was free; the door closed behind him, and she
was alone. She sank down over the table, quivering all over. Her
pulses were racing, her nerves in a wild tumult. She believed that
the memory of that scorching kiss would tingle upon her lips for
ever. It was as if an electric current had suddenly entered her
inner-most being and now ran riot in every vein. And so wild was
the tumult within her that she knew not whether dread or dismay or
a frantic, surging, leaping thing that seemed to cry aloud for
liberty were first in that mad race. She clasped her hands very
tightly over her face, struggling to master those inner forces that
fought within her. Never in her life had so fierce a conflict torn
her. Soul and body, she seemed to be striving with an adversary
who pierced her at every turn. He had kissed her thus; and in that
unutterable moment he had opened her eyes, confronting her with an
amazing truth from which she could not turn aside. Passion and a
fierce and terrible jealousy had mingled in his kiss, anger also,
and a menacing resentment that seemed to encompass her like a fiery
ring, hedging her round.

But not love! There had been no love in his kiss. It had been an
outrage of love, and it had wounded her to the heart. It had made
her want to hide--to hide--till the first poignancy of the pain
should be past. And yet--and yet--in all her anguish she knew that
the way which Guy had so recklessly suggested was no way of escape
for her. To flee from him was to court disaster--such disaster as
would for ever wreck her chance of happiness. It could but confirm
the evil doubt he harboured and might lead to such a catastrophe as
she would not even contemplate.

But yet some way of escape there must be, and desperately she
sought it, striving in defence of that nameless thing that had
sprung to such wild life within her under the burning pressure of
his lips, that strange and untamed force that she could neither
bind nor subdue, but which to suffer him to behold meant sacrilege
to her shrinking soul--such sacrilege as she believed she could
never face and live.

Gradually the turmoil subsided, but it left her weak, inert,
impotent. The impulse to pray came to her, but the prayer that
went up from her trembling heart was voiceless and wordless. She
had no means of expression in which to cloak her utter need. Only
the stark helplessness of her whole being cried dumbly for
deliverance.

A long time passed. The bungalow was silent and empty. She was
quite alone. She could hear the rising rush of the wind across the
_veldt_, and it sounded to her like a thing hunted and fleeing.
The sand of the desert whipped against the windows, and the gloom
increased. She was not naturally nervous, but a sense of fear
oppressed her. She had that fateful feeling, which sometimes comes
even in the sunshine, of something about to happen, of turning a
sharp corner in the road of life that must change the whole outlook
and trend of existence. She was afraid to look forward. For the
first time life had become terrible to her.

She roused herself to action at last and got up from the table.
Something fell on the ground as she did so. It was the key that
Burke had given into her care. She knew it for the key of his
strong-box in which he kept his money and papers. His journeys to
Brennerstadt were never frequent, and she knew that he usually kept
a considerable sum by him. The box was kept on the floor of the
cupboard in the wall of the room which Guy now occupied. It was
very heavy, so heavy that Burke himself never lifted it, seldom
moved it from its place, but opened and closed it as it stood. She
wondered as she groped for the key why he had given it to her.
That action of his pointed to but one conclusion. He expected to
be going into danger. He would not have parted with it otherwise.
Of that she was certain. He and Guy were both going into danger
then, and she was left in utter solitude to endure her suspense as
best she could.

She searched in vain for the key. It was small and made to fit a
patent lock. The darkness of the room baffled her search, and at
last she abandoned it and went to the pantry for a lamp. The
Kaffirs had gone to their huts. She found the lamp empty and
untrimmed in a corner, with two others in the same condition. The
oil was kept in an outbuilding some distance from the bungalow, and
there was none in hand. She diverted her search to candles, but
these also were hard to find. She spent several minutes there in
the darkness with the wind howling weirdly around like a lost thing
seeking shelter, and the sand beating against the little window
with a persistent rattle that worried her nerves with a strange
bewilderment.

Eventually she found an empty candlestick, and after prolonged
search an end of candle. Sand was everywhere. It ground under her
feet, and made gritty everything she touched. Was it fancy that
brought to her the smell of burning, recalling Burke's words? She
found herself shivering violently as she went to her own room for
matches.

It was while she was here that there came to her above the roar of
the wind a sudden sound that made her start and listen. Someone
was knocking violently, almost battering, at the door that led into
the passage.

Her heart gave a wild leap within her. Somehow--she knew not
wherefore--her thoughts went to Kieff. She had a curiously strong
feeling that he was, if not actually at the door, not far away.
Then, even while she stood with caught breath listening, the door
burst open and a blast of wind and sand came hurling into the
house. It banged shut again instantly, and there followed a
tramping of feet as if a herd of cattle had entered. Then there
came a voice.

"Damnation!" it said, with vigour. "Damnation! It's a hell of a
country, and myself was the benighted fool ever to come near it at
all. Whist to it now! Anyone would think the devil himself was
trying for admittance."

Very strangely that voice reassured Sylvia though she had never
heard it before in her life. It did more; it sent such a rush of
relief through her that she nearly laughed aloud.

She groped her way out into the passage, feeling as if a great
weight had been lifted from her. "Come in, whoever you are!" she
said. "It is rather infernal certainly. I'll light a candle in a
moment--as soon as I can find some matches."

She saw a dim, broad figure standing in front of her and heard a
long, soft whistle of dismay.

"I beg your pardon, madam," said the voice that had spoken such
hearty invective a few seconds before. "Sure, I had no idea I was
overheard. And I hope that I'll not have prejudiced you at all
with the violence of me language. But it's in the air of the
country, so to speak. And we all come to it in time. If it's a
match that you're wanting, I've got one in my pocket this minute
which I'll hand over with all the good will in the world if you'll
do me the favour to wait."

Sylvia waited. She knew the sort of face that went with that
voice, and it did not surprise her when the red Irish visage and
sandy brows beamed upon her above the flickering candle. The laugh
she had repressed a moment before rose to her lips. There was
something so comic in this man's appearance just when she had been
strung up for tragedy.

He looked at her with the eyes of a child, smiling good-humouredly
at her mirth. "Sure, you're putting the joke on me," he said.
"They all do it. Where can I have strayed to? Is this a fairy
palace suddenly sprung up in the desert, and you the Queen of No
Man's Land come down from your mountain-top to give me shelter?"

She shook her head, still laughing, "No, I've never been to the
mountain-top. I'm only a farmer's wife."

"A farmer's wife!" He regarded her with quizzical curiosity for a
space. "Is it Burke's bride that you are?" he questioned. "And is
it Burke Ranger's farm that I've blundered into after all?"

"I am Burke Ranger's wife," she told him. "But I left off being a
bride a long time ago. We are all too busy out here to keep up
sentimental nonsense of that sort."

"And isn't it the cynic that ye are entirely?" rejoined the
visitor, broadly grinning. "Sure, it's time I introduced myself to
the lady of the house. I'm Donovan Kelly, late of His Majesty's
Imperial Yeomanry, and at present engaged in the peaceful avocation
of mining for diamonds under the rubbish-heaps of Brennerstadt."

Sylvia held out her hand. There could be no standing upon ceremony
with this man. She hailed him instinctively as a friend. There
are some men in the world whom no woman can regard in any other
light.

"I am very pleased to meet you," she said, with simplicity. "And I
know Burke will be glad too that you have managed to make your way
over here. You haven't chosen a very nice day for your visit.
What a ghastly ride you must have had! What about your horse?"

"Sure, I'd given myself up for lost entirely," laughed Kelly. "And
I said to St. Peter--that's my horse and the best animal bred out
of Ireland--'Pete,' I said to him, 'it's a hell of a country and no
place for ye at all. But if ye put your back into it, Pete, and
get us out of this infernal sandpit, I'll give ye such a draught of
ale as'll make ye dance on your head with delight.' He's got a
taste for the liquor, has Pete. I've put him in a cowshed I found
round the corner, and, faith, he fair laughed to be out of the
blast. He's a very human creature, Mrs. Ranger, with the soul of a
Christian, only a bit saintlier."

"I shall have to make his acquaintance," said Sylvia. "Now come in
and have some refreshment! I am sure you must need it."

"And that's a true word," said Kelly, following her into the
sitting-room. "My throat feels as if it were lined with
sand-paper."

She rapidly cleared a place for him at the table, and ministered to
his wants. His presence was so large and comforting that her own
doubts and fears had sunk into the background. For a time,
listening to his artless talk, she was scarcely aware of them, and
she was thankful for the diversion. It had been a terrible
afternoon.

He began to make enquiries regarding Burke's absence at length, and
then she told him about the _veldt_-fires, and the menace to the
land. His distress returned somewhat as she did so, and he was
quick to perceive the anxiety she sought to hide.

"Now don't you worry--don't you worry!" he said. "Burke wasn't
made to go under. He's one in a million. He's the sort that'll
win to the very top of the world. And why? Because he's sound."

"Ah!" Sylvia said. Somehow that phrase at such a moment sent an
odd little pang through her. Would Burke indeed win to the top of
the world, she wondered? It seemed so remote to her now--that
palace of dreams which they had planned to share together. Did he
ever think of it now? She wondered--she wondered!

"Don't you worry!" Kelly said again. "There's nothing in life more
futile. Is young Guy still here, by the way? Has he gone out
scotching _veldt_-fires too?"

She started and coloured. How much did he know about Guy? How
much would it be wise to impart?

Perhaps he saw her embarrassment, for he hastened to enlighten her.
"I know all about young Guy. Nobody's enemy but his own. I helped
Burke dig him out of Hoffstein's several weeks back, and a tough
job it was. How has he behaved himself lately? Been on the bust
at all?"

Sylvia hesitated. She knew this man for a friend, and she trusted
him without knowing why; but she could not speak with freedom to
anyone of Guy and his sins.

But again the Irishman saw and closed the breach. His shrewd eyes
smiled kindly comprehension. "Ah, but he's a difficult youngster,"
he said. "Maybe he'll mend his ways as he gets older. We do
sometimes, Mrs. Ranger. Anyhow, with all his faults he's got the
heart of a gentleman. I've known him do things--decent
things--that only a gentleman would have thought of doing. I've
punched his head for him before now, but I've always liked young
Guy. It's the same with Burke. You can't help liking the fellow."

"I don't think Burke likes him," Sylvia said almost involuntarily.

"Then, begging your pardon, you're wrong," said Kelly. "Burke
loves him like a brother. I know that all right. No, he'll never
say so. He's not the sort. But it's the truth, all the same.
He's about the biggest disappointment in Burke's life. He'd never
have left him to sink if he hadn't been afraid the boy would shoot
himself if he did anything else."

"Ah!" Sylvia said again, with a sharp catch in her breath. "That
was what he was afraid of."

"Sure, that was it," said Kelly cheerfully. "You'll generally find
that that good man of yours has a pretty decent reason for
everything he does. It isn't often he loses his head--or his
temper. He's a fine chap to be friendly with, but a divil to
cross."

"Yes. I've heard that before," Sylvia said, with a valiant little
smile. "I should prefer to be friendly with him myself."

"Ah, sure and you're right," said Kelly. "But is it yourself that
could be anything else? Why, he worships the very ground under
your feet. I saw that clear as daylight that time at Brennerstadt."

She felt her heart quicken a little. "How--clever of you!" she
said.

He nodded with beaming appreciation of the compliment. "You'll
find my conclusions are generally pretty near the mark," he said.
"It isn't difficult to know what's in the minds of the people
you're fond of. Now is it?"

She stifled a sigh. "I don't know. I'm not very good at
thought-reading myself."

He chuckled like a merry child. "Ah, then you come to me, Mrs.
Ranger!" he said. "I'll be proud to help ye any time."

"I expect you help most people," she said. "You are everybody's
friend."

"I do my best," said Donovan Kelly modestly. "And, faith, a very
pleasant occupation it is."

CHAPTER VI

THE HERO

The wind went down somewhat at sunset and Sylvia realized with
relief that the worst was over. She sat listening for the return
of Burke and Guy while her companion chatted cheerfully of a
thousand things which might have interested her at any other time
but to which now she gave but fitful attention.

He was in the midst of telling her about the draw for the great
diamond at Brennerstadt and how the tickets had been reduced from
monkeys to ponies because the monkeys were too shy, when there came
the sound for which she waited--a hand upon the window-catch and
the swirl of sand blown in by the draught as it opened.

She was up in a moment, guarding the candle and looking out over it
with eager, half-dazzled eyes. For an instant her look met Burke's
as he stood in the aperture, then swiftly travelled to the man with
him. Guy, with a ghastly face that tried to smile, was hanging
upon him for support.

Burke shut the window with decision and stood staring at Sylvia's
companion.

Kelly at once proceeded with volubility to explain his presence.
"Ah, yes, it's meself in the flesh, Burke, and very pleased to see
ye. I've taken a holiday to come and do ye a good turn. And Mrs.
Ranger has been entertaining me like a prince in your absence. So
you've got young Guy with you! What's the matter with the boy?"

"I'm all right," said Guy, and quitted his hold upon Burke as if to
demonstrate the fact.

But Burke took him by the arm and led him to a chair. "You sit
down!" he commanded briefly. "Hullo, Donovan! Glad to see you!
Have you had a drink?"

"Sure, I've had all that mortal man could desire and more to it,"
declared Kelly.

"Good," said Burke, and turned to Sylvia. "Get out the brandy,
will you?"

She hastened to do his bidding. There was a blueness about Guy's
lips that frightened her, and she saw that his hands were clenched.

Yet, as Burke bent over him a few moments later, he laughed with
something of challenge in, his eyes. "Ripping sport, old chap!" he
said, and drank with a feverish eagerness.

Burke's hand was on his shoulder. She could not read his
expression, but she was aware of something unusual between them,
something that was wholly outside her experience. Then he spoke,
his voice very quiet and steady.

"Go slow, man! You've had a bit of a knockout."

Guy looked across at her, and there was triumph in his look. "It's
been--sport," he said again. "Ripping sport!" It was so boyishly
uttered, and his whole attitude was so reminiscent of the old days,
that she felt herself thrill in answer. She moved quickly to him.

"What has been happening? Tell me!" she said.

He laughed again. "My dear girl, we've been fighting the devil in
his own element, and we've beat him off the field." He sprang to
his feet. "Here, give me another drink, or I shall die! My throat
is a bed of live cinders."

Burke intervened. "No--no! Go slow, I tell you! Go slow! Get
some tea, Sylvia! Where are those Kaffirs?"

"They haven't been near all day," Sylvia said. "I frightened
Rosamond away this morning, and the others must have been afraid of
the storm."

"I'll rout 'em out," said Kelly.

"No. You stay here! I'll go." Burke turned to the door, but
paused as he opened it and looked back. "Sylvia!" he said.

She went to him. He put his hand through her arm and drew her into
the passage. "Don't let Guy have any more to drink!" he said.
"Mind, I leave him to you."

He spoke with urgency; she looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, I mean it," he said. "You must prevent him somehow. I
can't--nor Kelly either. You probably can--for a time anyhow."

"I'll do my best," she said.

His hand closed upon her. "If you fail, he'll go under, I know the
signs. It's up to you to stop him. Go back and see to it!"

He almost pushed her from him with the words, and it came to her
that for some reason Guy's welfare was uppermost with him just
then. He had never betrayed any anxiety on his account before, and
she wondered greatly at his attitude. But it was no time for
questioning. Mutely she obeyed him and went back.

She found Guy in the act of filling a glass for Kelly. His own
stood empty at his elbow. She went forward quickly, and laid her
hand on his shoulder. "Guy, please!" she said,

He looked at her, the bottle in his hand. In his eyes she saw
again that dreadful leaping flame which made her think of some
starved and desperate animal. "What is it?" he said.

An overwhelming sense of her own futility came upon her. She felt
almost like a child standing there, attempting that of which Burke
had declared himself to be incapable.

"What is it?" he said again.

She braced herself for conflict. "Please," she said gently. "I
want you to wait and have some tea. It won't take long to get."
Then, as the fever of his eyes seemed to burn her: "Please, Guy!
Please!"

Kelly put aside his own drink untouched. "There's no refusing such
a sweet appeal as that," he declared gallantly. "Guy, I move a
postponement. Tea first!"

But Guy was as one who heard not. He was staring at Sylvia, and
the wild fire in his eyes was leaping higher, ever higher. In that
moment he saw her, and her alone. It was as if they two had
suddenly met in a place that none other might enter. His words of
the morning rushed back upon her--his passionate declaration that
life was not long enough for sacrifice--that the future to which
she looked was but a mirage which she would never reach.

It all flashed through her brain in a few short seconds, vivid,
dazzling, overwhelming, and the memory of Kieff went with it--Kieff
and his cold, sinister assertion that she held Guy's destiny
between her hands.

Then, very softly, Guy spoke. "To please--you?" he said.

She answered him, but it was scarcely of her own volition. She was
as one driven--"Yes--yes!"

He looked at her closely as if to make sure of her meaning. Then,
with a quick, reckless movement, he turned and set down the bottle
on the table.

"That settles that," he said boyishly. "Go ahead, Kelly! Drink!
Don't mind me! I am--brandy-proof."

And Sylvia, throbbing from head to foot, knew she had conquered,
knew she had saved him for a time at least from the threatening
evil. But there was that within her which shrank from the thought
of the victory. She had acted almost under compulsion, yet she
felt that she had used a weapon which would ultimately pierce them
both.

She scarcely knew what passed during the interval that followed
before Burke's return. As in a dream she heard Kelly still talking
about the Brennerstadt diamond, and Guy was asking him questions
with a keenness of interest that seemed strange to her. She
herself was waiting and watching for Burke, dreading his coming,
yet in a fashion eager for it. For very curiously she had a
feeling that she needed him. For the first time she wanted to lean
upon his strength.

But when at length he came, her dread of him was uppermost and she
felt she could not meet his look. It was with relief that she saw
Guy was still his first thought. He had fetched Joe from the
Kaffir huts, and the lamps were filled and lighted. He was
carrying one as he entered, and the light flung upwards on his face
showed it to her as the face of a strong man.

He set the lamp on the table and went straight to Guy. "Look
here!" he said. "I'm going to put you to bed."

Guy, with his arms on the table, looked up at him and laughed.
"Oh, rats! I'm all right. Can't you see I'm all right? Well, I
must have some tea first anyway. I've been promised tea."

"I'll bring you your tea in bed," Burke said.

But Guy protested. "No, really, old chap. I must sit up a bit
longer. I'll be very good. I want to hear all Kelly's news. I
believe I shall have to go back to Brennerstadt with him to paint
the town red. I'd like to have a shot at that diamond. You never
know your luck when the devil's on your side."

"I know yours," said Burke drily. "And it's about as rotten as it
can be. You've put too great a strain on it all your life."

Guy laughed again. He was in the wildest spirits. But suddenly in
the midst of his mirth he began to cough with a dry, harsh sound
like the rending of wood. He pushed his chair back from the table,
and bent himself double, seeming to grope upon the floor. It was
the most terrible paroxysm that Sylvia had ever witnessed, and she
thought it would never end.

Several times he tried to straighten himself, but each effort
seemed to renew the anguish that tore him, and in the end he
subsided limply against Burke who supported him till at last the
convulsive choking ceased.

He was completely exhausted by that time and offered no
remonstrance when Burke and Kelly between them bore him to the
former's room and laid him on the bed he had occupied for so long.
Burke administered brandy again; there was no help for it. And
then at Guy's whispered request he left him for a space to recover.

He drew Sylvia out of the room, and Kelly followed. "I'll go back
to him later, and help him undress," he said. "But he will
probably get on better alone for the present."

"What has been happening?" Sylvia asked him. "Tell me what has
been happening!"

A fevered desire to know everything was upon her. She felt she
must know.

Burke looked at her as if something in her eagerness struck him as
unusual. But he made no comment upon it. He merely with his
customary brevity proceeded to enlighten her.

"We went to Vreiboom's, and had a pretty hot time. Kieff was there
too, by the way. The fire got a strong hold, and if the wind, had
held, we should probably have been driven out of it, and our own
land would have gone too. As it was," he paused momentarily,
"well, we have Guy to thank that it didn't."

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