"You're right, old bean," he croaked. "The man I want to meet is the fool who doesn't think it's funny . . . ."
And then Vane crossed the Valley of the Shadow, as far as a man may cross and yet return. Strange figures crowded around him hemming him in on every side. The Boche whose brains he had blown out near Arras was there with his shattered skull, holding out a hand of greeting—and Baxter, grinning sardonically. Margaret—with a wealth of pity and love shining on her face, and Joan with her grey eyes faintly mocking . . . . And his tailor with the wart on his nose, and Mrs. Green, and Binks. . . . They were all there, and then gradually they faded into the great darkness. . . . Everything was growing still, and peaceful—the rest he wanted had come.
Then suddenly they came back again—the Boche and Baxter and the rest of them—and started pulling him about. He cursed and swore at them, but they paid no heed; and soon the agony he was suffering became almost unbearable. In God's name, why could not they leave him alone? . . . He raved at them, and sobbed, but it was of no avail. They went on inexorably and the creaking of the oars in the rowlocks of the boat that had picked him up seemed to him to be the creaking of his arms and legs. . . .
CHAPTER XVIII
When Vane opened his eyes on reality again, he found himself in a strange room. For a few moments he lay very still, groping back into a half-world of grey shadows. He remembered the first torpedo, and then the second one; but after that things seemed confused. A man opened the door, and came over to his bed.
"Feeling better?" he remarked with a smile.
"As far as I can make out at the moment," said Vane, "I'm feeling perfectly well. Where am I, and what happened? . . ."
"You're in a private hospital not far from Liverpool," answered the man. "You were very nearly drowned in the 'Connaught,' and you've had a nasty knock on the head as well. . . . Feel at all muzzy now?"
"Not a bit," said Vane, raising himself on his elbow. "I hope they caught the swine."
"There was a rumour three or four days ago that they had."
Vane stared at the speaker. "What did you say?" he remarked at length.
"There was a rumour three or four days ago that the submarine was sunk," repeated the other.
"May I ask how long I've been here?"
"Ten days," answered the doctor. "But I wired to your depot that you were safe, so you needn't worry."
"With regard to the depot," remarked Vane grimly, "you may take it from me that I don't. . . . Ten days . . . twelve—fourteen." He was counting on his fingers. "Oh! Hell. . . ."
"They forwarded some letters for you," said the doctor. "I'll get them for you. . . ."
"Thanks," said Vane. "When is the next train to London?"
"In about four days' time as far as you're concerned," laughed the other.
He went out of the room, and Vane lay very still. Fourteen days. . . .
Fourteen days. . . .
The doctor returned and handed him about a dozen letters.
"They've been coming at intervals," he remarked. "I'm going to send you up a cup of bovril in a minute. . . ."
Vane turned them over rapidly in his hand, and found that there were only two that counted. He looked at the postmarks to get them in the right sequence, and eagerly pulled out the contents of the first. It had been written four days after he left Melton.
"Dear lad, I'm leaving here to-morrow, and am going back to Blandford; but before I go I want to tell you something. A man is not a very good judge of a woman's actions at any time; he's so apt to see them through his own eyes. He reasons, and becomes logical, . . . and perhaps he's right. But a woman doesn't want reasons or logic—not if she's in love. She wants to be whirled up breathlessly and carried away, and made to do things; and it doesn't matter whether they're right or wrong—not if she's in love. Maybe you were right, Derek, to go away; but oh! my dear, I would to God you hadn't."
A nurse came in with a cup of bovril, and put it on the table by his bed, and Vane turned to her abruptly.
"Where are my clothes, Nurse?"
"You'll not be wanting clothes yet awhile," she answered with a smile. "I'm coming back shortly to tidy you up," and Vane cursed under his breath as she left the room.
Then he picked up the second letter and opened it. At first he thought it was a blank sheet of paper, and then he saw that there were a few words in the centre of the page. For a moment they danced before his eyes; then he pulled himself together and read them.
"''Tis well for those who have the gift
To seize him even as he flies. . . .'
"Oh! you fool—you fool! Why didn't you?"
That was all, and for a long while he lay and stared at the bare wall opposite.
"Why didn't you?" The words mocked him, dancing in great red letters on the pale green distemper, and he shook his feet at them childishly.
"It's not fair," he raved. "It's simply not fair."
And the god in charge took a glance into the room, though to the man in bed it was merely a ray from a watery sun with the little specks of dust dancing and floating in it.
"Of no more account than a bit of dirt," he muttered cynically. "It wasn't my fault. . . . I never asked to be torpedoed. I only did what I thought was right." He buried his head in his hands with a groan.
The nurse came once more into the room, and eyed him reproachfully. "The bovril is quite cold," she said picking it up. "That's very naughty of you. . . ."
He looked at her and started to laugh. "I'm a very naughty man, Nurse. But for all that you've got to do something for me. No—take away that awful basin and sponge. . . . I don't mind if I am dirty. . . . You've got to go and bring the doctor here, and you've got to get my clothes. And between us, Nurse, we'll cheat 'em yet."
"Cheat whom?" she asked soothingly.
"The blind, malignant imps that control us wretched humans," he answered. "For Heaven's sake! my dear woman, do what I say. I'm not light-headed, believe me."
And the nurse being a stoical and unimaginative lady, it was just as well that, at that moment, the doctor entered the room. For had she murmured in her best bedside manner. . . . "That's quite all right. Just a nice wash, and then we'll go to sleep," there is but little doubt that a cup of cold bovril would have deluged her ample form. As it was the catastrophe was averted, and Vane turned to the doctor with a sigh of relief.
"May I have a word with you alone, Doctor?" he said. "And, Nurse, would you get my clothes for me?"
"Doctor," he went on as the door closed behind her. "I've got to go—at once."
"My dear fellow," began the other, but Vane silenced him with a wave of his hand.
"I may have had concussion; I may have been nearly drowned. I may be the fool emperor for wanting to get up," he continued quietly. "But it's got to be done. You see, I'm having a bit of a tussle with . . ." he paused for a moment as if at a loss for a word, and then added whimsically, "with the Powers that run things. And," savagely, "I'll be damned if they're going to have a walk over. . . ."
The doctor eyed him gravely for a few moments without replying.
"You oughtn't to get up yet," he said at length.
"But you'll let me," cried Vane.
"There's a good train in two hours," replied the other briefly. "And the result be upon your own head. . . ."
Vane opened the remainder of his letters on the way up to London. He felt a little dazed and weak,