The Lamp in the Desert | Page 7

that
which could not be expressed. The whole soul of him shrank with an
almost angry repugnance from discussing the matter with her. No
discussion could make any difference at this stage.
Again for a second he saw her slight frown. Then she leaned back in
her chair, stretching up her arms as if weary of the matter. "In fact you
avoid all things feminine," she said. "How discreet of you!"
A large white moth floated suddenly in and began to beat itself against
the lamp-shade. Monck's eyes watched it with a grim concentration.
Stella's were half-closed. She seemed to have dismissed him from her
mind as an unimportant detail. The silence widened between them.
Suddenly there was a movement. The fluttering creature had found the
flame and fallen dazed upon the table. Almost in the same second
Monck stooped forward swiftly and silently, and crushed the thing with
his closed fist.
Stella drew a quick breath. Her eyes were wide open again. She sat up.
"Why did you do that?"
He looked at her again, a smouldering gleam in his eyes. "It was on its
way to destruction," he said.
"And so you helped it!"
He nodded. "Yes. Long-drawn-out agonies don't attract me."

Stella laughed softly, yet with a touch of mockery. "Oh, it was an act of
mercy, was it? You didn't look particularly merciful. In fact, that is
about the last quality I should have attributed to you."
"I don't think," Monck said very quietly, "that you are in a position to
judge me." She leaned forward. He saw that her bosom was heaving.
"That is your prerogative, isn't it?" she said. "I--I am just the prisoner at
the bar, and--like the moth--I have been condemned--without mercy."
He raised his brows sharply. For a second he had the look of a man
who has been stabbed in the back. Then with a swift effort he pulled
himself together.
In the same moment Stella rose. She was smiling, and there was a red
flush in her cheeks. She took her fan from the table.
"And now," she said, "I am going to dance--all night long. Every
officer in the mess--save one--has asked me for a dance."
He was on his feet in an instant. He had checked one impulse, but even
to his endurance there were limits. He spoke as one goaded.
"Will you give me one?"
She looked him squarely in the eyes. "No, Captain Monck."
His dark face looked suddenly stubborn. "I don't often dance," he said.
"I wasn't going to dance to-night. But--I will have one--I must have
one--with you."
"Why?" Her question fell with a crystal clearness. There was something
of crystal hardness in her eyes.
But the man was undaunted. "Because you have wronged me, and you
owe me reparation."
"I--have wronged--you!" She spoke the words slowly, still looking him
in the eyes.

He made an abrupt gesture as of holding back some inner force that
strongly urged him. "I am not one of your persecutors," he said. "I have
never in my life presumed to judge you--far less condemn you."
His voice vibrated as though some emotion fought fiercely for the
mastery. They stood facing each other in what might have been open
antagonism but for that deep quiver in the man's voice.
Stella spoke after the lapse of seconds. She had begun to tremble.
"Then why--why did you let me think so? Why did you always stand
aloof?"
There was a tremor in her voice also, but her eyes were shining with the
light half-eager, half-anxious, of one who seeks for buried treasure.
Monck's answer was pitched very low. It was as if the soul of him gave
utterance to the words. "It is my nature to stand aloof. I was waiting."
"Waiting?" Her two hands gripped suddenly hard upon her fan, but still
her shining eyes did not flinch from his. Still with a quivering heart she
searched.
Almost in a whisper came his reply. "I was waiting--till my turn should
come."
"Ah!" The fan snapped between her hands; she cast it from her with a
movement that was almost violent.
Monck drew back sharply. With a smile that was grimly cynical he
veiled his soul. "I was a fool, of course, and I am quite aware that my
foolishness is nothing to you. But at least you know now how little
cause you have to hate me."
She had turned from him and gone to the open window. She stood there
bending slightly forward, as one who strains for a last glimpse of
something that has passed from sight.
Monck remained motionless, watching her. From another room near by

there came the sound of Tommy's humming and the cheery pop of a
withdrawn cork.
Stella spoke at last, in a whisper, and