CHAPTER IX
THE FIRST THROUGH THE TUNNEL
Maurice Malherb, worn with futile rage and toil, now turned his face towards the War Prison, and cursed himself as he rode along, because he had left this vital business until now.
Dawn saw him far upon his way, and its grey light touched his grey face and revealed new marks of storm for ever stamped there. His cheeks were somewhat sunken; his life and energies seemed concentrated in his eyes. He sat heavy and inert upon his horse, yet sometimes spoke aloud. His eyes were never still. Their dark gaze ranged the desert, and nothing, near nor far, escaped his scrutiny in the murk of the dawn. The chill hour cooled his forehead and helped him to reflect.
"A man's daughter of all things living to turn upon him! And of all daughters mine! She who has lived long enough to see me in the right a thousand times. The only one left to me. And knowing the deep love I bear her! And knowing how that my judgment errs not. 'Tis beyond belief that we should bring out of our own blood a thing that can feel so little thankfulness for the blessing of worthy parentage. I grudged her nothing. I gratified her every wish from childhood. And the only one left to me! Oh, God, how comes it that a man's own offspring can show him so little of his own self? She should be my image and her mother's blended together. Yet what is she? An exemplar of all that is hateful in woman. And yet—and yet—when she was not crossed she could be as other maids—sweet and daughterly to those that doted upon her. She has made me think that I was all in all to her. But disobedience—to break from the control of her father. And to love an American! Fiends of hell, to love one of them! Madness—'tis some strain of erotic madness that turned her eyes to this enemy. The love I've wasted there—and would again—and would again!"
His mind broke off, then returned to the matter. "But no—never again. She shall be nothing now—I've cast her off; I have prayed to God that she may be dead—rather than——"
He yawned and his sleepy brain relaxed its grip upon his wrongs. Memory was worn out. He stopped once and actually asked himself upon what mission he rode thus in the dayspring hour along this solitary waste.
The morning star waned above the Prison and another dawn broke to the murmur of many waters. Light stole out of the thin sweet air; a rosy illumination washed the sky, tipped the tors and spread beneath his horse's feet. Prince Town stretched its granite rings before him; and some fairy tincture of light touched even those solemn walls. They glowed as the morning opened golden eyes, and the ascending sun arose from a pillow of fire.
The master rode straight to Ockery Bridge, where Captain Short's cottage stood; and upon his demand instantly to see the Commandant, a servant assured him that it was impossible. This he expected, and it did not suffice. Before the man could interpose, Malherb had pushed past him and entered the little dwelling. He shouted aloud for Captain Short, and was about to lift his voice again when the officer himself appeared. He was dressed in full uniform.
"They refused me, Short, but I would take no refusal. Matters of life and death may be afoot."