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Updated: June 14, 2025
Does she know that you loved her before you knew who she was?" He paused, but Piers remained stubbornly silent, still prodding at the red coals. He bent a little, taking him by the shoulder. "Piers, answer me!" Again Piers' eyes glanced upwards. His face was hard. "Oh, get away, Crowther!" he growled. "What's the good?" And then in his winning way he gripped Crowther's hand hard.
Piers started sharply as if something had pricked him. "What? Avery do you mean? No, she isn't over and above strong just now." He uttered the last two words as if reluctantly, yet as if some measure of pride impelled him. Crowther's hand pressed his arm, in mute sympathy. "You are right to take care of her," he said simply.
Then, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke. "Crowther, I made you a promise yesterday." "You did," said Crowther gravely. Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to cry off. It's not my way. But I want you to make me a promise in return." "What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety in Crowther's tone.
He spoke with an odd boyishness, and Crowther's lips relaxed in a smile that had in it something of a maternal quality. "So long as I can help you, you can count on me," he said. "You're the only man in the world who can help me," Piers said impulsively. "At least " he smiled himself "I couldn't take it from anyone else. But I'm not taking this from you, Crowther.
For my peace of mind, Crowther; because I'm a coward if you like give me your word on it!" He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's shoulder, and impelled him forward. His voice was low and agitated. "Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. "And understand, if you can. It's all you can do to help." "My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and reassuring came Crowther's reply.
Piers made a jerky movement as if to avoid the touch, but the hand closed slowly and steadily upon him. He turned abruptly and met Crowther's eyes. "Crowther," he said, "I've behaved like a cur. I broke that promise I made to you." He ground out the words savagely, between clenched teeth. Yet his look was defiant still. He held himself as a man defying shame. Crowther's eyes never varied.
Crowther took the hand. The hall was deserted. They stood together under a swinging lamp, and by its flaring light Crowther sought to read his companion's face. For a moment or two Piers refused to meet his look, then with sudden stubbornness he raised his eyes and stared back. They shone as black and hard as ebony. "Good-night!" he said again. Crowther's level brows were slightly drawn.
It'll soon be better." Crowther's own face relaxed, but he did not look satisfied. "I'm not happy about you, my son," he said. "I think you've missed a big opportunity." "You think wrong," said Piers, unmoved. "I couldn't possibly have stayed another hour. I was in a false position. So poor girl! was she. We buried the hatchet for the kiddie's sake, but it wasn't buried very deep.
"Not as a tribe, I admit. I can't stand any man who makes an ass of himself, whatever his profession. But of course I don't mean to assert that all parsons answer to that description. I've met a few I liked." Crowther's smile developed into a laugh. "Then you, won't deprive me of the pleasure of your friendship if I become one?"
"And you think she will marry me when she knows I'm a murderer?" Piers uttered the word through clenched teeth. He had the haggard look of a man who has endured long suffering. There was deep compassion in Crowther's eyes as he watched him. "I don't think being a woman she will put it in that way," he said, "not, that is, if she loves you." "How else could she put it?" demanded Piers harshly.
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