Part 51 (1/2)

She told me briefly that she had stayed in Shap to see her father. Lady Ogilvie had insisted on her keeping the calash, so that she could come on in comfort in the morning. From her father she had learned of my wound, and had come on at once to see for herself how I was. She would start back for Shap shortly, where she was to stay the night with her father.

She told me this and then leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands, and went quiet again.

I was glad of her silence, glad that she was hiding her face from me, for I needed to pull myself together. That something had happened was clear, and, whatever it was, it had struck home. In some way of deep concernment there was a new Margaret by my side, but in another way it was the old familiar Margaret as well, for she was wearing mother's long grey domino.

She had unclasped it so that it now hung loosely on her, and flung back the hood so that the firelight made lambent flickerings in her hair.

”I have not seen you for twelve days,” she said at last.

”No, madam.”

”Have you been neglecting me, sir?” Just a touch of vigour was in her voice, but she still gazed at the fire.

”You are a soldier's daughter, not an alderman's,” I said quietly, and the retort brought her head round with a jerk.

”And how does that excuse your neglect?”

”By giving you the chance of ascertaining from your father whether my military duties have left me any opportunity of neglecting you,” I answered steadily. As usual with me, since I could not woo, I would be master where I could. It was a source of mean delight to me.

”More logic,” she said briefly, and turned to the fire again.

Apparently she tested the logic in her mind and came to the conclusion that it was sound. She got up, threw some wood on the fire, thrusting me back playfully when I tried to forestall her, and then said merrily, ”What do you think dad said to-night?”

”It would take hours to guess, I expect, so tell me at once, since I see it hipped you.”

”It did,” she said, with playful emphasis. ”I fear I've not trained him up as fathers should be trained, for he coolly told me that if I had not had the misfortune to be a girl, I might perhaps have turned out as good a lad as you.”

”Misfortune!” I echoed almost angrily.

”The exact word,” she replied.

”Misfortune! To be the most beautiful woman in England, with the world at your feet--he calls that a misfortune?”

I spoke energetically as the occasion demanded, being, moreover, glad of an outlet. Before I had finished, however, she was back in her old position, with her face hidden from me by her hands. She puzzled me more than ever, for, after a long silence, she burst out, ”Not my world, Oliver!”

The phrase shot up like a spout of lava from some deep centre of molten thought. I pitied and loved her, but I was helpless. To make a diversion I looked at my watch and luckily it was the time when the picket at the top should be changed, so I went to the door and opened it. A splendid blare of piping came in from the camp-fire as I did so, and Margaret tripped to the door to listen.

”Who is it?” she asked.

”Donald,” said I. ”He's one of the great masters of the pipes. I believe in the tale of Amphion and the walls of Thebes now, for this afternoon I saw Donald pipe some broken-down wagons out of the road.”

I went across to see to the change of picket, and when I got back into the hut I saw that the tension was over. I relit my pipe, sat down again at her side, and started a rapid series of questions as to what she had seen and heard during the retreat. Try how I would, nay, try as we would, we did not get back to our old footing. We were afraid of silences, and skipped from topic to topic at breakneck speed. We two who had sauntered together in the sunlight, now stumbled along in a mist.

At last she said she must be going, and I went out and shouted to Donald to get Bimbo and the calash ready, and four men as an escort. When I got back to her, she arose, somewhat wearily, and I put the domino on fully and fitted the hood round her head.

”You see I've gone back to the domino, Oliver,” she said.

”It's the very thing for a cold night and a dirty road,” I replied cheerfully, stepping in front of her, a couple of paces off, to take my last look at her in the light.

”I have never met a man who understands so much about women as you do,”

she said.