Part 70 (2/2)

Sparrows Horace W. C. Newte 14980K 2022-07-22

”Since I can't move you, I'll go to Wales tomorrow,” he said.

”Then that means--”

”Wait, wait, little Mavis; wait and hope.”

”I shall never love anyone else.”

”Not even Windebank?”

She cried out in agony of spirit.

”Forgive me, darling,” he said. ”I will keep faithful too.”

They walked for some moments in silence.

”Do one thing for me,” pleaded Mavis.

”And that?”

”We are near my nook--at least I call it that. Let us sit there for just three minutes and think Thursday was--was going to be our--” She could not trust her voice to complete the sentence.

”If you wish it.”

”Only--”

”Only what?”

”Promise--promise you won't kiss me.”

”But--”

”I'm not myself. Promise.”

He promised. They repaired to Mavis' nook, where they sat in silence, while night enwrapped them in gloom. Instinctively, their hands clasped. Mavis had realised that she was with her lover perhaps for the last time. She wished to s.n.a.t.c.h a moment of counterfeit joy by believing that the immense happiness which had been hers was to continue indefinitely. But her imaginative effort was a dismal failure.

Her mind was a blank with the promise of unending pain in the background.

Perigal felt the pressure of Mavis's hand instinctively tighten on his; it gripped as if she could never let him go: tears fell from her eyes on to his fingers. With an effort he freed himself and, without saying a word, walked quickly away. With all her soul, she listened to his retreating steps. It seemed as if her life were departing, leaving behind the cold sh.e.l.l of the Mavis she knew, who was now dead to everything but pain. His consideration for her helplessness illumined her suffering. The next moment, she was on her knees, her heart welling with love, grat.i.tude, concern for the man who had left her.

”Bless him! Bless him, oh G.o.d! He's good; he's good; he's good! He's proved it to a poor, weak girl like me!”

Thus she prayed, all unconscious that Perigal's consideration in leaving her was the high-water mark of his regard for her welfare.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

O LOVE, FOR DELIGHTS!

<script>