Part 32 (1/2)

”Good-night,” he muttered mechanically, checked once more in spite of himself.

But as he spoke, he felt her hands, both in his now, and held tight, tremble and try softly at first, and then in sudden panic, to pull themselves away. Her voice, that had been so grave and cool, with no echo of the excitement that was in his, failed her now, though she kept her wide-open eyes bravely upon him. She was afraid of him, this young lady who was making such elaborate attempts to hide it, this young lady not of his world, and so anxious to prove it to him, this calm stranger with Judith's eyes. She was very much afraid, and she could not hide it any longer.

”Let me go,” she tried to say.

”Judith,” he dropped her hands obediently, but his arms reached out for her and caught her and held her close, ”you didn't come for the Judge.

You came to see me.”

”No. No.”

Her face was hidden against his shoulder. Her voice came m.u.f.fled and soft. Neil paid no further attention to it. ”No,” it insisted faintly.

”Let me go.” Then it insisted no more, and the boy laughed a soft, triumphant little laugh.

”You did come to see me, and you love me. You love me and I love you.

You were angry, of course. Of course you sent back my letters. But you're going to listen to me now. You're going to let me explain. I couldn't that night. I couldn't talk any more. I didn't dare. I had to keep hold of myself. I had to get you home. And I did, dear. I turned round and took you home, and I got you home--safe. You're going to listen? And not be angry any more? You won't, will you? You won't--dear?”

Her face was still out of sight, and her white figure was motionless in his arms. She did not relax there, but she did not struggle. She looked very slender and helpless so. Her futuristic hat had slipped from its daring and effective adjustment, and fallen to the Judge's dusty floor, where it lay unregarded. The silvery blond head against his shoulder was changed like the rest of her, a ma.s.s of delicately adjusted puffs and curls, but in the fast-fading light he saw only the soft, pale colour of her hair and the tender curve of her throat. He kissed it reverently and lightly, once only, and then his arms let her go.

”You're so sweet,” he whispered; ”too sweet for me. But you're mine, aren't you? Tell me you are. And you forgive me for--everything? Tell me, Judith.”

She seemed in no hurry to tell him. She faced him silently, her white dress whiter than ever in the fading light, and her face big eyed and expressionless. He waited reverently for her answer, and quite confidently, picking up the elaborate hat mechanically, and then smoothing the ribbons tenderly, and pulling at the flowers, as he realized what he held.

”Poor little hat,” he said softly, with the brogue coaxing insinuatingly in his voice. ”Poor little girl. I didn't mean to frighten you. And I didn't mean to--that night.... Judith!”

It was undoubtedly Judith who confronted him, and no strange lady now.

It was as if she had been waiting for some cue from him, and heard it, and sprung into life again, not the strange lady, not even the girl of the year before, but a long-ago Judith, the child who had come to his rescue on a forgotten May night, the child of the moonlit woods, with her shrill voice and flas.h.i.+ng eyes. She was that Judith again, but grown to a woman, and now she was not his ally, but his enemy. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the beflowered hat away, and swung it upon her head with the same reckless hand that had swept the lantern to the ground in her childish defence of him. Her eyes defied him.

”That night,” she stormed, ”that night. Don't you ever speak of that night to me again. I never want to hear you speak again. I never want to see you again. I'll never forgive you as long as I live. I hate you!”

”Judith, listen to me,” begged the boy. ”Listen. You must.”

But the girl who swept past him and turned to confront him at the door was past listening to him. Words that she hardly heard herself, and would not remember, came to her, and she flung them at him in a breathless little burst of speech that hurt and was meant to hurt. The boy took it silently, not trying to interrupt, slow colour reddening his cheeks, his eyes growing angry then sullen. The words that Judith used hardly mattered. They were futile and childish words, but because of the blaze of anger behind them, that had been gathering long and would go on after they were forgotten, they were splendid, too.

”I hate you! I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anybody. I'm not like anybody else. n.o.body cares what I do, and I don't care. I don't care. n.o.body ever takes care of me or knows when I need it. Well, I can take care of myself. I'm going to now. I never want to belong to anybody. If I did, it wouldn't be you.”

”Judith, stop! You'll be sorry for this.”

”If I am, it's no business of yours. It's n.o.body's business but mine.”

”You'll be sorry,” the boy muttered again, and this time the girl did not contradict him or answer. Her shrill little burst of defiance was over, and with it the sullen resentment that had crimsoned the boy's face as he listened began to die away. He was rebuffed and thrown back upon himself. His heart would not open so easily again. It would be a long time before it opened at all. But he did not resent this. He only looked baffled and puzzled and miserable, and the girl staring mutely at him from the doorway with big, starved eyes, looked miserable, too. She would be angry again. All the hurt pride and anger that had been gathering in her heart for a year was not to be relieved by an unrehea.r.s.ed burst of speech. It had been sleeping in her heart. It was all awake now, and she would be angrier with the boy and the world than ever before, angrier and more reckless. But just now her anger was blotted out and she was only miserable. In the gloom of the office there was something curiously alike about the two tragic young faces.

The two were alone together there, but they had never been farther apart. There was a whole world between them, a lonely world, where people all speak different languages, and understand each other only by a miracle, and most of them are so used to being alone that they forget they once had a moment of first realizing it. But when it was upon them, it was a bitter moment. These two young creatures were both living through it now. They looked at each other blankly, all antagonism gone.

”You won't listen?” said the boy wonderingly, admitting defeat. ”You won't forgive me?”

”No,” said Judith pitifully. ”I can't.”

Neil looked at her forlornly, but did not contest this. He came meekly forward, not trying to touch her again, and opened the door for her.