Part 23 (2/2)

”Is that all?” she questioned. In her eyes was the whimsical challenge that had, on the previous occasion, swept me away from my moorings. The question that I had asked myself once before came back to my mind. Could it be that my G.o.ddess was so far from my ideal that, after all, what had occurred needed no explanation? I would not admit such a possibility, and yet her next words seemed to confirm it.

”When I first came here,” she mused reflectively and only half-aloud, ”you stayed outside for an hour, and then you disappeared. Of course you were a prisoner, but to-day you had the opportunity to see us. You didn't--and yet--” she flushed deeply, and I knew that her thoughts too were going back to the moment when I had, without words, avowed myself so savagely.

”I stayed out there that night,” I said bluntly, ”because I could hardly be an interloper, when you had ridden these infernal hills to be with _him_--” I jerked my head savagely toward the bed. Then I went doggedly on, determined that since she had forced me this far we should hereafter stand in the certain light of understanding. ”I also stayed out there because, as it happens, I'm a fool. I couldn't endure witnessing a reunion between yourself and your husband.” It seemed to me that she should first have called on me for other explanations.

At the last word her face clouded with an expression of absolute bewilderment, and her eyes widened as she gazed at me.

”My--my _what_?” she demanded.

”Your husband,” I repeated. ”Mr. Weighborne.”

She contemplated me as though I were a new and rather interesting variety of maniac, then her laugh was long and delicious. Her clouded eyes cleared and danced like skies in which the sun has suddenly burst through rain.

”Oh,” she said finally. ”I understand now.” Once more her face grew grave and she added with a catch in her voice.

”And, thank G.o.d, I _do_ understand.”

”For Heaven's sake,” I implored, ”tell me what you understand! As for me, I understand nothing.”

”Why, you totally unspeakable idiot,” she explained, as though she had known me always, and as though we had long been close comrades, ”I haven't any husband--yet. That's my brother. Didn't you know that?”

I stood at gaze, dazed, stupefied, open-mouthed; every thing that denotes the gawky fool. Then I dropped fervently on my knees at her feet and shamelessly seized her hands in mine and kissed them. She made no effort to release them and I crushed them greedily while my tongue could find no words, until, as I afterward learned, her rings cut into the flesh.

”But,” I stammered finally, ”you are Frances Weighborne. His wife is Frances Weighborne. Bob Maxwell told me--”

She laughed again, and Weighborne's heavy breathing became almost a snore. After all, first impressions are best. Weighborne was a capital fellow, one could not help liking him.

”Correct,” said the lady indulgently, as though she were teaching a small boy his primer lessons. ”I am Frances Weighborne. My sister-in-law was also christened Frances in baptism, and acquired the surname of Weighborne in matrimony. There may, so far as I know, be various other Frances Weighbornes. We have never copyrighted the name.”

”Oh, my G.o.d!” I groaned helplessly. ”What an unspeakable imbecile I've been--but you're wrong, dearest, you _are_ the only one.”

”Do you think it necessary to swear about it?” she inquired. ”And are you now quite certain that I'm the right one?”

”There isn't any time to swear,” I a.s.sured her, ”there is so infinitely much to say--but not here. Come out under the stars, where one can breathe. Give me five minutes. Unless I speak now I shall die of suppressed emotion. All my life I've been a supposedly extinct volcano.

I'm no longer extinct.” I halted my rush of words; then added, ”Yes, you're the right one.” I rose and, still holding her hands, lifted her to her feet. At the door, with my hand on the latch, I paused.

”No,” I exclaimed, hardly realizing that I was speaking aloud. ”You open it. In the dream it is always you who open the door into the other world.”

She wheeled and looked me in the eyes, her own pupils wide and incredulous.

”Do you have it, too?” she demanded breathlessly. ”Do you dream my dream? Do I come to you in some vague danger and lead you through a door?”

She laid her hand on the bolt, just as I had so often seen her do in my vision, and we stepped together out into the glory of the frost and moon.

”As you are doing now,” I answered; then with a new wonder I demanded, ”But tell me, how in Heaven's name could you dream of me before you knew me?”

She laughed mockingly.

”Perhaps,” she vouchsafed, ”if you make yourself very agreeable I may tell you.”

<script>