Part 45 (2/2)
Yet the impa.s.se was there, and what could remove it--what clear the way?
He looked down at the girl whose head was buried in happy peace on his shoulder. She clung to him, as though in him was everlasting protection from the sprite that kept whispering: ”You dare not go to confession--your dreams are done--you can only love.” But she had no fear now.
As he looked down at her a swift change pa.s.sed over him, and, almost for the first time since he was a little child, his eyes filled with tears.
He hastily brushed them away, and drew her down on the seat beside him.
He was wondering how he should tell her that they must not meet like this, that they must be apart. No matter what had happened, no matter what love there was, it was better that they should die--that he should die--than that they should meet like this. There was only one end to secret meetings, and discovery was inevitable. Then, with discovery, shame to her. For he must either marry her--how could he marry her?--or die. For him to die would but increase her misery.
The time had pa.s.sed when it could be of any use. It pa.s.sed that day in the hut on Vadrome Mountain when she said that if he died, she would die with him--”Where you are going you will be alone. There will be no one to care for you, no one but me.” Last night it pa.s.sed for ever. She had put her life into his hands; henceforth, there could never be a question of giving or taking, of withdrawing or advancing, for all was irrevocable, sealed with the great seal. Yet she must be saved. But how?
She suddenly looked up at him. ”I can ask you anything I want now, can't I?” she said.
”Anything, Rosalie.”
”You know that when I ask, it is because I want to know what you know, so that I may feel as you feel. You know that, don't you?
”I know it when you tell me, wonderful Rosalie.” What a revelation it was, this trans.m.u.ting power, which could change mortal dross into the coin of immortal wealth!
”I want to ask you,” she said, ”who was Kathleen?” His blood seemed to go cold in his veins, and he sat without answering, shocked and dismayed. What could she know of Kathleen?
”Can't you tell me?” she asked anxiously yet fearfully. He looked so strange that she thought she had offended him. ”Please don't mind telling me. I should understand everything--everything. Was it some one you loved--once?” It was hard for her to say it, but she said it bravely.
”No. I never loved any one in all the world, Rosalie--not till I loved you.”
She gave a happy sigh. ”Oh, it is wonderful!” she said. ”It is wonderful and good! Did you--did you love me from the very first?”
”I think I did, though I didn't know it from the very first,” he answered slowly. His heart beat hard, for he could not guess how she should know of Kathleen. It was absurdly impossible that she should know. ”But many have loved you!” she said proudly. ”They have not shown it,” he answered grimly; then added quickly, and with aching anxiety: ”When did you hear of--of Kathleen?”
”Oh, you are such a blind huntsman!” she laughed. ”Don't you know where my little fox was hiding? Why, in the shop, when you held the note-paper up to the light, and looked startled, and bought all the paper we had that was water-marked Kathleen. Do you think that was clever of me? I don't.”
”I think it was very clever,” he said.
”Then she-Kathleen--doesn't really matter?” she asked eagerly. ”Of course she can't, if you don't love her. But does she love you? Did she ever love you?” ”Never in her life.”
”So of course it doesn't matter,” she rejoined. ”Hus.h.!.+” she added rapidly. ”I see some one coming in the trees yonder. It may be some one for me. Father knows I come here sometimes. Go quickly and hide behind the rocks, please. I'll stay and see who it is. Please go--dearest.”
He kissed her, and, keeping out of sight, got to a place of safety a few hundred feet away.
He saw the new-comer run to Rosalie, speak to her, saw Rosalie half turn in his own direction, then go hastily down the hillside with the messenger.
”It is her father!” he exclaimed, and followed at a distance. At the village he learned that M. Evanturel had had another seizure.
CHAPTER XLV. SIX MONTHS GO BY
Spring again--budding trees and flowing sap; the earth banks removed from the houses, and outside windows discarded; the ice tumbling and crunching in the river; the dormant farmer raising his head to the energy and delight of April.
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