Part 76 (1/2)

”Hada.s.sah?”

”Yes, Hada.s.sah.” Margaret sighed. ”Oh, Michael, we have so much to talk about--whatever shall we do?” She laughed tearfully. Telling Michael about Freddy's death had brought back the anguish of the year which had separated them. ”You can't imagine how kind and sweet she has been to me, and how hard they both tried to find you!” She paused.

”Freddy tried, too--he was the best and dearest brother, Mike.”

”I know it,” he said; his words were a groan. He was trying to grasp the truth of Margaret's news. Nothing which he had seen in the war brought its waste and sacrifice more vividly before his eyes than the fact that Freddy was dead, the living, vital Freddy, the energetic, brilliant Freddy, whom he always visualized picking up the gleaming gems in the vast Egyptian tomb; he saw the scene with painful clearness.

There was a little silence. Margaret's hands were clasped tightly in the sunburnt hands of her ”Tommy.” Freddy was in both their minds, and the life they had shared with him in the Valley--the sense of order and method and ardour for work which he had instilled into their days.

Margaret was resting against Michael, as open about her love for him as any 'Arriet. She could think of Freddy without any feeling of guilt or even doubt of his approval. The things which come from within cannot be explained by forces from without. It was not what Michael had done or had said which had banished her pride and told her of his faithfulness. It was the consciousness which came from within, the consciousness which had always fought back the forces from without.

She had not felt one qualm of conscience, for Freddy was understanding and approving. He would know that any doubt she had ever had had been banished the moment Michael had taken her in his arms. Freddy, who had only blamed him for his weakness, would realize that even in that he had misjudged him. If Michael had had any guilt on his conscience, he would never have behaved as he had done. He had read in her eyes that her love for himself was unchanged, and knowing himself to be worthy of her love, he had not stopped to consider smaller things. She was so thankful that he had taken the bull by the horns.

And now they were thinking of less bewildering things than their own love for each other. Michael was tenderly dreaming of Freddy.

Margaret was reviewing Freddy's true att.i.tude towards Michael in her mind. It was true that he had said that until he gave some satisfactory explanation of his behaviour, she was not to treat him as her lover. Well, her finer senses told her that Michael had given her a satisfactory explanation, and she was certain that Freddy also knew it. He had, by his taking her in his arms without one word of pleading or explanation, given her the fairest and most perfect a.s.surance of his faithfulness to her and of his right to ask for her love.

These thoughts pa.s.sed rapidly through her mind, while she silently enjoyed the delight of feeling Michael's close presence by her side.

Never, even in Egypt, under the high-sailing moon in the great Sahara, had she loved him as romantically as she did at this moment. As a weather-stained, wind-tanned Tommy he was dearer to her than ever he had been in the days when, as a painter and an Egyptologist, he had opened her eyes to a new world of intellectual enjoyment.

Michael's mind was obsessed by Freddy's death. He had never for one moment imagined that such a thing was in the least likely to happen.

He did not know that Freddy was at the Front; he had imagined to himself that such exceptional brains and unusual qualities would have been given other work to do, than to stand all day long knee-deep in mud in the trenches of Flanders. His heart ached for Margaret. Her devotion to Freddy was exceptional; her pride in him had been the keynote of her existence. He spoke abruptly, while his hands clasped hers hungrily and tightly.

”Would Freddy mind?” he said. ”I can't be disloyal to him!”

”Mind?” Meg said questioningly. ”Mind my loving you? He knew my love could never change--it was born in unchanging Egypt.”

”Yes, mind if you married me while I'm on leave?--I've got a whole fortnight, and my commission.”

”Oh!” Meg said breathlessly. ”You go at such a pace!”

Michael laughed boyishly at her astonishment. Her woman's mind had not thought of marriage; it was satisfied with the present conditions.

”I don't think Freddy would mind--not now. But”--her laugh joined Michael's--”you see, you haven't asked if I'd mind. We aren't even engaged--you wouldn't be. Do you remember?”

Michael pulled round her head with his hands, and kissed her lips. ”I don't care if the whole world sees,” he said, quoting her words.

”Don't pull away your head--I'm just 'a bloomin' Tommy' back in Blighty with his girl.”

Meg resigned herself to his kisses. ”All London's doing it,” she said breathlessly. ”You'll see fathers and sons, and mothers and sons, and lovers walking arm in arm, in the West End even. Their time together is too short and precious to think of stupid conventions. The national reserve of the English nation is swept away.”

While Margaret was speaking, she was thinking and thinking. Could she marry him before he returned to the Front? It was all so sudden. But why not? War had taught women to take what happiness they could get in their two hands, not to let it slip. Michael made her thoughts more definite.

”Did Freddy trust me?” he asked.

Meg's eyes dropped; her heart beat painfully.

”He didn't,” Michael said. ”Don't pain yourself, dearest, by answering. He'll understand better now--everything will be made clear.”

”Don't blame him, Mike!”

”I'm not blaming him--I'd have done the same. It sounded beastly, the whole story. Hang Millicent Mervill!”