Part 76 (2/2)

Margaret proceeded to tell him in broken sentences that she had seen Millicent in Cairo, and related something of what she had told her and how, after that, she had kept the promise which she had made to Freddy, to go back to England if she heard from either Michael himself or from Millicent that they had been together in the desert.

”And you heard that she was in my camp?”

”Yes--Millicent took care that I heard that, and . . .” she paused.

Michael looked into her eyes. ”And you went back England?”

”Yes, I kept my promise.” Her eyes told him that she had kept it because her honour demanded it, not because she believed all that Millicent had told her.

”And, knowing her story, you didn't condemn me, you still believed in me and loved me?” His eyes thanked her.

Margaret returned his steadfast gaze. ”Yes, it was not hard to trust you, Mike. I remembered our promise to help and trust one another.

What are promises and vows made for if they are not to be kept when they are put to the test? We did not make ours lightly--I told you I should understand.”

”Dearest, how beautiful your love is! To-day you welcomed me without one shadow of reproach! Had I not read in your eyes all that I did, I should not have dared to follow you when you left the train.”

”Would you have taken me in your arms if you had been guilty, if Millicent had told the truth?” The words conveyed a world of meaning to Michael. ”I have often grumbled, Mike--I have thought that you might have let me hear the story from your own lips, or by letter. I know that in his heart Freddy always thought you were only to be blamed for allowing her to stay in your camp--I know he never really believed that you had arranged the meeting, or that you were her lover.”

Michael grasped her two hands in his, tightly. ”I never was, Meg, I never was! I hated her for coming, I tried to get rid of her.”

”I knew it, Mike--deep, deep down I knew it. But it hurt.” She leaned against him. ”Oh, how it hurt, dearest! And you never wrote or explained--that was what I found hardest to bear. I suppose you were so certain that I trusted you that you never thought about what others might say; but love makes us exacting, jealous, and you might have written, dearest! Then Freddy would have known. How could I make him understand all that my heart knew? How can one make others see the things which come from within?”

Michael put his arms round her. ”My darling,” he said, ”I did write, I wrote often. I wrote directly Millicent appeared in the desert; I wrote again before I was ill. You know how many letters go astray--you know how many were intercepted by German spies before the war broke out.”

”You were ill?” Meg started. ”I knew you were, I told Freddy you were ill. But Millicent spoke as if you were in such perfect health that I had to abandon the conviction.”

Her voice was an apology.

”I was so ill with fever,” Michael said, ”that I wasn't able to write, and the faithful Abdul couldn't. Like many Arabs, he can speak a smattering, and a very fair one, of three or four languages, but he can't write a line in any one of them. As soon as I was strong enough to travel I went back to the Valley.”

”Oh, did you?” He felt Margaret tremble as she said the words.

”I went back to find our Eden a barren desert, Meg, no sign of either Freddy or you in it. It was horrible. I started off to Cairo in hopes of learning from the Iretons where you had gone to, to discover what you had heard of Millicent.” His pressure of Meg's hands explained the full meaning of his words. ”But they had left Cairo--it was very hot--so I returned to England by way of Italy. In Naples I had a slight relapse--I had to wait there for some time, until I was able to continue my journey. I only arrived in London the day before war was declared. Of course I volunteered at once--I was glad to do it. Life seemed empty of all its former sweetness. I don't think I cared what happened to me; and I did care what happened to England and Belgium. I was at last going to fight in the great fight against absolute monarchy and militarism!”

When Michael had finished his short account of his doings, which merely touched on essentials, they realized that they were in Hyde Park.

Margaret's eyes had caught sight of a clock over the gateway as they entered; she had noticed how her two hours were flying, even while her conscious self was enthralled with her lover's story. Spring was in the year; it was in the hearts of the united lovers. Love smiled to them from the budding shrubs and from the daffodils swaying in the breeze.

To Michael ”Blighty” was the most beautiful land in the world. His heart was so burdened with happiness that Margaret had to laugh at his high spirits and absurd remarks. He was the old enthusiastic Mike, delighting in life and embracing it rapturously.

In the midst of this intoxication of happiness, Margaret's sense of duty and responsibility, her Lampton characteristics, urged her. The clock over the archway had subconsciously reminded her that she was, after all, a pantry-maid in a hospital full of wounded soldiers; that the soldier by her side was a part and portion of the great war; that war, not love, ruled the world; this interlude had been stolen from the G.o.d of Battles.

”Time's flying, dearest,” she said. ”I've less than one more hour.

Let's drive to a little garden-square close to my hospital--we can dismiss the taxi there and talk until I have to go in--that's to say, if you are free to come.”

”Are you nursing?” he said. His eyes looked questioningly at her blue uniform.

”No, not yet--I'm a pantry-maid.”

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