Part 44 (1/2)

And what a picture she made, reclining against the rough, twisted arm of the old rustic seat, one hand supporting the graceful head, and the delicate oval face, with its refined beauty of feature! The long lashes lay in a dark fringe upon each smooth cheek, which, lovingly kissed by the warm, generous air, was tinged with a faint but inexpressibly charming flush. The sweet, red lips were closed, but without a trace of hardness in their tender curves; and the whole att.i.tude one of ease, abandonment, and yet of infinite grace in its every contour. A figure thoroughly in harmony with the place, clime, and hour. A lovely picture indeed.

So thought its only spectator, as, with a rapturous yearning pain at his heart, he noiselessly moved aside the trailing boughs and stepped within their shade. He would not disturb the spell, but stood gazing entranced upon the slumbering form in all its wealth of refinement of beauty.

A large pear fell to the ground with a dull thud. Lilian stirred uneasily, then half rose, letting fall the hand she had been leaning upon. It was seized in a firm grasp by two other hands, and in tones wherein earnest tenderness struggled with a gleeful laugh, a voice whispered:

”One doesn't wear gloves on the frontier, or what a chance of being set up in them for life!”

The long lashes unclosed, and she started ever so slightly. It was too much. The hot blood rushed through Claverton's veins as though it were molten liquid, and lifting her from the seat, he pressed her to him, raining down warm, pa.s.sionate kisses upon her lips, forehead, eyes, and the soft dark hair which lay against his cheek, whispering wild, delirious words of love and entreaty. Then he felt ashamed of his fierce impulsiveness--his brutality as it seemed, in taking her at a disadvantage. Was she angry or humiliated, or both? She made no resistance as he held her there. Or had he about frightened her to death? Then he held her from him.

”You--here?” she cried, in astonishment; but there was no anger in her tone, although a lovely blush suffused her face, even to the very roots of her dark hair. ”I thought you were going to be away all day. You told me you would hardly get back before night.”

”I thought better of it. I couldn't remain away from you anything like so long; wherefore I turned back. That's the plain, unvarnished truth.

Am I not improving in veracity?”

”Oh! I am hurting your hand!” she exclaimed, suddenly becoming aware that her fingers had been leaning hardly on the place where the scorpion had stung him. No fault of hers, by the way, for she could not have withdrawn them if she would.

”Say, rather, you are healing it. Your touch would have more effect in that line, with me, than that of a whole legion of Apostles,” he replied, still holding her.

”Hus.h.!.+ You must not talk like that,” said she, gently. Then, referring to the sting: ”But I ought not to lecture you, when it was done for me.

Ah, why do you take such care of me?” she cried, in conclusion, and her eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g.

”Why do--Oh, I do take care of you, then, do I?”

”Always. If I want anything, you are sure to have it ready. If ever I have a misgiving about anything, you are sure to be there to dispel it and rea.s.sure me. In fact, I can't walk a yard but you are spreading metaphorical carpets before my feet. And yet--Oh, Arthur, why did we ever meet?”

She turned away from him, standing with hands clasped before her, and her eyes fixed on the ground.

”Why did we ever meet?” he repeated, again drawing her to him and bending down to whisper in her ear, a low, quick, pa.s.sionate whisper.

”Because you and I were made for each other. Because we were brought together here, both of us, from the other side of the world on purpose for each other. Darling, that was the first thought that flashed through me the very moment I saw you that first day. All of me before that, was a different self; I hardly recognise it, now. You remember that night by the water--it was the hardest blow I ever had, that that little hand dealt me. But I wouldn't take it as final, I wouldn't give it up, and now I've served my apprentices.h.i.+p fairly well, haven't I?

What you've just said tells me that, even if nothing else did.”

There was a frightened, despairing look in her eyes; her lips moved as if she were trying to speak, but the words would not come, and she made as if she would draw away from him.

”Lilian--sweetest--life of my life! Don't look so frightened, darling,”

he cried, in a tone of thrilling tenderness. ”Remember what you have just told me, and for G.o.d's sake don't look so frightened. Tell me now that you are going to give me the care of your whole life--your sweet, love-diffusing life. Tell me this: Haven't I fairly established a claim to it? Look at the suns.h.i.+ne around. That shall be an earnest of your life, if you give it to me. My darling--my more than Heaven--only say you will.”

He paused, hanging breathlessly on the reply. Again she struggled to speak. The tension was fearful. Would she faint or die? Then he bent his ear yet lower to catch two words hoa.r.s.ely whispered:

”I--cannot!”

And then again the black bolt of despair shot through Claverton's heart.

This was the last throw of the dice, the last chance, and he felt it was. Hitherto he had been almost confident in his hopefulness, now the cup was dashed to the ground. Thus they stood for a s.p.a.ce, neither speaking. To Lilian it seemed as if the hour of her death had come, and with her own hand she must drive home the weapon--down, down to her very heart. The stray sunbeams crept along the ground beneath the old pear-tree, insects hummed, and a bird twittered in the radiant light without, and all told of calm and peace, and the very air seemed like a glow from Heaven. With that mysterious instinct which stamps upon the mind the veriest trifles at the time of some momentous crisis, she marked the efforts of two large black ants who were carrying the dead body of a cricket up the trunk of the tree; and to the end of her days she would remember the persevering attempts of the laborious insects as they dragged their burden, regardless of check or stumble, over the rough bark of the old espalier. It seemed to her that hours had pa.s.sed instead of moments. Then he spoke, but his voice had lost its confident, hopeful ring. ”Don't say that. Say you can, and you will!”

She tried to lift her head, to speak firmly, but the attempt was a failure.

”I cannot,” she repeated. ”Forget me--hate me, if you will,” and she shuddered; but he clasped her closer to him. ”I can be nothing to you.

I am bound--tied--bound firmly. Nothing can release me--nothing!”