Part 32 (1/2)

”And I thank you for the kind thought of help. It is very good of you.”

He turned towards her, and leaned upon his hand as he sat. Still the fog rolled up, and the lifeless sea seemed overshed with an unctuous calm.

They were almost in the dark on their strip of beach, and the moisture was already clinging in great, thick drops to their clothes, and to the rocks where they sat. Still Claudius looked at Margaret, and Margaret looked at the narrow band of oily water still uncovered by the mist.

”When are you going?” she asked slowly, as if hating to meet the answer.

”To-night,” said Claudius, still looking earnestly at her. The light was gone from her eyes, and the flush had long sunk away to the heart whence it had come.

”To-night?” she repeated, a little vaguely.

”Yes,” he said, and waited; then after a moment, ”Shall you mind when I am gone?” He leaned towards her, earnestly looking into her face.

”Yes,” said Margaret, ”I shall be sorry.” Her voice was kind, and very gentle. Still she did not look at him. Claudius held out his right hand, palm upward, to meet hers.

”Shall you mind much?” he asked earnestly, with intent eyes. She met his hand and took it.

”Yes, I shall be very sorry.” Claudius slipped from the rock where he was sitting, and fell upon one knee before her, kissing the hand she gave as though it had been the holy cross. He looked up, his face near hers, and at last he met her eyes, burning with a startled light under the black brows, contrasting with the white of her forehead, and face, and throat. He looked one moment.

”Shall you really mind very much?” he asked a third time, in a strange, lost voice. There was no answer, only the wet fog all around, and those two beautiful faces ashy pale in the mist, and very near together. One instant so--and then--ah, G.o.d! they have cast the die at last, for he has wound his mighty arms about her, and is pa.s.sionately kissing the marble of her cheek.

”My beloved, my beloved, I love you--with, all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my strength”--but she speaks no word, only her arms pa.s.s his and hang about his neck, and her dark head lies on his breast; and could you but see her eyes, you would see also the fair pearls that the little G.o.d has formed deep down in the ocean of love--the lashes thereof are wet with sudden weeping. And all around them the deep, deaf fog, thick and m.u.f.fled as darkness, and yet not dark.

”Ugh!” muttered the evil genius of the sea, ”I hate lovers; an' they drown not, they shall have a wet wooing.” And he came and touched them all over with the clamminess of his deathly hand, and breathed upon them the thick, cold breath of his damp old soul. But he could do nothing against such love as that, and the lovers burned him and laughed him to scorn.

She was very silent as she kissed him and laid her head on his breast.

And he could only repeat what was nearest, the credo of his love, and while his arms were about her they were strong, but when he tried to take them away, they were as tremulous as the veriest aspen.

The great tidal wave comes rolling in, once in every lifetime that deserves to be called a lifetime, and sweeps away every one of our landmarks, and changes all our coast-line. But though the waters do not subside, yet the crest of them falls rippling away into smoothness after the first mad rush, else should we all be but s.h.i.+pwrecked mariners in the sea of love. And so, after a time, Margaret drew away from Claudius gently, finding his hands with hers as she moved, and holding them.

”Come,” said she, ”let us go.” They were her first words, and Claudius thought the deep voice had never sounded so musical before. But the words, the word ”go,” sounded like a knell on his heart. He had forgotten that he must sail on the morrow. He had forgotten that it was so soon over.

They went away, out of the drizzling fog and the mist, and the evil sea-breath, up to the cliff walk and so by the wet lanes homewards, two loving, sorrowing hearts, not realising what had come to them, nor knowing what should come hereafter, but only big with love fresh spoken, and hot with tears half shed.

”Beloved,” said Claudius as they stood together for the last time in the desolation of the great, dreary, hotel drawing-room--for Claudius was going--”beloved, will you promise me something?”

Margaret looked down as she stood with her clasped hands on his arm.

”What is it I should promise you--Claudius?” she asked, half hesitating.

Claudius laid his hand tenderly--tenderly, as giants only can be tender, on the thick black hair, as hardly daring, yet loving, to let it linger there.

”Will you promise that if you doubt me when I am gone, you will ask of the Duke the 'other reason' of my going?”

”I shall not doubt you,” answered Margaret, looking proudly up.

”G.o.d bless you, my beloved!”--and so he went to sea again.

CHAPTER XVI.

When Mr. Barker, who had followed the party to Newport, called on the Countess the following morning, she was not visible, so he was fain to content himself with scribbling a very pressing invitation to drive in the afternoon, which he sent up with some flowers, not waiting for an answer. The fact was that Margaret had sent for the Duke at an early hour--for her--and was talking with him on matters of importance at the time Barker called. Otherwise she would very likely not have refused to see the latter.