Part 44 (1/2)
”Dearest,” he said, ”how soon will they all go? How soon shall we be quite alone? Oh, why couldn't they drive to the station from the church?”
Jane looked at her watch. ”Because we must lunch them, dear,” she said.
”Think how good they have all been. And we could not start our married life by being inhospitable. It is just one o'clock; and we ordered luncheon at half-past. Their train leaves the station at half-past four. In three hours, Garth, we shall be alone.”
”Shall I be able to behave nicely for three hours?” exclaimed Garth, boyishly.
”You must,” said Jane, ”or I shall fetch Nurse Rosemary.”
”Oh hus.h.!.+” he said. ”All that is too precious, to-day, for chaff.
Jane”--he turned suddenly, and laid his hand on hers--”Jane! Do you understand that you are now--actually--my wife?”
Jane took his hand, and held it against her heart, just where she so often had pressed her own, when she feared he would hear it throbbing.
”My darling,” she said, ”I do not understand it. But I know--ah, thank G.o.d!--I know it to be true.”
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII
PERPETUAL LIGHT
Moonlight on the terrace--silvery, white, serene. Garth and Jane had stepped out into the brightness; and, finding the night so warm and still, and the nightingales filling the woods and hills with soft-throated music, they moved their usual fireside chairs close to the parapet, and sat there in restful comfort, listening to the sweet sounds of the quiet night.
The solitude was so perfect; the restfulness so complete. Garth had removed the cus.h.i.+on seat from his chair, and placed it on the gravel; and sat at his wife's feet leaning against her knees. She stroked his hair and brow softly, as they talked; and every now and then he put up his hand, drew hers to his lips, and kissed the ring he had never seen.
Long tender silences fell between them. Now that they were at last alone, thoughts too deep, joys too sacred for words, trembled about them; and silence seemed to express more than speech. Only, Garth could not bear Jane to be for a moment out of reach of his hand. What to another would have been: ”I cannot let her out of my sight,” was, to him, ”I cannot let her be beyond my touch.” And Jane fully understood this; and let him feel her every moment within reach. And the bliss of this was hers as well as his; for sometimes it had seemed to her as if the hunger in her heart, caused by those long weeks of waiting, when her arms ached for him, and yet she dared not even touch his hand, would never be appeased.
”Sweet, sweet, sweet--thrill,” sang a nightingale in the wood. And Garth whistled an exact imitation.
”Oh, darling,” said Jane, ”that reminds me; there is something I do so want you to sing to me. I don't know what it is; but I think you will remember. It was on that Monday evening, after I had seen the pictures, and Nurse Rosemary had described them to you. Both our poor hearts were on the rack; and I went up early in order to begin my letter of confession; but you told Simpson not to come for you until eleven.
While I was writing in the room above, I could hear you playing in the library. You played many things I knew--music we had done together, long ago. And then a theme I had never heard crept in, and caught my ear at once, because it was quite new to me, and so marvellously sweet.
I put down my pen and listened. You played it several times, with slight variations, as if trying to recall it. And then, to my joy, you began to sing. I crossed the room; softly opened my window, and leaned out. I could hear some of the words; but not all. Two lines, however, reached me distinctly, with such penetrating, tender sadness, that I laid my head against the window-frame, feeling as if I could write no more, and wait no longer, but must go straight to you at once.”
Garth drew down the dear hand which had held the pen that night; turned it over, and softly kissed the palm.
”What were they, Jane?” he said.
”'Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone, Safe home at last.'”
”And oh, my darling, the pathos of those words, 'when all is gone'!
Whoever wrote that music, had been through suffering such as ours. Then came a theme of such inspiring hopefulness and joy, that I arose, armed with fresh courage; took up my pen, and went on with my letter. Again two lines had reached me:”
”'Where Thou, Eternal Light of Light, Art Lord of All.'”
”What is it, Garth? And whose? And where did you hear it? And will you sing it to me now, darling? I have a sudden wish that you should sing it, here and now; and I can't wait!”
Garth sat up, and laughed--a short happy laugh, in which all sorts of emotions were mingled.
”Jane! I like to hear you say you can't wait. It isn't like you; because you are so strong and patient. And yet it is so deliciously like you, if you FEEL it, to SAY it. I found the words in the Anthem-book at Worcester Cathedral, this time last year, at even-song.