Part 29 (1/2)
”I am not trying to be agreeable. I am looking for the truth. Am I, then, merely an acquaintance?”
Unity sighed. ”Why not say 'friend'?”
”'Friend' is good as far as it goes. It does not go far enough.”
”Yes, it does,” said Miss Dandridge. ”It goes further than all your less sober travellers.
”Love me little, love me long.
”You want such violent things!”
”I want you. Is it, then, only a poor, pale friends.h.i.+p?”
”Why call it poor and pale? Friends.h.i.+p can be rosy-cheeked as well as--as other things. Look how the gra.s.s is burned--and all the locusts are singing of the heat!”
”It is beneath you to trifle so. If this is all, it is poor and pale, and the sooner it dies, the better! Unity, I'm waiting for your _coup de grace_.”
”I'm tired,” said Unity. ”You hurt me, and I'm tired.”
”I never heard you say that before. Look at me! the tears are in your eyes.”
”Everybody cries over Elosa to Abelard.
”O death all-eloquent! you only prove What dust we dote on, when't is man we love!
”Where are you going?”
”Home first, then--I don't know where. Good-bye.”
”Don't go.”
”I'm afraid the book in the lilac bush is spoiled. If you'll allow me, I'll send you another copy.”
”Please don't go.”
”The tears are on your cheeks. It is a moving poem.
”Oh, may we never love as those have loved!
”This is the third and last good-bye. Good-bye.”
The younger Cary turned and resolutely walked away. Miss Dandridge rose and followed him. He did not turn his head, and the thick turf could not echo her light footfall. He walked firmly, with the port of a man who hears a distant drum beat to action. Miss Dandridge admired the att.i.tude through her tears. He walked rapidly and the sweep of greensward between them widened. It was no great distance to the driveway and the white pillars of the house. Uncle d.i.c.k and Uncle Edward, Deb, the servants, any one, might be looking out of the windows. For one moment Unity stopped short as Atalanta when she saw the golden apple, then she began to run. She touched her goal within ten feet of the house, and he stood still and looked at the hand upon his arm. ”Oh!” she panted. ”Don't go!
I--I--I--”
”I--?”
”I love you. Oh!”
If any window saw, it was discreet and never told, remembering perhaps a youth of its own. The embrace was not prolonged beyond a minute. Unity, red and beautiful, released herself, looked about her like a startled dryad, and made again for the catalpa. Fairfax Cary followed, and they took that portion of the circular bench which had between it and the house the giant bole of the tree. Before them dipped the shady hollow, filled with the rustling of leaves, cool and retired as its parent forest.
”Oh, yes, yes; it's true, gospel true!” cried Unity. ”But I'll not be married for a long, long year!”