Part 35 (1/2)
Christopher took a deep breath; the pace of the car increased a little.
”That has to be found--will be found. It is a question of time.”
”And you mean to find it?”
”A good many people mean to find it.”
Masters shook his head.
”It won't pay you so well as iron, Master Christopher. My offer is still open.”
Christopher was so surprised that he nearly swerved into an unfenced pond they were pa.s.sing.
”It was very kind of you to make it again,” Christopher managed to stammer out, adding with a bluntness worthy of Masters himself, ”I never could understand why you made it at all.”
”Neither do I,” returned Peter Masters with a laugh, ”and I generally know what I'm at. Perhaps I thought it would please Aymer. As I told you just now, we were friends before his accident. I suppose you've heard all about that?”
For a brief moment Christopher felt temptation grip him. He was convinced the man beside him knew the untold story, and at this juncture in his life he would give much to understand all those things he had never questioned or ventured to consider. Then recognising disloyalty in the very thought, he hastened to escape the pitfall. It was no use to take half measures with this man, however, so he lied again boldly.
”Of course I know,” and went back again to safer ground. ”Whatever your reasons, it was good of you to think of me and kinder still to renew your offer. I expect you will think me a silly fool of a boy to refuse it again.”
”Not exactly; but a boy brought up by an Aymer Aston the second.”
”That is sufficient luck for one boy to grab out of life.”
Peter Masters chuckled. ”I take it, young man, you'd rather be fathered by Aymer than by me, eh?”
Christopher muttered a very fervent affirmative between clenched teeth, which did not appear to reach his hearer's ears, for as Masters finished his own sentence he shot a sudden, sharp, puzzled look at Christopher, and his teeth shut together with a click. He spoke no more and when Christopher hazarded a remark he got no answer.
The glory of the day was at its height when Marden came in sight; the whole world seemed to have joined in a peon of thanksgiving which for the moment drowned the unwonted echoes in Christopher's heart that Peter Masters's hard voice had awoken.
Youth was his, Love was his, and Patricia was to be his, and he was going to see her. He covered the distance from the lodge gates to the house in a time that taxed his companion's nerve to the uttermost and bid fair to outpace even the throbbing, rus.h.i.+ng pulse of spring that filled the land.
CHAPTER XVII
Patricia was in the orchard, and not only in the orchard, but of it, for she was comfortably perched on a low bough of an ancient h.o.a.ry apple tree. She had a volume of Robert Bridges's poems in her hand and a thirst was on her to be at the edge of a cliff and look over into blue s.p.a.ce below. The secluded orchard with its early crown of pink blushes, the serene shut-in valley screened from cold winds and cradled between the chalky highlands, weighed on her. She looked upwards through the dainty tracery of soft green and pink to the sky above, delicately blue with white clouds racing over it. There was air up there, free and untrammelled. Patricia sighed and then laughed at herself, for it was good, even here in the narrow orchard, life with its coming possibilities, its increasing riches. She was glad to be alone at that moment if only to share a thought with the poet who at this period held sway over her mind.
The previous evening had been one of great moment to her and she was joyfully thankful to find that it obscured and clouded no particle of the daily simple joy of her existence. She had claimed this day to herself, free from all new issues to prove this point, and her heart sang with content for what had been, was, and would be.
The orchard gate clicked, and looking through the intervening boughs and leaflets, she saw Christopher coming across the gra.s.s towards her with his even, swinging step.
In her rough grey dress she was as part of the rough tree herself. Her golden head and the delicate lovely colouring of her face rivalled the tree's darling blossoms, so Christopher thought when he reached her. He came straight to her through the maze of old and young trees and had the exquisite joy of seeing her flush with surprise and pleasure at sight of him. Here indeed she felt was the one addition to her day that she needed. She did not descend from her perch, and it was his hand which steadied her there when excitement imperilled her throne.
”To come down on us without warning like this!” she expostulated, smiling down at him. ”Why, we might have had no leisure to see you or luncheon to give you! When did you actually come?”
”Half an hour and five minutes ago. I've seen Caesar and St. Michael, and I've had luncheon.”
”And have you come to stay?”