Part 64 (2/2)
”Why d'you say that?” she asked, with loud, harsh voice, and stopping still as she did so. ”Why d'you say 'duty'?”
He, too, stood and looked at her.
”My dear,” he answered, ”love's a quick, subtle thing. It can make even such a man as I am less stupid than Nature built him. It fires dull brains; it adds sight to dim eyes; it shows the bookworm how to find out secrets hidden from keener spirits; it lifts a veil from the loved one and lets the lover see more than anybody else can. Be patient with me. I spoke because I love you still with all my heart and soul, Chris; I spoke, because what I feel for you is lifelong, and cannot change. Had I not still wors.h.i.+pped the earth under your feet I would have died rather than tell you. But love makes me bold. I have watched you so long and prayed for you so often. I have seen little differences in you that n.o.body else saw. And to-day I know. I knew when you picked up Timothy and flew at Will. Since then I've wandered Heaven can tell where, just thinking and thinking and wondering and seeing no way. And all the time G.o.d meant me to come and find you and tell you.”
She understood; she gave one bitter cry that started an echo from ruined mine-workings hard at hand; then she turned from him, and, in a moment of sheer hopeless misery, flung herself and her wrecked ambitions upon the ground by the wayside.
For a moment the man stood scared by this desperate answer to his words.
Then he put his burden down, approached Chris, knelt beside her, and tried to raise her. She sat up at last with panting breast and eyes in which some terror sat.
”You!” she said. ”You to knaw! Wasn't my cup full enough before but that my wan hope should be cut away, tu? My G.o.d, I 'mauld in sorrow now--very auld. But 't is awver at last. You knaw, an' I had to hear it from your awn lips! Theer 's nought worse in the world for me now.”
Her hands were pressed against her bosom, and as he unconsciously moved a little towards her she shrank backwards, then rose to her feet.
Timothy woke and cried, upon which she turned to him and picked him up.
”Go!” she cried suddenly. ”If ever you loved me, get out of my sight now, or you'll make me want to kill myself again.”
He saw the time was come for strong self-a.s.sertion, and spoke.
”Listen!” he said. ”You don't understand, but you must. I'm the only man in the world who knows--the only one, and I've told you because it was stamped into my brain to tell you, and because I love you perhaps better than one creature has any right to love another.”
”You knaw. Isn't it enough? Who else did I care for? Who else mattered to me? Mother or brother or other folk? I pray you to go an' leave me.
G.o.d knaws how hard it was to hide it, but I hugged it an' suffered more 'n any but a mother could fathom 'cause things weer as they weer. Then came this trouble, an' still none seed. But 't was meant you should, an'
the rest doan't matter. I'd so soon go back now as not.”
”So you shall,” he answered calmly; ”only hear this first. Last time I spoke about what was in my heart, Chris, you told me you could love me, but that you would not marry me, and I said I would never ask you again.
I shall keep my word, sweetheart. I shall not ask; I shall take without asking. You love me; that is all I care for. The little boy came between last time; now nothing does.”
He took the woman in his arms and kissed her, but the next moment he was flying to where water lay in a ditch, for his unexpected att.i.tude had overpowered Chris. She raised her hands to his shoulders, uttered a faint cry, then slipped heavily out of his arms in a faint. The man rushed this way and that, the child sat and howled noisily, the woman remained long unconscious, and heavy rain began to fall out of the darkness; yet, to his dying day that desolate spot of earth brought light to Martin's eyes as often as he pa.s.sed it.
Chris presently recovered her senses, and spoke words that made her lover's heart leap. She uttered them in a sad, low voice, but her hand was in his, pressing it close the while.
”Awften an' awften I've axed the A'mighty to give me wan little glint o'
knawledge as how 'twould all end. If I'd knawed! But I never guessed how big your sawl was, Martin. I never thought you was the manner of man to love a woman arter that.”
”G.o.d knows what's in my heart, Chris.”
”I'll tell 'e everything some day. Lookin' back it doan't 'pear no ways wicked, though it may seem so in cold daylight to cold hearts.”
”Come, come with me, for the rain grows harder. I know where I can hire a covered carriage at an inn. 'Tis only five minutes farther on, and poor Tim's unhappy.”
”He'm hungry. You won't be hard 'pon my li'l bwoy if I come to 'e, Martin?”
”You know as well as I can tell you. There's one other thing. About Chagford, Chris? Are you afraid of it? I'll turn my back on it if you like. I'll take you to Okehampton now if you would rather go there.”
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