Part 28 (1/2)
”You told me once that you had staked your all on the success of this enterprise.”
”That is true.”
”And if you fail, you will lose everything?”
”Everything!”
”You mean, of course, your time and your money, and your labour!”
”Yes, I mean that,” he said, smiling wistfully.
”Oh, well! that is not everything, after all,” she answered, brightly.
”You are young enough to begin again. And, after all, what we call failures may be stepping-stones to success, and you will win in the end, I know you will. G.o.d will not let you fail.”
”I wish I believed in G.o.d as you do,” he said, with downcast eyes.
”So long as G.o.d believes in you it won't matter so much,” she answered, cheerfully. ”But I must be going back now. You are going further, I presume?”
”I am going to spend Christmas with my grandfather, at Tregannon.”
”Is that far?”
”About six or seven miles.”
”And are you going to walk all the distance?”
”I expect so, unless someone overtakes me who can give me a lift by the way.”
”I hope you will have a very happy Christmas.”
”Thank you. Let me wish the same wish for you.”
”We shall be gay at any rate,” she said, with a little sigh. ”The Captain returns this evening.”
”Ah! then you are sure to be happy. Good-bye!”
He took her outstretched hand and held it for a long moment, looking earnestly the while into her sweet, fearless eyes. Then without another word he picked up his bag and hurried away.
CHAPTER XVII
RETROSPECTIVE
Rufus tramped the seven long miles to Tregannon like one in a dream. Up hill and down dale he swung his way, heedless of the milestones and untroubled by distance. The short winter's day faded into darkness before he had covered half the journey. A little later the moon sailed slowly up in the eastern sky and flung weird shadows across the road, but he paid no heed. Through sleepy villages and hamlets he tramped, by lonely cottages and splas.h.i.+ng water-wheels, but his thoughts were back in the quiet lane outside St. Gaved, and the warm hand of Madeline Grover still trembled in his.
He had tried to forget her, tried to keep out of her way; but what was the use? She had come into his life for good or ill, and she had come to stay. Until he ceased to draw breath she would dominate his heart, and it was only waste of strength and energy to fight against his fate.
He hardly knew whether he was sorry or glad. If he had to leave the world, loving her would make it all the harder, he knew. If his enterprise succeeded and his life stretched out to its natural span, the burden of an unrequited love would always press heavy upon him. And yet to love at all was worth living for. The thrill of her touch, the glance of her sweet, honest eyes, made heaven for the moment. Let the future go. Sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. Twelve months hence he might be sleeping in the dust, and she might be the wife of Gervase Tregony. It was foolish, therefore, to antic.i.p.ate the future. To-day alone was his, and he would make the most of it, and let his heart go out in free, unfettered affection, giving all and asking for nothing in return. It was in the inspiration and exaltation of this feeling that he swung along the quiet country lanes. No one could hinder him from loving, and love was its own reward. The joy was not so much in receiving as in giving. When love became selfish it ceased to be love.
Madeline might never be his in the conventional sense. She might never know how much she had been to him, might never guess how much he loved her. That might not be all loss; it might, indeed, be gain. He felt already that he was a better man for this great pa.s.sion that had come into his life--less selfish, less self-centred, less bitter and infinitely more pitiful.