Part 39 (1/2)

”Do you mind going into the little room for a moment,” she said.

The little room was on the same floor, it was the room where I had seen Althorp on that dreadful day when I had bound myself in a bondage in many ways worse than death.

”Why?” I asked, looking at her with frightened eyes. She took my hand and patted it softly.

”You are a very good girl and a very brave one,” she said, ”and there's nothing Albert and I wouldn't do for you. Albert wants to have a chat with you, he's waiting in the other room; you go along, dear.

Oh, after the first blush you won't mind a bit; go, dear, go.”

I looked at mother, who was talking with Mrs. Furlong. The whole room was peaceful and quiet, a good many of the boarders were out, for it was now the height of the season and almost midsummer. The windows were wide open. I caught mother's eye for an instant; mother smiled at me. Of late she used to wear a very far away look. There was often an expression in her eyes which seemed to say that she and father were holding converse. I caught that glance now, and it steadied my own nerves, and stilled the rebellion at my heart. I got up steadily. Had my stepping down--oh, had my stepping down led to this? It was a bitter thought, and yet when I looked at mother, and felt that I had saved her from intolerable anguish and perhaps sudden death, I felt that it was worth while. I went into the next room.

Albert Fanning, before our engagement--(oh yes, of course, we were engaged, I must use the hated word)--Albert before our engagement had thought little or nothing of his dress, but now he was extremely particular. An evening suit had been made to fit his tall ungainly person by one of the best tailors in the West End. He was wearing it now, and his light flaxen hair was standing up straighter than ever, and he had a kind of nervous smile round his lips. When he saw me enter he came forward and held out his hand.

”Well,” he said, ”and how is Westenra? Sit down, won't you?”

I did sit down; I sat where some of the summer breeze coming in from across the Square garden could fan my hot cheeks. I sat down trembling. He stood perfectly still an inch or two away from me. He did not attempt to take my hand again. After a pause, being surprised at his stillness, I looked up at him; I saw his blue eyes fixed on my face, with a very hungry expression. I sighed heavily.

”Oh,” I said, ”you have been so very good, and I have never even thanked you.”

”You never have after, just the first day,” he said; ”but I did not expect thanks. Thanks were not in the bond, _you_ were in the bond, you know. That is all I want.”

He sat down then near me, and we both must have felt the same summer breeze blowing on our faces.

”I am picturing the time when the year is out,” he said slowly, ”when you and I are away together in the country. I never cared much for the country, nor for nature, nor for anything of that sort, but I think I should like those things if you were with me. You embody a great deal to me, you make poetry for me. I never knew what poetry was before. I never cared for anything but nonsense rhymes and matters of that sort, until I met you, but you make poetry and beauty for me and all the best things of life. There is nothing I won't promise to do for you when you come to me, and in the meantime----”

”Yes,” I said, ”in the meantime.”

”If you are certain sure, Westenra, that you are going to keep your bond, why, I--I won't worry you more than I can help just at present.”

”Certain sure that I am going to keep my bond? Yes, I am sure,” I said. ”Would I take your money and, and deceive you? Would I have asked you to save us and deceive you? No, no; you think I am good. I am not specially good, but I am not so low as that.”

”Dear child,” he said, and now he took my hand and stroked it softly.

He did not squeeze it, or draw it near to him, but he laid it on one of his own huge palms and kept on stroking it.

”The very prettiest little paw I ever saw in my life,” he said then; ”it's wonderful how slim it is, and how long, and how white, and what little taper fingers; it's wonderful. I never saw anything like it.

You are a poem to me, that's just what you are, Westenra, you are a poem to me, and you will make a new man of me, and you will keep the bond, won't you, dear?”

”I will,” I said.

”I have put down the date,” he said; ”I put it down in my note-book; I am going to keep it _always_ by me; it is writ in my heart too. I declare I am getting poetical myself when I look at you. It's writ in my heart in gold letters. It was the 18th of May when you promised yourself to me, dear. May is not a lucky month to marry in, so we will marry on the first of June of next year. You'll promise me that, won't you?”

”Yes,” I said.

”And in the meantime very likely you would rather not have it known.”

”It has been most kind and generous of you and Mrs. Fanning not to speak of it,” I answered.

”Just as you like about that; but I can see that, with the care of your mother and one thing or another you find me rather in the way, so I thought I would tell you that I am going off, I am going to Germany to begin with for a fortnight, and then I shall take lodgings in town.