Part 39 (2/2)
”It's not far. Let's walk to keep warm. You are cold, aren't you?”
”Frozen, that's all. Well, come along, I'll go part way with you.”
They set out upon the little path. There were no trees to shelter them now from the moon, and its light seemed to beat upon the hillside like waves. The moon that draws the sea along in tides could not but have its influence on these two atoms, and on the blood that sped through their tiny veins. The moon filled them with the love of love.
Constantly pausing to turn back, but finding it easier to drift on down than begin the upward climb, Persis went on and on, arm in arm with Forbes. By and by they reached the boundary wall. He helped her to set one knee upon it and mount awkwardly. He clambered up and sat down at her side. Their backs were toward the Enslee demesne, their feet in the unknown.
And there, without delay, Forbes told her that she must be his wife, told her that he loved her as woman had never been loved before.
His hands fought to caress her, his lips tingled to be again at her cheek, but he kept his promise.
Yet the influence of the promise was potent on her, too. She knew that he was in an anguish of temptation, and she glowed with his struggle.
The moon and the width of the world, the silent night-cry of the world in the lonely dark, and the yearning light filled her with a need of love. She regretted the promise, she wished that he would break it, and her absolution waited ready for his deed.
But his sense of honor prevailed upon his hands, though he could not keep silent about his heartache.
”Couldn't you possibly love me, Miss Cabot? Couldn't you possibly?” he pleaded; and she whispered, with a sad sweetness:
”I could--all too easily, Mr. Forbes, but I am afraid to love. I thought I never should love anybody really. And now that I know I might, it is so terrible an awakening that I--I'm afraid of it.”
”Don't be afraid,” he implored. ”Love me. Let yourself love me.”
”I'm afraid, Mr. Forbes.”
”Then if you're afraid to love, it's because you don't, because you--can't.”
This hurt her pride. Her heart was so swollen with this new power that it would not be denied either by herself or him.
”Yes, I could! Oh, I could! But I mustn't--I mustn't let myself love you--not now--not so soon.”
”Then I must wait,” he sighed, and said no more. And she sat in a silence, though there was a great noise of heartbeats in her breast and in her temples and ears.
She began to s.h.i.+ver with the night and with her excitement. She wanted to say that they must start back; but her tongue stumbled thickly against her chattering teeth. The world was bitter cold--so far from him. In his arms would be warmth and comfort as at a fireplace. She was lonely, unendurably lonely and wistful.
And he sat at her side in an equal ague of distance and need.
Finally he took his eyes from the moon and bent his gaze on her. He saw how her shoulders quaked.
”You're cold, you poor, sweet child--you're cold. I'm dying to take you in my arms, but I promised--I promised.”
She was afraid to surrender, and afraid to defy the will of the night.
The chill shook her with violence again and again till she felt the world rocking, the stone wall wavering. Then she leaned toward him and whispered:
”Kiss me!”
He could hardly believe that he heard, but he caught her to him and sought her lips with his. Immediately she was afraid again. Again she hid the preciousness of her mouth from him, writhed and struggled and twisted her face, hid it in his breast. But now he fought her with gentle ruthlessness, took her cold cheeks in his cold hands, and, holding her face up to the moonlight, kissed her eyes, and her dew-besprent hair and her cheeks, and pressed the first great kiss on her lips. They fled from him no more.
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