Part 2 (2/2)
”A thing in gra.s.s,” he repeated, wondering. ”What sort of thing?”
But Claire avoided the question. She had taken up the fan again, and was opening and shutting it with a quiet and careful sort of precision, as she went on in a low and even voice:--
”I disliked this rustling, and held the cloak tightly together with my hands. I felt as if the man outside the tent had been waiting to hear that very little noise.”
”The rustling?”
”Yes. And that when he heard it he smiled to himself. I didn't intend he should hear it again though, and as I glided towards the tent door, I held the cloak very tight and away from my body. And I don't think I can have made any noise. You know how softly I can move when I choose?”
”Yes.”
”When I got to the door, I waited. I couldn't hear the man; but I felt that he was still there, just on the other side of the flap.”
Renfrew leaned forward on the rug. He felt deeply interested, perhaps only because Claire was the narrator. She held him much as she could hold an audience in a theatre, by her pose, her hands, her pale, almost weary face, her heavy sombre eyes, even more than by any words she chanced to be uttering. She could make anything seem vitally important if she chose, simply by her manner. Renfrew's pipe had gone out; but he did not know it, and still kept it between his lips.
”I waited for some time by the flap,” Claire continued calmly. ”I was going to lift it presently, I knew; but I could not do it at once. The man and I were standing, I suppose, for full five minutes only divided by that strip of canvas. I tried not to breathe audibly, and I could not hear him breathe. At last I resolved to see him, and considered how I should do so. If I remained standing and looked out, I should have to push the flap quite away and my eyes would be nearly on a level with his. He would certainly see me. I didn't wish that. I didn't intend at all that he should see me. Therefore I resolved to lie down.”
”On the ground?”
”Yes, quite flat, and to raise the bottom of the flap gently an inch or two. This would enable me to see him without being seen, if I did it without noise. I dropped down quite softly. Do you remember my death in 'Camille'?”
Renfrew nodded.
”Almost like that. But the rose-coloured stuff rustled again. I wished I hadn't put it on. I raised the flap very slightly and peeped out. Do you know what I felt like just then, Desmond?”
”What?”
”Just like a snake in ambush. When my cloak rustled, it was the gra.s.s against my body. I lay in cover, and could see my enemy like a creature in a forest, or a reptile in scrub.”
She glanced round at the bushes and the densely growing palms.
”Yes, I lay there like a snake in the gra.s.s.”
She stretched herself out on the rug as she spoke, with her head towards Renfrew and her eyes fastened on his.
”I saw first the feet of the man close to my eyes. His feet were almost black and bare. His legs were bare. My glance travelled up him, and I saw that his chest and his arms were bare too. He was clothed in a sort of loose rough garment, the colour of sacking, that fell into a kind of hood behind; and he looked enormously powerful. That struck me very much--his power.”
”Did you see his face?”
”Quite well. It was the face of a man watching and listening with the closest attention. He was smiling slightly, too, as if something that had just happened had satisfied him. I knew he had heard the rustle of my robe as I slipped to the ground.”
”But why should that please him?”
”It told him that I was there, that I was attentive too.”
Renfrew's face slightly darkened.
”As I looked, I saw what he was holding in his hands.”
<script>