Part 20 (2/2)
”And I never knew that your hair had this mystic fragrance!... What is it? It is not only sweet, it has some other essence, some fragrance that has a touch of earth in it, and pet, by G.o.d! it breathes of Heaven, too!... I think it is a flower that grows upon the eternal hills ...
those strange red flowers.... Ah! poppies smell so, I think!... yes, poppies! poppies!... Dearest, if I were stricken blind and deaf in this hour, from ten thousand women I could search you out by this sweet scent of your hair.”
He kissed the soft sprays that fell over her eyes. ”Speak to me!” he cried down on to her lips. ”Speak to me in the voice I love!... _O! Ci risuoniamo in cristallo_ ... _wine in a crystal beaker_.... I never knew until to-night there was so beautiful a voice in the world!... Speak to me----”
”If I could tear the heart out of my breast,” she said, ”I would put it into these two hands. I love you! I give you my life.”
”G.o.d forgive me, I will take it!... I will rob you of all your gifts!”
”I give them to you ... I was born for this hour!” she whispered.
A wave of the great sea that can submerge all the world rushed over them, beat them, drenched them, kissed them, crushed them to its breast; lapped them round, blinded them--flung them quivering and broken on the sands; left them.
He said: ”I cannot see your face, darling ... I will never forget this night. There has never been a night like it in all my life, and never will be again.”
”I love you! I love you!” her voice cried faintly.
”I have loved you for so long,” he said gently. ”But always you have turned your face from me ... though I knew you were mine. I saw it in your eyes ... but always you denied me even the touch of your hand ...
and I never knew that your hair smelled so sweet until to-night....
_Loraine_, dearest of all women, kiss me again....”
A terrible chill crept through the veins of Poppy Destin. Now she lay like one dead against the wild, loud-beating heart under the grey coat.
Her own had ceased to beat; what words were these?
He held her closer. The seeing fingers touched the fabric of her gown, and the slim, boyish body beneath.
”Why, you're only a girl!” he muttered wonderingly. ”You have slipped back to girlhood for love of me. G.o.d forgive me my sins! I am not worthy to touch your little bare feet, Loraine.”
At that she wrenched herself from his arms, sprang to her feet, and ran from him, blindly; she knew not, cared not, where. At one time she stumbled into a Christ-thorn bush and tore her hands and gown, but she felt no pain nor the warm blood running down. She only stopped at last because she found herself in the street with a rickshaw boy demanding where she wished to go. That recalled her to her senses and she stepped back hastily out of the light of his lamps, and stood in the shadow of the gate.
”There is a _M'rungo_ in here who is ill. Come and help him to your rickshaw,” she said, suddenly inspired.
”Where does he want to go?” demanded the boy. ”I go no more on the Berea to-night--only townwards.”
”Yes, that will do.” She collected her thoughts hastily. He would probably not be able to give the boy his address, the safest thing would be to send him to the Club, where he had dined and was probably well known. She added, therefore: ”He wishes to go to the Club.”
”Ker-lub!” repeated the boy and nodded sagaciously; _Ker-lub M'rungos_ always paid well!
Well satisfied, he followed the girl through the gates and over the soft, dark lawns to the tree where the _M'rungo_ was sitting. She spoke in a clear, cold voice:
”Here is a boy with a rickshaw; you had better let him help you home.
You are certainly ill.”
He rose easily, and stood up like a well man, but his voice was hoa.r.s.e and vague.
”Ah, thanks, Mrs. Cap.r.o.n--you are always kind. I shall be all right in the morning. Good-night!” He went away muttering, followed by the rickshaw boy. Poppy stood like a stone woman.
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