Part 48 (1/2)
She started up in bed, for the mysterious allurement of George's image was strong enough to make her understand what it might be for Miriam, and she held herself to the bed lest she should be tempted to play the spy; yet, had she brought herself to open her sister's door, she would have been shamed and gladdened by the sight of that pretty sleeper lying athwart her bed in profound unconsciousness.
Miriam, whose heart was still untouched by G.o.d or man, could lie and sleep soundly, though she knew George waited for her on the moor. The restlessness that had first driven her there had sent her home again, that, by a timely abstention, she might recover the full taste of adventure, and that, by the same means, George might learn her worth.
She was a little puzzled by his behaviour, and she began to find monotony in its decorum. According to his promise, he had taught her to ride, and while all her faculties were bent on that business, she hardly noticed him, but with confidence in her own seat and Charlie's steadiness, there came freedom to look at George, and with it the desire to rule the expression of his face and the modulations of his voice.
He would not be beguiled. ”I'm teaching you to ride,” he said, and though she mocked him he was not stirred to quarrel. She was temporarily incapable of realizing that while she learnt to ride, he learnt to honour her, and found safety for himself and her in silence; nor, had she realized it, would she have welcomed it. What she wanted was the pleasure of being hunted and seeing the hunter discomfited, and though she could not get that from him, she had a new joy when Charlie carried her strongly and safely across the moor; again she knew the feeling of pa.s.sing through a void, of sailing on a thunder-cloud without hope of rescue and careless of it, and she paid a heavy price when she decided that it would do George good to wait in vain for her. She would not have him disrespectful, but she desired him ardent; she wished to see that stubbornly set mouth open to utter longings, and, when she went to bed after a dull day, she laughed to think of how he waited and stared into the gloom.
A fortnight pa.s.sed before she stole out on a misty night and at the appointed place found him like a grey carved figure on a grey carved horse. Only his lips moved when she peered at him through the mist. He said, ”This is the fifteenth night. If you'd waited till tomorrow, you wouldn't have found me here.”
”George,” she said, with her face close to his knee, ”how unkind you are to me. And, oh, George, do you really think I should have cared?”
In the mist, she, too, had the look of one not made of flesh and blood, but she had no likeness to some figure carved: she was the spirit of the mist with its drops on her hair, a thing intangible, yet dowered with power to make herself a torment. So she looked, but Halkett had felt the touch of her, and taking her by the wrist, he dragged her upwards while he bent down to her.
”You--you--!” he panted.
”You're hurting, George!”
”What do I care? I haven't seen you for two weeks. I've been--been starving for you.”
She spoke coolly, with a ringing quality in her tones. ”You would see me better if you didn't come so near.”
Immediately he loosened her without looking at her, and she stood chafing her hands, hating his indifference, though she knew it was a.s.sumed, uncertain how to regain her supremacy. Then she let instinct guide her, and she looked a little piteous.
”Don't be rough with me. I didn't mean--I don't like you to be rough with me.”
He was off his horse and standing by her at those words, and, still watchful for rebuffs, he took her hand and stroked it gently.
”Did I hurt you, then?” he said.
”Yes. Why are you like that?” She lifted her head and gave him the oval face, the dark, reproachful eyes like night.
”Because I'm mad for you--mad for you. Little one--you make me mad. And you'll never marry me. I know that. And I'm a fool to let you play the devil with me. I know that, too. A mad fool. But you--you're in my blood.”
Softly she said, ”You never told me that before. You needn't scold me so. How should I know you wanted that?”
”You knew I loved you.”
”No. I knew you liked me and I hoped--”
He bent his head to listen.
”I hoped you loved me.”
His words came thickly, a muddy torrent. ”Then marry me, marry me, Miriam. Marry me. I want--I can't--You must say you'll marry me.”
Keeping her eyes on him, she moved slowly away, and from behind Charlie's back she laughed with a genuine merriment that wounded inexpressibly.
”You're funny, George,” she said. ”Very funny. At present I have no intention of doing anything but riding Charlie.”
Through a mist doubled and coloured by his red rage, he watched her climb into the saddle and, before she was fairly settled in it, he gave the horse a blow that sent him galloping indignantly out of sight.