Part 19 (1/2)
Life was a Song, the world a Paradise, the future a long-drawn Glory.
He would like to go and hold the Sword in his hand for a minute, and--something seemed to stir beneath his foot, and a shudder ran through his powerful frame.
The brightness of the morning was dimmed, and then Lucille came towards him blus.h.i.+ng, radiant, changed, and all was well with the world, and G.o.d in high heaven.
After breakfast they again walked in the garden, the truly enchanted garden, and talked soberly with but few endearments though with over-full hearts, and with constant pauses to eye the face of the other with wondering rapture. They came of a cla.s.s and a race not given to excessive demonstrativeness, but each knew that the other loved--for life.
In the afternoon, guests began to arrive soon after lunch, duties usurped the place of pleasures, and the lovers met as mere friends in the crowd. There was meaning in the pa.s.sing glances, however, and an occasional hand-touch in the giving of tennis-ball, or tea-cup.
”Half the County” was present, and while the younger fry played tennis, croquet, clock-golf, and bowls, indulged in ”mixed cricket,”
or attempted victory at archery or miniature-rifle shooting, the sedate elders strolled o'er velvet lawns beneath immemorial elms, sat in groups, or took tea by carpet-spread marquees.
Miss Amelia Harringport, seeing Dam with a croquet-mallet in his hand, observed that she _adored_ croquet. Dam stated in reply that Haddon Berners was a fearful dog at it, considered there should be a croquet Blue in fact, and would doubtless be charmed to make up a set with her and the curate, the Reverend William Williamson Williams (Holy Bill), and Another. Dam himself was cut off from the bliss of being the Other--did not know the game at all.
Miss Amelia quickly tired of her croquet with the Haddock, Holy Bill and the Vicar's Wife's Sister, who looked straitly after Holy Bill on this and all other occasions. Seeing Dam shepherding a flock of elders to the beautifully-mown putting-tracks radiating from the central circle of ”holes” for the putting compet.i.tion, she informed him that she _adored_ putting, so much so that she wanted lessons from him, the local amateur golf-champion.
”I just want a little _personal tuition_ from the Champion and I shall be quite a cla.s.sy putter,” she gurgled.
”I will personally tuit,” replied Dam, ”and when you are tuited we will proceed to win the prize.”
Carefully posing the maiden aspirant for putting excellence at the end of the yard-wide velvety strip leading to the green and ”hole,” Dam gave his best advice, bade her smite with restraint, and then proceeded to the ”hole” to retrieve the ball for his own turn. Other couples did ”preliminary canters” somewhat similarly on the remaining spokes of the great wheel of the putting ”clock”.
The canny and practised Amelia, who had designs upon the handsome silver prize as well as upon the handsome Damocles, smote straight and true with admirable judgment, and the ball sped steadily down the track direct for the ”hole,” a somewhat large and deep one.
”By Jove! Magnificent!” cried Dam, with quick and generous appreciation of the really splendid putt. ”You'll hole out in one this time, anyhow.” As the slowing ball approached the ”hole” he inserted his hand therein, laughing gaily, to antic.i.p.ate the ball which with its last grain of momentum would surely reach it and topple in.
Then the thing happened!
As he put his hand to the gra.s.s-encircled goal of the maiden's hopes and ball, its gloomy depths appeared to move, swirl round, rise up, as a small green snake uncoiled in haste and darted beneath Dam's approaching upturned hand, and swiftly undulated across the lawn.
With a shriek that momentarily paralysed the gay throng, turned all eyes in his direction, and brought the more cool and helpful running to the spot, Dam fell writhing, struggling, and screaming to the ground.
”The SNAKE! The SNAKE!” he howled, while tears gushed from his eyes and he strove to dig his way into the ground for safety.
”There it goes!” squealed the fair Amelia pointing tragically. Ladies duly squeaked, bunched their skirts tightly, jumped on chairs or sought protection by the side of stalwart admirers.
Men cried ”Where?” and gathered for battle. One sporting character emitted an appalling ”View Halloo” and there were a few ”Yoicks” and ”Gone Aways” to support his little solecism. Lucille, rus.h.i.+ng to Dam, encountered the fleeing reptile and with a neat stroke of her putter ended its career.
”It's all right, old chap,” sneered Haddon Berners, as the mad, convulsed, and foaming Dam screamed: ”_It's under my foot. It's moving, moving, moving out_,” and doubled up into a knot.
”Oh no, it isn't,” he continued. ”Lucille has killed it. Nothing to be terrified about.... Oh, chuck it, man! Get up and blow your nose....”
He was sent sprawling on his back as Lucille dropped by Dam's side and strove to raise his face from the gra.s.s.
”Come off it, Dam! You're very funny, we know,” adjured the sporting character, rather ashamed and discomfortable at seeing a brother man behaving so. There are limits to acting the goat--especially with wimmin about. Why couldn't Dam drop it?...
Lucille was shocked and horrified to the innermost fibres of her being. Her dignified, splendid Dam rolling on the ground, shrieking, sobbing, writhing.... Ill or well, joke or seizure, it was horrible, unseemly.... Why couldn't the gaping fools be obliterated?...
”Dam, dear,” she whispered in his ear, as she knelt over the shuddering, gasping, sobbing man. ”What is it, Dam? Are you ill? Dam, it's Lucille.... The snake is quite dead, dear. I killed it. Are you joking? Dam! _Dam_!” ...
The stricken wretch screamed like a terrified child.