Part 35 (2/2)
Overhead the moon was looking down, full orbed, and tattered clouds were racing along the path of the skies. The jagged piles of masonry were the giant walls of Philae, and the roar of the wind was the rush of waters over the great dam. It was not unpleasant to lie there and dream, and listen to the spirit voices which came indistinctly from the pillared courts.
Then the figure of a man bent over me and an arm was placed beneath my neck, and a familiar voice whispered in tones that sounded anguished, and oh! so distant:
”Grace, my darling! Speak to me!”
I tried to speak, but could only smile and lean upon his arm in deep content, and the figure bent over me and placed his cheek against my lips, and laid a hand upon my heart, and seemed to cry for help; but the cry was faint and indistinct, like that of a distant echo.
Then another form appeared--taller and more stalwart--and I felt myself raised from the ground and carried to the top of the masonry, where formless hands grasped me, and I sank--sank--with a feeling that I was descending into the bowels of the earth--into oblivion again.
When I next awoke my mind was clearer, but I was still dazed. I half opened my eyes and found myself in my own bed, with the housekeeper seated at my side, and Dr. Trempest and the squire talking together in quiet tones by the fire.
”How in thunder did they get her down?” the doctor was asking.
”Derwent heard the story as he got to the Hall and he fetched a short ladder and climbed up as far as he could, and did some wonderful gymnastics,” replied the squire; ”but Goodenough's sons came hurrying up with longer ladders, and they lashed three together side by side, and managed in that way. Derwent couldn't lift her, but Ben Goodenough has the strength of an ox. But it was a tough job in a high wind on a rickety floor.”
”Well, it's a miracle, that's all I can say. I must go see Martha Treffit's child now, but I'll look in to-morrow, early on.”
”You are sure there is no cause for anxiety?” inquired the squire anxiously; ”she will come round all right?”
”As right as a bobbin,” replied the doctor cheerfully. ”There's only the least bit of concussion. She was more frightened than hurt. I'll send her up a bottle when I get back.”
”You needn't trouble,” I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; ”it won't be mixed with faith this time.”
”She'll do!” chuckled the doctor, and he turned to me: ”Go to sleep now and behave yourself.”
CHAPTER x.x.x
CALM AFTER STORM
Of course the Cynic had to explain, because he did not realise at first how shadowy the whole occurrence had been to me. You see, I really was not fully conscious at the time, and might easily have concluded that I had dreamt it.
However, he is _my_ Cynic now, really, so I can talk quite freely to him; and I tell him that after he called me ”darling” and whilst he was trying to make sure that I still breathed, he kissed me; but he says that convinces him that I really was dreaming. But we have agreed not to quarrel about it, as one more or less doesn't much matter.
His professional duties must be pretty elastic, for it is now Wednesday and he has not gone back; though, to be sure, he has done a fair amount of pleading in a local court and has won the first part of his case and seems likely to be successful in the next. A remarkable thing about these bachelors who have waited so long is that they cannot afford to wait the least bit longer. They are no sooner engaged than they must be married. But in this instance things are going to be done decently and in order. The squire says we do not know each other well enough yet, and suggests two years as the term of our engagement, but I think we shall compromise on four months.
”What about my studio, Philip?” I asked this morning. ”I have not seen it for days, and it is as dear to me as a lover.”
”Is it?” he said; ”can you bear to walk as far?”
”Why, of course,” I replied; ”I'm all right now.”
”You'll have to take my arm,” he remarked; ”you are only shaky yet.”
It was merely an excuse, but I did it to please him. Of course all the village knows what has happened, and a dozen friendly folk nodded, or smiled or shouted their congratulations according to the measure of their intimacy or reserve.
When we came in sight of my cottage the studio was nowhere to be seen, and, greatly surprised, I turned to the Cynic for an explanation, but he merely pressed my arm and said:
<script>