Part 9 (1/2)

”I do, Sir Charles,” said Tompson, stolidly.

And he did, as events proved.

The rooms on the Burgenstock looked so simple, so unlike the sitting-room at Lucerne! Just fresh and clean and primitive. Paul wandered through them, and in the one allotted to himself he came upon Anna--Madame's maid, whom Dmitry had pointed out to him--putting sheets as fine as gossamer on his bed; with the softest down pillows. How dear of his lady to think thus of him!--her secretary.

The tiger--his tiger--had arrived in the sitting-room, and some simple cus.h.i.+ons of silk; sweet-peas and spring flowers decorated the vases--there were no tuberoses, or anything hot-house, or forced.

The sun blazed in at the windows, the green trees all washed and fresh from the rain gladdened his eye, and down below, a sapphire lake reflected the snow-capped mountains. What a setting for a love-dream. No wonder Paul trod on air!

The only possible crumpled rose-leaves were some sentences in the lady's reply to his impa.s.sioned letter of the morning:

”Yes, I will come, Paul--but only on one condition, that you never ask me questions as to who I am, or where I am going. You must promise me to take life as a summer holiday--an episode--and if fate gives us this great joy, you must not try to fetter me, now or at any future time, or control my movements. You must give me your word of honour for this--you will never seek to discover who or what was your loved one--you must never try to follow me. Yes, I will come for now--when I have your a.s.surance--but I will go when I will go--in silence.”

And Paul had given his word. He felt he could not look ahead. He must just live in this gorgeous joy, and trust to chance. So he awaited her, thrilling in all his being.

About tea time she drove up in a carriage--she and Dmitry having come the long way round.

And was it not right that her secretary should meet and a.s.sist her out, and conduct her to her apartments?

How beautiful she looked, all in palest grey, and somehow the things had a younger shape. Her skirt was short, and he could see her small and slender feet, while a straw hat and veil adorned her black hair. Everything was simple, and as it should be for a mountain top and unsophisticated surroundings.

Tea was laid out on the balcony, fragrant Russian tea, and when Dmitry had lit the silver kettle lamp he retired and left them alone in peace.

”Darling!” said Paul, as he folded her in his arms--”darling!--darling!”

And when she could speak the lady cooed back to him:

”So sweet a word is that, my Paul. Sweeter in English than in any other language. And you are glad I have come, and we shall live a little and be quite happy here in our pretty nest, all fresh and not a bit too grand--is it not so? Oh! what joys there are in life; and oh! how foolish just to miss them.”

”Indeed, _yes_,” said Paul.

Then they played with the tea, and she showed him how he was to drink it with lemon. She was sweet as a girl, and said no vague, startling things; it was as if she were a young bride, and Paul were complete master and lord! Wild happiness rushed through him. How had he ever endured the time before he had met her?

When they had finished they went out. She must walk, she said, and Paul, being English, must want exercise! Oh! she knew the English and their exercise! And of course she must think of everything that would be for the pleasure of her lover Paul.

And he? You old worn people of the world, who perhaps are reading, think what all this was to Paul--his young strong life vibrating to pa.s.sionate joys, his imagination kindled, his very being uplifted and thrilled with happiness! His charming soul expanded, he found himself saying gracious tender phrases to her. Every moment he was growing more pa.s.sionately in love, and in each new mood she seemed the more divine. Not one trace of her waywardness of the day before remained. Her eyes, as they glanced at him from under her hat, were bashful and sweet, no look of the devil to provoke a saint. She talked gently.

He must take her to the place where she had peeped at him through the trees. And--

”Oh! Paul!” she said. ”If you had known that day, how you tempted me, looking up at me, your whole soul in your eyes! I had to run, run, run!”

”And now I have caught you, darling mine,” said Paul. ”But you were wrong.

I had no soul--it is you who are giving me one now.”

They sat on the bench where he had sat. She was getting joy out of the colour of the moss, the tints of the beeches, every little shade and shape of nature, and letting Paul see with her eyes.

And all the while she was nestling near him like a tender ring-dove to her mate. Paul's heart swelled with exultation. He felt good, as if he could be kind to every one, as if his temper were a thing to be ashamed of, and all his faults, as if for ever he must be her own true knight and defender, and show her he was worthy of this great gift and joy. And ah!

how could he put into words his tender wors.h.i.+pping love?