Part 6 (2/2)
”Why not?” was the reply. ”If his work takes him there, and he feels a call, he must go--and of course I.”
”I know,” interrupted Jackson, ”of course you will go also to aid and help him.” Their eyes met, and his fell before the limpid light in hers.
”Of course,” she said slowly, ”there is no other thing for me to do, unless I were to stay here and look after what is left. There is much to do, you know. And now take me to the garden. I want to see what those two are looking at.”
It was a wilderness of a garden for all Smalley's care, and one might easily have been lost in it. Side by side they walked down a pathway, and in the far distance they caught a glimpse of Phipson and his host poring over a row of flower pots. Jackson was about to keep straight on, when Mrs. Smalley deliberately turned into a bypath, and he followed her, admiring the perfect outline of her figure and the easy grace of her walk. ”Isn't this an odd place?” she said, as on taking a turn they came upon what was evidently the ruin of an old temple. All that remained, however, was the plinth and a single griffin of monstrous size, that stood up above the shrubbery around it and glared down upon the intruders. ”Fancy if such things really lived,” and she dug the silver-mounted cane she carried into the plaster.
”They did, I think, in the old days,” replied Jackson. ”It must have been just such a monster who guarded Castle Dolorous and carried away the White Lady to keep her a close prisoner.”
”And of course a youthful knight came and blew on a silver bugle, and then there was a fight.”
”Yes, and the knight won, and the fair lady gave him a gage to wear, and perhaps----”
”Oh, never mind the perhaps--she gave him her gage, did she? What did she give?” and as Ruys said this she loosened with her hand a bunch of mignonette that was pinned to her dress.
”Oh, a ribbon or a kerchief, or maybe a flower, and the knight wore it as a charm against all evil, and a light to guide him on his quest.”
”Yes,” she said dreamily, ”the good old days--I would we were now in them. I can not picture a knight in a tweed suit--can you? How would a gage look on that?” and with a sudden movement of her hand she placed the flowers against Peregrine's breast and held them there.
”Will you let it rest there?” His voice sounded strange and hollow to himself. Ruys bent forward and fastened the flowers in his coat slowly and deliberately, standing close to him as she did this, and a mad longing came over the man to clasp her to him, to ask her to put her white arms round his neck and say she loved him, to tell her she was loved with a love that could only end with his death. But he held out somehow, G.o.d alone knows how, and when Ruys had pinned the flowers over his heart she said softly:
”There, that is my gage; remember, it is to be an amulet to guide you to the right.”
The sweet scent of the mignonette floated around him, there was a dreaming look in Ruys's face as she met his look, and now her eyes fell before him, and she half turned her face away to hide the pink flush that came into her cheek. There was a moment of breathless anxiety to the man when he felt that he must yield, but he righted himself with a mighty effort as he said:
”I will keep the gage forever, Mrs. Smalley, although I am afraid I am but an unworthy knight.”
Neither spoke a word after that, but, as it were, instinctively turned to leave a place which was so dangerous to both. They walked back together until they once more reached the broad road, and then Ruys turned abruptly.
”I have got a headache, Mr. Jackson, and I think I will go in. Don't tell my husband; it is a mere trifle. See, there are Mr. Phipson and he talking; go and join them. I--I--want to be alone.”
She turned and walked slowly down toward the house, and Jackson stood still, staring after her with an uncomfortable feeling that her last words suggested an understanding between them that did not exactly exist. He bent his head down till his lips touched the flowers she gave him, and then he went forward to meet his host and Phipson. In the meantime Ruys reached her room, and, having carefully shut the door, deliberately proceeded to have a good cry. It was a sheer case of nerves with her, and the nerves had given way. She had played with edged tools and now found that they could cut, and began to realize that she was almost if not quite in love with this impa.s.sive youth.
The woman was a curious mixture of good and bad. She laid herself out to do a wrong thing, and took a keen pleasure in so doing, then would come the reaction and bitter regret. She went down on her knees in an impulsive manner and prayed to G.o.d to forgive her sin, and she vowed then and there to dedicate her life to his service. Then she got up, washed off the traces of her tears, and came down to her husband. The mail had come in, and Habakkuk was seated reading his paper. ”Have they gone?” she asked.
”Yes,” replied Habakkuk, ”left about twenty minutes ago.”
She sat down on a rug near her husband's feet and rested her head on his knee. Habakkuk put down the paper he was reading and stroked the soft curls on her head with a gentle hand. She looked up after a while.
”Did you mean what you said about going to Dagon?”
”Why?”
”Because, if you did, I want you to go at once, and take me with you.”
”Why, little woman, what is the matter?”
She got up impatiently. ”Oh, you men--you men! Will you never understand?”
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