Part 5 (1/2)

He made no reply, and spoke not another word until they reached the lookout place. In silence he a.s.sisted her to alight, and taking the carriage robe, he spread it upon a rock where they had often sat viewing the landscape below. Then he said, in a low voice:

”Please sit down, Liddy. I've fixed a nice seat for you, and now I can talk to you.”

Then their eyes met for the second time since starting. Her face and lips were pale, and her eyes full of fear. She clasped her hands before her face as if to ward off the coming blow.

”Tell me now,” she said hurriedly, ”tell me the worst, only tell me quickly! I've suffered long enough!”

He looked at her a moment pityingly, dreading to deal the blow, and trying to frame it into suitable words--and then it came.

”Liddy,” he said in a husky whisper, ”I love you, and I've enlisted!”

A brief sentence, but what a message!

A woman's heaven and a woman's h.e.l.l in six words!

For one instant she looked at him, until its full force came to her and then she burst into tears, and the next moment she was in a heap on the robe-covered rock and sobbing like a child. Instantly he was beside her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her hair, her tear-wet face and lips. Not a word was spoken; not one was needed! He knew now that her heart was his, and for weal or woe; for joy or sorrow, their lives must be as one.

”Don't cry any more, my darling,” he whispered at last. ”I shall come back all safe, and then you will be my wife, won't you, Liddy?”

She made no answer, but a small, soft hand crept into one of his, and he knew his prize was won.

When they were ready to leave the hallowed spot she gathered a bunch of the spring violets growing there, and kissing them, handed the cl.u.s.ter to him in silence.

Late that evening when they parted she put one arm caressingly about his neck and whispered: ”Give me all the hours you can, Charlie, before you must go; they may be all we shall ever have together.”

CHAPTER XII.

A DAY IN THE WOODS.

When schoolmates who have studied and played together until almost maturity reach the parting of their ways a feeling of sadness comes to them; but when out of such a band there are eighteen of the best young men about to take part in the horror of war, the occasion becomes doubly so. The last few weeks pa.s.sed together by the graduating pupils of Southton Academy came back to them in after years much like the memory of a funeral. There were no frolics at noontime or after school; no mirth and scant laughter.

A few of the girls were known to be carrying aching hearts, and it was whispered that two or three were engaged to be married to young soldier-boys now in the academy. Liddy wore a new and heavy plain gold ring, and when questioned as to its significance quietly answered, as was her wont: ”I have no confessions to make,” but those who were nearest to her and knew her best detected a proud look in her eyes and drew their own conclusions. It was noticed also that she and Manson were seldom apart during the noon hour, and invariably walked away from the academy together. As there were other couples who thus paired off it caused no comment.

When the last day came the academy was packed with the parents and friends of pupils, and on Liddy's desk was a bunch of June roses. She knew whose hand had placed them there. When the final exercises began she felt herself growing nervous. She had never felt so before, but now the mingled joy and sorrow of the past four weeks were telling upon her.

There were several patriotic and warlike recitations by the young men, and readings of an unusually melancholy nature by young ladies, all of which tended to make matters worse, so that when her turn came she felt ready to cry. But she caught a look from Manson that was like wine. ”He has been brave,” she thought; ”I will be as much so”--and she was.

When the exercises were over the princ.i.p.al made a brief but feeling address which raised him several degrees in Manson's estimation, and that was the end. Most of the pupils lingered, loth to utter the last farewells, but finally they were spoken, and with many moist eyes among that gathering of young friends they separated. Some of them never met in life again.

The few remaining evenings ere Liddy and her lover were to part were not wasted by them, and the last Sunday was one long to be remembered.

”Come early,” she had said the night before; ”I have a little surprise for you.” When he arrived at her house that day, just as the distant church bells were faintly calling, he found her dressed for a ride, and was a little puzzled.

”I want you to take me to church to-day,” she said, smiling, and then added, in a low voice, ”to our church on the top of Blue Hill, where there will be no one but G.o.d and ourselves.”

It was an odd thought, and yet, knowing her as he did, it was not surprising. The simple reverence of it touched him, however.