Part 38 (2/2)

Only, above and beyond all these forces of nature and these currents of cause and effect, there was still the great, eternal Source of all things, who was able to dispel ignorance and to endow one individual with the power to help another by his prayers and thoughts. This G.o.d could hasten and bring Happiness, if only He were believed in with absolute faith. But that He would ever stoop to punish was an unheard-of blasphemy. He was only and entirely concerned with good. Punishments came as the results of actions. It followed then that John Derringham, having paid the price of much sorrow for all his mistakes, would now come into peace--and her prayers, and exceptional advantages in having been allowed for years to learn the forces of nature, would be permitted to help him. That he would be obliged to marry Mrs. Cricklander would seem to be an overexaction, and not just. But they were not the judges, and must in all cases fulfill their part of honesty and truth, no matter what might betide.

These were her convictions, and so they caused her to feel only a G.o.d-like calm--as she went away into the purple shadows of the old streets.

Cheiron and she had been at San Gimignano for half a week, and almost every child in the place knew and loved her. She had always a gracious word or a merry smile when they cl.u.s.tered round her, as is their friendly way with all travelers, when she came from the Cathedral or the strange old solitary chapel of St. Jacopo.

The Professor was waiting for her on the hotel steps, and he saw by some extra radiance in her face that something unusual had happened.

”What is it, my child?” he asked, as they went in and up to their dinner in the big _salle a manger_ upon the first floor, which was then nearly always empty of guests.

”John Derringham is here, Master,” she said--”and we have talked, and now all shadows are gone--and we must only wait.”

”I am glad to hear it,” replied Cheiron, and bristled his brows.

This is all that was said between them on the subject, and, immediately the meal was over, they retired to their rooms. But when alone in hers, Halcyone took from the silken wrappings the G.o.ddess Aphrodite, and in the divine eyes read a glad blessing, and, as soon as her head touched her pillow, she fell into a soft sweet sleep, while the warm night winds flew in at the wide-opened windows and caressed her hair.

And John Derringham, when the dark had fallen, came down from his high watch tower, and walked slowly back to the hotel, leaning upon his stick. He was still filled with the hush of his loved one's serene calm.

Surely, after all, there must be some truth in her beliefs, and he would trust to them, too, and wait and hope--and above all keep his word, as she had said, with that honor which is entailed upon a gentleman.

He ordered his motor for dawn the next morning, so as to be away before the chance of disturbing the two should occur.

The rare and wonderful sight of a motor in those days caused a crowd to collect whenever one should arrive or depart. It was an unheard-of thing that two should visit the city at the same time--there had only been three in the whole year--so Halcyone, when she heard the whizz next morning, bounded from her bed and rushed to peep between the green shutters. Some instinct told her that the noise indicated it was he--her dear lover--about to start, and she had the happiness of gazing down upon his upturned face unperceived, as his eyes searched the windows, perhaps in some vague hope of being able to discern which was hers.

And she showered upon him blessings of love and tenderness, and called all the currents of good from the sky and the air, to comfort and protect him and give him strength to go back and keep his word. And, just as he was starting, a white pigeon flew down and circled round John Derringham's head--and he was conscious that at the same moment the sun must have risen above the horizon, for it suddenly gilded the highest towers. And he pa.s.sed out of the dark gate into its glory, and took the Siena road, a mighty purpose of strength in his heart.

After a few days of wandering, during which he strove not to let grief or depression master him again, he sent a telegram to Venice to Cecilia Cricklander. And on that Sat.u.r.day evening, he walked into her sitting-room with a pale and composed face.

She was seated upon the sofa and arranged with every care, and was looking triumphantly beautiful as she smoked a cigarette. Her fine eyes had in them all the mocking of the fiend as she greeted him lazily.

”How are you, John?” she said casually--and puffed rings of smoke, curling up her red lips to do so in a manner that, John Derringham was unpleasantly aware, he would once have found attractive, but that now only filled him with disgust.

”I am well,” he said, ”thank you,--better for the change and the sight of some most interesting things.”

”And I, also,” she responded with provoking glances from under her lids, ”am better--for the change! I have seen--a man, since which I seem to be able the better to value your love!”

And she leaned back and laughed with rasping mockery, which galled his ears--although for some strange reason she could no longer gall his soul. He felt calm and blandly indifferent to her, like someone acting in a dream.

”I am glad you were, and are, amused,” he said. He had not made the slightest attempt to kiss her in greeting--and she had not even held out her hand.

”You are quite rich now, John, aren't you?” after a short silence she presently asked nonchalantly--”that is, as you English count riches--ten or twelve thousand a year. I suppose it will keep you in comfort.”

He leaned back and smiled one of his old cynical smiles.

”Yes,” he said, ”it is extremely rich for me; my personal wants are not great.”

”That is splendid, then,” she went on, ”because I shall not feel I am really depriving you of anything by doing what I intend to do in throwing you over--otherwise I should have been glad to settle something upon you for life!”

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