Part 14 (2/2)
”Think not of it, sweetheart,” he answered; ”the child, at least, has missed naught that thou could'st give.”
”I know, I know,” she said, in a pa.s.sionate, low tone, ”but it troubles me when I think of all that I have of care and life's blessings, and of her woe and desolation, and through no sin, save that of loving too well. I see not why it should be.”
”Ah!” he said, bending towards her, ”there are some 'Why's' that must wait for their answer--for 'twill not come this side o' heaven.” Then, in lighter tone, ”When I look at the little lad I see but that scapegrace kinsman of mine; but although he is so marvellous like him, thou wilt be his guide. I fear nothing for his future, for who could be aught but good with thee, my heart's love, beside them.”
And presently there was a stir as Nicholas Berwick rose and bid all good-night, and this reminded John Sevenoakes and Ned Saddler that the hour was late. It was then that Berwick went to Deb, at a moment when she stood apart from the others. He held towards her a small leather-covered box.
”'Tis my wedding gift to thee, Deb,” he said, his grave eyes upon her changeful face. ”'Tis a pearl collar my mother wore on her wedding-day when she was young and fair as thou art. I will not be here to see how sweet thou dost look in it.”
”Thou wilt in the church, Nick?”
”Nay, I will not. I have not told thee before, as I would not plant a thorn in any of thy roses, but I ride to London on the morrow. I have much work there, for later on I sail to America to the new Colonies, in charge of certain stores for Sir Walter Raleigh.”
She raised her eyes, tear-filled and tender, to his.
”I wish thee peace, Nick,” she said, ”wherever thou art--and I have no fear but that gladness will follow. I will miss thee, for thou wert ever my friend.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and went away, and in the quiet that followed, when Master Thornbury and Darby talked together, Don Sherwood drew Debora into the shadow by the window-seat.
”I' faith,” he said, ”if I judge not wrongly by Master Nicholas Berwick's face when he spoke with thee but now, he doth love thee also, Deb.”
”Ah!” she answered, ”he hath indeed said so in the past and moreover proven it.”
”In very truth, yes. But thou,” with a flash in his eyes, ”dost care?
Hast aught of love for him? Nay, I need not ask thee.”
She smiled a little, half sadly.
”I love but thee,” she said.
He gave a short, light laugh, then looked grave.
”'Tis another of life's 'Why's,' sweetheart, that awaiteth an answer.
Why!--why, in heaven's name, should I have the good fortune to win thee, when he, who I think is far the better gentleman, hath failed?”
As he spoke, the bells of Stratford rang out their joyous pealing, and the sound came to them on the night wind. Then the child, who had been asleep curled up on the soft rug, opened his wondering eyes.
Deb stooped and lifted him, and he laid his curly head against her shoulder.
”Is it Christmas, Deb?” he asked, sleepily.
”Yes, my lamb,” she answered; ”for, hark! the bells are ringing it in, and they say, 'Peace, Dorien--Peace and goodwill to men.'”
THE END
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