Part 62 (2/2)

They--Eileen and her mother--had heard about Lawrence's accident at last, and told her of it as a piece of news. It seemed Mrs Blake had come over, and was established at Gwen's home with him. So, of course, he did not particularly want her now. When the pain was bad, his mother would soothe him with that running touch; and when he felt better, Gwen was there to make him laugh. She told herself she did not mind. That fortunately she had known him too well to let herself go in any real sense. He was just fickle as ever, that was all.

Nevertheless, a yet duller ache began to be her portion. An ache that was akin to sheer misery. The future began to frighten her a little.

Was it possible the making up of medicines was to be her portion indefinitely? Perhaps for many more of the glad, joyous, youthful years now speeding by. One day a letter came from Ted Masterman, and when Paddy had read it, she stood long and silently gazing at the blank, uninteresting windows opposite. He was prospering now, and seemed full of content with his surroundings. Too full of content. In her present mood Paddy resented it. She resented it a little because she knew he possessed those traits which make for happiness which Lawrence lacked.

If there had been no Lawrence, she might have grown to care for Ted. As it was, she could not care for either. At least, so she told herself, waiting day after day for the message which did not come. Sometimes she told herself she had disappointed him in some way, and he had decided to withdraw while he could. Another time, she remembered what he had said about the kiss, and her cheeks burned, and her eyes fell. Was it possible he was really waiting until he could stand with ease, and was himself again! And if so...

She wondered a little whether she would have the courage to go, supposing the message came in the end. Something in her seemed to have lost confidence. She was the same--yet different. She wanted again to run away, only now she also wanted still more to stay. She read Ted Masterman's letter again, and told herself he was a man to make any woman happy, and that if she said the word, he would come back at once, whereas Lawrence...

The uncertainty made her moody and restless, and her mother and Eileen looked at her a little perplexedly. Eileen asked her about the letter from Ted, but she only said he was prosperous and happy. ”Is he coming home?” Eileen suggested, and she answered: ”Not that I know of,” in a way that had a final ring. Mrs Blake called one day, and told them Lawrence had made a remarkable recovery, and she was returning to Ireland at once. ”Of course his arm will be practically useless for some time,” she said, ”but it will not have to come off. So fortunate it was his left, and not his right. I want him to come back with me, but he won't just at present. He insists he has some business to attend to in town.” She laughed a little. She seemed wonderfully happy about him. Evidently, as ever, the very memory of that black afternoon had been wiped out by his later charm. Paddy thought about it lingeringly.

How strong he was when he chose. How he compelled love and forgiveness if it pleased him to do so. Was it possible, she asked again, that he only wanted to break her will, and bend her as he bent all others?

The ache grew, and with it a manufactured anger against him. Surely he might have spared her. What did it profit him to make other men seem tame and colourless in her life?

It was March before the message came. Eileen's trousseau was finished and wedding day fixed, and Paddy had a growing dread of what lay ahead.

Of course she was to be chief bridesmaid, and all the countryside would be there--and among them, Lawrence.

How was she to meet him on that day, after the manner of their parting?

See perhaps the mocking light in his eyes, and hear his veiled taunts.

But the message dropped like a shaft from the skies, suddenly, unpreparedly, and for the moment dispelled all else. It came in a note from Gwen. ”Lawrence is taking motor drives every day now, but hates going alone. He wants you to go to-morrow morning, as I have many engagements. He will call for you at the surgery at half-past eleven.

Do be a dear about it. I know you will--and have arranged accordingly.”

There was not much sleep for Paddy that night--mostly a troubled, tossing restlessness, and in the morning she looked eagerly at the weather. It was a lovely early spring day, when the little birds were chirping l.u.s.tily, and the little buds swelling to bursting point.

And something about Lawrence seemed to match them, when at last he came.

A veiled light in his eyes, as of some hidden joy swelling to bursting point. A light gaiety of manner. He walked into the dispensary, and laughed at the bottles, telling her it was the untidiest dispensary in London, and he was quite sure all her prescriptions included an appalling supply of microbes. She tried to laugh lightly back, but she could not meet his eyes. Something in his manner--something quite new-- unnerved her. He seemed perfectly well again, except for the slung arm, and when she inquired after that, he only said: ”Oh, it will soon be equal to its work, and, anyhow, the other is strong enough now for two.”

And then he looked into her eyes and laughed a humorous, teasing, tender little laugh, adding: ”Come along. I've an appointment I mustn't miss.”

She was conscious of a sudden dampening. Then he was going to see some one else. Her company was not sufficient in itself. He said something to the chauffeur, and they sped away, out through Acton and Ealing into the country, and made a wide circuit, and came back to Richmond.

At half-past twelve they drew up before a quaint old-fas.h.i.+oned church, and the chauffeur got out to open the door.

”Is your appointment at a church?” Paddy asked, looking amused. ”I hope you won't be long, because we lunch at one.”

”Come in with me,” he said; ”I want to show you a curious old chained Bible here. One of the oldest known.”

She alighted, still looking amused, and followed him through the big old door.

On the threshold he was greeted by the s.e.xton with the astonis.h.i.+ng words: ”Mr Elkins has just come, sir. He is in the vestry;” and almost at the same moment a clergyman appeared in the chancel.

Lawrence turned and looked into Paddy's eyes--and immediately she understood.

For a breathless moment neither spoke, and she seemed to sway a little with the suddenness of it. The s.e.xton moved away and they stood together alone, but Paddy, was still speechless. Then Lawrence's hand closed firmly over hers with a clasp that seemed to claim her for all eternity. ”It was the best way I could think of, mavourneen,” he said; then he added humorously: ”but it took me all my time to get the special licence necessary.”

She tried to speak, but no words would frame themselves, and her lips twisted queerly.

”Mavourneen, are you ready?... The one strong arm is growing impatient.” It was the old voice of ineffable tenderness, and it swept her unresistingly into his keeping.

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