Part 35 (1/2)

She moaned a little, and shrank back, and pressed her hands to her face.

”Dead!” she whispered again. ”You are dead, Jean, and you have come to me.”

She was swaying as he caught her in his arms. Fool, accursed fool, that he had not understood!

”No, no; Marie-Louise, _cherie, ma bien-aimee_!” he said tenderly.

”See, are my arms not real about you? See, it is I, it is really I!

It is not death, it is love that has brought me! See, Marie-Louise, lie very still for a little while in my arms, and you will not be any more afraid.”

It seemed as though for a s.p.a.ce she were in a faint, so white her face was, so quiet she lay; and then her hand felt out and touched his shoulder, and his face, and his hair in a wondering, hesitant, incredulous way.

Her lips moved.

”You--you are like Jean as he used to be before he went away to the _grand monde_.”

He bent his head, and laid his cheek against her cheek.

”Yes, Marie-Louise,” he said softly. ”And now I shall always be that Jean. Try very hard now to understand, little one! See, I am back again--for always--for always--and I will never go away from you any more. Don't you see, _pet.i.te_, that it is really Jean?”

”Yes,” she said, in a low, dead voice, ”it is Jean; but how can it be Jean--here--on this great s.h.i.+p--when Jean, I know, is in France--for I left Jean in France.”

And then Jean laughed--because it would help to drive the sense of unreality from her mind, and because in his heart was only joyous laughter.

”It is very simple, that! I came with Monsieur Bliss and mademoiselle.

And it is no more strange for me to be here than for you--than that I should have seen you a little while ago from the deck up there, Marie-Louise.”

She seemed to rouse herself as though in dawning comprehension, raising herself a little in his arms.

”But the clothes--those clothes that you are wearing!” she faltered.

”Ah, Marie-Louise!” he cried out happily. ”Do you not remember? Was it not you who told me that day that I was to keep them with me always?

And see, I have kept them--and they have brought me back to you!”

He felt her tremble suddenly, and draw away.

”Let me go, Jean.” And, as he released her, she stood for an instant clinging to the s.h.i.+p's side, her head turned away, before she spoke again. ”You--you put them on to come down here to me?” she said dully, at last.

”But, yes! But, yes! What else?” he answered eagerly. ”To come to you, Marie-Louise!”

She faced him, pitifully white.

”Oh, Jean, Jean! Why did you do it?”--it was a bitter, hopeless cry.

”What good could this hour bring to you, what could it give you when you go back there that you have not already got, while for me”--her voice broke--”it was so hard before--so hard before, and now--”

She did not understand! She did not understand! He caught her hands.

”It is not for an hour!”--his voice was ringing, vibrant, glad. ”It is not for an hour, Marie-Louise, it is for--always--always! I am not going back. I have come for always--to be with you always now, Marie-Louise, as long as we shall live. Look up, Marie-Louise! Look up, and smile with those wondrous lips, and put your arms around my neck, and lay your head upon my shoulder, for there is none here to see or heed.”

She did not move; and, as she stood there staring at him, the colour came into her face--and went again, leaving it as white and drawn as it had been before.