Part 75 (2/2)
”For the first few years--certainly. Everything would be raw; and the work incessant and absorbing. But later on, who can tell? We might see what could be done.”
”And the nearest I could get to you, so as to live more or less within reach?”
”Srinagar. That's about twenty days' march from Gilgit. I could do it in ten, to get to you!” he added, smiling. ”Spare time would be scarce, though; and in the winter we should be quite cut off by snow.”
”Oh, Eldred!”
”I should hate that no less than you, be sure. But when things got a bit more settled, some sort of arrangement might be possible, at least for part of the summer; if you could really stand the isolation and the life.”
”Stand it? Of course I could. I should love it.”
His eyes lit up.
”You have pluck enough for half a dozen! But you don't look as strong as you did. There's a fragile air about you that troubles me. I never saw it before.”
The faint colour in her cheeks invaded her temples. It was the given moment; long enough delayed in all conscience. Yet it found her palpitating--unprepared.
”You mustn't be troubled.” She plunged desperately; unsure of what would come next. ”It will pa.s.s. I am growing stronger every day.”
”Stronger? Good Lord! You haven't been ill too, and I never knew it?”
”No--oh, no! Not ill--that is . . . not exactly. I mean . . .”
Confusion submerged her. His shoulder--the woman's legitimate refuge--was conveniently close; and she buried her blushes in it. At that a suspicion of the truth thrilled through him, like an electric current.
”Quita--look up--speak to me!” he besought her; his voice low, and not quite steady. ”Is it possible . . ?”
”Darling, of course it is,” she whispered back, without stirring.
”Only--will you ever forgive me? I've saddled you with two women now, as if one wasn't bother enough!”
For answer he strained her closer; and so knelt for the s.p.a.ce of many seconds; stunned, momentarily, by that deep-rooted, elemental joy in the transmission of life, which, in men of fine fibre, is tempered with amazement and awe; a sense of poignant, personal contact with the Open Secret of the world.
At last he spoke; and his words held no suggestion of the emotion that uplifted him.
”When? How old . . . how long ago?”
”Seven weeks ago. The second of October.”
”Great Heaven! The day I was nearly done for; the day I crossed the Pa.s.s. And I never dreamed . . . how it was with you.”
Then, very gently, she found her head lifted from its resting-place; his eyes searching her own with an insistence not to be denied.
”Quita, you must have realised--all this before I started?”
”Yes.”
”And you let me go without a word! By the Lord, I think I had the right to know.”
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