Part 37 (1/2)
”Let us discuss that when to-morrow comes. Please to limit your moon-gazing to five minutes.”
”At the utmost.”
From the hotel garden opened a clear prospect towards Naples, which lay as a long track of lights beyond the expanse of deep blue. The coast was distinctly outlined against the far sky glowed intermittently the fire of Vesuvius. Above the trees of the garden shone white crags, unsubstantial, unearthly in the divine moonlight. There was no sound, yet to intense listening the air became full of sea-music. It was the night of Homer, the island-charm of the Odyssey.
”Answer me quickly, Cecily; we have only a few minutes, and I want to say a great deal. You have talked with Miriam?”
”Yes.”
”You know that she repeats what Mallard has instructed her to say?
Their one object now is to get me at a distance from you. You see how your aunt has changed--in appearance; her policy is to make me think that she will be my friend when I am away. I can speak with certainty after observing her for so long; in reality she is as firm against me as ever. Don't you notice, too, something strange in Miriam's behaviour?”
”She is not like herself.”
”As unlike as could be. Mallard has influenced her strongly. Who knows what he told her?”
”Of you?
”Perhaps of himself.”
”Dear, he could not speak to her in that way!”
”A man in love--and in love with Cecily Doran--can do anything. The Spences are his close friends; they too have been working on Miriam.”
”But why, why do you return to this? We have spoken of the worst they can do. To fear anything from their' persuasions is to distrust me.”
”Cecily, I don't distrust you, but I can't live away from you. I might have gone straight from Naples, but I can't go now; every hour with you has helped to make it impossible. In talking to your aunt and to Miriam, I have been consciously false. Come further this way, into the shadow. Who is over there?”
”Some one we don't know.”
Her voice had sunk to a whisper. Elgar led her by the hand into a further recess of the garden; the hand was almost crushed between his own as he continued:
”You must come with me, Cecily. We will go away together, and be married at once.”
She panted rather than breathed.
”You must! I can't leave you! I had rather throw myself from these Capri rocks than go away with more than two years of solitude before me.”
Cecily made no answer.
”If you think, you will see this is best in every way. It will be kindest to poor Mallard, putting an end at once to any hopes he may have.”
”We can't be married without his consent,” Cecily whispered.
”Oh yes; I can manage that. I have already thought of everything. Be up early to-morrow morning, and leave the hotel at half-past seven, as if you were going for a walk. Neither your aunt nor Miriam will be stirring by then. Go down the road as far as beyond the next turning, and I will be there with a carriage. At the Marina I will have a boat ready to take us over to Sorrento; we will drive to Castellamare, and there take train direct for Caserta and onwards, so missing Naples altogether. You shall travel as my sister. We will go to London, and be married there. Of course you can't bring luggage, but what does that matter? We can stop anywhere and buy what things you need. I have quite enough money for the present.”
”But think of the shock to them all!” she pleaded, trembling through her frame. ”How ill I should seem to repay their long kindness! I can't do this, my dearest; oh, I can't do this! I will see Mr. Mallard, as I wished--”
”You shall not see him!” he interrupted violently. ”I couldn't bear it.
How do I know--”