Part 38 (1/2)
He sought her offered lips, and for a few instants their whispering in the shadow ceased. Then he repeated rapidly the directions he had already given her.
”Put on your warmest cloak; it will be cold on the water. Now I can say good-night. Kiss me once more, and once more promise.”
She pressed her arms about him.
”I am giving you my life. If I had more, I would give it. Be faithful to me!”
”Then, you do doubt me?”
”Never! But say it to-night, to give me strength.”
”I will be faithful to you whilst I have life.”
She issued from shadows into broad moonlight, looked once round, once at the gleaming crags, and pa.s.sed again into gloom.
”I think it very unlikely,” Mrs. Lessingham was saying to Miriam, in her pleasantest voice of confidence, ”that Mr. Mallard will insist on the whole term.”
”No doubt that will much depend on the next year,” Miriam replied, trying to seem impartial.
”No doubt whatever. I am glad we came here. They are both much quieter and more sensible. In a few days I think your brother will have made up his mind.”
”I hope so.”
”Cecily lost her head a little at first, but I see that her influence is now in the sober direction, as one would have antic.i.p.ated. When Mr.
Elgar has left us, no doubt Mr. Mallard will come over, and we shall have quiet talk, What an odd man he is! How distinctly I could have foreseen his action in these circ.u.mstances! And I know just how it will be, as soon as things have got into a regular course again. Mr. Mallard hates disturbance and agitation. Of course he has avoided seeing Cecily as yet; imagine his exasperated face if he became involved in a 'scene'!”
And Mrs. Lessingham laughed urbanely.
A short and troubled sleep at night's heaviest; then long waiting for the first glimmer of dawn. Row unreal the world seemed to her! She tried to link this present morning with the former days, but her life had lost its continuity; the past was past in a sense she had never known; and as for the future, it was like gazing into darkness that throbbed and flashed. It meant nothing to her to say that this was Capri--that the blue waves and the wind of morning would presently bear her to Sorrento; the familiar had no longer a significance; her consciousness was but a point in s.p.a.ce and eternity. She had no regret of her undertaking, no fear of what lay before her, but a profound sadness, as though the burden of all mortal sorrows were laid upon her soul.
At seven o'clock she was ready. A very few things that could be easily carried she would take with her; her cloak would hide them. Now she must wait for the appointed moment. It seemed to be very cold; she s.h.i.+vered.
A minute or two before the half-hour, she left her room silently. On the stairs a servant pa.s.sed her, and looked surprised in giving the ”Buon giorno.” She walked quickly through the garden, and was on the firm road. At the place indicated stood Elgar beside the carriage, and without exchanging a word they took their seats.
At the Marina, they had but to step from the carriage to the boat.
Elgar's luggage was thrown on board, and the men pushed off from the quay.
Bitterly cold, but what a glorious sunrise! Against the flushed sky, those limestone heights of Capri caught the golden radiance and shone wondrously. The green water, gently swelling but unbroken, was like some rarer element, too limpid for this world's sh.o.r.es. With laughter and merry talk between themselves, the boatmen hoisted their sail.
And the G.o.ds sent a fair breeze from the west, and it smote upon the sail, and the prow cleft its track of foam, and on they sped over the back of the barren sea.
CHAPTER XV
”WOLF!”
It was a case of between two stools, and Clifford Marsh did not like the b.u.mp. From that dinner with Elgar he came home hilariously dismayed; when his hilarity had evaporated with the wine that was its cause, dismay possessed him wholly. Miss Doran was not for him, and in the meantime he had offended Madeline beyond forgiveness. With what countenance could he now turn to her again? Her mother would welcome his surrender--and it was drawing on towards the day when submission even to his stepfather could no longer be postponed--but he suspected that Madeline's resolve to have done with him was strengthened by resentment of her mother's importunities. To be sure, it was some sort of consolation to know that if indeed he went his way for good, bitterness and regrets would be the result to the Denyer family, who had no great facility in making alliances of this kind; in a few years time, Madeline would be wis.h.i.+ng that she had not let her pride interfere with a chance of marriage. But, on the other hand, there was the awkward certainty that he too would lament making a fool of himself. He by no means liked the thought of relinquis.h.i.+ng Madeline; he had not done so, even when heating his brain with contemplation of Cecily Doran. In what manner could he bring about between her and himself a drama which might result in tears and mutual pardon?