Part 28 (1/2)
”Don't you hear the trees?” Osra whispered to her lover. ”Don't you hear them? They are whispering for me what I dare not whisper.”
”What is it they whisper, sweet?” he asked; he himself did no more than whisper.
”The trees whisper, 'Love, love, love.' And the wind--don't you hear the wind murmuring, 'Love, love, love'? And the birds sing, 'Love, love, love.' Aye, all the world to-day is softly whispering, 'Love, love, love.' What else should the great world whisper but my love? For my love is greater than the world.” And she suddenly hid her face in her hands; and he could kiss no more than her hands, though her eyes gleamed at him from between slim white fingers.
But suddenly her hands dropped, and she leant forward as though she listened.
”What is that sound?” she asked, apprehension dawning in her eyes.
”It is but another whisper, love!” said he.
”Nay, but it sounds to me like--ah, like the noise of horses galloping.”
”It is but the stream, beating over stones.”
”Listen, listen, listen!” she cried springing to her feet. ”They are horses' hoofs! Ah, merciful G.o.d, it is the King!” And she caught him by the hand and pulled him to his feet, looking at him with a face pale and alarmed.
”Not the King,” said he. ”He would not know yet. It is some one else.
Hide your face, dear lady, and all will be well.”
”It is the King,” she cried. ”Hark how they gallop on the road! It is my brother. Love, he will kill you, love, he will kill you.”
”It is the King,” said he, ”I have been betrayed.”
”The horses, the horses!” she cried. ”By your love for me, the horses!”
He nodded his head, and, turning, disappeared among the trees. She stood with clasped hands, heaving breast, and fearful eyes, awaiting his return. Minutes pa.s.sed and he did not come. She flung herself on her knees, beseeching heaven for his life. At last he came alone, and he bent over her, taking her hand.
”My love,” said he, ”the horses are gone!”
”Gone?” she cried, gripping his hand.
”Aye. This love, my love, is a wonderful thing. For I forgot to tie them, and they are gone. Yet what matter? For the King--yes, sweet, I think now it is the King--will not be here for some minutes yet, and those minutes I have still for love and life.”
”He will kill you,” she said.
”Yes,” said he.
She looked long in his eyes; then she threw her arms about his neck, and, for the first time unasked, covered his face with kisses.
”Kiss me, kiss me,” said she; and he kissed her. Then she drew back a little, but took his arm and set it round her waist. And she drew a little knife from her girdle, and showed it to him.
”If the King will not pardon us and let us love one another, I also will die,” said she, and her voice was quiet and happy. ”Indeed, my love, I should not grieve. Ah, do not tell me to live without you!”
”Would you obey?” he asked.
”Not in that,” said she.
Thus they stood, while the sound of the hoofs drew very near. But she looked up at him and he looked at her; then she looked at the point of the little dagger, and she whispered: