Chapter 34
It was out at last, and, having managed to p.r.o.nounce the words, she buried her face in her hands.
"Oh, Elsa!" was all that her lover could say; but the tone of it made her lift her humbled head and seek his eyes. Whatever his look, she could not meet it; her own sank again, she blushed pitifully, quivered, hesitated, finally let him take her hand.
Consciousness was fully awake now. The girl, whose fingers thrilled in his own, was a different being from the Elaine who had watched him sketching in the lane. She knew that she was a woman, knew also that she was beloved. Years of education would never have taught her so completely as she was now taught by her lover's eyes.
He began to speak. She listened, in a trance of delight. He begged her to forgive his weakness in failing to control his feelings for her. Poor fellow, he was lowly enough to satisfy an empress. He knew that he had no right to speak of love to this girl who had seen no men, had no experience of life. He felt that he had taken an unfair advantage of her ignorance, and the thought tortured his pride. He would not ask her if she returned his love, still less demand of her any promise; he should go to Edge Willoughby that very night, he said, and apologise to her aunts for his unguarded behavior. He loved her dearly, devotedly. In a year's time he would come and tell her so again. But not yet. He was poor, and he could not brook that anyone should think he wanted a rich wife, though, as has been said, his knowledge of Elaine's prospects was by no means so minute as Claud Cranmer's. All his pa.s.sion, all his regret, were faltered forth; and the result was, to his utter astonishment, a burst of indignation from his lady-love.
He did not believe her--could not trust her! Oh, she had thought that he, at least, understood her, but she was wrong, of course! He, like everyone else, thought her a foolish child, incapable of judging, or knowing her own mind.
"Do you think that I have no feeling?" she asked, pitifully. "Do you think that I can bear to have you leave me next week, and go back to London and never be able to so much as hear from you, to know what you are doing, or if you still think of me? How can you love such a creature as you think me--foolish, ignorant, inconstant----"
Could it be Elsa who spoke? Elsa, whose lovely face glowed with expression and feeling? Her development had indeed been rapid. Lost in wonder and admiration, he could not answer her, but remained mutely looking at her, till, with a little cry of angry shame, she bounded up and ran away from him.
Leaping to his feet, he followed and captured her. Hardly knowing what he did, he took her in his arms. Her lovely cheek rested against his dark blue flannel coat, she was content to
The great red sun had rolled into the sea, when the two came up to the camping place again. Tea was half over, and they were greeted with a derisive chorus. Wyn, however, looked apprehensively at her brother's illuminated expression and gleaming eye, and Claud, noting the same danger-signals, looked at her, and their eyes met.
"Where is G.o.dfrey?" asked Mr. Fowler.
"Jove, I forgot! I must go and fetch him," cried Osmond, laughing, as he ran off.
"Mr. Allonby put him in punishment for behaving so badly," explained Elsa, with burning blushes.
"What had he done?" asked Dr. Forbes, with interest.
"He was very rude to Mr. Allonby," she faltered.
"I'm grateful indeed to Allonby for keeping him in order," laughed her G.o.dfather.
G.o.dfrey appeared in a very cowed state, silent and sulky. His durance had been longer and more disagreeable than he had bargained for. He was quite determined to be ill if he could, and so wreak vengeance on his gaoler; and his evil expression boded ill to poor Elsa, as he pa.s.sed her with a muttered, "You only wait, my lady, that's all!"
The twilight fell so rapidly that tea was obliged to be quickly cleared away. It was not so hilarious a meal as dinner had been, for Osmond and Elsa were quite silent, and Wyn too absorbed in thinking of them to be lively.
They all went down to the sh.o.r.e to wash up the tea-things, and lingered there a little, watching the tender violets and crimsons of the west, and listening to the soft murmur of the lucid little wavelets which hardly broke upon the sand.
Wyn leaned her chin upon her hand--her favorite att.i.tude--and watched.
Jacqueline and young Haldane were busily was.h.i.+ng and wiping the same plate, an arrangement which seemed to provoke much lively discussion.
Claud was drying the knives and forks which Hilda handed to him. Osmond and Elsa stood apart, doing nothing but look at one another. Wyn hated herself for the choking feeling of sadness which possessed her. Osmond had been so much to her; now, how would it be? Such jealousy was miserable, contemptible, she knew; but the pain of it would not be stilled at once.
Henry Fowler appeared, took the knives and forks, and carried them off, followed by Hilda. Claud turned, and looked at Wyn.
"What a night," he said.
"Yes."
"Is that all the answer I am to expect?"
"What more can I say? Do you want me to contradict you?"
He was silent, his eyes fixed on the pure reach of sky.
"I wonder why I always feel sad just after sunset?" he remarked, after a pause.
"Do you?" said Wyn, quickly.
"Yes; do you?"
"To-night I do."
"I thought so."
"Our holidays are nearly over," said the girl, with a sigh. "I must go back to work again. I must utilize my material," she added, a little bitterly. "All the splendor of these sunsets must go into the pages of a novel, if I can reproduce it."
"It would go better into a poem," said Claud, tossing a pebble into the water.
"That is one fault I may venture to say I am without," remarked Wynifred. "I never write verses."
"I do; it amounts to a positive vice with me," returned he, coolly.
"I am sure I beg your pardon," she said, confused.
"You need not. It is only a vent. Everyone must have a vent of some sort, otherwise the contents of their mind turn sour. Yours is fiction; you don't need the puny consolation of verse, which is my only outlet."
"You are very sarcastic."
"So were you."
"If you always take your tone from me----" she began, and stopped.
"I should have my tongue under better control, you were about to add,"
he suggested.
"Nothing of the sort. I forget what I meant. I am not in a mood for rational conversation this evening."
"Nor I. Let us talk nonsense."
"No, thank you. I can't do that well enough to be interesting. Go and talk to Mr. Haldane; he studies nonsense as a fine art."
"I accept my dismissal; thank you for giving it so unequivocally," he answered, huffily, and, turning on his heel, marched away, and spoke to her no more that evening.
Later, when the darkness had fallen, and the company were dispersed to their various homes, Henry Fowler, coming from the stable through the garden, was arrested by the scent of his guest's cigar, and joined him on the rustic seat under the trees.
It was a perfect summer night, moonless, but the whole purple vault of heaven powdered with stars.
The garden of Lower House was, of course, like all the land in Edge Valley, inclined at an angle of considerably more than forty-five degrees, which fact added greatly to its picturesqueness. Right through it flowed a brook which dashed over rough stones in a miniature cascade, and added its low murmuring rush to the influence of the hour.
Claud sat idly and at ease, smoking a final cigar. It was almost midnight, but on such a night it seemed impossible to go to bed.
"What are you thinking of?" asked Henry, as he sat down and struck a light.