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.But it's a move of some sort, and I’d rather drift at Bell Hammer than drift in Town.""I'll ask them to-morrow," said Valerie."I suppose they'll come.""If they do," said Lady Touchstone, "my doom is sealed.Sir Andrew's trying to decide whether to marry me or no.And when he sees me on the terrace in my grey corduroy, finishing that jumper for Anthony, it'll be all over.But I don't think I can, can I?"Valerie laughed mischievously."I can't advise you," she said, "because you've got the chart." Lady Touchstone choked."As an uncle, I should be very proud of him.And if, when he loses Anthony and you lose me—""Andrew Plague," said her aunt, leaning forward and looking into Valerie's eyes, "is a man of action." She paused."If he decides to marry me, he will not wait upon 'I would.' And, if I were to reply that I would marry him if— when you and Anthony are wed, he would immediately withdraw his offer.He has no use for contingencies dependent upon the whim of an inscrutable Fate.Neither have I.When you told Anthony that you would marry him when he remembered you, you did a barbarous thing." Valerie started."Yes, barbarous.He loved you passionately.He loves you passionately still.Is he to suffer because of his affliction?"The girl looked away and down, wringing her pointed fingers.The woman lay back in her chair and shaded her eyes.After a moment, she continued to speak— very tenderly."The Lord gave his memory.As a little, motherless child, that wonderful spring began to well at the back of his tiny brain.First he remembered little prayers, asking God nightly to 'make him a good boy.' Then he remembered nursery rhymes— immemorial toys and jingles, sacred nonsense.Every book of those rhymes should have a rubric.'In nurseries and places where they lisp, here followeth the Anthem.' Well, that wonderful spring has failed.That abundant, refreshing fountain, in which we go and plunge our tired minds a hundred times an hour, has been dried up.The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away.Don't think I'm being harsh.I understand.But, Valerie, unless you can say to yourself, 'I don't love him'—""I do!" wailed Valerie."I do! But.""— unless you can say, 'I know I can't make him happy,' unless you can say, 'I believe he will make me unhappy,' it is your bounden duty, after all that has passed, to take that condition back.Think.If he had no sight, wouldn't you give him your eyes? And thank the good God for the blessed privilege? Of course you would.Then let him share your memory.Make him free of your beautiful fountain, and let him bathe his poor, tired brain.When I think of that poor, dear fellow, straining heart and soul, for love of you, to wring a favour out of the fist of Fate—""Don't, don't!" cried Valerie, lifting her head."Don't whip me any more.I never meant to be cruel." She fell on her knees and buried her face in Lady Touchstone's lap."I love every hair of his head.I’d give him my soul to-morrow— you know I would.If he was ill, and it would help him, they should bleed me white.And you know how little I’d care about his memory if only it— really— was— dead.""'Vanity of vanities,'" said Lady Touchstone sadly."'All is vanity.' Don't think I'm lecturing.I'm crying— in the wilderness.Vanity's the terrible freemasonry to which all women subscribe.If I were a man, perhaps I could argue with you.But now you've made me a sign— you've invoked our tacit, cursed sisterhood, and, because I was born a woman, you've shut my mouth."Valerie looked up into the other's face."I'm glad," she said gently, "I'm glad you understand.For now, when I marry Anthony, as I shall— if he'll take me— within the month, it'll be the greatest comfort in all the world to know that you're there— at my shoulder, that you've got a smile for me, which he can't fathom, that, no matter what's written, you'll always be able to read between the lines."Lady Touchstone wept.Presently she smiled through her tears."I might be your sister, Valerie."Her niece put her arms about her neck."Dear Harriet," she said, and kissed her.Lady Touchstone closed her eyes and blessed God.PATCH was plainly delighted to see Bell Hammer again, and when he found his log in its proper place he lifted up his voice in heartfelt gratitude.Anthony watched his excitement with hungry eyes.He supposed that the log was a toy and, as such, kept for the terrier in the bedroom which he had used; and the dog remembered his plaything as a matter of course, and—Here the billet was brought and laid at Anthony's feet.Two bright, brown eyes stared up expectantly into his: a short, white tail moved slowly to and fro.Clearly the game was waiting, and he— he had forgotten the rules.Lyveden stooped and caressed the eager head."Not to-day, old chap," he said gently."To-morrow, perhaps.Or— or the day after."The man was not unhappy.At times he was radiant.After all, as lovers go, he was unearthly rich.He had been given the very fee simple of Paradise itself.True, the estate was in trust, but one day the trust would be broken and he would enter in.one day.Till then— well, he was very lucky: he had much to be thankful for.A serious flaw in his title had been done away.He was, so to speak, in the straight.He would, of course, have liked to be able to see the post— have some sort of idea how long the straight was.Still.Valerie was very sweet— very.No one could have been sweeter.He was most awfully proud of her.And— and she was splendid company.Company.The word seared his brain.His wonderful, peerless shepherdess— his queen— his darling.was an excellent pal— pal.Yes, that was it— pal.Hell, how he loathed the word! Pal.More.The bower had been rearranged— turned into a lounge, a parlour.Arcadia had been converted into a recreation-ground.And Love— Love had been decently clothed in a coat and trousers, with a nice, fat gag in his mouth and cuffs on his little pink wrists.The exquisite masterpiece was gone, and a vulgar parody hung in its sacred room.Anthony groaned.It was not that he wanted to sit in the shade of an oak and sigh all day into a reed; it was not that he wanted to lie at the feet of Amaryllis, setting her brows to music and calling the heaven to wonder at her soft, dark hair.He wanted to take her hand and run down the dewy glades: he wanted to lift her to pick the dangling fruit— to stand with her on the hill-top and watch the sun get up, mark the breath of her nostrils upon the evening air, plunge with her into the horseplay of the wind: he wanted to hear the woods give back their laughter: he wanted to know that Love was enlarged, free— free to look out of her eyes, free to float upon her voice, free to sit upon his shoulders and flash in her smile.Lyveden pulled himself together, wrenched his mind out of this perilous groove and tried to thank his stars for providing such a nice recreation-ground.It was vital that he should not lose heart— vital.So long as he did not lose heart, he had the ring on his finger.the magic ring which, when he had found the trick of it, would turn the recreation-ground into the Garden of Eden.Then he sat down on his bed and racked his brain until his head ached.SIX HOURS had passed by.Valerie, her aunt, and Sir Andrew had retired, and Lyveden and Patch were sharing the library fire.This was too good to be left.Most of the logs had melted into a quilt of red-grey ash, and such as were still surviving had become mere rosy brands, which winked and glowed silently and, from time to time, settled peacefully into their feathery grave.The Sealyham was lying on his side before the hearth [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]