Sparrows Part 67

He stood by her for a few moments without speaking.

"You've broken your promise," he presently remarked.

"Haven't you, too?" she asked, without looking up.

"No."

"Sure?"

"I was so impatient to see you, I hung about in sight of your house, so that I could catch sight of you directly when you came out."

"What about Melkbridge people?"

"What do I care!"

"What about me?"

He turned away with an angry gesture.

"What about me?" she repeated more insistently.

"You know what I said to you, asked you last night."

Mavis hung her head.

"What did you tell Windebank in your letter?" she asked presently.

"Don't talk about him."

"I shall if I want to. What did you say about me?"

"Shall I tell you?" he asked suddenly, as he sat beside her. "I told him how wholesome and how sweet you were. That's what I said."

"Ss.h.!.+"

"Do you know what I should have said?"

Mavis made a last effort to preserve her being from the thraldom of love. It was in her heart to leave Perigal there and then, but although the spirit was all but willing, the flesh was weak. As before in his presence, Mavis was rendered helpless by the odd fascination Perigal exercised.

"Do you know what I should have said?" he repeated.

Mavis essayed to speak; her tongue would not give speech.

"I'll tell you. I should have said that I love you, and that nothing in heaven or earth is going to stop my getting you."

"I must go," she said, without moving.

"When I love you so? Little Mavis, I love you, I love you, I love you!"

She trembled all over. He seized her hand, covered it with kisses, and then tried to draw her lips to his.

"My hand was enough."

"Your lips! Your lips!"

"But--"

"I love you! Your lips!"

He forced his lips to hers. When he released them, she looked at him as if spellbound, with eyes veiled with wonder and dismay--with eyes which revealed the great awakening which had taken place in her being.

"I love little Mavis. I love her," he whispered.

The look in her eyes deepened, her lips trembled, her bosom was violently disturbed. Perigal touched her arm. Then she gave a little cry, the while her head fell helplessly upon his shoulder.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE AWAKENING

Mavis was in love, consequently the world was transformed. All her previous hesitations in surrendering to her incipient love for Perigal were forgotten; the full, flowing current of her pa.s.sion disregarded the trifling obstacles which had once sought to obstruct its progress.

Life, nature, the aspect of things took on the abnormally adorable hues of those who love and are beloved. Such was the rapture in her heart, that days, hours, moments were all too fleeting for the enjoyment of her newborn felicity. The radiant happiness which welled within her, in seemingly inexhaustible volume, appeared to fill the universe. Often, with small success, she would attempt to realise the joy that had come into her life. At other times, when alone, she would softly shed tears--tears with which shy, happy laughter mingled. She would go about all day singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of gay little songs. There was not a happier girl in the world. As if, perhaps, to give an edge to her joy, the summer sky of her gladness was troubled by occasional clouds. She would wake in the night with a great presage of fear, which nothing she could do would remove. At such times, she would clasp with both hands a ring that her lover had given her, which at night she wore suspended from her neck, so that it lay upon her heart. At other times, she would be consumed by a pa.s.sion for annihilating all thoughts and considerations for self in her relations with Perigal; she was urged by every fibre in her body to merge her being with his. When thus possessed, she would sometimes, if she were at home when thus moved, go upon her knees to pray long and fervently for the loved one's welfare; as likely as not her thoughts would wander, when thus engaged, to be wholly concerned with the man she adored.

Thus, she abandoned herself whole-heartedly, unreservedly to the ecstasy of loving.

Mavis and Perigal were to be quietly married by special licence in London, in five weeks' time, which would be in the early days of September. Perigal urged Mavis not to speak to anyone of the wedding, saying, as a reason for this silence, that his father had not yet quite decided upon giving him the money he wanted, and the news of the engagement and early marriage might cause him to harden his heart. The honeymoon was to be spent in the retirement of Polperro, a Cornish village, the beauty and seclusion of which Perigal never tired of describing. As far as they could both see at present, Mavis was to keep on with her work at the office (the honeymoon was to consist of her fortnight's annual holiday), till such time as he could prepare a home for her in Wales. Although not welcoming, she did not offer the least objection to this arrangement, as she saw that it was all that could be done under their present circ.u.mstances. She wrote out and placed over her bed a list of dates, which culminated in the day on which she was to throw in her lot with the loved one; every day, as soon as she awoke, she crossed off one more of the slowly dwindling days. Nearly every Sat.u.r.day she took the train to Bathminster, where she spent a considerable fraction of the forty pounds she had saved in buying a humble equivalent for a trousseau.

As boxes and parcels of clothes began to arrive at her lodgings, she would try on the most attractive of these, the while her eyes shone with happiness. Those with whom she was commonly brought in contact noticed the change in her demeanour. Mrs Farthing smiled mysteriously, as if guessing the cause. Miss Hunter made many unsuccessful efforts to worm confidences from Mavis; while plain Miss Toombs showed her displeasure of the alteration that had occurred in her by scarcely ever addressing her, and then only when compelled.

"You look like a bride," she remarked one day, when Mavis was glowing with happiness.

Mavis saw something of Perigal pretty well every day. Sometimes, they would meet quite early of a morning by the ca.n.a.l; if they did not see each other then, they made a point of getting a few minutes together of an evening, usually by the river. So that no hint of their intentions should reach Major Perigal, the lovers met furtively, a proceeding which enhanced the charm of their intercourse.

At all times, Mavis was moved by an abiding concern for his health.

There was much of the maternal in her love, leading her frequently to ask if his linen were properly aired and if he were careful to avoid getting damp feet; she also made him solemnly promise to tell her immediately if he were not feeling in the best of health. Mavis, with a great delight, could not help noticing the change that had taken place in her lover ever since their betrothal. He, too, was conscious of the difference, and was fond of talking about it.

"I never thought I'd grow young again!" he would remark.

"What about second childhood?" laughed the irrepressible Mavis.

"Seriously, I didn't. I always felt so old. And it's little Mavis who has done it all."

"Really, sweetheart?"

"All, dear."