Three Weeks Part 13

And he never knew why his lady suddenly threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him with pa.s.sionate tenderness and love, her eyes soft as a dove's.

"Oh, my Paul," she said, a break in her wonderful voice, whose tones said many things, "my young, darling, English Paul!"

Presently they would drive to see that quaint farm she wanted to show him.

The day was very warm, and to rest in the comfortable carriage would be nice. Paul thought so, too. So after a late lunch they started. And once or twice on the drive through the most peaceful and beautiful scenery, a flash of the same fierceness came into the lady's eyes, gazing away over distance as when she had read her letter, and it made Paul wonder and long to ask her why. He never allowed himself to speculate in coherent thought words even as to who she was, or her abode in life. He had given his word, and was an Englishman and would keep it, that was all. But in his subconsciousness there dwelt the conviction that she must be some Queen or Princess of a country south in Europe--half barbaric, half advanced. That she was unhappy and hated it all, he more than divined. It was a proof of the strength of his character that he did not let the terrible thought of inevitable parting mar the bliss of the tangible now. He had promised her to live while the sun of their union shone, and he had the force to keep his word.

But oh! he wished he could drive all care from her path, and that this glorious life should go on for ever.

When they got to the farm in the soft late afternoon light, the most gracious mood came over his lady. It was just a Swiss farmhouse of many storeys, the lower one for the cows and other animals, and the rest for the family and industries. All was clean and in order, with that wonderful outside neatness which makes Swiss chalets look like painted toy houses popped down on the greensward without yard or byre. And these people were well-to-do, and it was the best of its kind.

The _Bauerin_, a buxom mother of many little ones, was nursing another not four weeks old, a fat, prosperous infant in its quaint Swiss clothes. Her broad face beamed with pride as she welcomed the gracious lady. Old acquaintances they appeared, and they exchanged greetings. Foreign languages were not Paul's strong point, and he caught not a word of meaning in the German _patois_ the good woman talked. But his lady was voluble, and seemed to know each flaxen-haired child by name, though it was the infant which longest arrested her attention. She held it in her arms. And Paul had never seen her look so young or so beautiful.

The good woman left them alone while she prepared some coffee for them in the adjoining kitchen, followed by her troop of _kinder_. Only the little one still lay in the lady's arms. She spoke not a word--she sang to it a cradle-song, and the thought came to Paul that she seemed as an angel, and this must be an echo of his own early heaven before his life had descended to earth.

A strange peace came over him as he sat there watching her, his thoughts vague and dreamy of some beautiful sweet tenderness--he knew not what.

Ere the woman returned with the coffee the lady looked up from her crooning and met his eyes--all her soul was aglow in hers--while she whispered as he bent over to meet her lips:

"Yes, some day, my sweetheart--yes."

And that magic current of sympathy which was between them made Paul know what she meant. And the gladness of the G.o.ds fell upon him and exalted him, and his blue eyes swam with tears.

Ah! that was a thought, if that could ever be!

All the way back in the carriage he could only kiss her. Their emotion seemed too deep for words.

And this night was the most divine of any they had spent on the Burgenstock. But there was in it an essence about which only the angels could write.

CHAPTER XIII

Do you know the Belvedere at the Rigi Kaltbad, looking over the corner to a vast world below, on a fair day in May, when the air is clear as crystal and the lake ultra-marine? When the Bernese Oberland undulates away in unbroken snow, its pure whiteness like cold marble, the shadows grey-blue?

Have you seen the tints of the beeches, of the pines, of the firs, clinging like some cloak of life to the h.o.a.ry-headed mountains, a reminder that spring is eternal, and youth must have its day, however grey beards and white heads may frown?

Ah--it is good!

And so is the air up there. Hungry and strong and--young.

Paul and his lady stood and looked down in rapt silence. It was giving her, as she said, an emotion, but of what sort he was not sure. They were all alone. No living soul was anywhere in view.

She had been in a mood, all day when she seldom raised her eyes. It reminded him of the first time he had seen her, and wonder grew again in his mind. All the last night her soul had seemed melted into his in a fusion of tenderness and trust, exalted with the exquisite thought of the wish which was between them. And he had felt at last he had fathomed its inmost recess.

But to-day, as he gazed down at her white-rose paleness, the heavy lashes making their violet shadow on her cheek--her red mouth mutinous and full--the conviction came back to him that there were breadths and depths and heights about which he had no conception even. And an ice hand clutched his heart. Of what strange thing was she thinking? leaning over the parapet there, her delicate nostrils quivering now and then.

"Paul," she said at last, "did you ever want to kill any one? Did you ever long to have them there at your mercy, to choke their life out and throw them to h.e.l.l?"

"Good G.o.d, no!" said Paul aghast.

Then at last she looked up at him, and her eyes were black with hate.

"Well, I do, Paul. I would like to kill one man on earth--a useless, vicious weakling, too feeble to deserve a fine death--a rotting carrion spoiling G.o.d's world and enc.u.mbering my path! I would kill him if I could--and more than ever today."

"Oh, my Queen, my Queen!" said Paul, distressed. "Don't say such things--you, my own tender woman and love--"

"Yes, that is one side of me, and the best--but there is another, which he draws forth, and that is the worst. You of calm England do not know what it means--the true pa.s.sion of hate."

"Can I do nothing for you, beloved?" Paul asked. Here was a phase which he had not yet seen.

"Ah!" she said, bitterly, and threw up her head. "No! his high place protects him. But for his life I would conquer all fate."

"Darling, darling--" said Paul, who knew not what to say.

"But, Paul, if a hair of your head should be hurt, I would kill him myself with these my own hands."

Once Paul had seen two tigers fight in a travelling circus-van which came to Oxford, and now the memory of the scene returned to him when he looked at his lady's face. He had not known a human countenance could express such fierce, terrible rage. A quiver ran through him. Yes, this was no idle boast of an angry woman--he felt those slender hands would indeed be capable of dealing death to any one who robbed her of her mate.

But what pa.s.sion was here! What force! He had somehow never even dreamt such feelings dwelt in women--or, indeed, in any human creatures out of sensational books. Yet, gazing there at her, he dimly understood that in himself, too, they could rise, were another to take her from him. Yes, he could kill in suchlike case.

They were silent for some moments, each vibrating with pa.s.sionate thoughts; and then the lady leant over and laid her cheek against the sleeve of his coat.

"Heart of my heart," she said, "I frighten and ruffle you. The women of your country are sweet and soft, but they know not the pa.s.sion I know, my Paul--the fierceness and madness of love--"

Paul clasped her in his arms.

"It makes me wors.h.i.+p you more, my Queen," he said. "Englishwomen would seem like wax dolls now beside you and your exquisite face--they will never again be anything but shadows in my life. It can only hold you, the one G.o.ddess and Queen."

Her eyes were suffused with a mist of tenderness, the pa.s.sion was gone; her head was thrown back against his breast, when suddenly her hand inadvertently touched against the pocket where Dmitry's pistol lay. She started violently, and before he could divine her purpose she s.n.a.t.c.hed the weapon out, and held it up to the light.

Her face went like death, and for a second she leant against the parapet as if she were going to faint.

"Paul," she gasped with white lips, "this is Dmitry's pistol. I know it well. How did you come by it?--tell me, beloved. If he gave it to you, then it means danger, Paul--danger--"

"My darling," said Paul, in his strong young pride "fear nothing, I shall never leave you. I will protect you from any danger in the world, only depend upon me, sweetheart. Nothing can hurt you while I am here."

"Do you think I care a _sou_ for my life?" she said, while she stood straight up again with the majesty of a queen. "Do you think I feared for me--for myself? Oh! no, my own lover, never that! They can kill me when they choose, but they won't; it is you for whom I fear. Only your danger could make me cower, no other in the whole world."

Paul laughed with joy at her speech. "There is nothing to fear at all then, darling," he said. "I can take care of myself, you know. I am an Englishman."

And even in the tumult of her thoughts the lady found time to smile with tender amus.e.m.e.nt at the young insular arrogance of his last words. An Englishman, forsooth! Of course that meant a kind of G.o.d untouched by the failings of other nations. A great rush of pride in him came over her and gladdened her. He was indeed a splendid picture of youth and strength, as he stood there, the sunlight gilding his fair hair, and all the magnificent proportions of his figure thrown into relief against the background of grey stone and sky, an _insouciante_ smile on his lips, and all the light of love and self-confidence in his fine blue eyes.

She responded to the fire in them, and appeared to grow comforted and at peace. But all the way back through the wood to the Kalibad Hotel she glanced furtively into the shadows, while she talked gaily as she held Paul's arm.

And he never asked her a question as to where she expected the danger to come from. No anxiety for his own safety troubled him one jot--indeed, an unwonted extra excitement flooded his veins, making him enjoy himself with an added zest.

Dmitry as usual awaited them at the hotel; his face was serene, but when Paul's back was turned for a moment while he lit a cigarette, the lady questioned her servant with whispered fierceness in the Russian tongue.