A Young Man in a Hurry, and Other Short Stories Part 22

"No, there is no mistake," she said, bending her head and looking him in the eyes--"unless you have made the mistake--unless," she said, quickly--"you do not want me."

"Want you!" he stammered, catching fire of a sudden--"want you, you beautiful child! I love you if ever man loved on earth! Want you?" His hand fell heavily on hers, and closed. For an instant their palms lay close together; her heart almost stopped; then a swift flame flew to her face and she struggled to withdraw her fingers twisted in his.

"You must not do that," she said, breathlessly. "I do not love you--I warned you!"

He said: "You _must_ love me! Can't you understand? You made me love you--you made me! Listen to me--it is all a mistake--but it is too late now. I did not dare even think of you--I have simply got to tell you the truth--I did not dare think of you--I must say it--and I can't understand how I could ever have seen you and not loved you. But when you spoke--when I touched you--"

"Please, please," she said, faintly, "let me go! It is not a mistake; I--I am glad that you love me; I will try to love you. I want to--I believe I can--"

"You _must_!"

"Yes, ... I will.... Please let me go!"

Breathless and crimson, she fell back into her corner, staring at him.

He dropped his arm on the back of the rustic seat.

Presently he laughed uncertainly, and struck his forehead with his open hand.

"It's a mistake," he said; "and if it is a mistake, Heaven help the other man!"

She watched him with curious dismay. Never could she have believed that the touch of a man's hand could thrill her; never had she imagined that the words of a man could set her heart leaping to meet his stammered vows. A new shame set her very limbs quaking as she strove to rise. The distress in her eyes, the new fear, the pitiful shyness, called to him for mercy.

For a miracle he understood the mute appeal, and he took her hand in his quietly and bade her good-night, saying he would stay and smoke awhile.

"Good-night," she said; "I am really tired. I would rather you stayed here. Do you mind?"

"No," he said.

"Then I shall go back alone."

He watched her across the lawn. When she had gone half-way, she looked back and saw him standing there in the moonlight.

And that night, as her little silver hand-gla.s.s reflected her brilliant cheeks, she veiled her face in her bright hair and knelt down by her bedside.

But all she could say was, "I love him--truly I love him!" which was one kind of prayer, after all.

IV

A deep, sweet happiness awoke her ere the earliest robin chirped. Never since the first pink light touched Eden had such a rosy day dawned for any maid on earth.

She awoke in love; her enchanted eyes unclosed on a world she had never known.

Unashamed, she held out her arms to the waking world and spoke her lover's name aloud. Then the young blood leaped in her, and her eyes were like stars after a rain.

Oh, she must hasten now, for there was so little time to live in the world, and every second counted. Healthy of body, wholesome of soul, innocent and ardent in her new-born happiness, she could scarcely endure the rush of golden moments lost in an impetuous bath, in twisting up her bright hair, in the quick knotting of a ribbon, the click of a buckle on knee and shoe.

Then, as she slipped down the stairs into the darkened hall, trepidation seized her, for she heard his step.

He came swinging along the hallway; she stood still, trembling. He came up quickly and took her hands; she did not move; his arm encircled her waist; he lifted her head; it lay back on his shoulder, and her eyes met his.

"All day together," he was saying; and her soul leaped to meet his words, but she could not speak.

He held her at arms'-length, laughing, a little troubled.

"Mystery of mysteries," he said, under his breath; "there is some blessed Heaven-directed mistake in this. _Is_ there, sweetheart?"

"No," she said.

"And if there was?"

"Can you ask?"

"Then come to breakfast, heart of my heart!--the moments are flying very swiftly, and there is only this day left--until to-morrow. Listen! I hear the steward moving like a gray rat in the pantry. Can we endure a steward in Eden?"

"Only during breakfast," she said, laughing. "I smell the wheaten flapjacks, and, oh, I am famished!"

There have been other breakfasts--Barmecide breakfasts compared with their first crust broken in love.

But they ate--oh, indeed, they ate everything before them, from flapjacks to the piles of little, crisp trout. And they might have called for more, but there came, on tiptoe, the steward, bowing, presenting a telegram on a tray of silver; and Crawford's heart stopped, and he stared at the bit of paper as though it concealed a coiled snake.

She, too, suddenly apprehensive, sat rigid, the smile dying out in her eyes; and when he finally took the envelope and tore it open, she s.h.i.+vered.

"_Crawford, Sagamore Club_:

"Ophir has consolidated with Steel Plank. You take charge of London office. Make arrangements to catch steamer leaving a week from to-morrow. Garcide and I will be at Sagamore to-night. JAMES J. CRAWFORD."

He sat staring at the telegram; she, vaguely apprehensive for the safety of this new happiness of hers, clasped her hands tightly in her lap and waited.

"Any answer, sir?" asked the steward.

Crawford took the offered telegram blank and mechanically wrote:

"Instructions received. Will expect you and Garcide to-night.

JAMES CRAWFORD."

She sat, twisting her fingers on her knees, watching him in growing apprehension. The steward took the telegram.

Crawford looked at her with a ghastly smile.

They rose together, instinctively, and walked to the porch.

"Oh yes," he said, under his breath, "such happiness was too perfect.

Magic is magic--it never lasts."

"What is it?" she asked, faintly.

He picked up his cap, which was lying on a chair.