Lydia of the Pines Part 65

Several times she had an almost overwhelming desire to tell him what she had done. But she could not bear to destroy the ideal she knew he had of her, even for the relief of receiving his sympathy, of which she was very sure.

Billy came to see her as usual, and took her to an occasional dance.

But he was not the friend of old. And the change was not in any neglect of things done, it was in his way of looking at her; in his long silences when he studied her face with a grieved, puzzled look that made her frantic; in his ceasing to talk over his work with her with any air of comrades.h.i.+p, and most of all in his ceasing to bully her--that inalienable earmark of the att.i.tude of the lover toward the beloved.

Lydia's nerves began to feel the strain before spring came in. She was pale in the morning and fever-flushed in the afternoon and her hands were uncertain. March was long and bleak, that year, but April came in as sweetly as a silver bugle call. The first week in April the ice went out of the lake with a crash and boom and mighty upheaval, leaving a pellucid calm of blue waters that brought a new light to Lydia's face. She heard the first robin call on her way home from college, the day that the ice went out.

She had walked up the road ahead of Billy, her black scholar's gown fluttering. Once, he would have run to overtake her, but now he plodded along a block behind, without a sound. Lydia did not pause at the cottage gate. The call of the robin was in her blood and she swung on up the road, past the Norton place, and into the woods.

Young April was there, with its silence a-tip-toe, and its warmth and chill. Lydia drew a deep breath and paused where through the trunks of the white birches she caught the glimmer of the lake. There was a log at hand and she sat down, threw her mortar-board on the ground and rested, chin cupped in her hands, lips parted, eyes tear dimmed. She was weary of thought. She only knew that the spiritual rightness with which she had sustained her mind and body through all the hard years of her youth, had gone wrong. She only knew that a loneliness of soul she could not seem to endure was robbing her of a youth that as yet she had scarcely tasted.

She sat without stirring. The blue of the lake began to turn orange.

The robin's note grew fainter. Suddenly there was the sound of hasty footsteps through the dead leaves. Lydia looked up. Billy was striding toward her. She did not speak, nor did he. It seemed to her that she never had noticed before how mature Billy's face was in its new gauntness, nor how deep and direct was his gaze.

He strode up to the log, stooped, and drew Lydia to her feet. Then he lifted her, scholar's gown and all, in his arms and kissed her full on the lips, kissed her long and pa.s.sionately, then looked deep into her eyes and held her to him until she could feel his heart beating full and quick.

For just a moment, Lydia did not stir, then she threw her arms around his neck, hid her face against his shoulder and clung to him with an intensity that made him tremble.

The robin's note grew sweeter, fainter. The lake lap-lapped beyond the birches. Billy slipped his hand under Lydia's cheek and turned her face so that he could look into her eyes. At what he saw there, his own firm lips quivered.

"Lydia!" he whispered.

Then he kissed her again.

Lydia freed herself from his arms, though he kept both of her hands in his.

"Now," he said gently, with a smile of a quality Lydia never had seen on his lips before, "now, sweetheart, are you going to be good?"

"Yes," murmured Lydia, with the contralto lilt in her voice. "What do you want me to do. Billy?"

"I want what you want, dearest. I want the old Lydia with the vision.

Has she come back, or shall I have to look for her again?"

He started as if to take Lydia in his arms once more, but with a sudden rich little laugh, she stepped away from him.

"She's here--Oh, Billy, _dearest_! How could you let her wander around alone so long."

"It didn't hurt my cause any for her to miss me," answered Billy, grimly, "though I didn't realize that till a moment ago. Stop your trembling, Lydia. I'm here to look out for you, for the rest of time."

"I can hear Adam barking," said Lydia. "Dad must have come home. Take me back, Billy."

"All right," replied Billy. "I will just as soon as you tell me something."

Lydia looked up into his face. "Not that just yet, please, Billy. I must make things right with Dad and Kent."

Billy seized her shoulders. "Is there anything between you and Kent, Lydia?" he said, jealously.

"Not in words," she answered, "but of course he's gone ahead with my land deal, with the idea he'd share in it."

Billy's hands tightened on her shoulders. "Dear," Lydia went on pleadingly, "don't spoil this perfect moment. We must have this, always, no matter what comes."

"Nothing can come," replied Billy sternly. "Give me your hand, little girl. It's getting cold in these woods."

They walked back to the cottage in silence, hand in hand. They paused at the gate and Lydia pointed through the dusk at the new moon.

"Let's wish on it," she said. "Close your eyes, and wish."

Billy closed his eyes. A kiss as soft as the robin's note fell on his lips and the gate clicked. He opened his eyes and stood looking up the path long after the door closed, his hat in his hand.

Lydia wandered into the dining-room quite casually.

"For heaven's sake, Lydia!" cried Amos. "I was just going to start on a hunt for you!"

"I took a walk in the woods," explained Lydia, "and was gone longer than I realized."

"Supper's ready. Sit right down," said Lizzie, looking at Lydia, intently.

Amos was absorbed in his own thoughts during the meal. He and Kent had both been worried and absent minded, lately. He paid no heed to the fact that Lydia only played with her food and that during the meal she smiled at nothing. But old Lizzie, who had worried herself half sick over Lydia, watched her with growing curiosity.

"Seen Kent, to-day, Lydia?" she asked.

After a moment--"Did you speak to me, Lizzie?" Lydia inquired.

"Yes, I did. I asked if you'd seen Kent to-day."

"I? No, I haven't seen Kent. We had a quiz in chemistry, to-day."

"What's that got to do with anything?" grunted Lizzie. But she asked no more questions.

Ma Norton came over during the evening to borrow some yeast. Amos was working over some figures on a bit of paper. Lydia was sitting with a text book in front of her. She had not turned a leaf in twenty minutes, to Lizzie's actual count.

"Spring's here," said Ma. "Though there's still a bite in the air.

Not that Billy seems to notice it. I found him sitting on the front steps with his cigar, as if it was June."

Lizzie gave Lydia a quick look and wondered if she only imagined that her cheeks were turning pinker.

"I can't sit down," Ma went on, "I've got to set this sponge to rise."

"I'll walk home with you, Mrs. Norton," said Lydia, suddenly. "It seems as if one couldn't get enough of this first spring day."

"Do!" Ma's voice was always extra cordial when she spoke to Lydia.

Lizzie watched the door close behind the two. "I knew it," she exclaimed.

"Knew what?" inquired Amos, looking up from his figures.

"That there was a new moon," answered the old lady, shortly, trudging off to her bedroom.

"Liz is getting childish," thought Amos, returning to his work.