I Walked in Arden Part 17

"Run--run for your life, Ted!" The tone of her voice brought instant obedience. We fled in miserable panic back to our pasture, followed, luckily, by Leonidas. As we reached the remains of our camp fire, Helen sank exhausted with laughter, great tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ted, it was a skunk," she gasped, much as Mrs. Siddons must have spoken a famous line of Lady Macbeth's. Leonidas lay panting, his nose between his paws. I wiped the sweat of exertion and relief from my forehead.

"That's the worst of adventures," I said, after a pause. "The stories never mention the unpleasant odour one is apt to encounter by the way."

"Ted, that's the narrowest escape we ever had. What would mother have said?" and she rocked again with laughter.

"My immediate concern would not have been 'mother,' if anything had happened," I commented reflectively. "Leonidas," and I turned to him, "I hope you have learned the lesson of never overplaying your hand. We sent you on one adventure, and you got us into one not on the orthodox list."

Leonidas c.o.c.ked one eye at me and feebly wagged his tail.

"Ted, those bushes have made my hair a sight," Helen said, and without more ado, tumbled it all down on her shoulders. Something caught my throat; I had never seen her with her hair down, and the added beauty it gave her almost hurt. I sat silent and motionless, staring at her while she combed it out as if she were doing the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Don't put it up--just yet," and I made a slight gesture to stop her, as she began to twist it into a ma.s.s.

"Why not, Ted? It's untidy enough as it is," and her grey eyes opened wide at me. I couldn't explain.

"Please leave it."

"Silly boy, if you want me to," she laughed, and tossed it back with a shake of her head.

"May I touch it?" I begged, stretching forth my hand. Instinctively she drew away slightly.

"I don't know, Ted," and we looked at each other a long minute.

"Please," I coaxed. She hesitated and then she began to do it up.

"I don't think you'd better," she said so low I could scarcely hear her.

"It isn't like us, Ted." That answer was so final that I did not dream of questioning it.

"I'm sorry I asked--forgive me, Helen dear," and I got up to gather sticks with which to revive our fire. Leonidas remained on guard by Helen's side. While I was away I led the horses over to a pond at the foot of the hill and watered them. Upon my return Helen was looking her imperturbable neat self. We read the Mallory together before the fire until the sinking November sun warned us to go. The problem arose: would Leonidas follow our horses? He could not be led on a leash, and without Leonidas Helen refused to return. Experiment was necessary; to our joy Leonidas remained indifferent whether we rode or walked afoot. He was content to follow either way. With some trepidation we picked our way by the first farm-house we pa.s.sed, expecting either to be challenged to surrender the dog or else to see Leonidas dash home; neither of these things happened. It was impossible to canva.s.s the countryside, house by house, looking for his owner--at least, I thus stifled Helen's conscience on this point, for, faced with the necessity of carrying him off, she suddenly felt we ought to pay for him. Leonidas simply came.

The air grew chillier and chillier; Helen started off on a brisk canter to warm us up. Along a soft dirt road we went at a good clip, Leonidas trailing desperately in the rear. We were on the crest of a hill overlooking distant Deep Harbor and the lake. The soft coal smoke lay black over the town, blending with the lighter greys of the water and sky. All outlines were blurred and softened in the half light, and Deep Harbor might have been a city of dreams. Ahead of me, Helen must have been thinking something the same, for she pointed toward it with a sweeping gesture of her arm.

As she did so her horse caught a loose stone, stumbled, and fell. I had one glimpse of her lying motionless in the road, after her horse scrambled up and dashed on, riderless; the next I knew, I was at her side, my own horse abandoned, holding her tightly in my arms.

I was dazed with the suddenness of it all; for a moment I could not think and did nothing but hug her close, her head against my shoulder, as I bent over her face and whispered, "Helen, dear! Helen!" over and over again.

At last she opened her eyes of her own accord, for I had taken no rational steps to aid her, and smiled at me. I held her still more closely, delirious with joy; her eyes grew serious as she looked back at me, until they melted into the tenderest grey any man has ever seen.

Then we both understood; there was no need of further words; her hand sought mine and rested there with quiet confidence.

"It's my knee, Ted. I've wrenched it," she whispered. "I must have fainted--that wasn't like me, Teddy dear, was it?" Again she smiled such a happy little smile that actually a tear from my eyes fell upon her cheek.

I laid her gently down, roused to some vague trace of commonsense. "I'll get some water," I said, looking helplessly around at an arid country road.

"It's much more important, Ted, to catch the horses." There was truth in this. Mine was quietly cropping gra.s.s a few yards away; Helen's was doing the same about a hundred yards further on. Leonidas joined us, evidently in deep concern. It was a simple matter to catch my horse, for he had been trained to come at command. Helen refused again to let me help her until I had made a try for her animal. I mounted and rode cautiously up to the mare; she gave a toss of her head and was off for a few yards further. We repeated this several times with the same results.

Next I dismounted and advanced with elaborate flattery. Useless; the beast would not allow herself to be caught. I was in despair, imagining Helen to be suffering pain which somehow my presence might alleviate, while this confounded horse was taking me straight away. Apparently, however, the horse tired of the game after a few more minutes, or else her feminine nature desired to a.s.sert itself in a new way; as I was about to give it up as a bad job she unexpectedly permitted me to walk right up to her and seize the bridle. Needless to say, the three of us were not long in returning to Helen.

She was sitting up with one foot straight out in front of her, Leonidas proudly beside her. "I can stand on it, Ted," she called out, "but riding is out of the question." It was rapidly growing dark, and we were several miles from home. The roads we chose for riding were the unfrequented by-ways; it seemed unlikely, therefore, that there was much hope of anything pa.s.sing. Also it was cold. These things we ruefully enumerated to each other.

"Do you feel much pain?" I asked when we had exhausted the list of other disadvantages in the situation. We both avoided reference to what we knew had happened when she first opened her eyes in my arms.

"It hurts only if I bend it. I don't dare take my riding boot off for fear I couldn't get it on again. It's only a twist--nothing broken, or I couldn't stand. Isn't it ridiculous, Ted?" and she laughed.

"I don't want to leave you here alone--in the dark--while I get help, dearest--and yet I don't see what else to do."

"Indeed, you won't leave me alone, Ted, if I stay here all night. We'll just wait. Perhaps I'll be able to walk after a little rest."

"There ought to be a farm near by--I could telephone from there--"

"You'll sit right here with me, dear," she said with finality. "This whole country is full of tramps--they're all making for the big cities at this time of the year."

I knew this to be true; they were to be seen everywhere. Deep Harbor's freight yards were a kind of clearing house for tramps stealing rides east and west. They camped, by night, for miles about the town. The mere thought of them made me sit promptly by Helen's side. We sat for a long time in silence.

"It is true, Ted, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes."

"And to think we never guessed it!"

"Not until I saw you lying in the road," I said with a slight catch in my voice, as the picture flashed through my mind again. Her warm, womanly hand crept into mine, and once more there was silence. We were both too overwhelmed with this new miracle to talk about it. I could not see her face, for the night was too dark. I don't think it occurred to either of us that we had not as yet exchanged a lovers' kiss or even mentioned the word "love." We both wanted a little time to think about and feel our happiness. Leonidas curled up at our feet and slept. She reached down and stroked his head gently.

"You won't laugh at me for wanting to keep Sir Leonidas do la Patte Jaune now, will you, Ted dear?"

"No," I answered, smiling in spite of myself to think what strange forms the bearers of romance could take. Then came a different mood. The world was glowing, building beautiful fantastic shapes and sounds in my mind, in which there swirled black smoke from factory chimneys, grey eyes and flowing hair, the clatter of horses' hoofs, Helen's laugh, the ugly square face of a yellow dog--a tumbling, changing medley of sound and colour, half ecstatic, half terrible, for through it all darted again and again the vision of Helen lying still and motionless upon the road--an insistent ba.s.s accompaniment striving to drown the shriller, sweeter notes of joy. I could not speak. I tried to say something to Helen, to tell her something of what I felt, but I could only press her hand and hold it tight. "Here is the true beginning of life," my thoughts cried to me. "Remember that with the beginning of life also begins the end," rumbled that terrifying ba.s.s. Why--why should fear come to me on this day of all days? Was it some ancient racial superst.i.tion of primitive man's that when the G.o.ds smiled then they plotted evil?--was it such a childish inherited instinct as this that had seized me? But dread would not shake off. "The Greeks believed great happiness to be dangerous; the mediaeval monks scourged it from their bodies; the Puritans cursed it," thundered that ba.s.s, crying down the "I love her"

singing in my ears.

"If you will let me lean upon your shoulder, I think I can walk now,"

came Helen's gentle voice, bringing me with a start from the whirlpool of my thoughts. I stood up. "What were you thinking, Teddy?" she asked shyly as I stooped to help her to her feet.

"You know the Tannhauser overture?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"Listen to it and you'll guess a little how my head sounds."

I put one arm around her and led the horses as best I could with my left hand. We made slow and painful progress down the road. Helen was as plucky as I knew she would be; although each step was agony, not a whimper came from her lips. About half a mile from where we started the light of a farm appeared; we staggered through the little swinging gate, arousing a pack of dogs which made more noise than the Seven Champions of Christendom. With difficulty we restrained Leonidas from going to a n.o.ble death in single combat against the lot. It took as heavy knocking as upon the gates of Macbeth's castle to arouse the farmer within, who finally opened the door a distrustful crack and stood surveying us by the light of a gla.s.s oil lamp held above his head. He was clad in rubber boots, trousers, and a night s.h.i.+rt; the expression upon his face did not indicate any anxiety to ask us to partake of bread and salt with him.

"Have you a telephone?" I asked. "This lady was thrown from her horse and hurt. I want to get help."

He reflectively turned all this over in his mind, evidently considering the request and its accompanying statement from all conceivable angles.

Leonidas tactlessly growled at him and incurred severe reproof from Helen.

"Please let me in," she pleaded. "I want very much to sit down." I was meditating choking consent out of the impa.s.sive sour-faced old man. A high-pitched nasal voice called out from the head of the stairs: "Henery, don't you dast to give no tramps anything to eat."

"I'll pay you for your trouble," I said, producing a few bills.

"I reckon I don't have to be paid for no trouble," the old codger snarled. I saw that I had made another error of tact. "What you doing out gallivantin' around this time of night?" he added.

"We are not out from choice," I reminded him. "This lady has had an accident and is seriously hurt. All we ask is to be allowed to stay here until we get help from town."