CONSOLED
Justin had been to see Turner, the old drunkard, and was on his way
home the following evening, when he saw some one coming towards him
in the soft, starlit darkness. His heart gave a sudden leap when he
recognised Iris’s tall, erect figure as she came nearer. She was
evidently expecting him, for she came right up and stood before him.
“Justin,” she began in a voice which trembled a little, “I cannot
stand this any longer--you must talk to me,” she added with a touch of
desperation.
“Didn’t you read my letter?” he said with evident effort.
“Of course. But why didn’t you come and talk to me instead? That would
have been ever so much better,” she said, a slight hurt creeping into
her words in spite of herself. “I saw you come up here after dinner
and I have been waiting for you for some time; now I am going to talk
to you. There is a log just here under the hedge; come and let us sit
down.”
“But, Iris, you don’t mean to say that you will have anything more to
do with me after--that?” he asked in toneless incredulity.
“Justin! Don’t talk such utter nonsense--as if that or anything else
could ever make any difference!”
She led the way to the log under the hawthorn and sat down. But Rees
did not seat himself near her; he threw himself on the grass a little
distance away.
However, Iris had started out with the intention of comforting her
despairing lover and she was not going to be thwarted in her purpose.
She moved a little further down the log till she was so near him that
her gown brushed his shoulder.
“Justin,” she whispered, “why are you trying to get away from me?” And
she leant slightly towards him and placed one hand shyly on his head.
She knew exactly what she had come out to say--do; but it was not quite
so easy to carry out her intention now she was actually near him. His
presence always made her feel extraordinarily shy and had a confusing
effect on her senses. However, she had determined to overcome her own
emotions in order to comfort him. So now she moved her hand caressingly
through his thick, smooth hair and gradually drew his head down to her
lap.
“Oh, Iris!” he murmured, drawing a long, shuddering breath as he rested
against her.
A soft, fragrant hand played soothingly with the hair round his temple,
then very timidly it stole down over his cheek.
She felt him thrill to her touch. His stony despair was breaking up;
life was coming back to him.
“Iris--you are too miraculously good to me,” he whispered brokenly.
“No, I am not, dearest,” she breathed, bending over him. “You have been
so sad--so sad; now I am going to comfort you.”
He heaved another great sigh.
“My poor, dejected boy!” she murmured faintly.
He laid one arm over her knees and there was anguish in his clinging
touch. “Oh, Iris, hanging is too good for me, and you--treat me
like--this.” Suddenly he buried his face in her lap, and she felt his
strong frame shake.
“Oh, Justin!” she breathed, stooping closer over him and stroking the
back of his head with tremulous fingers. “Don’t grieve like that--I
can’t bear you to be so sad. Really, you must not grieve so--it was not
your fault at all, really it was not--it was all mine--_I_ drove you to
it.”
He raised his face at once. “No, no, you are not to say that; it was
quite my own fault. I should have been strong enough to stay here
and----”
Iris’s head dropped lower, and there was infinite contrition in her
voice as she said: “I have been so cruel to my poor boy; I have made
you suffer what I could never have borne myself if I had been in your
place.”
The arm round her knees clasped her closer. “Iris, you must not blame
yourself--I ought to have been strong enough to----” His frame shook
again.
She breathed more quickly; then all at once she drew his upturned face
to her breast. “My poor, broken-hearted boy,” she whispered with
tremulous tenderness, “you must let me comfort you; your dear head
shall rest here.” And she pillowed it gently over her fluttering heart.
Gradually his sighs subsided and his head nestled closer to her softly
moving bosom.
“Iris--this is--Heaven!” he faltered at last.
“Does it make you feel better?” she asked eagerly.
“I couldn’t possibly tell you how much. But oh, darling--I am too
unworthy to be near you.” His voice was beginning to quaver again.
Iris drew him more tenderly towards her. “You are not to talk like
that, and you are not to think about--that time--away; it was just an
unfortunate accident and something which will never happen again; and
we are both going to bury it for ever and forget that it ever took
place.”
“Sweetheart, you are an angel!”
“No, I am not. But remember, you are never to think of it again--will
you promise?”
“How can I?”
“Easily--think of something better,” and she allowed her face to drop
down to his head and rest there.
His arm stole diffidently round her waist. “Iris, you are too
marvellous.”
They sat for some time in silence. It was so wonderful to be together
again, speaking to each other, resting in one another’s embrace,
feeling the exquisite joy of contact. The sadness fell away from them;
the torment they had suffered during the last two weeks--all fell away
at the bliss of being together, as nightly shadows flee away at dawn.
“Do you feel happy again?” asked Iris, after a long, blissful pause.
“Sweetheart, how can I help it--when I have you so close to me?”
She moved her cheek gently to and fro against his hair. “I am so deeply
glad.”
“Oh, Iris, you don’t know what you have done for me to-night; you have
lifted me right out of--that awful place I--had sunk into, and I feel
now as if I could be what I--was--before.”
“Of course you can; the--other was just an accident, and--we are going
to keep clear of all such danger in future.”
“We?” he queried.
“Yes.” She pressed her head closer to his. “Oh, Justin! Can’t you
understand that I cannot leave you--now? I am going to live somewhere
in the district, and then I shall always be on hand in case you want
me.”
“You darling, are you really going to do that?” he said, drawing
her nearer. “But--I shall _always_ want you,” he added with a long,
yearning sigh.
“Well, then, I shall be in the neighbourhood and you may come to me
whenever you want to,” she said, trying to speak lightly. “And if by
any chance,” she continued hesitatingly, “you should feel that--that
temptation,” she added bravely, “you could come to me and I should give
you--this--instead.”
Suddenly they heard voices and footsteps.
“I don’t think she could have come up here in this lane,” Mrs.
Henderson was saying not far away from them. “You must have made a
mistake, Ralph--what could she be doing here all this time?”
“Mr. Rees came up here shortly after dinner,” replied Captain Barton in
annoyed tones.
Justin felt Iris start a little, then she rose slowly and walked to the
road with her most dignified air. “Have you come out to look for me?”
she asked with cold hauteur. “There was not the slightest need: I am
well taken care of--I am with Mr. Rees.”
“Ah, that is all right,” replied Mrs. Henderson pleasantly; “we were
just afraid you were wandering about alone and might get lost. Well,
Mr. Rees,” she said, turning to the driver, “what an age since we have
seen you; you have hardly had a moment to spare for your old friends
lately! I suppose we ought to be offended, but no doubt Iris has
already dealt with you on that point, so I will pass it over.”
Behind them walked Iris, tall, dignified, silent; and, if it had not
been for the darkness, her soldierly companion would have seen angry
flashes in her velvet blue eyes.