Cherry could not put the thought in actual black and white, even to
herself, but none the less she heard it speak. He had been tempted
once--what if it happened again, or again?
And now the girl lifted her head and looked at him, as if to spell out
the answer; never guessing how she looked. Wistful, questioning, eager;
a look so pathetic in its love and sorrow that Magnus had all he could
do to sit still and bear it. But then Cherry turned away again, and
dropping her face in her hands cried and sobbed as if she had never
cried before.
"That means, you give me up," Magnus said, struggling with himself.
"You have no use for me any more; and I may go to Jericho or the moon,
as I like best. Well, it is natural, I suppose. What could you want
with anyone who had even once given way? I shall never blame you,
Cherry. But, stop crying, dear heart! It's hard lines for a man to be
killed two ways at once. Cherry--stop! Do you hear?"
With a great effort the girl controlled herself, and looked up, pushing
the tears to right and left; drawing one of those long clearing-wind
breaths of which women seem to have the prerogative. A breath at once
of loss and of courage, coming from the depths of pain, but telling of
courage and hope; that sort of sigh which has many a time been followed
by a shout of victory.
Magnus had been watching her eagerly, but as she looked up, his eyes
turned away, and Cherry again studied him. What a boy he was still,
after all: the young head with its short, curling hair, already showing
that West Point barbers were far away; the smooth cheek giving faint
tokens of what soon would be. The very hands looked so young. They were
not clasped nor folded, but lay absolutely still, with that air of
intense waiting which the whole figure wore. Cherry gazed at them, one
and another scene of her young life wherein those hands had played a
part coming up before her. Played it so well and so kindly that she had
every line of them by heart; sledding, strawberrying, nutting, riding;
the broken toys they had mended, the strong help they had been in many
a rough place. Always gentle and patient for her, always ready to do
her bidding; the tenderest hands when she was hurt, the most untirable
for her need.
Cherry almost cried out aloud, for the sudden stricture of heart, but
she kept herself in hand, and now her look went up to the face again,
and she found that Magnus was watching her, with the intensest, hungry,
longing eagerness. He did not stir, but sat still in that attitude of
waiting.
"Magnus--"
"What?"
"Why do not you speak?"
"I have nothing to say, Cherry."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. I have said all I can. I might promise never to grieve you
again; might promise all sorts of beautiful things; but you know--and I
know--that something stronger than mere love of you, dear, must do the
work, and that the work must be done, whether you ever love me again or
not. I believe I did not know I could be tempted--and I have been left
to find it out. If I tell you that I have sworn unto the Lord and will
not go back, it is not to plead my cause with you, Cherry; but because
I know that just for old-time's sake, your dear heart will always care
that your old playmate should grow into a man and not a beast."
"Oh, Magnus!" she cried, in that same sudden way.
"Well, that is what it amounts to. That was what I called myself next
morning. And then with the joy of getting home and among you all
again--and the wonder of seeing what you had grown into--everything
else went out of my head. I was so eager to have you that I took it for
granted you would have me. Then I remembered that for two whole years
you had seen nothing of me, and the more I loved you the more that
thought kept coming up. So then I gave you the whole story, and lost
all I care for in this world. But it had to be done--and I should do it
again. You needn't look at me so, dear, and try to hide how you feel.
You could not help being disgusted. I do not blame you in the least,
Cherry."
"Oh, Magnus!" she cried again. "How can you use such words about me?"
"What words shall I use? You were disgusted, and you know it."
"No, oh, no!"
"What then? Choose your own words, and tell me."
"I thought my heart was breaking," the girl said, pressing both hands
upon her breast. "That was all."
"Was that all?" Magnus said, with a sort of quiet rage at himself. "Had
I done nothing but that? Only broken the truest heart that ever beat?
Nothing more?"
"Please, please!" Cherry pleaded. "Magnus, I cannot talk to you if you
say such things."
"Go on then, you, and do the talking. Didn't I tell you I had nothing
more to say?"
Cherry hesitated a moment, and then she put out her hand and laid it
softly on that other which had grown so brown with handling guns and
pontoons. Magnus winced, as at the touch of sharp steel, but his own
hand never stirred.
"What is it?" he said rather shortly.
"Magnus--does your mother know?"
"I am going to tell her."
"No, no, do not! There is no need," Cherry said earnestly.
"Not much use, perhaps," he answered in a gloomy tone. "She's bound to
be my mother, through thick and thin."
"Promise!" Cherry said.
"What have you got to do with it?" Magnus asked her, looking up. "What
business is it of yours, anyhow? You have washed your hands of me and
my concerns."
"Magnus, you _know_ that is not true."
"I hope it will not take more tears to do the work," he went on in the
same tone. "There have been enough shed now, to clear away fifteen
years of memories."
"You do not think so, or you would not say it," poor Cherry protested.
"You are just trying to make me contradict you."
"Am I?" said Magnus, with a half laugh. "Well, go ahead and do it,
then. Say nothing could ever make you forget me."
"Nothing ever could."
"Say you did love me with all your heart when I went away."
"Yes."
"And all the time I was gone."
"All the time."
"And when I came home."
"Yes," the girl answered in her grave, sweet tones.
"So little while ago!" Magnus said, with a deep breath. "Cherry, you
were very distant to me at first--have been, all along."
"You were a little bit of a stranger."
"And now you know me too well. So it goes. If I had not told you--but
it is better so."
"Oh, yes; far better!" the girl said earnestly. "Secrets are terrible
things between people who--care for each other."
"How cautiously she chooses her words," Magnus said, in the same hard
way. "Has to stop and think whether she even cares."
"Magnus, that is not true."
"Didn't you stop to think what to say?"
"Yes."
"Well, then."
"People stop to think for different reasons."
"You were afraid of saying too much, and you know you were."
"If you are so very far-seeing, perhaps you can also tell me why."
"Because you are as true as the blue sky," said Magnus; "and as
tender, and so you wanted to use the softest words you could, and hurt
me the least."
"You would not 'make a max,' as you call it, on girls," said Cherry,
her lips parting in a bit of a smile. "I did not choose my words so, at
all."
"Why, then?"
"Because I am a girl, I think," she answered rather slowly.
"And so did not want to give more pain than you could help. That is
just what I said."
"Do you ever play stupid at West Point?" Cherry said a little
impatiently.
"No need to play it."
"Well, there is no need now," she said, springing up; "and I am going
home till you come back to your common sense."
"No, don't go!" Magnus said, catching hold of her dress. "Sit down
and lecture me, scold me, say what you will of me, only stay a while
longer. Cherry, you do not know what it is to have the only girl in the
world throw you off."
She turned then, and stood looking down at him; the fair face telling
all he wanted to know; but, as Cherry had said, he was not well read in
girls.
"Magnus," she said, "what makes you talk so? I am not 'the only girl
in the world'--but I have not thrown you off. You know I could not do
that. Unless----"
"Unless what?" he said eagerly.
"Unless I knew you had _chosen_ such ways," the girl said, growing very
white. "And then it would be you that had thrown me off."