YES.
On leaving the church, Galbraith and his companion walked slowly down
the road. The street was hedged in between two low walls, gray with
age, and partly coated with a short, thick moss, whose original colour
was hidden by the dust lying heavy upon it. The tops of the walls were
covered with bits of broken glass, fragments of bottles stuck upright
into the masonry as a defence against trespassers.
Behind these barriers, on either side, the date and cocoa palms grew
in thick profusion, hiding from view the dwelling-houses which lay
among them. At short intervals a disreputable-looking gate was passed,
the paint peeling off in patches from the wood-work. With the
exception of the one or two couples returning from service, and a few
native Christians at Pinto's liquor stall, lounging with the flies
among the long-necked glass bottles, there were no people in the
street. The middle of the road was six inches deep in fine dust, but
on the side where the pavement should have been, was a small pathway,
beaten hard, with just sufficient room for two, provided they walked
somewhat closely to each other. John went in the dust, leaving his
companion the whole of the sidewalk. His boots were covered with the
clinging gray powder, and a portion of it had sprinkled itself on his
clothes.
"It's very dusty there, Mr. Galbraith; don't you think you had better
come on to the sidewalk?"
"Thank you," said John humbly, as he joined the widow. As he came up,
the folds of her dress brushed against him, and her shoulder grazed
his. The touch sent a thrill through Galbraith's veins.
"I--I beg pardon," said he nervously, "I am very awkward."
The widow smiled slightly, and shot a glance at him from under her
dark eye-lashes. "I don't see that you have anything to beg pardon
for."
Galbraith was about to say that all life should be one appeal for
pardon, but he checked himself, and, glancing at the walls on either
side of them, remarked--
"I wonder how many thousands of bottles were used to make that defence
work on the walls here!"
"I really couldn't tell, Mr. Galbraith," replied the widow a little
sharply.
John remained silent and abashed for a few moments, and at last she
spoke.
"I got your letter, of course, this morning. What was it you were
going to tell me? Not about the glass bottles, I hope?" and she showed
an even row of pearly teeth between her red lips.
A cold sweat burst out on Galbraith's forehead, and his tongue seemed
paralysed. "I--I," he stammered, and then he clutched at a straw. "But
what a number of people are on the road to-day."
"There is the short cut, and I think we had better take that." The
widow lifted her skirts slightly, and daintily tripped across. John
caught a glimpse of an exquisite foot and ankle as he followed.
"Lord," he cried in his heart, "deliver me from temptation!"
Arrived at the opposite side of the road, Halsa turned to her
companion, and putting out her foot, looked ruefully at it.
"I have made my boots so dusty--what a horrid road this is!"
John glanced round him nervously, then he pulled out his handkerchief.
"May I?" he asked in a hesitating manner as he waved the folds in the
air.
"If you would be so kind;" and John, stooping down, brushed away the
dust from one dainty foot, and then the other. He could not help
lingering over the task.
The widow, looking down on him, smiled to herself. "He's getting on,"
she murmured, and then--
"I think that will do--thank you so much. I'm afraid you have ruined
that handkerchief--I'm so sorry."
John gave a last brush at the boot before him and rose. He was a
little red in the face, but--he was getting on.
"I shall always keep this handkerchief sacredly, Mrs. Lamport," said
he, putting it into his pocket carefully.
"How ridiculous!" And the widow gave a little toss to her head, her
colour rising slightly.
They walked down the lane until they reached a small gateway. "This,"
said Halsa as she passed through it, "takes us into the custard apple
garden, immediately behind the palm tree, and my favourite seat is
there--near the well."
Galbraith followed her under the shade of the palms to the orchard.
Their feet crackled over the dry leaves. A rough wooden seat was
placed near a banyan tree which spread its shade over the well. Behind
the seat was a thick lentena hedge in full bloom, and the butterflies
were playing in a small cloud over the blossoms. Close to them a few
mynas squabbled over some fallen fruit, and a gray squirrel scuttled
past their feet up the trunk of the banyan, and chattered shrilly at
them from its branches.
The widow sank into the seat with a comfortable purr, and began
tracing imaginary diagrams with the end of her parasol among the
fallen leaves at her feet. Galbraith remained standing. "Won't you sit
down, Mr. Galbraith?" and Halsa pointed to the vacant space at her
side. "There's room for two."
"It is not very warm to-day," he said, as he accepted the invitation.
"No; I think it is quite cool. Look at the clouds. I shouldn't be
surprised if there was rain;" and the widow looked up at the fleecy
masses which had floated between the sunlight and the earth, hiding
the glare and cooling the day.
"Yes, I think we want some rain. This is about the time it usually
comes."
"Does it?" Halsa turned her eyes straight upon Galbraith as she said
this and looked at him. They were very pretty eyes, very honest and
true.
Galbraith had thought over what he meant to say, but could remember
nothing. All at once a desperate courage seemed to possess him.
"Halsa," he said--his voice was very low and tender--"will you give me
this?" He took her hand as he spoke. It lay in his unresistingly. It
seemed to return his warm pressure.
The widow's eyes were lowered now, and her cheeks like flame. "My
dear," he said, and Halsa, lifting up her face, answered, "I will."
Galbraith could hardly believe himself. He could almost hear the
beating of his own heart as he sat with Halsa Lamport's hand in his.
After a while she drew her hand gently away. "Was it this that you
meant to tell me?" she asked, and John smiled back "Yes."
There was another silence of a few minutes. Galbraith breathed a
silent prayer for the blessing which he believed had been vouchsafed
to him. "Lord," he murmured to himself, "I see thy work in this."
"It's getting late," said Halsa suddenly. "They must be back from
church now, and will miss us." She rose and stood near Galbraith, her
dress touching him. John stood up meekly, and as he stood the widow
started back with a little cry, "Don't!"
"Don't--what?"
"I--I thought----" She did not finish her sentence, for the next
moment Galbraith's arm was round her waist, and he drew her toward
him. Except his mother, he had never touched lip of woman. He kissed
her gently with the tenderest possible pressure, and then he kissed
her again and again, until at last Halsa drew herself from his arm.
"There," she said, "I think that's enough for you to-day."
John wondered to himself if he could ever have enough of the nectar he
had tasted.
"We must really go in now," said Halsa decisively.
"One kiss more," he pleaded. His arm was round her waist; her lips
were once more raised to his, when there was a crash in the lentena
hedge, a rush of scampering feet, and a shrill voice called out:
"Oh my! how nice! I'm going to tell mummy."
The lovers shot back from each other, and the widow bit her lips with
anger.
"It's that horrid little Eddy Bunny. He must have been watching us the
whole time. I should like to shake him," and she stamped her foot.
John recovered himself. "Never mind, darling," he said. "Eddy will
only break the news for us."
It was wonderful how easy it all seemed now.