It was ablaze with a great triumph; the fire seemed to spread to her
cheeks.
"It's better than I dreamed or hoped," he murmured.
"What? To have peace between us? Yes, it's good."
"I have never seen your face before." She made no answer. "Nor you
mine?" he asked.
"Once on Sandy Nab you passed by me. You didn't notice me--but, yes, I
saw you." Her eyes were steadily on him now; the flush had ceased to
deepen, nay, had receded, but abode still, tingeing the olive of her
cheeks.
"I have rendered my homage," he said.
"It is accepted." Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. "And you might have
been so cruel to me!" she whispered.
"To you? To you who carry the power of a world in your face?"
The Marchesa was confused--as was, perhaps, hardly unnatural.
"There are other things, besides gates and walls, and Norah's head, that
you jump over, Lord Lynborough."
"I lived a life while I stood waiting for the clock to strike. I have
tried for life before--in that minute I found it." He seemed suddenly to
awake as though from a dream. "But I beg your pardon. I have paid my
dues. The bond gives me no right to linger."
She rose with a light laugh--yet it sounded nervous. "Is it good-by
till next St. John Baptist's day?"
"You would see me walking on Beach Path day by day."
"I never call it Beach Path."
"May it now be called--Helena's?"
"Or will you stay and lunch with me to-day? And you might even pay
homage again--say to-morrow--or--or some day in the week."
"Lunch, most certainly. That commits me to nothing. Homage, Marchesa, is
quite another matter."
"Your chivalry is turning to bargaining, Lord Lynborough."
"It was never anything else," he answered. "Homage is rendered in
payment--that's why one says 'Whereas.'" His keen eager eyes of hazel
raised once more the flood of subdued crimson in her face. "For every
recognition of a right of mine, I will pay you homage according to the
form prescribed for St. John Baptist's Feast."
"Of what other rights do you ask recognition?"
"There might be the right of welcoming you at Scarsmoor to-morrow?"
She made him a little curtsy. "It is accorded--on the prescribed terms,
my lord."
"That will do for the twenty-fifth. There might be the right of
escorting you home from Scarsmoor by the path called--Helena's?"
"On the prescribed terms it is your lordship's."
"What then of the right to see you daily, and day by day?"
"If your leisure serves, my lord, I will endeavor to adjust mine--so
long as we both remain at Fillby. But so that the homage is paid!"
"But if you go away?"
"I'm bound to tell you of my whereabouts only on St. John Baptist's
Feast."
"The right to know it on other days--would that be recognized in return
for a homage, Marchesa?"
"One homage for so many letters?"
"I had sooner there were no letters--and daily homages."
"You take too many obligations--and too lightly."
"For every one I gain the recognition of a right."
"The richer you grow in rights then, the harder you must work!"
"I would have so many rights accorded me as to be no better than a
slave!" cried Lynborough. "Yet, if I have not one, still I have
nothing."
She spoke no word, but looked at him long and searchingly. She was not
nervous now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh words; they had passed
beyond the borders of merriment, beyond the bandying of challenges. Yet
her eyes carried no prohibition; it was a warning only. She interposed
no conventional check, no plea for time. She laid on him the
responsibility for his speech; let him remember that he owed her homage.
They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lasted
long, the homage took much time in paying.
"A marvelous thing has come to me," said Lynborough, speaking slower
than his wont, "and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. This
morning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don't speak
of the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St.
John's Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have known
one another longer, aye, and better than our faces."
"Yes, I think it is so," she said quietly. "Yet who can tell so soon?"
"There's a great gladness upon me because my dream came true."
"Who can tell so soon?" she asked again. "It's strange to speak of it."
"It may be that some day--yes, some day soon--in return for the homage
of my lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition of my lip's right
on your cheek."
She came up to him and laid her hand on his arm. "Suffer me a little
while, my lord," she said. "You've swept into my life like a whirlwind;
you would carry me by assault as though I were a rebellious city. Am I
to be won before ever I am wooed?"
"You sha'n't lack wooing," he said quickly. "Yet haven't I wooed you
already--as well in my quarrel as in my homage, in our strife as in the
end of it?"
"I think so, yes. Yet suffer me a little still."
"If you doubt--" he cried.
"I don't think I doubt. I linger." She gave her hand into his. "It's
strange, but I cannot doubt."
Lynborough sank again upon his knee and paid his homage. As he rose, she
bent ever so slightly toward him; delicately he kissed her cheek.
"I pray you," she whispered, "use gently what you took with that."
"Here's a heart to my heart, and a spirit to my spirit--and a glad
venture to us both!"
"Come on to the lawn now, but tell them nothing."
"Save that I have paid my homage, and received the recognition of my
right?"
"That, if you will--and that your path is to
be--henceforward--Helena's."
"I hope to have no need to travel far on the Feast of St. John!" cried
Lynborough.
They went out on the lawn. Nothing was asked, and nothing told, that
day. In truth there appeared to be no need. For it seems as though Love
were not always invisible, nor the twang of his bow so faint as to elude
the ear. With joyous blood his glad wounds are red, and who will may
tell the sufferers. Sympathy too lends insight; your fellow-sufferer
knows your plight first. There were fellow-sufferers on the lawn that
day--to whom, as to all good lovers, here's Godspeed.
She went with him in the afternoon through the gardens, over the sunk
fence, across the meadows, till they came to the path. On it they
walked together.
"So is your right recognized, my lord," she said.
"We will walk together on Helena's Path," he answered, "until it leads
us--still together--to the Boundless Sea."
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently
corrected.