A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS
On this occasion Athlyne did not continue to sit out on the lawn.
Now that he wished to overtake Joy unawares he was as careful to hide
his presence from her as he had previously hidden it from her father.
He had hardly ensconced himself in his usual cover when Joy came out
on the steps. Her maid was with her and together they stood on the
steps speaking. As she turned to come down the steps Joy said:
“Perhaps I had better arrange to come back after a short walk; there
might be some telegram from father to be attended to. If there is not,
I can then go for a real, long walk.” She did not say more but moved
briskly down the roadway without ever turning her head. Athlyne
slipped through the gate of the garden, following at such distance
that he could easily keep out of view in case she should turn. When
she had cleared the straggling houses which made the outskirts of the
little town she walked slowly, and then more slowly still. Finally she
sat on a low wall by the roadside with her back partially turned to
Ambleside and looked long at the beautiful view before her where,
between the patches of trees which here shut out the houses altogether
and heightened the air of privacy of the bye road, the mountain slopes
rose before her.
This was the opportunity for which Athlyne was waiting. He had hardly
dared to hope that it would be in a spot so well adapted to his
wishes. Dear simple soul! he never imagined that it had been already
chosen--marked down by a keener intellect than his own, and that
intellect a woman’s!
Joy knew that he was coming; that he was drawing closer; that he was
at hand. It was not needed that she had now and again thrown a half
glance behind her at favourable moments as she went. There was at work
a subtler sense than any dealing with mere optics; a sense that can
float on ether waves as surely as can any other potent force. Nay, may
it not be the same sense specialised. The sense that makes soul known
to soul, sex to sex; that tells of the presence of danger; that calls
kind to kind, and race to race, from the highest of creation to the
lowest. And so she was prepared and waited, calm after the manner of
her sex. For when woman waits for the coming of man her whole being is
in suspense. Though in secret her heart beat painfully Joy did not
look round, made no movement till the spoken words reached her:
“Miss Ogilvie is it not!”
Slowly she turned, as to a voice but partly heard or partly
remembered. Athlyne felt his heart sink down, down as he saw the
slowness of the movement and realised the absence of that quick
response which he had by long and continuous thinking since last night
encouraged himself to expect. The quick gleam of pleasure in the face
as she turned, the light in her marvellous grey eyes, the gentle blush
which despite herself passed like an Alpenglow from forehead to neck
did not altogether restore his equanimity or even encourage him
sufficiently to try to regain that pinnacle of complacent hope on
which up to then he had stood.
“Why Mr. Hardy,” she said warmly as she rose quickly to her feet.
“This is real nice. I was afraid we were not going to see you whilst
we were in England.”
It was beautifully done; no wonder that some women can on the stage
carry a whole audience with them, when off it so many can deceive
intellects more powerful than their own. And yet it was not all
acting. She did not intend it as such; not for a moment did she wish
or intend to deceive. It was only the habit of obedience to convention
which was guiding natural impulse into safe channels. For who shall
say where nature--the raw, primeval crude article--ends or where
convention, which is the artfulness necessitated by the elaboration of
organised society, begins. A man well known in New York used to say:
“All men are equal after the fish!” Kipling put the same idea in
another way: … “the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady are sisters
under their skins!”
When Athlyne looked into Joy’s eyes--and there was full opportunity
for so doing--all his intentions of reserve went from him. He was
lover all over; nothing but lover, with wild desire to be one with her
he loved. His eyes began to glow, his knees to tremble, then every
muscle of his body became braced; and when he spoke his voice at once
deepened and had a masterful ring which seemed to draw Joy’s very soul
out towards him. Well it was for her main purpose that her instinct
had given that first chill of self-possession; had the man been able
to go on from where he had first started nothing that she knew of
reserve or self-restraint could have prevented her from throwing
herself straightway into his arms. Had Athlyne not begun with that
same chill, which to him took the measure of a repulse, he would have
caught her to him with all the passions of many kinds which were
beginning to surge in him.
But what neither of them could effect alone, together they did. The
pause of the fraction of a second in the springing of their passion
made further restraint possible. There is no fly-wheel in the
mechanism of humanity to carry the movement of the crank beyond its
level. Such machinery was not invented at the time of the organisation
of Eden.
“I have longed for this moment more than I can say; more than words
can tell!” His voice vibrated with the very intensity of his truth.
Joy’s eyes, despite her efforts to keep them fixed, fell. Her bosom
rose and fell quickly and heavily with the stress of her breathing.
Her knees trembled and a slow pallor took the place of the flush on
her face. Seemingly unconsciously she murmured so faintly that only a
lover’s ear could hear or follow it:
“I have longed for it too--oh so much!” The words dropped from her
lips like faint music. Instinctively she put her hand on the wall
beside her to steady herself; she feared she was going to faint.
Athlyne, seeing and hearing, thrilled through to the very marrow of
his bones. His great love controlled, compelled him. He made no
movement towards her but looked with eyes of rapture. Such a moment
was beyond personal satisfaction; it was of the gods, not of men. And
so they stood.
Then the tears welled over in Joy’s eyes beneath the fallen lids. They
hung on the dark, curly lashes and rolled like silver beads down the
softness of her cheeks. Still Athlyne made no sign; he felt that the
time had not yet come. The woman was his own now, he felt
instinctively; and it was his duty--his sacred privilege to protect
her. Unthinkingly he moved a step back on the road he had come.
Instinctively Joy did the same. It was without thought or intention on
the part of either; all instinctive, all natural. The usage of the
primeval squaw to follow her master outlives races.
Then he paused. She came up to him and they walked level. Not another
word had been spoken; but there are silences that speak more than can
be written in ponderous tomes. These two--this man and this
woman--_knew_. They had in their hearts in those glorious moments all
the wisdom won by joy and suffering through all the countless ages
since the Lord rested on that first Sabbath eve and felt that His
finished work was good.
When, keeping even step, they had taken a few quiet paces, Athlyne
spoke in a soft whisper that thrilled:
“Joy, look at me!”
Without question or doubt of any kind she raised her shining eyes to
his. And then, slowly and together as though in obedience to some
divine command, their lips met in a long, loving kiss in which their
very souls went out each to the other.
When their mouths parted, with a mutual sigh, each gave a quick glance
up and down the road; neither had thought of it before.
The tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil did not die in Eden bower.
It flourishes still in even the most unlikely places all the wide
world over. And they who taste its fruit must look with newly-opened
eyes on the world around them.
Together, still keeping step, not holding each other, not touching
except by the chance of movement, they walked to where the bye-road
joined the main one. As yet they had spoken between them less than
threescore words. They wondered later in the day when they talked
together how so much as they had thought and felt and conveyed had
been packed into such compass. Now, as they paused at the joining of
the roads, Athlyne said--and strange to say it was in an ordinary
commonplace voice:
“Joy won’t you come with me for a ride. I have my motor here, and we
can go alone. There is much I want to say to you--much to tell you,
and the speed will help us. I want to rush along--to fly. Earth is too
prosaic for me--now!” Joy looking softly up caught the lightning that
flashed from his eyes, and her own fell. A tide of red swept her face;
this passed in a moment, however, leaving a divine pink like summer
sunset on snowy heights. Her voice was low and thrilling as she
answered with eyes still cast down.
“I’ll go with you where you will--to the end of the world--or Heaven
or Hell if you wish--now!”
And then as if compelled by a force beyond control she raised her eyes
to his.
“Shall you come with me to the car; or shall I bring it to the hotel?”
He spoke once more in something like his ordinary voice.
“Neither!” she answered with her eyes still fixed on his
unflinchingly. He felt their witchery run through him like fire now;
his blood seemed to boil as it rushed through his veins. Love and
passion were awake and at one.
“I must go back to see if there is any wire from Daddy, and to leave
word that I am going for a drive. I shall tell my maid that I shall
return in good time. Father and Mother and Aunt Judy are to arrive at
Windermere at five o’clock unless we hear to the contrary. You bring
up the motor to--to there where we met.” Her eyes burned through him
as without taking them from his she raised an arm and pointed
gracefully up the bye-road, towards where they had sat.
“Don’t come with me,” she said as he moved with her. “It will be
sweeter to keep our secret to ourselves.”
And so, he raising his cap as he stood aside, she passed on after
sending one flashing look of love right through him.
At the hotel she found a wire from her father to the effect that they
would not be able to leave Euston at 11.30 as intended but that they
hoped to reach Windermere at 7.05. This pleased her, for it gave her
another two hours for that motor drive to which she looked forward
with beating heart. She told her maid that she would be out till late
in the afternoon as she was going motoring with a friend; and that
she, Eugenie, could please herself as to how she would pass the time.
When the maid asked her what she wished as to lunch she answered:
“I shall not want any lunch; but if we feel hungry we can easily get
some on the way.”
“Which way shall you be going, Miss, in case any one should ask.”
“I really don’t know Eugenie. I just said I would join in the drive. I
daresay it is up somewhere amongst the lakes. That is where the fine
scenery is.”
“And what about wraps, miss? You will want something warm for
motoring. That dress you have on is rather thin for the purpose.”
“Oh dear; oh dear!” she answered with chagrin. “This will do well
enough, I think. We shall not, I expect, be going very far. If I find
I want a wrap I can borrow one.” And off she set for the rendezvous.
In the meantime Athlyne had found the car, and had given instructions
to the chauffeur to remain at an inn at Ambleside which he had already
noted for the purpose and where a telegram would find him in case it
might be necessary to give any instructions. He had made sure that the
luncheon basket which he had ordered at Bowness was in its place. Then
he had driven back to the bye-road and waited with what patience he
could for the coming of Joy.
She came up the bye-road walking fast enough. Up to that point she had
walked leisurely, but when she saw the great car all flaming
magnificently in scarlet and gold she forgot everything in the way of
demureness, and hurried forward. She had also seen Mr. Hardy. That
morning he had put on his motor clothes, for he knew he had to look
forward to a long spell of hard work before him--work of a kind which
needs special equipment. More than ever did he look tall and lithe and
elegant in his well-fitting suit of soft dark leather. When he caught
sight of Joy and saw that she was still in her pretty white frock he
began to lift from the bottom of the tonneau a pile of wraps which he
spread on the side. Joy did not notice the things at first; her eyes
were all for him. He stepped forward to meet her and, after a quick
glance round to see that they were alone, took her in his arms and
kissed her. She received the kiss in the most natural way--as if it
was a matter of course, and returned it. It is surprising what an easy
art to learn kissing is, and how soon even the most bashful of lovers
become reconciled to its exacting rules!
Then she began to admire his car, partly to please him, partly because
it was really a splendid machine admirably wrought to its special
purpose--speed. He lifted a couple of coats and asked:
“Which will you wear?”
“Must I wear one? It is warm enough isn’t it without a coat?”
“At present, yes! But when our friend here” he slapped the car
affectionately “wakes up and knows who he has the honour of carrying
you’ll want it. You have no idea what a difference a fifty or sixty
mile breeze makes.”
“I’ll take this one, please,” she said without another word; a ready
acquiescence to his advice which made him glow afresh. One after
another she took all the articles which his loving forethought had
provided, and put them on prettily. She felt, and he felt too, that
each fresh adornment was something after the manner of an embrace. At
the last he lifted the motor cap and held it out to her. She took it
with a smile and a blush.
“I really quite forgot my hat,” she said. “’Tis funny how your memory
goes when you’re very eager!” This little speech, unconsciously
uttered, sent a wave of sweet passion through the man. “Very Eager!”
She went on:
“But where on earth am I to put it? I think I had almost better hide
it here behind the hedge and retrieve it when we get back!” Athlyne
smiled superiorly--that sort of affectionate tolerant superiority
which a woman admires in a man she loves and which the least
sentimental man employs unconsciously at times. He stooped into the
tonneau and from under one of the seats drew out a leather bonnet-box
which ran in and out on a slide. As he touched a spring this flew
open, showing space and equipment for several hats and a tiny dressing
bag.
“Why, dear, there is everything in the world in your wonderful car.”
How he was thrilled by her using the word--the first time her lips had
used it to him. It was none the less sweet because spoken without
thought. She herself had something of the same feeling. She quivered
in a languorous ecstasy. But she did not even blush at the thought; it
had been but the natural expression of her feeling and she was glad
she had said it. Their eyes searched each other and told their own
eloquent tale.
“Darling!” he said, and bending over kissed again the rosy mouth that
was pouted to meet him.
In silence he opened the door of the tonneau. She drew back.
“Must I go in there--alone?”
“I can’t go with you, darling. I must sit in the seat to drive. Unless
you would rather we had the chauffeur!”
“You stupid old … _dear_!” this in a whisper. “I want to sit beside
you--as close as I can … _darling_!” She sank readily into the arms
which instinctively opened.
True love makes its own laws, its own etiquettes. When lovers judge
harshly each the conduct of the other it is time for the interference
or the verdict of strangers. But not till then.
Athlyne took the wheel, feeling in a sort of triumphant glory; in
every way other than he had expected. He thought that he would be
ardent and demonstrative; he was protective. The very trustfulness of
her reception of his caresses and her responsiveness to them made for
a certain intellectual quietude.
Joy too was in a sort of ecstatic calm. There was such completeness
about her happiness that all thought of self disappeared. She did not
want anything to be changed in the whole universe. She did not want
time to fly betwixt now and her union with the man she loved. That
might--would--come later; but in the meanwhile happiness was so
complete as to transcend ambition, hope, time.
Athlyne, who had made up his mind as to the direction of the drive,
came down on the high road and drove at moderate speed to Ambleside;
he thought that it would be wise to go slowly so as not to be too
conspicuous. He had given Joy a dust-veil but she had not yet adjusted
it. The present pace did not require such protection, and the idea of
concealing her identity did not even enter into her head. When they
were passing the post-office a sudden recollection came to Athlyne,
and he stopped the car suddenly. Joy for an instant was a little
alarmed and looked towards him inquiringly.
“Only a letter which I want to post!” he said in reply as he stepped
down on the pavement. He opened his jacket and took from his pocket a
letter which he placed in the box. Joy surmised afresh about the
letter; she vaguely wondered if it was the same that she had seen him
close and put into his pocketbook. The thought was, however, only a
passing one. She had something else than other people’s letters to
think about at present.
Just as he was turning back from the post box Eugenie, who was taking
advantage of her freedom, passed along the pavement. She stopped to
admire the tall chauffeur whom she thought the handsomest man she had
ever seen. She did not know him. Her service with Miss Ogilvie had
only commenced with the visit to London: up to the time of her leaving
Italy Mrs. Ogilvie’s maid had attended to Joy. She stood back and
pretended to be looking in at a window as she did not care to be seen
staring openly at him. Then she saw that he was no ordinary chauffeur.
It was with a sigh that she said to herself:
“_Voila! Un vrai Monsieur!_” Her eyes following him as he turned the
starting handle and took his seat behind the wheel, she saw that his
companion was her mistress. Not wishing to appear as if prying on her
either, she instinctively turned away.
As Athlyne was arranging himself to his driving work he said quietly
to Joy:
“Sorry for delaying, but it was a most important letter, which I want
to be delivered to-night. It might be late if it was not posted till
Carlisle.” This was the first knowledge Joy had of the direction of
the journey. Eugenie heard only the last word as the car moved off.
The pace was comparatively slow until the outskirts of Ambleside had
been passed; then he told Joy to put on her spectacles and donned his
own. When they were both ready he increased the pace, and they flew up
to the shores of Rydal Water. At Joy’s request they slowed down whilst
the lake was in sight; but raced again till the road ran close to the
peaceful water of Grasmere. But when Grasmere with its old church and
Coleridge’s tomb lay away to their left they flew again up the steep
road to Thirlmere. Athlyne was a careful driver and the car was a good
hill climber. It was only when the road was quite free ahead that they
went at great speed. They kept steadily on amongst the rising
mountains, only slackening as they passed to Thirlmere and dropped
down to Keswick. They did not stop here, but passing by the top of
Derwentwater drew up for a few minutes to look down the lake whose
wooded islands add so much to the loveliness of the view. Then on
again full speed by the borders of Bassenthwaite Lake and on amongst
the frowning hills to Cockermouth.
Joy was in a transport of delight the whole time. Her soul seemed to
be lifted by the ever-varying beauty of the panorama as they swept
along; and the rushing speed stirred her blood. She was silent, save
at ecstatic moments when she was quite unable to control herself.
Athlyne was silent too. He had been over the ground already, and
besides such driving required constant care and attention. He was more
than ever careful in his work, for was not Joy--his Joy!--his
passenger.
They did not stop at Cockermouth but turned into the main road and,
passing Bride-kirk--and Bothel, flew up to Carlisle. As he slowed down
at the city wall Athlyne looking at his watch said quietly:
“An hour and a half and some fifty miles. Let us go on and eat our
lunch in Scotland.”
“Oh do! Go on! Go on--darling! I forgot to tell you that I have had a
wire; they don’t get in till seven; so we have two more hours,” cried
Joy enthusiastically. This time she used the word of endearment
instinctively and without a pause. “Practice makes perfect” says the
old saw.
Athlyne controlled himself and went at quiet pace through the
Cumberland capital. He would like to have put the engine at full
speed; the last word had fired him afresh. However, he did not want to
get into police trouble. When he came out on the Northern road and
climbed the steep hill to Stanwix he felt freer. The road was almost a
dead level and there was little traffic, only a stray cart here and
there. Then he let go, and the car jumped forward like an eager horse.
Athlyne felt proud of it, just as though it had an intention of its
own--that it wanted to show Joy how it loved to carry her. Joy almost
held her breath as they swept along here. The wind whistled around her
head and she had to keep her neck stiff against the pressure of the
fifty-mile breeze. They slowed at the forking of the road beyond
Kingstown; and at the Esk bridge and its approaches; otherwise they
went at terrific speed till they reached the border where the road
crossed the Sark. Then, keeping the Lochberie road to the right, they
rushed away through Annan towards Dumfries.
Joy did not know that at that turning off to Annan they were almost in
touch with Gretna Green. Athlyne did not think of it at the time. Had
the knowledge or the thought of either been engaged on the subject the
temptation it would have brought might have been too much for lovers
in their rapturous condition … and the course of this history might
have been different.
The run to the outskirts of Dumfries, where the traffic increased, was
another wild rush which wrought both the occupants of the car to a
high pitch of excitement.
To Joy it seemed a sort of realisation. On the drive to Carlisle, and
from that on over the Border, the fringing hills of the Solway had
been a dim and mystery-provoking outline. But now the hills were at
hand, before them and to the north; whilst far across the waste of
banks and shoals of Solway Frith rose the Cumberland mountains, a
mighty piling mass of serrated blue haze. It was a convincing
recognition of the situation; this was Scotland, and England was far
behind! Instinctively she leaned closer to her companion at the
thought.
Between Dumfries and Castle Douglas was a long hill to climb within a
stretch of seven miles. But the Delaunay-Belleville breasted it nobly
and went up with unyielding energy. Then, when the summit at
Crocketford was reached, she ran down the hill to Urr Water with a
mighty rush which seemed to carry her over the lesser hill to Castle
Douglas. From thence the road to Dalry was magnificent for scenery. At
Crossmicheal it came close to the Ken whose left bank it followed
right up by Parton to “St. John’s Town of Dalry” where it crossed the
river. Athlyne had intended to rest a while somewhere about here; but
the old coach road, winding with the curves of the river, looked so
inviting that he ran a few miles up north towards Carsphairn. Coming
to a bye-road where grew many fine trees of beech and stone pine which
gave welcome shade, he ran up a few hundred yards to where the road
curved a little. Here was an ideal spot for a picnic, and especially
for a picnic of two like the present.
The curving of the road made an open space, which the spreading trees
above shaded. Deep grass was on the wide margin of the flat road which
presently dipped to cross a shallow rill of bright water which fell
from a little rocky ledge, tinkling happily through the hum of summer
insect life. Wildflowers grew everywhere. It was idyllic and
delightful and beautiful in every way, even to where, towering high
above a Druidic ruin in the foreground, the lofty hills of Carsphairn
rose far away between them and the western sky. In itself the scene
wanted for absolute perfection some figures in the foreground. And
presently it had them in a very perfect form. Joy clapped her hands
with delight like a happy child as she glanced around her. Athlyne
drew up sharp, and jumping from his seat held out his hand to Joy who
sprang beside him on the road. As they stood together when Joy’s wrap
had been removed they made a handsome couple. Both tall and slim and
elegant and strong. Both straight as lances; both bright and eager;
with the light of love and happiness shining on them more notably than
even the flicker of sunlight between the great stems and branches of
the trees. His brown hair seemed to match her black; the brown eyes
and the grey both were lit with a “light that never came from land or
sea!” Joy’s eyes fell under the burning glances of her lover; the time
had not yet come for that absolutely fearless recognition which, being
a man’s unconscious demand, a woman instinctively resists. Athlyne
recognised the delicacy and acquiesced. All this without a single
spoken word. Then he spoke:
“Was there ever such a magnificent run in the world. More than a
hundred miles on end without a break or pause. And every moment a
lifetime of bliss--to me at all events--Darling!”
“And to me!” Joy’s eyes flashed grey lightning as she raised them for
a moment to his, and held them there. Athlyne’s knees trembled with
delight; his voice quivered also as he spoke:
“And all the time I never left my duty once for an instant. I think I
ought to get a medal!”
“You should indeed, darling. And I never once distracted you from it
did I?”
“Unhappily, no!” His eyes danced.
“So I ought to get more than a medal!”
“What? What should you get--now?” His voice was a little hoarse. He
drew closer to her. She made no answer in words; but her eyes were
more eloquent. With a mutual movement she was in his arms and their
mouths met.
“And now for lunch!” he said as after a few entrancing seconds she
drew her face away. “I am sure you must be starving.”
“I _am_ hungry!” she confessed. Her face was still flushed and her
eyes were like stars. She bustled about to help him. He took the seats
and cushions from the tonneau and made a comfortable nest for her,
with a seat for himself close, very close beside her. He lifted off
the luncheon basket and unstrapped it. Whilst she took out the plates
and packets and spread the cloth he put a bottle of champagne and one
of fizzy water in the cool of the running stream.
They may have had some delightful picnics on Olympus in the days of
the old gods who were so human and who loved so much--and so often.
But surely there was none so absolutely divine as on that day that
under the trees, looking over at the grey piling summits of the
mountains of Carsphairn. The food was a dream, the wine was nectar.
The hearts of the two young people beat as one heart. Love surely was
so triumphant that there never could come a cloud into the sky which
hung over them like a blue canopy. Life and nature and happiness and
beauty and love took hands and danced around them fairy-like as they
sat together, losing themselves and their very souls in the depths of
each other’s eyes.