“STOP!”
Under the shading trees the time flew fast. It is ever thus in the
sylvan glades where love abides:
“… The halcyon hours with double swiftness run
And in the splendour of Arcadian summers
The quicker climb the coursers of the sun.”
Athlyne and Joy sat in a gentle rapture of happiness. She had made him
draw up his cushion close to her so that she could lean against him.
They sat hand in hand for a while, and then one arm stole round her
and drew her close to him. She came yieldingly, as though such a
moment had been ordained since the beginning of the world. Her hand
stole inside his arm and held him tight; and so they sat locked
together, with their faces so close that their mouths now and again
met in long, sweet kisses. More than once was asked by either the old
question of lovers--which has no adequate or final answer: “Do you
love me?” And at each such time the answer was given in the fashion
which ruled in Eden--and ever since.
Presently Athlyne, drawing Joy closer than ever to him, said:
“Joy darling there is something I want to say to you!” He paused; she
drew him closer to her, and held him tighter. She realised that his
voice had changed a little; he was under some nervousness or anxiety.
This woke the protective instinct which is a part of woman’s love.
“We love each other?”
“I do!” As she spoke she looked at him with her great gray eyes
blazing. He kissed her:
“And I love you, my darling, more than I have words to say. More than
words can express. I am lost in you. You are my world, my hope, my
heaven! Beyond measure I love you, and honour you, and trust you; and
now that I feel you love me too … My dear! … my dear! the whole
world seems to swim around me and the heavens to open …”
“Dear, go on. It is music to me--all music--that I have so longed
for!”
“Darling! It seems like sacrilege to say anything just
now--but--but--You know I love you?”
“Yes!” The simple word was stronger than any embellishment; it was of
the completeness, the majesty, of sincerity in its expression.
“Then there is no need to say more of that now … But before I say
something else which I long to hear--in words, dear, for its truth is
already in my heart …”
“Darling!” she spoke the word lingeringly as though grudging that its
saying must end …
“Before such time I must speak with your father!” He spoke the words
with a gravity which brought a chill to her heart; her face blanched
suddenly as does liquid in the final crystallization of frost. Her
voice was faint--she was only a girl after all, despite her pride and
bravery--as she asked:
“Oh, I hope it is nothing. …”
“Nothing, darling” he said as he stroked tenderly the hand that lay in
his--he had taken his arm from her waist to do it--“except the
courtesy which is due to an old man … and one other thing, small in
itself--absolutely nothing in my own mind--which makes it necessary in
respect to his … his … his convictions that I should speak to him
before …” He stopped suddenly, remembering that if he went on he
must betray the secret which as yet he wished to keep. Not on his own
account did he wish to keep it. But there was Joy’s happiness to be
considered. Until he knew how Colonel Ogilvie would take the knowledge
of his having introduced himself under a false name he must not do or
say anything which might ultimately make difference between her and
her father.
Joy erred in her interpretation of his embarrassment, of his sudden
stopping. Again the pallor grew over her face which had under her
lover’s earlier words regained its normal colour. More faintly even
than before she whispered:
“It is nothing I hope that would keep us …” He saw her distress and
cut quickly into her question:
“No! No! No! Nothing that could ever come between you and me. It is
only this, Joy darling. Your father belongs to another country from my
own and an older generation than mine. His life has been different,
and the ideas that govern him are very masterful in their convention.
Were I to neglect this I might make trouble which would, without our
wish or part, come between us. Believe me, dear, that in this I am
wise.” Then seeing the trouble still in her eyes he went on: “I know
well, Joy, that it is not necessary for me to justify myself in your
eyes.” Here she strained him a little closer and held his arm and his
hand harder “but my dearest, I am going to do it all the same. I want
to say something, but which I mustn’t say yet, so that you must be
tolerant with me if I say unneeded things which are still open to me.
Truly, darling, there is absolutely nothing which could possibly come
between you and me. I have done no wrong--in that way at all events.
There should be no more difference between you and me for anything
that is now in my mind than there is between your soul and the blue
sky above us; between you and heaven. …” She put her hand over his
mouth:
“Oh hush, hush, dear. … By the way what am I to call you--darling?”
For the moment he was taken aback. To give her his own name as yet
would be to break the resolution of present secrecy; to give her a
false name now would be sacrilege. His native Irish wit stood him in
good stead:
“That is the name for to-day--darling. There can be none like
that--for to-day. We began with it. It took me on its wings up to
heaven. Let me stay there--for to-day. For to-day we are true husband
and wife--are we not?”
“Yes dear!” she answered simply. He went on:
“To-morrow … we can be grave to-morrow; and then I can give you
another name to use--if you wish it!”
“I do!” she said with reverence. She accepted and returned the kiss
which followed. This closed the incident, and for a little space they
sat hand in hand, his arm again round her whilst again she had linked
her arm in his. Presently he said:
“And now Joy dear, won’t you tell me all about yourself. You know that
as yet you and I know very little about each other’s surroundings. I
want specially to know to-day dear, for to-morrow I want to see your
father and it will be better to go equipped.” Joy felt quite in a
flutter. At last she was going to learn something about the man she
loved. She would tell him everything, and he would … Her thoughts
were interrupted by her companion going on:
“And then to-morrow when we have talked I can tell you everything.
…”
“Everything!” then there was something to conceal! Her heart fell. But
as the man continued, her train of thought was again interrupted:
“When you see him to-night you had better …”
Suddenly she jumped to her feet in a sort of fright. Seeing her face
he too sprang up, giving, with the instinct of his campaigning a quick
look around as though some danger threatened:
“What is it Joy? What is wrong? …” She almost gasped out:
“My father! He will be home by seven! It must be late in the afternoon
now and we are more than a hundred miles from home! …” Athlyne in
turn was staggered. In his happiness in being with Joy and talking of
love he had quite overlooked the passing of time. Instinctively he
looked at his watch. It was now close on four o’clock. … Joy was the
first to speak:
“Oh do let us hurry! No one knows where I am; and if when Daddy gets
home and finds I am not there he will be alarmed--and he may be upset.
And Mother and Aunt Judy too! … Oh do not lose a moment! If we do
not get home before they arrive … and Daddy finds I have been out
all day with you … Oh, hurry, hurry!”
Athlyne had been thinking hard whilst she spoke, and his thoughts had
been arranging themselves. His intelligence was all awake now. He
could see at a glance that Joy’s absence might make trouble for all.
Colonel Ogilvie was a man of covenance, and his daughter’s going out
with him in such a way was at least unconventional. She _must_ get
back in time! His conclusion was reached before she had finished
speaking. His military habit of quick action asserted itself; already
he was replacing the things in the carriage. Joy saw, and with
feverish haste began to help him. When he saw her at work he ran to
the engine and began to prepare for starting. When that was ready he
held Joy’s coat for her and helped her into her seat. As he took the
wheel he said as he began to back down the road which was hardly wide
enough to turn in:
“Forgive me, dear. It was all my selfish pleasure. But we shall do all
we can. Bar accident we may do it; we have over three hours!” He set
his teeth as he saw the struggle before him. It would be a glorious
run … and there was no use forestalling trouble. … Joy saw the
smile on his face, recognised the man’s strength, and was comforted.
They backed into the road and sprang southward. Without taking his
eyes off his work, Athlyne said:
“Tell me dear as we go along all that I must bear in mind in speaking
to your father of our marriage. …”
There! It was out unconsciously. Joy thrilled, but he did not himself
seem to notice his self-betrayal. He went on unconcernedly:
“It may be a little uphill at first if we do not get in line in time.”
Joy looked under her lashes at the strong face now set as a stone to
his work and kept silence as to the word. She was glad that she could
blush unseen. After a little pause she said in a meek voice:
“Very well, dear. I shall tell you whenever we are on a straight bit
of road, but I will be silent round the curves.” They were then flying
along the old coach road. The road was well-made, broad and with good
surface and they went at a terrific pace. Athlyne felt that the only
chance of reaching Ambleside was by taking advantage of every
opportunity for speed. Already he knew from the morning’s journey that
there were great opportunities as long stretches of the road were
level and in good order and were not unduly impeded with traffic. The
motor was running splendidly, it seemed as if the run in the morning
had put every part of it in good working order. He did not despair of
getting to Ambleside in time. The train was not due at Windermere till
seven. And it might be a little late. In any case it would take the
arriving party a little while to get their things together and then
drive to Ambleside. As they were sweeping down towards the bridge at
Dalry he said to Joy without looking round:
“It will be all right. I have been thinking it over. We can do it!”
“Thank God!” she exclaimed fervently. She too had been thinking.
“Stop!”
The voice rang out imperiously; and a policeman, stepping from behind
the trunk of a great beech, held up his hand. Instinctively Athlyne
began to slow. He shouted back “All right!” He had grasped the
situation and as they were out of earshot of the policeman said
quickly to Joy:
“We are arrested! Oh, I am sorry darling. If they won’t let me pay a
fine and go at once you must take the car on. I shall try to arrange
that. But do be cautious dear--you are so precious to me. If you are
delayed anywhere and can’t make it in time wire to your father tell
him you are motoring and have been delayed. It will soften matters,
even if he is angry. I shall go on by train in the morning. And
darling if you are not getting on as you wish, take a train the best
you can--a special. Don’t stop at any expense. But get on! And don’t
tell your name to any one, under any circumstances. Don’t forget the
telegram if delayed.” As he was speaking the car was slowing and the
panting policeman was coming up behind. When the car stopped, Athlyne
jumped out and walked towards the officer; he wanted to be as
conciliatory as possible.
“I am very sorry, officer. That beautiful bit of road tempted me; and
being all quite clear I took a skim down it?”
“Ye did! Man, but it was fine! But I hae to arrest ye all the same.
Duty is duty!”
“Certainly. I suppose the station is across the bridge?”
“Aye sir.” The policeman, who at first sight had from his dress taken
him for a chauffeur, had by now recognised him as a gentleman.
“Will you come in the car? It’s all right. I’ll go slow.”
“Thank ye sir. I’ve had a deal o’ walkin’ the day!” When the man was
in the tonneau Athlyne who had been thinking of what was to be done
said to him affably:
“It was silly of me going at such a pace. But I wanted my wife to see
how the new car worked.” He had a purpose in saying this: to emphasise
to Joy the necessity of not mentioning her name. It was the only way
to keep off the subject when they should get to the station. Joy
turned away her head. She did not wish either man to see her furious
blushing at hearing the word. She took the hint; silence was her cue.
At the station Joy sat in the car whilst Athlyne went inside with the
officer. The sergeant was a grave elderly man, not unkindly. He too
recognised, but at once, that the chauffeur was a gentleman. There was
an air of distinction about Athlyne which no one, especially an
official, could fail to appreciate. He was not surprised when he read
the card which Athlyne handed to him. He frowned a little and
scratched his head.
“I fear this’ll be a bit awkward my lord. Ye come frae o’er the Border
and ye’ll hae to attend the summons at New Galloway. I dinna want to
inconvenience you and her ladyship but …”
“Will it not be possible to let the car go on. My wife has to meet her
father and mother who are coming up to Ambleside to-night, and they
will be so disappointed. Her mother is an invalid and is coming from
Italy. I shall be really greatly obliged if it can be managed.”
The sergeant shook his head and said slowly:
“’Tis a fine car. A valuable commodity to take out of the jurisdiction
and intil a foreign country.” Athlyne had already taken out his
pocket-book. Fortunately he had provided himself well with money
before coming north.
“I paid a thousand pounds for the car. Will it not suit if I leave
that amount in your custody.” The official was impressed.
“Losh! man what wad I be daen wi’ a thoosan poons in a wee bit station
like this, or carryin’ it aboot in me claes. Na! na! if ye’ll
de-po-sit say a ten poon note for the guarantee I’m thinkin’ ’twill be
a’ reet. But how can the leddy get ava; ye’ll hae to bide till the
morn’s morn.”
“Oh that’s all right, officer, she’s a licensed driver. Unhappily she
has not got her license with her. She left it in Ambleside as I was
driving myself and had mine.” He said this to avert her being
questioned on the neglect; in which case there might be more trouble
about the pace.
“Ooh! aye. Then that’s a’ reet! A maun ax her masel forbye she mayn’t
hae the license aboot her. Wimmen is feckless cattle anyhow!”
“Do you think sergeant she may get away at once. It is a long drive,
and the day is getting on. I shall be very grateful indeed if you can
manage it!” The sergeant was still impressed by the pocket book.
“Weel A’ll see what A can dae!” He went outside with Athlyne to the
automobile, and touching his cap said:
“Yer pardon ma leddy, ye’re the wife o’ the defender?” Joy was glad
that she had put on the motor veil attached to her cap.
“Yes! My husband told you, did he not?” she said. The thrill that came
to her with the speaking of the word “husband” she kept for later
thought. The sergeant answered respectfully:
“He did ma leddy. But as an offeecial o’ the law I hae to make sure as
ye’re aboot to travel oot o’ the jurisdiction. He says ye hae left yer
licence at hame; but as ye hae answered me that ye are his wife I will
accept it, an’ ye may go. The defender remains here; but I’m thinkin’
there’s a chance that he may no hae to remain so lang as he’s fearin!
Ma service to ye ma leddy.” He touched his cap and went back into the
station.
Athlyne came forward and said in a low voice, for the policeman who
had effected the arrest was now standing outside the door:
“You will be careful darling. You may be able to do it. But if you are
late and your father be angry say as little as you can. Unhappily I
must remain here, but I shall do all I possibly can to settle things
quietly. I shall follow in the morning; but not too early. Don’t
forget to wire your father if you are delayed anywhere, or are certain
to be late. For my own part I shall leave proof everywhere of my own
presence as we shall be in different countries!” He said this as it
occurred to him that if she should be delayed it might later avert a
scandal. Then he spoke up for the benefit of the policeman:
“As the time is so short, and we have learned the lesson of the danger
of going too fast, you might ask when you get to Carlisle whether it
is not quicker to return by Penrith and Patterdale. That way is some
miles shorter.” The policeman who had heard--and had also seen the
pocket-book--came close and said with a respectful touch of his cap:
“If A may make sae bold, the leddy can save a wheen o’ miles by takin’
the road to Dumfries by Ken Brig an’ Crocketford up yon. A saw ye the
morn comin’ up there.” Athlyne nodded and touched his pocket; the man
drew back into the station. One last word to Joy:
“I wish you knew the machine darling. But we must take chance for all
going well.” As he spoke he was turning the starting handle. Joy in a
low voice said:
“Good bye my darling!” Resolutely she touched the levers, and the car
moved off quietly to the “God bless you!” of each.
Athlyne watched the car as long as it was in sight; then he went back
into the station. He spoke at once to the sergeant.
“Now sergeant is there nothing that can possibly be done to hasten the
matter. You see I have done all I can to obey rules--once having
broken them. I am most anxious to get back home as I have some very
important business in the morning. I shall of course do exactly as is
necessary; but I shall be deeply obliged if I can get away quietly,
and double deeply to you if you can arrange it.”
“Well ma lord I dinna think ye’ll hae much trouble or be delayed o’er
lang neither. For masel A canna do aught; but A’m thinkin that the
Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel will be here ony moment. He nearly always
rides by when the fair at Castle Douglas is on, as it is to be in the
morn. A’ll hae a sharp look oot for him. He’s a kind good man; an A’m
thinkin that he’ll no fash yer lordship. He can take responsibeelity
that even a sargeant o’ polis daurn’t. So it’s like ye’ll get ava
before the nicht.”
Athlyne sat himself down to wait with what patience he could muster.
Once again nature’s pendulum began to swing in his thoughts; on one
side happiness, on the other anxiety. The delight of the day wherein
he had realised to the full that Joy indeed loved him, even as he
loved her; the memory of those sweet kisses which still tingled on his
lips and momentarily exalted him to a sort of rapture; and then the
fear which was manifold, selfish and unselfish. She might get into any
one of many forms of trouble if only from her anxiety to reach home
before the arrival of her parents. She was, after all, not a practiced
driver; and was in control of the very latest type of machine of whose
special mechanism she could know nothing. If she should break down far
from any town she would be in the most difficult position possible: a
girl all alone in a country she did not know. And all this apart from
the possibility of accident, of mischance of driving; of the act of
other travellers; of cattle on the road; of any of the countless
mishaps which can be with so swift and heavy a machine as a motor. And
then should she not arrive in time, what pain or unpleasantness might
there not be with her father. He would be upset and anxious at first,
naturally. He might be angry with her for going out on such a long
excursion with a man alone; he would most certainly be angry with him
for taking her, for allowing her to go. And at such a time too! Just
when everything was working--had worked towards the end he aimed at.
He knew that Colonel Ogilvie was and had been incensed with him for a
neglect which under the circumstances was absolute discourtesy. And
here he bitterly took himself to task for his selfishness--he realised
now that it was such--in wanting to make sure of Joy’s love before
consulting her father, or even explaining to him the cause of his
passing under a false name. Might it not be too late to set that right
now. … And there he was, away in Scotland, kicking his heels in a
petty little police station, while the poor girl would have to bear
all the brunt of the pain and unpleasantness. And that after a long,
wearying, wearing drive of a hundred miles, with her dear heart
eternally thumping away lest she might lose in her race against Time.
And what was worse still that it would all follow a day which he did
not attempt to doubt had been, up to the time of the arrest, one of
unqualified happiness.
“… nessun maggoir dolore
Che ricordasi del tempo felice
Nella miseria.”
(“A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”)
The contrast would be terrible. He knew what the thought of it was to
him; what would it be to her! Her sweet, gentle, loving heart would be
hurt, crushed to the very dust.
He sprang to his feet and walked about the room, till noticing the
sergeant was watching him with surprise and suspicion, he controlled
himself.
He talked with the sergeant for a while genially. It was positively
necessary that there should not be any doubt in the mind of the latter
when the Sheriff should arrive. This episode took the strain from his
mind--for a time. He expressed to the officer how anxious he was to
get on and interested the worthy man so much that he sent over to the
hotel to borrow a time-table. There Athlyne learned that it would be
practically impossible for him to get on to Ambleside that night. Not
even if he could get a special train at Carlisle--there was no
possibility of getting one from a nearer place. When he asked the
sergeant his opinion, that grave individual condescended to smile:
“Losh! man they don’t run specials on these bit lines. ’Tis as much as
they can do to run a few trains a day. A’m thinkin’ that if ye asked
the stationmaster anywheer along the Dumfries and Kircudbright line
for a special he’d hae ye in the daft-hoose, or he’d be there himsel!”
Athlyne went back to his seat; once again the pendulum of his thoughts
swung to and fro.
He was now face to face with one certainty amongst many possibilities:
Whatever befel he could not give any immediate help to Joy. She, poor
dear, must fend for herself and if need be, fight her battle alone. He
could only try to make it up to her afterwards. And yet what could he
do for her, what more give to her who had already all that was his!
And here again he lost himself in memories of the immediate past;
which presently merged into dreams of the future which has no end.
But again swung the pendulum with the thought of what he was next day
to do which might help Joy. He began to realise out of the intensity
of his thought, which was now all unselfish, in what a danger of
misconception the girl stood already and how such might be multiplied
by any accident of her arrival. In the eyes of her friends her very
character might be at stake! And now he made up his mind definitely as
to how he would protect her in that way. He could prove his time of
leaving Ambleside by his chauffeur, the time of that swift journey
would be its own proof; the time of his arrest was already proved.
Likewise of Joy’s departure for home. Henceforward till he should meet
her father he would take care that his movements were beyond any
mystery or suspicion whatever. In any case--even if she did not arrive
at home till late--Joy would be actually in another country from that
which held him, and the rapidity of her journey would in itself
protect. He would stay in some hotel in a place where he could get a
suitable train in the morning; and would arrange that his arrival and
departure were noted.
Naturally the place he would rest for the night, if he should succeed
in getting away, would be Castle Douglas; for here lines from
Kirkcudbright, from Stranraer, and from Glasgow made junction so that
he had a double chance of departure. If he were detained at Dalry the
police themselves would be proof of his presence there.
He felt easier in his mind after this decision, and was able to await
with greater patience the coming of the Sheriff.