They were left alone on the empty stage--Verity and her champion at
need, shut in by the thick curtain from the ebbing crowd beyond. She
had closed the piano, but she still sat beside it, looking at the
polished lid, while he stared tensely at the heavy drapery, afraid to
stay and yet unable to leave her. When she began to speak, he turned
quickly and took a step towards her. She was still looking at the lid,
running a finger along the bevelled edge.
“Will you tell me why you did it?” she asked in a low and unemotional
tone; but he did not answer--only stood in the middle of the stage,
looking at her very intently and very tenderly. If she had raised her
eyes at that moment, she would not have needed to repeat her question.
“You won,” she went on, in the same curiously flat voice. “You were
right and I was wrong. I should have thought you would be glad to see
my concert spoilt--to hear me blamed on Billy’s account. You need not
have saved me. Why did you do it?”
“You can’t _really_ think that I should have been glad to hear you
blamed,” he answered gently. “You don’t know much about me but you know
a little. You can’t think that!”
“It would have been natural. It is true that I have set myself against
you ever since you came to Cantacute. I was afraid of your influence. I
was afraid that the people would learn to think more of you than they
did of me. I meant to keep them at all costs; and the cost was----”
“Billy-boy Blackburn’s soul!” he finished for her, and there was
silence. Then--“You didn’t understand,” he added presently, searching
pityingly for excuse.
“Oh, yes, I did!” Verity answered proudly, raising her head at last,
quickly. “I knew that you were doing Billy good--that you were keeping
him straight in a way absolutely beyond my power. I knew that he hadn’t
been drinking for months, and I couldn’t bear that he should owe it to
you. I never meant to lead him back into temptation, but I _did_ mean
to show you that he would follow me if I chose to call. I thought I
could hold him--I felt certain of it. In my vanity I believed that he
might fail anybody else, but never Verity Cantacute. I was wrong and
you were right. You’ve won!”
“Ah, don’t speak of it like that!” he remonstrated in a pained voice.
“We might be enemies, you and I--and surely--_surely_ that isn’t the
case! It’s all been a wretched misunderstanding, and now we must make
it our business to put Billy back on the right road between us. I don’t
want you to feel that I owe you a grudge, or that you are under an
obligation to me. Either would be intolerable! Just be friends with
me, won’t you, and let us forget the sadness of to-night?”
She did not answer, and he went on earnestly, leaning a hand on the
piano.
“I should just like to tell you, Miss Cantacute, what was the ‘job’ I
was so loth for Billy to shirk. I had got him to sing to the old folk
at the Workhouse, two or three times a week, and you should have seen
how they loved it, and how he enjoyed doing it! He went regularly,
and he was always sober. Generally he sang hymns, but not invariably,
and the old people used to join in with their shaky old voices. It’s
difficult to think of Billy as an angel, isn’t it, Miss Verity, but I
can assure you he looked like one, then! He was so happy in his ‘job,’
and because he was happy he took peace and happiness with him, and
left them behind him. And then _you_ called him, and the ‘job’ went to
the wall. The old folk sit and wait for him, night after night, and he
does not come. There is one old woman he used to call his mother, who
puts up her wrinkled hands and cries as the hours go by----” He took a
quick step to her side, his voice breaking into passionate contrition.
“Oh, forgive me, forgive me! I never meant to hurt you like that!”--for
Verity had given way at last, and was weeping her heart out on the
piano lid.
Tentatively he put out a reverent hand, and laid it gently on the
bright hair peeping from under the foolish little cap, his voice
shaking with love and tenderness and pity.
“I didn’t tell you to hurt you! I only wanted to show you a little how
things looked on the other side. You mustn’t be unhappy. I can’t bear
to see you fret. We’ll have Billy back at the Workhouse to-morrow, and
between us we’ll put things right again, God willing! Don’t cry. It’s
dreadful to see you cry. _Oh, Honey, lift your pretty head!_”
He had never meant to say it, but it had been cradled in his mind so
long, it came to his lips before he knew, and with it all the incense
of his love. It brought her to her feet instantly, and as she stood
staring at him with wet, startled eyes, the man behind the parson drove
him forward and caught her hands. So Larrupper found them, dashing into
the wings after seeing the Savaurys to their carriage--the pale Pierrot
and the painted Pierrette, standing together on the darkened stage.
“Parson or Pierrot, I love you, Verity!” Grant was pleading, but Verity
stopped him with a quick movement.
“Don’t say any more, Mr. Grant!” she said clearly, looking straight
at him with the courage born of her pity and shame. “I am engaged to
Lionel Lyndesay.”