"I have been thinking that you have found that home of loveliness and
utter delight, which you so charmingly described during our last ride
together in Kimberley."
"And have you not forgotten what I said?" asked Kate, looking up at the
sky.
"I remember every word I ever heard you utter."
"I shall be very careful what I say after this."
"Not on my account, I beg? I like to hear you think aloud as you do,
for your words have so stirred my own thoughts, Miss Darcy, that I have
been anxious to hear you talk again."
Kate swung more and more slowly with eyes half closed, like one
indulging in a dream.
"Tell me," continued the doctor, looking down into her face, "are you
perfectly happy within yourself. Have you no longing for the society of
others, and is this idle life of yours all that you wish for?"
Kate could not answer this man lightly, she felt that if she were false
to him in the slightest degree, she would become less womanly in her
own, as well as his eyes. Avoiding his glance, she answered:
"The idle life I am leading is a life full of thought. My mind is
constantly absorbing everything I see. All these strange creatures
around me are a study. I have not been as idle as you think during my
stay in Bloemfontein. I have been pinning some leaves together."
"Pinning leaves together! Am I among those leaves?"
"Yes, but I have turned your particular leaf, with a few others, down
for future reference."
"What will you do with the remaining leaves?"
"They will be left pinned. I do not wish to re-read the past. I need
all my strength and thought for the ever-present now."
"Do you mean to say, that you do not intend giving any backward
glances?"
"All that is not pleasant I have shut away in those leaves."
"Then I may infer that the leaf you have turned down for reference, has
something agreeable written there?"
Kate made no reply.
"To be but a leaf in your book, brings a sense of delight to me. Pray
let me know if I am fast in the binding, or whether I am liable to
become lost, strayed, or stolen. Sometimes I feel as if I were all
three," said the doctor, with an earnestness in his voice, that made the
blood fly to Kate's cheeks. Yet evading his real meaning, she said,
with mock pity:
"Poor fellow! That is homesickness. Homesickness is a very unpleasant
feeling."
"Especially if you have no home, but are merely existing?"
"Don't you call Kimberley home?"
"Did you ever meet anyone there who did?" asked the doctor.
"Now that I think of it I never did. Why is it?"
"Because to live simply to make money, is only existence. I do not
think I shall remain there much longer. I expect to sail for England
shortly."
"To remain there?"
"That depends!" and the doctor watched her face with its varying
expression. Kate covered her face with her hand, for a few moments.
When she looked up again the doctor asked:
"Of what were you thinking?"
"Of something in the past. Of course it was a pleasant thought."
"I wish that I were woven in that past life of yours."
"I don't think we would have been as good friends as we are now."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well," said Kate, slowly, "I glided over the surface of life then, and
did not appreciate half there was to be found in it. I realise now,
that it is a great, a grand thing to live."
"And you make others think the same thought when they come near you."
"Ah! if I could have that power, what a rich woman I would be. What
knowledge I would have, and what good I could do."
"Don't say `if,'" Kate felt the doctor's eyes looking down upon her, as
he spoke, and knew that he was deeply moved as he continued:
"I think I am a nobler man since I first met you. Your thoughts have
been a refreshing draught to my thirsty soul. The divine womanhood in
you has at last awakened my true self."
"Then my coming has done some good; I am content."
The doctor stood with his hand behind him. Attitude and form expressing
the nobility of manhood, as he looked at this queen of his heart.
Drawing a long breath he said: "I am not in a mood to talk platitudes,
for my life has now become an earnest endeavour. I would rather you
would wound me, than to endure another day of suspense such as I have
passed through since you left me. Words are but clumsy vehicles to bear
the expression of my feelings for you. You seem to be a part of
myself--my spirit-mate. Kate, my beloved, come to me; let me call you--
wife!"
As he said this he made a step forward, and grasped the hammock,
trembling from head to foot. Kate remained silent, while the doctor
stood with his hand still on the hammock patiently waiting her reply.
Kate was pale to her lips, as she replied: "My friend, I will be as
truthful to you, as one soul can be to another; and I think you will
understand me. I am happier now than I have ever been, in my life. I
am at peace with myself. To say that I am perfectly happy, would be to
say what no one yet has said truly; but it is a question, a very serious
one with me, whether marriage would bring me greater happiness than I
now know."
"Would not this love I bear for you make you happier? God did not place
you in my pathway without a purpose."
"That is true. But let us be sure that this love is not a fancy!"
"A fancy! Have you no feeling for me deeper than you give to a mere
friend?"
"Yes."
"Thank God!" and the doctor raised his eyes, then let them fall upon her
face with an adoring look.
"But I cannot make you understand, that I would spare you suffering
later on. Let me tell you. Love, to me, means perfect trust. I could
never stoop to find out if you ever deceived me. If I did, love would
die out of me that instant, and then how dreary my life would be. I
don't want to be wretched through any mistaken fancy. When I surrender,
it must bring me what I long for--Contentment."
"Come to me, Kate, and trust me! I am not here without being certain
that our lives can be made of use and joy to each other, for I love you.
I love you. I have been smothering my feelings so long, that it is now
a relief to tell you of it," and the doctor took one of her hands in
his, and held it firmly.
"Tell me, Kate, is marriage distasteful to you?"
"Not my ideal of the true married state. When I look at my married
friends, and see among them so many lovely women wretched, and unable to
solve the problem of happiness, I pray that my life may escape like
miserable failure."