Graeme slept that night just as much as might have been expected under
the circumstances, and that was not one wink. Nevertheless, when
morning came, he felt as strong and joyous as a young god. New life
had come to him in the night, and he felt equal to the conquering of
worlds. For love is life, and the strength and the joy of it.
He was out with the dawn, to a gray rushing morning full of the sounds
of sea and wind. He drew a canful of water from the well, and had such
a wash as no soap and a handkerchief would permit of. Then he drew
another canful and left it outside the door of the ladies' room, and
strode off to Belême to see if the boats had got back to their
anchorage. But the little bay was a scene of storm and strife, a wild
confusion of raging seas and stubborn rocks, the fruits of the
conflict flying up the cliffs in spongy gouts of spume, and dappling
the waters far and wide with fantasies of troubled marbling,--and
there was not a boat to be seen.
But the sight of the great white seas roaring up the Sark headlands,
as far as he could see on either hand, was one never to be forgotten.
It was worth the price they had paid, even though it spelt a further
term of captivity, and he turned back to his duties with that new glad
glow in his heart which was no longer simply hope but the full and
gracious assurance of loftiest attainment.
He had seen potatoes growing in a plot near the house. So, after
lighting a fire in the kitchen and setting the kettle to boil, he
rooted about till he found the remains of a spade and set himself to
unaccustomed labours.
When Miss Penny came out of her room, freshfaced and comely
coiffured, she found a ring of potatoes roasting in the ashes and the
kettle boiling, and Graeme came in, bright-eyed and wind-whipped,
wiping his hands on a very damp handkerchief.
"I am so glad, Mr. Graeme," she said, with sparkling eyes and face,
and hearty outstretched hand.
"Margaret has told you?"
"Of course Margaret has told me. Am I not her keeper, and haven't I
been hoping for this since ever I saw you?"
"That is very good of you. I thought, perhaps--"
"Thought it might take me by surprise, I suppose--and perhaps that I
might take it badly? Not a bit! It fulfils my very highest hopes. And
I can assure you you have got a prize. There are not many girls like
Margaret Brandt."
"Don't I know it? I have known it from the very first time I met
her--at that blessed Whitefriars' dinner."
"I think you will make her very happy."
"I promise you I will do my very best."
And then Margaret came into the kitchen and knew what was toward.
She looked like a queen and a princess and a goddess all in one, with
a flood of happy colour in her face and a glad glow in her eyes, and
no more hint of maidenly shyness about her than was right and natural.
And Miss Penny's eyes were misty of a sudden, as Graeme went quickly
up to her friend, and feasted his hungry eyes on her face for a
moment, and then bent and gallantly kissed her hand. For in both their
faces was the great glad light that is the very light of life, and
Miss Penny was wondering if, in some distant future time, it might
perchance be vouchsafed to her also to attain thereto.
"I hope you both slept well," he said gaily. "I've done my best in the
provisioning line. I know we've got plenty of salt, for one generally
forgets it and so I always put in two packets."
"You've done splendidly," said Miss Penny, tying up tea in a piece of
muslin and dropping it into the kettle.
"I'd have tried for a rabbit, but I wasn't sure if either of you could
skin it--"
"Ugh! Don't mention it!"
"And I knew I couldn't, so we'll have to put up with roasted potatoes
and imagine the rabbit. I've been told they do that in some parts of
Ireland,--hang up a bit of bacon in a corner and point at it with the
potato and so imagine the flavour."
"Potatoes are excellent faring--when there's nothing better to be
had," said Miss Penny, rooting in the basket. "However, here are three
of yesterday's sandwiches, slightly faded, and some biscuits--in good
condition, thanks to the tin. Come, we shan't absolutely starve!"
And they enjoyed that meal--two of them, at all events, and perhaps
three--as they had never enjoyed a meal before.
"And the weather?" asked Margaret.
"The blessed weather is just as it was; perhaps even a bit more
so,--the most glorious weather that ever was on land or sea!"
"But----" said Margaret, smiling at his effervescence.
"No, I'm afraid it can't last very much longer, and potatoes and salt
I know would begin to pall in time. After breakfast you shall see the
grandest sight of your lives,--and for the rest, we will live in
hope."