"Oh, how good you have been to us! No; really, when I want to find
words--well, I simply can't."
"Then don't try. That's the simplest way out of the difficulty, isn't
it?" answered Wagram, with a smile.
Delia Calmour shook her head, a puzzled little frown contradicting, as
it were, the soft light that was in her eyes, and a certain tender
curving of the lips. Her gaze swept over the network of sunlight
glinting on the sward beneath the arching oaks, then rested on the
adjacent palisade enclosing the African animals, whose quaint bellow
would every now and then vie with the shout of the cuckoo to break the
stillness of the lustrous summer air. She thought of herself--now
enabled to make more than a comfortable living by turning her musical
talents to account; of Clytie, doing exceedingly well in her own line;
of raffish Bob, removed from Bassingham influences and third-rate
Pownall and Skreet, to be given every chance at a fair salary with a
first-class legal firm in London; of the three younger ones at school
again, only at far better schools than they had ever dreamed of before--
and, thus thinking, she did not exaggerate in declaring that she could
not find words to express her appreciation to the man beside her--to
whom all this was due. And again she repeated this.
"My dear child," he answered, "haven't I told you before that it's our
duty to help each other in this world as far as lies in our power? At
any rate you seemed to bear in mind that principle when you literally
forced the skipper of the _Runic_ to put back because you had glimpsed
some unknown poor devil left on board the derelict. Eh?"
"That's different--quite different."
Again she felt strangely tongue-tied. The past couple of years flashed
through her mind, and how they had seemed to her to contain but one
consideration, but one all-engrossing thought--the man now at her side.
How their lives seemed bound up together from their first sudden and
semi-tragical meeting! Even upon the vast wilderness of the wide deep
they had been thrown together once more. And now here they were
together again at dear old Hilversea--on the very spot, hallowed, as it
were, within her mind, by the associations of those earlier days.
The time intervening, and the experiences it comprised, had rather
enhanced than detracted from her beauty; indeed, it was not the fault of
more than one pecuniarily eligible and physically attractive unit of the
other sex that she was still Delia Calmour, eke of more than one of whom
neither of these qualifications held good. And now here she was at
Hilversea again.
She was staying at Haldane's, and had cycled over that morning in
response to a note from Wagram asking her to come and look at some old
musical manuscripts he had unearthed in his library. Yet, so far, very
little had been said about the manuscripts, he declaring it was much too
lovely a morning to sit indoors; and the manuscripts were always with
them, but the fine weather was not. Now he did not seem inclined to
help her through her unwonted fit of silence as he strolled by her side;
calm, self-possessed, the very personification of ease and strength and
dignity, she was thinking.
"So you are happy in your new line, Delia?" he said at last. "And
comfortable? Sure you are quite that?"
"Of course I am--all that--thanks to you," she answered, throwing an
unconscious warmth into her voice.
"That's rather a pity, because I was going to suggest that you should
change it."
"Change it?" she echoed, looking up at him wonderingly.
"Yes. It is only a suggestion, for, after all, I daresay in your eyes I
am only a solemn sort of old fogey. But, darling, I seem to have learnt
to love you very dearly indeed, and have been wondering if you would
consent to make my life entirely and completely happy. I remember you
asking me once--I believe it was here on this very spot--whether I
didn't sometimes find life too good to be real; do you remember? Well,
now, I want you to make it so. I believe I could make you very happy--
we seem to have got to know each other well enough by this time to
warrant me in thinking so. Now, child, what do you say?"
The girl seemed incapable of saying anything. It was as though the
gates of a blissful paradise had opened to receive her. She seemed to
sway unsteadily. Her lips were parted and her breathing came quickly,
but in her wide eyes was a whole world of adoring affection, which was
in itself sufficient answer without mere words.
"I loved and adored you from the very moment we first met," she managed
to whisper as she sank into his embrace. "But you? What can _you_ have
seen in me? You?"
"Darling, I suppose I have learnt to recognise pure gold when I see it.
So you will make life too good for me after all?"
"Too good for you? But it is going to be too good for me, it seems.
Yet listen. You won't be offended if I tell you something."
"Offended? No, child; never shrink from telling me anything through
fear of that. What is this `something'?"
"There was a time when I thought some great trouble had come upon you;
of course, I could not even guess at its nature. Well, whatever that
trouble might have been, then was the time I would have loved you most,
if possible, no matter what it was. If it had been--I am only putting a
case, mind--that which should have turned the whole world against you,
that is the time I should have gloried to stand by your side. You are
not offended with me for saying this?"
He laughed--lightly, happily.
"No, child. Well, you have guessed rightly. There was a trouble;
black, overwhelming it seemed, as death. Now it has passed--by the
mercy of God, passed for ever. Some day I may tell it you, perhaps, but
not now. This is the time only for happiness."
Happiness! In saying what she had just said Delia had not overstated
the case by a single word. Had he come to her ruined, crushed by some
unknown weight, even with the whole world against him, and said what he
had just said she would have reckoned life almost too good to live. But
now, to spend the rest of her life at his side here at beautiful,
enchanted Hilversea, his happiness her life's object--ah! the vista thus
opened was too golden, too glowing, too complete. The very perfection
of it frightened her as being too perfect for such an imperfect state.
Happiness!
"What does all this long silence cover, dearest?" he said at last, for
he had been watching with a smile the swift transitions of thought which
had chased each other across the beautiful, expressive face. "I believe
I know," looking at his watch. "You were going to say you must get back
to the Haldanes or they'd be wondering what had become of you. Well,
they'll have to wonder. You must stay and take care of me this
morning--get your hand in a little, you know. This afternoon we'll go
over, and--tell them."
_Note_.--The Red Derelict was never again sighted. Whether the impact
of the _Runic's_ collision with her had sent the ghostly hulk far down
into the green depths for ever must remain a mystery. She had delivered
up her message, and was gone.