“He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type. What would that be?”
“Which is Joe? With the blue eyes and red face?”
“Yes. My uncle's nephew.”
“Not your cousin, then?”
“No.”
“Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England about
fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it.”
“Oh! I know about them; but is he?”
“Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does look a
bit Early Saxon.”
“Yes.”
That “Yes” tickled Ashurst. It was so crisp and graceful, so conclusive,
and politely acquiescent in what was evidently. Greek to her.
“He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies. He should not
have said that. My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, and
my cousins were angry. Uncle was a farmer--farmers are not gipsies. It
is wrong to hurt people.”
Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only
answered:
“Quite right, Megan. By the way, I heard you putting the little ones to
bed last night.”
She flushed a little. “Please to drink your tea--it is getting cold.
Shall I get you some fresh?”
“Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?”
“Oh! Yes.”
“I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet.”
She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing her? I
wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men “Beauty's
a flower,” as the poet says, and inspires in them the thoughts of
chivalry. Never very conscious of his surroundings, it was some time
before he was aware that the youth whom Garton had called “a Saxon type”
was standing outside the stable door; and a fine bit of colour he
made in his soiled brown velvet-cords, muddy gaiters, and blue shirt;
red-armed, red-faced, the sun turning his hair from tow to flax;
immovably stolid, persistent, unsmiling he stood. Then, seeing Ashurst
looking at him, he crossed the yard at that gait of the young countryman
always ashamed not to be slow and heavy-dwelling on each leg, and
disappeared round the end of the house towards the kitchen entrance.
A chill came over Ashurst's mood. Clods? With all the good will in the
world, how impossible to get on terms with them! And yet--see that girl!
Her shoes were split, her hands rough; but--what was it? Was it really
her Celtic blood, as Garton had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel,
though probably she could do no more than just read and write!
The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen
had come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking.
Ashurst saw that he was lame.
“You've got some good ones there!”
The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes which
prolonged suffering often brings.
“Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu.”
“I bet they are.”
“'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr.”
“Thank you, it's getting on.”
The lame man touched his own: “I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
worritin' thing, the knee. I've a-'.d mine bad this ten year.”
Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who
have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
“Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off.”
“Ho!”
“Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu.”
“They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine.”
“The maid she picks et. She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers. There's folks
zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one for that.
'.pe as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!”
Ashurst smiled. “Wi' the flowers!” A flower herself!
That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl
came in.
“Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?”
“If I may come to the kitchen for it.”
“Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend.”
“Not I. But are you sure no one minds?”
“Who would mind? We shall be very pleased.”
Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided.
The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them,
small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and
let her pull him up. She came close beside him, offering her shoulder.
And leaning on her he walked across the room. That shoulder seemed quite
the pleasantest thing he had ever touched. But, he had presence of mind
enough to catch his stick out of the rack, and withdraw his hand before
arriving at the kitchen.
That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost normal
size. He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass patch,
scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about with the
two little boys Nick and Rick. It was Saturday, so they were early home
from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven and six, soon
talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children. By four o'clock they had
shown him all their methods of destroying life, except the tickling of
trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on their stomachs over the
trout stream, pretending they had this accomplishment also. They tickled
nothing, of course, for their giggling and shouting scared every spotted
thing away. Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched
them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less
persevering, came up and stood beside him.
“The gipsy bogle zets on that stone,” he said.
“What gipsy bogie?”
“Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e
once. 'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked--in father's
'.ad. 'E plays the viddle.”
“What tune does he play?”
“Dunno.”
“What's he like?”
“'E's black. Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air. 'E's a praaper bogle.
'. don' come only at naight.” The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid
round. “D'yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan's feared of 'e.”
“Has she seen him?”
“No. She's not afeared o' yu.”
“I should think not. Why should she be?”
“She zays a prayer for yu.”
“How do you know that, you little rascal?”
“When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.' I yeard
'.r whisperin'.”
“You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to
hear it!”
The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively:
“I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em. I like blood.”
“Oh! you do; you little monster!”
“What's that?”
“A creature that likes hurting others.”
The little boy scowled. “They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats.”
“Quite right, Nick. I beg your pardon.”
“I can skin frogs, tu.”
But Ashurst had become absent. “God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!” And
puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the stream
where the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
When Megan brought his tea, he said:
“What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?”
She looked up, startled.
“He brings bad things.”
“Surely you don't believe in ghosts?”
“I hope I will never see him.”
“Of course you won't. There aren't such things. What old Jim saw was a
pony.”
“No! There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long
ago.”
“They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before
gipsies came.”
She said simply: “They are all bad.”
“Why? If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits. The flowers
aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never planted--and you
don't mind them. I shall go down at night and look for your bogie, and
have a talk with him.”
“Oh, no! Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes! I shall go and sit on his rock.”
She clasped her hands together: “Oh, please!”
“Why! What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?”
She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
“Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off
soon.”
“Soon?”
“Your aunt won't want to keep me here.”
“Oh, yes! We always let lodgings in summer.”
Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
“Would you like me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!”
She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room. He sat, cursing
himself, till his tea was stewed. It was as if he had hacked with his
thick boots at a clump of bluebells. Why had he said such a silly
thing? Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as far from
understanding this girl?
Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by
exploration of the country within easy reach. Spring was a revelation to
him this year. In a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink-white
buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the
deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of the few Scotch firs, tawny in
violent light, or again, on the moor, the gale-bent larches which had
such a look of life when the wind streamed in their young green, above
the rusty black underboughs. Or he would lie on the banks, gazing at the
clusters of dog-violets, or up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink,
transparent buds of the dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes
laughed, or a lark, from very high, dripped its beads of song. It was
certainly different from any spring he had ever known, for spring was
within him, not without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and
when Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house
or among the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the
evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking
and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl
sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And sometimes,
with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become
conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed on him with
a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering.
It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the orchard
listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he heard the
gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the trees, with the
red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit. About twenty yards away the
chase ended, and the two stood fronting each other, not noticing the
stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on, the girl fending him off.
Ashurst could see her face, angry, disturbed; and the youth's--who
would have thought that red-faced yokel could look so distraught! And
painfully affected by that sight, he jumped up. They saw him then. Megan
dropped her hands, and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry
grunt, rushed at the bank, scrambled over and vanished. Ashurst went
slowly up to her. She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very
pretty, with her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her
eyes cast down.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching her
breath, turned away. Ashurst followed.
“Megan!”
But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently round
to him.
“Stop and speak to me.”
“Why do you beg my pardon? It is not to me you should do that.”
“Well, then, to Joe.”
“How dare he come after me?”
“In love with you, I suppose.”
She stamped her foot.
Ashurst uttered a short laugh. “Would you like me to punch his head?”
She cried with sudden passion:
“You laugh at me-you laugh at us!”
He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of
the apple blossom. Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put
his lips to it. He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to that clod
Joe--just brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I Her shrinking
ceased suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him. A sweet warmth
overtook Ashurst from top to toe. This slim maiden, so simple and fine
and pretty, was pleased, then, at the touch of his lips! And, yielding
to a swift impulse, he put his arms round her, pressed her to him, and
kissed her forehead. Then he was frightened--she went so pale, closing
her eyes, so that the long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks; her
hands, too, lay inert at her sides. The touch of her breast sent a
shiver through him. “Megan!” he sighed out, and let her go. In the utter
silence a blackbird shouted. Then the girl seized his hand, put it to
her cheek, her heart, her lips, kissed it passionately, and fled away
among the mossy trunks of the apple trees, till they hid her from him.
Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the ground,
and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the blossom which
had crowned her hair--those pink buds with one white open apple
star. What had he done? How had he let himself be thus stampeded by
beauty--pity--or--just the spring! He felt curiously happy, all the
same; happy and triumphant, with shivers running through his limbs, and
a vague alarm. This was the beginning of--what? The midges bit him, the
dancing gnats tried to fly into his mouth, and all the spring around him
seemed to grow more lovely and alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the
blackbirds, the laughter of the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight,
the apple blossom which had crowned her head! He got up from the old
trunk and strode out of the orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get
on terms with these new sensations. He made for the moor, and from an
ash tree in the hedge a magpie flew out to herald him.
Of man--at any age from five years on--who can say he has never been
in love? Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved his
nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been quite
out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote admiration. But
this was different, not remote at all. Quite a new sensation; terribly
delightful, bringing a sense of completed manhood. To be holding in his
fingers such a wild flower, to be able to put it to his lips, and
feel it tremble with delight against them! What intoxication,
and--embarrassment! What to do with it--how meet her next time? His
first caress had been cool, pitiful; but the next could not be, now
that, by her burning little kiss on his hand, by her pressure of it to
her heart, he knew that she loved him. Some natures are coarsened by
love bestowed on them; others, like Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn,
warmed and softened, almost exalted, by what they feel to be a sort of
miracle.
And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate desire
to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, and
a vague but very real uneasiness. At one moment he gave himself up
completely to his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful,
dewy-eyed thing! At the next he thought with factitious solemnity: 'Yes,
my boy! But look out what you're doing! You know what comes of it!'
Dusk dropped down without his noticing--dusk on the carved,
Assyrian-looking masses of the rocks. And the voice of Nature said:
“This is a new world for you!” As when a man gets up at four o'clock and
goes out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him
and he feels as if all had been made new.
He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way
down the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane, and
came again past the wild meadow to the orchard. There he struck a match
and looked at his watch. Nearly twelve! It was black and unstirring in
there now, very different from the lingering, bird-befriended brightness
of six hours ago! And suddenly he saw this idyll of his with the eyes of
the outer world--had mental vision of Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like
neck turned, her quick dark glance taking it all in, her shrewd face
hardening; saw the gipsy-like cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful;
Joe stolid and furious; only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering
eyes, seemed tolerable to his mind. And the village pub!--the gossiping
matrons he passed on his walks; and then--his own friends--Robert
Carton's smile when he went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical
and knowing! Disgusting! For a minute he literally hated this earthy,
cynical world to which one belonged, willy-nilly. The gate where he was
leaning grew grey, a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread into
the bluish darkness. The moon! He could just see it over the bank be
hind; red, nearly round-a strange moon! And turning away, he went up
the lane which smelled of the night and cowdung and young leaves. In the
straw-yard he could see the dark shapes of cattle, broken by the pale
sickles of their horns, like so many thin moons, fallen ends-up. He
unlatched the farm gate stealthily. All was dark in the house. Muffling
his footsteps, he gained the porch, and, blotted against one of the yew
trees, looked up at Megan's window. It was open. Was she sleeping, or
lying awake perhaps, disturbed--unhappy at his absence? An owl hooted
while he stood there peering up, and the sound seemed to fill the whole
night, so quiet was all else, save for the never-ending murmur of
the stream running below the orchard. The cuckoos by day, and now the
owls--how wonderfully they voiced this troubled ecstasy within him! And
suddenly he saw her at her window, looking out. He moved a little
from the yew tree, and whispered: “Megan!” She drew back, vanished,
reappeared, leaning far down. He stole forward on the grass patch, hit
his shin against the green-painted chair, and held his breath at the
sound. The pale blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not stir; he
moved the chair, and noiselessly mounted it. By stretching up his arm he
could just reach. Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and he
clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it. He could just see
her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair. She was
still dressed--poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt! “Pretty Megan!”
Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a strange, lost
look. To have been able to reach it--even with his hand! The owl hooted,
a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils. Then one of the farm dogs
barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back.
“Good-night, Megan!”
“Good-night, sir!” She was gone! With a sigh he dropped back to earth,
and sitting on that chair, took off his boots. Nothing for it but to
creep in and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving, his feet
chilly in the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-smiling face,
and the clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing the cold key into
his hand.
5
He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of having
eaten nothing. And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's romance! Yet it
was a golden morning. Full spring had burst at last--in one night the
“goldie-cups,” as the little boys called them, seemed to have made
the field their own, and from his window he could see apple blossoms
covering the orchard as with a rose and white quilt. He went down almost
dreading to see Megan; and yet, when not she but Mrs. Narracombe brought
in his breakfast, he felt vexed and disappointed. The woman's quick
eye and snaky neck seemed to have a new alacrity this morning. Had she
noticed?
“So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst! Did ye have
your supper anywheres?”
Ashurst shook his head.
“We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to
think o' such a thing as that?”
Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some Welsh
crispness against the invading burr of the West Country? If she knew!
And at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out. I won't put
myself in such a beastly false position.'
But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased with
every minute, together with fear lest something should have been said
to her which had spoiled everything. Sinister that she had not
appeared, not given him even a glimpse of her! And the love poem, whose
manufacture had been so important and absorbing yesterday afternoon
under the apple trees, now seemed so paltry that he tore it up and
rolled it into pipe spills. What had he known of love, till she seized
his hand and kissed it! And now--what did he not know? But to write of
it seemed mere insipidity! He went up to his bedroom to get a book, and
his heart began to beat violently, for she was in there making the bed.
He stood in the doorway watching; and suddenly, with turbulent joy, he
saw her stoop and kiss his pillow, just at the hollow made by his head
last night.
How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion? And yet, if
she heard him stealing away, it would be even worse. She took the pillow
up, holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his cheek,
dropped it, and turned round.
“Megan!”
She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right
into him. He had never before realised the depth and purity and touching
faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered:
“It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night.”
She still said nothing, and he stammered on:
“I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night. I--I've
just come up for a book.”
Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with sudden
headiness, and he went up to her. Touching her eyes with his lips,
he thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it! Yesterday all was
sudden--anyhow; but now--I've done it!' The girl let her forehead rest
against his lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers. That
first real lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost innocent--in
which heart did it make the most disturbance?
“Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed.
Megan-promise!”
She whispered back: “I promise.”
Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go,
and went downstairs again. Yes! He had done it now! Accepted her love,
declared his own! He went out to the green chair as devoid of a book
as ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him, triumphant and
remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back the work of the
farm went on. How long he had been sitting in that curious state of
vacancy he had no notion when he saw Joe standing a little behind him
to the right. The youth had evidently come from hard work in the fields,
and stood shifting his feet, breathing loudly, his face coloured like
a setting sun, and his arms, below the rolled-up sleeves of his blue
shirt, showing the hue and furry sheen of ripe peaches. His red lips
were open, his blue eyes with their flaxen lashes stared fixedly at
Ashurst, who said ironically:
“Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?”
“Yeas.”
“What, then?”
“Yu can goo away from yere. Us don' want yu.”
Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look.
“Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak
for themselves.”
The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest heat
afflicted Ashurst's nostrils.
“What d'yu stay yere for?”
“Because it pleases me.”
“Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!”
“Indeed! When would you like to begin that?”
Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes
looked like those of a young and angry bull. Then a sort of spasm seemed
to convulse his face.
“Megan don' want yu.”
A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick,
loud-breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he
jumped up, and pushed back his chair.
“You can go to the devil!”
And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a
tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms. She came up to him quickly:
“Its eyes are blue!” she said.
Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
creature in her arms. How cosy it looked against her!
“It's fond of you already. Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you.”
“What was Joe saying to you, please?”
“Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here.”
She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring look
he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its
wings.
“To-night!” he said. “Don't forget!”
“No.” And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
body, she slipped back into the house.
Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he came
on the lame man and his cows.
“Beautiful day, Jim!”
“Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass. The ashes be later than th' oaks
this year. 'When th' oak before th' ash---'”
Ashurst said idly: “Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy
bogie, Jim?”
“It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say.”
“And you really do think it was there?”
The lame man answered cautiously:
“I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there. 'Twas in my mind as
'.was there.”
“What do you make of it?”
The lame man lowered his voice.
“They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock. But
that's tellin'. They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin'
their own. Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along for
company. That's what I've a-thought about it.”
“What was he like?”
“'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as
if 'e 'ad a viddle. They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but I've
a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I couldn'
zee nothin', meself.”
“Was there a moon?”
“Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind them
trees.”
“And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?”
The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst more
earnestly than ever.
“'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like.
There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure. There's
people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'.
Now, our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee it;
and them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers. But yu take an' putt
our Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, or I'm
mistaken.”
“She's sensitive, that's why.”
“What's that?”
“I mean, she feels everything.”
“Ah! She'm very lovin'-'.arted.”
Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
pouch.
“Have a fill, Jim?”
“Thank 'ee, sir. She'm one in an 'underd, I think.”
“I expect so,” said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked
on.
“Lovin'-hearted!” Yes! And what was he doing? What were his
intentions--as they say towards this loving-hearted girl? The thought
dogged him, wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where the
little red calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high. Yes, the
oaks were before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree in different
stage and hue. The cuckoos and a thousand birds were singing; the little
streams were very bright. The ancients believed in a golden age, in the
garden of the Hesperides!... A queen wasp settled on his sleeve. Each
queen wasp killed meant two thousand fewer wasps to thieve the apples
which would grow from that blossom in the orchard; but who, with love
in his heart, could kill anything on a day like this? He entered a field
where a young red bull was feeding. It seemed to Ashurst that he looked
like Joe. But the young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little
drunk himself, perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden
pasture, under his short legs. Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the
hillside above the stream. From that slope a for mounted to its crown of
rocks. The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and nearly
a score of crab-apple trees were in full bloom. He threw himself down on
the grass. The change from the buttercup glory and oak-goldened glamour
of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the grey for filled him with
a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the sound of running water
and the songs of the cuckoos. He lay there a long time, watching the
sunlight wheel till the crab-trees threw shadows over the bluebells, his
only companions a few wild bees. He was not quite sane, thinking of that
morning's kiss, and of to-night under the apple tree. In such a spot
as this, fauns and dryads surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple
blossom, retired within those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken,
with pointed ears, lay in wait for them. The cuckoos were still calling
when he woke, there was the sound of running water; but the sun had
couched behind the tor, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had
come out. 'Tonight!' he thought. Just as from the earth everything was
pushing up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen
hand, so were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded. He got up
and broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree. The buds were like
Megan--shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening
flowers, white, and wild; and touching. He put the spray into his coat.
And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a triumphant sigh.
But the rabbits scurried away.
6
It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket
“Odyssey” which for half an hour he had held in his hands without
reading, and slipped through the yard down to the orchard. The moon had
just risen, very golden, over the hill, and like a bright, powerful,
watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree's half-naked
boughs. In among the apple trees it was still dark, and he stood making
sure of his direction, feeling the rough grass with his feet. A black
mass close behind him stirred with a heavy grunting sound, and three
large pigs settled down again close to each other, under the wall.
He listened. There was no wind, but the stream's burbling whispering
chuckle had gained twice its daytime strength. One bird, he could not
tell what, cried “Pippip,” “Pip-pip,” with perfect monotony; he could
hear a night-Jar spinning very far off; an owl hooting. Ashurst moved a
step or two, and again halted, aware of a dim living whiteness all round
his head. On the dark unstirring trees innumerable flowers and buds all
soft and blurred were being bewitched to life by the creeping moonlight.
He had the oddest feeling of actual companionship, as if a million white
moths or spirits had floated in and settled between dark sky and darker
ground, and were opening and shutting their wings on a level with his
eyes. In the bewildering, still, scentless beauty of that moment he
almost lost memory of why he had come to the orchard. The flying glamour
which had clothed the earth all day had not gone now that night had
fallen, but only changed into this new form. He moved on through the
thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live powdering whiteness,
till he reached the big apple tree. No mistaking that, even in the dark,
nearly twice the height and size of any other, and leaning out towards
the open meadows and the stream. Under the thick branches he stood still
again, to listen. The same sounds exactly, and a faint grunting from the
sleepy pigs. He put his hands on the dry, almost warm tree trunk, whose
rough mossy surface gave forth a peaty scent at his touch. Would she
come--would she? And among these quivering, haunted, moon-witched trees
he was seized with doubts of everything! All was unearthly here, fit for
no earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, faun and nymph not for
him and this little country girl. Would it not be almost a relief if she
did not come? But all the time he was listening. And still that unknown
bird went “Pip-pip,” “Pip-pip,” and there rose the busy chatter of the
little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging glances through the
bars of her tree-prison. The blossom on a level with his eyes seemed to
grow more living every moment, seemed with its mysterious white beauty
more and more a part of his suspense. He plucked a fragment and held
it close--three blossoms. Sacrilege to pluck fruit-tree blossom--soft,
sacred, young blossom--and throw it away! Then suddenly he heard the
gate close, the pigs stirring again and grunting; and leaning against
the trunk, he pressed his hands to its mossy sides behind him, and held
his breath. She might have been a spirit threading the trees, for all
the noise she made! Then he saw her quite close--her dark form part of
a little tree, her white face part of its blossom; so still, and peering
towards him. He whispered: “Megan!” and held out his hands. She ran
forward, straight to his breast. When he felt her heart beating against
him, Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of chivalry and passion.
Because she was not of his world, because she was so simple and young
and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be other than her
protector, in the dark! Because she was all simple Nature and beauty, as
much a part of this spring night as was the living blossom, how should
he not take all that she would give him how not fulfil the spring in her
heart and his! And torn between these two emotions he clasped her close,
and kissed her hair. How long they stood there without speaking he knew
not. The stream went on chattering, the owls hooting, the moon kept
stealing up and growing whiter; the blossom all round them and above
brightened in suspense of living beauty. Their lips had sought each
other's, and they did not speak. The moment speech began all would
be unreal! Spring has no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering.
Spring has so much more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves,
and the coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking! And
sometimes spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence
stand, encircling lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of
enchantment, so that, standing lips to lips, they forget everything but
just a kiss. While her heart beat against him, and her lips quivered on
his, Ashurst felt nothing but simple rapture--Destiny meant her for his
arms, Love could not be flouted! But when their lips parted for
breath, division began again at once. Only, passion now was so much the
stronger, and he sighed:
“Oh! Megan! Why did you come?” She looked up, hurt, amazed.
“Sir, you asked me to.”
“Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet.”
“What should I be callin' you?”
“Frank.”
“I could not. Oh, no!”
“But you love me--don't you?”
“I could not help lovin' you. I want to be with you--that's all.”
“All!”
So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: “I shall die if I can't be
with you.”
Ashurst took a mighty breath.
“Come and be with me, then!”
“Oh!”
Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that “Oh!” he went on, whispering:
“We'll go to London. I'll show you the world.
“And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan. I'll never be a brute to
you!”
“If I can be with you--that is all.”
He stroked her hair, and whispered on:
“To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some
clothes that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away. And when
we get to London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be
married.”
He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head.
“Oh, no! I could not. I only want to be with you!”
Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, “It's I who am not
good enough for you. Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?”
“When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me. The first night I
loved you; but I never thought you would want me.”
She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet.
A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and
held her fast--too upset to speak.
She whispered: “Why won't you let me?”
“It's I who will kiss your feet!”
Her smile brought tears into his eyes. The whiteness of her moonlit
face so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the living
unearthly beauty of the apple blossom.
And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully; she
writhed out of his arms, and whispered: “Look!”
Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly gilded,
the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom of the
moonlit hill. Behind him came her frozen whisper: “The gipsy bogie!”
“Where?”
“There--by the stone--under the trees!”
Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech clump.
Prank of the moonlight! Nothing! In and out of the boulders and thorn
trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he rushed and
stumbled. Absurd! Silly! Then he went back to the apple tree. But she
was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the pigs, the sound of
a gate closing. Instead of her, only this old apple tree! He flung his
arms round the trunk. What a substitute for her soft body; the rough
moss against his face--what a substitute for her soft cheek; only the
scent, as of the woods, a little the same! And above him, and around,
the blossoms, more living, more moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and
breathe.
7
Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered
uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular queen
of English watering places. Having little sense of what he had on, he
was quite unconscious of being remarkable among its inhabitants, and
strode along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty boots, and battered
hat, without observing that people gazed at him rather blankly. He was
seeking a branch of his London bank, and having found one, found also
the first obstacle to his mood. Did he know anyone in Torquay? No. In
that case, if he would wire to his bank in London, they would be happy
to oblige him on receipt of the reply. That suspicious breath from the
matter-of-fact world somewhat tarnished the brightness of his visions.
But he sent the telegram.
Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies'
garments, and examined the window with strange sensations. To have
to undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
disturbing. He went in. A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes
and a faintly puzzled forehead. Ashurst stared at her in silence.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want a dress for a young lady.”
The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request
struck him with sudden force.
The young woman added hastily:
“What style would you like--something modish?”
“No. Simple.”
“What figure would the young lady be?”
“I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say.”
“Could you give me her waist measurement?”
Megan's waist!
“Oh! anything usual!”
“Quite!”
While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his Megan
could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse blouse, and
tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in. The young woman had come
back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst eyed her laying them
against her own modish figure. There was one whose colour he liked, a
dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in it was beyond him. The young
woman went away, and brought some more. But on Ashurst there had now
come a feeling of paralysis. How choose? She would want a hat too,
and shoes, and gloves; and, suppose, when he had got them all, they
commonised her, as Sunday clothes always commonised village folk! Why
should she not travel as she was? Ah! But conspicuousness would matter;
this was a serious elopement. And, staring at the young woman, he
thought: 'I wonder if she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?'
“Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?” he said desperately at
last. “I can't decide now; I'll come in again this afternoon.”
The young woman sighed.
“Oh! certainly. It's a very tasteful costume. I don't think you'll get
anything that will suit your purpose better.”
“I expect not,” Ashurst murmured, and went out.
Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he took
a long breath, and went back to visions. In fancy he saw the trustful,
pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw himself and
her stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under the moon, he
with his arm round her, and carrying her new garments, till, in some
far-off wood, when dawn was coming, she would slip off her old things
and put on these, and an early train at a distant station would bear
them away on their honeymoon journey, till London swallowed them up, and
the dreams of love came true.
“Frank Ashurst! Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!”
Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed,
suffused with sun--one of those faces where sun from within and without
join in a sort of lustre. And he answered:
“Phil Halliday, by Jove!”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh! nothing. Just looking round, and getting some money. I'm staying on
the moor.”
“Are you lunching anywhere? Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my
young sisters. They've had measles.”
Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a
hill, away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of
optimism as his face was of sun, explained how “in this mouldy place
the only decent things were the bathing and boating,” and so on, till
presently they came to a crescent of houses a little above and back from
the sea, and into the centre one an hotel--made their way.
“Come up to my room and have a wash. Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy.”
Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass. After his farmhouse
bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last fortnight,
this room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of Capua; and he
thought: 'Queer--one doesn't realise But what--he did not quite know.
When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three faces,
very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words: “This is
Frank Ashurst my young sisters.”
Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten. The third was perhaps
seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just
touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair, running
a little upwards from her nose to their outer points. The voices of all
three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they stood up straight,
shook hands with a quick movement, looked at Ashurst critically, away
again at once, and began to talk of what they were going to do in the
afternoon. A regular Diana and attendant nymphs! After the farm this
crisp, slangy, eager talk, this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was
queer at first, and then so natural that what he had come from became
suddenly remote. The names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina
and Freda; of the eldest, Stella.
Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said:
“I say, will you come shrimping with us?--it's awful fun!”
Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured:
“I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon.”
“Oh!”
“Can't you put it off?”
Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and smiled.
She was very pretty! Sabina said regretfully: “You might!” Then the talk
switched off to caves and swimming.
“Can you swim far?”
“About two miles.”
“Oh!”
“I say!”
“How jolly!”
The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his
new importance--The sensation was agreeable. Halliday said:
“I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe. You'd better stay the
night.”
“Yes, do!”'
But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head. Then suddenly he found
himself being catechised about his physical achievements. He had
rowed--it seemed--in his college boat, played in his college football
team, won his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero. The
two little girls insisted that he must see “their” cave, and they set
forth chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and her
brother a little behind. In the cave, damp and darkish like any other
cave, the great feature was a pool with possibility of creatures which
might be caught and put into bottles. Sabina and Freda, who wore no
stockings on their shapely brown legs, exhorted Ashurst to join them in
the middle of it, and help sieve the water. He too was soon bootless and
sockless. Time goes fast for one who has a sense of beauty, when there
are pretty children in a pool and a young Diana on the edge, to receive
with wonder anything you can catch! Ashurst never had much sense of
time. It was a shock when, pulling out his watch, he saw it was well
past three. No cashing his cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before
he could get there. Watching his expression, the little girls cried out
at once:
“Hurrah! Now you'll have to stay!”
Ashurst did not answer. He was seeing again Megan's face, when at
breakfast time he had whispered: “I'm going to Torquay, darling, to
get everything; I shall be back this evening. If it's fine we can go
to-night. Be ready.” He was seeing again how she quivered and hung
on his words. What would she think? Then he pulled himself together,
conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young girl, so
tall and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of her wondering
blue eyes under those brows which slanted up a little. If they knew what
was in his mind--if they knew that this very night he had meant! Well,
there would be a little sound of disgust, and he would be alone in the
cave. And with a curious mixture of anger, chagrin, and shame, he put
his watch back into his pocket and said abruptly:
“Yes; I'm dished for to-day.”
“Hurrah! Now you can bathe with us.”
It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these
pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's “Ripping,
old chap! I can lend you things for the night!” But again a spasm of
longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said moodily:
“I must send a wire!”
The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel.
Ashurst sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: “Sorry,
detained for the night, back to-morrow.” Surely Megan would understand
that he had too much to do; and his heart grew lighter. It was a lovely
afternoon, warm, the sea calm and blue, and swimming his great passion;
the favour of these pretty children flattered him, the pleasure of
looking at them, at Stella, at Halliday's sunny face; the slight
unreality, yet extreme naturalness of it all--as of a last peep at
normality before he took this plunge with Megan! He got his borrowed
bathing dress, and they all set forth. Halliday and he undressed behind
one rock, the three girls behind another. He was first into the sea,
and at once swam out with the bravado of justifying his self-given
reputation. When he turned he could see Halliday swimming along shore,
and the girls flopping and dipping, and riding the little waves, in the
way he was accustomed to despise, but now thought pretty and sensible,
since it gave him the distinction of the only deep-water fish. But
drawing near, he wondered if they would like him, a stranger, to come
into their splashing group; he felt shy, approaching that slim nymph.
Then Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and between them the
little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to notice whether
Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he heard a startled
sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist, leaning a
little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and pointing, her wet
face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.
“Look at Phil! Is he all right? Oh, look!”
Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right. He was splashing and
struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; suddenly
he gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down. Ashurst saw the girl
launch herself towards him, and crying out: “Go back, Stella! Go back!”
he dashed out. He had never swum so fast, and reached Halliday just as
he was coming up a second time. It was a case of cramp, but to get him
in was not difficult, for he did not struggle. The girl, who had stopped
where Ashurst told her to, helped as soon as he was in his depth, and
once on the beach they sat down one on each side of him to rub his
limbs, while the little ones stood by with scared faces. Halliday was
soon smiling. It was--he said--rotten of him, absolutely rotten! If
Frank would give him an arm, he could get to his clothes all right now.
Ashurst gave him the arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's
face, wet and flushed and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he
thought: 'I called her Stella! Wonder if she minded?'
While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, “You saved my life, old
chap!”
“Rot!”
Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all together
to the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was lying down in
his room. After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina said:
“I say, you know, you are a brick!” And Freda chimed in:
“Rather!”
Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to
the window. From there he heard Sabina mutter: “I say, let's swear blood
bond. Where's your knife, Freda?” and out of the corner of his eye could
see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of blood and
dabble on a bit of paper. He turned and made for the door.
“Don't be a stoat! Come back!” His arms were seized; imprisoned between
the little girls he was brought back to the table. On it lay a piece
of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella
Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood, running
towards it like the rays of a star. Sabina said:
“That's you. We shall have to kiss you, you know.”
And Freda echoed:
“Oh! Blow--Yes!”
Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his
face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left
arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek. Then he was
released, and Freda said:
“Now, Stella.”
Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid
Stella. Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
“Buck up--it spoils everything!”
A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said quietly:
“Shut up, you little demons!”
Again Sabina giggled.
“Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your
nose. It is on one side!”
To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out. Solemnly
he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek. The two little
girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
“Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's settled.
Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?” Tea was resumed,
and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his pocket. The talk turned
on the advantages of measles, tangerine oranges, honey in a spoon, no
lessons, and so forth. Ashurst listened, silent, exchanging friendly
looks with Stella, whose face was again of its normal sun-touched pink
and white. It was soothing to be so taken to the heart of this jolly
family, fascinating to watch their faces. And after tea, while the two
little girls pressed seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat
and looked at her water-colour sketches. The whole thing was like a
pleasurable dream; time and incident hung up, importance and reality
suspended. Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this
left save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket.
Children! Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan! Her talk--quick,
rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his silences,
and about her there was something cool and virginal--a maiden in
a bower. At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed too much
sea-water, did not come, Sabina said:
“I'm going to call you Frank.”
Freda echoed:
“Frank, Frank, Franky.”
Ashurst grinned and bowed.
“Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit.
It's ridiculous.”
Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red. Sabina giggled; Freda
cried:
“She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!”
Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in
each hand.
“Look here,” he said, “you two! Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you
together!”
Freda gurgled:
“Ouch! You are a beast!”
Sabina murmured cautiously:
“You call her Stella, you see!”
“Why shouldn't I? It's a jolly name!”
“All right; we give you leave to!”
Ashurst released the hair. Stella! What would she call him--after this?
But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, deliberately:
“Good-night, Stella!”
“Good-night, Mr.----Good-night, Frank! It was jolly of you, you know!”
“Oh-that! Bosh!”
Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly became
slack.
Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room. Only last night,
under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to
him, kissing her eyes and lips. And he gasped, swept by that rush of
remembrance. To-night it should have begun-his life with her who only
wanted to be with him! And now, twenty-four hours and more must pass,
because-of not looking at his watch! Why had he made friends with this
family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to innocence, and
all the rest of it? 'But I mean to marry her,' he thought; 'I told her
so!'
He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to
Halliday's. His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
“Is that you, old chap? I say, come in.”
He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
“Sit down a bit.”
Ashurst sat down by the open window.
“I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know,” said Halliday
rather suddenly. “They say you go through all your past. I didn't. I
suppose I wasn't far enough gone.”
“What did you think of?”