And behold, it was noon!
The day and their love stood still together. The glamour of the day, the
resistless force of their masterful love that seemed to them so unlike
all other loves of which they had ever heard or dreamed, held them in a
transport of delight that could only manifest itself in strange,
bitter-sweet caresses, in incoherent murmurings.
This, then, was love! Aye, this was Love!
The thoughts of the two returned with a tender, persistent recollection
to the love-tale of the past--the delicious idyl of love that had given
birth to this boy. Here, even here, had been spent those three maddest
and gladdest of weeks--that dream of an ideal love realized in its
fullness, as it is given to few to realize.
Yes, that was Love!
It was youth eternal--youth and fire, power and passion.
It was May! May!
* * * * *
It was mid-afternoon before they awakened, to look into each other's
eyes with a new understanding. Surely never since the world began had
two souls loved each other as did these!
And what should they do with the afternoon? Such a little while remained
for them--such a little while!
Paul drew out his mother's letter, and together they read it,
understanding now, as they had not been able to understand before, its
whole wonderful significance.
When they read of the first dawn of the hope of parentage in the hearts
of these long-ago lovers, their eyes met, heavy with the wistfulness of
renunciation. That consolation, alas! was not for them. Only the joy of
loving could ever be theirs.
And then, drawing out the other letters that had accompanied his
mother's, Paul revealed to his darling the whole mystery of his
identity.
At first she was startled--almost appalled--at the thought that she had
given herself to a Prince of the Purple--a real king of a real
kingdom--and for a moment felt a strange awe of him.
But Paul, reading her unspoken thought in her eyes, with that sweet
clairvoyance that had always existed between them, soothed and petted
and caressed her till the smiles returned to her face and she nestled in
his arms, once more happy and content.
She was the queen of his soul, he told her, whoever might wear the crown
and bear the title before the world. Then, very carefully, lest he
should wound her, he told her the whole story of the Princess Elodie.
Opal moved across the room and stood drumming idly by the long, open
window. He watched her anxiously.
"Paul, did you go to see her as you promised--and is she ...pretty?"
"She is a cow!"
"Paul!" Opal laughed at his tone.
"Oh, but she is! Fancy loving a cow!"
Opal's heart grew heavy with a great pity for this poor, unfortunate
royal lady who was to be Paul's wife--the mother of his children--but
never, never his Love!
"But, Paul, you'll be good to her, won't you? I know you will! You
couldn't be unkind to any living thing."
And she ran into his arms, and clasped his neck tight! And the poor
Princess Elodie was again forgotten!
"You--Opal--are my real wife," Paul assured her, "the one love of my
soul, the mate the gods have formed for me--my own forever!"
Opal wept for pity of him, and for herself, but she faced the future
bravely. She would always be his guiding star, to beckon him upward!
"And, Opal, my darling," Paul went on, "I promise you to live henceforth
a life of which you shall be proud. I will be brave and true and noble
and great and pure--to prove my gratitude to the gods for giving me this
one day--for giving me you, dearest--and your love--your wonderful love!
I _will_ be worthy, dear--I will! I'll be your knight--your
Launcelot--and you shall be my Guenevere! I will always wear your colors
in my heart, dear--the red-brown of your hair, the glorious hazel of
your eyes, the flush of your soft cheek, the rose of your sweet lips,
the virgin whiteness of your soul!"
Opal looked at him with eyes brimming with pride. Young as he was, he
was indeed every inch a king.
And she had crowned him king of her heart and soul and life before she
had known! Oh, the wonder of it!--the strange, sweet wonder of it! _He_,
who might have loved and mated where he would, had chosen her to be his
love! She could not realize it. It was almost beyond belief, she
thought, that she--plain little Opal Ledoux--could stir such a nature as
his to such a depth as she knew she had stirred it.
Ah, the gods had been good to her! They had sent her the Prince
Charming, and he had wakened her with his kiss--that first kiss--how
well she remembered it--and how utterly she belonged to him!
Then she remembered that, however much they tried to deceive themselves,
there was a to-morrow--a to-morrow that would surely come--a to-morrow
in which they would not belong to each other at all. He would belong to
the world. She would belong to a--
She sprang up at the recollection, and drew the curtains of the window
closer together.
"We will shut out the cold, inquisitive, prying old world," she said.
"It shall not look, shall not listen! It is a hard, cruel world, my
Paul. It would say that I must not put my arms around your neck--like
this--must not lay my cheek against yours--so--must not let my heart
feel the wild throbbing of yours--and why? Because I do not wear your
ring, Paul--that's all!"
She held up her white hand for his inspection, and surveyed it
critically.
"See, Paul--there is no glittering, golden fetter to hold me to you with
the power of an iron band, and so I must not--let you hold me to you at
all"
They both laughed merrily, and then Paul, pulling her down on his knee
and holding her face against his own, whispered, "What care we for the
old world? It is as sad and mad and bad as we are--if we only knew! And
who knows how much worse? It has petty bickerings, damning lies of spite
and malice, trickery and thievery and corruption on its conscience. Let
the little people of the world prate of their little things! We are
free, dearest--and we defy it, don't we? Our ideals are never lost. And
ideals are the life of love. Is love--a love like ours--a murderer of
life?"
"Sometimes, Paul--sometimes! I fear it--I do fear it!"
"Never fear, Opal, my beloved! You need not fear anything--anywhere! I
will stand between you and the world, dear--between you and hell itself!
My God, girl, how I love you! Opal! My Opal! My heart aches with the
immensity of it! Come, my love, my queen, my treasure, come! We have not
many more hours to--live! And I want you close, close--all mine! Ah,
Opal, we are masters of life and death! All earth, all heaven, and--hell
itself, cannot take you from me now!"
Oh, if scone moments in life could only be eternal!