The river lapped softly against the bank, and somewhere above my head
the leaves rustled dismally.
"Dear little Imp, if it were only true!"
Once again the sound came to me, low and restrained, but a sob
unmistakably.
On the other side of the giant tree I beheld a figure half sitting, half
lying. The shadow was deep here, but as I stooped the kindly moon sent
down a shaft of silver light, and I saw a lovely, startled face, with
great, tear-dimmed eyes.
"Lisbeth!" I exclaimed; then, prompted by a sudden thought, I glanced
hastily around.
"I am alone," she said, interpreting my thought aright.
"But--here--and--and at such an hour!" I stammered foolishly. She
seemed to be upon her feet in one movement, fronting me with flashing
eyes.
"I came to look for the Imp. I found this on his pillow. Perhaps you
will explain?" and she handed me a crumpled paper.
"DEAR AUNTIE LISBATH" (I read)--"Unkel dick is going away bekors he is
in luv with you and you are angry with him. Will you come at nine
o'clock to the Blarsted oke, where I hid yore stokkings if you want to
kiss me and be kind to me again, come to me bekors I want someboddie to
be nice to me now he is gone.
"yore luving sorry Imp.
"P.S.--He said he would like to hang himself in his sword-belt to the
arm of yonder tree and hurl himself from yon topmost pinnakel, so I know
he is in luv with you."
"Oh, blessed Imp!"
"And now where is he?" she demanded.
"Lisbeth, I don't know."
"You don't know! Then why are you here?"
For answer I held out the letter I had found, and watched while she read
the words I could not believe.
Her hat was off, and the moon made wonderful lights in the coils of her
black hair. She was wearing an indoor gown of some thin material that
clung, revealing the gracious lines of her supple figure, and in the
magic of the moon she seemed some young goddess of the woods--tall and
fair and strong, yet infinitely womanly.
Now as she finished reading she turned suddenly away, yet not before I
had seen the tell-tale colour glowing in her cheeks--a slow wave which
surged over her from brow to chin, and chin to the round, white column
of her throat.
"And she said, 'Oh, Dick, I want you so!' I read aloud.
"Oh," Lisbeth murmured.
"Lisbeth, is it true?"
She stood with her face averted, twisting the letter in her fingers.
"Lisbeth!" I said, and took a step nearer. Still she did not speak, but
her hands came out to me with a swift, passionate gesture, and her eyes
looked into mine; and surely none were ever more sweet, with the new
shyness in their depths and the tears glistening on their lashes.
And in that moment Doubt and Fear were swallowed up in a great joy, and
I forgot all things save that Lisbeth was before me and that I loved
her.
The moon, risen now, had made a broad path of silver across the shadowy
river to our very feet, and I remembered how the Imp had once told me
that it was there for the moon fairies to come down by when they bring
us happy dreams. Surely, the air was full of moon fairies to-night.
"Oh, Imp, thrice blessed Imp!"
"But--but Selwyn?" I groaned at last.
"Well?"
"If you love him----"
"But I don't!"
"But if you are to marry him----"
"But I'm not. I was going to tell you so in the orchard yesterday, but
you gave me no chance; you preferred to guess, and, of course, guessed
wrong altogether. I knew it made you wretched, and I was glad of it,
and meant to keep you so a long, long time; but when I looked up and saw
you standing there so very, very miserable, Dick, I couldn't keep it up
any longer, because I was so dreadfully wretched myself, you know."
"Can you ever forgive me?"
"That depends, Dick."
"On what?"
Lisbeth stooped, and, picking up her hat, began to put it on.
"Depends on what?" I repeated.
Her hat was on now, but for a while she did not answer, her eyes upon
the "fairy path." When at last she spoke her voice was very low and
tender.
"'Not far from the village of Down, in Kent, there is a house,'" she
began, "'a very old house, with pointed gables and panelled chambers,
but empty to-night and desolate.' You see I remember it all," she broke
off.
"Yes, you remember it all," I repeated, wondering.
"Dick--I--I want you to--take me there. I've thought of it all so often.
Take me there, Dick."
"Lisbeth, do you mean it?"
"It has been the dream of my life for a long time now--to work for you
there, to take care of you, Dick--you need such a deal, such a great
deal of taking care of--to walk with you in the old rose garden; but I'm
a beggar now, you know, though I shan't mind a bit if--if you want me,
Dick."
"Want you?" I cried, and with the words I drew her close and kissed her.
Now, from somewhere in the tree above came a sudden crack and mighty
snapping of twigs.
"All right, Uncle Dick!" cried a voice; "it's only the branch. Don't
worry."
"Imp!" I exclaimed.
"I'm coming, Uncle Dick," he answered, and with much exertion and heavy
breathing he presently emerged into view and squirmed himself safely to
earth. For a moment he stood looking from one to the other of us, then
he turned to Lisbeth.
"Won't you forgive me, too, Auntie Lisbeth, please?" he said.
"Forgive you?" she cried, and, falling on her knees, gathered him in her
arms.
"I'm glad I didn't go to Persia, after all, Uncle Dick," he said over
her shoulder.
"Persia?" repeated Lisbeth wonderingly.
"Oh yes; you were so angry with Uncle Dick an' me--so frightfull' angry,
you know, that I was going to try to find the 'wonderful lamp' so I
could wish everything all right again an' all of us 'live happy ever
after'; but the blasted oak did just as well, an' was nicer, somehow,
wasn't it?"
"Infinitely nicer," I answered.
"An' you will never be angry with Uncle Dick or me any more, will you,
Auntie--that is, not frightfull' angry, you know?"
"Never any more, dear."
"On your honour?"
"On my honour!" she repeated, smiling, but there were tears in her
voice.
Very gravely the Imp drew his "trusty sword," which she, following his
instructions, obediently kissed.
"And now," cried he, "we are all happy again, aren't we?"
"More happy than I ever hoped or dreamed to be," answered Lisbeth, still
upon her knees; "and oh, Imp--dear little Imp, come and kiss me."
*CHAPTER VIII*
*THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT*
Surely there never was and never could be such another morning as this?
Ever since the first peep of dawn a blackbird had been singing to me
from the fragrant syringa-bush that blossomed just beneath my window.
Each morning I had wakened to the joyous melody of his golden song. But
to-day the order was reversed. I had sat there at my open casement,
breathing the sweet purity of the morning, watching the eastern sky turn
slowly from pearl-grey to saffron and from saffron to deepest crimson,
until at last the new-risen sun had filled all the world with his glory.
And then this blackbird of mine had begun--very hoarse at first, trying
a note now and then in a tentative sort of fashion, as though still
drowsy and not quite sure of himself, but little by little his notes had
grown longer, richer, mellower, until here he was pouring out his soul
in an ecstasy.
Ah! surely there never was, there never could be, such another morning
as this!
Out of the green twilight of the woods a gentle wind was blowing, laden
with the scent of earth and hidden flowers. Dewdrops twinkled in the
grass and hung glistening from every leaf and twig, and beyond all was
the sheen of the murmurous river.
The blackbird was in full song now, and by degrees others joined
in--thrush, and lark, and linnet, with the humbler voices of the
farmyard--until the sunny air was vibrant with the chorus.
Presently a man in a sleeved waistcoat crossed the paddock, whistling
lustily, and from somewhere below there rose a merry clatter of plates
and dishes; and thus the old inn, which had seen so many mornings, woke
up to yet another.
But there never was, there never could be, just such another morning as
this was!
And in a little while, having dressed with more than usual care, I went
downstairs to find my breakfast awaiting me in the Sanded Parlour,
having ordered it for this early hour the night previously--ham and eggs
and fragrant coffee, what mortal could wish for more?
And while I ate, waited on by the rosy-cheeked chambermaid, in came
Master Amos Baggett, mine host, to pass the time of day, and likewise to
assure me that my baggage should catch the early train; who, when I
rose, my meal at an end, paused to wipe his honest hand quite needlessly
upon his snowy apron ere he wished me "Good-bye."
So having duly remembered the aforesaid rosy-cheeked chambermaid, the
obsequious "Boots," and the grinning ostler, I sallied forth into the
sunshine, and crossing the green, where stood the battered sign-post, I
came to a flight of rough steps, at the foot of which my boat was
moored. In I stepped, cast loose the painter, and shipping the sculls,
shot out into the stream.
No, there never was, there never could be, just such another morning as
this, for to-day I was to marry Lisbeth, and every stroke of the oar
carried me nearer to her and happiness.
Gaily the alders bent and nodded to me; joyfully the birds piped and
sang; merrily the water laughed and chattered against my prow as I rowed
through the golden morning.
Long before the hour appointed I reached the water-stairs at Fane Court,
and, tying my skiff, lighted my pipe and watched the smoke rise slowly
into the still air while I tried "to possess my soul in patience."
Sitting thus, I dreamed many a fair dream of the new life that was to
be, and made many resolutions, as a man should upon his wedding morn.
And at last came Lisbeth herself, swiftly, lightly, as fair and sweet
and fresh as the morning, who yet paused awhile to lean upon the
balustrade and look down at me beneath the brim of her hat. Up I rose
and stretched out my hands to her, but she still stood there, and I saw
her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shy and tender.
So once more we stood upon the old water-stairs, she on the top stair, I
on the lower; and again I saw the little foot beneath her skirt come
slowly towards me and hesitate.
"Dick," she said, "you know that Aunt Agatha has cut me
off--disinherited me altogether--you have had time to think it all
over?"
"Yes."
"And you are quite--quite sure?"
"Quite! I think I have been so all my life."
"I'm penniless now, Dick, a beggar, with nothing in the world but the
clothes I wear."
"Yes," I said, catching her hands in mine, "my beggar-maid; the
loveliest, noblest, sweetest that ever stooped to bestow her love on
man."
"Dick, how glorious everything is this morning--the earth, the sky, and
the river!"
"It is our wedding morning!" said I.
"Our wedding-day," she repeated in a whisper.
"And there never was just such a morning as this," said I.
"But, Dick, all days cannot be as this--there must come clouds and storm
sometimes, and--and--oh, Dick! are you sure that you will never, never
regret--"
"I love you, Lisbeth, in the shadow as well as the sunshine--love you
ever and always." And so, the little foot hesitating no longer, Lisbeth
came down to me.
Oh, never again could there be such another morning as this!
"Ahoy!"
I looked round with a start, and there, his cap cocked rakishly over one
eye, his "murderous cutlass" at his hip and his arms folded across his
chest, stood "Scarlet Sam, the Terror of the South Seas."
"Imp!" cried Lisbeth.
"Avast!" cried he in lusty tones; "where-away?"