Anthony Lyveden Part 42

"After. I tell you, I was thankful. And now--I little dreamed what a wonderful billet it was. Living in these beautiful woods, with nothing to----"

"Why did you give notice?" said Valerie.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I was unsettled. After all, a footman's job----"

"Was it because of me?"

There was a long silence. Then--

"Yes," said Anthony. "But that's ancient history," he added quickly.

"It wasn't your fault if I chose to take that line. Besides"--he flung out demonstrative arms--"see what you've brought me, Valerie. When I think that less than three months ago I was carrying coals and was.h.i.+ng up gla.s.ses and waiting at table----"

"And in love with me," said Valerie.

Lyveden's outstretched arms fell to his side.

The worst had happened. Valerie was under his guard....

A pitiful hunted look came into the steady grey eyes. Slowly the brown right hand stole up to his forehead.

"I never ought to have been," he said dully. "I ought to have had more sense. It was always--out of the question ... utterly. I think perhaps if I'd had a job to put my back into, I'd 've----"

He hesitated, at a loss for an expression which would not be ungallant.

Instantly Valerie lunged.

"You'd 've what?"

"Behaved better," he said desperately, turning back the way they had come.

Head back, eyes closed, lips parted, Valerie stood like a statue.

"Behaved ... better?" she whispered. "Behaved ... better?" She s.h.i.+vered, and, when the blue eyes opened, there was the flash of tears springing. "When you talk like that," she said quietly, "you make me feel like death. I deserve it, I know. I deserve anything. But, if you knew how it hurt, I think you'd spare me." Staring into the distance, Anthony dug his nails into his palms. "I came here to-day to pray your forgiveness. Since I--found I was wrong, I've been more utterly wretched than I thought a woman could be. I didn't know there was such agony in this world. Aunt Harriet'll bear me out, and so will the Alisons. I told them the truth. And when, after all these weeks, I found where you were, I just thanked G.o.d.... You and I know what we were to each other. Try and put yourself in my place. Supposing you'd turned me down--because you were rotten...." Anthony winced. "Yes, rotten. There's no other word. And then you'd found out your mistake.

How would you feel?"

"I'm sure you had cause," blurted Lyveden. "It was a mistake, of course. But you couldn't know that. And I--I've nothing to forgive, dear. I've never thought ill of you--never once. I can't pretend I wasn't shaken, but I always knew there was some mix-up."

"You were--shaken?" said Valerie.

Anthony nodded.

"You see," he explained, "I was terribly----"

"Have you got over it?" said Valerie.

With the point at his throat, Anthony did the only possible thing, and threw down his arms.

"No," he said steadily, "I haven't, and I don't think I ever shall."

There was a long, long silence, which the suck and gurgle of water fretting a crazy sluice-gate had to themselves. Then--

"What d'you mean?" breathed Valerie.

"I think," said Lyveden, "that I shall love you as long as I live."

Valerie just sighed very happily.

"I think," she said, standing a-tiptoe, "I'm the luckiest woman of all the ages."

Then she slid an arm through Anthony's, and they started back....

Anthony's brain was whirling. He did not know what to think. What was worse, he did not know what to do. Did she think he had called back Time? That he had asked her to marry him? Had he? Were his words tantamount to that? Was he prepared to marry her--this wonderful, glorious creature stepping so joyously beside him--this peerless queen, who had wronged him, yet in his eyes could do no wrong? As once before, that touch upon his arm sent the blood singing through his veins. His pulses leaped and danced. An old strange joy came welling.... It was as if a fountain within him had begun to play--an old forgotten fountain, long dry--and the sun was turning its delicate spray to a flourish of sprinkled silver. Against his better judgment he turned and looked at her. My lady felt his gaze, and turned to meet it with a swift smile. All the beauty of youth, all the tenderness of love, all the shyness of maidenhood hung in that glowing countenance.

As once before, twin stars had come to light the gentle gravity of those dark blue eyes. The mouth he had kissed in anger was a red flower....

The memory of that kiss came back to him with a rush. He had forgotten it, somehow. He was forgiven, of course. Still, it was only right to speak of it--she had confessed her trespa.s.ses so very handsomely.

Standing still, he took hold of her hand.

"Valerie, I quite forgot. The kiss I gave you that day was the kiss of a bully. I've never----"

A small cool hand covered his lips.

"Hush, lad. You mustn't say it. I know you were angry, or you'd never have done it. But that was my fault. You know it was. And"--she hesitated, and a blush came stealing to paint the wild rose red--"it's the only kiss you've ever given me, and--since then--I've been very glad of it."

For a moment Anthony stood trembling. Then he put his arm about Valerie and held her close. There was the whisper of a tremulous sigh in his ears, the warm fragrance of quick-coming breath beat upon his nostrils, the radiance of love-lit beauty flooded his eyes. Slowly he bent his head....

A wandering breeze swept out of the distance, brushed past the leafless woods, set the curtain of silence swaying, and--was gone.

Anthony started violently and threw up his head, listening....

Imagination lent him her ears.

The faintest silvery ripple, the liquid echo of a cool clear call went floating out of audience....

In an instant the man was transfigured.

"The trumpets!" he cried hoa.r.s.ely. "The trumpets! Didn't you hear them?" The light in his eyes was fanatic. Instinctively Valerie shrank away. Regardless, he let her go. "I forgot. Gramarye--I'm pledged to her. It's too late, Valerie. Oh, why did you come?" He buried his face in his hands. "You'll never understand," he muttered.

"I know you never will. It's no good--no good...." Suddenly he stood upright and took off his hat. Then he smiled very tenderly and shook his head. "It's too late, Valerie--my sweet--my darling.... Too late...."

He turned and strode down the track towards the tottering bridge.

For a moment Patch stood looking from him to the girl, uncertain and puzzled. Then he went scampering in Anthony's wake.

"As soon as you've finished, Lyveden, we'll have that fir down. It's the only way. With that list on her, she may go any day. And, when she does, as like as not she'll push half the bank into the road."

Anthony, who was munching bread and meat, nodded agreement. His employer got up and strolled in the direction from which the crunch of wheels upon a rough road argued the approach of a supply of posts and rails.