The Lamp of Fate Part 46

"Probably they'll run us down," she suggested. "We're in the fairway, aren't we?"

"Yes--which is about our best hope of getting picked up before night."

Then, laying his hand on her arm: "Are you very cold and wet?"

Magda laughed--laughed out of sheer happiness. What did being cold matter, or wet either, if Michael loved her? And she was sure now that he did, though there had been but the one moment's brief embrace.

Afterwards he had had his hands full endeavouring to keep the _Bella Donna_ afloat.

"I think the wind has blown my things dry," she said. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm all right--men's clothing being adapted for use, not ornament!

But I must find something to wrap you up in. We may be here for hours and the frock you're wearing has about as much warming capacity as a spider's web."

He disappeared below into the tiny, single-berthed cabin, and presently returned armed with a couple of blankets, one of which he proceeded to wrap about Magda's shoulders, tucking the other over her knees where she sat in the stern of the boat.

"I don't want them both," she protested, resisting. "You take one."

There was something rather delightful in this unconventional comrades.h.i.+p of discomfort.

"You'll obey orders," replied Michael firmly. "Especially as you're going to be my wife so soon."

A warm flush dyed her face from brow to throat. He regarded her with quizzical eyes. Behind their tender mockery lurked something else--something strong and pa.s.sionate and imperious, momentarily held in leash. But she knew it was there--could feel the essential, imperative demand of it.

"Well? Does the prospect alarm you?"

Magda forced herself to meet his glance.

"So soon?" she repeated hesitantly.

"Yes. As soon as it can be accomplished," he said triumphantly.

He seated himself beside her and took her in his arms, blankets and all.

"Did you think I'd be willing to wait?" he said.

"I didn't think you wanted to marry me at all!" returned Magda, the words coming out with a little rush. "I thought you--you disapproved of me too much!"

His mouth twisted queerly.

"So I did. I'm sc.r.a.pping the beliefs of half a lifetime because I love you. I've fought against it--tried not to love you--kept away from you!

But it was stronger than I."

"Saint Michel, I'm so glad--glad it was stronger," she said tremulously, a little break in her voice.

He bent his head and kissed her lips, and with the kiss she gave him back she surrendered her very self into his keeping. She felt his arms strain about her, and the fierce pressure of their clasp taught her the exquisite joy of pain that is born of love.

She yielded resistlessly, every fibre of her being quivering responsive to the overwhelming pa.s.sion of love which had at last stormed and broken down all barriers--both the man's will to resist and her own defences.

Somewhere at the back of her consciousness Diane's urgent warning: _"Never give your heart to any man. Take everything, but do not give!"_ tinkled feebly like the notes of a worn-out instrument. But even had she paused to listen to it she would only have laughed at it. She knew better.

Love was the most wonderful thing in the world. If it meant anything at all, it meant giving. And she was ready to give Michael everything she had--to surrender body, soul, and spirit, the threefold gift that a man demands of his mate.

She drew herself out of his arms and slipped to her knees beside him.

"Saint Michel, do you believe in me now?"

"Believe in you? I don't know whether I believe in you or not. But I know I love you! . . . That's all that matters. I love you!"

"No, no!" She resisted his arms that sought to draw her back into his embrace. "I want more than that. I'm beginning to realise things. There must be trust in love. . . . Michael, I'm not really hard--and selfish, as they say. I've been foolish and thoughtless, perhaps. But I've never done any harm. Not real harm. I've never"--she laughed a little brokenly--"I've never turned men into swine, Michael. . . . I've hurt people, sometimes, by letting them love me. But, I didn't know, then!

Now--now I know what love is, I shall be different. Quite different.

Saint Michel, I know now--love is self-surrender."

The tremulous sweetness of her, the humble submissiveness of her appeal, could not but win their way. Michael's lingering disbelief wavered and broke. She had been foolish, spoilt and thoughtless, but she had never done any real harm. Men had loved her--but how could it be otherwise?

And perhaps, after all, they were none the worse for having loved her.

Deliberately Michael flung the past behind him and with it his last doubt of her. He drew her back into his arms, against his heart, and their lips met in a kiss that held not only love but utter faith and confidence--a pledge for all time.

"Beloved!" he whispered. "My beloved!"

CHAPTER XX

NIGHT

Michael and Magda stood together on the deck of the crippled yacht which now rocked idly on a quite placid sea. Dusk was falling. That first glorious, irrecoverable hour when love had come into its own was past, and the consideration of things mundane was forcing itself on their notice--more especially consideration of their particular plight.

"It looks rather as though we may have to spend the night here,"

observed Quarrington, his eyes scanning the channel void of any welcome sight of sail or funnel.

Magda's brows drew together in a little troubled frown.

"Marraine and Gillian will be frightfully worried and anxious," she said uneasily. It was significant of the gradual alteration in her outlook that this solicitude for others should have rushed first of anything to her lips.

"Yes." He spoke with a curious abruptness. "Besides, that's not the only point. There's--Mrs. Grundy."

Magda shrugged her shoulders and laughed.

"Well, if it's to come to a choice between Mrs. Grundy and Davy Jones, I think I should decide to face Mrs. Grundy! Anyway, people can't say much more--or much worse--things about me than they've said already."

Quarrington frowned moodily.

"I'd like to kick myself for bringing you out to-day and landing you into this mess. I can't stand the idea of people gossiping about you."

"They've left me very little reputation at any time. A little less can't hurt me."

His eyes grew stormy.

"Don't!" he said sharply. "I hate to hear you talk like that."