Dead Man's Rock Part 26

CHAPTER IV.

TELLS HOW I SAW THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK; AND HOW I TOLD AND HEARD NEWS.

A week pa.s.sed, and in the interval Tom and I made several discoveries. In the first place, to our great relief, we discovered that the bank-notes were received in Threadneedle Street without question or demur. Secondly, we found our present lodgings narrow, and therefore moved westward to St. James's. Further, it struck us that our clothes would have to conform to the "demands of more Occidental civilisation," as Tom put it, and also that unless we intended to be medical students for ever it was necessary to become medical men. Lastly, it began to dawn upon Tom that "Francesca: a Tragedy" was a somewhat turgid performance, and on me that a holiday on Sunday was demanded by six days of work.

I do not know that we displayed any remarkable interest in the _Materia Medica_, or that the authorities of Guy's looked upon us as likely to do them any singular credit. But Tom, who had now a writing-desk, made great alterations in "Francesca," while I consumed vast quant.i.ties of tobacco in the endeavour to reproduce a certain face in my note-book; and I am certain that the resolution to take a holiday on Sunday was as strong at the end of the first week as though I had wrought my faculties to the verge of brain fever.

I did not see her on that Sunday, or the next, though twice my boat explored the river between Goring and Pangbourne from early morning until nightfall. But let me hasten over heart-aching and bitterness, and come to the blessed Sunday when for a second time I saw my love.

Again the day was radiant with summer. Above, the vaulted blue arched to a capstone of noonday gold. Hardly a fleecy cloud troubled the height of heaven, or blotted the stream's clear mirror; save here and there where the warm air danced and quivered over the still meadows, the season's colour lay equal upon earth. Before me the river wound silently into the sunny solitude of s.p.a.ce untroubled by sight of human form.

But what was that speck of white far down the bank--that brighter spot upon the universal brightness, moving, advancing? My heart gave one great leap; in a moment my boat's bows were high upon the crumbling bank, and I was gazing down the tow-path.

Yes, it was she! From a thousand thousand I could tell that perfect form as it loitered--how slowly--up the river's verge.

Along heaven's boundary the day was lit with glory for me, and all the glory but a golden frame for that white speck so carelessly approaching. Still and mute I stood as it drew nearer--so still, so mute, that a lazy pike thrust out its wolfish jaws just under my feet and, seeing me, splashed under again in great discomposure; so motionless that a blundering swallow all but darted against me, then swept curving to the water, and vanished down the stream.

She had been gathering May-blossom, and held a cl.u.s.ter in one hand.

As before, her gown was purest white, and, as before, a nodding hat guarded her fair face jealously.

Nearer and nearer she came, glanced carelessly at me who stood bare-headed in the sun's glare, was pa.s.sing, and glanced again, hesitated for one agonising moment, and then, as our eyes met, shot out a kindly flash of remembrance, followed by the sweetest of little blushes.

"So you are here again," she said, as she gave her hand, and her voice made exquisite music in my ear.

"Again?" I said, slowly releasing her fingers as a miser might part with treasure. "Again? I have been here every Sunday since."

"Dear me! is it so long ago? Only three weeks after all.

I remember, because--"

The fleeting hope possessed me that it might be some recollection in which I had place, but my illusion was swiftly shattered.

"Because," the pitiless sentence continued, "mother was not well that evening; in fact, she has been ill ever since. So it is only three weeks."

"Only three weeks!" I echoed.

"Yes," she nodded. "I have not seen the river for all that time.

Is it changed?"

"Sadly changed."

"How?"

"Perhaps I have changed."

"Well, I hope so," she laughed, "after that wetting;" then, seeing an indignant flash in my eyes, she added quickly, "which you got by so kindly bringing back my boat."

"You have not been rowing to-day?"

"No; see, I have been gathering the last of the May-blossom. May is all but dead."

"And 'Flower of the May'?"

"Please do not remind me of that foolish song. Had I known, I would not have sung it for worlds."

"I would not for worlds have missed it."

Again she frowned and now turned to go. "And you, too, must make these speeches!"

The world of reproach in her tone was at once gall and honey to me.

Gall, because the "you too" conjured up a host of jealous imaginings; honey, because it was revealed that of me she had hoped for better.

And now like a fool I had flung her good opinion away and she was leaving me.

I made a half-step forward.

"I must go now," she said, and the little hand was held out in token of farewell.

"No! no! I have offended you."

No answer.

"I have offended you," I insisted, still holding her hand.

"I forgive you. But, indeed, I must go." The hand made a faint struggle to be free.

"Why?"

My voice came hard and unnatural. I still held the fingers, and as I did so, felt the embarra.s.sment of utter shyness pa.s.s over the bridge of our two hands and settle chokingly upon my heart.

"Why?" I repeated, more hoa.r.s.ely yet.

"Because--because I must not neglect mother again. She is waiting."

"Then let me go with you."

"Oh, no! Some day--if we meet--I will introduce you."

"Why not now?"

"Because she is not well."

Even my lately-acquired knowledge of the _Materia Medico_, scarcely warranted me in offering to cure her. But I did.

She laughed shyly and said, "How, sir; are you a doctor?"

"Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, apothecary," I said lightly, "neither one nor the other, but that curious compound of the two last--a medical student."

"Then I will not trust you," she answered, smiling.