The Happy Warrior Part 43

An absolutely irrepressible party, old friend wind.

CHAPTER XIV

DORA REMEMBERS

I

Percival was not the only one that in this period was disturbed by uneasy dreams, by vague and strange half-thoughts, by "thinking without thinking," as though some other influence were temporarily in possession of the senses. Lady Burdon was thus disturbed; Aunt Maggie, too. But of the three Aunt Maggie only knew the cause. If Lady Burdon, if Percival, had brought their unrest to her for explanation she might have explained it as she was able to explain her own--the "fluttering" that very often came to her in these days of Percival's visit home. She might have told them, as she told herself, that it was occasioned for that the years were closing in now--the prepared doom gathering about them all and they responsive to its nearness as gathering storm gives vague unease, headaches, depression when its emanations fall.

For her own part Aunt Maggie had herself in hand again--was again possessed by the cert.i.tude that nothing could go amiss with her plans.

It had supported her through all these long years. It had been shaken, but had recovered again, by fear of Percival's affection for Rollo. It tore at her frantically, like a strong horse against the bridle, now that only a few months remained for its release in her revenge's execution. In little less than a year Percival would be twenty-one.

She no more minded--relative to her plans--the proof of the fondness still between him and Rollo shown in his leaving her to stay with Rollo in town, than she minded--relative to the same purpose--his determination to be with j.a.phra again when winter ended. She suffered distress both at the one and the other in that they robbed her of the object of her heart's devotion; she felt no qualm that either would hinder her revenge. "Strange-like?" "Touched-like?" The villagers, when she pa.s.sed them without seeing them in these days, were more than ever sure of that, poor thing; but she was more than ever sure--lived in the past and in the near, near future and had scenes to watch there.

II

Rollo's return to town was delayed longer than Dora had supposed in her letter to Percival. It was not till February that his doctors and his mother gave way to his protestations that he would never get fit if he could not go and have a glimpse of old Percival while he had the chance, and then it was only for a week--a pa.s.sage through town to get some things done and to pick up the Esparts for a spring sojourn in Italy.

Thus Percival was several weeks with Aunt Maggie before he left her for Rollo--and Dora. Pleasant weeks he found them, reclaiming all the old friends (save that one whose grave only was now to be visited) and in their company, and in the new affection that they gave him for his strong young manhood, retasting again the happy, happy time of earlier days. There were jolly teas with the Purdies, brother and sister; plump Mr. Purdie never tired of saying, with quite the most absurd of his shrill, ridiculous chuckles, "Why, you've grown into a regular man and I expected to see a swarthy gipsy with earrings and a red neckcloth!", birdlike little Miss Purdie, more birdlike than ever with her little hops and nods and her "Now _fancy_ you coming to take me to the Great Letham Church Bazaar! I was _wanting_ to go. But you're _not_ to be extravagant, Percival. At Christmas you were _dreadful_.

You _don't_ know the value of money!" And there were almost daily visits to Mr. Hannaford, Stingo with him now till the road was to be taken again, who found Percival a proper full-size marvel now, and blessed his eighteen stun proper if he didn't, whose little 'orse farm was developing amazingly, who displayed it and who discussed it with Percival to the tune of leg-and-cane cracks of almost incredible volume, and who placed at Percival's entire disposal a little riding 'orse, three parts blood and one part fire, that showed him to possess a seat and hands that any little 'orse oughter be proud to carry, "bless my eighteen stun proper if he didn't!" (Crack!)

And there were thoughts of Dora ... who soon must be met and whom to meet he burned (his darling!) and feared (his darling and his G.o.ddess!--too rare, too exquisite for him, as tracery of frost upon the window-pane that touch or breath will break or tarnis.h.!.+). Thus he thought of her; thus to help his thoughts often walked over to closed Abbey Royal; thus never could approach the gates without the thought that if, by some miracle, he met her there he could not dare approach her. He would steal away at her approach, he knew. Watch her if, unseen, he might unseen adore her--mark her perfect beauty, breathless see her breathe; watch her poised to listen to some bird that hymned her coming; watch her stoop to greet some flower's fragrance with her own. Watch the happy gra.s.ses take her feet and watch those others, benisoned and scented by the border of her gown; watch the tumbling breezes give her path and only kiss her--see them race along the leaves to give her minstrelsy. Speak to her?--how should he dare?

III

What his condition then when at last in London he came face to face with her? Rollo and Lady Burdon stayed their week at a private hotel--Baxter's in Albemarle Street. He was immediately made their guest (against Lady Burdon's wish, who desired now in the approach of the consummation of her own plans--and Mrs. Espart's--to detach the friends.h.i.+p she had formerly encouraged; but he did not know that).

Rollo met him at Waterloo station and took him direct to the hotel.

Eager to meet old Rollo again he was touched by the pathetic devotion of Rollo's greeting, touched also at the frail and delicate figure that he presented. The emotions were violently usurped by others when Baxter's was reached and he was taken to the private sitting-room Lady Burdon had engaged.

"Here's mother!" Rollo cried, opening the door.

Here also were Mrs. Espart and Dora.

The elder ladies were seated. Percival greeted them and fancied their manner not very warm. He had a swift recollection of the letter's advice that they joined in estimating him "Very wild"; but while he shook hands, while he exchanged the conventional civilities, his mind, nothing concerned with them, was actively discussing how he should comport himself, what he should see, when he turned to the figure that had stood by the window, facing away from him, when he entered.

"Never in London before--no," he said. "I have pa.s.sed through once, that is all."

Then he turned.

She had come down the room and was within two paces of him. Her dress was of some dark colour and she wore fine sables, thrown back so that they lay upon her shoulders and came across her arms. A large black hat faintly shadowed the upper part of her face; her left hand was in a m.u.f.f, and when he turned towards her she had the m.u.f.f nestled against her throat. She gave the appearance of having watched him while he spoke, reckoning what he was, with her face resting meditatively upon her m.u.f.f, her tall and slim young figure upright upon her feet.

There was no perceptible pause between his turning to her and their speaking. Yet he had time for a long, long thought of her before he opened his lips. It took his breath. So still she stood, so serene and contemplative her look, that he thought of her, standing there, as some most rich and most rare picture, framed by the soft dusk that London rooms have, and surely framed and set apart from mortal things.

She dropped her m.u.f.f to her arm's length with a sudden action, just as a portrait might stir to come to life. She raised her head so that the shadow went from her face and revealed her eyes, as a jealous leaf's shade might be stirred to reveal the dark and dew-crowned pansy. She had not removed her gloves and she gave him her small hand--that last he had held cold, trembling and uncovered--gloved in white kid. She spoke and her voice--that last he had heard aswoon--had the high, cold note he thrilled to hear.

"It is pleasant to see you again," she said.

He never could recall in what words he replied--nor if indeed he effected reply.

Conventional words went between them before she and her mother took their departure; conventional words again at a chance meeting on the following day and again when the parties met by arrangement at a matinee. His week drew to a close. As its end neared he began to resist the mute and distant adoration which he had felt must be his part when he had thought of meeting her again and which, without pang, he at first accepted as his part now that they were come together. But when the very hours could be counted that would see her gone from him again he felt that att.i.tude could no longer be endured. Insupportable to pa.s.s into the future without a closer sign of her!--insupportable even though the sign proved one that should reward his temerity by sealing her forever from his lips. He nerved himself to the daring--the very opportunity was hard to seek. Rollo, in the slightly selfish habit that belongs to delicate persons accustomed, as he was accustomed, to their own way, was ever desirous of having Percival to himself alone. He saw plenty of Dora at other times, he said (deliberately avoiding a chance of meeting her on one occasion); and when Percival, not daring to do more, made scruples on grounds of mere politeness, "But, bless you, she'll think nothing of it," Rollo said carelessly: "She's made of ice--Dora. I like her all right, you know.

But she's not keen on anything. She's got no more feeling than--well, ice," and he laughed and dismissed the subject.

Had she not? It was Percival's to challenge it.

The chance came on the eve of the morrow that was to see his friend's departure for Italy and his own for a farewell to Aunt Maggie and so back to j.a.phra again. The Esparts came over to dinner at Baxter's hotel--came in response to Lady Burdon's private and urgent request of Mrs. Espart. The week of Percival's visit had tried her sorely. Night by night and every night, as she told Mrs. Espart, she had had that dreadful nightmare of hers again--that girl to whom she cried "I am Lady Burdon," and who answered her: "Oh, how can you be Lady Burdon?;"

to whom she cried "I hold," and, who answered her, "No, you do not--Nay, I hold."

Aunt Maggie might have explained it. Mrs. Espart laughed outright.

"That? Good gracious, I thought you had forgotten that long ago."

"So I had--so I had. I never thought of it again from the day I told you until last Wednesday night--the day Percival came to us. Since then every night..."

She paused before the last words and stopped abruptly after them.

"Well, my dear! You're not putting down to poor Percival what must be the fault of Mr. Baxter's menus, surely?"

Lady Burdon said without conviction: "No--no, I'm not. Still, it began then--and I don't like him now--don't care for Rollo to be so attached to him now--and had words with Rollo about it--and perhaps that was the reason and is the reason. Anyway, do come to dinner to-night--distract my thoughts perhaps--I can't face that nightmare again. It's on my nerves."

Mrs. Espart permitted herself the tiniest yawn, but promised to come; and came, bringing Dora.

IV

So Percival's chance came, or so came, rather, his last opportunity--for he ran it to the final moment. Announcement of the Esparts' carriage brought their evening to an end, and he went down with Rollo to see them off. Baxter's preserved its exclusiveness by preserving its old fas.h.i.+ons; the staircase was narrow, so the hall.

Mrs. Espart went first, then Rollo. Percival followed Dora.

As she came to the pavement she turned to gather her skirts about her.

In the action she looked full at him.

The end?

He said: "Dora--do you ever remember?"

Her skirts seemed to have eluded her fingers and she must make another hold at them. He saw the colour flame where her fair face showed it, swiftly, deeply scarlet in that shade on either cheek. He saw her young breast rise as though that red flood drew and held it--saw her lips part for words, and held his breath to catch her voice.

"I have not forgotten," she whispered.

BOOK FIVE

BOOK OF FIGHTS AND OF THE BIG FIGHT. THE ELEMENT OF COURAGE