Lover or Friend Part 38

CHAPTER XXIII

'DADDY, I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU'

'To his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And _that_ was s.h.i.+ning on him.'

CHAPMAN.

Audrey never knew how long she sat there, shedding those healing tears, every one of which seemed to relieve her overcharged heart; it was a luxury to sit there in that cool shadowed stillness. Presently she would rouse herself and go back to her world again; presently, but not just now! By and by she would think it all out, she would question her own heart more closely. Hitherto she had feared any such scrutiny--now it would be selfish, cowardly, to avoid it any longer; but at the present minute she was only conscious that she and everyone else were miserable.

At this moment she heard footsteps crossing the courtyard. Then, to her dismay, they entered the lobby. She had only just time to drag down a book from the shelves and open it haphazard; it was a volume on natural history. Anyone would have thought her absorbed, she pored so attentively over that plate of gaudy b.u.t.terflies, never raising her head to look at the new-comer, who stood a few yards off regarding her with unqualified astonishment. Cyril Blake--for it was he, and no other, who had entered the library--would willingly have withdrawn without attracting her notice; but one of the boys in the sanatorium wanted a certain fascinating book of adventures, and he had promised to fetch it.

He knew the volume was in this very recess, and he saw with some annoyance that it would be necessary to disturb her.

'Miss Ross,' he said, in that quiet, guarded tone in which he always addressed her now, 'may I trouble you to move just for one moment? I am so sorry to disturb you, but Willie Taylor--' and then he stopped as though he were suddenly petrified.

Audrey had risen quickly, but as she moved aside he had a full view of her face--the flushed cheeks and swollen eyelids told their own tale.

'Good heavens!' he exclaimed, forgetting his errand and speaking in excessive agitation, 'you are unhappy--something is the matter!' and Cyril turned quite pale.

Poor Audrey! her feelings were not very enviable at that moment. That she should be discovered by the very person whom she was most anxious to avoid! If he would only go away and leave her, and not stand there asking her questions! But nothing was farther from Cyril's intentions.

For the minute he had forgotten everything, except that she was unhappy.

'You are not well, or else something has been troubling you,' he continued, and his voice softened with involuntary tenderness. 'Miss Ross, you promised that we should be friends--will you not treat me as one now? There is nothing I would not do to help you, if you would only tell me what is troubling you.'

'It is impossible,' she returned with a little sob. Oh, if he would only go away, and not speak to her so kindly! 'One must be troubled sometimes, and no one can help me--if you will only leave me to myself.'

'Leave you like this?'

'Yes, indeed--indeed. I cannot talk;' and Audrey wiped away the tears that seemed to blind her. She so seldom gave way--she so seldom permitted herself this feminine luxury of tears--but when once she set them flowing they were simply uncontrollable. She could not help what Cyril thought of her. 'If you would only go away,' she repeated, turning from him as he stood there as though rooted to the spot.

'I cannot go;' and here Cyril's lips became quite white under his moustache.

Some sudden intuition of the truth had come to him. Why had he not thought of that before? It had never even occurred to him. An hour ago he had met Mollie wandering about the town disconsolately. Miss Ross was at the Cottage, she had said; it was only a call, and she had taken the message herself; and then her mother had given her some errands to do, and had charged her strictly not to return for at least an hour.

'Mamma never likes me to be at home when Miss Ross comes,' Mollie had observed in an aggrieved tone. But Cyril had taken no notice of the speech--he knew his mother's little ways, and no suspicion of the truth had come to him. It was only the sight of Audrey's emotion that quickened it into life now.

'You have seen my mother,' he exclaimed; and here his face grew dark and stern. 'She has been talking to you--making you unhappy. Miss Ross,' as she remained silent, 'you must answer me. This concerns me very closely.

I have a right to know if my mother has betrayed me!'

His tone frightened Audrey.

'You must not be vexed with her,' she said, rousing herself to defend the absent. 'She is very unhappy, and of course it troubled me.' Audrey spoke with her usual simplicity--what was the use of trying to hide it any longer? Cyril's impetuous pertinacity gave her no chance of escape.

'And she told you that I was going away?'

Audrey bowed her head.

'It was very wrong,' he returned, still sternly. 'Whom is a man to trust, if he cannot trust his own mother? She has betrayed my confidence. It was cruel to me, but it was far more cruel to you--it is that I cannot forgive.'

'No, no! You must not say that--she did not mean to be cruel, Mr. Blake.

Of course I ought not to have known this, and of course it has made me very unhappy. But now I must ask you something. Will you not wait a little? Things may be better--easier----' And here she looked at him timidly, and her expression was very sweet.

But Cyril was not looking at her; he was having a hard fight with himself. He was angry--justly angry, as he thought; nay, more, he was humiliated that his mother should have appealed to this girl--that, knowing her kind heart, she should have inflicted this pain on her. The sight of her grief, her gentleness, almost maddened him, and he averted his eyes as he answered her.

'They cannot be easier. But do not mistake my meaning--perhaps my mother has misled you--let me put it right. No pain or difficulty is driving me away; do not think that for a moment. However hard it might be to go on living here, I think I could have endured it, if it were only right to do so. But I have made up my mind that it is not right, and to-morrow morning I shall speak to Dr. Ross.'

'Oh no, no!' and here Audrey clasped her hands involuntarily. But Cyril's eyes were fixed on some carrier-pigeons fluttering across the courtyard.

'It is my duty to do it, and it must be done. If Dr. Ross questions me, I shall tell him the truth: "I must go away because I have dared to love your daughter; and if I stayed here I should never cease from my efforts to win her." That is what I should tell him, Miss Ross. I think he will not press me to remain under these circ.u.mstances.' And Cyril gave a bitter little laugh.

'Perhaps not;' and here Audrey sank down upon her chair, for she felt weak and giddy.

'I am glad, at least, that you think I am doing right.'

'I did not say so.'

'Pardon me;' and here Cyril did try to get a glimpse of her face, for something in her tone baffled him. 'You, who know all, must of course approve my conduct. If I stayed here I could not answer for myself; it is better--safer--that I should go; though wherever I am,' here his voice trembled with exquisite tenderness, 'I must always love you.'

'Then in that case you had better remain.'

Audrey tried to s.h.i.+eld her face as she spoke, but he had seen a little tremulous smile flit over her features, and she could not hide her dimple. What could she mean? Was he fooling himself--dreaming? The next moment he had dropped on one knee beside her, and was begging her, with tears in his eyes, to look at him.

'This is a matter of life and death to me,' he implored, compelling her by the very strength of his will to turn her blus.h.i.+ng face to him. 'Miss Ross--Audrey'--his tone almost amounting to awe--'you cannot mean that you really care for me?'

'I am afraid I do care too much to let you go,' she half whispered. But as he grasped her hands, and looked at her almost incredulously: 'Why is it so impossible? I think in a way I have long cared.'

But even then he did not seem satisfied.

'It is not pity--you are sure of that? It is nothing that my mother has said? Audrey, if I thought that, I would rather die than take advantage of you. Tell me, dear'--and the pleading of his eyes was almost more than she could bear--'you would not so humiliate me?'

'No, Cyril, I would not.'

His name came so naturally to her, she hardly knew she said it; but a gleam of joy pa.s.sed over the young man's face as he heard it, and the next moment he drew her towards him.

Audrey took it all quite simply; she listened to her young lover's pa.s.sionate protestation of grat.i.tude, half shyly, half happily. The reverence with which he treated her touched her profoundly; he did not overpower her with the force of his affection. After the first few moments of agitated feeling he had quieted himself and her.

'I must not try you too much,' he said. 'If I were to talk for an hour I could never make you understand how happy I am. It is a new existence; it is wonderful. Yesterday I was so tired of my life, and to-day--to-day, Audrey----'

'I am happy, too,' she said, in a soft, contented voice. 'All these weeks have been so miserable; I seemed to miss you so--but you would have nothing to say to me. Do you remember that evening when you took my queen? Oh, how unhappy I was that night! And you saw it, and went away.'

'I did not go far,' he returned, taking possession of one hand--the soft white hand that lay so quietly in his. 'It was the only thing I could do for you--to keep out of your sight as much as possible. I walked up and down the road like a sentinel for hours; it did not seem possible to go home and sleep. I felt as though I never wanted to sleep again. I could only think of you in your white gown as you sat opposite to me, and how your hand trembled, and how cold it felt when I said good-night. I thought it was all your goodness, and because you were sorry for me.

Were you beginning to care for me a little even then, my darling?'

'I do not know,' she answered gently. 'You must not question me too closely. I hardly understand myself how it has all come about.'

'No,' he returned, looking at her with a sort of wors.h.i.+p in his eyes--the wors.h.i.+p with which a good, true woman will sometimes inspire a man, and which makes their love a higher education; 'it is all a miracle. I am not worthy of you; but you shall see--you shall see how dearly I shall prize this precious gift.'

And then for a moment they were both silent.