Anthony Lyveden Part 26

Seven hours later the two, with Patch, were tramping over a rising moor towards a dense promise of woodland which rose in a steep slope, jagged and tossing. This day the ragam.u.f.fin winds were out--a plaguy, bl.u.s.tering crew, driving hither and thither in a frolic that knew no law, buffeting either cheek, hustling bewildered vanes, cuffing the patient trees into a dull roar of protest that rose and fell, a sullen harmony, joyless and menacing. The skies were comfortless, and there was a sinister look about the cold grey pall that spoke of winter and the pitiless rain and the scream of the wind in tree-tops, and even remembered the existence of snow.

"I wish it was a better day," said Anne. "It's always worth seeing; but you won't see so far to-day, and there's no sun."

Anthony glanced at the sky.

"Unless," he said, "it's worth seeing when the trees are bare, it's just as well we're going there to-day. That sky means mischief. Are you sure you're warm enough?"

Anne laughed.

"Supposing I said I wasn't," she said, "what would you do about it?

Give me your coat?"

Anthony stood still.

"I should take you home--quick," he said gravely.

Honestly he hoped that she would waver. He had never wanted to come.

Left to himself, he and Patch would have walked--elsewhither. Had he not known that Valerie was away, he would have excused himself at breakfast. Not for anything in the world would he have forfeited a chance of meeting her. Poor Anne's feelings would have had to rough it.

"I'm as warm as toast," said Miss Alison cheerfully. "And I know you don't want to come," she added, bubbling, "but you've just got to.

You'll thank me afterwards."

Fiercely as he protested his innocence, Anthony felt extremely guilty.

He had, it seemed, committed a breach of good taste, which must be repaired forthwith. He determined to be very nice to Anne. This should not have been difficult, for she was full of good points.

Fate had not been kind, but Anne found no fault with her heritage.

Indeed, her temper was infectiously healthy. For years now Fortune had never piped to her, but that did not keep her from dancing. In the circ.u.mstances, that she should have been so good to look upon seemed almost hard....

The two pa.s.sed on.

It was a way Anthony had never gone, and, once in the thick of the woods, he could not have told where he was. Anne, apparently, knew her line backwards, for she climbed steadily, chattering all the time and taking odd paths and random gra.s.s-grown tracks with an unconscious confidence which was almost uncanny. More than once she turned to strike across some ground no foot had charted, each time unerringly to find the track upon the far side waiting to point them upward--sometimes gently, and sometimes with a sharp rise, but always upward.

For all that, the pace his companion set was almost punishing, and Anthony was on the point of pleading a respite, when--

"Almost there now," panted Miss Alison. "Round to the right here, and----"

The rest of the sentence was lost upon Anthony, and is of no consequence to us.

As he was rounding the corner, he had turned to whistle for Patch. For two very excellent reasons the whistle was never delivered. The first was that the Sealyham was only five paces in rear. The second was that he was standing quite still in the middle of the path, wagging his tail apologetically.

For a moment Anthony stared at him. Then he swung round, to find himself face to face with a broad natural bank, some thirty feet high.

When Valerie French, who had come by way of the finger-post, saw Patch dormant at the foot of the broad bank, she could have jumped for joy.

At the last minute rheumatism had laid its irreverent hand upon the patrician muscles of Lady Touchstone's back, and the visit to Town had been summarily postponed. Valerie, who should have been sorry, was undeniably glad. She could not communicate with Anthony, but there was a bare chance that she might do better than that. What afternoons he had free she did not know. How he employed such as he had, he had told her in plain terms. She was, of course, to see him on Sunday, but that was four days away. Besides, she wanted to meet him upon that gravel cliff--that window-sill whose freehold they shared. High matters were on the edge of settlement. It was appropriate that they should there be settled where, in a mad moment, Fate had staked upon one cast all the kingdoms of the earth and their glory--staked them and lost them.

That it was now but a question of taking possession of their inheritance, Valerie never doubted. In this she was right. The crooked way of Love had been made straight: only the treading of it remained--a simple business. That he had saved her life did not weigh with Anthony at all. That Death had summoned them, looked in their eyes, and let them go--together, made all the difference. It was as though a hand had written upon the wall....

The sight, then, of the terrier verified hopes which she had been afraid to harbour. She had wanted so much, and it had all come to pa.s.s. She had wanted to meet her man, to see him ere he knew she was there, to find him there at the window, to come delicately behind him, to have him turn and see her, to mark the sudden gladdening of his dear grey eyes....

Tremulously she ascended the tiny path and pa.s.sed a-tiptoe into the thicket....

You would have sworn it an elf that stole across the clearing beyond....

As she glided into cover--

"Rain," said Anthony. "Now we're for it. No coats, no umbrella, no nothing. Anne, you're in for a wetting."

"Won't be the first time," said Anne cheerfully.

"Well, come on, any way," said Anthony. "The woods'll shelter us for a while, and then----"

"I shall have a bath," said Anne. "A nice hot bath directly I get in.

You know, all steaming and----"

"Will you come on?" said Anthony, laughing.

The two thrust through the screen and across the clearing. A moment later the thicket had swallowed them up.

As in a dream, Valerie heard their voices getting fainter and fainter....

Presently they died altogether, and she was left alone with the rain.

This fairly pelted upon her, but she never moved. The truth is, she never noticed it.

A sudden rush of wind whipped a strand of her dark hair loose and flung it across her lips, but she never moved.

After a little while the wind died too, and for the second time she was left alone with the rain.

CHAPTER V

AN HIGH LOOK AND A PROUD HEART

Here is a note, gentlemen, on its way to a lady, I have set it out now, that you may be wiser than she--by some twenty-four hours. Such as it is, I like my lookers-on to see the best of the game.

_Rome, 14th November._

_MY DEAR VALERIE,_

_I observe from your letter that you have lost faith in the man you love. Now, although I know him not, I trust him implicitly. I do not care what has happened. Shall I tell you why? Because I know that you would never have put your trust in him had he been unworthy._

_Love plays such queer tricks with its victims, making the fearless timorous, the proud lowly, the trusting doubtful. Who was it coined that mischievous phrase, "Too good to be true"? He has much to answer for. Nothing is too good to be true. Not even the love of a man for a maid, Valerie. You found it so good that you were thoroughly prepared to find it false. And the moment you saw the clouds, you believed the sun to be dead. That is heathenish and the way of the people who imagine a vain thing._

_His explanation will shame you, of course; but take the lesson to heart._