Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker Part 35

Christopher took a deep breath; the pace of the car increased a little.

"That has to be found--will be found. It is a question of time."

"And you mean to find it?"

"A good many people mean to find it."

Masters shook his head.

"It won't pay you so well as iron, Master Christopher. My offer is still open."

Christopher was so surprised that he nearly swerved into an unfenced pond they were pa.s.sing.

"It was very kind of you to make it again," Christopher managed to stammer out, adding with a bluntness worthy of Masters himself, "I never could understand why you made it at all."

"Neither do I," returned Peter Masters with a laugh, "and I generally know what I'm at. Perhaps I thought it would please Aymer. As I told you just now, we were friends before his accident. I suppose you've heard all about that?"

For a brief moment Christopher felt temptation grip him. He was convinced the man beside him knew the untold story, and at this juncture in his life he would give much to understand all those things he had never questioned or ventured to consider. Then recognising disloyalty in the very thought, he hastened to escape the pitfall. It was no use to take half measures with this man, however, so he lied again boldly.

"Of course I know," and went back again to safer ground. "Whatever your reasons, it was good of you to think of me and kinder still to renew your offer. I expect you will think me a silly fool of a boy to refuse it again."

"Not exactly; but a boy brought up by an Aymer Aston the second."

"That is sufficient luck for one boy to grab out of life."

Peter Masters chuckled. "I take it, young man, you'd rather be fathered by Aymer than by me, eh?"

Christopher muttered a very fervent affirmative between clenched teeth, which did not appear to reach his hearer's ears, for as Masters finished his own sentence he shot a sudden, sharp, puzzled look at Christopher, and his teeth shut together with a click. He spoke no more and when Christopher hazarded a remark he got no answer.

The glory of the day was at its height when Marden came in sight; the whole world seemed to have joined in a peon of thanksgiving which for the moment drowned the unwonted echoes in Christopher's heart that Peter Masters's hard voice had awoken.

Youth was his, Love was his, and Patricia was to be his, and he was going to see her. He covered the distance from the lodge gates to the house in a time that taxed his companion's nerve to the uttermost and bid fair to outpace even the throbbing, rushing pulse of spring that filled the land.

CHAPTER XVII

Patricia was in the orchard, and not only in the orchard, but of it, for she was comfortably perched on a low bough of an ancient h.o.a.ry apple tree. She had a volume of Robert Bridges's poems in her hand and a thirst was on her to be at the edge of a cliff and look over into blue s.p.a.ce below. The secluded orchard with its early crown of pink blushes, the serene shut-in valley screened from cold winds and cradled between the chalky highlands, weighed on her. She looked upwards through the dainty tracery of soft green and pink to the sky above, delicately blue with white clouds racing over it. There was air up there, free and untrammelled. Patricia sighed and then laughed at herself, for it was good, even here in the narrow orchard, life with its coming possibilities, its increasing riches. She was glad to be alone at that moment if only to share a thought with the poet who at this period held sway over her mind.

The previous evening had been one of great moment to her and she was joyfully thankful to find that it obscured and clouded no particle of the daily simple joy of her existence. She had claimed this day to herself, free from all new issues to prove this point, and her heart sang with content for what had been, was, and would be.

The orchard gate clicked, and looking through the intervening boughs and leaflets, she saw Christopher coming across the gra.s.s towards her with his even, swinging step.

In her rough grey dress she was as part of the rough tree herself. Her golden head and the delicate lovely colouring of her face rivalled the tree's darling blossoms, so Christopher thought when he reached her. He came straight to her through the maze of old and young trees and had the exquisite joy of seeing her flush with surprise and pleasure at sight of him. Here indeed she felt was the one addition to her day that she needed. She did not descend from her perch, and it was his hand which steadied her there when excitement imperilled her throne.

"To come down on us without warning like this!" she expostulated, smiling down at him. "Why, we might have had no leisure to see you or luncheon to give you! When did you actually come?"

"Half an hour and five minutes ago. I've seen Caesar and St. Michael, and I've had luncheon."

"And have you come to stay?"

"I don't know yet." He leant his arm on the bough where she sat, which was of exactly convenient height.

"The amount of leisure you seem to have on hand," said Patricia severely, "is outrageous, considering how hard the rest of the family work."

"Especially Nevil," laughed Christopher.

"Especially Nevil. We have not sat down to a meal with him for three weeks. He nearly walked on Max's puppy last week and he has forgotten Charlotte's existence except as a penwiper--she went in to him one morning with a message and came out with an ink smudge on her red dress--she _said_ it was his pen--the dress is the same colour as the penwiper, so she may be right. He paid no attention to the message."

"Well, at present, if you take the trouble to go into the Rosery you will find Nevil lying by the fountain catching goldfish with Max. I do not think he remembered I'd been away."

"Oh, I am glad," cried Patricia, clapping her hands; "of course it's very nice of him to be so clever and write so beautifully, but it's much nicer when he's just a dear silly thing--and catches goldfish.

But tell me about yourself now. Are you well? And have you been working hard? Why aren't you in Belgium, why have you come, and what are you going to do, and when are you going back?"

"Stop, I can't keep more than five questions in my head at once and I've answered several of yours already. The first is trivial; you have eyes. I have been working as usual; it's no use to explain how, you have no conception of work at all. I am not in Belgium because I am here in a better place. I am going to enjoy myself, I hope, and I shall go away when it pleases me."

"Indeed, Your Highness. You have not explained why you came."

"I think," said Christopher, considering hard and speaking with slow deliberation, "I _think_, only it is so preposterously silly, that I came to see you, or perhaps it was Caesar or Nevil if it were not Max."

Patricia laughed deliciously and leant forward, making pretence to box his ears. Christopher shook the bough in revenge till she cried pax, and peace supervened.

"Since you have evidently no business of your own to see to," she said severely, "it shall be my business to teach you to appreciate Robert Bridges."

"I don't like his name; who is he?" Christopher grumbled.

"He is a genius and you must sit at his feet and listen."

"Isn't it respectful to stand?"

She regarded him gravely with her head on one side. "True humility sits ill on you, I fear. You may stand if you take off your hat."

He flung it on the gra.s.s obediently.

"The Cliff Edge." "The Cliff Edge has a carpet ... of purple, gold, and green."

She read the little poem all through, her sweet, appreciative voice making music of the lines already melodious. Christopher wondered if the writer ever knew how beautiful his words could be made.

"Is that not lovely?" she asked when she finished, leaning forward so that her hand and the book rested for a moment on his arm.

Christopher nodded without moving.

"It makes me thirsty for the sea," she went on, "for sky, for s.p.a.ce to move and breathe. Oh, Christopher, things here are either old or small. All the great and beautiful things are old, the glory of it, the house, the life, the very trees, old, old, old. And the rest is small, protected and shut in. I want to feel things that are young and free and great, as the sky and sea and the wind. I am thirsty sometimes to stand on the edge of the cliff and taste the free, free air from off the sea that has no one else's thoughts in it. Do you understand that?--the longing for something that does not belong to any part, to any one?"

"Yes, I understand. I feel it too, sometimes."

"I knew you did. You see, it's because neither of us belong here--to Marden--really. Oh, I don't mean it horridly. It's the dearest place and they are all the dearest people; but the life, the big thought of it all, isn't ours. _Our_ people didn't help make it."