Innocent : her fancy and his fact Part 43

"Come into the garden," he said. "It's quite a real garden for London--and I know every inch of it. We'll find a quiet corner and sit down and rest."

She answered nothing--she was flushed, and breathing quickly from the excitement of the dance, and he paused on his way to pick up a light wrap he found on one of the sofas, and put it round her shoulders.

"You mustn't catch a chill," he went on. "But it's not a cold night--in fact it's very close and sultry--almost like thunder. A little air will be good for us."

They went together, pacing along slowly--she meanwhile thinking of her previous walk in that same garden!--what would he, Amadis de Jocelyn, say of it and of her "mother" if he knew! He looked at her sideways now and then, curiously moved by mingled pity, admiration and desire,--the cruelty latent in every man made him long to awaken the first spark of pa.s.sion in that maidenly soul,--and with the full consciousness of a powerful personality, he was perfectly aware that he could do so if he chose. But he waited, playing with the fire of his own inclinations, and talking lightly and charmingly of things which he knew would interest her sufficiently to make her, in her turn, talk to him naturally and candidly, thereby displaying more or less of her disposition and temperament. With every word she spoke he found her more and more fascinating--she had a quaint directness of speech which was extremely refreshing after the half-veiled subtleties conveyed in the often dubious conversation of the women he was accustomed to meet in society--while there was no doubt she was endowed with extraordinary intellectual grasp and capacity. Her knowledge of things artistic and literary might, perhaps, have been termed archaic, but it was based upon the principles which are good and true for all time--and as she told him quite simply and unaffectedly of her studies by herself among the old books which had belonged to the "Sieur Amadis" of Briar Farm, he was both touched and interested.

"So you made quite a friend of the Sieur Amadis!" he said. "He was your teacher and guide! I'm jealous of him!"

She laughed softly. "He was a spirit," she said--"You are a man."

"Well, his spirit has had a good innings with you!" and, taking her hand, he drew it within his arm--"I bear his name, and it's time I came in somewhere!"

She laughed again, a trifle nervously.

"You think so? But you do come in! You are here with me now!"

He bent his eyes upon her with an ardour he did not attempt to conceal, and her heart leaped within her--a warmth like fire ran swiftly through her veins. He heard her sigh,--he saw her tremble beneath his gaze.

There was an elf-like fascination about her child-like face and figure as she moved glidingly beside him--a "belle dame sans merci" charm which roused the strongly amorous side of his nature. He quickened his steps a little as he led her down a sloping path, shut in on either side by tall trees, where there was a seat placed invitingly in the deepest shadow and where the dim uplifted moon cast but the faintest glimmer, just sufficiently to make the darkness visible.

"Shall we stay here a little while?" he said, in a low tone.

She made no reply. Something vaguely sweet and irresistible overpowered her,--she was barely conscious of herself, or of anything, save that "Amadis de Jocelyn" was beside her. She had lived so long in her dream of the old French knight, whose written thoughts and confessions had influenced her imagination and swayed her mind since childhood, that she could not detach herself from the idealistic conception she had formed of his character,--and to her the sixteenth-century "Amadis" had become embodied in this modern man of brilliant but erratic genius, who, if the truth were told, had nothing idealistic about him but his art, which in itself was more the outcome of emotionalism than conviction. He drew her gently down beside him, feeling her quiver like a leaf touched by the wind, and his own heart began to beat with a pleasurable thrill. The silence around them seemed waiting for speech, but none came. It was one of those tense moments on which sometimes hangs the happiness or the misery of a lifetime--a stray thread from the web of Chance, which may be woven into a smooth pattern or knotted into a cruel tangle,--a freakish circ.u.mstance in which the human beings most concerned are helplessly involved without any conscious premonition of impending fate. Suddenly, yielding to a pa.s.sionate impulse, he caught her close in his arms and kissed her.

"Forgive me!" he whispered--"I could not help it!"

She put him gently back from her with two little hands that caressed rather than repulsed him, and gazed at him with startled, tender eyes in which a new and wonderful radiance shone,--while he in self-confident audacity still held her in his embrace.

"You are not angry?" he went on, in quick, soft accents. "No! Why should you be? Why should not love come to you as to other women! Don't a.n.a.lyse!--don't speak! There is nothing to be said--we know all!"

Silently she clung to him, yielding more and more to the sensation of exquisite joy that poured through her whole being like sunlight--her heart beat with new and keener life,--the warm kindling blood burned her cheeks like the breath of a hot wind--and her whole soul rose to meet and greet what she in her poor credulousness welcomed as the crown and glory of existence--love! Love was hers, she thought--at last!--she knew the great secret,--the long delight that death itself could not destroy,--her ideal of romance was realised, and Amadis de Jocelyn, the brave, the true, the chivalrous, the strong, was her very own!

Enchanted with the ease of his conquest, he played with her pretty hair as with a bird's wing, and held her against his heart, sensuously gratified to feel her soft breast heaving with its pent-up emotion, and to hear her murmured words of love confessed.

"How I have wished and prayed that you might love me!" she said, raising her dewy eyes to his in the darkness. "Is it good when G.o.d grants one's prayers? I am almost afraid! My Amadis! It is a dream come true!"

He was amused at her fidelity to the romance which surrounded his name.

"Dear child, I am not a 'knight of old'--don't think it!" he said. "You mustn't run away with that idea and make me a kind of sixteenth-century sentimentalist. I couldn't live up to it!"

"You are more than a knight of old," she answered, proudly--"You are a great genius!"

He was embarra.s.sed by her simple praise.

"No," he answered--"Not even that--sweet soul as you are!--not even that! You think I am--but you do not know. You are a clever, imaginative little girl--and I love to hear you praise me--but--"

Her lips touched his shyly and sweetly.

"No 'buts!'" she said,--"I shall always stop your mouth if you put a 'but' against any work you do!"

"In that way?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes! In that way."

"Then I shall put a 'but' to everything!" he declared.

They laughed together like children.

"Where is Miss Leigh all this while?" he queried.

She started, awaking suddenly to conventions and commonplaces.

"Poor little G.o.dmother! She must be wondering where I am! But I did not leave her,--she left me when the Duke took charge of me--I lost sight of her then."

"Well, we must go and find her now"--and Jocelyn again folded his arms closely round the dainty, elf-like figure in its moonlight-blue draperies. "Innocent, look at me!"

She lifted her eyes, and as she met his, glowing with the fervent fire of a new pa.s.sion, her cheeks grew hot and she was thankful for the darkness. His lips closed on hers in a long kiss.

"This is our secret!" he said--"You must not speak of it to anyone."

"How could I speak of it?" she asked, wonderingly.

He let her go from his embrace, and taking her hand began to walk slowly with her towards the house.

"You might do so," he continued--"And it would not be wise!--neither for you in your career, nor for me in mine. You are famous,--your name is being talked of everywhere--you must be very careful. No one must know we are lovers."

She thrilled at the word "lovers," and her hand trembled in his.

"No one shall know," she said.

"Not even Miss Leigh," he insisted.

"If I say 'no one' of course I mean 'no one,'" she answered, gently--"not even Miss Leigh."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, relieved by this a.s.surance. He wanted his little "amour" to go on without suspicion or interference, and he felt instinctively that if this girl made any sort of a promise she would fulfil it.

"You can keep a secret then?" he said, playfully--"Unlike most women!"

She looked up at him, smiling.

"Do men keep secrets better?" she asked. "I think not! Will you, for instance, keep mine?"

"Yours?" And for a moment he was puzzled, being a man who thought chiefly of himself and his own pleasure for the moment. "What is your secret?"

She laughed. "Oh, 'Sieur Amadis'! You pretend not to know! Is it not the same as yours? You must not tell anybody that I--I--"

He understood-and pressed hard the little hand he held.

"That you--well? Go on! I must not tell anybody--what?"