King of the Castle Part 77

"Your beard grows wonderfully fast, Mr Brime, believe me, sir. I wonder at a young man like you being so careless of his personal appearance. You'll be wanting to marry some day, sir, and there's nothing goes further with the ladies than seeing a man clean-shaved."

It was not quite a random shot, for Wimble had wheedled out a little respecting the gardener's future, and he had only to draw back with a smile for the man to follow him in, pa.s.sing his hand thoughtfully over his chin, wondering whether it had anything to do with the very severe rebuff he had more than once received.

Once more in the chair, tied up in the cloth, and with his face lathered, he was at Wimble's mercy; and as the razor played about his nose and chin, giving a sc.r.a.pe here and a sc.r.a.pe there, the barber cross-examined the gardener in a quiet, unconcerned way, that would have been the envy of an Old Bailey counsel. In very few minutes he had drawn out everything that the gardener had learned, and so insidiously soft were the operator's words, that Brime found himself unconsciously inventing and supplying particulars that the barber stowed up in his brain cell, ready for future use.

"There, Mr Brime," he said, after delivering the final upper strokes with a dexterity that was perfect, though thrilling, from the danger they suggested, "I think you will say, sir, that a good shave is not dear at the price."

These last words were accompanied by little dabs with a wet sponge, to remove soapy patches among the thick whiskers, and then the towel was handed, and the victim walked to the gla.s.s.

"Yes, it does make a difference in a man," he said, as he dabbed and dried.

"Difference, sir? It's a duty to be clean-shaved. To a man, sir, speaking from years of experience, a beard is hair, natural hair. To a woman, sir, it is nothing of the kind. A woman cannot help it, sir; it is born in her, but to her, sir, a beard is simply dirt."

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the gardener, and he thought deeply.

"Yes, sir; I've often heard them call it so. Even on the properest man, it is, in their eyes--dirt."

Brime paid and took his departure, while Wimble plunged at once among his own dark thoughts.

"That man is blind as a mole," he said, "and can see nothing which is not just before his eyes. He can dig a garden, but he cannot dig down into his own brain. How horrible! how strange! And how the slackest deeds will come out in a way n.o.body who is guilty suspects. Yesterday, quite a poor man--to-day, very rich--a heavy banking account--come in for a fortune. Yes, it's all plain enough now. Now, ought I to do anything--and if so, what?"

Volume Three, Chapter VI.

TWO MEETINGS.

After a long stay within the walls of the Fort, Claude had yielded to her cousin's importunity, and gone out.

She felt the truth of the French saying before she had gone a hundred yards from her gates. It was only the first step that cost, for, as she pa.s.sed along the little row of houses facing the harbour, there was a smile from one, a look of glad recognition from another, and several of the rough fishermen who were hanging about waiting for signs of fish doffed their hats with a hearty "How do, miss?"

A thrill of pleasure ran through her, and a feeling of awakening as from a time of sloth, as she realised that life could not be pa.s.sed as a time for mourning.

She turned to speak to Mary, after another or two of these friendly salutations to the lady of the Fort, and was met by a smile and a nod.

"There, I told you so, Claudie. It was quite time you came out. It was a duty."

Claude felt her cheeks burn slightly as she noted the direction in which they were going, but she kept on, feeling truly that she would have felt the same whichever direction they had taken.

It was a glorious evening, with the sun turning the whole of the western sky to orange and gold; and, as she breathed in the soft elastic air, watched the brilliant shimmer of colour as of liquid flames at sea, she listened to the murmurs of the ripple among the boulders, where the little river ran swiftly down from the glen, and the twitter of the birds in birch and fir. The joyous sensation that filled her breast was painful, even to drawing tears.

It was to her like the first walk after a long illness, when there is a feeling akin to ecstasy, and life seems never to have been so beautiful before. She could not speak, but wandered on beside her cousin--over the bridge, where they paused to gaze down at the golden-amber water, sparkling and foaming on its way to the sea. Ever onward and up the glen, but not far before the sound of a large pebble, kicked by a heavy boot out into the rippling water, where it fell with a splash, told them that they were not alone, and the next minute Chris had overtaken them and held out his hand.

There was a look almost of reproach in Claude's eyes, as, with quivering lip, she laid her hand in his, and yielded it, as he gently and reverently carried it to his lips.

"I have not been to you; I have not written," he said, in a deep voice.

"I felt that it was a duty to respect your sorrow. I have felt for you none the less deeply."

She stood looking gravely in his eyes, and he went on--

"Under the painful circ.u.mstances, I could not come to you; I was driven from your side. But Claude, dearest," he continued, with the pa.s.sion within him making his words vibrate, as it were, in her breast, and her heart flutter as it had never beaten before. "I love you more clearly than ever; and listen, darling--I would not say it, but cruel words have been spoken about my mercenary thoughts."

"Don't, don't," she murmured.

"But one word--for your sake."

"No, no," she cried piteously.

"Then for mine," he pleaded.

"What do you wish to say?"

"Then I am no longer the poor beggar I was called."

"Chris!"

"But comparatively rich, love. I only said that so that those who would see evil in my acts may meet something to act as a shield to cast off these malicious darts. No, no, don't withdraw your hand, dearest. I know how you have suffered. I have suffered too--sorrow for you--bitter jealousy of that man."

"Chris," she whispered, with a look of appeal, "for pity's sake! I am weak and ill--I cannot bear it."

"Forgive me," he cried; "what a selfish brute I am! There, I hold your dear hand once more, and I am satisfied. I will not say another word, only go and wait patiently. My Claude cannot be anything but all that is kind and just to me. I'll go and wait."

She stood looking in his eyes, and he clasped her hand, while the soft, ruddy glow which struck right up the glen seemed to bathe them both in its warm light. Her lips moved to speak, but no sound came, though her eyes were full of joy and pride in the brave, manly young fellow whose words had thrilled her to the core.

"If it could have been," she felt. And then a pang of agony shot through her, and she shuddered.

"How worn and thin you look, darling," he said tenderly. "My poor, poor girl."

This seemed to unloose the frozen words within her; the tears gushed from her eyes, and she tried to withdraw her hand, but it was too tightly held.

"Chris," she said at last, and she clung to his hand as she spoke, "I do not doubt you. I know all you say is the simple truth, but it seems cruel to me now."

"Cruel! My darling!"

"Hush, pray hush. It would be cruel, too, in me to let you speak like this about what can never, never be."

"Claude! What are you saying?"

"That I have my poor father's words still ringing in my ears. He forbade it, and I cannot go in opposition to his washes."

"Claude!"

"I cannot help it. It is better that the words should be spoken now, and the pain be over. Chris, when we meet again it must be as friends."

"No," he cried pa.s.sionately; "you must meet me as my promised wife."

"It is impossible," she said faintly, after a painful pause. "No, Chris, as my friend--brother, if you wish, but that is at an end."

"But why--no, no; don't answer me. You are ill and hysterical, dear.

You think seriously of words that will grow fainter and of less import as the time goes on. There, come. Let us put all this aside now. I am content that we have met, and you know the truth--that I have spoken, and so plainly, once again."