Our Admirable Betty Part 64

"But he hath not, John--nor ever shall."

"Yet I saw you in his arms----" My lady sighed and bowed her head.

"The beast is always and ever the beast!" she said.

"How came you with him in a wood--after midnight?"

"For sufficient reasons, John."

"There never was reason sufficient--nay, not even your brother----"

"Nay dear John, I think different----"

"To peril that sweet body----" The Major choked.

"Nay, I'm very strong--and--and I have this!"

The Major scowled at the small, silver-mounted weapon and turned away.

"There is your maiden reputation----"

"That is indeed mine own, and in good keeping. Grieve not your woeful head on that score."

"Ah Betty, why will you run such hazard----"

"Because 'tis so my will, sir." The Major bowed.

"'Tis long past midnight, madam."

"Aye, 'tis a sweet hour--so still and solitary."

"Shall we proceed, madam?"

"At your pleasure, sir." So they went on side by side silently awhile, the Major a little grim and very stately.

"I do think John thou'rt very mannish at times."

"Mannish, madam?"

"Blind, overbearing and apt to be a little muddled."

The Major bowed. "For instance, John, methinks you do muddle a woman of will with a wilful woman." The Major bowed. "Now if, John, if in cause so just I should risk--not my body but my name--my fame, who shall stay me seeing I'm unwed and slave to no man yet--G.o.d be thanked." The Major bowed lower than ever and went beside her with his grandest air. "'Deed John," she sighed, "if you do grow any more dignified I fear you'll expire and perish o' pride and high-breeding."

The distant clock struck two as, turning down a certain bye-lane, the Major paused at a rustic door that gave into my lady's herb-garden.

But when he would have opened it she stayed him.

"'Tis so late, John----"

"Indeed 'tis very late, madam!"

"Too late to sleep this night. And such a night, John--the moon, O the moon!"

"What o' the moon, madam?"

"John d'Arcy I do protest if you bow or say 'madam' again I--I'll bite you! And the moon is--is--the moon and looks vastly romantic and infinite appealing. So will I walk and gaze upon her pale loveliness and sigh and sigh and--sigh again, sir."

"But indeed you cannot walk abroad--at this hour----"

"Having the wherewithal I can sir, and I will, sir."

"But 'tis after two----"

"Then sir, in but a little while it will be three, heigho, so wags the world--your arm pray, your arm."

"But my lady pray consider--your health--your----"

"Fie sir and fiddlededee!"

"But the--the dew, 'tis very----"

"Excellent for the complexion!" and she trilled the line of a song:

'O 'tis dabbling in the dew that makes the milkmaids fair.'

"But 'tis so--unseasonable! So altogether--er--irregular, as 'twere----"

"Egad sir and you're i' the right on't!" she mocked. "'Tis unseasonable, unreasonable, unwomanly, unvirginal and altogether unthinkable as 'twere and so forth d'ye see! Major d'Arcy is probably pining for his downy bed. Major d'Arcy must continue to pine unless he will leave a poor maid to wander alone among bats and owls and newts and toads and worms and goblins and other noxious things----"

"But Betty, indeed----"

"Aye, John--indeed! To-night you did look on me as I had committed--as I had been--O 'twas a hateful look! And for that look I'll be avenged, and my vengeance is this, to wit--you shall sleep no wink this night!

Your arm sir, come!"

Almost unwillingly he gave her his arm and they went on slowly down the lane; but before they had gone very far that long arm was close about her and had swept her into his embrace.

"Betty," he murmured, "to be alone with you thus in a sleeping world 'tis surely a foretaste of heaven." He would have drawn her yet nearer but she stayed him with arms outstretched.

"John," said she, "you ha' not forgot how you looked at me to-night, as I were--impure--unworthy? O John!" The Major was silent. "It angered me, John but--ah, it hurt me more! O Jack, how could you?" But now, seeing him stand abashed and silent, her repelling arms relaxed and she came a little nearer. "Indeed John, I'll allow you had some small--some preposterously pitiful small excuse. And you might answer that one cannot come nigh pitch without being defiled. But had you said anything so foolish I--I should ha' sent you home to bed--at once!" Here the Major drew her a little nearer. "But John," she sighed, "you did doubt me for awhile--I saw it in your eyes. Look at me again, John--here a little closer--here where the light falls clear--look, and tell me--am I different? Do I seem any less worthy your love than I was yesterday?"

"No," he answered, gazing into her deep eyes. "O my Betty, G.o.d help me if ever I lost faith in you, for 'twould be the end of hope and faith for me."

"But you did lose faith to-night, John--for a little while! And so you shall sue pardon on your knees, here at my feet--nay, 'tis damp, mayhap. I'll sit yonder on the bank and you shall kneel upon a fold of my cloak. Come!"

So the Major knelt to her very reverently and taking her two hands kissed them.

"Dear maid that I love," said he, "forgive the heart that doubted thee.

But O love, because I am a very ordinary man, prithee don't--don't put my faith too oft upon the rack for I am over p.r.o.ne to doubts and jealous fears and they--O they are torment hard to bear." Now here she leaned forward and, taking him by two curls of his long periwig, drew him near until she could look into his eyes: