Peregrine's Progress Part 61

And now, friend Jarvis, I will endeavour to show you something of the soul's upward pilgrimage, the working out of man's salvation as pictured in your verse."

He turned back to the organ and from its quivering pipes rose a series of n.o.ble chords, stately and solemn, a hymn-like measure, rolling in awful majesty, shattered all at once by a wild confusion of screaming discords that yet gradually resolved into a wailing melody of pa.s.sionate despair beneath which I seemed to hear the relentless tramp of countless marching feet with, ever and anon, a far, faint echo of that first grand and stately motive.

And as I listened it seemed I watched the age-old struggle between might and right, the horrors of man's persecution of man, the agonies of flaming cities, of Death and Shame, of dungeon and torment. I seemed to hear the thunder of conflicting hosts, the groans of dying martyrs, to sense all the sweat and blood, the agony and travail of these long and bitter years wherein man wrought and strove through tears and tribulation, onward and up to n.o.bler ideals, working out his own salvation and redemption from his baser self. Suddenly, above this wild and rushing melody, rose a single dulcet voice, soft yet patiently insistent, oft repeated with many variations, like some angel singing a promise of better things to come,--a voice which, as the wailing tumult died, swelled to a chorus of rejoicing, louder and louder, resolving back into that majestic hymn-like measure, but soaring now in joyous triumph, rising, deepening to an ecstasy of praise.

And then I was staring at the slender, shabby figure who sat, hands on knees, glancing down into the Tinker's awed face.

"Well, friend Jarvis?" he questioned, with his kindly smile.

"Ah, sir!" cried the Tinker. "Music can surely say more than words ever will."

"O Peregrine!" sighed Diana under her breath, "has it told you how I love you--all those things that I can never tell you?" And then she was away, to seat herself upon the organ-bench beside our host, while he explained something of the wonders of the n.o.ble instrument, its pedals, stops and triple rank of keys.

"Lord, Peregrine!" said the Tinker in my ear. "This is a day to remember, this is a--my soul!" he exclaimed and fell suddenly mute as a gorgeous person in powder and silk stockings entered, bearing tea upon a silver tray; a somewhat nervous and high-strung person he seemed, for catching sudden vision of the grimy Tinker's shock head and my shirt sleeves, his protuberant eyes took on a gla.s.sy look, he gulped audibly, his knees bent and he set down his burden with a jingling crash.

The Earl turned sharply; the footman began setting out the tea things.

"I've never seen an organ close to before," said Diana, "though I've often stopped outside a church to listen."

The footman's hands grew vague, his gla.s.sy eyes turned themselves upon Jeremy in fascinated horror, beneath which disdainful scrutiny Jeremy flushed, uneasily conscious of work-grimed hands and clothes.

"Of course I shan't mind singing to you," said Diana, "because you are my old pal."

The footman dropped a plate; stooping for this, he brought down three or four spoons and forks in his agitation.

"Atkinson!"

"My lord!" answered Atkinson, appearing suddenly.

"What is this?" demanded his lordship, fixing the gorgeous person with terrible eye.

"The third footman, I believe, my lord."

"Send him out--he annoys me."

The gorgeous person having taken himself off, Jeremy sighed in huge relief but glanced furtively askance from dainty china and snowy linen to his own grimy hands and smirched garments; perceiving which embarra.s.sment the Earl hastened to set him at his ease:

"John Bunyan was a tinker also, friend Jarvis," said he, as we drew to the table. And a cheery meal we made of it, for what with his lordship's tactful, easy courtesy and Diana's serene unconsciousness, who could worry over such trifles as grimy hands or shirt sleeves; and if the Tinker be-jammed his fingers or Diana drank from her saucer, she did it with such a.s.sured grace as charmed me, and when his lordship followed her example, I loved him for the courtly gentleman he was.

"You have studied and thought deeply, I think, friend Jarvis?" said his lordship. "You reverence books?"

"Aye, sir--my lord. I used to peddle 'em once, but I read more than I ever sold."

"Ah, yes," said Diana; "'t was our good, kind Jerry taught me how to read and write when I lived wi' the Folk."

"And what of your parents, child?"

"I only remember old Azor."

"But you are not of the Zingari, I think?"

"I don't know, old pal--and what's it matter--O Jerry, the shin o'

beef!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "Jessamy's back by this and it ought to be in the pot. So if you want me to sing--"

"We do!" said his lordship, and rising he brought her to the organ; there, standing beside him while he played a hushed accompaniment, she sang, at my suggestion, that same wild gipsy air which had so stirred me once before in the wood. But to-day, confined within these surrounding walls, her voice seemed to me even more glorious, so softly pure and plaintively sweet, anon soaring in trilling ecstasy--until the swelling glory sank, languished to a sigh and was gone; and I for one lost in awed wonder and delight. For to-day she sang with all that tender, unaffected sweetness, all that pa.s.sionate intensity that was part of her strange self.

"Diana," said his lordship gravely, "G.o.d has entrusted you with a great and beneficent power; you have a rare and wonderful voice such as might stir mankind to loftier thought and n.o.bler ideal and thus make the world a better place. Child, how will you acquit yourself of this responsibility? Will you make the most of your great gift, using it for the benefit of countless others, or let it atrophy and perish unheard--?"

"Perish?" exclaimed Diana, opening her eyes very wide. "Old pal, what do you mean?"

"I mean, Diana, that every one of the gifts that nature has lavished upon us--speech, sight, thought, motion--would all become atrophied and fail us utterly without use. The more we think and the more varied our thoughts, the greater our intellect; he that would win a race must exercise his muscles constantly, and this is especially true in regard to singing. Have you no thought, no will to become a great singer, Diana?"

"Yes," she answered softly, "I might ha' liked it once, but--not now--because, you see, I've found a--better thing, old pal, and nothing else matters!"

"Child," he questioned gently, "may I be privileged to know what this better thing may be?"

"Yes--yes!" she answered, stooping to catch his hand in her sweet, impulsive way and fondle it to her soft check.

"Love has come to us--Peregrine and me, he--knows at last, though I think you had guessed already because you played our love into your music, better--oh, better than I can ever tell it. Only it's here in my heart and in the sunshine; the birds sing of it and--and--oh, how can I think of anything else?"

The Ancient Person laid gentle hand upon her glossy hair. "Wait, dear child, and Love, I think, shall open to you a n.o.bler living, shall give you pinions to soar awhile--"

"How--what d'ye mean, old pal?"

"Nay, ask Peregrine," answered his lordship, shaking his head. "Only very sure am I that love which is true and everlasting is infinitely unselfish."

And presently we took our leave, the Earl attending to see us into the phaeton and bid us adieu; and all the way back I must needs ponder his definition of love and wonder exactly what he had meant.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

OF A SHADOW IN THE SUN

And now ensued a halcyon season, dewy dawns wherein I bathed and sparred with Jessamy, long, sunny days full of labour and an ever-growing joy of Diana's radiant loveliness, nights of healthful, dreamless slumber beneath the stars.

Sometimes, when work was slack, I would walk far afield with Diana for my companion, or we would jog to market with the Tinker in the four-wheeled cart, hearkening to his shrewd animadversions upon men and life in general; and Diana's slim hand in mine.

Indeed this poor pen may never adequately set down all the happiness of these care-free, swift-pa.s.sing days, and how may I hope to describe Diana's self or the joy of her companionship, a sweet intimacy that did but teach me to love her the more for her changing moods and swift intuitions, her quickness of perception, her deep wisdom, her warm impetuousness and the thousand contradictions that made her what she was.

So grew my love and with it a deep reverence for her innate and virginal purity. It touched me deeply to note with what painful care she set herself to correct the grammatical errors and roughness of her speech; often she would fall to a sighful despondency because of her ignorance and at such times it was, I think, that I loved her best, vowing I would not change her for any proud lady that was or ever had been; whereof ensued such conversations as the following:

DIANA. But when I am your wife we shall live in a fine house, I suppose.

MYSELF. Would this distress you?