Peregrine's Progress Part 63

Jessamy was away hard on the track of his Satanic antagonist, the Tinker had driven off to buy fresh provisions, and I sat watching Diana's dripping hands and shapely brown arms where she scrubbed, wrung out, and hung up to dry certain of our garments, for it was washing day.

"Dear," said I at last, "when shall we be married?"

"Lord, Peregrine, how sudden you are!" she answered, as if I had never broached the subject before.

"Shall it be next week?"

"No, indeed!"

"Well, then, the week after?"

"No, Peregrine, not--not until I am fit to be your wife--"

"That of course is now, Diana, this very moment!"

Here, having tossed back a loosened tress of glossy hair, she shook grave head at me.

"I must be sure I am--I must know myself a little--more fit--"

"A month, Diana!"

"Two, Peregrine!"

"We will get married in a month and camp hereabouts in these silent places all the summer. And when winter comes, I'll buy a little cottage somewhere, anywhere--wherever you choose--"

"Even then I--shouldn't be quite happy, Peregrine."

"Why not?"

"Well--because!"

"Because of what?"

"Just because!"

"Now you are provoking!"

"Am I, Peregrine?"

"And very stubborn."

"That's what old Azor used to say--"

"Why won't you marry me and be done with it?"

"Why should I? Aren't you happy as we are?"

"Of course, but to know you mine for always would be greater happiness."

"Oh, be content--a little longer. There's lots o' time--and I'm learning--I speak a--bit better, don't you think?"

"Is this your reason for delay, Diana?"

"Some of it. I want you to be--a little proud of me, if you can--if you ever grew ashamed of me--it would kill me, I think--"

"Sweet soul!" I cried, leaping to my feet to clasp her in eager arms.

"Why are you grown so humble?"

"It's love, I think, Peregrine--oh, mind the basin!" But I was not to be stayed and, sure enough, over went the great tin basin, scattering wet garments and soapy water broadcast.

"There!" sighed Diana tragically.

"What of it?" said I, and kissed her. "Why will you kiss me so seldom, Diana?"

"I ought to have done the washing in the brook like I always do."

"Don't you like me to kiss you, Diana?"

"Yes--and you've spilt all the water--"

"I'll bring you more. But why will you so seldom suffer me to--"

"Because--and take the large pail, Peregrine, and take it now--here's these four shirts ought to be hanging out to dry--so hurry, hurry! Get the water from the pool beyond the big tree, the stream runs clearer there!"

This pool was at some little distance, but away I went, happy in her service, swinging the heavy bucket and humming to myself, as care-free and light-hearted as any youth in Christendom, and presently reached the pool. I was stooping, in the act of filling the bucket, when I paused, arrested by a sudden, vague indefinable sound that puzzled me to account for and set me idly speculating whence it came and what it might be; so I filled the bucket and then, all in a moment, though why I cannot explain, puzzlement changed to swift and sudden dread and, dropping the bucket, I began to run, and with every stride my alarm grew, and to this was added horror and a great pa.s.sion of rage.

Panting, I reached the dingle at last to behold Diana struggling in the arms of a man, and he that same fine gentleman who had accosted her at "The Chequers." They were swaying together close-grappled, her knife-hand gripped in his sinewy fingers, his evil face smiling down into hers; and I burned with wilder fury to see her tumbled hair against his coat and her garment wrenched from throat and white shoulder.

Then as I sprang, with no eyes but for this man, a masterful hand gripped me, a commanding voice spoke in my ear.

"Back--stand back, boy!"

Turning to free myself, I beheld the Earl of Wyvelstoke, but now in his look and bearing was that which halted me in awed amaze.

"Devereux!" said he, not loudly but in voice so terrible that the man started and, loosing Diana, sprang back to glare at the speaker, heedless of Diana's blazing fury and threatening knife. "Stop, Diana!"

commanded the Earl. "Come here and leave this unhanged ruffian to me--come, I say!" Humbly she obeyed, shrinking a little beneath his lordship's eyes, to creep into the clasp of my arm.

And so they faced each other, the stranger pale and coldly self-possessed, the Earl, his slender figure erect, one hand in the bosom of his shabby coat, his countenance placid, though frowning a little, but in his eyes a glare to daunt the boldest.

"Devereux!" he repeated in the same leisured, even tone.

"Murderer--ravisher, I followed you, and by G.o.d you have betrayed yourself!"

"Ancient dotard!" smiled the other. "You babble like the poor, doddering imbecile you appear--my name is Haredale!"

"Liar!" said the Earl, softly. "I never forget faces, good or evil, hence I know you for the loathsome vermin, the obscene and unnameable thing you are!"

The stranger's pale face grew dreadfully suffused, his lips curled from gnashing teeth and, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the heavy riding-whip that lay at his feet, he strode towards his lordship.

A deafening report--a gush of smoke, and the oncoming figure stumbled, checked uncertainly and stood swaying, right arm dangling helplessly, and I saw blood welling through the sleeve of his fine coat and dribbling from his finger ends; but he stood heedless of the wound, his burning gaze fixed upon the grim and silent figure before him.