Peregrine's Progress Part 64

Once it seemed he strove to speak but no words came, and slowly he reached a fumbling hand to clasp uncertain fingers above the gushing wound.

Slipping from my hold, Diana took a step towards him, but his lordship's voice stopped her.

"Leave him, girl! Touch him not--do not sully your maidenhood with thing so vile. Let him crawl hence as best he may. Begone, beastly villain!" he commanded, with imperious gesture of the smoking pistol, "and be sufficiently thankful that my bullet sought your dastardly arm and not your pitiless black heart! Go, and instantly, lest I be tempted to change my mind and rid the world of thing so evil!"

Speechlessly the stranger turned, hand clasped above his hurt to stay the effusion of blood, and lurched and stumbled from our sight.

"Sir--O sir," I stammered, "who--what is that man?"

"A creature so unutterably evil, Peregrine, that only music could adequately describe him. He is one who should be dead years ago and consequently I am somewhat perturbed that I did not slay him outright instead of merely breaking his arm. It was a mistake, I fear, yes, a grave omission, yet there may offer another opportunity, who knows?

Pray G.o.d his black shadow may never again darken your path, Peregrine, nor sully your sweet purity, my G.o.ddess of the woods. Forget him, my children. See, I have come to renew my youth with you, to talk and eat with you here amid G.o.d's good, green things, if I may.

"Yonder comes the excellent Atkinson with the tea equipage. Will you be my hostess, Diana?"

"Old pal--dear," she answered a little tremulously, "I'd just love to."

"Why, child," said the Earl, while I a.s.sisted the grave and decorous Atkinson to unpack the various dainties and comestibles, "why, child, how beautiful your hair is!" and lifting a silky tress in gentle, reverent fingers, our Ancient Person kissed it with stately gallantry.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

TELLS HOW I MET ANTHONY AGAIN

"What with banns and certif'cates and this and that and t'other, they don't make it very easy for people to get married, do they, Peregrine?"

"No!" I answered.

We were jolting Tonbridge-wards in the Tinker's cart; the afternoon was very hot, and Diogenes, hearing the murmur of our voices, subsided to a leisured amble like the knowing, four-footed philosopher he was.

"Seven pounds seems a lot to pay for just one gown--even if it is to marry you in, doesn't it, Peregrine?"

"In three weeks!" I added.

"And four days!" she nodded.

"Twenty-five days--it's an age, Diana! Much may happen in such a time--"

"It will, Peregrine!"

"Pray what?"

"Lots of things, banns and certif-icates and--my new dress as will cost so much--"

"Seven pounds is ridiculously cheap, you dear child! And talking of banns, it may seem strange, Diana, that I have never troubled to enquire your surname, nor should I bother you now but that the parson must know--"

"Well, it's not so very strange that I've never bothered to tell you my name, Peregrine, because I don't know it. Old Azor often told me I had no name, but the Folk I lived with, theirs was Lovel--that'll do, won't it?"

"Of course! G.o.ddesses don't need surnames."

"Will you still think me a G.o.ddess when we're married, Peregrine?"

"No, as something infinitely dearer and more precious."

"What?"

"My wife! It--it sounds strange on my lips, doesn't it?"

"I love the way you say it!" sighed Diana, and with such a look in her eyes that I clasped her to me and she, all unresisting, gave up her lips to mine. So, for a s.p.a.ce, we forgot all but ourselves and I grew blind to all but her beauty, deaf to all but her voice.

"O Peregrine!" she sighed. "O Peregrine, I never thought love could be so--wonderful!"

"In three weeks you will be mine utterly, Diana--in three weeks!"

"I am now, Peregrine. I could never love--never, never marry any one but you. I never meant to marry because I never thought I could love any man--but now--O Peregrine!"

"Dear," said I, "if--if anything should happen to separate us, could you--would you always love me?"

"Always, Peregrine, always and for ever. Hark, there is some one coming."

Faint and far rose the sound of hoofs and, glancing up, I espied the distant forms of two equestrians and also observed that the perspicacious Diogenes, quick to heed and take advantage of our lapse, had halted to crop and nibble busily in the shade of a great tree that stretched one mighty branch protectingly above us.

"People are coming, Peregrine."

"I know, but they are still very far off; besides we are in the shade--kiss me again, Diana."

The advancing hoofs sounded nearer and presently, obedient to the rein, Diogenes ambled on again; and now I saw that the approaching riders were a lady and gentleman and mounted on spirited animals for, as they drew nearer, it seemed to me that the lady had much difficulty in managing her fiery steed.

Now between us and these riders was another tall tree that cast a jagged shadow athwart the white road, noting which, I kept my gaze on the lady's mount somewhat anxiously.

My apprehensions were suddenly realised for, reaching this patch of shadow, the lady's horse shied, swerved suddenly, and hurled his rider into the ditch.

Diana cracked the whip and Diogenes broke into a gallop, but long before we had come up with them, the gentleman was off his horse, had lifted the swooning woman in his arms, and was pouring out a breathless farrago of endearments and prayers with curses upon himself, his helplessness and the jibbing horse.

"Barbara, dear love--oh, d.a.m.nation and the devil, what shall I do--Barbara, are you much hurt, dearest--the accursed brute--a thousand curses--look at me, beloved, speak--O G.o.d have mercy on her!"

Now glancing at the beautiful, pale face of this swooning girl, I started, and looking from her to the athletic form and handsome features of this distracted youth who clasped her, I caught my breath; and then Diana had leapt from the cart and, pushing aside this miserable, helping being, had busied herself to recover the unconscious girl in her own quick, capable fashion.

"A woman!" gasped the gentleman. "O G.o.d bless you--thank heaven! Say she isn't dead--you'll want water--not a drop for miles, dammit--brandy--not a spot--oh, curse and confound it--say she isn't dead!"

"She's not!" said Diana briefly.

"G.o.d bless you again! Tell me what to do?"

"Go away and leave her to me."