The Key to Yesterday Part 29

The man turned out again to the _Promenade des Anglais_. The sun was shining on its whiteness, and it seemed that the city was a huge structure of solid marble, set between the sea and the color-spotted slopes of the villa-clad hills.

Marston was highly buoyant as he made his way to the garage where he could secure a car to give chase. He even paused with boyish and delighted interest to gaze into the glittering shop windows of the _Promenade_ and the _Avenue Felix Faure_, where were temptingly displayed profound booklets guaranteeing the purchaser a sure system for conquering the chances of roulette "on a capital of 9, playing red or black, manque or pa.s.se, pair or impair, and compiled by one with four years of experience."

He had soon negotiated for a car, and had gained the friendship of a chauffeur, who grinned happily and with contentment when he learned that monsieur's object was speed. Ahead of him stretched nine miles of perfect macadam, with enough beauty to fill the eye and heart with joy for every mile, and at the end of the journey--unless he could happily overtake her sooner--was Duska.

The car sped up between the villas, up to the white ribbon of road where the ships, lying at anchor in the purpled water beneath, were white toys no longer than pencils, where towns were only patches of roof tiles, and mountainsides mere rumpled blankets of green and color; where the road-houses were delights of picturesque rusticity and flower-covered walls.

Thanks to a punctured tire, Marston found a large dust-coated car standing at the roadside when he had covered only half of the journey.

It was drawn up near a road-house that sat back of a rough stone wall, and was abandoned save for the chauffeur, who labored over his task of repair. But Marston stopped and ran up the stone stairs to the small terrace, where, between rose bushes that crowded the time-stained facade of the modest caravansery, were set two or three small tables under a trellis; and, at one of the tables, he recognized Mrs. Horton.

Mrs. Horton rose with a little gasp of delight to welcome him, and recognized how his eyes were ranging in search for an even more important personage while he greeted her. Off beyond the road, with its low guarding wall of stone, the mountainside fell away precipitously to the sea, stretching out below in a limitless expanse of the bluest blue that our eyes can endure. The slopes were thickly wooded.

"We blew out a tire," explained Mrs. Horton, "and Duska is exploring somewhere over the wall there. I was content to sit here and wait--but you are younger," she added with a smile. "I won't keep you here."

From inside the tavern came the tinkle of guitars, from everywhere in the clear crystalline air hung the perfume of roses. Marston, with quick apologies, hastened across the road, vaulted the wall, and began his search. It was a brief one, for, turning into a clearing, he saw her below him on a ledge. She stood as straight and slim and gracefully erect as the lancelike young trees.

He made his way swiftly down the slope, and she had not turned nor heard his approach. He went straight to her, and took her in his arms.

The girl wheeled with a little cry of recognition and delight; then, after a moment, she held him off at arms' length, and looked at him.

Her eyes were deep, and needed no words. About them was all the world and all the beauty of it.

Finally, she laughed with the old, happy laugh.

"Once," she said very slowly, "you quoted poetry to me--a verse about the young queen's crowning. Do you remember?"

He nodded.

"But that doesn't apply now," he a.s.sured her. "You are going to crown me with an undeserved and unspeakable crown."

"Quote it to me now," she commanded, with reinstated autocracy.

For a moment, the man looked into her face as the sun struck down on its delicate color, under the softness of hat and filmy automobile veil; then, clasping her very close, he whispered the lines:

"Beautiful, bold and browned, Bright-eyed out of the battle, The young queen rode to be crowned."

"Do you remember some other lines in the same verse?" she questioned, in a voice that made his throbbing pulses bound faster; but, before he could answer, she went on:

"'Then the young queen answered swift, "We hold it crown of our crowning, to take our crown for a gift."'"

They turned together, and started up the slope.