The Money Moon Part 40

"Since you ask me--Miss Anthea mam--I will."

"Give it into his own hand."

"Miss Anthea mam--I will."

"Thank you!--here it is, Sergeant." And so she turned, and was gone, leaving the Sergeant staring down at the letter in his hand, and shaking his head over it.

Anthea walked on hastily, never looking behind, and so, coming back to the house, threw herself down by the open window, and stared out with unseeing eyes at the roses nodding slumberous heads in the gentle breeze.

So the irrevocable step was taken! She had given her promise to marry Ca.s.silis whenever he would, and must abide by it! Too late now, any hope of retreat, she had deliberately chosen her course, and must follow it--to the end.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Anthea mam--!"

She started, and glancing round, espied Adam.

"Oh!--you startled me, Adam,--what is it?"

"Begging your pardon, Miss Anthea, but is it true as Mr. Belloo be gone away--for good?"

"Yes, Adam."

"Why then all I can say is--as I'm sorry,--ah! mortal sorry I be, an' my 'eart, mam, my 'eart likewise gloomy."

"Were you so--fond of him, Adam?"

"Well, Miss Anthea,--considering as he were--the best, good-naturedest, properest kind o' gentleman as ever was; when I tell you as over an'

above all this, he could use his fists better than any man as ever I see,--him having knocked me into a dry ditch, though, to be sure I likewise drawed his claret,--begging your pardon, I'm sure, Miss Anthea; all of which happened on account o' me finding him a-sleeping in your 'ay, mam;--when I tell you furthermore, as he treated me ever as a man, an' wern't noways above shaking my 'and, or smoking a pipe wi'

me--sociable like; when I tell you as he were the finest gentleman, and properest man as ever I knowed, or heard tell on,--why, I think as the word 'fond' be about the size of it, Miss Anthea mam!" saying which, Adam nodded several times, and bestowed an emphatic backhanded knock to the crown of his hat.

"You used to sit together very often--under the big apple tree, didn't you, Adam?"

"Ah!--many an' many a night, Miss Anthea."

"Did he--ever tell you--much of his--life, Adam?"

"Why yes, Miss Anthea,--told me summat about his travels, told me as he'd shot lions, an' tigers--away out in India, an' Africa."

"Did he ever mention--"

"Well, Miss Anthea?" said he enquiringly, seeing she had paused.

"Did he ever speak of--the--lady he is going to marry?"

"Lady?" repeated Adam, giving a sudden twist to his hat.

"Yes,--the lady--who lives in London?"

"No, Miss Anthea," answered Adam, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his hat tighter, and tighter.

"Why--what do you mean?"

"I mean--as there never was no lady, Miss Anthea,--neither up to Lonnon, nor nowhere's else, as I ever heard on."

"But--oh Adam!--you--told me--"

"Ah!--for sure I told ye, but it were a lie, Miss Anthea,--leastways, it weren't the truth. Ye see, I were afraid as you'd refuse to take the money for the furnitur' unless I made ye believe as he wanted it uncommon bad. So I up an' told ye as he'd bought it all on account o'

him being matrimonially took wi' a young lady up to Lonnon--"

"And then--you went to--him, and warned him--told him of the story you had invented?"

"I did, Miss Anthea; at first, I thought as he were going to up an' give me one for myself, but, arterwards he took it very quiet, an' told me as I'd done quite right, an' agreed to play the game. An' that's all about it, an' glad I am as it be off my mind at last. Ah' now, Miss Anthea mam, seeing you're that rich--wi' Master Georgy's fortun',--why you can pay back for the furnitur'--if so be you're minded to. An' I hope as you agree wi' me as I done it all for the best, Miss Anthea?"

Here, Adam unscrewed his hat, and knocked out the wrinkles against his knee, which done, he glanced at Anthea:

"Why--what is it, Miss Anthea?"

"Nothing, Adam,--I haven't slept well, lately--that's all"

"Ah, well!--you'll be all right again now,--we all shall,--now the mortgage be paid off,--shan't we, Miss Anthea?"

"Yes, Adam."

"We 'ad a great day--over to Cranbrook, Master Georgy an' me, he be in the kitchen now, wi' Prudence--a-eating of bread an' jam. Good-night, Miss Anthea mam, if you should be wanting me again I shall be in the stables,--Good-night, Miss Anthea!" So, honest, well-meaning Adam touched his forehead with a square-ended finger, and trudged away. But Anthea sat there, very still, with drooping head, and vacant eyes.

And so it was done, the irrevocable step had been taken; she had given her promise! So now, having chosen her course, she must follow it--to the end.

For, in Arcadia, it would seem that a promise is still a sacred thing.

Now, in a while, lifting her eyes, they encountered those of the smiling Cavalier above the mantel. Then, as she looked, she stretched out her arms with a sudden yearning gesture:

"Oh!" she whispered, "if I were only--just a picture, like you."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

_Which, being the last, is, very properly, the longest in the book_

In those benighted days when men went abroad cased in steel, and, upon very slight provocation, were wont to smite each other with axes, and clubs, to buffet and skewer each other with spears, lances, swords, and divers other barbarous engines, yet, in that dark, and doughty age, ignorant though they were of all those smug maxims, and excellent moralities with which we are so happily blessed,--even in that unhallowed day, when the solemn tread of the policeman's foot was all unknown,--they had evolved for themselves a code of rules whereby to govern their life, and conduct. Amongst these, it was tacitly agreed upon, and understood, that a spoken promise was a pledge, and held to be a very sacred thing, and he who broke faith, committed all the cardinal sins. Indeed their laws were very few, and simple, easily understood, and well calculated to govern man's conduct to his fellow. In this day of ours, ablaze with learning, and culture,--veneered with a fine civilization, our laws are complex beyond all knowing and expression; man regulates his conduct--to them,--and is as virtuous, and honest as the law compels him to be.

This is the age of Money, and, therefore, an irreverent age; it is also the age of Respectability (with a very large R),--and the policeman's bludgeon.

But in Arcadia--because it is an old-world place where life follows an even, simple course, where money is as scarce as roguery, the old law still holds; a promise once given, is a sacred obligation, and not to be set aside.

Even the Black-bird, who lived in the inquisitive apple tree, understood, and was aware of this, it had been born in him, and had grown with his feathers. Therefore,--though, to be sure, he had spoken no promise, signed no bond, nor affixed his mark to any agreement, still he had, nevertheless, borne in mind a certain request preferred to him when the day was very young. Thus, with a constancy of purpose worthy of all imitation, he had given all his mind, and thought, to the composition of a song with a new theme. He had applied himself to it most industriously all day long, and now, as the sun began to set, he had at last corked it all out,--every note, every quaver, and trill; and, perched upon a look-out branch, he kept his bold, bright eye turned toward a certain rustic seat hard by, uttering a melodious note or two, every now and then, from pure impatience.

And presently, sure enough, he spied her for whom he waited,--the tall, long limbed, supple-waisted creature--whose skin was pink and gold like the peaches and apricots in the garden, and with soft, little rings of hair that would have made such an excellent lining to a nest. From this strictly utilitarian point of view he had often admired her hair, (had this Black-bird fellow), as she pa.s.sed to and fro among her flowers, or paused to look up at him and listen to his song, or even sometimes to speak to him in her sweet, low voice.

But to-day she seemed to have forgotten him altogether, she did not even glance his way, indeed she walked with bent head, and seemed to keep her eyes always upon the ground.