The Moon out of Reach

by Margaret Pedler

  CHAPTER XVI

  SACRED TROTH

  The tide was at its full when Peter began the ascent to King Arthur'sCastle--the sea a vast stretch of quivering silver fringed with a mistof flying spray. In the strange, sharp lights and shadows cast by theround moon overhead, the great crags of the promontory jutted out likethe turrets of some ancient fortress--blackly etched against thetender, irresolute blue of the evening sky.

  But Peter went on unheedingly. The mystic charm had no power to holdhim to-night. The only thing that mattered was Nan--her safety. Wasshe lying hurt somewhere within the crumbling walls of the castle? Orhad she missed her footing and plunged headlong into that sea whichboomed incessantly against the cliffs? It wasn't scenery thatmattered. It was life--and death!

  Very swiftly he mounted to the castle door, looking from side to sideas he went for any trace which might show that Nan had passed this way.As he climbed the last few feet he shouted her name: "Nan! Nan!" Butthere came no answer. Only the sea still thundered below and astartled gull flew out from a cranny, screaming as it flew.

  Mallory's hand shook a little as he thrust the key into the heavy lock.Practically all that remained of hope lay behind that closed door.Then, as it opened, a great cry broke from him, hoarse with relief fromthe pent-up agony of the last hour.

  She lay there just like a child asleep, snuggled against the wall, onearm curved behind her head, pillowing it. At the sound of his voiceshe stirred, opening bewildered, startled eyes. In an instant he waskneeling beside her.

  "Don't be frightened, Nan. It's I--Peter. Are you hurt?"

  "Peter?" She repeated the name dreamingly, hardly yet awake, and hervoice held almost a caress in its soft tones.

  Mallory bit back a groan. To hear her speak his name on that littlenote of happiness hurt incredibly.

  "Nan--wake up!" he urged gently.

  She woke then--came back to a full sense of her surroundings.

  "You, Peter?" she murmured surprisedly. She made an effort to sit up,then sank back against the wall, uttering a sharp cry of distress.

  "Where are you hurt?" asked Mallory with quick anxiety.

  She shook her head at him, smiling reassuringly.

  "I'm not hurt. I'm only stiff. You'll have to help me up, Peter."

  He stooped and raised her, and at last she stood up, ruefully rubbingthe arm which had been curled behind her head while she slept.

  "My arm's gone to sleep. It's all pins and needles!" she complained.

  Slung over his shoulders Peter carried an extra wrap for her. Whateverhad happened, whether she were hurt or merely stranded somewhere, heknew she would not be warmly enough clad to meet the sudden coolness ofthe evening.

  "You must be nearly perished with cold--asleep up here! Put this on,"he said quickly.

  "No, really"--she pushed aside the woollen coat he tendered. "I'm notcold. It was quite sheltered here under this wall."

  "Put it on," he repeated quietly. "Do as I tell you--little pal."

  At that she yielded and he helped her on with the coat, fastening itcarefully round her.

  "And now tell me what possessed you to go to sleep up here?" hedemanded.

  In a few words she related what had happened, winding up:

  "Afterwards, I suppose I must have fainted. Oh!"--with a shiver ofremembrance--"It was simply ghastly! I've never felt giddy in my lifebefore--and hope I never may again! It's just as if the bottom of theworld had fallen out and left you hanging in mid-air! . . . I knew Icouldn't face the climb down again, so--so I just went to sleep. Ithought some of you would be sure to come to look for me."

  "You knew I should come," he said, a sudden deep insistence in hisvoice. "Nan, didn't you _know_ it?"

  She lifted her head.

  "Yes. I think--I think I knew you would come, Peter," she answeredunsteadily.

  The moonlight fell full upon her--upon a white, strained face withpassionate, unkissed lips, and eyes that looked bravely into his,refusing to shirk the ultimate significance which underlay his question.

  With a stifled exclamation he swept her up into his arms and his mouthmet hers in the first kiss that had ever passed between them--a kisswhich held infinite tenderness, and the fierce passion that is part oflove, and a foreshadowing of the pain of separation.

  "My beloved!" He held her a little away from him so that he might lookinto her face. Then with a swift, passionate eagerness; "Say that youlove me, Nan?"

  "Why, Peter--Peter, you know it," she cried tremulously. "It doesn'tneed telling, dear. . . . Only--it's forbidden."

  "Yes," he assented gravely. "It's forbidden us. But now--just thisonce--let us have a few moments, you and I alone, when there's no needto pretend we don't care--when we can be _ourselves_!"

  "No--no--" she broke in breathlessly.

  "It's not much, to ask--five minutes together out of the whole of life!Roger can't grudge them. He'll have you--always." His arms closedjealously round her.

  "Yes--always," she repeated. With a sudden choked cry she clung to himdespairingly.

  "Peter, sometimes I feel I can't bear it! Oh, why were we _allowed_ tocare like this?"

  "God knows!" he muttered.

  He released his hold of her abruptly and began pacing up anddown--savagely, like some caged beast. Nan stood staring out over themoon-washed sea with eyes that saw nothing. The five minutes they hadsnatched together from the rest of life were slipping by--each one amoment of bitter and intolerable anguish.

  Presently Peter swung round and came to her side. But he did not touchher. His face looked drawn, and his eyes burned smoulderingly--likefire half-quenched.

  "Nan, if I didn't care so much, I'd ask you to go away with me.I--don't quite know what life will be like without you--hell, probably.But at least it's going to be my own little hell and I'm not going todrag you down into it. I'm bound irrevocably. And you--you're bound,too. You can't play fast and loose with the promise you've givenTrenby. So we've just got to face it out." He broke off abruptly.Tiny beads of sweat rimmed his upper lip and his hands hung clenched athis sides. Even Nan hardly realised the effort his restraint wascosting him.

  "What--what do you mean, Peter?" she asked haltingly.

  "I mean that I'm going away--that I mustn't see you any more."

  A cry fled from her lips--denying, supplicating, and at the desolatesound of it a tremor ran through his limbs. It was as though his bodyfought and struggled against the compelling spirit within it.

  "We mustn't meet again," he went on steadily.

  "Not meet--ever--do you mean?" There was something piteous in theyoung, shaken voice.

  "Never, if we can help it. We must go separate ways, Nan."

  She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly. Only her eyes,meeting his, held a mute agony that tortured him. All at once hisself-control gave way, and the passion of love and longing againstwhich he had been fighting swept aside the barriers which circumstancehad placed about it. His arms went round her, holding her close whilehe rained kisses on her throat and lips and eyes--fierce, desperatekisses that burned against her face. And Nan kissed him back, yieldingup her soul upon her lips, knowing that after this last passionatefarewell there could he no more giving or receiving. Only a forgetting.

  . . . At last they drew apart from one another, though Peter's armsstill held her, but only tenderly as for the last time.

  "This is good-bye, dearest of all," he said presently.

  "Yes," she answered gravely. "I know."

  "Heart's beloved, try not to be too sad," he went on. "Try to findhappiness in other things. We can never be together--never be morethan friends, but I shall be your lover always--always, Nan--throughthis world into the next."

  Her hand stole into his.

  "As I yours, Peter."

  It was as though some solemn pledge had passed between them--aspiritual troth which nothing in this world could either touch ortarnish. Neither Peter's marriage nor
the rash promise Nan had givento Roger could impinge on it. It would carry them through the complexdisarray of this world to the edge of the world beyond.

  Some time passed before either of them spoke again. Then Peter saidquite simply:

  "We must go home, dear."

  She nodded, and together, hand in hand, they descended from the oldcastle which must have witnessed so many loves and griefs and partingsin King Arthur's time, keeping them secret in its bosom as it wouldkeep secret this later farewell.

  They were very silent on the way back. Just at the end, before theyturned the corner where the car awaited them, Peter spoke to her again,taking both her hands in his for the last time and holding them in afirm, steady clasp.

  "Don't forget, Nan, what we said just now. We can each rememberthat--our troth. Hang on to it--_hard_, when life seems a bit moreuphill than usual."