CHAPTER XXXV
OF A SHADOW IN THE SUN
And now ensued a halcyon season, dewy dawns wherein I bathed andsparred with Jessamy, long, sunny days full of labour and anever-growing joy of Diana's radiant loveliness, nights of healthful,dreamless slumber beneath the stars.
Sometimes, when work was slack, I would walk far afield with Diana formy companion, or we would jog to market with the Tinker in thefour-wheeled cart, hearkening to his shrewd animadversions upon menand life in general; and Diana's slim hand in mine.
Indeed this poor pen may never adequately set down all the happinessof these care-free, swift-passing days, and how may I hope to describeDiana's self or the joy of her companionship, a sweet intimacy thatdid but teach me to love her the more for her changing moods and swiftintuitions, her quickness of perception, her deep wisdom, her warmimpetuousness and the thousand contradictions that made her what shewas.
So grew my love and with it a deep reverence for her innate andvirginal purity. It touched me deeply to note with what painful careshe set herself to correct the grammatical errors and roughness of herspeech; often she would fall to a sighful despondency because of herignorance and at such times it was, I think, that I loved her best,vowing I would not change her for any proud lady that was or ever hadbeen; whereof ensued such conversations as the following:
DIANA. But when I am your wife we shall live in a fine house, Isuppose.
MYSELF. Would this distress you?
DIANA. And meet grand folk, I suppose--earls and lords and--and thatsort of thing?
MYSELF. It is likely.
DIANA. Shall we--must we have--servants?
MYSELF. To be sure.
DIANA (dismally). That's it! I shouldn't mind the earls s' much--it'sthe grand servants as would bother me. And then--O Peregrine--if everI talked wrong or--acted wrong--not like a lady should--O Peregrine,would you be--ashamed o' me?
MYSELF. No, no--I swear it!
DIANA. I never wanted to be a lady--but I do now, Peregrine, for yoursake.
MYSELF. You are good and brave and noble, Diana, and this is betterthan all the fine-ladyishness in the world.
DIANA (wistfully). Well, I wish I was a lady, all the same.
MYSELF. You will soon learn, you who are so quick and clever.
It was at this period that she began to purchase books and study themwith passionate earnestness, more especially one, a thin, delicatevolume that piqued my curiosity since, judging by her puckered browand profound abstraction, this seemed to trouble and perplex her not alittle.
"Peregrine," she enquired suddenly one morning, as I leaned, somewhatshort of breath, upon the long shaft of the sledge-hammer, "Peregrine,what's a moo?"
"A moo?" I repeated, a little startled, "why, the sound a cow makes, Ishould think."
"No, it can't be that," said Diana, shaking her head and frowning atthe open page of that same slim book I have mentioned, "it can't haveanything to do with a cow, Peregrine, because that's what a grand ladydoes when she enters a ballroom; it says she moos slightly--"
"Lord, Ann!" exclaimed the Tinker. "What's she want to do that for? Amoo's a beller, as Peregrine says, but who ever heard of a grand ladybellerin' in a ballroom or out--"
"I said moo!" retorted Diana. "And it's in this book."
"May I see?" I enquired. Obediently Diana rose and tendered me thevolume, marking the paragraph with her finger, and at her command, Iread aloud as follows.
"'UPON ENTERING A BALLROOM. The head should be carried stately, the bust well-poised, the arms disposed gracefully. The gait should be swimming, the head graciously aslant and the lips slightly _moue_.'"
"Well?" demanded Diana, glancing at Jeremy defiantly. "Now what's itmean, Peregrine?"
"'_Moue_?" I explained gravely, "is a French word signifying 'topout' the lips."
"Which be a bit different to bellerin'!" chuckled the Tinker. Dianamerely glanced at him, whereupon he began to hammer away lustily, inspite of which I fancied I heard him chuckle again. Turning to thetitle page of the little book I saw this:
ETIQUETTE FOR THE FAIR SEX BEING HINTS ON FEMININE MANNERS & DEPORTMENT. BY AN ACKNOWLEDGED SCION OF THE BON TON.
"It's a rather terrible book, I think," sighed Diana.
"Not a doubt of it," said I. "What do you think, Jerry?"
"Aye," he nodded, "I used to sell that book once, or one like it--"
"I mean," explained Diana, "it will be terribly hard to teach myselfto do everything it says--"
"Indeed, I should think so," I nodded.
"You see," she mourned, "I--I didn't act a bit right when you--told meyou--loved me--"
"Ah, but you did, Diana--"
"No, Peregrine, I was quite wrong and oh, most unladylike!"
"How so?"
"Well, I didn't tremble with maiden modesty or yield my hand coyly andby degrees, or droop my lashes, or falter with my breath--or--"
"Why in the world should you?"
"Because all ladies must do that--let me show you." So saying she tookthe book, turned over a leaf or so, and putting it into my hand, bademe read aloud, which I did, as follows:
"'UPON RECEIVING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. On this trying occasion, should the answer be in the affirmative, yield the hand coyly and by degrees to the passion of the happy suitor's lips; at the same time the lashes must droop, the whole form tremble with maiden modesty, the breath must falter and the bosom surge a little, though perceptibly--'"
My voice faltered and in spite of my efforts I burst out laughing,while Jeremy began to hammer again; whereupon Diana wrested the bookfrom me and stood, flushed and angry, viewing me in lofty disdain.
"O Diana," I pleaded, "don't be offended, and don't--do not troubleyour dear head over that foolish book--"
"Foolish!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Why, it's to teach ladies howto behave, and written by--"
"By a snuffy old rascal in some pothouse, like as not, Diana--" Hereshe turned and hasted away, but I sped after her and seeing the quiverof her lips and her dear eyes a-swim with tears, my own grew moistalso.
"O Peregrine," sighed she, "I thought the book was foolish too--butfor your sake--to be a lady--"
"O girl!" I cried, clasping her to me. "Dear goddess of the SilentPlaces, you are above all such silly pettinesses as this book; nowoodland nymph or dryad could ever learn such paltry affectations andDiana herself would look a fool with a fan or a reticule. It is yourown sweet, natural self I love, just as you are and for what you are."
"But you're a gentleman and I ought to be a lady."
"Be my own goddess Diana, and let me worship you as such."
"Why, then, let me go, Peregrine, for your goddess has the supper toprepare!" Reluctantly I obeyed her, and coming back, found the Tinkerseated upon his anvil, lost in a profound meditation.
"What is it, Jerry?" I asked him, for he had sighed deeply.
"Ah, Peregrine," said he, without lifting his head, "oh, lad,lad--I've missed more than I thought--Love's a wonderful thing, farbetter and more beautiful than I ever dreamed it; pain and grief losehalf their bitterness when Love looks at us from a woman's eyes andDeath itself would come kinder--less dreadful, for the touch o' theloved hand, the sound o' the loved voice when the shadows gather.And--I might ha' had this blessing once--for the takin'--ah,Peregrine--if I'd only known, lad, if I'd only known!"
O joyous season of sweet simplicity, of homely kindliness andgood-fellowship! Would to God this carpet beneath my feet mightchange to velvet moss and springy turf, these walls to the trees andwhispering boskage I grew to love so well, this halting pen to thesmooth shaft of sledge hammer or the well-worn crank of the Tinker'slittle forge, if I might but behold again she who trod those leafyways with the stately, vigorous grace of Dian's very self, she whoworked and wrought and sang beside me with love for me in her deepeyes and thrilling in the glory of her voice; she who spedlight-footed to greet me in the dawn, who clung to kiss me "goodnight" amid the shadows. O season of joy so
swiftly sped, to-daymerging into yesterday (how should I guess you were so soon to end?),gone from me ere I had fully realised.
A hot, stilly afternoon full of the drowsy hum of insects and droningbees; birds chirped sleepily from motionless tree and thicket; eventhe brook seemed lulled to a slumberous hush.
Jessamy was away hard on the track of his Satanic antagonist, theTinker had driven off to buy fresh provisions, and I sat watchingDiana's dripping hands and shapely brown arms where she scrubbed,wrung out, and hung up to dry certain of our garments, for it waswashing day.
"Dear," said I at last, "when shall we be married?"
"Lord, Peregrine, how sudden you are!" she answered, as if I had neverbroached 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 shookgrave 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 silentplaces all the summer. And when winter comes, I'll buy a littlecottage 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 greaterhappiness."
"Oh, be content--a little longer. There's lots o' time--and I'mlearning--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--ifyou 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 tobe stayed and, sure enough, over went the great tin basin, scatteringwet 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'sthese four shirts ought to be hanging out to dry--so hurry, hurry! Getthe water from the pool beyond the big tree, the stream runs clearerthere!"
This pool was at some little distance, but away I went, happy in herservice, swinging the heavy bucket and humming to myself, as care-freeand light-hearted as any youth in Christendom, and presently reachedthe pool. I was stooping, in the act of filling the bucket, when Ipaused, arrested by a sudden, vague indefinable sound that puzzled meto account for and set me idly speculating whence it came and what itmight be; so I filled the bucket and then, all in a moment, though whyI cannot explain, puzzlement changed to swift and sudden dread and,dropping the bucket, I began to run, and with every stride my alarmgrew, and to this was added horror and a great passion of rage.Panting, I reached the dingle at last to behold Diana struggling inthe arms of a man, and he that same fine gentleman who had accostedher at "The Chequers." They were swaying together close-grappled, herknife-hand gripped in his sinewy fingers, his evil face smiling downinto hers; and I burned with wilder fury to see her tumbled hairagainst his coat and her garment wrenched from throat and whiteshoulder.
Then as I sprang, with no eyes but for this man, a masterful handgripped me, a commanding voice spoke in my ear.
"Back--stand back, boy!"
Turning to free myself, I beheld the Earl of Wyvelstoke, but now inhis look and bearing was that which halted me in awed amaze.
"Devereux!" said he, not loudly but in voice so terrible that the manstarted 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 tome--come, I say!" Humbly she obeyed, shrinking a little beneath hislordship's eyes, to creep into the clasp of my arm.
And so they faced each other, the stranger pale and coldlyself-possessed, the Earl, his slender figure erect, one hand in thebosom of his shabby coat, his countenance placid, though frowning alittle, 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 God you have betrayedyourself!"
"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 unnameablething you are!"
The stranger's pale face grew dreadfully suffused, his lips curledfrom gnashing teeth and, snatching up the heavy riding-whip that layat 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 anddribbling from his finger ends; but he stood heedless of the wound,his burning gaze fixed upon the grim and silent figure before him.Once it seemed he strove to speak but no words came, and slowly hereached a fumbling hand to clasp uncertain fingers above the gushingwound.
Slipping from my hold, Diana took a step towards him, but hislordship's voice stopped her.
"Leave him, girl! Touch him not--do not sully your maidenhood withthing so vile. Let him crawl hence as best he may. Begone, beastlyvillain!" he commanded, with imperious gesture of the smoking pistol,"and be sufficiently thankful that my bullet sought your dastardly armand not your pitiless black heart! Go, and instantly, lest I betempted to change my mind and rid the world of thing so evil!"
Speechlessly the stranger turned, hand clasped above his hurt to staythe 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 couldadequately describe him. He is one who should be dead years ago andconsequently I am somewhat perturbed that I did not slay him outrightinstead of merely breaking his arm. It was a mistake, I fear, yes, agrave omission, yet there may offer another opportunity, who knows?Pray God his black shadow may never again darken your path, Peregrine,nor sully your sweet purity, my goddess of the woods. Forget him, mychildren. See, I have come to renew my youth with you, to talk and eatwith you here amid God's good, green things, if I may.
"Yonder comes the excellent Atkinson with the tea equipage. Will you bemy hostess, Diana?"
"Old pal--dear," she answered a little tremulously, "I'd just loveto."
"Why, child," said the Earl, while I assisted the grave and decorousAtkinson 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.
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