The Gay Rebellion

by Robert W. Chambers

  XII

  WHENEVER he went to Moss Centre with the wagon he telephoned andtelegraphed to himself, and about a month after he had begun this idiotperformance he ventured to speak to her.

  It occurred late in July, just before sunset. He had placed his rod,lighted his pipe, and seated himself on the platform's edge, when, all ofa sudden, and without any apparent reason, a dizzy sort of recklessnessseized him, and he got up and walked over to her window.

  "Good evening," he said.

  She looked around leisurely.

  "Good evening," she said in a low voice.

  "I was wondering," he went on, scared almost to death, "whether you wouldmind if I spoke to you?"

  After a few seconds she said:

  "Well? Have you decided?"

  Badly frightened, he managed to find voice enough to express hiscontinued uncertainty.

  "Why did you care to speak to me?" she asked.

  "I--we--you----" and he stuck fast.

  "Had you anything to say to me?" she asked in a lower--and he thought agentler--voice.

  "I've a lot to say to you," he said, finding his voice again.

  "Really? What about?"

  He looked at her so appealingly, so miserably, that the faintest possiblesmile touched her lips.

  "Can I do anything for you, Mr. Marque?"

  "If--if you'd only let me speak to you----"

  "But I am letting you."

  "I mean--to-morrow, too----"

  "To-morrow? To-morrow is a very, very long way off. It is somewherebeyond those eastern hills--but a very, very long way off!--as far asthe East is from the West. No; I know nothing about to-morrow, so how canI promise anything to anybody?"

  "Will your promise cover to-day?"

  "Yes. . . . The sun has nearly set, Mr. Marque."

  "Then perhaps when to-morrow is to-day you will be able to promise----"

  "Perhaps. Have you caught any fish?"

  After a moment he said: "How did you know I was fishing? You didn't turnto look."

  She said coolly: "How did you know I didn't?"

  "You never do."

  She said nothing.

  At her window, elbows on the sill, the blossoms in her window-boxbrushing his sunburnt face, he stood, legs crossed, pipe in hand, thesunset wind stirring the curly hair at his temples.

  "Did you hear the bird this evening?" he asked.

  "Yes. Isn't he a perfect darling!"

  Her sudden unbending was so gracious, so sweet that, bewildered, heremained silent for a while, recovering his breath. And finally:

  "I never knew whether or not you noticed his singing," he said.

  "How could you suppose any woman indifferent to such music?" she askedindignantly. She was beginning to realise how her silence had starved herall these months, and the sheer happiness of speech was exciting her.Into her face came a faint glow like a reflection from the pink cloudsabove the West.

  "That little bird," she said, "sings me awake every morning. I can hearhis happy, delicious song above the rushing chorus of dawn from everythicket. He dominates the cheery confusion by the clear, crystallinepurity of his voice."

  It scarcely surprised him to find himself conversing with a cultivatedwoman--scarcely found it unexpected that, in her, speech matched beauty,making for him a charming and slightly bewildering harmony.

  Her slim hands lay in her lap sometimes; sometimes, restless, theytouched her bright hair or caressed the polished instruments on the tablebefore her. But, happy miracle! her face and body remained turned towardhim where he stood leaning on her window-sill.

  "There is a fish nibbling your hook, I think," she said.

  He regarded his bobbing cork vaguely, then went across the track andsecured the plump perch. At intervals during their conversation he caughtthree more.

  "Now," she said, "I think I had better say good-night."

  "Would you let me give you my fish?"

  She replied, hesitating: "I will let you give me two if you really wishto."

  "Will you bring a pan?"

  "No," she said hastily; "just leave them under my window when you go."

  Neither spoke again for a few moments, until he said with an effort:

  "I have wanted to talk to you ever since I first saw you. Do you mind mysaying so?"

  She shook her head uncertainly.

  He lingered a moment longer, then took his leave. Far away into the duskshe watched him until the trees across the bridge hid him. Then thefaint smile died on her lips and in her eyes; her mouth drooped a little;she rested one hand on the table, rose with a slight effort, and loweredthe shade. Listening intently, and hearing no sound, she bent over andgroped on the floor for something. Then she straightened herself to herfull height and, leaning on her rubber-tipped cane, walked to the door.