The Star-Gazers Part 33

"Cigar's out."

Hastily taking another from his pocket, he bit off the end, lit up, gave a few puffs, scowling at Alleyne the while, and then said loudly,--

"And now you understand, I think, sir?"

There were spurs imaginary jingling at Rolph's heels, and the steel scabbard of a sabre banging about his legs, as he turned and strode away, whistling.

And then there was silence amidst the tall columnar pines, which looked as if carved out of black marble, save where the moonlight streamed through, cutting them sharply as it were, leaving some with bright patches of light, and dividing others into sections of light and darkness. There was not even a sigh now in the dark branches overhead, not a sound but the heavy, hoa.r.s.e breathing of Moray Alleyne, as he stood there fighting against the terrible emotion that made him quiver.

He had listened to the coa.r.s.ely brutal language of this man of athleticism, borne his taunts, his insults, as beneath him to notice, for there was another and a greater mental pain whose contemplation seemed to madden him till his sufferings were greater than he could bear.

If it had been some bright, talented man--officer, civilian, cleric, anything, so that he had been worthy and great, he could have borne it; but for Glynne, whose sweet eyes seemed day by day to be growing fuller of wisdom, whose animated countenance was brightening over with a keener intelligence that told of the workings of a mind whose latent powers were beginning to dawn, to be pledged to this overbearing brutal man of thews and sinews, it was a sacrilege; and, after standing there, forgetful of his own wrongs, the insults that he had borne unmoved, he suddenly seemed to awaken to his agony; and, uttering a bitter cry, he flung himself face downwards upon the earth.

"Glynne, my darling--my own love!"

There was none to hear, none to heed, as he lay there clutching at the soft loose pine needles for a time, and then lying motionless, lost to everything--to time, to all but his own misery and despair.

Volume 2, Chapter II.

ATTRACTION.

A few moments later there was a faint rustling noise as of some one hurrying over the fir needles, and a lightly-cloaked figure came for an instant into the moonlight, but shrank back in among the tree-trunks.

"Rob!" was whispered--"Rob, are you there?" Alleyne started up on one elbow, and listened as the voice continued,--

"Don't play with me, dear. I couldn't help being late. Father seemed as if he would never go out."

There was a faint murmur among the heads of the pines, and the voice resumed.

"Rob, dear, don't--pray don't. I'm so nervous and frightened. Father might be watching me. I know you're there, for I heard you whistle."

Alleyne remained motionless. He wanted to speak but no words came; and he waited as the new-comer seemed to be listening till a faintly-heard whistling of an air came on the still night air from somewhere below in the sandy lane.

"Ah!" came from out of the darkness, sounding like an eager cry of joy; and she who uttered the cry darted off with all the quickness of one accustomed to the woods, taking almost instinctively the road pursued by Rolph, and overtaking him at the end of a few minutes.

"Rob--Rob!" she panted.

"Hush, stupid!" he growled. "You've come then at last. See any one among the trees?"

"No, dear, not a soul. Oh, Rob, I thought I should never be able to come to-night."

"Humph! Didn't want to, I suppose."

"Rob!"

Only one word, but the tone of reproach sounded piteous.

"Why weren't you waiting, then?--You were not up yonder, were you?" he added sharply.

"No, dear. I've only just got here. Father seemed as if he would never go out to-night, and it is a very, very long way to come."

"Hullo! How your heart beats. Why, Judy, you must go into training.

You are out of condition. I can feel it thump."

"Don't, Rob, pray. I want to talk to you. It's dreadfully serious."

"Then I don't want to hear it."

"But you must, dear. Remember all you've said. Listen to me, pray."

"Well, go on. What is it?"

"Rob, dear, I'm in misery--in agony always. You're staying again at Brackley, and after all you said."

"Man can't do as he likes, stupid little goose; not in society. I must break it off gently."

There was a low moan out of the darkness where the two figures stood, and, added to the mysterious aspect of the lane where all was black below, but silvered above by the moonbeams.

"What a sigh," whispered Rolph.

"Rob, dear, pray. Be serious now. I want you to listen. You must break all that off."

"Of course. It's breaking itself off. Society flirtation, little goose; and if you'll only be good, all will come right."

"Oh, Rob, if you only knew!"

"Well, it was your fault. If you hadn't been so cold and stand-offish, I shouldn't have gone and proposed to her. Now, it must have time."

"You're deceiving me, dear; and it is cruel to one who makes every sacrifice for your sake."

"Are you going to preach like this for long? Because if so, I'm off."

"Rob!" in a piteous tone. "I've no one to turn to but you, and I'm in such trouble. What can I do if you forsake me. I came to-night because I want your help and counsel."

"Well, what is it?"

"Father would kill me if he knew I'd come."

"Ben Hayle's a fool. I thought he was fond of you."

"He is, dear. He wors.h.i.+ps me; but you've made me love you, Rob, and though I want to obey him I can't forget you. I can't keep away."

"Of course you can't. It's nature, little one."

"Rob, will you listen to me?"

"Yes. Be sharp then."

"Pray break that off then at once at Brackley, and come to father and ask him to let us be married directly."