The Man with the Double Heart Part 25

PART II

"Flower o' the quince I let Lisa go and what good's in life since?"

R. BROWNING.

CHAPTER XII

"I dreamed last night," said Jill, "that you and Stephen were having a fencing match. The worst of it was"--she sighed---"I woke before the end!"

She settled herself back more firmly in her corner as the car swept them down a steep incline between high hedges bared of leaves, gathering impetus for the upward hill beyond. Roddy sat in front, his cap pulled down to his eyes, his back like a ramrod, every muscle braced. He was deeply engrossed in watching Bethune drive, pouring questions into his new friend's ear.

McTaggart pulled the rug higher about the girl as the keen wind smote them with its frosty breath. "You don't feel cold, Jill?" His blue eyes rested affectionately on the glowing face beside him.

"Not a bit! I love it." She returned to her dream. "Wasn't it annoying to wake like that?"

"Which side were you backing?" McTaggart gave a chuckle at her indignant:

"Why--_you_--of course! Fancy backing Stephen! I forgot to tell you, Peter. We had a real row the other night. And the worst of it is he told Mother something. He's such a sneak!--and now she's cross with me."

"Poor old girl!" McTaggart groped for her hand under the heavy rug; and the girl, contentedly, let it lie in his warm clasp with a child's confidence.

"Dreams are funny things," she went on happily, conscious of his sympathy, her eyes fixed ahead on the long line of trees fringing the country road, gaunt against the sky, warmed by the sunset hour. "D'you ever dream the same one over and over again?"

"I don't think so," said Peter. "I can't remember them--not distinctly, I mean, when I'm awake."

"I do." Jill turned to him with a far-away expression, "and there's one dream returns and seems to haunt me. A cl.u.s.ter of white towers that rise up on a hill against a deep blue sky and glitter in the suns.h.i.+ne. It's all _so_ vivid!--I can see it now. Just that--those high white towers with a darker one among them. It seems to have a little cap--like a chimney pot--snow white ... And, although I've never been there, it's like a memory. I know it sounds absurd, but it feels"--she paused for words--"like coming home ... And then, I wake up."

"How odd! Perhaps it's part of another life. You know"--his face was thoughtful--"I think we've lived before. I can't believe that this is the whole of my existence; that all those centuries back bold no trace of me. Any more than I can think, as lots of fellows do, that we're snuffed out when we die like a row of little candles!"

"Of course not." Jill spoke with the certainty of youth--"though Heaven always sounds such a dreadfully dull place! That 'Heaven' I mean of the 'goody-goody' people, with no work to do but only eternal rest. I don't see the use of all we learn here if spiritual experience dies with the body. It's such a waste of power and so unlike Nature.

Why--even the trees, you know, after centuries, turn into coal!" She drew a deep breath. "That's always so comforting! When I get the blues and feel afraid of death I like to look at the fire and believe that nothing's lost ... it all goes on, forward in the Scheme."

"That's true." McTaggart's hand tightened on hers. "Bethune--over there"--he lowered his voice--"was talking the other day--we're great pals, you know--he's a chap you _can_ talk to, awfully sane--and we'd got on to religion and how it's broken up into rival camps and endless confusion--and he said: 'I haven't any particular creed and I don't go to Church, but ... it's just like this. I've always felt the Almighty's been so awfully good to me--he's cast my lot in very pleasant places, and given me health and strength and a jolly good time. It seems a dirty trick to doubt what He's planned, when He sees fit to s.h.i.+ft me from this old Earth.'"

"I like that. How nice!" Jill nodded her head. "It does sound rather like ingrat.i.tude; and, now one comes to think of it, it is cheek to question the future after this lovely world. Look at that sky there and those little pink clouds!"

She spoke simply, with no lack of reverence, but rather that deeper one needing no outward show.

Silence fell between the pair as the car scudded on: that truest proof of minds in perfect sympathy.

The distant hills were veiling themselves in a violet haze, and in the high hedgerows the birds were still. Away to the right a deep blue line showed the river flowing along to London and the sea.

Jill broke the spell first, with a little sign to attract his attention.

"I'm sure I hear music--a long way off. There!" She bent her head, straining forward. "It's a band down in the valley. How funny at this hour!--and right away from everywhere!"

"Territorials, perhaps."

McTaggart listened too.

"We're about midway, I should say, between Henley and town."

For Jill's letter with the news of Roddy's return--the school having broken up through a sudden epidemic--had suggested this outing in Bethune's car on one of his rare Sat.u.r.days of holiday. They had gone to see the Cambridge crew practice for the boat race and lunched at Henley, a merry quartette.

Jill's letter!--McTaggart's mind swung off at a tangent. He felt a new-born grat.i.tude to his schoolgirl friend. Had it not been for this and Fantine's want of tact--(he could see her now holding the letter to her breast)--he must have stumbled headlong into the trap.

He felt again heart-sore at the betrayal.

"We're getting nearer," said Jill. "I don't think it's a band."

The car swerved round a bend and lights flashed out, pale in the twilight like glow-worms on the green.

"Oh, Peter--look!" Jill clapped her hands. "It's a Village Fair--how lovely!--with merry-go-rounds!"

"So it is." Peter smiled as Roddy twisted round, his boy's face alight, with an eager request.

"Can't we stop, Peter?--and have _one_ turn ... My hat! there's a cocoanut shy! Oh, _do_ pull up..."

McTaggart leaned forward and consulted the driver. "Have you time, old man? These kids are awfully keen."

"Rather," Bethune laughed good-naturedly. "We'll run the car first into the Inn yard. Can't leave it here--the road's too narrow."

They skirted the crowd slowly at the end of the village street, the horn (worked by Roddy) vying with the strains of the cracked "Steam Band," and, handing over the rugs to the care of the ostler, proceeded on foot to the scene of the fun.

It was hardly a fair, but one of those travelling shows that wander across the country with a handful of caravans.

Dark gypsy faces, the hoa.r.s.e cry of the showmen, the flaring petroleum jets and the noisy metallic music were blent in a scene garish and crude but strangely exciting after the lonely roads.

"The merry-go-rounds first," Jill declared. "I choose the piebald horse--you take the black!" McTaggart swarmed up, infected by her mood, Roddy in front of them, with a roar of delight as Bethune settled his bulky form on a wooden donkey.

"Off we go!--Houp-la! ..." They whirled round and round.

"Two to one on the rat-tailed mare!" McTaggart's voice rang out.

Jill, clinging to the piebald's neck, with a fine show of ankles, her dark hair streaming back, looked like a Bacchante.

"Isn't it ripping?" Her motor veil swung loose, her fur cap slid back, and about her glowing face the straying curls blew. Her gray eyes like stars met McTaggart's open smile. Joy was in her heart.

The machine ran down. Panting, they descended.

"Now--the cocoanuts!" Roddy led the way to where a narrow screen of sacking protected the crowd of village folks from too violent an onslaught.

A hoa.r.s.e voice greeted them:

"This way--guv'nor! Six sticks a penny! _All_-the-fun-o'-the-fair!

Now then--young sir--move on ... Hi!--Don't shove the lidy!--_Six sticks a penny_!" They found themselves in the centre of the firing line.