Our Admirable Betty Part 65

"Jack dear," she said, very tenderly, "I needs must meet this man again---and yet again----"

"Why?" he questioned, "Why?"

"Because 'tis only thus my plan shall succeed. Will you doubt me therefore?"

"No!" he cried hoa.r.s.ely, "not you--never you, sweet maid! Tis him I doubt, he is a man, strong, determined and utterly ruthless and you are a woman----"

"And more than his match, John! O do but trust me! Do but wait until my plan is ripe----"

"Betty, a G.o.d's name what is this wild plan?"

"Nay, that I may not tell thee----"

"Could I not aid?"

"Truly--by doubting me no more, John. By trusting me--to the uttermost."

The Major groaned and bowed his head:

"Ah Betty!" he sighed, "yet must I think of thee as I saw thee to-night--alone with that--that satyr and nought to protect thee but thy woman's wit. G.o.d!" he cried, his powerful form shaking, "G.o.d, 'tis unthinkable! It must not be--it shall not be!" here he lifted face to radiant heaven, "I'll kill him first--I swear!"

Now seeing the awful purpose in that wild, transfigured face, she cried out and clasping him in tender arms, drew him near to kiss that scowling brow, those fierce, glaring eyes, that grim-set, ferocious mouth, pillowing his head upon her bosom as his mother might have done.

"O my John," she cried, "be comforted! Never let thy dear, gentle face wear look so evil, I--I cannot bear it."

"I'll kill him!" said the Major, the words m.u.f.fled in her embrace.

"No, John! Ah no--you shall not! I do swear thee no harm shall come to me. I will promise thee to keep ever within this lane when--when we do meet o' nights----" Here the Major groaned again, wherefore she stooped swiftly to kiss him and spoke on, her soft lips against his cheek; "Meet him I needs must, dear--once or twice more if my purpose is to succeed--but I do vow and swear to thee never to quit this lane, John. I do swear all this if thou too wilt swear not to pursue this quarrel."

"He will insist on a meeting, Betty--and I pray G.o.d soon!"

"And if he doth not, John--if he doth not, thou wilt swear to let the quarrel pa.s.s?"

"Art so fearful for me, Betty?"

"O my John!" she whispered, her embrace tightening, "how might I live without thee? And he is so cold, so--deadly!"

"Yet art not afraid for thyself, Betty!"

"Nor ever shall be. So promise me, John--O promise me! Swear me, dear love!" And with each entreaty she kissed him, and so at last he gave her his promise, kneeling thus his head pillowed between soft neck and shoulder; and being in this fragrant nest his lips came upon her smooth throat and he kissed it, clasping her in sudden, pa.s.sionate arms.

"John!" she whispered breathlessly. "O John!"

Instantly he loosed his hold and rising, stood looking down at her remorsefully.

"Dear--have I--angered you?" he questioned in stammering humility.

"Angry--and with thee?" and she laughed, though a little tremulously.

"Betty, I do wors.h.i.+p thee--revere thee as a G.o.ddess--and yet----"

"You tickle me, John! You are by turns so reverent and humble and so--so opposite. I do love your respect and reverent homage, 'tis this doth make me yearn to be more worthy--but alack! I am a very woman, John, especially with thine arms about me and--and the moon at the full. But heigho, the moon is on the wane, see, she sinketh apace."

"Dawn will be soon, Betty."

"Hast seen a many dawns, John?"

"Very many!"

"But never one the like of this?"

"Never a one."

"O 'tis a fair, sweet world!" she sighed, "'tis a world of faerie, a dream world wherein are none but thou and I. Here is neither doubt nor sorrow, but love and faith abiding. Come let us walk awhile in this our faerie kingdom."

Slowly they went beneath the fading moon, speaking but seldom, for theirs was a rapture beyond the reach of words. So at last they came to a stile and paused there to kiss and sigh and kiss again like any rustic youth and maid. Something of this was in my lady's mind, for she laughed soft and happily and nestled closer to him.

"My Master Grave-airs," she murmured, "O Master Grave-airs where is now thy stately dignity, where now my fine-lady languor and indifference?

To stand at a stile and kiss like village maid and lad--and--love it, John! How many rustic lovers have stood here before us, how many will come after us, and yet I doubt if any may know a joy so deep. Think you paradise may compare with this? Art happy, John?"

"Beloved," he answered, "I who once sought death boldly as a friend now do fear it like a very craven----"

"Ah no!" she cried, "speak not of death at such an hour, my Jack."

"Betty," said he, "O Betty, thou art my happiness, my hope, my very life. I had thought to go wifeless, childless and solitary all my days in my blindness and was content. But heaven sent thee to teach me the very joy and wonder of life, to--to----"

"To go beside thee henceforth, John, my hand in thine, learning each day to love thee a little more, to cherish and care for thee, men are such children and thou in some things a very babe. And belike to quarrel with thee, John--a little----" At this he laughed happily and they were silent awhile.

"See John, the moon is gone at last! How dark it grows, 'tis the dawn hour methinks and some do call it the death hour. But with these dear arms about me I---shouldn't fear so--very much."

Slowly, slowly upon the dark was a gleam that grew and grew, an ever waxing brightness filling the world about them.

"Look!" she whispered, "look! O John, 'tis the dawn at last, 'tis the dayspring and hath found me here upon thy breast!"

Thus, standing by that weatherbeaten stile that had known so many lovers before them, they watched day's majestic advent; a flush that deepened to rose, to scarlet, amber and flaming gold. And presently upon the brooding stillness was the drowsy call of a blackbird uncertain as yet and hoa.r.s.e with sleep, a note that died away only to come again, sweeter, louder, until the feathered tribe, aroused by this early herald, awoke in turn and filled the golden dawn with an ecstasy of rejoicing.

Then my lady sighed and stirred:

"O John," said she, "'tis a good, sweet world! And this hath been a night shall be for us a fragrant memory, methinks. But now must I leave thee--take me home, my John."

So he brought her to the rustic gate that opened upon the lane and setting it wide, stooped to kiss her lips, her eyes, her fragrant hair and watched her flit away among the sleeping roses.

When she had gone he closed the door and trod a path gay with dewy gems; and hearkening to the joyous carolling of the birds it seemed their glad singing was echoed in his heart.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV