Marmaduke Part 28

But the stifling air of the streets soon scorched up the moisture, and Marmaduke protested against anything but a cup of hot coffee--which fat "Heart's Delight" bustled away to prepare--while those two stood and talked on the verandah. Below them lay the town, still smoking; still--as a puff of dawn wind blew the embers to redness--sending out a shower of sparks, or even a forked tongue of flame. The smell of burning filled their nostrils, the memory of a great escape filled their minds. And beyond that, under and deeper than that, stretched the atmosphere of death and disease, of constant danger, in which they had both been living for so long. It is an atmosphere which invariably brings with it, to the wholesome mind and body, a feeling of revolt against such limitations, a distaste of all things that pertain to decay: a keen appet.i.te for those that belong to life.

And the dawn-light grew as they stood talking. She had bidden him begone, had urged as a reason that he must remember his health.

Cholera might be bad on the hills, but it was deadly in the city. And he had laughed back that caution was a bit late to a man who had seen six strong men die that very morning. The poor devils seemed to like his being there. Now he----

"I should only want _you_, Marmie," he said. And she had looked at him in sudden wonder.

"I must go now if I'm to be in time for parade," he admitted at last.

"Good-night--no, good-morrow, my heart's delight!"

For an instant she held he was joking with the fat coffee-bringer's name; then she gave a quick tremulous cry--

"Duke! what--what do you mean?"

He laughed a little low, happy laugh, sank on his knees beside her, and clasped her tight in his arms.

"Only that I love you--only that I've found you--no, I've found myself for ever and ever and ever!"

He buried his face in the loose folds of her dress and so they remained for a second. Then she slipped through his hold to her knees also, and they knelt looking into each other's eyes.

The sun rising slowly, majestically, out of the sea shone upon their s.h.i.+ning faces. Vaguely, as in a gla.s.s, darkly the twain had pa.s.sed to one; they were nearer the Great Unity.

"Duke," whispered Marmie, with a faint s.h.i.+ver, "I think I'm afraid!"

"And I," he said joyously, finding her lips, "feel as if I never could be afraid again--never--never--never!"

CHAPTER VII

"Duke," she said, for at least the twentieth time, "I keep wondering how it came about."

He spent all his spare time now--it was not much--in the vine pergola, and he was picking out the ripe grapes from a bunch as he answered her.

"I don't. I had been thinking about you a lot; and then I was tired--really done!"

"What an excuse for falling in love," she protested half-vexedly; "but I should like to know."

He came over to her and put his arm round her waist.

"How can I tell, sweetest? I had been thinking, as I said, a lot about you--and missing a lot--stockings, and all that"--his smile was charm itself; "then, when I saw your dear old head bob up all shaven and shorn!" he kissed it deliberately, and she laughed.

"For all that," she persisted, "I should like to understand."

"My dearest dear," he replied, "you are such a beggar for wanting to know and understand. Now I, my dear Marmie--I'm too happy to want to know anything! I'm content with what I have--and you are content, too, you know you are!"

There was no denying the fact. Content, indeed, was no word for the feeling that you were rapt away from the very possibility of care.

There, in the very shadow of the grave, overlooking the Lake of Death, those two lovers found their joy enhanced by the uncertainty of life.

"I was chief mourner at six funerals this morning," Marmaduke would say sadly. "As fine fellows as ever stepped. Sometimes I wonder, darlingest, if I ought to come to you----"

"You can bring no more harm to me than I am in already," she would reply. "I am in the thick of it here. Indeed, I was wondering if I ought to let you come."

"Let me!" he would echo derisively. "As if you could stop me."

And in truth there was no gainsaying him, for Marmaduke, easy-going as a friend, was an imperious lover.

After he left her in the dawnings Marrion would take out the pocket Shakespeare she had brought with her and, sitting out under the purpling vines, read how the immortal lovers parted.

"I am content so thou wouldst have it so."

She had never before realised that so lay the very essence of love. No plannings, no cuttings, no contrivings. All things simplified, clarified.

It was a wonderful fortnight. The fire, after a brief recrudescence, died down, leaving the slums of the city in ruins, but purified. So cholera, most mysterious of diseases, abated, disappeared from the town; and even in the camps, exposed to the miasma of the Lake of Death, was shorn of half its terrors. And there was a stir as of coming life in the military backwaters. Marmaduke, his face alight, would say that the one thing needful to perfect happiness must be close at hand; for that was the curious thing about finding yourself in love--you wanted to be up and doing all the time.

And so one day when, instead of Marmaduke, Andrew Fraser--long since let into the secret of Maryam Effendi--appeared with a note, Marrion tried to echo Romeo's words without any reservations, and to be content if he would have it so. For the note ran as follows:

"HEART'S DELIGHT,

"The news has come! We are off to the Crimea. I feel that for the first time in my life I am going to have my chance--or, rather, we are going to have our chance, for I shall take you with me, never fear. I wish, dear, your real body were, small enough to go into my knapsack, but the heart that beats under this uniform coat is large enough to hold your love. I must be very busy, but I will find time in a day or two for perfect happiness.

"Yours ever,

"MARMADUKE.

"P.S.--I must get you to box my ears before I go. It will keep me straight and make me what England expects.--M. M.

"P.P.S.--Andrew says he is taking my stockings for you to mend.

Forgive us poor men bodies.--M."

So she sat darning the stockings and trying to prevent a sinking at the heart.

From her verandah she could see the bustle and stir in the camp. The next day one of the meadow stretches lay bare of tents. So the work of embarkation must be close at hand. Aye, the bay was thronged with transports! There was a sound of drums and fifes in the air. What room for love and peace when war and strife were afoot? But any moment now might bring Marmaduke, and that was enough for the present.

It was on the fourth day, when she was beginning to wonder if possibly he had not found time, that an orderly appeared with a note. It was not from Duke; it was from Andrew.

"DEAR MADAM,

"Please come. I have sent the Colonel's charger. He will carry a lady.

He is very ill."

She turned soul-sick as she read.

"Is he--is the Colonel very ill?" she asked.