The Unknown Sea Part 9

With a saucy sparkle she said, 'Do not flounces become a girl's wear, then? You shall see. Or do you expect a broken head of him?'

There was more of childish mischief than of coquetry in her face.

'Stay, Rhoda, I have to tell you something.'

'No need--no need. Can you think I have not heard?' and she left him to slow enlightenment.

Thereafter brotherly solicitude and responsibility developed in Christian, and his liking for the bright young creature grew warm, in natural degree to match the shy preference and grateful glow that answered for her appreciation.

Soon, so soon, his jealousy, his honest, blameless jealousy, came to be piercingly sweet to the girl's heart. How else, when day by day Giles instructed her of his worth with tales of his champion feats, and of all his boyhood, its pranks and temerities, its promise by tender honour and fort.i.tude of the finest quality of man; when her own observation told her that in the ranks of youth he was peerless, in strength, in outward fas.h.i.+on, in character, in conduct; generous, gentle, upright; of a sensitive conscience that urged extremes of pride and humility; and brave. And to her this wors.h.i.+pful youth condescended; nay, but it was even with deference that he honoured her and attended. One touch of saintliness that had rarefied him was dispelled to her naughty content.

'Rhoda, my child,' said Lois, 'where is the Book? Bring it.' And away the girl went.

Lois had found that the Bible, formerly left mostly to her sole use, had, since Rhoda's coming, made unseen departures and returns. Well pleased with the girl's recluse piety, she was awhile patient of its want.

'Do you leave the Book outside, child? When it is out of hand, you should lay it back here.'

'It was in the linhay,' said Rhoda, 'and not out of hand. And do you think 'tis I who take it? 'Tis Christian.'

'Christian!' said Lois, in a voice of such surprise that Rhoda was disillusioned. 'Then do you never study the Book alone?'

'No,' confessed Rhoda, 'I but listen to your reading and the Church's.'

Lois was disquieted. She had ever secretly deplored the infirm masculine const.i.tution of Giles and Christian, who accepted from her a spiritual ration with never a sign of genuine, eager hunger of soul. Yet this departure was little to her liking. Though fain would she have recognised the working of the Spirit, she dreaded rather that this was no healthy symptom in Christian's raw development. A cruel stroke to her was this second reserve of independence, invading the fastest hold of a mother's influence. Back came the earlier conviction that her boy's withdrawal from her must be for wrong-going, and the strain of watchful scrutiny and prayer returned. It had slackened when her G.o.d had shown such favour as to take out of her soul that iron that for years had corroded there, that she had vainly striven to expel.

She approached Christian with a diffidence that was painful to him to perceive; she recommended counsel in any difficulty--not her own, she said sincerely, though with a touch of bitterness. He was embarra.s.sed by her close, tender surveillance.

'I have already taken counsel,' he admitted, 'and I think I have got understanding--at least I have got certain information by heart.'

'Of his Reverence?'

'Yes.'

'Christian, you are not of the doubters?'

'No, mother, of the ignorant.'

Her piercing eyes examined his.

'Who has told you so? You did not know it of yourself. What evil communication corrupts you?'

There was no answer but the sufficient one of the boy's conscious face.

There was that in the fire of it that inspired Lois to groan in her heart: 'My boy has met a daughter of perdition.'

She did not miss her Bible again.

Lois's divination of the truth preceded Christian's, though again into the presence of Diadyomene had he made his way. There he went high-hearted on a service that sanctioned all risks--the recovery to the fair witch of her lost soul, fair too he was sure.

When he summoned her to baptism with the first breath, she laughed him off. No, no, she would have none of it. Let him tell her first that of the nature of a secret, as he said he would some day. And Christian, seeing it was indeed germane, delivered the story of the child cut off unbaptized, to the mother's undying remorse. She rewarded him.

'And she would have cared for the little dead body to kiss! Ah, poor mother!' she said softly and regretfully, so that his eyes grew moist.

'Diadyomene, if I die of the sea, would you be so far pitiful as to render to her my body again?'

'No,' she mocked; 'I myself would keep it. Did I not promise as much at the first?' Then she derided the poor limitation that would die of the sea through foolish preference of a soul.

He took up his mission with all his best powers well ordered; but to no purpose he persisted--she fenced too well for him. She began by denying any value to her soul; before they ended she challenged him to prove his own existence; and, to his amazement, he found that he could not against her, and rude demonstration he did not dare.

He brought off with unsuccess, great joy by her least favour, sharp stings by her least resentment, yet no suspicion that the sea-witch had him in the toils.

Giles mending Rhoda's shoes clacked fondly: 'A pretty little foot she has. Such a pit-a-pat little pair I never did see.'

Away to sacred white sands flew Christian's thoughts: he wondered if slender footmarks lay there, and which way set. A little folly came into his mind: to plant his bare feet over those dints pace by pace--delicate near paces; for the soles of his feet to walk intimate with the mould of hers. The little folly in his mind extended, set also his palm to the sand, his cheek, his brow. He came to himself from foot to face tingling, and amazed.

'A sweet, pretty wench!' was Giles's refrain. 'Eh?'

Christian a.s.sented.

'One more to my taste does not tread shoe-leather. Eh?'

With a singular expression Christian gave a 'No' of sufficient emphasis.

He looked at Rhoda and grew red.

Rhoda and Christian went amidst the fig-tree and trained it up to the eaves. Lois and Giles looked on from the porch; when they spoke, it was low as the rustle of the boughs. 'Young Adam and Eve' slid to Christian's ears. He looked at Giles; saw the fond, complacent smile and the shrewd eye; saw his mother's face, grave, concerned, tender; glanced down at Rhoda, and met her shy, happy eyes. He understood, and like lightning shot the revelation that with body and soul he loved Diadyomene.

CHAPTER VII

He found her curved in a nest of sleep full in the sun. Her breath was gentle as childhood's, and as guileless her face. Her head was regal, for the hair dried crowned it in a dark coil wound and bound with wisps of splendid pearls.

The young lover's pa.s.sion resolved itself into prayer. As never before in his life, with concentration and fervour he importuned his G.o.d for the redemption of her lost soul. The shadow of his crest edged her shoulder; a movement brought to the line of her cheek the shadow of his. At that, prayer failed for an amorous instant; eclipse dipped across her brow; sleep parted; she was looking at him.

'Ah, Grey Eyes!' she said, and smiled.

'Be gracious by one little word, Diadyomene. Why never yet will you call me by my name?'

'Your name? No, 'tis an ill-made name. Put it away and bear another that I will choose.'

'I could not. Yet what would you choose?'

'Diadyomenos, may be!' she said softly, smiling.

The honour of the consort name caught his breath.

'But I could not; not even for that could I lay aside the name I had in baptism.'