Helena's Path Read online

  _Chapter Thirteen_

  THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST

  "As there's a heaven above us," wrote Lynborough that same night--havingbeen, one would fain hope, telepathically conscious of the hand-kissingby the red lips, of the softly breathed "To-morrow!" (for if he werenot, what becomes of Love's Magic?)--"As there's a heaven above us, Ihave succeeded! Her answer is more than a consent--it's an appreciation.The rogue knew how she stood: she is haughtily, daintily grateful. Doesshe know how near she drove me to the abominable thing? Almost had I--I,Ambrose Caverly--issued a writ! I should never, in all my life, have gotover the feeling of being a bailiff! She has saved me by the rightnessof her taste. 'Knightly' she called it to old Cromlech. Well, that wasin the blood--it had been my own fault if I had lost it, no credit ofmine if to some measure I have it still. But to find the recognition! Ihave lit up the country-side to-night to celebrate that rare discovery.

  "Rare--yes--yet not doubted. I knew it of her. I believe that I havebroken all records--since the Renaissance at least. Love at first sight!Where's the merit in that? Given the sight be fine enough (a thing thatI pray may not admit of doubt in the case of Helena), it is no exploit;it is rather to suffer the inevitable than to achieve the great. Butunless the sight of a figure a hundred yards away--and of a backfifty--is to count against me as a practical inspection, I am sosupremely lucky as never to have seen her! I have made her formyself--a few tags of description, a noting of the effect on Roger andon Cromlech, mildly (and very unimaginatively) aided my work, Iadmit--but for the most part and in all essentials, she, as I love her(for of course I love her, or no amount of Feast of St. John Baptistshould have moved me from my path--take that for literal or formetaphorical as ye will!)--is of my own craftsmanship--work of my heartand brain, wrought just as I would have her--as I knew, through alldelightful wanderings, that some day she must come to me.

  "Think then of my mood for to-morrow! With what feelings do I ring thebell (unless perchance it be a knocker)! With what sensations accost thebutler! With what emotions enter the presence! Because if by chance I amwrong--! Upon which awful doubt arises the question whether, if I bewrong, I can go back. I am plaguily the slave of putting the thing asprettily as it can be put (Thanks, Cromlech, for giving me theadverb--not so bad a touch for a Man of Tombs!), and, on my soul, I haveput that homage of mine so prettily that one who was prudent would haveaddressed it to none other than a married lady--_vivente marito_, be itunderstood. But from my goddess her mortal mate is gone--and toexplain--nay, not to explain (which would indeed tax every grace ofstyle)--but to let it appear that the homage lingers, abides, and isconfined within the letter of the bond--that would seem scarce'knightly.' Therefore, being (as all tell me) more of a fool than mostmen, and (as I soberly hope) not less of a gentleman, I stand thus. Ilove the Image I have made out of dim distant sight, prosaic shreds ofcatalogued description, a vividly creating mind, and--to be candid--theabsolute necessity of amusing myself in the country. But the Woman I amto see to-morrow? Is she the Image? I shall know in the first moment ofour encounter. If she is, all is well for me--for her it will be just aquestion of her dower of heavenly venturousness. If she is not--in myhumble judgment, you, Ambrose Caverly, having put the thing with soexcessive a prettiness, shall for your art's sake perish--you must, inshort, if you would end this thing in the manner (creditable toyourself, Ambrose!) in which it has hitherto been conducted,willy-nilly, hot or cold, confirmed in divine dreams or slapped in theface by disenchanting fact--within a brief space of time, proposemarriage to this lady. If there be any other course, the gods send mescent of it this night! But if she should refuse? Reckon not on that.For the more she fall short of her Image, the more will she grasp at anoutward showing of triumph--and the greatest outward triumph would notbe in refusal.

  "In my human weakness I wish that--just for once--I had seen her! But inthe strong spirit of the wine of life--whereof I have been and am aninveterate and most incurable bibber--I rejoice in that wonderful momentof mine to-morrow--when the door of the shrine opens, and I see thegoddess before whom my offering must be laid. Be she giant or dwarf, beshe black or white, have she hair or none--by the powers, if she wears asack only, and is well advised to stick close to that, lest casting itshould be a change for the worse--in any event the offering must bemade. Even so the Prince in the tales, making his vows to the Beast andnot yet knowing if his spell shall transform it to the Beauty! In mystronger moments, so would I have it. Years of life shall I live in thatmoment to-morrow! If it end ill, no human being but myself shall know.If it end well, the world is not great enough to hold, nor the music ofits spheres melodious enough to sound, my triumph!"

  It will be observed that Lord Lynborough, though indeed no novice in thecruel and tender passion, was appreciably excited on the Eve of theFeast of St. John Baptist. In view of so handsome a response, theMarchesa's kiss of the hand and her murmured "To-morrow" may passexcused of forwardness.

  It was, nevertheless, a gentleman to all seeming most cool and calm whopresented himself at the doors of Nab Grange at eleven fifty-five thenext morning. His Ambassadors had come in magnificence; humbly hewalked--and not by Beach Path, since his homage was not yet paid--butround by the far-stretching road and up the main avenue most decorously.Stabb and Roger had cut across by the path--holding the Marchesa's leaveand license so to do--and had joined an excited group which sat onchairs under sheltering trees.

  "I wish she hadn't made the audience private!" said Norah Mountliffey.

  "If ever a keyhole were justifiable--" sighed Violet Dufaure.

  "My dear, I'd box your ears myself," Miss Gilletson brusquelyinterrupted.

  The Marchesa sat in a high arm-chair, upholstered in tarnished fadinggold. The sun from the window shone on her hair; her face was half inshadow. She rested her head on her left; hand the right lay on her knee.It was stripped of any ring--unadorned white. Her cheeks were pale--theolive reigned unchallenged; her lips were set tight, her eyes downcast.She made no movement when Lord Lynborough entered.

  He bowed low, but said nothing. He stood opposite to her some two yardsaway. The clock ticked. It wanted still a minute before noon struck.That was the minute of which Lynborough had raved and dreamed the nightbefore. He had the fruit of it in full measure.

  The first stroke of twelve rang silvery from the clock. Lynboroughadvanced and fell upon his knee. She did not lift her eyes, but slowlyraised her hand from her knee. He placed his hand under it, pressing ita little upward and bowing his head to meet it half-way in its ascent.She felt his lips lightly brush the skin. His homage for Beach Path andhis right therein was duly paid.

  Slowly he rose to his feet; slowly her eyes turned upward to his face.It was ablaze with a great triumph; the fire seemed to spread to hercheeks.

  "It's better than I dreamed or hoped," he murmured.

  "What? To have peace between us? Yes, it's good."

  "I have never seen your face before." She made no answer. "Nor youmine?" he asked.

  "Once on Sandy Nab you passed by me. You didn't notice me--but, yes, Isaw you." Her eyes were steadily on him now; the flush had ceased todeepen, nay, had receded, but abode still, tingeing the olive of hercheeks.

  "I have rendered my homage," he said.

  "It is accepted." Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. "And you might havebeen so cruel to me!" she whispered.

  "To you? To you who carry the power of a world in your face?"

  The Marchesa was confused--as was, perhaps, hardly unnatural.

  "There are other things, besides gates and walls, and Norah's head, thatyou jump over, Lord Lynborough."

  "I lived a life while I stood waiting for the clock to strike. I havetried for life before--in that minute I found it." He seemed suddenly toawake as though from a dream. "But I beg your pardon. I have paid mydues. The bond gives me no right to linger."

  She rose with a light laugh--yet it sounded nervous. "Is it good-bytill next St. John Baptist's day?"

  "You would se
e me walking on Beach Path day by day."

  "I never call it Beach Path."

  "May it now be called--Helena's?"

  "Or will you stay and lunch with me to-day? And you might even payhomage again--say to-morrow--or--or some day in the week."

  "Lunch, most certainly. That commits me to nothing. Homage, Marchesa, isquite another matter."

  "Your chivalry is turning to bargaining, Lord Lynborough."

  "It was never anything else," he answered. "Homage is rendered inpayment--that's why one says 'Whereas.'" His keen eager eyes of hazelraised once more the flood of subdued crimson in her face. "For everyrecognition of a right of mine, I will pay you homage according to theform prescribed for St. John Baptist's Feast."

  "Of what other rights do you ask recognition?"

  "There might be the right of welcoming you at Scarsmoor to-morrow?"

  She made him a little curtsy. "It is accorded--on the prescribed terms,my lord."

  "That will do for the twenty-fifth. There might be the right ofescorting you home from Scarsmoor by the path called--Helena's?"

  "On the prescribed terms it is your lordship's."

  "What then of the right to see you daily, and day by day?"

  "If your leisure serves, my lord, I will endeavor to adjust mine--solong as we both remain at Fillby. But so that the homage is paid!"

  "But if you go away?"

  "I'm bound to tell you of my whereabouts only on St. John Baptist'sFeast."

  "The right to know it on other days--would that be recognized in returnfor a homage, Marchesa?"

  "One homage for so many letters?"

  "I had sooner there were no letters--and daily homages."

  "You take too many obligations--and too lightly."

  "For every one I gain the recognition of a right."

  "The richer you grow in rights then, the harder you must work!"

  "I would have so many rights accorded me as to be no better than aslave!" cried Lynborough. "Yet, if I have not one, still I havenothing."

  She spoke no word, but looked at him long and searchingly. She was notnervous now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh words; they had passedbeyond the borders of merriment, beyond the bandying of challenges. Yether eyes carried no prohibition; it was a warning only. She interposedno conventional check, no plea for time. She laid on him theresponsibility for his speech; let him remember that he owed her homage.

  They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lastedlong, the homage took much time in paying.

  "A marvelous thing has come to me," said Lynborough, speaking slowerthan his wont, "and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. Thismorning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don't speakof the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St.John's Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have knownone another longer, aye, and better than our faces."

  "Yes, I think it is so," she said quietly. "Yet who can tell so soon?"

  "There's a great gladness upon me because my dream came true."

  "Who can tell so soon?" she asked again. "It's strange to speak of it."

  "It may be that some day--yes, some day soon--in return for the homageof my lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition of my lip's righton your cheek."

  She came up to him and laid her hand on his arm. "Suffer me a littlewhile, my lord," she said. "You've swept into my life like a whirlwind;you would carry me by assault as though I were a rebellious city. Am Ito be won before ever I am wooed?"

  "You sha'n't lack wooing," he said quickly. "Yet haven't I wooed youalready--as well in my quarrel as in my homage, in our strife as in theend of it?"

  "I think so, yes. Yet suffer me a little still."

  "If you doubt--" he cried.

  "I don't think I doubt. I linger." She gave her hand into his. "It'sstrange, but I cannot doubt."

  Lynborough sank again upon his knee and paid his homage. As he rose, shebent ever so slightly toward him; delicately he kissed her cheek.

  "I pray you," she whispered, "use gently what you took with that."

  "Here's a heart to my heart, and a spirit to my spirit--and a gladventure to us both!"

  "Come on to the lawn now, but tell them nothing."

  "Save that I have paid my homage, and received the recognition of myright?"

  "That, if you will--and that your path is tobe--henceforward--Helena's."

  "I hope to have no need to travel far on the Feast of St. John!" criedLynborough.

  They went out on the lawn. Nothing was asked, and nothing told, thatday. In truth there appeared to be no need. For it seems as though Lovewere not always invisible, nor the twang of his bow so faint as to eludethe ear. With joyous blood his glad wounds are red, and who will maytell the sufferers. Sympathy too lends insight; your fellow-suffererknows your plight first. There were fellow-sufferers on the lawn thatday--to whom, as to all good lovers, here's Godspeed.

  She went with him in the afternoon through the gardens, over the sunkfence, across the meadows, till they came to the path. On it theywalked together.

  "So is your right recognized, my lord," she said.

  "We will walk together on Helena's Path," he answered, "until it leadsus--still together--to the Boundless Sea."

  THE END

  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

  Italics are indicated by _underscores_.

  Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silentlycorrected.