_ BOOK III. DAWN
CHAPTER IV. I WAIT FOR A CONFESSION
"O Peregrine! My dear--how they have hurt you!"
She was ministering to my scratches and abrasions, and I, sitting on the old hay-pile, watched her, joying in the gentle touch of her white, dexterous hands, her sweet motherliness and all the warm, vital beauty of her.
"Child," said I, "don't tremble so--the beasts are gone!"
"Yes, I know--I heard everything, Peregrine. And you down there--all alone--to fight them in the dreadful dark! And I once dared to call you coward!"
"So I was, Diana. So I am. It was you gave me courage, then and now--you and--my love for you."
"Your love?" she whispered, and now the tremor was in her voice also.
"It was Love guided me here to-night, Diana--brought me back to you--for ever and always if--if you will have it so."
"O Peregrine," she sighed, leaning towards me, "my Peregrine, then your love for me is not dead as I feared?"
"Nor ever can be," I answered, very conscious of her nearness, "surely true love is immortal, Diana."
"You speak rather like a book, Peregrine."
"I quote from your own letter, Diana."
"And this--strange love of yours, Peregrine, that I feared dead, has come to life again because you know at last how cruelly you misjudged me--you are here because you have found out?"
"I have found out nothing."
"Then--oh--why, then, you still think evil of me?"
"I love you!" said I, leaning towards her, for she had drawn from me a little. "I love you--more than ever, I think, yes, indeed it must be so--because I am here to shield you with my care--to make you my wife."
"Wife?" she whispered, shrinking yet farther from me. "Your wife? You would marry me in my--vileness--doubting my honour?"
"Your honour shall be mine, henceforth."
Now at this she sat back to regard me beneath wrinkled brows; once her scarlet mouth quivered, though whether she would weep or no I knew not, but before the sweet directness of her eyes I felt strangely abashed and knew again that old consciousness of futility.
"O Peregrine," she sighed at last, "how very--foolishly blind you are, how hopelessly masculine, and how nobly generous--my proud gorgio gentleman!" And stooping, she caught my hand ere I knew and kissed it passionately.
"O Diana!" I exclaimed, very ill at ease. "Why do--so?"
"Because--oh, my dear--because you would stoop to lift your poor, stained Diana from the depths and cover her shame with your love! Because, thinking me vile, you would still honour me with your name. Oh, my Peregrine, you love me more--much more than I ever dared hope--better than even you know!" And rising, she gave herself to my eager arms.
"O Diana," I murmured, "how wonderful you are!"
"Last time we met you called me--wanton!" she whispered.
"I was mad!" cried I remorsefully. "And yet--"
"And yet--you meant it, dear Peregrine! And tonight I am here upon your heart--oh, wonderful--kiss your wanton again--"
"Ah--hush!" I pleaded. "Don't--don't say it."
"Ah, Peregrine, beloved--don't think it!"
"But Diana," I groaned, "oh, my Diana, I saw you with--"
"Hush!" she whispered suddenly. "There is somebody moving down below--listen!"
From the pitchy gloom beneath came a heavy tread and a deep, long-drawn sigh; but even so I knew a happiness beyond all expression to feel how she nestled closer into my embrace as if seeking protection there.
"Are you afraid, my Diana?"
"Nothing could ever frighten me--here!" she whispered. And then the place suddenly reechoed with a loud whinnying.
"My horse--I had forgotten him!" said I. And then, as she stirred sighfully, I stooped and kissed her, ere, loosing her, I rose. "I'll go and make him comfortable for the night."
"And I will make you a bed, Peregrine."
"It will be like old times," said I.
"Yes--though we didn't--kiss each other--then, Peregrine," said she, looking at me with a glory in her eyes. "Ah, no--not again--look at the candle, it will be out in a minute or two and I haven't another--so hurry, dear."
Forthwith I descended into the dimness below and finding the horse, loosed off saddle and bridle; this done, I closed the doors and was making them as secure as might be when I heard her calling:
"Be quick, Perry, the candle is going out!"
So I climbed up the ladder and, drawing it after me, closed the trap--and as I did so, the light flickered and vanished; but, guided by her voice, I stumbled through the dark and, finding the hay-pile, lay down. And then, all at once, I began to tremble, for there rushed upon me the conviction that, lying thus beside me so near I might have touched her, yet hidden thus in the kindly dark, she was nerving herself to the confession of that which must be pain to speak and agony to hear; thus, tense and expectant, I stared upon the gloom, waiting--waiting for her voice and resolved that I would be merciful in my judgment of her.
Thus moment after moment dragged by and I in a very fever of anticipation, waiting--listening--At last she stirred, but instead of the broken, pleading murmur I expected, I heard a long, blissful sigh, a rustle of the hay as she settled herself more cosily, and when she spoke her voice sounded actually slumberous:
"Are you comfortable, Peregrine?"
"Thank you--yes."
"Yet you--sound very restless. What is it, dear?"
"O Diana--have you--nothing to--to tell me?"
"You mean--to confess? No, dear."
"Nothing?" I groaned.
"Only to bid you not worry your dear, foolish head over trifles--"
"Trifles?" I gasped, sitting up in my amazement. "Trifles?"
"Silly trifles!" said she with a strange, little, tremulous laugh. "You came seeking me. You wish to make me your wife because your love is nobler, greater than you or I ever dreamed. And I am yours, and we are together at last and this--this is all that can possibly matter to us--Fourteen guineas, a florin, one groat and three pennies--was that so very much to pay for me? Do you regret your purchase?"
"No."
"Then--have faith in your love for me, Peregrine. Give me your hand in mine--this dear hand that fought for me and would lift poor me out of the shameful mire. And now, good night, beloved--now, shut your eyes! Are they closed?"
"Yes, Diana."
"Then go to sleep."
And with this cool, soft hand clasping mine, I sank at last into a blessed slumber. _