Читать книгу Basil and Annette - B. L. Farjeon - Страница 7

"I have been waiting for you ever so long," she said, and she slipped her hand into his.

Basil made no excuse for being late; an age seemed to have passed since he had last seen her, though scarcely three hours separated "then" from "now." But short as was really the interval it had effected an important alteration in their relations towards each other, and the contemplation of this change made him silent. Neither was Annette as talkative as usual, and they strolled idly along for some distance without exchanging a word. Basil had hitherto accepted Annette's beauty in a general sense; she was pretty, she was bright, she was full of vivacity--that was all. Had she been a woman he would have subjected her to a closer and more analytical observation, for he had an artist's eye for beauty, and loved to look at it in animate and inanimate nature; but Annette was only a child, and he had paid her just that amount of attention which one pays to small wild-flowers that grow by the wayside. But now, looking down upon her as she walked by his side, he observed that her eyes were hazel, and he said to himself that hazel eyes, in girl and woman, were the most beautiful eyes in the world. The hazel colour in the eyes he was gazing upon was brilliant, and Basil said to himself that it was the brilliant hazel eyes that are the most beautiful in the world. Annette's features were not exactly regular, but formed as fair a picture of human loveliness as a man would wish to see, her lips sweetly curved, her teeth white and shapely, her ears like little shells, her golden brown hair gathered carelessly about the gracefully shaped head. Yes, Annette was beautiful even now as a child; how much more beautiful was she likely to be when her springtime was fully set in!

Raising her head suddenly she saw that Basil was gazing at her more earnestly and closely than he was in the habit of doing. "I was looking at your eyes, Annette," he said, rather guiltily. "I never noticed their colour till to-day."

"They are hazel. Do you like hazel eyes?"

"Very much."

"I am glad of that. My eyes are like my mother's. Will you come with me?"

"Where?"

"To her grave."

He had visited it before with Annette, and they now walked towards the canoe, gathering wild flowers as they walked. Once Annette slipped, and he caught her and held her up; there was an unusual tenderness in the action, and Annette nestled closer to him, and smiled happily. In the canoe her skilful fingers were busily at work, weaving the flowers they had gathered into garlands to lay upon her mother's grave. She had a special gift in such-like graceful tasks, but then her heart was in her fingers. The loving homage was reverently rendered when they reached the spot, and Basil assisted her in clearing the dead leaves and in planting some fresh roots she had brought with her from the woods.

Her task accomplished, Annette sat beside the grave, with a wistful expression on her face which made Basil wonder what was stirring in her mind. He waited for her to break the silence, and presently she spoke.

"What makes you so quiet, Basil?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is because you have said so little, Annette."

"I have been thinking."

"Yes."

"I wanted all day to speak to you about it. I thought I would when we were in the wood alone; then you spoke of my eyes and I thought of my dear mother. You would have loved her, Basil, and she would have loved you. She hears me now--yes, she hears and sees me, Basil, and I think she is glad you came to us."

"I am glad too, Annette."

"Really glad, Basil?"

"Really glad, Annette."

"Then you will not go away from us?"

"What makes you ask that?" Her question, tremulously uttered, formed a pregnant link in the promise he had given her father.

"It is my dream," said Annette. "I dreamt it last night, and it made me sad. You came to say good-bye, and I was unhappy at the thought that I should never see you again. Basil, if that was to happen I should be sorry you ever came at all."

"Then you wish me to stay?"

"Dearly, Basil, dearly! I thought I would speak to father about it; then I thought I would speak to you first."

"Did you not speak to your father?"

"Not about my dream; but about your going away, yes. I asked him to persuade you to stop with us."

"Because, Annette----" he said, and paused. "Because I love you, Basil. I told father so, and he said he loved you, too, and that he wished he had a son like you. Then you would be my brother, and I should be very happy. But father said he was afraid you intended to leave us soon, and that made me dream, I suppose."

"Annette, listen to me."

"I am listening, Basil."

"Your father has spoken to me, and that is why I was so late in coming to you. He asked me to remain here, and I promised him I would."

"You did? Oh, Basil!" Her voice expressed the most perfect joy. She had risen in her excitement, and was now leaning towards him, her lips parted, her eyes glowing.

"Yes, Annette, I promised him, and I promise you. For some years at least we will live together."

She threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him.

"That will be for ever, Basil. You have made me do happy, so happy!"

"So that is all settled," he said. "But I shall be a tyrant, Annette."

"I don't mind, Basil; I will be very good and obedient. Do you hear, Bruno, do you hear?" She knelt and kissed the faithful dog, and pressed his head to her bosom. "Basil is not going away. He will remain here forever--for ever!"

Basil was very grateful for the little maid's affection, grateful that his lines had fallen in such pleasant places. What more could man desire? But there was a shadow gathering and swiftly approaching which neither of them could see.

They stopped out later than usual that evening, and when they returned to the house Annette was radiant.

"Basil has promised to remain with us, father," she said, in a voice of great joy.

"He has told you, then, dear child?"

"Yes, father, yes. He will stop with us for ever. I don't wish for anything now."

The three happy beings sat together in the verandah during the few brief minutes that divided day and night. In those latitudes there is but little twilight, and the long peaceful rest of an English sunset is unknown. For a few moments the brilliancy was dazzling. Great clouds of amethyst and ruby spread over the western skies, melting soon into sombre shades of purple and crimson. Then the sun dipped down and disappeared, and the skies were overspread with a veil of faded gold, behind which the white stars glittered.

Their souls were in harmony with the spiritual influence of the lovely scene, and there was an ineffable peace in their hearts. Annette kissed Basil before she retired to rest, and whispered: "Brother Basil, I shall have happier dreams to-night."

He kissed her tenderly, and bade her good-night. Unclouded happiness shone in her eyes as she stole to her room, where she knelt by her bedside, and uttered the name of Basil in her prayers.

Anthony Bidaud gazed at his daughter till she entered the house, and even then kept his eyes fixed upon the door through which she had disappeared.

"It is years," he said to Basil, "since I have felt so thoroughly content as I do to-night. Come to my room early in the morning; I shall not write to my lawyer till then, and I wish you to see the letter."

Shortly after all the inmates of the house were asleep.

* * * * * *

And while they slept, there walked across the distant plains towards the plantation, a man and a woman who had had that goal in view for three months past. It was summer when they left their home across the seas. It was summer when they reached the land to which the woman had been summoned. But, judging from their faces, no summer errand was theirs.

"Walk quicker," said the man, surlily. "We must get there before sunrise. My heart is bent upon it."

"I am fit to drop," said the woman. "How much farther have we to go?"

"According to information, fifteen miles. Walk quicker, quicker! Have you travelled so far to faint at the last moment? Remember we have not a penny left to purchase food, and have already fasted too many hours. I see visions of ease and comfort, of wine and food, ay, and of riches too. I am eager to get at them."

"Do you remember," said the woman, "that you were not bidden to come?"

"What of that?" retorted the man. "I have my tale ready. Leave me to play my part. Our days of poverty are over. This is the last of them. Walk quicker, quicker!"