Читать книгу The Altar of Honour - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 6

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“You’re very late,” said Rory.

“I nearly didn’t come,” said Charmaine.

She stood before him on the windy shore, her golden hair streaming out from under a very shabby black velvet huntsman’s-cap. Her eyes looked up at him from under the peak with a wistful questioning.

“Why?” demanded Rory briefly.

She explained in her direct, childish way. “I made sure you would have forgotten for one thing, and it was very difficult to get away for another.” She caught back a sigh. “Griselda thinks I’m staying in bed. I hope she won’t find out.”

“Wouldn’t she have let you come?” asked Rory.

She shook her head. “Not if I asked. She never does. But you see, I thought she’d go hunting this morning, and then I could do what I liked. But she didn’t, so I said I was tired and might I stay in bed. As soon as she said ‘Yes,’ I knew it was all right; because Mrs. Dicker looks after me when I stay in bed, and Griselda never bothers about me. But I was so afraid at first that she wouldn’t say ‘Yes.’ I had to pretend I was tireder than I was. She’d be furious if she knew. She says I’m very underhand. But really she always says ‘No’ if I ask first; so what was I to do?”

A pathetic piece of logic for which Rory could find neither answer nor condemnation.

“Well, you’re here, anyway,” he said cheerily. “That’s something. I hope Mrs. Dicker won’t give you away.”

“Oh no, she won’t.” Charmaine began to brighten. “So long as I’m back in bed by tea-time, it’s quite safe. It’s one of Griselda’s rules that if one is too tired to get up in the morning, one must stay in bed all day.”

“What rot!” said Rory.

“Yes, isn’t it? But she never bothers before evening, so it’s quite all right.” Charmaine uttered a faint chuckle. “I’m very glad I came,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely? And what a wind!”

She turned towards the great breakers that were rumbling in with a deep roaring around the rocks, and remained motionless, spellbound. Rory stood beside her, watching her. The small, sweetly modelled face held an attraction for him which he did not attempt to analyse. Even in those undeveloped days Charmaine was a creature of strange and arresting allurement. Her beauty was such as compelled attention, though it was so completely lacking in assertiveness that her shyness was like a soft veil enwrapping a loveliness of which she herself was wholly unconscious.

When she turned to him again there was pleading in her eyes.

“We won’t go Ballybeg way, will we?” she said. “I don’t like Ballybeg.”

“Of course not!” said Rory. “I don’t like Ballybeg either. Besides, it’s miles away. It’s much jollier round this side. Come and look at the caves!”

She accompanied him gladly, leaping from rock to rock on the edge of the foaming water with an agility that excited his admiration. She was very sure-footed for a girl.

It was impossible to enter the caves while the tide was at its height, but they climbed as near as the dashing waves would allow, and presently found a ledge upon which they could sit and watch the swirling water below. The day was mild, and it was inclined to rain, but they paid no attention to the weather. They were absorbed in each other and the newness of their friendship.

“I can’t think what made you so nice to me last night,” Charmaine said. “Most boys hate girls that cry.”

“Depends what they cry for,” said Rory.

She picked up a little stone and regarded it earnestly. “I don’t think I ever used to cry in the old days,” she said. “I don’t remember even feeling sad.”

“Do you feel sad now?” asked Rory.

She shook her head. “Oh no, not with you. I’m quite happy with you.”

She glanced up with a fugitive smile, and Rory was immensely gratified.

“When’s your birthday?” he asked abruptly.

Her smile deepened. “The fifth of November, so I really ought to have been a boy, oughtn’t I? When’s yours?”

“Twenty-first of October—Trafalgar Day,” said Rory. “I’m going into the Navy, you know.”

“How lovely!” she said, with glistening eyes. “I wish I was.”

“You’d hate it,” said Rory. “Fancy you roughing it! How you would hate it!”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t,” declared Charmaine. “You think I’m very soft, but really I don’t cry easily. That’s one of the things that makes Griselda so angry when she punishes me. She says I’m hardened. But I don’t think pain is a thing to cry for, do you? It isn’t like grief.”

“What a rotten life you must lead!” said Rory.

“Yes,” she said, with a sigh. “But I’m used to it—almost. I suppose you’ve always been happy.”

“Oh, more or less,” said Rory, with a masculine reluctance to admit complete contentment with his lot. “I’ve had my ups and downs like everyone else. It doesn’t do to take things too much to heart, you know.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not if one can help it. And you haven’t got a mother either?”

“No,” said Rory. “But as I’m going to sea, I shan’t want one, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You’ve got a father?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. He’s dead too.”

“Oh, Rory!” She laid a shy hand on his knee. “Don’t say dead! I don’t believe anybody’s dead, do you?”

Rory stared a little. “What do you call it, then?”

She coloured and removed her hand, but he instantly caught it and brought it back to its resting-place.

“I don’t quite know,” she said, faltering. “Just—just not here, that’s all.”

He kept his hand on hers, as if he feared it might escape again. “I expect you’re right,” he said. “I’ll be bound you’re right. Come to think of it, people couldn’t just fade out like a picture on a screen. It isn’t common sense.”

“Oh, I’m glad you feel like that too,” she said eagerly. “It makes such a difference, because I’ve got no one to talk to about it. Mrs. Dicker is very kind, but she isn’t much good, and she always says, ‘your pore ma,’ which I don’t like. I never have felt like that about her. But Griselda says it’s unwholesome to think of her at all.”

“Don’t let’s talk about Griselda!” said Rory suddenly. “It doesn’t matter what she says, does it?”

“I don’t know.” Charmaine looked slightly dubious. “She’s one of those people who make it matter. But we needn’t talk about her anyhow. And you do really think that we go on and on and on—afterwards, do you?”

Rory hesitated, then, as her eyes besought him, “We must go somewhere,” he said guardedly, “but I don’t know where. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Don’t you want to know?” said Charmaine.

Rory paused again. The eternal problem was one in which his abounding youth had till that moment taken small interest. “I should like to know a lot of things,” he said finally. “But I suppose we’ve got to wait and find out by degrees. We shall all know sooner or later.”

“I don’t believe grown-ups know,” said Charmaine. “But anyhow I’m sure of one thing. She must be somewhere, or I shouldn’t go on loving her. I should just forget.”

“Yes, that sounds sensible,” said Rory, his eyes on an immense wave riding in from the open sea.

Her look followed his. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she said in an awed voice. “And to think that if one slipped into that, it would carry one right away—right away!”

Rory gave her a quick glance. “It would carry you away all right,” he said. “But it would pound you to pulp first.” And then swiftly, in a different tone, “Good heavens! It’s got us!”

The great wave came surging up—a green wall of water edged with foam, most terrible, most amazing. It was as if it had arisen from the very heart of the sea. No rock served to impede its progress. It swept irresistibly over all. It struck a jagged point of cliff immediately below them, and reared up like a monster in a mighty column of spray. It seemed to Charmaine, shrinking back on her perch, that she was suddenly overwhelmed by a huge weight that burst upon her, suffocating her, dislodging her as though she had been a mere midget in the grip of a giant. There came to her a frightful sensation as of being sucked downwards into annihilation. Her breathing—her very existence—was arrested. And then—just as she was slipping over the verge—something stopped her. She hung as it were in space, poised on the very edge of eternity, until the power that held her back managed to assert itself. She found herself finally, desperately gasping for breath but safe, crouched in a tiny cleft of the rock with Rory almost lying upon her, his outstretched arms spread protectingly over her trembling body. The great wave dropped back, spent, defeated; and they were left in their crevice unharmed.

She raised herself, drenched from head to foot, her wet hair massed upon her shoulders. “How—how did you do it?” she said wonderingly.

He answered with a certain grimness, “I just—hung on.” And then, boyishly, “I say, let’s get out of this! It’s safer higher up.”

They climbed together to a higher vantage-point, Rory laughing in a kind of triumphant defiance, Charmaine still trembling, though she fought with all her might to conceal it.

“I say, you’re wet!” he said. “Does it matter?”

She looked at him with eyes that shone like dark sapphires out of her pale face. “You are wet too,” she said.

“Oh, rats!” said Rory, adding with cheery assurance, “Sea-water never hurt anybody.”

“It nearly did that time,” said Charmaine. “It was you that saved me. I was just—just gone.”

“Rats! Rats! Rats!” cried Rory, still laughing. “You couldn’t have gone with me there. Or if you had, I’d have gone too.”

“Yes,” said Charmaine, and a flame of sheer devotion lit up those wonderful eyes of hers. “You would have gone too—when you needn’t.”

“Rats!” said Rory for the fifth time. “I say, let’s talk of something else! What a tide! It’s the highest I’ve ever seen.”

She saw that he would have no more of the subject and she was too docile to attempt to pursue it further. They sat for a while longer, watching the water that swirled and eddied below them, wet to the skin but too happy to notice, talking of a dozen inconsequent things and sublimely forgetful of the danger that had so nearly engulfed them.

“Some day,” said Rory, “we’ll go for a voyage together—that is, if you won’t be afraid.”

“Afraid!” she echoed, her hands clasped in eager anticipation. “With you!”

He laughed at her earnest attitude. “All right. We’ll do it,” he said. “That’s settled.”

It was more than an hour before the tide had receded far enough to permit them to descend to the shore; but the sky had begun to clear, and a fitful sun shone upon them, turning the grey of the sea into green and purple and the rocks into shining castles of mystery.

Their luncheon had been washed away by the great wave, but, as Rory said, it didn’t matter much, for they could make up for it at tea. “Almost as good as being shipwrecked!” he declared.

And Charmaine answered fervently, “Oh, how I wish we were!”

They fell to planning what they would do under such circumstances till they both became so absorbed as almost to forget that they did not actually exist. Then, with the tide on the ebb, they scrambled down to the rocks, exploring the low caves and the pools with eager energy. And Rory told Charmaine of the smuggler’s passage that led from the shore to one of the old cellars of Glasmore, so firing her enthusiasm that she searched for it without ceasing for the rest of the afternoon.

It was a vain search, however, and perhaps it was as well, for, as he pointed out to her, they could not have gone up it without matches or a lantern, and the daylight was beginning to fail. It was this last remark that recalled Charmaine. She turned swiftly and scanned the sky with almost a stricken look on her face.

“What time is it?” she said. “What ever can the time be?”

All her merry animation was merged into sudden fevered anxiety as she asked the question; but Rory carried no watch, and could judge only by the sun.

“Well, it must be close on four,” he said. “Why, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Oh yes, it does matter! It does matter!” she said. “I shall be caught unless I’m very quick. Good-bye!”

She turned to him with a gesture of farewell.

“Oh, I say!” protested Rory. “It can’t be over yet! It can’t be!”

“Yes, it is, it is!” she insisted, with nervous reiteration. “I can’t stay any longer. I daren’t. Good-bye!”

She was gone with the words, flying from him over the sand and rocks, now running, now leaping, light and fleet as a chamois, towards the cliff that frowned, fortress-like, over the Malahide Breakwater.

He stood gazing after her, not attempting to follow, feeling as if something rather vital had been suddenly torn from him. It was absurd, of course. He had only known her for so short a time; but her going seemed to plunge the world in darkness. He felt almost stunned.

After a few moments he recovered his mental balance sufficiently to fling round on his heel and begin to walk in the opposite direction; but his gait was slow and aimless. It did not seem to matter where he went or what he did. The sun had gone into grey fog, and everything was cold. And the waves broke in the distance with a moaning sound.

Suddenly he became aware of something—a movement behind him—and swiftly turned. She was there again, as though she had come to him on wings.

Her arms were extended. She threw them impulsively around him. “I was going away without thanking you,” she panted. “I don’t know how I could. And you have been so good to me. And you saved my life too. I do thank you! I do—I do! Please kiss me and say good-bye!”

He hugged her instantly with a warmth proportionate to the chill of a moment before, and kissed her hard and emphatically upon the lips.

“But must you go, I say?” he protested. “It’s beastly, your going like this.”

“I know—I know,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I can’t help it. It’s no use. Don’t keep me! I’ve got to go. But I just want you to know that I’ll never forget you or that awful wave or any part of what you’ve done for me. Good-bye, dear, darling Rory! Good-bye!”

“We’ll meet again,” he said, detaining her. “We must meet again. See, I’ll wait for you down here to-morrow!”

She was drawing herself from him; she suddenly clung to him again with a passionate closeness. “We may not meet again for a long time. I don’t know—I don’t know. But anyhow we’ll always be friends after this, won’t we? Always—always—friends! You don’t forget your friends?”

“I’ll never forget you, anyway,” said Rory.

“Nor I you,” said Charmaine, with a sob. “Good-bye! Good-bye!”

She kissed him again and freed herself from him. He let her go because of the urgency of her haste. But when she was gone he nearly sprang to follow her, checking himself only with the reflection that of course they would meet again. They were bound to do so. It was absurd to make a fuss.

Yet the memory of their parting left a gloom in his mind which all his cheery philosophy did not avail to dispel. He went back to Glasmore with a strange heaviness at his heart.