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The Firing Line, a novel by Robert W. Chambers |
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Chapter 29. Calypso's Gift |
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_ CHAPTER XXIX. CALYPSO'S GIFT Two days later as his pretty aunt stood in her chamber shaking out the chestnut masses of her hair before her mirror, an impatient rapping at the living-room door sent her maid flying. "That's Garry," said Constance calmly, belting in her chamber-robe of silk and twisting up her hair into one heavy lustrous knot. A moment later they had exchanged salutes and, holding both his hands in hers, she stood looking at him, golden brown eyes very tender, cheeks becomingly pink. "That miserable train is early; it happens once in a century. I meant to meet you, dear." "Wayward met me at the station," he said. There was a silence; under his curious and significant gaze she flushed, then laughed. "Wayward said that you had something to tell me," he added.... "Constance, is it--" "Yes." "You darling!" he whispered, taking her into his arms. And she laid her face on his shoulder, crying a little, laughing a little. "After all these years, Garry--all these years! It is a long time to--to care for a man--a long, long time.... But there never was any other--not even through that dreadful period--" "I know." "Yes, you know.... I have cared for him since I was a little girl." They stood a while talking tenderly, intimately of her new happiness and of the new man, Wayward. Both knew that he must bear his scars for ever, that youth had died in him. But they were very confident and happy standing there together in the sunlight which poured into the room, transfiguring her. And she truly seemed as lovely, radiant, and youthful as her own young heart, unsullied, innocent, now, as when it yielded its first love so long ago amid the rosewood and brocades of the old-time parlour where the sun fell across the faded roses of the carpet. "I knew it was so from the way he shook hands," said Hamil, smiling. "How well he looks, Constance! And as for you--you are a real beauty!" "You _don't_ think so! But say it, Garry.... And now I think I had better retire and complete this unceremonious toilet.... And you may stroll over to pay your respects to Mrs. Cardross in the meanwhile if you choose." He looked at her gravely. She nodded. "They all know you are due to-day." "Shiela?" "Yes.... Be careful, Garry; she is very young after all.... I think--if I were you--I would not even seem conscious that she had been ill--that anything had happened to interrupt your friendship. She is very sensitive, very deeply sensible of the dreadful mistake she made, and, somehow, I think she is a little afraid of you, as though you might possibly think less of her--Heaven knows what ideas the young conjure to worry themselves and those they care for!" She laughed, kissed him and bowed him out; and he went away to bathe and change into cool clothing of white serge. Later as he passed through the gardens, a white oleander blossom fell, and he picked it up and drew it through his coat. Shadows of palm and palmetto stretched westward across the white shell road, striping his path; early sunlight crinkled the lagoon; the little wild ducks steered fearlessly inshore, peering up at him with bright golden-irised eyes; mullet jumped heavily, tumbling back into the water with splashes that echoed through the morning stillness. The stained bronze cannon still poked their ancient and flaring muzzles out over the lake; farther along crimson hibiscus blossoms blazed from every hedge; and above him the stately plumes of royal palms hung motionless, tufting the trunks, which rose with the shaft-like dignity of slender Egyptian pillars into a cloudless sky. On he went, along endless hedges of azalea and oleander, past thickets of Spanish-bayonet, under leaning cocoanut-palms; and at last the huge banyan-tree rose sprawling across the sky-line, and he saw the white facades and red-tiled roofs beyond. All around him now, as the air grew sweet with the breath of orange blossoms, a subtler scent, delicately persistent, came to him on the sea-wind; and he remembered it!--the lilac perfume of China-berry in bloom; Calypso's own immortal fragrance. And, in the brilliant sunshine, there under green trees with the dome of blue above, unbidden, the shadows of the past rose up; and once more lantern-lit faces crowded through the aromatic dark; once more the fountains' haze drifted across dim lawns; once more he caught the faint, uncertain rustle of her gown close to him as she passed like a fresh breath through the dusk. Overhead a little breeze became entangled in the palmetto fronds, setting them softly clashing together as though a million unseen elfin hands were welcoming his return; the big black-and-gold butterflies, beating up against the sudden air current, flapped back to their honeyed haven in the orange grove; bold, yellow-eyed grackle stared at him from the grass; a bird like a winged streak of flame flashed through the jungle and was gone. And now every breath he drew was quickening his pulses with the sense of home-coming; he saw the red-bellied woodpeckers sticking like shreds of checked gingham to the trees, turning their pointed heads incuriously as he passed; the welling notes of a wren bubbled upward through the sun-shot azure; high in the vault above an eagle was passing seaward, silver of tail and crest, winged with bronze; and everywhere on every side glittered the gold-and-saffron dragon-flies of the South like the play of sunbeams on a green lagoon. Under the sapodilla-trees on the lawn two aged, white-clad negro servants were gathering fruit forbidden them; and at sight of him two wrinkled black hands furtively wiped two furrowed faces free from incriminating evidence; two solemn pairs of eyes rolled piously in his direction. "Mohnin', suh, Mistuh Hamil." "Good morning, Jonas; good morning, Archimedes. Mr. Cardross is in the orange grove, I see." And, smiling, passed the guilty ones with a humorously threatening shake of his head. A black boy, grinning, opened the gate; the quick-stepping figure in white flannels glanced around at the click of the latch. "Hamil! Good work! I am glad to see you!"--his firm, sun-burnt hands closing over Hamil's--"glad all through!" "Not as glad as I am, Mr. Cardross--" "Yes, I am. Why didn't you come before? The weather has been heavenly; everybody wanted you--" "_Everybody_?" "Yes--yes, of course!... Well, look here, Hamil, I've no authority to discuss that matter; but her mother, I think, has made matters clear to her--concerning our personal wishes--ah--hum--is that what you're driving at?" "Yes.... May I ask her? I came here to ask her." "We all know that," said Cardross naively. "Your aunt is a very fine woman, Hamil.... I don't see why you shouldn't tell Shiela anything you want to. We all wish it." "Thank you," said the younger man. Their hand grip tightened and parted; shoulder to shoulder they swung into step across the lawn, Cardross planting his white-shod feet with habitual precision. His hair and moustache were very white in contrast to the ruddy sun-burnt skin; and he spoke of his altered appearance with one of his quick smiles. "They nearly had me in the panic, Hamil. The Shoshone weathered the scare by grace of God and my little daughter's generosity. And it came fast when it came; we were under bare poles, too, and I didn't expect any cordiality from the Clearing House; but, Hamil, they classed us with the old-liners, and they acted most decently. As for my little daughter--well--" And to his own and Hamil's embarrassment his clear eyes suddenly grew dim and he walked forward a step or two winking rapidly at the sky. Gray, bare of arm to the shoulder, booted and bare-headed, loped across the grass on his polo-pony, mallet at salute. Then he leaned down from his saddle and greeted Hamil with unspoiled enthusiasm. "Shiela is practising and wants you to come over when you can and see us knock the ball about. It's a rotten field, but you can't help that down here." And clapping his spurless heels to his pony he saluted and wheeled away through the hammock. On the terrace Mrs. Cardross took his hands in her tremulous and pudgy fingers. "Are you sure you are perfectly well, Garry? Don't you think it safer to begin at once with a mild dose of quinine and follow it every three hours with a--" "Amy, dear!" murmured her husband, "I am not dreaming of interfering, but I, personally, never saw a finer specimen of physical health than this boy you are preparing to--be good to--" "Neville, you know absolutely nothing sometimes," observed his wife serenely. Then looking up at the tall young man bending over her chair: "You won't need as much as you required when you rode into the swamps every day, but you don't mind my prescribing for you now and then, do you, Garry?" "I was going to ask you to do it," he said, looking at Cardross unblushingly. And at such perfidy the older man turned away with an unfeigned groan just as Cecile, tennis-bat in hand, came out from the hall, saw him, dropped the bat, and walked straight into his arms. "Cecile," observed her mother mildly. "But I wish to hug him, mother, and he doesn't mind." Her mother laughed; Hamil, a trifle red, received a straightforward salute square on the mouth. "That," she said with calm conviction, "is the most proper and fitting thing you and I have ever done. Mother, you know it is." And passing her arm through Hamil's: "Last night," she said under her breath, "I went into Shiela's room to say good-night, and--and we both began to cry a little. It was as though I were giving up my controlling ownership in a dear and familiar possession; we did not speak of you--I don't remember that we spoke at all from the time I entered her room to the time I left--which was fearfully late. But I knew that I was giving up some vague proprietary right in her--that, to-day, that right would pass to another.... And, if I kissed you, Garry, it was in recognition of the passing of that right to you--and happy acquiescence in it, dear--believe me! happy, confident renunciation and gratitude for what must be." They had walked together to the southern end of the terrace; below stretched the splendid forest vista set with pool and fountain; under the parapet, in the new garden, red and white roses bloomed, and on the surface of spray-dimmed basins the jagged crimson reflections of goldfish dappled every unquiet pool. "Where is the new polo field?" he asked. She pointed out an unfamiliar path curving west from the tennis-courts, nodded, smiled, returning the pressure of his hand, and stood watching him from the parapet until he vanished in the shadow of the trees. The path was a new one to him, cut during the summer. For a quarter of a mile it wound through the virgin hammock, suddenly emerging into a sunny clearing where an old orange grove grown up with tangles of brier and vine had partly given place to the advance of the jungle. Something glimmered over there among the trees--a girl, coated and skirted in snowy white, sitting a pony, and leisurely picking and eating the great black mulberries that weighted the branches so that they bent almost to the breaking. She saw him from a distance, turned in her saddle, lifting her polo-mallet in recognition; and as he came, pushing his way across the clearing, almost shoulder-deep through weeds, from which the silver-spotted butterflies rose in clouds, she stripped off one stained glove, and held out her hand to him. "You were so long in coming," she managed to say, calmly, "I thought I'd ride part way back to meet you; and fell a victim to these mulberries. Tempted and fell, you see.... Are you well? It is nice to see you." And as he still retained her slim white hand in both of his: "What do you think of my new pony?" she asked, forcing a smile. "He's teaching me the real game.... I left the others when Gray came up; Cuyp, Phil Gatewood, and some other men are practising. You'll play to-morrow, won't you? It's such a splendid game." She was talking at random, now, as though the sound of her own voice were sustaining her with its nervous informality; and she chattered on in feverish animation, bridging every threatened silence with gay inconsequences. "You play polo, of course? Tell me you do." "You know perfectly well I don't--" "But you'll try if I ask you?" He still held her hand imprisoned--that fragrant, listless little hand, so lifeless, nerveless, unresponsive--as though it were no longer a part of her and she had forgotten it. "I'll do anything you wish," he said slowly. "Then _don't_ eat any of these mulberries until you are acclimated. I'm sorry; they are so delicious. But I won't eat any more, either." "Nonsense," he said, bending down a heavily laden bough for her. "Eat! daughter of Eve! This fruit is highly recommended." "Oh, Garry! I'm not such a pig as that!... Well, then; if you make me do it--" She lifted her face among the tender leaves, detached a luscious berry with her lips, absorbed it reflectively, and shook her head with decision. The shadow of constraint was fast slipping from them both. "You know you enjoy it," he insisted, laughing naturally. "No, I don't enjoy it at all," she retorted indignantly. "I'll not taste another until you are ready to do your part.... I've forgotten, Garry; did the serpent eat the fruit he recommended?" "He was too wise, not being acclimated in Eden." She turned in her saddle, laughing, and sat looking down at him--then, more gravely, at her ungloved hand which he still retained in both of his. Silence fell, and found them ready for it. For a long while they said nothing; she slipped one leg over the pommel and sat sideways, elbow on knee, chin propped in her gloved hand. At times her eyes wandered over the sunny clearing, but always reverted to him where he stood leaning against her stirrup and looking up at her as though he never could look enough. The faint, fresh perfume of China-berry was in the air, delicately persistent amid the heavy odours from tufts of orange flowers clinging to worn-out trees of the abandoned grove. "Your own fragrance," he said. She looked down at him, dreamily. He bent and touched with his face the hand he held imprisoned. "There was once," he said, "among the immortals a maid, Calypso.... Do you remember?" "Yes," she said slowly. "I have not forgotten my only title to immortality." Their gaze met; then he stepped closer. She raised both arms, crossing them to cover her eyes; his arms circled her, lifted her from the saddle, holding her a moment above the earth, free, glorious, superb in her vivid beauty; then he swung her to the ground, holding her embraced; and as she abandoned to him, one by one, her hands and mouth and throat, her gaze never left him--clear, unfaltering eyes of a child innocent enough to look on passion unafraid--fearless, confident eyes, wondering, worshipping in unison with the deepening adoration in his. "I love you so," she said, "I love you so for making me what I am. I can be all that you could wish for if you only say it--" She smiled, unconvinced at his tender protest, wise, sweet eyes on his. "What a boy you are, sometimes!--as though I did not know myself! Dear, it is for you to say what I shall be. I am capable of being what you think I am. Don't you know it, Garry? It is only--" She felt a cool, thin pressure on her finger, and glanced down at the ring sparkling white fire. She lifted her hand, doubling it; looked at the gem for a moment, laid it against her mouth. Then, with dimmed eyes: "Your love, your name, your ring for this nameless girl? And I--what can I give for a bridal gift?" "What sweet nonsense--" "What can I give, Garry? Don't laugh--" "Calypso, dear--" "Yes--Calypso's offer!--immortal love--endless, deathless. It is all I have to give you, Garry.... Will you take it?... Take it, then." And, locked in his embrace, she lifted her lips to his. [THE END] _ |
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