CHAPTER XXI.
I AM YOURS.
"I knew thee strong and quiet--like the hills; I knew thee apt to pity, brave to endure." --R. L. S.
Paul Wyndham's hopes were on the ascendant at last. After a full yearof waiting, he saw himself drawing steadily nearer to his hour ofreward.
He studied Honor Meredith as a man only studies that on which hislife's happiness depends; and during the past few weeks he had becomeaware of a mysterious change in the girl's bearing. Her beauty--whichhad seemed to him so complete--was now unmistakably enhanced by sometransformation within. Her whole nature seemed to have become morehighly sensitised. Her colour came and went upon the leastprovocation; her frank friendliness was veiled by a shy reserve, thathad in it no hint of coldness; and, more significant than all, hereyes no longer met his own with that disconcerting directness of gazewhich had sealed his lips when they were upon the verge of speech.
For all his modesty, Wyndham could not fail to interpret these signsaccording to his heart's desire; and when, on the night of Evelyn'saccident, Honor promised him an early ride, prefaced by _chotahazri_[26] in the verandah, he told himself that he need wait nolonger--that the great moment of his life had come at last.
[26] Early breakfast.
On the stroke of seven he mounted the verandah steps. A camp table,set with fruit, freshly made toast, and a tea-tray, awaited him in ashadowed corner. Two thick bamboo blinds, let down between the widearches, converted that end of the verandah into a room, its low-tonedcoolness broken only by an arrow of sunlight, shooting through a gapin one of the blinds, like a streak of powdered gold. Wyndham's eyeslingered approvingly on every detail of the homely scene; and hecaught himself wondering what his sensations would be half an hourhence; what words he should speak to her when the dreaded, longed-formoment arrived.
A light footstep reached his ears; and he turned sharply round to findher standing in the open doorway.
She did not come forward at once, nor did she speak. For the man'sface was transfigured. She beheld, in that instant, his unveiled heartand spirit--foresaw the ordeal that awaited her.
Noting her hesitation, he came forward with unconcealed eagerness.
"Good morning," she murmured mechanically. There seemed nothing elsethat could be said.
Then a wave of colour surged into her face; for he kept the hand shegave him, and drew her towards the privacy of the tea-table. She wouldhave sacrificed much at that moment for the power to speak to preventthe pain she was bound to inflict; but her heart seemed to be beatingin her throat; and she endured, as best she might, the controlledintensity of his look and tone.
"You know--surely you know what I find it so hard to say--I loveyou,--Honor, with all there is of me. I want you--God knows how I wantyou! And--you----?"
He bent his head to receive the answer that need not be spoken inwords. But all vestige of colour was gone from her face, and theunsteadiness of her beautiful mouth cut him to the heart.
"Oh, forgive me!" she pleaded. "I have been thoughtless,selfish,--blind. But you seemed so entirely my friend--I did notguess. I would have given the world to have spared you--_this_."
He straightened himself like a man under the lash; but he did notrelinquish her hand.
"I can't let you reproach yourself," he said quietly, "because Imisunderstood signs that seemed to tell me your heart was awake atlast. But now--now you know how it is with me, at least you will letme hope----?"
"I wish I might," she answered, so low that he could scarcely hear."But--it's impossible!"
"Am I so entirely unworthy--unlovable?"
"No, oh no. It is not that."
"D'you mean--I was not mistaken. Is there--any one else?"
"Yes."
It was impossible to lie to him, and the blood rushed back into herface at the confession.
"Is he _here_?" Paul demanded, with sudden energy.
"You mustn't ask any questions about--him--about it, please."
"Only this one. Shall you--marry him?"
"No. Never."
Sheer incredulity held him silent; and when he spoke there wasrebellion in his tone.
"Your life and my own are to remain broken, unfulfilled, becauseof--this incomprehensible thing?"
"There is nothing else possible."
He relinquished her hand at that, giving it back to her, as it were,with a quiet finality of renunciation that shattered her self-control.She sank into a chair and hid her face in a vain attempt to concealthe tears that came in spite of herself.
He stood beside her for several seconds in a heart-broken silence;then gently touched her arm.
"Honor--Honor, is it really so impossible--as you think? I tell youplainly I can't understand----"
She uncovered her face and looked up at him.
"Can any one ever understand--this sort of thing? Isn't it a forceoutside the control of reason, of even the strongest will?"
"You are right," he answered gravely; and sitting down leaned towardsher, his elbows on the table. "But there remains the fact that soonerthan lose you outright, I am willing to marry you--on any terms. Ifyou have no hope for yourself, could you not bring yourself topartially fulfil mine? Will you--in mercy to me--reconsider yourdecision?"
She looked up quickly with parted lips; but his raised hand enjoinedsilence.
"My suggestion deserves thinking over for a few minutes, if no longer.And in the meanwhile--" he smiled with a touch of his old humorousresignation to things in general--"we might do worse than have some_chota hazri_. What a brute I was to upset you before you had had amorsel to eat!"
She shook her head, with a faint reflection of his smile.
"I don't want anything to eat."
"Oh yes, you do! I suppose I must set you an example of common-sensebehaviour."
He peeled two bananas with deliberate care, and set one on her plate.Then he lifted the cosy.
"That tea must be strong by this time; but the water's hot, and youcan doctor it with that. Now--begin."
He himself began upon his banana, and she glanced at him inastonishment, not untinged with admiration, at his effortlesstransition from controlled passion to the commonplaces of everydaylife. They got through the short meal after a fashion; and both weredevoutly thankful when the demands of common-sense had been fulfilled.
Wyndham rose, and lit a cigarette.
"Now, I'll leave you to yourself for five minutes," he announced. "Itis getting late. But before we go for our ride this matter must besettled once for all." He laid both hands on the table and lookedsteadily into her face. "You are the most just-minded woman I know.Look all round the question before you decide. Try to realise a littlewhat it will mean for me to give up all hope. In losing you, I loseeverything. There can be no question of any one else for me. Take meor--leave me, I am _yours_ for the rest of my life."
He turned away to save her from the necessity of answering, and walkedto the far end of the verandah, leaving her alone with the strongesttemptation she had yet experienced--the temptation to trample on herown imperious love, and to accept this man's selfless devotion in thehope that it might one day conquer and monopolise her heart.
Had marriage with Wyndham entailed immediate removal from theatmosphere of Theo Desmond, hesitancy might have ended incapitulation. But life-long intimacy with him, as the wife of hisclosest friend, was unthinkable for a moment; and if by the wildestpossibility Paul should ever suspect the truth----!
She shuddered and glanced in his direction.
"Major Wyndham," she said softly.
He hastened back to her at once. But one look at her face sufficed.The eagerness faded from his eyes, leaving them cold as a winter skyafter sunset.
"It was wrong of me to keep you in suspense even for a few minutes,"she said, her gaze riveted on the table. "Please forgive me that I amdriven to hurt you so, and please believe that I do realise what I amlosing----"
"The loss is--not yours," he sai
d on a note of restrained quietness:and in the stillness that ensued, the impatient horses could be heardchamping their bits.
He sank into his chair with a gesture of unfeigned weariness; and sheglanced at his face. Its mingled pain and patience pierced her heart.But when at last he spoke, his voice was natural and controlled.
"I have only one word more to say. I confess I have not the courage tolet you go altogether out of my life. Since nothing else is possible,will you at least accept me as your permanent and--devoted friend?"
She turned upon him in frank surprise.
"Do you mean that--really? _Can_ you do it? Men always say----"
He smiled a trifle bitterly.
"Do they? No doubt they are right--for themselves. But I know I havethe strength to accept what I ask, or I would not dare ask it. Youwon't refuse me that much, will you--Honor?"
"No, indeed, no," she answered, greatly moved. "I can deny you nothingthat I am not forced to deny you--Paul."
"Ah, there is no woman in the world to compare with you! Let me say itthis once, as I may never tell you so again."
He rose in speaking, braced his shoulders, and stood looking down uponher, a strangely glad light in his eyes.
"I have _not_ lost you, after all," he said.
She rose also, and gave him both her hands. "No. You have gainedme--for good. I--care now ever so much more than I did when I came outto you this morning."
"You _do_?"
"Yes--I do."
He drew her towards him. "Promise me this much," he said, "that if youshould ever find it possible to--marry me on any conditions--even thehardest--you will tell me so at once, because after this morning Ishall never open my lips on the subject again."
"I promise. Only--you must not let yourself hope."
He sighed. "Very well, I will shut out hope, since you command it. ButI shall still have love and faith to live upon. You cannot deprive meof those--Honor. Now shall we go for our ride? Or would you rather goin and rest after all this?"
"No. We will have our ride. I can rest later if I need it."
"Let me put you up then. Come."
And she came without a word.