XXIX
ASTHORE
The sun hung low over Northbrook hills as Barres turned his touringcar in between the high, white service gates of Foreland Farms, swungaround the oval and backed into the garage.
Barres senior, very trim in tweeds, the web-straps of a creel and afly-book wallet crossing his breast, glanced up from his absorbingoccupation of preparing evening casts on a twelve-foot, taperedmist-leader.
"Hello," he said absently, glancing from his son to Westmore throughhis monocle, "where have you been keeping yourselves all day?"
"I'll tell you all about it later, dad," said Garry, emerging from thegarage with Westmore. "Where is mother?"
"In the kennels, I believe.... What do you think of this cast, Jim?--awhirling dun for a dropper, a hare's ear for a----" He checkedhimself; glanced doubtfully at the two young men.
"You're somewhat muddy," he remarked; and continued to explore hisfly-book for new combinations.
Westmore, very weary, started for the house; Garry walked across tothe kennel gate, let himself in among a dozen segregated and verydemonstrative English setters, walked along the tree-bordered alleybehind the garage, and, shutting out the affectionate but quarantineddogs, entered the kennels.
His mother, in smock and apron, and wearing rubber gloves, was seatedon the edge of a straw-littered bunk, a bottle in one hand, amedicine-dropper in the other. Her four-footed patient, swathed inblankets, lay on the straw beside her.
"Well, dear," she said, looking up at her son, "where have you beenall night, and most of to-day?"
"I'll tell you about it later, mother. There's something else I wantto ask you----" He fell silent, watching her measure out fourteendrops of Grover's Specific for distemper.
"I'm listening, Garry," she said, bending over the sick pup and gentlyforcing open his feverish jaws. Then she dropped her medicine far backon his tongue; the pup gulped, sneezed, looked at her out of dull eyesand feebly wagged his tail.
"I'm going to pull him through, Garry," she said. "The other pups aredoing well, too. But your sister and I were up with them all night. Ionly hope and pray that the distemper doesn't spread."
She looked up at her son:
"Well, dear, what is it you have to ask me?"
"Mother, do you like Dulcie Soane?"
"I scarcely know her yet.... She's very sweet--very young----"
"Do you like her?"
"Why--yes----" She looked intently at her tall, unsmiling son. "But Idon't even know who she is, Garry."
Her son bent down beside her and put one arm around her shoulder. Shesat quite motionless with the bottle of Grover's Specific in onerubber-gloved hand, the medicine dropper poised in the other.
He said:
"Dulcie's name is Fane, not Soane. Her grandfather was Sir BarryFane, of Fane Court--an Irishman. His daughter, Eileen, was Dulcie'smother.... Her father--is dead--I believe."
"But--this explains nothing, Garry."
"Is it not explanation enough, mother?"
"Is it enough for you, my son?"
"Yes."
Her head slowly drooped. She sat gazing in silence at the straw-litteredfloor.
He looked earnestly, anxiously at his mother's face. Her broodingexpression remained tranquil but inscrutable.
He said, watching her intently:
"I wasn't sure about myself until last night. I don't know aboutDulcie, whether she can care for me--in this new way.... We werefriends. But I am in love with her now.... Deeply."
It was one of the moments in his career which remain fixed forever ina young man's memory.
In a mother's memory, too. Whatever she says and does then, he neverforgets. She, too, remembers always.
He stood leaning over her in the dim light of the kennel, one armaround her shoulders, waiting. And presently she lifted her head,looked him quietly in the eyes, bent forward very gently, and kissedhim.
* * * * *
Dulcie was not in the house, nor was Thessalie.
Barres and Westmore exchanged conversation between their open doorswhile bathing and dressing.
"You know, Garry," admitted the latter, "I feel all shaken up, yet,over that ghastly business."
"So do I.... If they hadn't died so gamely.... But Skeel was a_man_!"
"You bet he was, crazy or sane!... What a pity!... And that poordevil, Soane! Did you hear them cheering there, at the last? And whatsuperb nerve--breaking out that green flag!"
"And think of their opening on that big patrol boat! They hadn't achance."
"They had no chance anyway," said Westmore. "It meant execution ifthey surrendered--at least, they probably thought so. But how do yousuppose that cowardly strangler, Ferez, felt when he realised thatSkeel was going to fight?"
"He certainly got what was coming to him, didn't he?" said Barresgrimly. "You'll tell Thessa, won't you?"
"As soon as I can find her," nodded Westmore, giving his fresh bow-tiea most killing twist.
He was ready before Barres was, and he lost no time in starting out tofind Thessalie.
Barres, following him later, discovered him on the library lounge withThessalie's fair cheek resting against his.
"I'm s-sorry!" he stammered, backing out, and very conscious ofWestmore's unconcealed annoyance. But Thessalie called to him in aperfectly calm voice, and he ventured to come back.
"Are you going to tell Dulcie about this horrible affair?" she asked.
"Not immediately.... Are you feeling all right, Thessa?"
"Yes. I had a horrid night. Isn't it odd how a girl can so completelylose her nerve after a thing is all over?"
"That's the best time to lose it," said Westmore. And to Barres:"She's bruised from head to foot and her neck hurts yet----"
"It is nothing," murmured Thessalie, looking smilingly at her lover.Then they both glanced at Barres.
There was a silence. Side by side on the library lounge they continuedto gaze expectantly at Barres. And when he got it into his head thatthis polite expectancy might express their desire for his earlydeparture, he backed out again, embarrassed and slightly irritated.
Thessalie called to him very sweetly:
"If you are looking for Dulcie, I left her a few minutes ago over bythe wall-fountain in the rose arbour."
"Thanks," he said, and turned back through the hall, traversing it tothe north veranda.
There was no sign of Dulcie in the garden or on the lawn. He walkedslowly across the clipped grass, beyond the pool, and, turning to theright past a sun-dial, stepped into the long rose-arbour. At thefurther end of the blossoming tunnel he saw her seated on the low wallin the rear of the tea-house. Her head was turned toward the woodsbeyond.
When he was near her she heard him and looked around, was on the pointof rising, but something in his expression held her motionless.
"Where have you been, Garry?"
He ignored the question, seated himself beside her on the wall, anddrew both her hands into his. He saw the swift colour stain her face,the lovely, disconcerted eyes lower.
"Last night," he said, "did you come back as you promised?"
"Yes."
"And you found me gone."
She nodded.
"What could you have thought of me, Dulcie?"
"I--my thoughts were--not very clear."
"Are they clearer?"
Her head remained lowered but she raised her grey eyes to his. Herface had become very still and white.
"Dulcie," he said under his breath, "I am in love with you.... Whatwill you do about it?"
And, after a little while:
"W-what shall I do, Garry?" she whispered.
"Love me. Can you?"
She remained silent.
"Will you?--Dulcie Fane!"
Her lips stirred, but no sound came.
"You are so wonderful," he said. "I am just realising that I began tofall in love with you a long time ago."
The declining sun sent a red shaft across th
e fields, painting everytree-trunk, gilding bramble and brake. A single ray touched the girl'swhite neck and turned her copper-tinted hair to burning gold.
"Do you love me? Can you love me, that way, Dulcie?"
She rose abruptly, and he rose too, retaining her hands; but as sheturned her head from him he saw her mouth quiver.
"Dearest--dearest!" But she interrupted him:
"I want to tell you--that I don't understand why I should be called bymy mother's maiden name.... I w-want you to know that I _don't_understand it ... if that would make a difference--in your c-caringfor me.... And I wish you to know that--that I love and worship hermemory--and that I am happy and proud--and _proud_--to bear hername."
"My darling----"
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Dulcie."
"And do you still want me?"
"You adorable child----"
"_Do_ you?"
"Of course I do----" He caught her in his arms, held her close, liftedher flushed face. "Now, tell me whether you can love _me_! Tell meeverything that's hidden in your mind and heart!"
"Oh, Garry," she faltered, "I do belong to you. I belong to youanyway, because you made me. And I've always been in love withyou--always!--always from the very beginning of the world, _Asthore_!And now--if you want me--this way--Garry _mo veel asthore_----" Herhands crept from his breast to his shoulders; stole up around hisneck. "Asthore," she murmured; and their lips met in their first kiss.Then she gravely turned her head and laid her cheek against his; andhe heard her murmuring to herself:
"_Drahareen o machree, mo veel asthore!_ This man--this man who takesmy heart--and gives me his...."
"What are you murmuring there all to yourself?" he whispered, laughingand drawing her closer. But she only clung to him passionately and herclosed lids kept back the starting tears.
"What is it, dear?" he asked.
"H-happiness," she whispered, "and pride, perhaps.... And my love foryou, Asthore!"
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