.

Чтение книги онлайн.

      “I understand,” she said. “Only, Nollie, suppose, when all this is over, and we breathe and live naturally once more, you found you’d made a mistake?”

      Noel shook her head. “I haven’t.”

      “We all think that, my dear; but thousands of mistakes are made by people who no more dream they’re making them than you do now; and then it’s a very horrible business. It would be especially horrible for you; your father believes heart and soul in marriage being for ever.”

      “Daddy’s a darling; but I don’t always believe what he believes, you know. Besides, I’m not making a mistake, Auntie! I love Cyril ever so.”

      Thirza gave her waist a squeeze.

      “You mustn’t make a mistake. We love you too much, Nollie. I wish we had Gratian here.”

      “Gratian would back me up,” said Noel; “she knows what the war is. And you ought to, Auntie. If Rex or Harry wanted to be married, I’m sure you’d never oppose them. And they’re no older than Cyril. You must understand what it means to me Auntie dear, to feel that we belong to each other properly before – before it all begins for him, and – and there may be no more. Daddy doesn’t realise. I know he’s awfully good, but – he’s forgotten.”

      “My dear, I think he remembers only too well. He was desperately attached to your mother.”

      Noel clenched her hands.

      “Was he? Well, so am I to Cyril, and he to me. We wouldn’t be unreasonable if it wasn’t – wasn’t necessary. Talk, to Cyril, Auntie; then you’ll understand. There he is; only, don’t keep him long, because I want him. Oh! Auntie; I want him so badly!”

      She turned; and slipped back into the house; and Thirza, conscious of having been decoyed to this young man, who stood there with his arms folded, like Napoleon before a battle, smiled and said:

      “Well, Cyril, so you’ve betrayed me!”

      Even in speaking she was conscious of the really momentous change in this sunburnt, blue-eyed, lazily impudent youth since the day he arrived, three weeks ago, in their little wagonette. He took her arm, just as Noel had, and made her sit down beside him on the rustic bench, where he had evidently been told to wait.

      “You see, Mrs. Pierson,” he said, “it’s not as if Noel were an ordinary girl in an ordinary time, is it? Noel is the sort of girl one would knock one’s brains out for; and to send me out there knowing that I could have been married to her and wasn’t, will take all the heart out of me. Of course I mean to come back, but chaps do get knocked over, and I think it’s cruel that we can’t take what we can while we can. Besides, I’ve got money; and that would be hers anyway. So, do be a darling, won’t you?” He put his arm round her waist, just as if he had been her son, and her heart, which wanted her own boys so badly, felt warmed within her.

      “You see, I don’t know Mr. Pierson, but he seems awfully gentle and jolly, and if he could see into me he wouldn’t mind, I know. We don’t mind risking our lives and all that, but we do think we ought to have the run of them while we’re alive. I’ll give him my dying oath or anything, that I could never change towards Noel, and she’ll do the same. Oh! Mrs. Pierson, do be a jolly brick, and put in a word for me, quick! We’ve got so few days!”

      “But, my dear boy,” said Thirza feebly, “do you think it’s fair to such a child as Noel?”

      “Yes, I do. You don’t understand; she’s simply had to grow up. She is grown-up – all in this week; she’s quite as old as I am, really – and I’m twenty-two. And you know it’s going to be – it’s got to be – a young world, from now on; people will begin doing things much earlier. What’s the use of pretending it’s like what it was, and being cautious, and all that? If I’m going to be killed, I think we’ve got a right to be married first; and if I’m not, then what does it matter?”

      “You’ve known each other twenty-one days, Cyril.”

      “No; twenty-one years! Every day’s a year when – Oh! Mrs. Pierson, this isn’t like you, is it? You never go to meet trouble, do you?”

      At that shrewd remark, Thirza put her hand on the hand which still clasped her waist, and pressed it closer.

      “Well, my dear,” she said softly, “we must see what can be done.”

      Cyril Morland kissed her cheek. “I will bless you for ever,” he said. “I haven’t got any people, you know, except my two sisters.”

      And something like tears started up on Thirza’s eyelashes. They seemed to her like the babes in the wood – those two!

      IV

      1

      In the dining-room of her father’s house in that old London Square between East and West, Gratian Laird, in the outdoor garb of a nurse, was writing a telegram: “Reverend Edward Pierson, Kestrel, Tintern, Monmouthshire. George terribly ill. Please come if you can. Gratian.” Giving it to a maid, she took off her long coat and sat down for a moment. She had been travelling all night, after a full day’s work, and had only just arrived, to find her husband between life and death. She was very different from Noel; not quite so tall, but of a stronger build; with dark chestnut-coloured hair, clear hazel eyes, and a broad brow. The expression of her face was earnest, with a sort of constant spiritual enquiry; and a singularly truthful look: She was just twenty; and of the year that she had been married, had only spent six weeks with her husband; they had not even a house of their own as yet. After resting five minutes, she passed her hand vigorously over her face, threw back her head, and walked up stairs to the room where he lay. He was not conscious, and there was nothing to be done but sit and watch him.

      ‘If he dies,’ she thought, ‘I shall hate God for His cruelty. I have had six weeks with George; some people have sixty years.’ She fixed her eyes on his face, short and broad, with bumps of “observation” on the brows. He had been sunburnt. The dark lashes of his closed eyes lay on deathly yellow cheeks; his thick hair grew rather low on his broad forehead. The lips were just open and showed strong white teeth. He had a little clipped moustache, and hair had grown on his clean-cut jaw. His pyjama jacket had fallen open. Gratian drew it close. It was curiously still, for a London day, though the window was wide open. Anything to break this heavy stupor, which was not only George’s, but her own, and the very world’s! The cruelty of it – when she might be going to lose him for ever, in a few hours or days! She thought of their last parting. It had not been very loving, had come too soon after one of those arguments they were inclined to have, in which they could not as yet disagree with suavity. George had said there was no future life for the individual; she had maintained there was. They had grown hot and impatient. Even in the cab on the way to his train they had pursued the wretched discussion, and the last kiss had been from lips on lips yet warm from disagreement.

      Ever since, as if in compunction, she had been wavering towards his point of view; and now, when he was perhaps to solve the problem – find out for certain – she had come to feel that if he died, she would never see him after. It was cruel that such a blight should have come on her belief at this, of all moments.

      She laid her hand on his. It was warm, felt strong, although so motionless and helpless. George was so vigorous, so alive, and strong-willed; it seemed impossible that life might be going to play him false. She recalled the unflinching look of his steel-bright eyes, his deep, queerly vibrating voice, which had no trace of self-consciousness or pretence. She slipped her hand on СКАЧАТЬ