Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ it is raining. Yorke takes the rug in both hands, and deftly wraps it round Leslie.

      "Oh, no, please," she says, and she glances behind her. "Give it to him – Mr. Temple."

      "It would be more than my life is worth," he says. "I dare not offer it to him. Please let me fasten it. How shall I? Give me a hairpin!"

      "You must hold the horses, then," she says.

      "I can see one sticking out," he says.

      "Well, take it," she responds, innocently and all unconsciously, for she is thinking of her driving far more than the rain or the rug or anything else.

      He looks at her intent and absorbed face, and puts up his hand and draws the hairpin from its soft and silken nest, and she, unheeding, does not know that his hand trembles, actually trembles, as he fastens the rug round her.

      "Now give me the reins," he says, "and keep your head down; we are in for a regular storm."

      As he speaks, the rain comes down with a whiz, as if it meant to wash them off the box.

      Leslie laughs.

      "After all, it is a proper picnic," she says.

      But the next instant her laugh dies away, for the heavens seem to open before them, a peal of thunder roars like the discharge of a park of artillery just above their heads, and the horses, startled and frightened, stop dead short, then rear up on end.

      The carriage sways, and for a moment it seems as if it were going over, and Leslie is forced up close against Yorke.

      He holds the terrified horses with one strong hand, against him.

      "All right," he says, in a low voice. "Don't be afraid, Leslie!" His arm holds her, supports her, presses her to him, perhaps unconsciously. "You are quite safe, dearest, dearest."

      Low as his voice is, Leslie hears him, or – she asks herself – is it only fancy?

      For a moment, one brief moment, she cowers, nestling to him, her face hidden against his shoulder; then with a start, she draws away, and with her face red and white by turns, looks straight before her.

      And through the roar of thunder, and the hissing of the rain, she hears those words re-echoing, "Leslie, dearest – dearest!"

      CHAPTER X.

      YORKE IN LOVE

      The great changes of our lives come suddenly. Swift as the lightning's flash is the revelation to Yorke that he loves the girl who sits beside him.

      Half-unconsciously he had uttered the words which are still ringing in her ears, but he knows that his heart has been saying "dearest" all day long.

      He knows now what that strange, peaceful happiness meant which made him feel as if he would be content to pass the rest of his life by her side in the hermit's cell.

      And he knows that this is no transient passion which will have its day, and pass, leaving not a wreck behind, as so many passions alas! have passed with him. To every one of the sons of men, it is said, comes once in his life, the great all-absorbing love which wipes out all others, and which shall make of all his days an endless misery or a surpassing happiness; and this love has come to Yorke.

      In an instant, as it were, it seems to have wrought a change in him. Gay, reckless, thoughtless, an hour ago, he is serious enough now.

      His heart is beating quickly, furiously; his strong hands tremble as he holds the terrified horses, and urges them on with whip and voice; and yet, though apparently engrossed with them, thinking more of the silent girl beside him.

      She is so silent! She scarcely seems to move, but sits, with the rug concealing her face, her head bent down.

      "What have I said?" he asks himself; in truth he scarcely knows. It is as if his heart had suddenly become the master of his voice and actions, and had made a helpless slave of him.

      If she would only speak! He longs past all description to hear her voice, even though it should be in anger and indignation; but she does not speak. He lifts his face to the sweeping rain and almost welcomes it. The storm is in harmony with the tempest of awakened passion which rages in his breast. He does not dare to speak to her, scarcely ventures to look her way, and he sits as silent as herself, while the horses dash along the streaming road and up the Portmaris street.

      "We might have come by boat, there is water enough," says the duke, dryly. "Miss Lisle, I am afraid you are wet through. Pray get in at once, or you will catch cold."

      She stands up on the box, and Yorke goes to unfasten the wrap, but she is too quick for him, and, taking out the hairpin, lets the rug fall, and stands before his eyes, her slim, graceful figure swayed a little away from him as if she did not want him to touch her.

      He gets down, and offers her his hand, but she springs from the box lightly, stands a moment, then with a low-voiced "Good-night – and thank you," follows her father into the house.

      The duke looks after her.

      "The poor child is wet through and chilled," he says, sympathetically. "It's a pity you didn't think of a mackintosh, Yorke. What are you going to do with the rig and horses?"

      Yorke looks down at him as if he scarcely heard or understood, for a moment; then he says, absently, like a man only half recovered from a stunning blow:

      "The horses – oh, I'll find a place for them."

      "You might take them to the station, your grace; they could put them up there in the good stable," suggests Grey.

      "Yes, yes; and look sharp," says the duke. "We'll have some dinner by the time you are back. Will you have a glass of whisky and water before you go?"

      But Yorke shakes his head almost impatiently.

      "I'm all right," he says, curtly, and he drives off.

      He sees the horses made comfortable in the stable at the station, and helps to rub them down and litter them; then he turns back.

      But at the top of the street he pauses. He cannot face the duke just yet. There is that in his face, in his voice, he knows, which will reveal his secret.

      He turns off to the right, and makes his way along a little used road toward the sea.

      He is wet through, but he does not notice it; he scarcely knows where he is going until he stands on the edge of the sea.

      "I love her!" he murmurs. "Yes, I love her. There is no woman in all the world like her! So good, so gentle, so beautiful."

      He thinks of all the girls he has seen, talked with, danced with, and flirted with; but there is none like Leslie.

      "I am a lost man if I do not get her!" he says to himself. "And how can I get her?" He groans, and pushes his hat off his brow, that is hot and burning. "She cares nothing for me; why should she? If I was to ask her to be my wife – my wife! How can I?" And he shudders as if some black thought had swept down upon him, and crushed the hope out of him. "How can I? Oh, what a mad, senseless fool I have been! How we chuck our lives away to find out, when it is too late, what it is we've lost. If I had met her a year ago – ." He breaks off, and sighs, as he tramps up and down in the rain. "If I could only wipe out that year! But I can't, I can't, though I'd give ten years of the СКАЧАТЬ