The Essential Winston Churchill Collection. Winston Churchill

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СКАЧАТЬ out in the light fairly between the gate posts. Too late she saw the horse rear as the rider flew back in his seat, for she had seized the bridle. The beams from the lamp fell upon a Revolutionary horseman, with cooked hat and sword and high riding-boots. For her his profile was in silhouette, and the bold nose and chin belonged to but one man she knew. He was Stephen Brice. She gave a cry of astonishment and dropped the rein in dismay. Hot shame was surging in her face. Her impulse was to fly, nor could she tell what force that stayed her feet.

      As for Stephen, he stood high in his stirrups and stared down at the girl. She was standing full in the light,--her lashes fallen, her face crimson. But no sound of surprise escaped him because it was she, nor did he wonder at her gown of a gone-by century. Her words came first, and they were low. She did not address him by name.

      "I--I thought that you were my cousin," she said. "What must you think of me!"

      Stephen was calm.

      "I expected it," he answered.

      She gave a step backward, and raised her frightened eyes to his.

      "You expected it?" she faltered.

      "I can't say why," he said quickly, "but it seems to me as if this had happened before. I know that I am talking nonsense--"

      Virginia was trembling now. And her answer was not of her own choosing.

      "It has happened before," she cried. "But where? And when?"

      "It may have been in a dream," he answered her, "that I saw you as you stand there by my bridle. I even know the gown you wear."

      She put her hand to her forehead. Had it been a dream? And what mystery was it that sent him here this night of all nights? She could not even have said that it was her own voice making reply.

      "And I--I have seen you, with the sword, and the powdered hair, and the blue coat and the buff waistcoat. It is a buff waistcoat like that my great-grandfather wears in his pictures."

      "It is a buff waistcoat," he said, all sense of strangeness gone.

      The roses she held dropped on the gravel, and she put out her hand against his horse's flank. In an instant he had leaped from his saddle, and his arm was holding her. She did not resist, marvelling rather at his own steadiness, nor did she then resent a tenderness in his voice.

      "I hope you will forgive me--Virginia," he said. "I should not have mentioned this. And yet I could not help it."

      She looked up at him rather wildly.

      "It was I who stopped you," she said; "I was waiting for--"

      "For whom?"

      The interruption brought remembrance.

      "For my cousin, Mr. Colfax," she answered, in another tone. And as she spoke she drew away from him, up the driveway. But she had scarcely taken five steps whey she turned again, her face burning defiance. "They told me you were not coming," she said almost fiercely. "Why did you come?"

      It was a mad joy that Stephen felt.

      "You did not wish me to come?" he demanded.

      "Oh, why do you ask that?" she cried. "You know I would not have been here had I thought you were coming. Anne promised me that you would not come."

      What would she not have given for those words back again

      Stephen took astride toward her, and to the girl that stride betokened a thousand things that went to the man's character. Within its compass the comparison in her mind was all complete. He was master of himself when he spoke.

      "You dislike me, Miss Carvel," he said steadily. "I do not blame you. Nor do I flatter myself that it is only because you believe one thing, and I another. But I assure you that it is my misfortune rather than my fault that I have not pleased you,--that I have met you only to anger you."

      He paused, for she did not seem to hear him. She was gazing at the distant lights moving on the river. Had he come one step farther?--but he did not. Presently she knew that he was speaking again, in the same measured tone.

      "Had Miss Brinsmade told me that my presence here would cause you annoyance, I should have stayed away. I hope that you will think nothing of the--the mistake at the gate. You may be sure that I shall not mention it. Good night, Miss Carvel."

      He lifted his hat, mounted his horse, and was gone. She had not even known that he could ride--that was strangely the first thought. The second discovered herself intent upon the rhythm of his canter as it died southward upon the road. There was shame in this, mingled with a thankfulness that he would not meet Clarence. She hurried a few steps toward the house, and stopped again. What should she say to Clarence now? What could she say to him?

      But Clarence was not in her head. Ringing there was her talk with Stephen Brice, as though it were still rapidly going on. His questions and her replies--over and over again. Each trivial incident of an encounter real and yet unreal! His transformation in the uniform, which had seemed so natural. Though she strove to make it so, nothing of all this was unbearable now, nor the remembrance of the firm torch of his arm about her nor yet again his calling her by her name.

      Absently she took her way again up the drive, now pausing, now going on, forgetful. First it was alarm she felt when her cousin leaped down at her side,--then dread.

      "I thought I should never get back," he cried breathlessly, as he threw his reins to Sambo. "I ought not to have asked you to wait outside. Did it seem long, Jinny?"

      She answered something, There was a seat near by under the trees. To lead her to it he seized her hand, but it was limp and cold, and a sudden fear came into his voice.

      "Jinny!"

      "Yes."

      She resisted, and he dropped her fingers. She remembered long how he stood in the scattered light from the bright windows, a tall, black figure of dismay. She felt the yearning in his eyes. But her own response, warm half an hour since, was lifeless.

      "Jinny," he said, "what is the matter?"

      "Nothing, Max. Only I was very foolish to say I would wait for you."

      "Then--then you won't marry me?"

      "Oh, Max," she cried, "it is no time to talk of that now. I feel to-night as if something dreadful were to happen."

      "Do you mean war?" he asked.

      "Yes," she said. "Yes."

      "But war is what we want," he cried, "what we have prayed for, what we have both been longing for to-night, Jinny. War alone will give us СКАЧАТЬ