She gave a little gasp; then shut her lips tightly.

"Do you mean . . have you actually told him?" she murmured with averted eyes.

"Yes."

"And did he--is he----?"

"It's not for me to say." Desmond seemed equal to any amount of incoherence this morning. "You'll find out for yourself in no time."

"Oh dear!"

"Is it as dreadful as all that?"

"In some ways,--yes. It takes my breath away."

"Try and get it back before you go in to him," he counselled her kindly.

"And keep some sort of hold on yourself--for his sake. Don't trouble him about results, unless he broaches the subject. It we can keep clear of the worry element, just getting hold of you again may do him a power of good."

Then,--creature of moods and impulse that she was,--she turned on him spontaneously, both hands outflung.

"_Mon Dieu_, what a friend you have been to us both! Thank you a thousand times, for everything. I know you hate it. But if I kept it in any longer, I should burst!"

"Just as well you let it out, then," Desmond answered, laughing, and grasping the proffered hands. "I must be off now. Good luck to you, Quita. You're worthy of him."

For some minutes after he had gone Quita stood very still, trying to get her breath back, as he had suggested: a less simple affair than it seemed, on the face of it. For although she had taken the plunge, in an impulse of despair, a week ago, she had only grasped the outcome in all its bearings during the past three days, throughout which she had been acutely aware of Eldred's presence on the farther side of her barred and bolted door. He had told her plainly that, until he felt quite sure of himself, he dared not take her back. Yet now, by her own unconsidered act, she was forcing upon him, at the least, a public recognition of their marriage; an acknowledgment that might make further separation difficult, if not impossible, for the present. All her pride and independence of spirit revolted against this unvarnished statement of fact; and the memory of Michael's random remark heightened her nervous apprehension. Yet, on the other hand, Love--who is a born peace-maker--argued that, after all, he might not be sorry to have his hand forced by so clear a proof of all that she was ready to do and suffer on his behalf. An argument strongly reinforced by her original determination to overrule his scruples, and help him in the struggle that loomed ahead.

In this fashion Love and Pride tossed decision to and fro, as they have done in a hundred heart-histories; till common-sense stepped in with the reminder that Eldred was waiting; and that by now retreat was out of the question. The thought roused her to a more normal state of confidence and courage. Putting away palette and brushes, she covered up her canvas: and because, for all her artistry, she was very much a woman, went straightway--not to her husband's door--but to her own mirror! The vision that looked out at her was by no means discouraging: a demure vision, in a simple, unconventional gown of green linen, with a Puritan collar, and a wide white ribbon at the waist. A few superfluous touches to her hair, and equally superfluous tweaks to the bow of her ribbon belt, wrought some infinitesimal improvement in the picture, which no mere man, hungering for the sight and sound of her, would be the least likely to detect. Then half a dozen swift steps brought her to his door: the one that communicated with the dining-room.

It opened on to a curtain, about which there still clung a faint suggestion of carbolic.

"Eldred?" she said softly. And the voice she had last heard through the hiss of rain, and the crash of broken branches, answered: "Come in."

She pushed aside the curtain, and stood so, paralysed by a nervousness altogether new to her.

He lay on a Madeira lounge-chair, with pillows at his back. Every bone in his face, every line scored by the graving-tools of conflict and pain, showed cruelly distinct in the morning light. At sight of her, he tried to speak; but the muscles of his throat rebelled: and he simply held out his arms. Then, in one rush, she came to him: and as he laid hands on her, drawing her down on to a spare corner of his chair, she leaned forward and buried her face in the soft flannel of his coat.

Nothing but silence becomes the great moments of life; and for a long while he held her thus, without power or desire of speech. All his man's strength melted in him at the faint fragrance of her hair; at the exquisite yielding of her figure, as she lay palpitating against him; at the yet more exquisite a.s.surance that the love he had gained was a thing beyond estimation, a thing indestructible as the soul itself. For her very surrender was quick with the vitality that was her crowning charm.

And she, feeling the tremor that ran through him as he kissed the blue-veined hollow of her temple,--the only s.p.a.ce available--exulted in the belief that love had triumphed over bloodless scruples once and for all.

"Quita," he whispered at length, "what possessed you to face that nightmare of a journey alone?"

"You possessed me." She made no attempt to lift her head.

"But, my darling, you ought not to have come. You ought not to be here.

You know that."

"Yes. I know it. Are you . . angry, that I am here?"

"Angry? My G.o.d! It's new life to me. Your voice, just the music of it, gets into my head like wine. Look up, la.s.s. I love your hair, every wisp and thread of it. But I am waiting for something more."

The appeal was irresistible; and she looked up, accordingly, setting her hands lightly on his shoulders. The change wrought in him by illness and mental struggle pierced her like a physical pang; and her eyes fell before the yearning in his, the revelation of chained-up forces, and emotions straining at the leash. Then, still keeping her lids closed, she tilted her head backward, her lips just parted; and again, as on that night of enchantment at Kajiar, they were swept beyond the boundaries of s.p.a.ce and time; beyond the stumbling-blocks, the pitiful limitations of earth.

But limitations are as indispensable to life on our bewildering planet as bread and meat. The wine of ecstasy can only be taken in small doses, at a price.

Quita sat upright at last, on the spare corner of her husband's chair, flushed, smiling, and not a little tremulous. Stumbling-blocks and limitations loomed again on the horizon. But for the present she would have none of them. Eldred was not angry. He wanted her--supremely:--how supremely, his lips had just been telling her in language more primitive, more forcible than speech.

And now he lay merely watching her, still retaining her hands, drinking in the penetrating charm of her, as a parched traveller drinks at a roadside spring.

"Well?" he asked presently. "After all that--what next? There's the rub."

"Need we spoil these first heavenly moments together by looking for rocks ahead, _mon cher_? Captain Desmond begged me to keep the 'worry element'

at arm's-length."

"Dear old Desmond! He's made of gold. But now that you are here, you've got to be explained. And there's only one way to explain you--Mrs Lenox!"

Her face quivered.

"Eldred, I won't be explained . . that way, unless . . you really wish it. Only Mrs Olliver and Major Wyndham know about me: and now I've seen you, and feel sure there's no more danger, I can easily go back to Dalhousie and stay there, till you . . till you're more ready for me."

"Can you though?" He pressed her hands. "And do you believe I am capable of packing you off to-morrow?"

"I don't know. I think you'd prefer not to. But I believe you are capable of doing anything, once you're convinced it's right."

"Dearest, indeed I'm not." He spoke with sudden vehemence. "If I were, we might be clear of this unholy tangle by now. But since you've honoured me by plunging into h.e.l.l fire on my account, I can't let you go again . . . yet."

The last word fell like a drop of cold water on the hope that glowed at her heart. But she chose to ignore it.

"Well then?"

He raised one hand, and laid it lightly on her breast, feeling for hidden treasure. Then his fingers closed on the two rings; and he smiled.

"Since you seem to have forgiven the ill-tempered chap who gave you those, you might do worse than have 'em out, and wear them--by way of explanation!"

Her own hand went up to them, instinctively, and closed over his.

"I'll take them out now, at once, if you'll promise to put the wedding one on, yourself, with the proper words."

"What? Not the whole blessed service?"

At the note of dismay in his voice her laughter rang out, clear and natural; a silver sound, that pierced him with its poignant sweetness.

"Darling idiot! Of course not. I only meant the 'ring' words for luck.

Though if I could have my own way, I'd like the whole thing over again, to make it feel more real. All that seems to have happened to a not very admirable girl I once knew, in another life."

"Does it indeed?" he asked, smiling upon her in great contentment. "I rather admired that girl myself! But believe me, Quita, it's all real enough to satisfy us both. 'There's no discharge in that war.' And you don't get a human man to go through the ordeal of that service except under severe stress of circ.u.mstance! If I couldn't recapture you any other way, I'd do it . . with alacrity. Not unless."

"But who will do the explaining to the station at large?"