Anne's House of Dreams [73]
seamen. The little curls of foam that blew across the sand were elfin things stealing up from the sea-caves. The big, round-shouldered sand-dunes were the sleeping giants of some old northern tale. The lights that glimmered palely across the harbor were the delusive beacons on some coast of fairyland. Anne pleased herself with a hundred fancies as she wandered through the mist. It was delightful--romantic-- mysterious to be roaming here alone on this enchanted shore.
But was she alone? Something loomed in the mist before her--took shape and form--suddenly moved towards her across the wave-rippled sand.
"Leslie!" exclaimed Anne in amazement. "Whatever are you doing--HERE--tonight?"
"If it comes to that, whatever are YOU doing here?" said Leslie, trying to laugh. The effort was a failure. She looked very pale and tired; but the love locks under her scarlet cap were curling about her face and eyes like little sparkling rings of gold.
"I'm waiting for Gilbert--he's over at the Cove. I intended to stay at the light, but Captain Jim is away."
"Well, _I_ came here because I wanted to walk--and walk--and WALK," said Leslie restlessly. "I couldn't on the rock shore--the tide was too high and the rocks prisoned me. I had to come here--or I should have gone mad, I think. I rowed myself over the channel in Captain Jim's flat. I've been here for an hour. Come--come--let us walk. I can't stand still. Oh, Anne!"
"Leslie, dearest, what is the trouble?" asked Anne, though she knew too well already.
"I can't tell you--don't ask me . I wouldn't mind your knowing-- I wish you did know--but I can't tell you--I can't tell anyone. I've been such a fool, Anne--and oh, it hurts so terribly to be a fool. There's nothing so painful in the world."
She laughed bitterly. Anne slipped her arm around her.
"Leslie, is it that you have learned to care for Mr. Ford?"
Leslie turned herself about passionately.
"How did you know?" she cried. "Anne, how did you know? Oh, is it written in my face for everyone to see? Is it as plain as that?"
"No, no. I--I can't tell you how I knew. It just came into my mind, somehow. Leslie, don't look at me like that!"
"Do you despise me?" demanded Leslie in a fierce, low tone. "Do you think I'm wicked--unwomanly? Or do you think I'm just plain fool?"
"I don't think you any of those things. Come, dear, let's just talk it over sensibly, as we might talk over any other of the great crises of life. You've been brooding over it and let yourself drift into a morbid view of it. You know you have a little tendency to do that about everything that goes wrong, and you promised me that you would fight against it."
"But--oh, it's so--so shameful," murmured Leslie. "To love him--unsought--and when I'm not free to love anybody."
"There's nothing shameful about it. But I'm very sorry that you have learned to care for Owen, because, as things are, it will only make you more unhappy."
"I didn't LEARN to care," said Leslie, walking on and speaking passionately. "If it had been like that I could have prevented it. I never dreamed of such a thing until that day, a week ago, when he told me he had finished his book and must soon go away. Then-- then I knew. I felt as if someone had struck me a terrible blow. I didn't say anything--I couldn't speak--but I don't know what I looked like. I'm so afraid my face betrayed me. Oh, I would die of shame if I thought he knew--or suspected."
Anne was miserably silent, hampered by her deductions from her conversation with Owen. Leslie went on feverishly, as if she found relief in speech.
"I was so happy all this summer, Anne--happier than I ever was in my life. I thought it was because everything had been made clear between you and me, and that it was our friendship which made life seem so beautiful and full once more. And it WAS, in part--but not all--oh, not nearly all. I know now why everything was so different. And now it's all over--and he has gone. How can I live, Anne? When I turned back into the house
But was she alone? Something loomed in the mist before her--took shape and form--suddenly moved towards her across the wave-rippled sand.
"Leslie!" exclaimed Anne in amazement. "Whatever are you doing--HERE--tonight?"
"If it comes to that, whatever are YOU doing here?" said Leslie, trying to laugh. The effort was a failure. She looked very pale and tired; but the love locks under her scarlet cap were curling about her face and eyes like little sparkling rings of gold.
"I'm waiting for Gilbert--he's over at the Cove. I intended to stay at the light, but Captain Jim is away."
"Well, _I_ came here because I wanted to walk--and walk--and WALK," said Leslie restlessly. "I couldn't on the rock shore--the tide was too high and the rocks prisoned me. I had to come here--or I should have gone mad, I think. I rowed myself over the channel in Captain Jim's flat. I've been here for an hour. Come--come--let us walk. I can't stand still. Oh, Anne!"
"Leslie, dearest, what is the trouble?" asked Anne, though she knew too well already.
"I can't tell you--don't ask me . I wouldn't mind your knowing-- I wish you did know--but I can't tell you--I can't tell anyone. I've been such a fool, Anne--and oh, it hurts so terribly to be a fool. There's nothing so painful in the world."
She laughed bitterly. Anne slipped her arm around her.
"Leslie, is it that you have learned to care for Mr. Ford?"
Leslie turned herself about passionately.
"How did you know?" she cried. "Anne, how did you know? Oh, is it written in my face for everyone to see? Is it as plain as that?"
"No, no. I--I can't tell you how I knew. It just came into my mind, somehow. Leslie, don't look at me like that!"
"Do you despise me?" demanded Leslie in a fierce, low tone. "Do you think I'm wicked--unwomanly? Or do you think I'm just plain fool?"
"I don't think you any of those things. Come, dear, let's just talk it over sensibly, as we might talk over any other of the great crises of life. You've been brooding over it and let yourself drift into a morbid view of it. You know you have a little tendency to do that about everything that goes wrong, and you promised me that you would fight against it."
"But--oh, it's so--so shameful," murmured Leslie. "To love him--unsought--and when I'm not free to love anybody."
"There's nothing shameful about it. But I'm very sorry that you have learned to care for Owen, because, as things are, it will only make you more unhappy."
"I didn't LEARN to care," said Leslie, walking on and speaking passionately. "If it had been like that I could have prevented it. I never dreamed of such a thing until that day, a week ago, when he told me he had finished his book and must soon go away. Then-- then I knew. I felt as if someone had struck me a terrible blow. I didn't say anything--I couldn't speak--but I don't know what I looked like. I'm so afraid my face betrayed me. Oh, I would die of shame if I thought he knew--or suspected."
Anne was miserably silent, hampered by her deductions from her conversation with Owen. Leslie went on feverishly, as if she found relief in speech.
"I was so happy all this summer, Anne--happier than I ever was in my life. I thought it was because everything had been made clear between you and me, and that it was our friendship which made life seem so beautiful and full once more. And it WAS, in part--but not all--oh, not nearly all. I know now why everything was so different. And now it's all over--and he has gone. How can I live, Anne? When I turned back into the house