The Rosary [52]
constrained to take when she arrived, through so much agony of renunciation, at her decision? Instead of going up the Nile, and then to Constantinople and Athens, should she take the steamer which sailed from Alexandria to-morrow, be in London a week hence, send for Garth, make full confession, and let him decide as to their future?
That he loved her still, it never occurred to Jane to doubt. At the very thought of sending for him and telling him the simple truth, he seemed so near her once more, that she could feel the clasp of his arms, and his head upon her heart. And those dear shining eyes! Oh, Garth, Garth!
"One thing is clear to me to-night," thought Jane. "If he still needs me--wants me--I cannot live any longer away from him. I must go to him." She opened her eyes and looked towards the Sphinx. The whole line of reasoning which had carried such weight at Shenstone flashed through her mind in twenty seconds. Then she closed her eyes again and clasped her hands upon her bosom.
"I will risk it," she said; and deep joy awoke within her heart.
A party of English people came from the dining-room on to the piazza with a clatter. They had arrived that evening and gone in late to dinner. Jane had hardly noticed them,--a handsome woman and her daughter, two young men, and an older man of military appearance. They did not interest Jane, but they broke in upon her reverie; for they seated themselves at a table near by and, in truly British fashion, continued a loud-voiced conversation, as if no one else were present. One or two foreigners, who had been peacefully dreaming over coffee and cigarettes, rose and strolled away to quiet seats under the palm trees. Jane would have done the same, but she really felt too comfortable to move, and afraid of losing the sweet sense of Garth's nearness. So she remained where she was.
The elderly man held in his hand a letter and a copy of the MORNING POST, just received from England. They were discussing news contained in the letter and a paragraph he had been reading aloud from the paper.
"Poor fellow! How too sad!" said the chaperon of the party.
"I should think he would sooner have been killed outright!" exclaimed the girl. "I know I would."
"Oh, no," said one of the young men, leaning towards her. "Life is sweet, under any circumstances."
"Oh, but blind!" cried the young voice, with a shudder. "Quite blind for the rest of one's life. Horrible!"
"Was it his own gun?" asked the older woman. "And how came they to be having a shooting party in March?"
Jane smiled a fierce smile into the moonlight. Passionate love of animal life, intense regard for all life, even of the tiniest insect, was as much a religion with her as the worship of beauty was with Garth. She never could pretend sorrow over these accounts of shooting accidents, or falls in the hunting-field. When those who went out to inflict cruel pain were hurt themselves; when those who went forth to take eager, palpitating life, lost their own; it seemed to Jane a just retribution. She felt no regret, and pretended none. So now she smiled fiercely to herself, thinking: "One pair of eyes the less to look along a gun and frustrate the despairing dash for home and little ones of a terrified little mother rabbit. One hand that will never again change a soaring upward flight of spreading wings, into an agonised mass of falling feathers. One chance to the good, for the noble stag, as he makes a brave run to join his hinds in the valley."
Meanwhile the military-looking man had readjusted his eye-glasses and was holding the sheets of a closely written letter to the light.
"No," he said after a moment, "shooting parties are over. There is nothing doing on the moors now. They were potting bunnies."
"Was he shooting?" asked the girl.
"No," replied the owner of the letter, "and that seems such hard luck. He had given up shooting altogether a year or two ago. He never really enjoyed it, because he so loved the beauty of life and hated death in every form. He has a lovely place in the North, and was up
That he loved her still, it never occurred to Jane to doubt. At the very thought of sending for him and telling him the simple truth, he seemed so near her once more, that she could feel the clasp of his arms, and his head upon her heart. And those dear shining eyes! Oh, Garth, Garth!
"One thing is clear to me to-night," thought Jane. "If he still needs me--wants me--I cannot live any longer away from him. I must go to him." She opened her eyes and looked towards the Sphinx. The whole line of reasoning which had carried such weight at Shenstone flashed through her mind in twenty seconds. Then she closed her eyes again and clasped her hands upon her bosom.
"I will risk it," she said; and deep joy awoke within her heart.
A party of English people came from the dining-room on to the piazza with a clatter. They had arrived that evening and gone in late to dinner. Jane had hardly noticed them,--a handsome woman and her daughter, two young men, and an older man of military appearance. They did not interest Jane, but they broke in upon her reverie; for they seated themselves at a table near by and, in truly British fashion, continued a loud-voiced conversation, as if no one else were present. One or two foreigners, who had been peacefully dreaming over coffee and cigarettes, rose and strolled away to quiet seats under the palm trees. Jane would have done the same, but she really felt too comfortable to move, and afraid of losing the sweet sense of Garth's nearness. So she remained where she was.
The elderly man held in his hand a letter and a copy of the MORNING POST, just received from England. They were discussing news contained in the letter and a paragraph he had been reading aloud from the paper.
"Poor fellow! How too sad!" said the chaperon of the party.
"I should think he would sooner have been killed outright!" exclaimed the girl. "I know I would."
"Oh, no," said one of the young men, leaning towards her. "Life is sweet, under any circumstances."
"Oh, but blind!" cried the young voice, with a shudder. "Quite blind for the rest of one's life. Horrible!"
"Was it his own gun?" asked the older woman. "And how came they to be having a shooting party in March?"
Jane smiled a fierce smile into the moonlight. Passionate love of animal life, intense regard for all life, even of the tiniest insect, was as much a religion with her as the worship of beauty was with Garth. She never could pretend sorrow over these accounts of shooting accidents, or falls in the hunting-field. When those who went out to inflict cruel pain were hurt themselves; when those who went forth to take eager, palpitating life, lost their own; it seemed to Jane a just retribution. She felt no regret, and pretended none. So now she smiled fiercely to herself, thinking: "One pair of eyes the less to look along a gun and frustrate the despairing dash for home and little ones of a terrified little mother rabbit. One hand that will never again change a soaring upward flight of spreading wings, into an agonised mass of falling feathers. One chance to the good, for the noble stag, as he makes a brave run to join his hinds in the valley."
Meanwhile the military-looking man had readjusted his eye-glasses and was holding the sheets of a closely written letter to the light.
"No," he said after a moment, "shooting parties are over. There is nothing doing on the moors now. They were potting bunnies."
"Was he shooting?" asked the girl.
"No," replied the owner of the letter, "and that seems such hard luck. He had given up shooting altogether a year or two ago. He never really enjoyed it, because he so loved the beauty of life and hated death in every form. He has a lovely place in the North, and was up