"And if he will stay, here under this roof which is not mine unless it
is his also--here in this house where, within the law or without it,
nevertheless everything is his--then he enters into possession of what
is his own. And I at last receive my birthright,--which is to serve
where I am served, love where love is mine--with gratitude, and
unafraid--"
Her voice trembled, broke; she covered her face with her hands; and
when he took her in his arms she leaned her forehead against his
breast: --"Oh, Clive--I can't deny them!--How can I deny them?--The little
flower-like faces, pleading to me for life!--And their tender
arms--around my neck--there in the garden, Clive!--The winsome lips
on mine, warm and heavenly sweet; and the voices calling, calling from
the golden woodland, calling from meadow and upland, height and
hollow!--And sometimes like far echoes of wind-blown laughter they
call me--gay little voices, confident and sweet; and sometimes,
winning and shy, they whisper close to my cheek--mother!--mother--"
His arms fell from her and he stepped back, trembling.
She lifted her pale tear-stained face. And, save for the painted
Virgins of an ancient day he never before had seen such spiritual
passion in any face--features where nothing sensuous had ever left an
imprint; where the sensitive, tremulous mouth curved with the
loveliness of a desire as innocent as a child's.
And he read there no taint of lesser passion, nothing of less noble
emotion; only a fearless and overwhelming acknowledgment of her
craving to employ the gifts with which her womanhood endowed her--love
and life, and service never ending.
* * * * *
In her mother's room they sat long talking, her hands resting on his,
her fresh and delicate face a pale white blur in the dusk.
It was very late before he went to the room allotted him, knowing that
he could not hope for sleep. Seated there by his open window he heard
the owl's tremolo rise, quaver, and die away in the moonlight; he
heard the murmuring plaint of marsh-fowl, and the sea-breeze stirring
the reeds.
Now, in this supreme crisis of his life, looking out into darkness he
saw a star fall, leaving an incandescent curve against the heavens
which faded slowly as he looked.
Into an obscurity as depthless, his soul was peering, now, naked,
unarmoured, clasping hands with hers. And every imperious and furious
tide that sweeps the souls and bodies of men now mounted
overwhelmingly and set toward her. It seemed at moments as though
their dragging was actually moving his limbs from where he sat; and he
closed his eyes and his strong hand fell on the sill, grasping it as
though for anchorage.