Christina Read online

  CHAPTER XIII.

  "YOU HAVE BEEN A FRIEND TO ME TO-DAY."

  Rupert would have found it difficult to explain why, on the followingafternoon, his steps again turned towards Mrs. Nairne's house, and whyhe assured himself, that it would be kind to Cicely to go to see Babaagain, and take the latest tidings of the child back to her mother. Heonly knew that he had a great desire to sit quietly in that firelitroom again, to feel the sense of peace and home-like tranquillity thatseemed to hover about it; he only felt that in some inexplicablefashion Baba's new nurse--the girl with the sweet eyes and gentlevoice--rested him, that her simplicity, and some child-like quality inher, soothed the pain that tore at his heart. Women had played no partin his life, until one woman had played an overmastering one; and allthat his passionate adoration of Margaret Stanforth had cost, and wascosting, him, gave an added charm to a nature devoid of all subtlety,simple and serene. Across the stretch of years between them, heregarded Christina as little more than a child, but it is often from achild's hands that the passion-tossed, world-weary soul can find mostcomfort; and as Mernside for the second time sat in the old-fashionedsitting-room, and had tea with Christina and her small charge, he feltthat in some indefinable fashion, the girl's hands were unconsciouslysmoothing away some of the misery that chafed his soul. She showed notraces of her embarrassment of the previous day. Night had brought itsown counsels, and she had determined not to disclose her identity toMernside.

  "After all," she reflected philosophically, "I didn't do anythingwrong--only something silly--and it is all over now. Probably he hasforgotten all about the stupid girl who wrote him that letter, andanyhow, he doesn't think about me at all, excepting as Baba's nurse, soit would be foolish to make a fuss."

  Having come to this determination, Christina, with characteristic goodsense, put away from her all thoughts of self-consciousness andembarrassment, and allowed herself to enjoy Mernside's visit, with muchthe same childish delight as was evinced by Baba. And if the twoshowed their pleasure in different ways, it was none the less patent totheir visitor, that the little nurse, with her big green eyes and duskycloud of hair, took as much pleasure in his coming as did thegolden-haired baby; and it gave him an odd glow of satisfaction to seeher eyes brighten as he talked, and to watch the swift soft flushes ofcolour that came and went in her cheeks. Rupert, when he chose, couldtalk well and interestingly; he had travelled over the greater part ofthe world, and in the course of his travels had used eyes and ears togood purpose. And to Christina, the little travelled--to Christina,the whole sum of whose existence had been divided between a Devonshirevillage, the Donaldsons' suburban house, and a London lodging--all thatRupert told of distant countries, and strange, uncouth peoples wasbreathlessly interesting and entrancing. Sitting there in thefirelight, Baba nestled closely in his arms, Christina seated oppositeto him, her chin propped on her hands, her eager eyes following hisevery word--Rupert found himself talking as he had not talked for along time with an eager boyish interest that surprised himself. It wasonly when some chance word of his led Christina to ask him a questionabout Biskra, that the flow of his eloquence suddenly ceased. It wasthere, in that garden of the desert, that he had first met Margaret.The girl's gently-asked question, for some inexplicable reason, broughtback to him, as though it were only yesterday, the afternoon when thewoman who ever since had dominated his whole existence, had first comeinto his life. Overhead, the deep pure depths of the bluest sky he hadever seen, against its blue stately palms that waved their fan-likeleaves with the soft rustling sounds that only belong to thepalm-trees; and there in the sunlight, stately as one of the greattrees, her white gown falling about her, Margaret had stood, her darkeyes turned towards the all-surrounding desert. How or why they hadbegun to speak, he could not now recall, but from that first speech offellow-countrymen in a far-off land, they had passed intoacquaintanceship, and from that by easy stages to the friendship whichhe had implored her to give him, in default of that which she had toldhim could never be his. Well! at least in the years that followed, hehad been able to serve her, to help her, to ease some of the burden ofher life, that burden of which he himself knew so little. And to haveserved her was something for which to be thankful. If only--there wasthe bitterness--if only she had not gone away out of his ken now, inthis strange mysterious fashion, leaving him ignorant of herwhereabouts, and of all that concerned her.

  If only she had trusted him more! If only---- With a start he rousedhimself, to realise that Christina's eyes were watching him with acertain shy wonder, and remembering that he had broken off hisconversation almost in the middle of a sentence, he looked at her witha smile of apology.

  "Do please forgive me," he said. "Your mention of Biskra brought backso many pictures of the past, and--I was looking at them instead ofgoing on with my story."

  "Baba likes pictures," the child murmured drowsily.

  "Perhaps Baba would like the picture I saw," her cousin answered,feeling an odd compulsion to speak of what was in his thoughts: "apicture of palm-trees, and a princess in a white gown, who walkedamongst them, and----"

  "Was the princess like Christina?" Baba all at once pulled herselfinto an upright position on his knee, and looked earnestly into hisface. "Tell Baba if that princess was like mine own pretty lady."

  The eyes of the two elders met, and Christina laughed confusedly.

  "Baba sees the people she loves through very rosy spectacles," shesaid, and Rupert smiled, whilst Baba's insistent voice repeated--

  "Tell if the princess in the white frock was like Christina."

  "No, no--not at all like her," Rupert began, his eyes glancing at thebent dark head opposite to him, at the clear whiteness of the cheeks,into which the colour was flushing so becomingly; at the deep green ofher eyes, the red line of her lips; "no, the princess was--at least,"he broke off suddenly, and looked more narrowly at the girl. "Howabsurd!" he exclaimed, "and what an extraordinary hallucination. Itshows what a power of imagination the least imaginative of us maypossess; but at that moment, your princess and mine, little Baba, had aqueer fantastic likeness to one another."

  Christina looked up at him sharply, surprise the predominatingexpression on her face. But before she could speak, Baba's clear tonesagain made themselves heard.

  "Just tell Baba 'zackly--'_zackly_ what the princess in the white frockwas like; Baba wants to know."

  Again Rupert felt impelled to speak, almost against his owninclination, and his words came with a readiness, which, if he hadconsidered the matter, would greatly have surprised him.

  "She was tall," he answered; "very tall and very stately, as stately asone of the palm-trees under which she stood; and her face was whitelike her gown, only, it was not white as sick people are white, butlike the whiteness of a rose, very clear and pure. And her hair wasblack--black as a raven's wing"--his voice grew dreamy, he seemed tohave forgotten his listeners, and merely to be thinking aloud, whilsthe watched the leaping flames of the fire--"and her eyes were deep anddark, fathomless wells of colour, and very sad." Christina drew in herbreath quickly, and leant forward, an eager look on her face."I--never saw any eyes like those," the man's voice continued; "theyheld so much--they had seen so much, they were so beautiful--and sosad. The princess"--he started, and tried to resume a lightertone--"was the most beautiful lady in the world, little Baba."

  "She is just like----" Christina began impetuously, then stopped short,remembering the secrecy enjoined upon her, by the woman whom she knewonly as "Margaret,"--the woman of the lonely valley house.

  "Just like--who?" Rupert turned to her with the sharp question, asudden gleam in his eyes. "Do you know anybody answering to thedescription I have just given? Have you ever seen someone like--likemy princess?" The eagerness of his tones, the gleam in his eyes,showed Christina the necessity for caution, and she answered quietly--

  "I think the lady you describe, is something like a lady I once saw; atleast, she was beautiful, with dark eyes and hair," th
e girl endedconfusedly.

  "It could not be the same person," Rupert said with decision. "Theprincess I am describing--was unique. You would not speak of her inthose terms of lukewarm praise. Her beauty was something beyond andabove anything ordinary or everyday."

  "So," Christina was on the point of saying almost indignantly, "so wasthe beauty of my lovely lady," but she checked her words just in time;prudence demanded that she should say nothing, rather than that bysaying a word too much, she should betray another woman's trust.

  "I should like--to have seen her under the palm-tree," she said,wondering in her girlish heart, whether it was the beautiful princessin the white gown, who had brought the lines of pain about this man'sface, and into his grey eyes; wishing, too, with girlish innocentfervour, that it might be given to her to take away some of his pain.

  "I wish you could have seen her," he answered her speech. "I think youand she would understand one another, but"--again the words seemedforced from him--"at this moment, I don't even know where she is." Theconcentrated bitterness of the tone, the haggard misery of the lookthat accompanied the words, stabbed at Christina's tender heart.

  "Oh! I am sorry," she exclaimed. "I wish--I could help you," shespoke with a child's impulsive eagerness, but it was the tender pity ofa womanly woman, that looked out of her eyes, and the look gave Ruperta sense of having been touched with some healing balm.

  Baba was no longer taking any conscious part in the conversation; thewarmth of the fire, combined with the consumption of a plentiful supplyof Mrs. Nairne's toast and cake, had induced profound drowsiness, andthe sounds of her elders' voices having acted as a final soporific, thelittle maid now slept peacefully, her dimpled hand against Rupert'sneck, her golden curls upon his shoulder. The man and girl were, toall intents and purposes, alone, and Rupert looked across at Christina,with the smile that gave such extraordinary charm to his face.

  "No wonder this small girl looks at you with rosy spectacles," he said;"you are one of the born helpers of this world. What makes you say youwould like to help me? Do you think I need help?"

  "I am sure you do," came the prompt reply; "your eyes--" she broke off,startled by her own audacity, her glance wavering from his face to thefire.

  "Your eyes----" he repeated after her. "What do you find in my eyesthat makes you think I want help?" He spoke with the same caressingkindliness he might have bestowed on a child; he felt an odd desire toconfide in her, as a grown-up person does sometimes feel oddlyconstrained to confide in a little child, whose sympathy, whilstlacking comprehension, is still full of comfort.

  "Your eyes are so sad," she answered frankly, when he paused for herreply; "you seem as if you were looking always for something you havelost, something which is very precious to you."

  "So I am," he replied, pillowing Baba more closely in his arms, andleaning nearer to Christina. "I don't know by what wonderful gift youdiscovered all that in my eyes--but it is true. I am looking forsomething I have lost, or perhaps--something I have never had," headded bitterly, under his breath.

  "Some day--surely--you will find it?" she said gently, her heartaching, because of the sudden hardening of his mouth and eyes.

  "Find what I have never had?" he laughed, and his laugh hurt the girlwho listened. "I may find the--person who has gone out of my ken; thatis possible. I never forget to look for what I have lost, wherever Igo, and I go to many places in my car. But, even if I found the humanbeing I have lost, will everything be less elusive, less hopeless thanbefore?"

  "Of course you know you are talking in riddles," Christina answeredgravely, her brows drawn together in a frown; "you don't want to let meunderstand what you really mean, and that is very natural," she addedwith a practical common sense that sat quaintly upon her; "but I shouldhave liked to help you."

  "You do help me," he said quickly; "it sounds absurd to say so, even tomyself it seems absurd, because it is not my way to take anybody intomy confidence. But--I can trust you."

  The simply spoken words set Christina's heart beating with innocentpride; her eyes looked at him gratefully.

  "Thank you for saying that," she answered. "I think it is true. Youcan trust me, and I am glad, so very glad, if there is anything I cando to help you. If--if I might understand a little better?" she addedfalteringly.

  "The story I told Baba just now was a true one," he answered abruptly;"the beautiful lady really walked under the palm-trees, andI--well--these stories all have the same plot. I wanted her for myprincess. But she--had a prince of her own already." The half-bitter,half-jesting way in which he spoke, sent all the child in the girl intothe background, brought all the woman in her into prominence; she putout her hand with a little pitiful gesture.

  "Oh!" she whispered softly; "oh! but that was hard."

  "It seemed hard to me," his tone was grim; "it seemed an irony of fatebeyond my poor powers of comprehension, more especially when Ifound--no, not found--I don't know for certain even now. I knownothing, less than nothing"--again came that bitterness that hurt hislistener--"but when I guessed that the prince was not worthy of her,that it was my lot to stand aside and be a friend only, whilst someonenot worthy to touch the hem of her gown, had the place of honour, thenI knew what sorry tricks Fate can play!"

  "And the poor princess?" Christina asked gently. A light flashed overRupert's face.

  "There is the wonder of it all, the wonder of womanhood," he exclaimed;"mind, I don't know any facts for certain. I only guess thatthe--rightful prince is not worthy to tie the strings of her shoes, andyet--he is all the world to her. The rest of us are nothing. No, thatisn't true either," he corrected himself hurriedly. "I have herfriendship. I have the unspeakable honour of being her friend, but thebest of her is given to someone who is not worthy. Not that the bestman among us is worthy to touch her hand," he added, with animpetuosity that made him seem all at once oddly young and boyish.

  "And she--your friend--is it she you have lost now?" Christinaquestioned softly, when he paused. He nodded.

  "Yes, she left town suddenly, giving me no reason for going. I havebeen able to do many things for her; things a friend could do. She isvery fragile; she has been very ill, and now--I do not even know whereshe is. I can only surmise that the man, who is not worthy--needed herhelp--and she has done his bidding. Worthy or unworthy, her soul iswrapped up in him. Woman's love is a wonderful thing--almostincomprehensible to men!"

  Unbidden, before Christina's mind, there rose a half-darkened room, abed piled high with pillows, and lying back amongst the pillows, awoman with a beautiful, stricken face, and deep eyes of hauntingsadness. Unbidden there came to her memory words spoken in a lowpassionate voice:

  "You don't know what it means to care so much for a man, that, nomatter what he is, or does, he is your world, your whole world."

  And with the memory, came an illuminating flash of thought. Could itbe possible--that the beautiful lady of the lonely valley, and theprincess in the white gown, of whom this man spoke, were one and thesame person? Her preoccupation with this thought made her silent forso long after Rupert's last speech, that presently he said quietly:

  "I don't know why I am inflicting all this upon you, or why I have beenegotistical enough to think my confidence could be in the smallestdegree interesting, to somebody who is almost a stranger."

  "A stranger?" Christina echoed the words blankly, then laughed alittle tremulously.

  "I had--forgotten---we had only met so seldom," she said; "it--doesn'tfeel as if you were a stranger; and I am so glad, so proud, that youhave trusted me. Some people from the very beginning don't seem likestrangers, do they?" she asked, with a smile.

  "That's quite true," he answered. "I am not a subtle person, I don'tprofess to be able to explain these things, but some people do seem tojump directly into one's friendship, whilst other people jog alongbeside us all our lives, and we get no nearer to them at last, than wewere at first. You have been a friend to me to-day."

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p; "Have I? I am glad," the colour rushed into her face, "and I wish Icould help more." He smiled at her again. He still had the feelingthat he was talking to a charming child, one of rarely sympathetic andunderstanding nature; and yet, through all the mist of masculinedensity in which he was wrapped, he was conscious of the womanlytenderness that had looked out of Christina's eyes, and spoken in hervoice. That maternal instinct which is innately part of every goodwoman's nature, was largely developed in Christina, and, involuntarily,Rupert had made an appeal to that instinct. He would have laughed toscorn the bare idea that he, a strong and self-reliant man of theworld, could ever lean, or need to lean, upon a slip of a girl, whoseyouthfulness was written in every line of her face, and of her slightform. And yet, unwittingly he had put out his hands to her for help,much as a little child puts out hands to its mother, for comfort andguidance.

  Children all, these men-folk of the world! Children all, they havebeen from days immemorial, and presumably will be still the same in thedays to come. And their womenkind love them, and comfort them, guidethem and tend them, learning, with the sure instinct of womanhood, thatthey are just little boys, to be taken care of, and watched over, and"mothered" all the time. Christina knew this truth instinctively, ifshe could not have put it into definite words; Christina knew it; eachdaughter of Eve knows it by experience bitter or sweet--it is the truththat "every woman knows"!