Роберт Чамберс - The Hidden Children

And I, my heart in furious protest, condemned to batter at its walls in a vain summons to the silent lips that should have voiced its every beat, remained mute in futile and impotent adoration of the miracle love had wrought under my very eyes.

Consigned to silence, condemned to patience super–human, I scarce knew how to conduct. And so cruelly the restraint cut and checked me that what with my perplexity, my happiness, and my wretchedness, I was in a plight.

No doubt the spectacle that my features presented—a very playground for my varying emotions—was somewhat startling to a maid so new at love. For, glancing with veiled eyes at me, presently her own eyes flew open wide. And:

"Euan!" she faltered. "Is aught amiss with you? Are you ill, dear lad? And have not told me?"

Whereat I was confused and hot and vexed; and I told her very plainly what it was that ailed me. And now mark! In place of an understanding and sympathy and a nice appreciation of my honourable discomfort, she laughed; and as her cheeks cooled she laughed the more, tossing back her pretty head while her mirth, now uncontrolled, rippled forth till the wild birds, excited, joined in with restless chirping, and a squirrel sprung his elfin rattle overhead.

"And that," said I, furious, "is what I get for deferring to your wishes! I've a mind to kiss you now!"

Breathless, her hands pressed to her breast, she looked at me, and made as though to speak, but laughter seized her and she surrendered to it helplessly.

Whereat I sprang to my feet and marched to the parapet, and she after me, laying her hand on my arm.

"Dear lad—I do not mean unkindness…. But it is all so new to me—and you are so tall a man to pull such funny faces—as though love was a stomach pain―" She swayed, helpless again with laughter, still clinging to my arm.

"If you truly find my features ridiculous―" I began, but her hand instantly closed my lips. I kissed it, however, with angry satisfaction, and she took it away hurriedly.

"Are you ashamed—you great, sulky and hulking boy—to take my harmless pleasantry so uncouthly? And how is this?" says she, stamping her foot. "May I not laugh a little at my lover if I choose? I will have you know, Euan, that I do what pleases me with mine own, and am not to sit in dread of your displeasure if I have a mind to laugh."

"It hurt me that you should make a mockery―"

"I made no mockery! I laughed. And you shall know that one day, please God, I shall laugh at you, plague you, torment you, and―" She looked at me smilingly, hesitating; then in a low voice: "All my caprices you shall endure as in duty bound…. Because your reward shall be—the adoration of one who is at heart—your slave already…. And your desires will ever be her own—are hers already, Euan…. Have I made amends?"

"More fully than―"

"Then be content," she said hastily, "and pull me no more lugubrious faces to fright me. Lord! What a vexing paradox is this young man who sits and glowers and gnaws his lips in the very moment of his victory, while I, his victim, tranquil and happy in defeat, sit calmly telling my thoughts like holy beads to salve my new–born soul. Ai–me! There are many things yet to be learned in this mad world of men."

We leaned over the parapet, shoulder to shoulder, looking down upon the river. The rain had ceased, but the sun gleamed only at intervals, and briefly.

After a moment she turned and looked at me with her beautiful and candid eyes—the most honest eyes I ever looked upon.

"Euan," she said in a quiet voice, "I know how hard it is for us to remain silent in the first flush of what has so sweetly happened to us both. I know how natural it is for you to speak of it and for me to listen. But if I were to listen, now, and when one dear word of yours had followed another, and the next another still; and when our hands had met, and then our lips—alas, dear lad, I had become so wholly yours, and you had so wholly filled my mind and heart that—I do not know, but I deeply fear—something of my virgin resolution might relax. The inflexible will—the undeviating obstinacy with which I have pursued my quest as far as this forest place, might falter, be swerved, perhaps, by this new and other passion—for I am as yet ignorant of its force and possibilities. I would not have it master me until I am free to yield. And that freedom can come happily and honourably to me only when I set my foot in Catharines–town. Do you understand me, Euan?"

"Yes."

"Then—we will not speak of love. Or even let the language of our eyes trouble each other with all we may not say and venture…. You will not kiss me, will you? Before I ask it of you?"

"No."

"Under no provocation? Will you—even if I should ask it?"

"No."

"I will tell you why, Euan. I have promised myself—it is odd, too, for I first thought of it the day I first laid eyes on you. I said to myself that, as God had kept me pure in spite of all—I should wish that the first one ever to touch my lips should be my mother. And I made that vow—having no doubt of keeping it—until I saw you again―"

"When?"

"When you came to me in Westchester before the storm."

"Then!" I exclaimed, amazed.

"Is it not strange, Euan? I know not how it was with me or why, all suddenly, I seemed to know—seemed to catch a sudden glimmer of my destiny—a brief, confusing gleam. And only seemed to fear and hate you—yet, it was not hate or fear, either…. And when I came to you in the rain—there at the stable shed—and when you followed, and gave your ring—such hell and heaven as awakened in my heart you could not fathom—nor could I—nor can I yet understand…. Do you think I loved you even then? Not knowing that I loved you?"

"How could you love me then?"

"God knows…. And afterward, on the rock in the moonlight—as you lay there asleep—oh, I knew not what so moved me to leave you my message and a wild–rose lying there…. It was my destiny—my destiny! I seemed to fathom it…. For when you spoke to me on the parade at the Middle Fort, such a thrill of happiness possessed me―"

"You rebuked and rebuked me, sweeting!"

"Because all my solicitude was for you, and how it might disgrace you."

"I could have knelt there at your ragged feet, in sight of all the fort!"

"Could you truly, Euan?"

"As willingly as I kneel at prayer!"

"How dear and gallant and sweet you are to me―" She broke off in dismay. "Ai–me! Heaven pity us both, for we are saying what should wait to be said, and have talked of love only while vowing not to do so!… Let loose my hand, Euan—that somehow has stolen into yours. Ai–me! This is a very maze I seem to travel in, with every pitfall hiding all I would avoid, and everywhere ambush laid for me…. Listen, dear lad, I am more pitifully at your mercy than I dreamed of. Be faithful to my faithless self that falters. Point out the path from your own strength and compassion…. I—I must find my way to Catharines–town before I can give myself to thoughts of you—to dreams of all that you inspire in me."

"Listen, Lois. This fort is as far as you may go."

"What!"

"Truly, dear maid. It is not alone the perils of an unknown country that must check you here. There is a danger that you know not of—that you never even heard of."

"A danger?"

"Worse. A threat of terrors hellish, inconceivable, terrible beyond words."

"What do you mean? The hatchet? The stake? Dear lad, may I not then venture what you soldiers brave so lightly?"

"It is not what we brave that threatens you!"

"What then?" she asked, startled.

"Dear did you ever learn that you are a 'Hidden Child'?"

"What is that, Euan?"

"Then you do not know?"

She shook her head.