|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 9
Back and forth the thoughts buffeted each other, and the Bishop sighed,
and threw away his cigar, and then stopped and stared out at the
darkening, great ocean. The steady rush and pause and low wash of
retreat did not calm him to-night.
"I'd like to turn it off for five minutes. It's so eternally right," he
said aloud and began to walk restlessly again.
Behind him came light steps, but he did not hear them on the soft sand,
in the noise of a breaking wave. A small, firm hand slipped into his was
the first that he knew of another presence, and he did not need to look
down at the bright head to know it was Eleanor, and the touch thrilled
him in his loneliness. Neither spoke, but swung on across the sand, side
by side, the child springing easily to keep pace with his great step.
Beside the gift of English, Eleanor had its comrade gift of excellent
silence. Those who are born to know rightly the charm and the power and
the value of words, know as well the value of the rests in the music.
Little Eleanor, her nervous fingers clutched around the Bishop's big
thumb, was pouring strength and comfort into him, and such an instinct
kept her quiet.
So they walked for a long half-hour, the Bishop fighting out his battle,
sometimes stopping, sometimes talking aloud to himself, but Eleanor,
through it all, not speaking. Once or twice he felt her face laid
against his hand, and her hair that brushed his wrist, and the savage
selfishness of reserve slowly dissolved in the warmth of that light
touch and the steady current of gentleness it diffused through him.
Clearly and more clearly he saw his way and, as always happens, as he
came near to the mountain, the mountain grew lower. "Over the Alps lies
Italy." Why should he count the height when the Italy of Dick's
happiness and Fielding's duty done lay beyond? The clean-handed,
light-hearted disregard of self that had been his habit of mind always
came flooding back like sunshine as he felt his decision made. After
all, doing a duty lies almost entirely in deciding to do it. He stooped
and picked Eleanor up in his arms.
"Isn't the baby sleepy? We've settled it together--it's all right now,
Eleanor. I'll carry you back to Aunt Basha."
"Is it all right now?" asked Eleanor, drowsily. "No, I'll walk," kicking
herself downward. "But you come wiv me." And the Bishop escorted his
lady-love to her castle, where the warden, Aunt Basha, was for this half
hour making night vocal with lamentations for the runaway.
"Po' lil lamb!" said Aunt Basha, with an undisguised scowl at the
Bishop. "Seems like some folks dunno nuff to know a baby's bedtime.
Seems like de Lawd's anointed wuz in po' business, ti'in' out chillens!"
"I'm sorry, Aunt Basha," said the Bishop, humbly. "I'll bring her back
earlier again. I forgot all about the time."
"Huh!" was all the response that Aunt Basha vouchsafed, and the Bishop,
feeling himself hopelessly in the wrong, withdrew in discreet silence.
Luncheon was over the next day and the two men were quietly smoking
together in the hot, drowsy quiet of the July mid-afternoon before the
Bishop found a chance to speak to Fielding alone. There was an hour and
a half before service, and this was the time to say his say, and he
gathered himself for it, when suddenly the tongue of the ready speaker,
the _savoir faire_ of the finished man of the world, the mastery of
situations which had always come as easily as his breath, all failed him
at once.
"Dick," he stammered, "there is something I want to tell you," and he
turned on his friend a face which astounded him.
"What on earth is it? You look as if you'd been caught stealing a hat,"
he responded, encouragingly.
The Bishop felt his heart thumping as that healthy organ had not
thumped for years. "I feel a bit that way," he gasped. "You remember
what we were talking of the other day?"
"The other day--talking--" Fielding looked bewildered. Then his face
darkened. "You mean Dick--the affair with that girl." His voice was at
once hard and unresponsive. "What about it?"
"Not at all," said the Bishop, complainingly. "Don't misunderstand like
that, Dick--it's so much harder."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|