One of Our Conquerors - World eBook Library

One of Our Conquerors
knew it: but she could point to the manner of man she was
matched with; and it was not a poor excuse.
Mr. Barmby, she thought, deserved her gratitude in some
degree for stepping between Mr. Sowerby and Nesta. The
girl not having inclinations, and the young gentleman being
devoid of stratagem, they were easily kept from the dangerous
count of two.
Mademoiselle would have said, that the shepherd also had
rarely if ever a minute quite alone with her lamb. Incredulously
she perceived signs of a shock. The secret following
the signs was betrayed by Nesta in return for a tender grasp
of hands and a droll flutter of eyelids. Out it came, on a nod
first; then a dreary mention of a date, and an incident, to
bring it nearer to comprehension. Mr. Barmby—and decide
who will whether it is that Love was made to elude or that
curates impelled by his fires are subtle as nether—had outwitted
French watchfulness by stealing minutes enough on a
day at Lakelands to declare himself. And no wonder the girl
looked so forlorn: he had shivered her mediaeval forest-palace
of illuminated glass, to leave her standing like a mountain
hind, that sniffs the tainted gale off the crag of her first
quick leap from hounds; her instincts alarmed, instead of
rich imagination colouring and fostering.
She had no memory for his words; so, and truly, she told her
Louise: meaning that she had only a spiceless memory; especially
for the word love in her ears from the mouth of a man.
There had been a dream of it; with the life-awakening marvel
it would be, the humbleness it would bring to her soul
beneath the golden clothing of her body: one of those faint
formless dreams, which are as the bend of grasses to the breath
of a still twilight. She lived too spiritedly to hang on any
dream; and had moreover a muffled dread-shadow-sister to
the virginal desire—of this one, as of a fateful power that
might drag her down, disorder, discolour. But now she had
heard it: the word, the very word itself! in her own ears! addressed
to her! in a man’s voice! The first utterance had been
heard, and it was over; the chapter of the book of bulky promise
of the splendours and mysteries;—the shimmering woods
and bushy glades, and the descent of the shape celestial, and
the recognition—the mutual cry of affinity; and overhead
the crimson outrolling of the flag of beneficent enterprises
hand in hand, all was at an end. These, then, are the decep-
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