CHAPTER XLVIII. THE WANING MOON
Armand had wakened from his attack of faintness, and brother and sistersat close to one another, shoulder touching shoulder. That sense ofnearness was the one tiny spark of comfort to both of them on thisdreary, dreary way.
The coach had lumbered on unceasingly since all eternity--so it seemedto them both. Once there had been a brief halt, when Heron's rough voicehad ordered the soldier at the horses' heads to climb on the box besidehim, and once--it had been a very little while ago--a terrible cry ofpain and terror had rung through the stillness of the night. Immediatelyafter that the horses had been put at a more rapid pace, but it hadseemed to Marguerite as if that one cry of pain had been repeated byseveral others which sounded more feeble and soon appeared to be dyingaway in the distance behind.
The soldier who sat opposite to them must have heard the cry too, for hejumped up, as if wakened from sleep, and put his head out of the window.
"Did you hear that cry, citizen?" he asked.
But only a curse answered him, and a peremptory command not to losesight of the prisoners by poking his head out of the window.
"Did you hear the cry?" asked the soldier of Marguerite as he made hasteto obey.
"Yes! What could it be?" she murmured.
"It seems dangerous to drive so fast in this darkness," muttered thesoldier.
After which remark he, with the stolidity peculiar to his kind,figuratively shrugged his shoulders, detaching himself, as it were, ofthe whole affair.
"We should be out of the forest by now," he remarked in an undertone alittle while later; "the way seemed shorter before."
Just then the coach gave an unexpected lurch to one side, and after muchgroaning and creaking of axles and springs it came to a standstill, andthe citizen agent was heard cursing loudly and then scrambling down fromthe box.
The next moment the carriage-door was pulled open from without, and theharsh voice called out peremptorily:
"Citizen soldier, here--quick!--quick!--curse you!--we'll have one ofthe horses down if you don't hurry!"
The soldier struggled to his feet; it was never good to be slow inobeying the citizen agent's commands. He was half-asleep and no doubtnumb with cold and long sitting still; to accelerate his movements hewas suddenly gripped by the arm and dragged incontinently out of thecoach.
Then the door was slammed to again, either by a rough hand or a suddengust of wind, Marguerite could not tell; she heard a cry of rage and oneof terror, and Heron's raucous curses. She cowered in the corner of thecarriage with Armand's head against her shoulder, and tried to close herears to all those hideous sounds.
Then suddenly all the sounds were hushed and all around everythingbecame perfectly calm and still--so still that at first the silenceoppressed her with a vague, nameless dread. It was as if Nature herselfhad paused, that she might listen; and the silence became more and moreabsolute, until Marguerite could hear Armand's soft, regular breathingclose to her ear.
The window nearest to her was open, and as she leaned forward with thatparalysing sense of oppression a breath of pure air struck full upon hernostrils and brought with it a briny taste as if from the sea.
It was not quite so dark; and there was a sense as of open countrystretching out to the limits of the horizon. Overhead a vague greyishlight suffused the sky, and the wind swept the clouds in great rollingbanks right across that light.
Marguerite gazed upward with a more calm feeling that was akin togratitude. That pale light, though so wan and feeble, was thrice welcomeafter that inky blackness wherein shadows were less dark than thelights. She watched eagerly the bank of clouds driven by the dying gale.
The light grew brighter and faintly golden, now the banks ofclouds--storm-tossed and fleecy--raced past one another, partedand reunited like veils of unseen giant dancers waved by hands thatcontrolled infinite space--advanced and rushed and slackened speedagain--united and finally torn asunder to reveal the waning moon,honey-coloured and mysterious, rising as if from an invisible ocean faraway.
The wan pale light spread over the wide stretch of country, throwingover it as it spread dull tones of indigo and of blue. Here and theresparse, stunted trees with fringed gaunt arms bending to prevailingwinds proclaimed the neighbourhood of the sea.
Marguerite gazed on the picture which the waning moon had so suddenlyrevealed; but she gazed with eyes that knew not what they saw. The moonhad risen on her right--there lay the east--and the coach must have beentravelling due north, whereas Crecy...
In the absolute silence that reigned she could perceive from far, veryfar away, the sound of a church clock striking the midnight hour; andnow it seemed to her supersensitive senses that a firm footstep wastreading the soft earth, a footstep that drew nearer--and then nearerstill.
Nature did pause to listen. The wind was hushed, the night-birds inthe forest had gone to rest. Marguerite's heart beat so fast that itsthrobbings choked her, and a dizziness clouded her consciousness.
But through this state of torpor she heard the opening of the carriagedoor, she felt the onrush of that pure, briny air, and she felt a long,burning kiss upon her hands.
She thought then that she was really dead, and that God in His infinitelove had opened to her the outer gates of Paradise.
"My love!" she murmured.
She was leaning back in the carriage and her eyes were closed, but shefelt that firm fingers removed the irons from her wrists, and that apair of warm lips were pressed there in their stead.
"There, little woman, that's better so--is it not? Now let me get holdof poor old Armand!"
It was Heaven, of course, else how could earth hold such heavenly joy?
"Percy!" exclaimed Armand in an awed voice.
"Hush, dear!" murmured Marguerite feebly; "we are in Heaven you and I--"
Whereupon a ringing laugh woke the echoes of the silent night.
"In Heaven, dear heart!" And the voice had a delicious earthly ring inits whole-hearted merriment. "Please God, you'll both be at Portel withme before dawn."
Then she was indeed forced to believe. She put out her hands and gropedfor him, for it was dark inside the carriage; she groped, and felthis massive shoulders leaning across the body of the coach, while hisfingers busied themselves with the irons on Armand's wrist.
"Don't touch that brute's filthy coat with your dainty fingers, dearheart," he said gaily. "Great Lord! I have worn that wretch's clothesfor over two hours; I feel as if the dirt had penetrated to my bones."
Then with that gesture so habitual to him he took her head between histwo hands, and drawing her to him until the wan light from without litup the face that he worshipped, he gazed his fill into her eyes.
She could only see the outline of his head silhouetted against thewind-tossed sky; she could not see his eyes, nor his lips, but she felthis nearness, and the happiness of that almost caused her to swoon.
"Come out into the open, my lady fair," he murmured, and though shecould not see, she could feel that he smiled; "let God's pure air blowthrough your hair and round your dear head. Then, if you can walk sofar, there's a small half-way house close by here. I have knocked upthe none too amiable host. You and Armand could have half an hour's restthere before we go further on our way."
"But you, Percy?--are you safe?"
"Yes, m'dear, we are all of us safe until morning-time enough to reachLe Portel, and to be aboard the Day-Dream before mine amiable friend M.Chambertin has discovered his worthy colleague lying gagged and boundinside the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre. By Gad! how old Heron willcurse--the moment he can open his mouth!"
He half helped, half lifted her out of the carriage. The strong pure airsuddenly rushing right through to her lungs made her feel faint, and shealmost fell. But it was good to feel herself falling, when one pair ofarms amongst the millions on the earth were there to receive her.
"Can you walk, dear heart?" he asked. "Lean well on me--it is not far,and the rest will do you good."
"But you, Percy--"
He laughed, and the most complete joy of living seemed to resoundthrough that laugh. Her arm was in his, and for one moment he stoodstill while his eyes swept the far reaches of the country, the mellowdistance still wrapped in its mantle of indigo, still untouched by themysterious light of the waning moon.
He pressed her arm against his heart, but his right hand was stretchedout towards the black wall of the forest behind him, towards the darkcrests of the pines in which the dying wind sent its last mournfulsighs.
"Dear heart," he said, and his voice quivered with the intensity of hisexcitement, "beyond the stretch of that wood, from far away over there,there are cries and moans of anguish that come to my ear even now.But for you, dear, I would cross that wood to-night and re-enter Paristo-morrow. But for you, dear--but for you," he reiterated earnestly ashe pressed her closer to him, for a bitter cry had risen to her lips.
She went on in silence. Her happiness was great--as great as was herpain. She had found him again, the man whom she worshipped, the husbandwhom she thought never to see again on earth. She had found him, andnot even now--not after those terrible weeks of misery and sufferingunspeakable--could she feel that love had triumphed over thewild, adventurous spirit, the reckless enthusiasm, the ardour ofself-sacrifice.