Lost trumpet

THE LOST TRUMPET 279
and Pelagueya, hair wind-blown, backgrounded with
that green and grey. . . . That, and a sudden loosen¬
ing and freeing of the blood in every vein of my
body. I was neither blinded nor stunned. Instead,
suddenly happy and impatient in a breath. I stood
still, impatiently, and then the darkness that had
succeeded the flash and roar suddenly passed and the
room was flooded with the sunshine of the morning.
Not a yard from me stood Pelagueya, her hands
at her eyes. I caught those hands and she blinked up
at me as one slowly returning to the world.
“Princess—you are unharmed ? Pelagueya—only
now I’ve thought—what nonsense to call you
Princess, what nonsense I’ve always talked to you!
Often and always, never saying the things I have
wanted to say and was meant to say. But now—We
are going to be married. To-day, if we can.”
“Anton ”
“And not for romance or remembrance or honour.
Because I love you and desire you and have envied
every lost rose petal that ever knew you. Married.
But not for Egypt ”
Her arms round my neck then. “I know. It
came to me in a flash just now—in that flash. And
we’re talking our life-secrets to everybody, and what
does it matter ? . . . Back to Russia, both of us. And
I don’t care though they set me to cleaning latrines or
fighting provocateurs or polishing Stalin’s top-
boots. The fun of it—to work and talk and fight
for daylight and sanity ! Anton, why haven’t we gone
before ?”