Fiction > Serialisations > London, 1896-1897 - St. Ives > Volume 13

ST. IVES. 99
with a sob. Sobs and laughter together shook my fasting body like a leaf; and I
zigzagged across the fields, buffeted this side and that by a mirth as uncontrollable
as it was idiotic. Once I pulled up in the middle of a spasm to marvel
irresponsibly at the sound of my own voice. You may wonder that I had will
ami wit to be drifted towards Flora's trysting-place. But in truth there was no
missing it — the low chine looming through the weather, the line of firs topping it,
and, towards the west, diminishing like a fish's dorsal fin. I had conned it often
enough from the other side ; had looked right across it on the day when she
stood beside me on the bastion and pointed out the smoke of Swanston Cottage.
Only on this side the fish-tail (so to speak) had a nick in it; and through that
nick ran the path to the old quarry.
I reached it a little before eight. The quarry lay to the left of the path, which
passed on and out upon the hill's northern slope. Upon that slope there was no
need to show myself. I measured out some fifty yards of the path, and paced it
to and fro, idly counting my steps ; for the chill crept back into my bones if I
halted for a minute. Once or twice I turned aside into the quarry, and stood
there tracing the veins in the hewn rock : then back to my quarterdeck tramp
and the study of my watch. Ten minutes past eight ! Fool — to expect her to
cheat so many spies! This hunger of mine was becoming serious. . . .'.
A stone dislodged — a light footfall on the path — and my heart leapt. It was
she ! She came, and earth flowered again, as beneath the feet of the goddess, her
namesake. I declare it for a fact that from the moment of her coming the weather
began to mend.
" Flora ! "
" My poor Anne ! "
" The shawl has been useful," said I.
" You are starving."
"That is unpleasantly near the truth."
" I knew it. See, dear." A shawl of hodden grey covered her head and
shoulders, and from beneath it she produced a small basket and held it up. " The
scones will be hot yet, for they went straight from the hearth into the napkin."
She led the way to the quarry. I praised her forethought ; having in those days
still to learn that woman's first instinct, when a man is dear to her and in trouble,
is to feed him. We eat to satisfy no very noble appetite ; but they incite us to
the gross performance on grounds deeper than wit, deep as their helpful helpless-
ness, divine !
We spread the napkin on a big stone of the quarry, and set out the feast :
scones, oat-cake, hard-boiled eggs, a bottle of milk, and a small flask of usquebagh.
Our hands riiet as we prepared the table. This was our first housekeeping ; the
first breakfast of our honeymoon I called it, rallying her. " Starving I may be :
but starve I will in sight of food, unless you share it," and, " It escapes me for
the moment, madam, if you take sugar." We leaned to each other across the
rock, and our faces touched. Her cold cheek with the rain upon it, and one small
damp curl — for many days I had to feed upon the memory of that kiss, and I feed
upon it yet.
" But it beats me how you escaped them," said I.
She laid down the bannock she had been making pretence to nibble. "Janet,
— that is our dairy girl —lent me her frock and shawl : her shoes too. She goes
out to the milking at six, and I took her place. The fog helped me. They
are hateful."
" They are, my dear. Chevenix "