Chapter X

"O sun of heaven, above the worldly sea,
O very love, what light is this of thee!
My sea of soul is deep as thou art high,
But all thy light is shed through all of me,
As love's thro' love while day shall live and die."
SWINBOURNE.

But the heart of seventeen is nothing if not resilient; and the thin coating of ice, dutifully laid on by Audrey, could not choose but melt again in the light of Nevil Sinclair's eyes. Then the laughter of sun and sea; the boat, pulling lightly at its mooring-rope, like a playful child; all glad things seemed wooing her to forgetfulness of a pillow wet with tears, and carefully turned over lest Audrey discover the fact.

One thing disappointed her. There were but four of them. Mrs. Despard's husband was too ill to be left; and a heavy mail, that Sir Lakshman wished to grapple with at leisure, had made him beg Audrey to take his place. She could not well refuse; and now the four stood ready to embark from the toy bay scooped out of the headland where Nevil had sat with his "divine discovery" two nights ago.

Vivid against the broken white rocks, the sea that Lilamani loved so, shone blue and green, like her favourite peacock's breast, and her golden butterflies flickered, in their millions, along the wide path of light travelling westward with the sun. But the silken calm of yesterday was gone. Out in the open, heaving billows rose and fell, hinting lazily at huge forces in reserve. A brisk little breeze from the south-west tipped them here and there with feathers of foam; and away towards Italy a harmless-looking flock of grey-white clouds dappled the blue. A day that justified in full Lilamani's phrase of riding on the sea; and she could scarce restrain her impatience to be afloat. But, the boatman, with eloquent hands and eyebrows, appeared to be dissuading the Englishmen from going out. He detected promise of storm in that brisk little breeze, with its affectation of playful frivolity; and Audrey made haste to put in her word.

"If he thinks it best not to go, Nevil, don't be unwise enough to insist."

But Nevil was mysteriously aware of the cloud that shadowed Lilamani's face.

"My dear girl, I know what I'm about. It's merely a case of not going too far. But, of course, if you feel nervous----"

She silenced him with a glance; and he, turning to Lilamani, added, with manifest change of tone, "You rather enjoy a little tossing, don't you? And we can turn the minute our friend here gives the word--eh, Broome?"

"Right. I see no symptoms myself of serious derangement of the elements. Our friend may be more lazy than weather-wise, after all."

That happy suggestion clinched matters, and they set out: the women in the stern; Nevil rowing stroke; the pessimist reclining in the bows, to keep a sharp look-out on the heavens and lend a hand if need be. By this arrangement Sinclair's eyes were free of the beloved face; and he had promised himself, by interplay of stolen glances, to prepare the way for speech.

But he reckoned without the effect of Audrey's presence on the girl, and the yet more repressive effect of her words. To Lilamani, however rebellious at heart, one thing was certain: if there were the remotest fear of injuring his family or his fame, then yesterday's wonder of revelation must be, for her, as though it had never been. And without speech she must contrive to make him understand. So she refused, stoically, to meet the eyes that sought hers, at first in glad certainty of response; then in a growing bewilderment that verged on despair. This was not the Lilamani of last night. It was the Lilamani of earlier sittings: and he did not hold the key to the change. Instinctively, he blamed Audrey; though what she had said or done he was too distracted to guess.

It may be imagined that conversation fell flat: while Nevil--shuffling and discarding wild conjectures--handled his oar more casually every moment.

Broome, amusedly trying to keep time with him, gave it up at last, and balancing his own blade, smote his friend upon the shoulder.

"Come out of that, Nevil!" cried he. "I'm tired of playing second fiddle to a stroke who indulges in a _scherzo_, with variations, under the delusion that he is propelling a boat. I've not sworn at you once--audibly. And I claim my reward. Come out of it, and let me give the ladies a taste of my quality! Good Lord, man, steady on! You'll have us all in the water."

For Sinclair had risen impetuously, with a swift darkening of his whole face, duly noted by Audrey. One last look at Lilamani--unreturned, like the rest--and pulling himself together, he exchanged seats, with all due precaution, and a twisted smile in response to Broome's friendly pressure of his arm. Then did the boat bound forward to some purpose; and flagging conversation revived: though not for long. Of a sudden that brisk little breeze from the south dropped its pretence at frivolity, and raced full speed across the open sea, lashing the long lazy billows to crested waves. They caught the green and white pleasure-boat broadside on with a force that set it shuddering from end to end; and the pessimist in the bows had his moment of triumph.

"_Voyez donc, Messieurs, tournez--tournez vite!_" he cried in unfeigned alarm. "_Ça vient comme un ouragon._"

Before the words were out, both Englishmen had gripped their oars and bowed themselves to the task with a will. But the leaping, rocking boat seemed animated by a will of its own. Every moment the onrush of wind and waves grew fiercer; while the harmless flock of clouds sped across the sky, their dark edges blurred with rain. Audrey, gripping the gunwale, paled a little; not on her own account, but on account of the girl at her side, who--for her part--was lost in sheer delight at the beauty and movement and tense excitement of it all.

The two men battled and failed; battled and failed again, swearing inaudibly, between their teeth. Then--even as a curling monster broke over the boat, wetting Audrey to the skin--will and muscle triumphed. With a perilous lurch they swung round, and headed for the shore, as speedily as a broadside gale and wave on toppling wave would allow.

Not till then did Nevil dare snatch a glimpse of Lilamani, round the intervening bulk of his friend. Alert and upright she sat, this fragile being in her silken draperies; head uplifted, lips apart. One small hand had followed Audrey's lead; the other held her _sari_, that flapped and billowed about her fantastically with each fresh gust of the gale. And now the eyes that had been denied him, met his own fearlessly, all shadow of self-consciousness swept from them by the keen joy in things elemental that drives out the spirit of fear: and her lips flashed him a smile of such clear confidence as redoubled his own. With zest renewed he fought his way through the surging waters. All would yet be well; though this confounded hurricane had upset his cherished plans, and might conceivably upset the whole boat-load into the bargain.

Once--yea, twice, when a green wall of water bore down upon them, implacable as Fate, the end seemed a matter of minutes; and the natural, human dread of Death clutched at their hearts. But light craft, like certain light natures, will weather a sea that would sink a sturdier vessel; and, at each crisis, their cockle-shell rose gaily on the wave that should have whelmed it; shuddered down the far side with no worse punishment than a blinding shower of spray; and still headed gallantly for the Cap. But here, in the toy bay, where breakers laughed and thundered among the rocks, fresh danger confronted them. Almost it seemed as if landing were impossible; and to attempt rounding the point were certain destruction. But Cuthbert Broome was more than a mere weaver of fiction; and as they neared the danger-zone, his voice rang out, clear and commanding, above the sonorous laughter of the sea.

"_Attendez bien!_" he shouted over his shoulder to the weather-wise one in the bows, bidding him take fast hold of the rope and leap or plunge ashore on the first ghost of an opportunity. He and the other monsieur would manage the rest. A command tipped with gold; two louis, no less: and the son of old Antibes laughed in his sleeve. Certainly a wetting would be a nuisance. But gold was gold. And, though the breakers ran high, they were child's play to others he had weathered in fifteen years of intimacy with their kind. So long as "_les messieurs Anglais_" did not expect him to help with the women-folk--who would certainly shriek and struggle at the last--all was well; and he promised two whole candles to his patron saint, who had plainly made these fools of foreigners deaf to his warning out of pure consideration for his own empty pocket and recent ill-luck.

Before three minutes were out, he had seen his chance and taken it, with the agility of a chamois. Then, as the boat's keel screeched and jarred upon hidden rocks, Broome shipped his oar, and leaned forward, speaking with quiet decision.

"You must let me carry you across, Miss Hammond. It's imperative. Nevil can take Miss Lakshman Singh."

Revolt against the indignity of the first, and determination to prevent the second, made Audrey thrust out both hands, as if to ward him off by force. But, in such a case, might is right.

"For God's sake don't make a fuss," the man said sternly; and a moment later she was in his arms, held high like a child, while he slipped and staggered among the last of the breakers; till a hand thrust out by him of Antibes pulled them safe ashore.

Then--as Broome released her, and the boatman pocketed his gold--down came the rain: not mere drops, but steely shafts of water that flogged the earth and the tossing, shuddering trees. Sinclair, still in the boat, found time to hurl Audrey's parasol at his friend. The wind swept it yards ahead of them: and Broome, with a backward glance of pure amusement, secured his thankless captive by the arm.

"Come on, Miss Hammond. It's a case of running for all we're worth. That toy of yours won't be much use."

But Audrey stirred not an inch. "I'm wet through already," she answered coolly. "And I don't mind rain. I must wait for Miss Lakshman Singh."

"Nonsense, nonsense----" The masterful hand on her arm propelled her rapidly forward would she or no. "Sea-water's one thing; rain's another. At my advanced age it spells rheumatism; and Nevil, of all men, may be trusted to take good care of your friend."

"What do you mean? You don't understand," she panted. They were fairly running now; and as they passed under the archway of Moorish design--set where headland merges into mainland--Audrey snatched a last look over her shoulder at the two, who were so annoyingly far behind.

Nevil stood safely on the pathway now, with the treasure he coveted in his arms. Jealousy stung her, like a scorpion, jealousy that gave place to anger, and the old antagonism, as she was ruthlessly hurried along. Why did he not put the girl down at once? What shadow of right had he to hold her an instant longer than need be? What right, indeed, beyond the primeval one of a heart that is set on fire of love, and feels the only other heart on earth throbbing close against it, to the same immemorial tune.

Chivalrous gentleman though he was, the primal man triumphed in Nevil Sinclair just then. Instead of relinquishing his heaven-sent burden, he set off at a round trot--without leave asked or spoken word--for the archway a hundred yards off, whose width promised shelter and a chance of speech. Odd that, although he had flung his own coat about her shoulders, he should have forgot her parasol; but the boatman chased him with it and thrust it open into the girl's hand.

As for her--shyness, amazement, and a thrill of fear, that was rapture, had smitten her dumb. But now, as he began to run, she dutifully strove for freedom; pushing herself from him with one ineffectual hand pressed against his drenched silk shirt.

"Let me walk. Put me down. Oh, please, please!"

"When we get to the arch," he assured her, smiling, as he hurried on. And all the while his arms that held her, lightly, yet so closely, were telling her things not to be uttered save through that mystery of contact which is love's daily bread.

Then the arch loomed darkly above them. There was respite from the lash of the rain, that fell now in a steady downpour; for the wind had dropped. And the man was constrained to set her down, to loose his hold upon her yielding slenderness--for a time. Before they went on he would have her promise; not in words alone.

The blood drummed in his temples, and the whisper of her quickened breathing was music in his ears. But speech was difficult; more so than he could have believed. His flannel coat slipped unheeded from her shoulders as she stood before him, wind-tossed and palpitating, a flower shaken by the storm.

Then he drew a step nearer, and dared all.

"Lilamani----"

The word swept through her like triumphal music; and he saw the whole rose of the woman blossom in her cheeks. Then--remembrance stabbed her: remembrance that as far as the East is from the West, so far had Destiny set them asunder.

"Oh ... but you must not--" she pleaded, veiling her eyes lest they contradict her tongue. "And ... we ought to go on, please. At once."

"Why? You're very little wet; and the storm will soon pass over."

"But Audrey will be angry----"

He dismissed Audrey with a gesture of impatience.

"I'll settle with her, if only you will give me leave to tell her----" He came closer and she stepped back a pace.

"Lilamani!" he cried again, his voice breaking with passion held in check. "You know--you must know that those sweet, small hands of yours have plucked the heart out of my body. Will you throw it down and break it? Will you--will you?"

Still she denied him her eyes. "Oh, do not ask me such things. How shall I say? It is to my father you should speak."

"But it is from his daughter I must have my answer first."

Experience of her kind tempted him to enforce his plea by persuasion more compelling. But never had he realized more poignantly her delicate aura of apartness than in this, their first moment alone, when it seemed that he had but to go forward, with tender mastery, and take her to himself. Opportunity beckoned; temptation was keen; and he readier, by nature, to yield than to resist. Yet he merely put out a hand and passed caressing finger-tips along the edge of her _sari_.

He had his reward. For a small shiver of ecstasy ran through her; and he knew--exultingly he knew----!

"Beloved--let me see your eyes." He spoke low and eagerly. "Let them promise me that you will be ... my wife, in spite of everything. Put out of your mind all foolish scruples about difference of race--and colour. They are unworthy of you--of me--of the great countries to which we belong. Oh, my beautiful love! Don't keep me in suspense----"

At that she let fall her hands, and he cherished their chill moisture, while those dark unfathomable eyes of hers dwelt upon his face in a passion of adoration, such as the modern man rarely looks for in marriage, and still more rarely receives. Nevil Sinclair had seen enough of counterfeit coin to realize that--worthy or unworthy--he had struck pure gold at last.

He let out his breath in a sigh of supreme content.

"Now nothing in Heaven or earth can come between us," he said; and, still holding her, leaned nearer for the crowning assurance.

But she, with a broken sound, stepped backward against the brickwork; and, freeing one hand, warded him off with a gesture that for him was a command.

"Oh, I must not--I may not! There is not yet any betrothal. And--and--there never can be----"

"In God's name, why not?" he cried out desperately. "If you wish it ... and I wish it----"

Again that appealing gesture. "Oh, please--please--not to speak, and--try to understand. You are asking if--if I--love you; and--how shall I deny? But--for marriage----" The sob that struggled in her throat was bravely driven back. "In my country it is not just to the pleasure of two people. It is to union of families, of same religion, same caste. But ... how can we ... for sake of my father, and--and--for yours----"

"Mine? What d'you know of him----?"

"Not a great deal; but--enough. Audrey told me----"

"Audrey----? Good Lord----!" Fire that was not passion blazed in his eyes; and her lips quivered at this new revealing.

"Have I said wrong? Please not be angry----"

"With you? Never!" Betrothal or no, his arm went round her shoulders, and, in defiance of gentle resistance, held her so. "But I'll not put up with Audrey's interference. My home affairs are no concern of hers, and I shall tell her so in straighter language than she'll care about. What has she said already? Tell me honestly. I have every right to know."

The measure of an Eastern woman's submission is the measure of her love; and, in faltering, tailless phrases, she told him honestly of the half-hour's talk that had jolted her from heaven to earth; adding, on her own account, a tremulous plea for duty and family honour, and--hardest of all--for the girl in his own rank of life....

But this he would not endure, even from her.

"Lilamani--how dare you, after--just now! As for my father, no doubt he would rather I chose a girl in my own set; you see, I am frank with you. But in my country, a man marries to please himself, not to please his father."

She sighed; then, smiling bravely up at him: "In my country it is not so: at least--not with women----"

"I know that. Audrey told me also--of you----"

"Of me?"

A wave of hot colour flooded her face: and his hold upon her tightened.

"Darling, we won't speak of that, or think of it even," he whispered; and through the thin veil she felt his lips upon her hair. "You are mine now--for always. Your father will never be blind to your true happiness! He is so courageous, so wide-minded----"

"Yes--yes. But--in this, it is not him; it is our law, our custom. If I, a Hindu, marry to a foreigner, I am cut off for always from family, from caste, from religion--from ever going back to my home. This he cannot change with all his wishing and his courage; and for this--he would surely break his heart. But he shall not--he shall not----" her voice vibrated on a low note of passion--"that is why I can only--break--my own."

"And mine, by the way. Does that go for nothing?"

At the thrill of pain in his tone, the sob so bravely beaten back rose up again, striking away her pitiful defences of pride and maidenly aloofness. Then--how it came about she never quite knew, though he perchance could have enlightened her--she found herself crying her heart out on the shoulder of the man who could never be her betrothed; burning face hidden against his damp silk shirt; distraught spirit soothed by the magic of his touch. And, for a while, beyond murmured endearments, he made no attempt to check her tears. He blessed them, rather, in that they brought relief to her, and to him the privilege of such caresses as a smiling Lilamani would never have allowed. Only when the sobs had died down to shuddering sighs, he brought his head close again and pleaded his cause with hope renewed.

"Beloved--if ... supposing ... your father is not dead against me as a son-in-law, you would be willing to sacrifice ... all you said----?"

Her passionate whisper, "Yes--oh yes----" lifted him to such heights of humility as it is good for a man to reach once in a life. "But he will never--never----" she sighed out her tragic conviction. "And without his consenting, I will never--make promise ... even for you----" A tremor shook her stoical resolve. But she checked his threatened interruption, and went on, with a lift of her small, proud head: "For me there can be no marriage. Punishment of gods doubtless for going against my mother. I must only be thankful for freedom to do Audrey's plan. I will conquer these ugly studies. Then--I go back to my father and--my country; and I will bring health and light to my less free sisters, who are sick of body or of mind----"

"You will do nothing of the sort, you blessed little saint," he assured her; and his conviction, though a smiling one, equalled her own. "You will stay where Fate has sent you, to give health and light to one unworthy Englishman, who can't live without you. Lilamani----!" He drew near again and stood before her, very straight and virile in the clinging silk shirt and _kummerbund_. "Have you quite grasped the fact, even now, that I want you more than I have ever wanted anything on earth? Why should we meet tragedy half-way? Seeing how you are placed, your father might be readier than you think.... Only give me a chance to ask him, to-morrow--to-night even----"

"Not you. It is for me now," she said softly. "It is I that can give him less pain in telling. Also--it is only I that might--perhaps--bring him to see this thing with our eyes----"

"Yes--yes. You are right. You will speak soon?"

"I could not sleep to-night without telling him all that is in my heart."

Her eyes had a far-away look, rapt and tender. He felt himself forgotten, and knew the prick of jealousy.

"Dearest," he said with sudden intensity, "will you ever love me half as well as that?"

"Foolish one!" she rebuked him tenderly, and the play of blood in her cheeks was an uplifting thing to see. "How shall I know--yet? But this I know--we are staying here too long. Audrey will be so wondering and so angry."

"What a calamity! And your news won't mend matters, I'm afraid."

"No. That is the pity. But still--we must go quickly. Look--the wind is almost dead."

"Is it?" he asked, looking instead at the delicate pencillings of distress between her brows.

"And the rain also," she went on, stepping out for a fuller view of sea and sky. "Look how the sun is sparkling it like jewels! And there--over there--more beautiful than all! So great a rainbow! Two rainbows. Such as I have never seen!"

It was true. Arched across the eastern sky, where rent clouds unveiled a vision of frail, storm-washed blue, a double rainbow spanned the heavens in two unbroken arcs. Not blurred and misty, but astonishingly clear, gleamed each ring of those primal colours that rightly fused create the miracle men call light; even as love and courage, faith and truth, in perfect fusion, create that other miracle men call a human soul.

And while they stood watching, awed to silence, these two who had touched the secret springs of life, sea and sky grew calmer, till all the blue was stippled with footprints of the vanished wind--umber and grey and white, smitten by the passing sun to luminous tints of pearl.

"'Bride of the Rain,' that is how Arabs call it," Lilamani whispered at last; and the man's hand closed upon hers that hung at her side.

"Very beautiful," he said in the same tone, as if they stood on the threshold of a temple. "For you are my Bride of the Rain! And it's a good omen. You know our Bible legend?"

"Yes. I have read."

"The bow of promise--you remember? Well, there it is--twice over. Yours and mine."

Smiling, she shook her head; and the eyes she turned upon him had their own rainbow-light of love gleaming through tears.

"You have the more courage. But you cannot see, so clear as I see, all the frowning mountains----"

"Love and faith can move mountains, Lilamani."

For a fleeting instant, her glance caressed him. "It is possible. And you must believe that I will do all I can--except go against my father. Come now----" the hand that nestled in his own was gently withdrawn. "And please--if Audrey is waiting me downstairs, will you come up with us--that she shall not ask me questions? I cannot speak with her--of you, till I have spoken with my father. Will you come?"

He beamed at the request. "At least, then, you allow my right to protect you?"

"I am allowing--every right," she answered very low. "Only--I have so little hope--

"Well, I have enough for us both and to spare!"

"Ah--that is a thought to shame my weakness. Come, quickly."

So they went together up the broad path from the sea, keeping farther apart than need be, lest any recognize them as lovers stepping downwards from the hill of dreams into the valley of stones. And Miss Blakeney, smiling distantly upon them, as they mounted the steps, was moved to righteous disapproval at the increasing forwardness of the "Indian curio," who by rights should be safely shut away from the sight of man, "Instead of flagrantly fishing for an English husband--whom she would certainly never catch!" A spiteful touch evoked by the transfigured aspect of Nevil Sinclair's face.