Chapter VI: In the Dusk

During tea Mrs. Henderson watched the girl with pleasure. “Iris,” she said, “how splendid you are looking--I have never seen you look so well! This day in the open has done wonders for you--you look simply radiant!”

Miss Dearn smiled in her bewitching way. “It has been a beautiful day--I am sorry it is nearly over.”

“Iris,” said her cousin, still looking at her, “I don’t know what to do with you--you really look too adorably lovely! I think I shall have to cover you up on the way home, or else that poor man----”

Iris made a quick movement as if to stop the voluble outburst, but it was no use. Mrs. Henderson proceeded: “Remember, he is only flesh and blood like the rest of mankind; and to have you so near him!--for I am going to make you sit next to him going home; he deserves that after the way he rode and all his hard work to-day looking after every one and helping in everything--all the same I am sorry for him; it must be almost maddening to be so close to the beautiful Miss Dearn and have her so delightfully nice to him--you know you really are awfully nice to him, Iris--and yet he is only a poor driver----”

Her cousin made another attempt to speak, but still Mrs. Henderson continued: “He really is splendid--such a wonderful organiser! I have been watching him to-day, and here as well as everywhere else he knows just what ought to be done and how to do it. But a man like that is absolutely wasted here; he should be in a very different position, and, with his ability, he easily could.” She touched Miss Dearn on the shoulder. “Look down there; he has just come in for tea; see how the girls are surrounding him! He is a great favourite with them; but they have to worship him from afar; although he has that delightful manner with them all he is not intimate with one of them. They have to content themselves with bringing him things to eat and casting long, sly glances after him when he has gone. But what a superb rider he is! By the way, I wonder who gave him that rose he is wearing; I have never seen him with flowers in his coat before, and I noticed he looked down to see if it was there several times before he took the fence.”

Iris did not blush, only the strange joy in her heart deepened. It was glorious to be alive, to be young, to be amid all this great beauty, and she gazed suddenly towards the haze-covered hills and the softly indicated mountains in the distance. She would be going towards those mountains presently. She would drive by huge fields of swaying corn, while the sunset still cast its rosy rays on the enchanted earth. Then would come the delicious cool twilight. She would pass through long stretches of dense bush where shadows would fall around her and fold her about with soft wings of mystery. And above all she would be beside the man who had sung to her in the cave, who had held her in his arms and who had suddenly brought a great wonderful something into her life.

They had started home.

Iris sat next to the driver. The front seat of the wagonette was rather small for three, and, as Mrs. Henderson took up a good deal of room, Miss Dearn and Rees were sitting close together. His arm pressed against hers constantly, especially when Mrs. Henderson spoke to him and he had to lean over Iris a little to catch what her cousin said. The contact thrilled her and brought a sweetness to her senses which was almost numbing.

They soon left the noisy main road crowded with holiday-makers going home and made their way towards the western mountains, where only occasional vehicles passed them on the quiet road.

They drove through small townships, passed prosperous farms, went up steep ascents, crossed murmuring creeks, while the setting sun cast a shimmering splendour over all. Then at last they reached the dense virgin bush, where the trees met overhead completely shutting out the sky; where the stillness seemed like the stillness in some dim cathedral, and the stray notes of birds like fading notes from an organ.

The soft, breathless twilight crept over the earth; not a branch moved, not a grass-blade stirred. The twilight was deep purple with the rich hue of hyacinths, gradually emerging into soft, cool darkness, which glided into the scented air, slipping under branches of the huge gum-trees, dropping over luxuriant undergrowth, brooding over the road and resting in delicious languor on the grass. Iris felt its gentle breath upon her cheek. To her it was a tangible, beautiful thing which had come to enrich her joy.

They drove some distance without talking, the majestic stillness around them had for the time hushed all voices. The silence was only broken by the muffled rumble of wheels and the touch of iron hoofs on the soft, yielding road.

But the people inside the wagonette could not be still for long; presently some one began a chorus, and soon afterwards the others joined, even Mrs. Henderson, so it was possible for Iris and Rees to talk a little.

“How I wish you were singing instead of all these people,” said Iris gently, with a touch of yearning in her voice.

“Would you really care to have me sing again? I didn’t think you would want that any more.”

The effort to suppress the eagerness in his tones was not altogether successful.

“How strange you should think such a thing. Why, I have been wanting to hear you sing ever since----”

“Really?”

“I should love to hear you out here in the bush--in this great mellow dimness.”

“I am sorry I can’t sing to you to-night; if we had been alone----”

“You would have sung then?”

“Yes, gladly.”

“The others do not know you sing?”

“No.”

“You do not wish them to know?”

“Certainly not.”

“How strange,” mused his companion; “when you have such a wonderful voice I should have thought you would love to use it.”

“I do.”

“Yet----?”

“That desire has to be restrained, like--others.”

“You think this--necessary?”

“I know it is.” He spoke with emphasis.

“Of course you know best, but--it seems such dreadful waste. You ought to be singing to thousands.”

“It is kind of you to think so.”

“Now you are reminding me that I am trespassing----”

“You know I did not mean that. Miss Dearn, don’t pretend to misunderstand me--please don’t,” he said with profound entreaty.

“No, no, of course I knew,” she said, turning to him in eager explanation. “But I deserved a reminder all the same.” She stopped for a moment, but, without giving him time to reply, she continued: “Only it would have been so beautiful to have you singing to-night, such an exquisite finish to a perfect day.”

“A perfect day?” he repeated questioningly. “Has it really been that to you?”

“Yes, absolutely satisfying--didn’t you find it so? You ought to, you know, after your great success.”

“Success, do you call it!” She felt the smile in his voice. “It has been a day to remember, but satisfying----”

“Not that? You must be hard to please.”

“Perhaps I am. But _some_ beauty is not satisfying, because it makes one wish for more.”

“In that case you may have your wish, as there are many more long, delicious summer days to come.”

He sighed a little, then said in altered tones: “As I can’t sing to you to-night, may I do so some other time?”

“I should love that--when do you think it will be?”

“Perhaps to-morrow at the Marble Cliffs--you are going there, aren’t you?”

“If you can take us.”

Iris saw what was in his mind now. Her cousin would never venture on the dangerous path down the great hill leading to the best view of the cliffs. Mrs. Henderson would stay at the cottage on the top of the hill, and talk to the old lady who lived there and supplied visitors with afternoon tea and raspberries and cream; while she and the driver made the descent alone, as they had done before. They would sit on the wide ledge above the turbulent river and look across to the majestic white rocks rising nearly seven hundred feet in sheer, massive grandeur on the other side of the stream.

The singing had ceased, and Mrs. Henderson spoke again to the driver.

“Is that our little township over there?” she said, pointing to some lights which had come into view as they turned a corner.

“I am afraid so.”

“Afraid--I should have thought you would be glad; you must be so tired after all your hard work.”

“No, I am not at all tired,” he said. “I could go through it again with ease.”

When they had reached the boarding-house and every one had got out of the vehicle Iris walked up to the horses and stroked them caressingly. “They have done excellent work to-day,” she said; “they must have a little attention also.”

Rees was beside her in a moment; one of the bays moved his head eagerly towards him as if asking for his caress too.

“How all animals love you,” said Miss Dearn impulsively.

“Perhaps they are sorry for me because I have--no other love.”

“Come on, Iris, I am starving for supper; let those poor horses get some too,” called Mrs. Henderson from the open door.

* * * * *

As Iris sat before the large oval mirror that night, brushing her golden-brown hair, she suddenly put down the brush, placed her elbows on the dressing-table and covered her face with her hands. “I am no longer free,” she whispered half aloud, “I am no longer quite free; something has bound me--my pride has been conquered--something is holding me----”

She was no longer the independent, rather self-sufficient Iris Dearn, who had walked through life unimpeded, in her grand, aloof, imperious way.

She was no longer free: she was beginning to discover her fetters.