CHAPTER XXV
THE BELATED DAWN
At last they passed out of the thick shadows which lay in the forestlands and into the soft dawn light of the valley, Ygerne and David,riding side by side. Behind them lay the hard trails which separatelyeach had travelled; before them now had the two trails merged, runningpleasantly into one; behind them, far back in the lonely solitudes ofthe mountains, was the old Chateau Bellaire wrapped about in its ownhistory as in a cloak of sable; in front of them, dozing upon the riverbanks, was MacLeod's Settlement.
They were thoughtful-eyed, thoughtful-souled, their lips silent, theirhearts eloquent, as they rode through the quiet street, passing PereMarquette's, Joe's, finally coming abreast of Drennen's old dugout.Drennen drew rein as Ygerne stopped her horse. Her eyes went to therude cabin, its door open now as it used to be so often even whenDrennen had lived there. Then she turned back from the house to theman and he saw that tears had gathered in the sweet grey depths andwere spilling over.
It was the time of rich, deep midsummer in the North Woods which hadbrought them back to the Settlement on their way to Lebarge. It wasthe season of joy come again, the warm, tender joy of infinite love.
A certain thought, being framed upon Drennen's lips, was left unspokenbecause to the girl the same thought had come and she had spokenswiftly after her own impulsive way:
"You asked me to meet you once . . . at dawn," she said softly. "Doyou remember? And, instead of coming, I left you a note which I couldnot have written . . . if I had not been mad . . ."
"That is gone by now, Ygerne," he answered gently.
"But," she whispered, "the dawn has come!"
So at last they came to the old log where Drennen had come upon herthat day he had hurled his love at her like a curse.
The flash of blue across the Little MacLeod might have been the wing ofthe same blue bird that had called to them here so long ago. A winterhad come, had wrought its changes upon the earth and had gone; now itwas a deeper summertime; but, for all that, to-day might have been theday set apart for this belated lovers' meeting.
Out of the thick darkness at last into the rosy dawn. Sorrow andtragedy behind, covered deep in those shadows; love in front of themand all that it promises to the man and the woman.
Ygerne slipped from her horse and went straight to the log, perchingupon it as she had sat that other day. Drennen, in a moment, followedher.
"Ygerne," he whispered.
Everything forgotten but the Now, a thrill ran through the girl. Shelifted her eyes to his and smiled at him, holding out her arms. But,in spite of her, her heart was beating wildly, the blood was runninginto her face until her cheeks were stained, red and hot with it.
"Do you hate me . . . because I made you love me?" she asked, laughinga little, holding him back from her for the last deliciously shy second.
"Do you hate me, Ygerne, because always I was brute to you?"
Then she no longer made play at pressing him back from her.
"We must begin all over," she said at last. "Love is not love whichdoes not trust to the uttermost. We both have lacked faith, David,dear. No matter what we see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears,we must never doubt again. You will always believe in me . . .now . . . won't you, David?"
They were silent a little, busied with the same thoughts; they livedover the few meetings here; they remembered the rainbow upon themountain flank, the dinner at Joe's Lunch Counter; they were sayinggood-bye to MacLeod's and were looking forward to Lebarge, the railroadand what lay for them beyond. . . .
Suddenly Drennen cried out strangely, and Ygerne, startled, looked athim wonderingly.
"What is it?" she asked quickly.
He pointed to something lying in the grass at the side of the log; justa few bits of weather spoiled cardboard which once upon a time had beena big box filled with candy for her. He told her what it was. Herhand shut down tight upon his arm; he could feel a little tremor shakeher; then, deeply touched by this little thing, the girl was cryingsoftly. A tear splashed upon his hand, a tear like a pearl.
"And there was something else, Ygerne," he said gently. "Look. Thewinter has left it and no man has come here to find it."
It was peeping out at him from the little hollow upon the log's unevensurface where he had dropped it, a glint of gold from under the pieceof bark which he had put over it and which had not been thrust aside bythe winter winds.
"I got it for you at the same time, Ygerne," he told her. "It was tobe my first little present to you. . . ."
Winter snow and spring thaw had done no harm to the gold which couldnot rust nor to the pearls which could not tarnish. . . . Silently shebared her throat that he might fasten the pendant necklace for her.His hands trembled and a strange awkwardness came upon him. But in theend it was done.
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