CHAPTER XII
FRIENDSHIP?
When the next morning came, Poppea kept her bed for the first time sincethe childhood days of whooping-cough and measles. From sunrise waves ofintense heat swept the village and outlying country, intensified ratherthan veiled by the low-hanging mists. Yet this alone could not accountfor the flushed cheeks and restless sparkle of her eyes, or theweariness of limb that almost refused to let her move. The fact was thatshe had not slept, but each hour of the summer night had brought a newphantom with which she had struggled. In so far as it was possible, shehad ceased to dwell upon the theme of _The Mystery of the Name_, now ithad returned with new force to haunt her, and with it the persecution ofJohn Angus. This in itself was hard enough to bear, but it meant alsocomplete separation from Philip, who had come to be such a part of herinner life that no one else seemed fully to comprehend that even theidea of readjustment was impossible.
The unintentional abruptness of Bradish Winslow in stating the pith ofAngus's complaints against the post-office, by its very shock hadbrought her face to face with the fact that she had tried to concealeven from herself. Oliver Gilbert was swiftly coming to a time when, ifhe did not resign, his age and slowness of motion might surely be castup against him for some trivial oversight that would, in a younger man,pass unnoticed.
For a time the danger of dismissal was probably averted; that is, ifWinslow's attitude of apparent sympathy was sincere. Was he to betrusted? Standing face to face with him the night before, it had notoccurred to her to doubt him. Away from him, a certain sustainingmagnetism coming from his entire confidence in himself, blended with anagreeable personality, was lacking, and Poppea wondered if he had readher aright, or taken her justification as a clever bit of acting. Andwhy not, if John Angus could so misjudge her!
Other women of her age and naturally emotional temperament might takepeeps into the promised land of love and romance even before the gateopened and they were bidden to enter. The knowledge of her own name wasthe only key to the gate for her; she had long since resolved this, thatevening at the opera when the Knight of the Grail, to her a realpersonality, had disappeared. But since then the doubt had come to her,suppose that the knowing proved to her also a final barrier instead ofthe key?
Oliver Gilbert was appalled at Poppea's indisposition, which he viewedin the light of a positive disaster. Leaving his six o'clock cup ofcoffee untasted, he went about putting up the early mail with shakinghands and a lack of precision that might well have called downcriticism, had it been observed. Neither did he draw comfort from Mrs.Shandy's common-sense assurance that "Miss Poppy is only a bit done upwith the strong heat coming all of a sudden, and having to sing beforesuch a gathering of the quality for the first time. When she's rested abit and had a nice cup of breakfast tea and some toast, she'll be quiteanother thing."
The doctor must be had! Nothing else would satisfy Gilbert. So, abouteleven o'clock, when Miss Emmy drove down in the barouche to tell Poppeathe pleasant gossip about the party, together with the comments upon hersinging, encountering Bradish Winslow in spotless white clothessauntering in the same direction, Dr. Morewood's chaise came up theWestboro road and halted at the gate of the post-office house a littleahead of them.
Miss Emmy, on hearing that he had called to see Poppea, followed himinto the house, while Winslow went into the office and, over the buyingof a newspaper, drew Gilbert into conversation.
Whether it was the tea and toast that had the predicted effect, or thefact that Poppea had finally acquired the mastery of herself andremembered that Winslow had promised to look at the post-office and itsmaster through his own eyes and judgment, at the moment that Miss Emmywas ushered into the parlor she heard, through the open window, Dr.Morewood's voice talking to Poppea in the room above.
"Something is worrying you, child; get away from here for a week andlook at things from a different place," he said. "If it's too livelyfor you at Felton Manor, go over to the Mills. Dear little Mrs. Oldys isnearly down ill through homesickness for Hugh, and the next best thingto seeing him will be to see some one who knows him to whom she can readhis letters. It'll do you good to go up there, with that view over theMoosatuck to the hills that every sunrise is like a glimpse of thepromised land, and it will be a perfect godsend to her. Do you know,sometimes I think that plucky little woman is simply clinging to life bythe love she has for her husband and son. I've been so impressed withthe idea this spring that about a month ago I wrote Hugh asking him ifhe couldn't shorten his trip and come home early in August, so as togive some leeway before he goes to his new work in September.
"I am going up to the Oldyses' now; may I tell Madam that you're coming,say this afternoon?"
Poppea was looking out the window to where the grim outline of thechimneys and roof of John Angus's house could be seen above the vinesthat covered the parapet. Yes, she realized that she must go somewhereif only for a couple of days, to be out of sight of that dominant houseand all that it implied, until she could pull herself together oncemore, so she nodded in assent and followed the doctor downstairs.
"Not sick, but playing lazy and caught at it," was her reply to MissEmmy's outstretched hands, and eyes full of sympathy.
"You see that putting on fine feathers and spending an evening with thequality has quite turned my head," she continued, forcing hersprightliest manner that Miss Emmy might be led from questioning her tooclosely.
"Then your head will have to stay turned, for every one who heard yousing last night wishes to hear you again," and the loquacious littlelady ran over a long list of names that represented not only many of thebricks and beams of New York society, but much of the decorativesuperstructure as well.
"You always said that you wanted to step out and really do somethingagainst the time when Daddy would be too old to keep the post-office,and now here is the chance. You are to come to us in New York and beproperly introduced at our first musical of the winter, and then youwill have all the engagements you can fill at fifty dollars each for therest of the season. Two or three a week will be a plenty and leave youtime for lessons with Tostelli or some one equally good. Then, by andby, when you have acquired manner, and you are well known, you mightconsent to sing at a few public concerts, given of course under thepatronage of our best people. But we mustn't whisper of that yet; sisterElizabeth would not hear of such a thing. You will naturally spend thewinter with us, for the post-office work is very light in the offseason, I've heard you say.
"I will tell you a secret," and Miss Emmy drew Poppea toward her with adramatic air of extreme caution. "I've come to the time at which I usedto think I should adopt a young girl. I can no longer wear pink and paleblue with impunity! I'm growing sallow! I must, therefore, think outpretty costumes for some one else--for you. For the first winter,simple dresses with flower trimmings will be very telling; violet tulleand wistaria, corn-colored gauze and cowslips," and Miss Emmy's hands,flexible and nervous, described the lines and folds of flower-wreatheddraperies, as she spoke.
"What do you think? Don't you like the idea, child? I'm going to carryyou off to the Manor for luncheon, and afterward to call on some of thehill people before their guests, who came for last night, disperse.There is nothing like striking while the iron is hot, but especiallywith people of the _beau monde_; if you let them cool off, there's theheating process all to be done over again, whereas this time it wassimply a case of spontaneous combustion with you as the spark."
In spite of her vivacity and high spirits, Miss Emmy coughed wrackinglywhen she stopped, and even a casual observer could see the ominousfalling away at the temples and behind the ears, as well as thewrinkling of the throat under its bertha of embroidered mull.
"I like the idea of singing as an employment," said Poppea, when MissEmmy paused long enough to let her be heard; "but as to all therest--well, that would have to be on a business basis also. From themoment I begin to earn money, I must pay money. You see, dear Aunty, upto now it's been all for love and love in return, and now-
-it must bedifferent."
"Don't be obstinate, Poppy, for if you are and put on that determinedlook, I shall have to call you Julia, even in private."
"No, I'm not obstinate, neither can I change; it is simply this, Icannot allow myself to be an object of charity any longer. Ask Mr.Latimer. I have talked of it with him, and he understands. Ah, Aunty,Aunty, I cannot go on standing in false positions. If they like mysinging and it is worthy, I will sing, but I do not want it to come bysocial favor only."
"Think it over, child, and don't try to fly with ideas for wings thatmay do very well here at Harley's Mills, but not in New York," Miss Emmyreplied, rather tartly for her. "I don't think that in your presentstate of mind you will improve your prospects by calling on those whoheard you last night; they would best keep you in mind as the dreamylooking girl with downcast eyes and poppies in her hair." Miss Emmywalked out to the carriage without more ado, while Poppea wondered if itwas going to be her fate to be misunderstood.
Going to the post-office, she encountered Winslow, who was occupying achair inside the beehive and alternately chatting with and scrutinizingGilbert over the edge of a _New York Herald_ in which he was ostensiblystudying the stock market.
By the furtive glance that Gilbert gave her, Poppea knew he had beentalking of her, therefore her color heightened, and no one less keenthan Winslow in taking every detail of a woman's appearance in a casualglance would have noticed that the shadows under her eyes were not thoseof her lashes. She was dressed in a straight white gown akin to that ofa trained nurse in its simplicity, without a single touch of color otherthan her hair; yet the effect in the bare surroundings of the shop wasto envelop her with a virginal freshness that appealed to Winslow evenmore than the more poetic costume of the previous evening.
"Having made the acquaintance of Cinderella, who vanished, I've now cometo call upon the Postmistress, hoping that she will not also disappear,"he said, taking her hand with a caressing touch that was personal enoughto be remembered, but not of a quality to be resented.
"Sit down here, child, and just cast your eye over this money-order tobe sure if it is right, for Stephen Latimer may come for it any time.Mr. Winslow will excuse you a minute, I reckon," said Gilbert, as Poppeahesitated a moment in embarrassed silence, not knowing whether sheshould ask Winslow to the porch or garden, or merely take the call inher official capacity. The request decided the matter, and as Gilbertwent over to his work bench to become instantly absorbed, she slippedinto his revolving chair, glanced rapidly over the figures, separatednote from stub, and returned the book to the drawer. When she againfaced Winslow, her hands were clasped rather nervously in her lap.
"I came over this morning for two reasons," he said, as though in answerto a question in her eyes. "I was afraid that last night's excitementwas altogether too much of a strain, and I wanted to reassure myself bya peep at you. Then I wished to tell you in plain, open daylight howdeeply I feel about my unknowing brutality concerning this post-officebusiness, and to ask you, if you can help it, not to let it tinge orprejudice your feelings about me, but to judge me only by the outcome.As it is, no one else need ever know the details except our twoselves."
The look of intense relief that lighted Poppea's face and raised thedrooping lip corners was perfectly apparent to Winslow, and also toldhim that doubt as to this outcome had probably broken her rest.
"I do not think of it as brutality even though it hurt, and though Ishall not tell Daddy, because he would grieve himself sick, I _must_tell Mr. Latimer, because he has always known of everything concerningme, and helps me understand my troubles by holding them, as he says, intrust. For the rest, I can only thank you for taking the trouble toconsider a passing stranger."
"I do not feel that you are a stranger; I did not when I first saw youdancing before the mirror, or yet again on the porch last night. You areto me Youth and all the good that belongs with it. We have met twice byaccident, the third time by intent; does not that make us friends?"
As far as his emotions were concerned, Bradish Winslow at six and thirtymight be said to have his second wind. The things that appealed to himwith any permanence in these days knocked first at the door of hisjudgment where his aesthetic taste was doorkeeper. It was by this routethat Poppea stole swiftly along until his heart was reached, andresponded before he even remembered that he had one. Then, too, she wasas refreshing as the first sun-ripened strawberries of June after thecomplicated winter confections of the club.
Winslow found himself leaning toward Poppea, holding her eyes andspeaking with a vibrating eagerness that would have surprised any one ofhis half-hundred city intimates, both male and female. Of adistinguished family, rich in moderation, and with no one to please buthimself, Winslow, though an indispensable social factor, was, as far aswomen were concerned, a devoted cynic, always at the beck and call ofsome modish woman, usually either married or a widow, but whenever thechains of his own forging seemed likely to fetter, he had always eludedthem, to seek safety in numbers once more.
He had no further reason for sitting in the stuffy little post-officethan to see Poppea; he had no other reason for having stayed the secondday at the hill, and yet, with all of his resources, quick wit, andelastic principles, he could devise no way of prolonging the interviewor bringing Poppea into less conventional relations than her expressionsof gratitude implied.
His hesitation surprised him, for on a still briefer acquaintance he hadbrought a very difficult and much-sought widow to ask him to luncheon,after which she had taken him to a round of "teas" in her carriage.
Winslow realized this as they sat there, presently talking of inane andsafe topics, such as the heat, the city people visiting on the hill, andthe tennis match to be held there next day, and it was almost a reliefwhen Stephen Latimer, coming for his money-order, told Poppea that theOldyses' rockaway was stopping at the Rectory and would be down for herin a quarter of an hour. As Latimer showed no signs of leavingimmediately, there was nothing left for Winslow to do but bow himselfout, more awkwardly than Stephen Latimer, who had known him of old,would have believed possible.
Once in the roadway, where he could throw back his shoulders and strikeout, the web that he had sought to spin as a spider, but which had heldhim like a captive fly, parted, and he admonished himself in no measuredterms.
"I wouldn't have thought it of you, Brad, my boy; there you sat as dumbas a fish, and she, when she got through being politely grateful, lookedabsolutely bored. It must be because you feel out of your running in areal cow-country place like this. Is it possible that you're fallingin--? No, it's nonsense! But you'd give a pile to make her look in yourface with something other than gratitude in her eyes. Well, maybe she'llgo to the city some day, who knows. Meanwhile, we'll not let out ofsight be out of mind."
This resolution was the foundation of a series of subtly chosen giftssent at regular intervals that, coming in the mail, Poppea could notfail to see. As, however, after the first, from which fell a pressedpoppy, they contained no sign, she could neither acknowledge nor returnthem, for their source was a matter of inference only. Neither did sheknow that Winslow, summering here, there, and everywhere, from Newportto the North Cape, had left an order with his agent for the sending ofthe remembrances; consequently, in spite of herself, he was kept inmind, and she was somewhat touched, according to his plan.
* * * * *
Poppea was shocked when she reached the Mill House to find how muchMadam Oldys had changed in a few weeks, and she reproached herself fornot having seen her oftener. But the house had seemed so strange andstill without Hugh that she had avoided bringing herself face to facewith its emptiness.
Yes, as the doctor said, the chord that held her soul in her body wasMadam Oldys's love for husband and son. This Poppea saw as she knelt onthe mat beside the straw lounging chair on the deeply shaded porch andwatched the rapid pulsing at the thin temples as the time drew near forMr. Oldys to come home to tea. He was very busy these days inremodell
ing the Mills and fitting them for a new manufacturingenterprise that should not only retrieve the heavy loss of the lastyears in the waning of the old business, but give work to the men whohad built their homes and houses about him and the surging outlet ofMoosatuck.
This night he was unaccountably late, and Poppea had already run thegamut of plausible excuses before Charlotte came out to inquire, afterthe comfortable manner of the old colored servant, if Missy Oldyswouldn't better have her tea before she went all gone from waiting. Buta negative shake of the head was her answer.
"I think, my dear, that I will walk down to the gate to-night as usual,where I can see beyond the turn," she said to Poppea, at the same timetrying to rise without aid and finding it impossible.
"He is coming!" cried Poppea. "Mr. Oldys has this moment turned into theroad from the little gate in the south meadow. Ah, he has a man withhim, a stranger; some one about the new machinery, probably, whichaccounts for his being late. There, he is waving his handkerchief, soeverything is right," and Poppea waved hers in return, thus keeping upthe significant little signal that had passed between this sweet oldcouple every summer evening, time out of mind.
"A stranger," the wifely anxiety instantly merging into the hospitableinterest in a guest. "Then please ask Charlotte to add coffee and one ofwhat Hugh called 'her hasty hot dishes' to supper; the ham omelet willbe best. He may have come by train and had merely a sandwich at noon."
Poppea gave the order, and on her return looked again at the pair whohad almost reached the gate. She had never before realized that Mr.Oldys either stooped or was short of stature; in fact, he was tallerthan the average, but his companion, broad-shouldered, dark, and trimlybearded, towered over him by half a head. At the gate they paused, andMr. Oldys, putting his hand on the other's shoulder, leanedaffectionately on it, while the stranger lifted and waved thewide-brimmed soft felt hat.
It was Hugh! the forehead line told the tale to Poppea that the beardhad concealed.
With a swift gesture that warned the pair to come slowly, dreading theshock to Madam Oldys that might come from the unexpected, Poppea kneltagain by the chair, and putting one hand each side of the face, stillbeautiful with all its delicacy, turned it toward her and whispered:--
"Close your eyes and think of some one you would like to see comingacross the field, then make a wish, for the fairies are about to-night."
The lids quivered and closed, then opened, and the eyes that readPoppea's were full of new life.
"It is Hugh! it is my boy! All day I have felt him come nearer, closer,but I thought it was only in spirit. Give me your hand; he must not findme idling. See, I am stronger already;" and Madam Oldys not only stoodup, but walked toward the steps, barely leaning on the arm that Poppeastretched out to steady her, to be grasped the next moment by a strongpair of arms in an embrace that stifled her cry halfway and lifted herfrom her feet, while as Poppea tried to slip back, she found her handheld in the same grasp and a kiss fell squarely upon her lips.
She did not blush then or separate the greeting in any way from thegood-by of ten months before. But later, as they gathered about thesupper table where Madam Oldys sat behind the tray, handling the chubbytea-caddy for the first time in months, and Poppea looked at Hugh as heattacked the "hasty hot dish" with a traveller's relish, she knew thathe was and yet was not the same. The span of the months and distance hadadded immeasurably to the man, but the boy, the chum, the comrade, thathe had been even throughout his college days, had vanished, and a hotcolor flushed her face up to her hair roots until she became soconscious of it that she put her hand up as though to shade her eyesfrom the light.
Before, Hugh Oldys had been clean shaven and slender for his height; nowhe was filled out without fleshiness, and a closely trimmed beard andcrisp, clearly pencilled mustache gave a new masculinity to his facewithout in any way concealing the determined yet flexible lips or thenostril curve that told of nerves high strung but perfectly under thecontrol of will.
Naturally it was Hugh who talked the most, his father putting briefquestions and gazing in deep contentment at his wife, who, withoutexpressing a shadow of the loneliness she must have felt or even askingHugh why he had shortened his year by nearly three months, was revivingand expanding; a miracle under their very eyes, like the refreshment ofa plant that, withered and famished, takes hold of life anew even at thebreath of the wind that brings rain.
A year before, Poppea would have stayed on as a matter of course, one ofthe family group, but now she felt that on this precious evening thethree should be alone together, and when Hugh went upstairs to change toa coat more suitable to the sultry night, she whispered a few words inMadam Oldys's ear about feeling quite rested and not being needed nowfor company; then with a nod to Mr. Oldys, finger on lips, slippedthrough the side hall where hung her hat and scarf, and thence throughthe garden gate into the depths of the June evening, where every bushheld a flower in bud and every tree a sleeping bird.
The Oldyses saw nothing strange in her going, for she had always comeand gone at will. Rather it was another proof of her thought of them,this silent understanding that three was company that night; besides, ahalf-mile walk alone on a street where each house kept watch over itsneighbor, was a mere nothing to a village girl.
"Where is Poppea?" was Hugh's question on reentering, his hands full ofthe trinkets of travel that he had pulled hastily from his grip. "Gonehome? alone in the dark? why, Mother!" and dropping his burden in herlap, he went out the low French window and sprang over the piazza railwithout turning the corner for the steps.
Mother and father, sitting side by side, exchanged glances and a handpressure that revealed that they two recognized a change in Hugh, butthat they were well content in the knowledge.
Poppea walked down the side road to the main street that passed the baseof Quality Hill before she heard the rapid footsteps behind her thathalted presently by her side. No word was spoken, but her hand was drawnthrough a muscular arm and held there fast. A year ago this might havehappened without comment, but the arm was not the same, neither the handthat rested on it.
"What made you run away, Poppea? You never did before; that is, neverbut once."
As soon as he had completed the heedless sentence, Hugh was sorry, whileto Poppea it was as though some one had spread the last seven years ofher life before her guised in a knitted fabric, and slipping the thread,bade her ravel it stitch by stitch to its beginning.
"I thought you would wish to be alone with the home people," she said,searching for her words as if they were packed away for lack of use.
"And what are you if you are not one of the home people? what else haveyou ever been to me since the day that I first saw you and for a momentwasn't quite sure whether I wanted you or the puppy the most?"
Poppea could not answer at once; the ground seemed unsteady. The monthsof parting had broken the old shuttle and snapped the thread; whatpattern would the new loom weave that the meeting had set in motion?
At this moment they were passing the church, and the lamp in StephenLatimer's study cast a path of light across the turf almost to theirfeet, against which the outline of his face was silhouetted.
"Aren't you going in to see the Latimers?" she said, forgetting thatHugh's last question was unanswered.
"No, not to-night; to-morrow. This hour is mine and yours, Poppea. Whydo you shiver so and draw away; you've always taken my arm?"
"I didn't know that I was doing either, but somehow everything seemsdifferent to-night, strange and new. Perhaps it is because I've not beenfeeling quite myself for a few days. Only this morning the doctor sentme up to the Mill House for a change." Then, in her turn, Poppearegretted the final words.
"And my homecoming has sent you away when you were tired, and that iswhy you falter. This is a bitter thought."
"It is not exactly that; I don't know what it is, but that I seem tobring distress upon all those I care for," and from a rush ofhalf-coherent words he heard of her friendship with Philip and i
tsresults to him, and in a partial way the danger to Oliver Gilbert. Asshe talked, they had reached the post-office house gate.
The house itself was dark, but a light shone from Gilbert's workroom. Onthe side porch the ample figure of Mrs. Shandy rocked to and fro,fanning vigorously.
As Poppea turned toward the steps, almost stumbling in her fatigue, Hughguided her along the path to a bench by the orchard edge, an oldschoolhouse bench with a platform under foot that he had made once,years ago, when Gilbert had chided Poppea for letting the dew spoil hernew Sunday shoes.
"Sit here," he said; "take off your hat and let the air blow throughyour hair, while I get you some water."
How good it seemed to have some one say with authority, "do this," or"do that," the unspoken motive being "because it is for your good." Thenshe began to realize that during the last few months she and Daddy hadrather been shifting places in point of responsibility.
She drank the water slowly and gratefully, knowing through the clearstarlight that his eyes were on her face, and as she drank she breathedthe perfume of the half-double damask roses that had long ago crept fromthe garden above the parapet to make a thicket on either side the bank.
"A little while ago you said that everything seemed different andstrange. Then both of us feel this. I had not landed on the other shorelast autumn, hardly left this even, when the wrench of parting told methat everything was different, and would remain so. But I wanted you tohave a chance to feel it for yourself if might be, and I kept it from myletters,--though I knew they were like wretched guide-books,--because Idared not let myself go.
"To-night, when I came back, hurried by Dr. Morewood's letter, and sawthe woman who gave me life clinging to my little comrade, I knew thetime had come when I must tell her that my love had changed."
"Then can we no longer be friends?" Poppea asked faintly. "Must I loseyou, too, as I have lost Philip?"
"Always friends, Poppea; that is the beginning. Are not Stephen Latimerand Jeanne friends? and my father and mother also? But it must be morethan friends, everything that a man and woman may be to each other. Thechange is that I love you as Latimer does Jeanne, that I want you for mywife.
"Is that strange to you, Poppea? or does it seem to you as it does tome, the fulfilment?" and Hugh leaned toward her, pale and anxious, inthe starlight and holding out his arms.
Poppea turned quickly as though she would let him take her, thencatching her breath, drew back, covering her face with her hands, whilea half-forgotten harmony forced itself on her ears, and once more theKnight of the Grail waving farewell, with the mystic sadness on hisface, passed before her mental vision.
"Oh, Hugh!" she moaned, "I've lost you, lost you! It isn't what I feel;it isn't what I wish! Don't you see that I can never be any man's wife,much less yours, who knows my whole life through, until I can give myown name with my love?"
"That is for me to say, and I say yes!" cried Hugh, holding her to himas though to prove her need of protection.
"No, it is for neither of us to say; it is something beyond ourselves. Icannot tell why, but I know it," Poppea answered, without the tremor ofthe previous moment, but with a pleading dignity that made Hugh drop hisarms.
"Suppose that something should some day come to light, when it was toolate, that made it wrong for me to love you, we might not be able tobear the harm of it only ourselves." Then springing up with all theintensity of nerve and lithe motion that marked her dancing, she stoodbefore him, with hands clasped, beseeching.
"Oh, Hugh, Hugh, can't you help me; won't you help me find out who I am?for sometimes I think that Daddy knows and will not tell!"
"And if I can, is that all that stands between us, Poppea? Look into myface so that I can see your eyes when you answer me."
"Oh, Hugh, be patient with me, be merciful! How can I say until I knowmy name, for it may be--that I have no real right to any."
It was so long before Hugh spoke that Poppea found herself counting herheart-beats, so keenly was the silence borne in upon her.
Then she said timidly: "Meanwhile, Hugh, could you--could we go on beingfriends? Your mother and Daddy, what could I say to them if we didn'tspeak? What should I do without you?"
Once more he drew her toward him, this time gently, not passionately."It isn't an easy road that is before us, little one, but it is hardestfor you, because I must, in any event, go out to make my way. Though Ido not agree with your resolution, I do not say it is wrong.
"I love you, man to woman; that is where I stand. You must not forgetthis for a moment, as I shall not. But you must not fear that I shallharry you. I shall not tell you this in words again until you say to me,'I need you, Hugh.'"
"Not even if the mystery of the name is solved?"
"Not even then, for only under such conditions will you cease to be onyour guard, and without frankness the name of friendship would be afarce."
"And your mother, if she asks you--I think now she has perhapsthought--"
"Yes, she loves you, Poppea, as my mother should love my wife. She isthe only one who has a right to ask. I shall tell the truth, which isthat we have come to a perfect understanding.
"One thing more, Poppea; remember _you_ are not bound."
If he could only have known the aching loneliness that fell upon her atthese words; again she seemed to feel herself cut adrift. With a suddenturn she clung to him, and he, lifting her face, kissed her on lips andeyes, whispering, "To-morrow or five years hence, you need only speak orwrite the four words."
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