In that moment he forgot everything, and with a great, glad cry he drew himself up and sprang to the ground on the other side.
"Isobel— Isobel— my little Isobel!"
He was beside her, on his knees, with her in his hungry arms, and for a brief space the child was so frightened that she held her breath and stared at him without a sound.
"Don't you know me— don't you know me—" he almost sobbed. "Little Mystery— Isobel—"
He heard a sound, a strange, stifled cry, and he looked up. From behind the shrubbery there had come a woman, and she was staring at Billy MacVeigh with a face as white as chalk. He staggered to his feet, and he believed that at last he had gone mad. For it was the vision of Isobel Deane that he saw there, and her blue eyes were glowing at him as he had seen them for an instant that night a long time ago on the edge of the Barren. He could not speak. And then, as he staggered another step back toward the wall, he held out his ragged arms, without knowing what he was doing, and called her name as he had spoken it a hundred times at night beside his lonely campfires. Starvation, his injury, weeks of illness, and his almost superhuman struggle to reach McTabb's cabin, and after that civilization, had consumed his last strength. For days he had lived on the reserve forces of a nervous energy that slipped away from him now, leaving him dizzy and swaying. He fought to overcome the weakness that seemed to have taken the last ounce of strength from his exhausted body, but in spite of his strongest efforts the sunlit garden suddenly darkened before his eyes. In that moment the vision became real, and as he turned toward the wall Isobel Deane called him by name; and in another moment she was at his side, clutching him almost fiercely by the arms and calling him by name over and over again. The weakness and dizziness passed from him in a moment, but in that space he seemed only to realize that he must get back— over the wall.
"I wouldn't have come— but— I— I— thought you were— dead," he said. "They told me— you were dead. I'm glad— glad— but I wouldn't have come—"
She felt the weight of him for an instant on her arm. She knew the things that were in his face— starvation, pain, the signs of ravage left behind by fever. In these moments Billy did not see the wonderful look that had come into her own face or the wonderful glow in her eyes.
"It was Indian Joe's mother who died," he heard her say. "And since then we have been waiting— waiting— waiting— little Isobel and I. I went away north, to David's grave, and I saw what you had done, and what you had burned into the wood. Some day, I knew, you'd come back to me. We've been waiting— for you—"
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but Billy heard it; and all at once his dizziness was gone, and he saw the sunlight shining in Isobel's bright hair and the look in her face and eyes.
"I'm sorry— sorry— so sorry I said what I did— about you— killing him," she went on. "You remember— I said that if I got well—"
"Yes—"
"And you thought I meant that if I got well you should go away— and you promised— and kept your promise. But I couldn't finish. It didn't seem right— then. I wanted to tell you— out there— that I was sorry— and that if I got well you could come to me again— some day somewhere— and then—"
"Isobel!"
"And now— you may tell me again what you told me out on the Barren— a long time ago."
"Isobel— Isobel—"
"You understand"— she spoke softly— "you understand, it cannot happen now— perhaps not for another year. But now"— she drew a little nearer— "you may kiss me," she said. "And then you must kiss little Isobel. And we don't want you to go very far away again. It's lonely— terribly lonely all by ourselves in the city— and we're glad you've come— so glad—"
Her voice broke to a sobbing whisper, and as Billy opened his great, ragged arms and caught her to him he heard that whisper again, saying, "We're glad— glad— glad you've come back to us."
"And I— may— stay?"
She raised her face, glorious in its welcome.
"If you want me— still."
At last he believed. But he could not speak. He bent his face to hers, and for a moment they stood thus, while from behind the shrubbery came the sound of little Isobel's joyous laughter.
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Isobel Page 17
