After luncheon—a refreshing affair partaken of on the airy end of the seaside porch—Black had his hour with Mrs. Devoe while Jane wandered off down the beach, taking herself out of sight and sound around a rocky curve. In spite of his eagerness to be with Jane, Black enjoyed that hour to the full, for it meant that he could pour out to this perfect confidante the story of his year amid the new surroundings, and feel as of old her understanding and sympathy, as well as experience afresh her power to show him where he lacked. But it was only for a little that they discussed the affairs of the new parish; both were too full of the bigger challenge to service Black had received, and all that it might mean. France! That was the burden of their talk together, and when it ended both were glowing with the stimulus each had received from the other.
“I may go myself,” Mrs. Devoe said, looking off longingly across the sparkling blue waters as she rose from her low porch chair, at the end of the hour, ready to send her companion off before he should want to go—one of the little secrets of her charm, perhaps! “Why shouldn’t I spend one or two of the last of my active years in work like that? Many women of my age are in service over there—and I can manage things—and people, can’t I, Robert?—and get any amount of work out of them without making them cross at me!”
Her beautiful eyes were sparkling as they met his.
“You can do anything,” he said with reverence. “If you should choose to do that, it would be the greatest service of a life that has been just one long service.”
“Ah, you’ve always thought too well of me. If I’ve loved my fellowmen—and women—it’s because I’ve found that there’s nothing in life but that—and the love of their Maker. I’ve been selfish, really, for I never gave without getting back ten—twenty—a hundred fold.”
“There’s a reason for that,” he said with a smile.
She sent him away then, pointing in the direction Jane had gone. He went almost reluctantly—which was perhaps the greatest tribute to her hold upon him he could have given her. In truth she was the only woman of any age he had ever known intimately, and to go back to Jane, from her, was like leaving home to adventure in the unknown.
But the unknown has its lure for any man—and this particular unknown drew Robert Black with rapid footsteps once he had started in its direction. He had quite a walk before he came upon her, for Jane had gone on and on, following curve after curve of the shore, around one rocky barrier after another. When he caught sight of her at last she was standing upon a great rock, in the shadow of the cliff towering above her, watching a distant ship which was almost hull down upon the horizon.
Young and strong and intensely vital she looked to him as she stood there, her face and figure outlined in profile against the dark cliff. The morning swim and the sea air had brought all its most vivid colouring into her face; the light breeze blew her skirts back from her lithe limbs; she might have been posed for a statue of Liberty, or Victory, or anything symbolic of ardent purpose. And yet he was sure it was no pose, for she did not hold it an instant after his call to her, but came running down the sloping rocks with the sure foot of youth and perfect health, her voice that of warm joy in the hour.
“Oh, I’ve not been so happy in months—years!” she cried. “I don’t know why. It’s just sheer delight in being alive, I think, in the midst of all this wonder of sea and sky and air. How can I ever thank you for bringing me down here? It was what I needed to put the breath of life back into me, after all these weeks of work and bother over closing up and getting away. This morning, when you met me, I almost didn’t want to go to France—can you believe that?—after all my preparation! And now—oh! I’ve just been standing here watching that ship go out, and imagining myself on her, with the ocean breeze blowing in my face as it’s been blowing here—only stiffer and stronger as we got farther and farther out. And now—I can hardly wait to go!”