He took the path straight for the little spot where that happy betrothal had taken place. Vashti hesitated—this was too much.
“I—,” she opened her lips to speak, but the words died away, unmerciful resolution freezing them at their source.
“Come,” urged Sidney with tender insistence, and with an appearance of sweet submission she yielded, and at length they stood where those others had stood. The same grey sky bent above them, the same quiet hush brooded over the desolate reaches, the same clear star hung scintillant in the sky, and Sidney, taking her hands, which trembled by reason of the terrible restraint she was putting upon her anger, began to speak—very gently, but with an intensity which made his words instinct with life and love.
“You know,” he said, “why I have asked you to come out to-night, but you cannot know why I have brought you here to this spot? It is because it is a place of happy auguries. Here, not knowing whither I strayed, I came upon the betrothal of Lanty and Mabella. Here, heartsick with envy of their happiness I turned away to face the desolate greyness of the twilight. Here I saw a star, one lone star in the grey, which seemed to promise hope, and in my heart I named it Vashti. See—there it is, but more golden now, more full of beneficent promise, burdened, as it seems to me, with gracious benediction. Oh, Vashti, when I left those two in the solitude of their happiness you cannot dream how my heart cried for you. All the way home nature’s voices whispered in my ear ‘Vashti—Vashti,’ and my heart responded ‘Vashti,’ and it seemed to me that there was no other word in all the universe, for in it were bound all meanings. It seemed to me there was no other idea worth comprehending but the identity behind that word. Vashti, say that you love me—that you will marry me. Here, where my heart knew its bitterest longing, satisfy it with one syllable of your voice. Let me also build tabernacles here as the holy place where happiness descended upon me”; he let fall her hands. “Vashti, you know that I love you; give me your hands in symbol of yourself as a free gift.”
He held out his hands. Slowly, gently, trustingly, as a woman who knows well what she does, and will abide by it, Vashti Lansing laid her hands in his. His vibrant, slender fingers closed upon them. There was an instant’s pause——
“You love me!” he cried, as one, after a long novitiate, might hail the goddess unveiled at last. Then drawing her to him he kissed her on the mouth, and from that moment was hers—body—and yet more terrible bondage—mind; and she, with an astute and evil wisdom, forbore to make any conditions, any demands, till he had tasted the sweets of her acquiescence.
Would any man give her up, having held her in his arms, having touched her lips? With shameless candour she told herself, No. So she rested her head upon his shoulder, whilst he whispered in her ear the divine incoherences of love, and intoxicated with the charm of the woman in his arms, touched the white throat by the ear, where a curl of dark hair coiled like a soft, sweet shadow. A long, contented, yet questioning sigh came to him—
“Tell me?” he said.
“You will let me live always in Dole?” she said.