Bess smiled one of her broad, bright smiles at this, and continued to knit, for she was never idle a waking moment.
“I thought much of my hunting and fowling in the winter time,” Roger kept on, “but at this time of year I did not think of killing any living thing. If I could but lay my leg on a good horse once more, and clap my boot heels into him, and have one good gallop through the park and over the hills— You should see the roll of the hills; ’tis beautiful at this hour in the day, they are so calm, with the sheep nibbling the young grass that grows in the sheltered places. And the oaks, the best in England—oh, you may laugh—I would not take St. James’s in exchange for Egremont. Not that it is so costly; there are many estates worth more,—but it is Egremont, ’tis all I had to love, except little Dicky, and that is why I play the fool about it.”
As he spoke he threw back wearily from his forehead his curling light hair, and his dark eyes had such a look of misery that it went to Bess’s heart. And she saw, besides, a small red scar on Roger’s temple, which she had never noticed before.
“Roger,” she said, leaning forward eagerly,—for they called each other frankly by their names then,—“what scar is that? I never noted it before.”
Roger smiled in the midst of his low spirits.
“I’m sure you ought to know it, as you gave it me with your broom-handle. By combing my hair over it, though, no one can see it.”
A passion of pity and remorse swept over poor Bess’s soul. Although small, the scar was very disfiguring, and Roger’s endeavor to conceal it showed that he was sorry to have it.
Bess laid down her knitting, and leaned closer toward him, her liquid eyes filling with tears, and her red mouth quivering. Some strange weakness possessed her; she would, at that moment, have given her right hand to have spared Roger that blow. The stress of her feeling went like an arrow in its flight to Roger’s soul. His glance met here, and they gazed, like ones enchanted, into each other’s speaking eyes. Bess, scarce knowing what she did, laid her lips upon the scar, and two bright tears dropped from her eyes upon Roger’s face. And then, her dark head rested against Roger’s cheek, and their lips met. Time was no more for them.
They were roused from their dream in Paradise by a vast and thunderous sound, that rolled and reverberated through the hollow arches of the prison, and was like the roar of the heavens and the earth coming together. It was only the firing of the cannon at nightfall, to close the prison for the night, but to Bess Lukens and Roger Egremont, in their exaltation, it was like the crack of doom. They started apart, and each rose at the same moment, and looked at the other with a pale face. Bess spoke first, very calmly and quietly.
“I was to blame. I know I never can be your wife, not because of my fault, but because of my uncle’s vile calling. But, Roger, neither one of us is of the stuff of which philanderers are made, and we must be on our guard lest harm come; and let there never be any more of this. For I tell you truly that love, in my mind, is mighty near to death, and I could kill myself if shamed, and kill the man that shamed me, albeit I loved him better than ten thousand lives.”