Part 5 (1/2)
He walked down the little path beside her and out on to the open road.
A pale mist, like a thin white fog, shrouded the prospect and lent a bracing coldness to the air, which felt fresh and clean with the crisp purity of mountain air, washed by the overnight dews. The girl felt the benefit of the extra warmth of the coat; it was fresher than she had supposed out on the open road. A little wind that had more than a touch of sharpness in its breath blew in their faces as they walked.
”I had no idea the mornings were so good,” she said. ”I've not been out so early before.”
”People miss more than they realise through lying between the sheets,”
he said. ”In a country like this the bulk of the day's work should be accomplished before breakfast.”
”Is that the principle you act on?” she asked.
He looked grimly ahead of him and was slow in replying.
”That is the principle I should act upon if I did any work,” he said at length.
Esme lifted wondering eyes to his face.
”It must be a great responsibility to be independent of work,” she said.
Hallam laughed suddenly.
”Do you really think so? Most people would reverse that opinion. The weight of it does not press on me unduly.”
He flicked at the dust of the road with his stick and at the gra.s.s which grew beside the road, and was silent for a s.p.a.ce. When he spoke again it was on an entirely different subject.
They were swinging along down the road at a smart pace, and with every yard of ground they covered the aspect of the land changed, became more luxuriant in its growth, and altogether more rugged and a.s.sertive. The sky was flushed with a soft pink like the flush on the face of a child newly wakened from sleep. Before them as they walked the mist rolled back, a gradually thinning vapour dispersing before the warmth of the coming day, revealing with a startling unexpectedness in its reluctant retreat the wonder of contrasting colour, the beauty of the curving road with the shadows of the trees across it, and the great green silences stretching above and below; the silence of the heights, and the more secretive silence of the hidden places in the furtive darkness of the gorge.
The rose pink in the sky deepened, spread itself warmly over the blue expanse, reflected warmly upon the silent, neutral tinted world; changed the face of the land as it changed the face of the sky; brightening and intensifying the colour in the gra.s.s, in the leaves of the trees, painting the flowers wonderfully; transforming everything with the glow and warmth of life. The world threw off its lethargy of slumber and lifted its face wakefully to the flood of sunlight which broke through the rose and azure in a flash of gold.
Esme stood transfixed, with eyes turned to the sunrise. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face, on her hands, on her body. It was like being gripped in a warm embrace, startling and a little disconcerting by its very suddenness. The gold of it poured over her like an amber flame. The man, standing beside her, watched the sun-bathed, radiant figure, and saw the wonder in her eyes, and remained silent, attentive, marking nothing of the glory in the changing heavens, seeing only the startled gladness in a girl's sweet face, and the glowing brightness of her figure against the sunlit dust of the road.
While he stood observing her the thought took shape in his mind and grew, as he watched her simple delight in what at another time would have delighted him equally, but which now he scarcely heeded, that it was an eternal shame he should of his own act, through his lack of endeavour, reduce himself to a level which divided him from her, and from women like her, as widely as the gorge was divided from the heights. But a steep uphill road connected gorge and heights. He looked down the road and up at the heights and frowned. Then deliberately he turned his attention away from the girl and started idly to trace patterns with his stick in the dust. She looked round at him with happy eyes, in which surprise gathered as she noted his preoccupation.
”But you are not watching the sunrise!” she exclaimed.
”It is disappointing,” he replied. ”Yesterday it was finer. It is one of nature's exhaustless perplexities that she never reveals herself in the same guise twice. Shall we go on?”
She started to walk again, a little chilled, she scarcely knew why, by his manner. She decided that possibly he enjoyed best seeing these things alone. Some people take their pleasures selfishly; he might be one of these. To her the sunrise had been wonderful; and she longed to express her admiration, to share it; but this grave and silent companion made her silent also. She felt disappointed. He stole a glance at her serious face, and his features relaxed; a smile played about the corners of his mouth.
”You had better take off your coat,” he said. ”The sun soon makes his power felt.”
He helped her to remove the coat, and threw it over his shoulder and walked on, holding it with his disengaged hand.
”If the people at the hotel could see us they would be amazed,” he said.
”Why?” she asked, a fine colour coming into her cheeks, which deepened as she met his eyes.
”Because no one there has ever seen me do a service for any one,” he replied.
”Perhaps no one has demanded service of you,” she said quietly.
”No one has,” he answered, with a certain grimness that suggested such a demand might have met with small response. ”In this instance I believe the idea originated with me.”