Part 7 (1/2)
”Then how--how did you learn to read? and--it's awfully rude of me, you know, but you speak so nicely; such grammar, and all that.”
”Do I?” she said, thoughtfully. ”I didn't know that I did. My father taught me.”
”It's hard to believe,” he said, as if he were giving up a conundrum. ”I beg your pardon. I mean that your father would have made a jolly good schoolmaster, and I must be an awful dunce, for I've been to Oxford, and I'll wager I don't know half what you do, and as to talking--I am not in it.”
”Yes, my father is very clever,” she said; ”he is not like the other woodmen and burners.”
”No, if he is, they must be a learned lot,” a.s.sented Jack; ”yes, I think I had better come and live here, and get him to teach me. I'm afraid he wouldn't undertake the job.”
”Father does not like strangers,” she said, blus.h.i.+ng as she thought of the inhospitable scene of the preceding night. ”He says that the world is a cruel, wicked place, and that everybody is unhappy there. But I think he must be wrong. You don't look unhappy.”
”I am not unhappy now,” said Jack.
”I am so glad,” she said; ”why are you not?”
”Because I am with you.”
”Are you?” she said, gently. ”Then it must be because I am with you that I feel so happy.”
The Savage flushed and he looked down, striving to still the sudden throb of pleasure with which his heart beat.
”Confound it,” he muttered, ”I must go! I can't be such a cad as to stop any longer; she oughtn't to say this sort of thing, and yet I--I can't tell her so! No! I must go!” and he rose and took out his watch.
”I am afraid I must be on the tramp.”
”Yes,” she a.s.sented; ”you have stayed too long. I hope you will find that the Squire Davenant has forgiven you. I think he cannot help it.
And you will have your fortune and will go back into the world, and will quite forget that you lost your way in Warden Forest. But I shall not forget it; I shall often think of it.”
”No,” he said, ”I shan't forget it. But in case I should, will you give me something--no, I won't ask it.”
”Why not?” she said, wonderingly. ”Were you going to say, will I give you something to help you to remember?”
”Yes, I will. What shall I give you?” and she looked around.
Jack looked at her. His bad angel whispered in his ear, ”Ask her to give you a kiss,” but Jack metaphorically kicked him out of hearing.
”Give me a flower,” he said, and his voice was as gentle as its deep ringing ba.s.s could be.
Una nodded, and plucking a dog rose held it out to him.
”There,” she said; ”at least you will remember it as long as the rose lasts. But it soon dies,” and she sighed.
Jack took it and looked at it hard. Then he put it to his lips.
”There is no smell to a dog rose,” said Una.
”Ah no! I forgot. Just so. Well, good-by. We may shake hands, Una. That is your name, isn't it? How do you spell it?”
”U--n--a,” she said, giving him her hand.