Part 42 (1/2)

”There is never any dullness,” she said, ”where that is!”

He was prepared for changes in her, but this sudden transition from a materialism almost gross was staggering. It was only a few weeks ago that he had watched in vain for a single sign of feeling in her face.

Now she was pale almost to the lips with emotion.

The next afternoon she called to him. He sprang up and found her standing in the open window dressed for walking. Even in his first rapid glance he saw a wonderful change in her appearance. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. Once more she carried herself with the old lightsome grace. She called to him gaily.

”Come for a walk, Powers! I am going to take you somewhere.”

He caught up his stick and hat, and followed her. Then he saw that the color in her cheeks was not wholly natural. She was nervous and excited.

”Why not inland, Eleanor?” he suggested. ”Let us go to Turton Woods.”

She seemed scarcely to have heard him. Already she was well on her way sh.o.r.eward.

He caught her up in a few strides. The tide had gone down, and they walked dry-footed along the road. Above their heads the larks were singing, and in their faces the freshening sea wind blew.

Her head was thrown back, her lips were parted. She drank in the breeze as though it were wine.

”This is the wind which Ulric and his men always loved,” she murmured.

”A wind from the north to the sh.o.r.e. Can't you feel the sting of the Iceland snows?”

”Not I?” he answered, laughing. ”To me it is soft and warm enough. But then, you know, I have no imagination.”

”Powers,” she said suddenly, ”I want to ask you a question. Is there any fear of my going mad?”

He started violently.

”Certainly not!” he answered. ”Why do you ask me such a question?”

”I know that I am not like other girls,” she said wistfully. ”I cannot remember my father, or my life in India, or the voyage. When I try to think about these things my head plays me such strange tricks. I cannot remember where I was, or what I was doing a year ago--but----”

”Go on. Tell me exactly how you feel,” he said encouragingly. ”It will help me to put you right.”

”But behind all that,” she continued hesitatingly, ”I seem to remember many strange things--things which must have happened a long, long time ago. They are not things I have been told about, or read of! I can remember them. They must have happened to me. Powers, it makes me afraid.”

He looked at her with ill-concealed excitement.

”It is the sea,” she murmured, ”which seems always to be reminding me of things.”

She came a little closer to him. His heart beat fiercely. Her eyes sought his--the appeal of the weak to the strong. He crushed down his joy--yet it shone in his face, trembled in his tone.

”Shall I ever be like other girls?”

He took her hands in his. She yielded them readily, but they were cold as ice.

”I am perfectly sure of it,” he declared. ”You must trust in me and be patient.”

She held his hands tightly as though wrung with a sudden emotion--an emotion which he realized was one of fear alone.

”Powers,” she begged, ”will you lock my door at night? Lock all the doors in the house.”