Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to the window. From there he heard Sabina mutter: "I say, let's swear blood bond. Where's your knife, Freda?" and out of the corner of his eye could see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of blood and dabble on a bit of paper. He turned and made for the door.
"Don't be a stoat! Come back!" His arms were seized; imprisoned between the little girls he was brought back to the table. On it lay a piece of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood, running towards it like the rays of a star. Sabina said:
"That's you. We shall have to kiss you, you know."And Freda echoed:
"Oh! Blow--Yes!"
Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek. Then he was released, and Freda said:
"Now, Stella."
Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid Stella. Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
'Buck up--it spoils everything!"
A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said quietly:
"Shut up, you little demons!"
Again Sabina giggled.
"Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your nose. It is on one side!"To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out.
Solemnly he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek. The two little girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
"Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's settled. Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?"Tea was resumed, and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his pocket. The talk turned on the advantages of measles, tangerine oranges, honey in a spoon, no lessons, and so forth. Ashurst listened, silent, exchanging friendly looks with Stella, whose face was again of its normal sun-touched pink and white. It was soothing to be so taken to the heart of this jolly family, fascinating to watch their faces. And after tea, while the two little girls pressed seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and looked at her water-colour sketches. The whole thing was like a pleasurable dream;time and incident hung up, importance and reality suspended.
Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this left save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket.
Children! Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan! Her talk--quick, rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his silences, and about her there was something cool and virginal--a maiden in a bower. At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed too much sea-water, did not come, Sabina said:
"I'm going to call you Frank."
Freda echoed:
"Frank, Frank, Franky."
Ashurst grinned and bowed.
"Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit.
It's ridiculous."
Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red. Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
"She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!"
Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in each hand.
"Look here," he said, "you two! Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you together!"Freda gurgled:
"Ouch! You are a beast!"
Sabina murmured cautiously:
"You call her Stella, you see!"
"Why shouldn't I? It's a jolly name!"
"All right; we give you leave to!"
Ashurst released the hair. Stella! What would she call him--after this? But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, deliberately:
"Good-night, Stella!"
"Good-night, Mr.---- Good-night, Frank! It was jolly of you, you know!""Oh-that! Bosh!"
Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly became slack.
Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room. Only last night, under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to him, kissing her eyes and lips. And he gasped, swept by that rush of remembrance. To-night it should have begun-his life with her who only wanted to be with him! And now, twenty-four hours and more must pass, because-of not looking at his watch! Why had he made friends with this family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to innocence, and all the rest of it? 'But I mean to marry her,' he thought; 'I told her so!'
He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to Halliday's. His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
"Is that you, old chap? I say, come in."
He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
"Sit down a bit."
Ashurst sat down by the open window.
"I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know," said Halliday rather suddenly. "They say you go through all your past. I didn't.
I suppose I wasn't far enough gone."
"What did you think of?"
Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly "Well, I did think of one thing--rather odd--of a girl at Cambridge that I might have--you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind.
Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have been in the big dark by now. No more bed, or baccy; no more anything. Isay, what d'you suppose happens to us?"
Ashurst murmured:
"Go out like flames, I expect."
"Phew!"
"We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps.""H'm! I think that's rather gloomy. I say, I hope my young sisters have been decent to you?""Awfully decent."
Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and turned his face towards the window.
"They're not bad kids!" he said.
Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-light on his face, Ashurst shuddered. Quite true! He might have been lying there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for ever! He might not have been lying there at all, but "sanded" at the bottom of the sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it?
And that smile of Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something wonderful, as if in it were all the difference between life and death--the little flame--the all! He got up, and said softly: