The Rocks of Valpre - Ethel May Dell (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

anyone else in the world."
"Oh, that's because you're a man," said Chris inconsequently. "Men always have absurd theories about women and the things they care for. As if we can't love heaps of people at the same time!"
"You can only love one person best," he pointed out.
"At a time," supplemented Chris, with a merry smile. "And you choose your person according to your mood. At least, I do. Oh, Trevor," with a sudden change of tone, "don't look! There's a hearse!"
She hid her face against him, and he felt a violent tremor go through her. He put his arm about her and held her close.
"My darling, what makes you so superstitious?"
"I'm not," she murmured shakily. "It isn't superstitious to believe in death, is it? It's a fact one can't get away from. And it frightens me--it frightens me! Think of it, Trevor! We only belong to each other till death us do part. Afterwards--who knows?--we may be in different worlds."
He pressed her closer, feeling her cling to him. "There is a greater thing than death, Chris," he said.
"I know! I know!" she whispered back. "But--I sometimes think--I'm not big enough for it. I sometimes wonder--if God gave me a heart at all."
"My little Chris!" he said. "My darling!"
She lifted a troubled face. The tears were in her eyes. "Don't you often think me silly and fickle?" she said. "And you'll find it more and more the more you see of me. You'll be disappointed in me--you'll be horribly disappointed--some day."
He looked down at her with great tenderness. "That day will never come, dear," he said. "If it did, I should blame myself much more than I blamed you. Come! You mustn't cry on our wedding-day. You're not really unhappy?"
"But I'm afraid," she said.
He dried her eyes and kissed her. "There is nothing to make you afraid," he said. "Haven't I sworn to love and cherish you?"
She nestled to him with a sigh. "It was very nice of you, Trevor," she said.
Her spirits revived during her motor-ride to Kellerton. The renovations there were in full swing. One portion of the house had been already made habitable for them. Mordaunt had had the entire management of this, but, as Chris gaily remarked, she would probably change everything round when she came upon the scene.
"I feel as if the holidays have just begun," she said to him as they sped over the dusty road. "And I'm going to work harder than I have ever worked in my life."
"If I let you," he said.
At which remark she made a face, and then, repenting patted his knee. "You will let me do what I like, I know. You always do."
"In moderation," said Trevor, with a smile.
She dismissed the matter as too trivial for discussion. "When are you going to let me drive?"
He gave her her first lesson then and there, an experience which delighted Chris so much that she refused to relinquish the wheel until they stopped at a country town for luncheon.
Here her whole attention was occupied in keeping Cinders from chasing the hotel cat, till Trevor caught and cuffed the miscreant, when her anxiety turned to indignation on her darling's behalf, and she snatched him away and kept him sheltered in her arms for the rest of their sojourn.
"I never punish Cinders," she said. "He's hardly ever naughty, and if he is he's always sorry afterwards."
Cinders, whose temper was ruffled, glared at Mordaunt and cursed him in an undertone throughout the meal, notwithstanding the choice morsels with which his young mistress sought to propitiate him.
"I do hope you haven't made him dislike you," she said, when at length they returned to the car. "He is rather tiresome with people he doesn't like."
"If he doesn't behave himself, we will send him to Bertrand to take care of," Mordaunt rejoined.
"Indeed we won't!" Chris declared, with warmth. "He has never been away from me day or night since I first had him."
At which declaration Mordaunt raised his eyebrows, and said no more.
He had always known Cinders for a dog of character, but not till that day had he credited him with the remarkable intuition by which he seemed to know--and resent--the fact that his mistress was no longer his exclusive property. It may have been that Chris herself imparted something of the new state of affairs to him by the very zeal of her guardianship. But undoubtedly, whatever its source, the knowledge had dawned in Cinders' brain and with it a fierce jealousy which he had never displayed in Mordaunt's presence before.
It was an afternoon of unclouded sunshine. Chris lay back in her seat, somewhat wearied but quite content, watching the cornfields with their red wealth of poppies, watching the long, white road before them, and now and then the unerring hands that held the wheel.
When at length they neared Kellerton she roused herself and became more animated. "It's been a lovely ride, Trevor. Let's go for one every day. Sometimes we might go down to the sea--it's only ten miles. But we will wait till Bertie comes for that. Ah, there is the lodge! How smart it looks! And they have actually taken the thistles out of the drive! I shouldn't have known it."
She sat up with eager delight in her eyes. The lodge-gates were open; they ran smoothly in without a pause and on up the long avenue to the old grey house.
Chris was enchanted. It was such a home-coming as she had never pictured.
"It's like a dream," she said. "I can't believe it's true. Everything looks so different. The garden was an absolute wilderness the last time we were here."
It had been turned into a paradise since then, and every second brought fresh discoveries to her ecstatic gaze.
"I didn't know it could be so lovely," she declared. "And you've done it all in a few weeks. Trevor, you're a magician!"
He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Oh, it isn't all my doing. I have only been down twice since the day you were here. I put it into capable hands, that's all. Nothing has been altered, only set to rights."
"It's lovely!" cried Chris.
Tired and thirsty though she was, she could hardly wait to have tea on the terrace before the house before she was off along the dear, familiar paths to her favourite nook under a great yew-tree whose branches swept the ground. A rustic seat surrounded the ancient trunk.
"This is my castle," said Chris. "This is where I hide when I don't want anyone to find me."
She stretched back a hand to her husband, and led him into her shadowy domain.
"The boys used to call it Hades," she said, in a hushed voice. "And I used to pretend I was Persephone. I did so wish Pluto would appear some day with his chariot and his black horses and take me underground. But," with a sigh, "he never did."
"Let us hope you have been reserved for a happier fate," Mordaunt said, with his arm about her.
She flashed him her quick smile. "You instead of Pluto! But I always thought he was rather fascinating, and I longed to see the underworld."
"I think the sunshine suits you best," he said.
"Oh yes, but just to see--just to know what it's like! I do so love exploring," insisted Chris.
He smiled and drew her out of her gloomy retreat. "Sometimes it's better not to know too much," he said.
"But one couldn't," she protested. "All knowledge is gain."
"Of a sort," he said. "But it is not always to be desired on that account."
A sudden memory went through Chris. She gave a sharp shudder. "Oh no!" she said. "One doesn't want to know horrid things! I forgot that."
He looked at her interrogatively, but she turned her face away. "Let's go back to the house. I wonder where Cinders is."
They returned to the house, and again Chris was lost in delight. A great deal yet remained to be done, but the completed portion was all that could be desired. They had chosen much of the furniture together, and she spent most of the evening in arranging it, with her husband's assistance, to her satisfaction.
But when at length the hour for dinner arrived he would not suffer her to do anything further.
"I believe you have done too much as it is," he said, "and after dinner I shall have something to show you."
She yielded readily enough. She certainly was tired. "I feel as if to-day had lasted for about six weeks," she said.
But her animation did not wane in spite of this, and she would even have returned to her labours after they had dined had Mordaunt permitted it. He was firm upon this point, however, and again without protest she yielded.
"You were going to show me something. What was it?"
"To be sure," he said. "I was going to show you how to write a cheque. Come over to the writing-table and see how it is done."
Chris went, looking mystified. "But I shall never write cheques, Trevor," she said.
"No? Why not?"
He drew up a chair for her and knelt down beside her.
"You are a woman of property now, Chris," he said, and laid a new cheque-book on the pad in front of her.
Chris gazed at it, wide-eyed. "But, Trevor, I haven't got any money at the bank, have I?"
"Plenty," he said, with a smile--"in fact, a very large sum indeed which will have to be invested in your name. That we will go into another day, but for present needs, if you are wanting money--"
"Yes?" said Chris eagerly.
He put a pen into her hand and opened the cheque-book.
She slipped her arm round his neck. "Trevor, I--I don't feel as if you ought. I--of course I--knew you would make me an allowance, but--but--you ought not to give me a lot of money all my own."
"My darling," he said gently, "don't forget that you are my wife, will you?"
She smiled a little shyly. "Do you know--I had forgotten--quite!"
He put his arm about her as she sat. "You must try to remember it, dear, because it's rather important. I know I might have made you an allowance, but I prefer that you should be independent. Only, Chris, I am going to ask a promise of you; and I want you to make it at the very beginning of our life together. That is why I have spoken on our wedding-night."
"Yes?" whispered Chris.
She had begun to tremble a little, and he pressed her to him reassuringly. "I want you to promise me that you will never run into debt, that if for any cause you find that you have not enough of your own you will come to me at once and tell me."
He spoke with grave kindness, watching her face the while. But Chris's eyes did not meet his own. She was rolling the pen he had given her up and down the blotting-pad with much absorption.
"Is it a promise, Chris?" he asked at length.
She threw him a nervous glance and nodded.
He laid his hand upon hers and held it still. "Chris, have you any debts now?"
She was silent.
"My dear," he said, "don't be afraid of me!"
There was that in his voice that moved her to the depths; she could not have said why. Impulsively, almost passionately, she went into his arms.
"I won't!" she said. "I won't! Trevor, I--I've been a little beast! That money you gave me on my birthday I didn't do--what you meant me to do with it. I just--spent it. I don't know how. And then--when you asked about it that night--I didn't