"I can"t," he said.
But he rose and sat beside her as she desired.
"What under heaven have I been doing?" he said. "I don"t know, I guess I"ve been something like Nebuchadnezzar when they turned him out to gra.s.s. I"ve been just--ruminating,"
"Is that all?" There was a curious note of relief in Anne"s voice.
His old magnetic smile flashed across his face as he caught it. "That"s all, Queen Anne. It"s been monstrous dull. Do you know, I don"t think Heaven intended me for a hermit."
Involuntarily almost she smiled in answer. Her heart was beating quite steadily again. She was no longer afraid.
"Nebuchadnezzar came to his own again," she observed.
"He did," said Nap.
"And you?"
He leaned back with his face to the sky. "Not yet," he said.
Anne was silent. He turned after a moment and looked at her. "And what have you been doing, 0 Queen?" he said.
Her hands were clasped in her lap. They suddenly gripped each other very fast.
"Won"t you tell me?" said Nap.
He spoke very softly, but he made no movement towards her. He sat aloof and still. Yet he plainly desired an answer.
It came at last, spoken almost in a whisper. "I have been--waiting."
"Waiting--" he said.
She parted her hands suddenly, with a gesture that was pa.s.sionate, and rose. "Yes, waiting," she said, "waiting, Nap, waiting! And oh, I"m so tired of it. I"m not like you. I have never wanted--many things; only one--only one!" Her voice broke. She turned sharply from him.
Nap had sprung to his feet. He stood close to her. But he held himself in check. He kept all emotion out of his face and voice.
"Do you think I don"t know?" he said. "My dear Anne, I have always known.
That"s the d.a.m.nable part of it. You"ve wanted truth instead of treachery, honour instead of shame, love instead of--"
She put out a quick hand. "Don"t say it, Nap!"
He took her hand, drew it to his heart, and held it there. "And you say you don"t want many things," he went on, in a tone half sad, half whimsical. "My dear, if I could give you one tenth of what you want--and ought to have--you"d be a lucky woman and I a thrice lucky man.
But--we"ve got to face it--I can"t. I thought I could train myself, fashion myself, into something worthy of your acceptance. I can"t. I thought I could win back your trust, your friendship, last of all your love. But I can"t even begin. You can send me away from you if you will, and I"ll go for good and all. On the other hand, you can keep me, you can marry me--" He paused; and she fancied she felt his heart quicken. "You can marry me," he said again, "but you can"t tame me. You"ll find me an infernal trial to live with. I"m not a devil any longer. No, and I"m not a brute. But I am still a savage at heart, and there are some parts of me that won"t tame. My love for you is a seething furnace, an intolerable craving. I can"t contemplate you sanely. I want you unspeakably."
His hold had tightened. She could feel his heart throbbing now like a fierce thing caged. His eyes had begun to glow. The furnace door was opening. She could feel the heat rushing out, enveloping her. Soon it would begin to scorch her. And yet she knew no shrinking. Rather she drew nearer, as a shivering creature starved and frozen draws near to the hunter"s fire.
He went on speaking rapidly, with rising pa.s.sion. "My love for you is the one part of me that I haven"t got under control, and it"s such a mighty big part that the rest is hardly worthy of mention. It"s great enough to make everything else contemptible. I"ve no use for lesser things. I want just you--only you--only you--for the rest of my life!"
He stopped suddenly, seemed on the verge of something further, then pulled himself together with a sharp gesture. The next moment, quite quietly, he relinquished her hand.
"I"m afraid that"s all there is to me," he said. "Lucas would have given you understanding, friendship, chivalry, all that a good woman wants. I can only offer you--bondage."
He half turned with the words, standing as if it needed but a sign to dismiss him. But Anne made no sign. Over their heads a thrush had suddenly begun to pour out his soul to the June sunshine, and she stood spell-bound, listening.
At the end of several breathless moments she spoke and in her voice was a deep note that thrilled like music.
"There is a bondage," she said, "that is sweeter than any freedom. And, Nap, it is the one thing in this world that I want--that I need--that I pray for night and day."
"Anne!" he said. He turned back to her. He took the hands she gave him.
"Anne," he said again, speaking rapidly, in a voice that shook, "I have tried to play a straight game with you. I have warned you. I am not the right sort. You know what I am. You know."
"Yes," Anne said, "I know." She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes. "You are all the world to me, Nap," she said. "You are the man I love."
His arms caught her, crushed her fiercely to him, held her fast.
"Say it again!" he said, his fiery eyes flaming. "Say it! Say it!"
But Anne said nought. Only for a long, long second she gazed into his face; then in utter silence she turned her lips to his.
They spent the whole of the long June day together in the garden. Neither knew how the time went till evening came upon them all unawares--a golden evening of many fragrances.
They came at last along the green path under the lilac trees, and here by the rustic seat Nap stopped.
"I"ll leave you here," he said.
She looked at him in surprise. "Won"t you dine with me?"
"No," he said restlessly. "I won"t come in. I should stifle under a roof to-night."
"But we will dine outside," she said.
He shook his head. "No, I"m going. Anne," he caught her hand to his lips, "I hate leaving you. How long must I be condemned to it?"
She touched his shoulder with her cheek. "Don"t you know that I hate it too?" she said.
"Then--" He put his arm round her.
"Next week, Nap," she said.
"You mean it?"
"Yes. I mean it."
"You will marry me next week. What day?"
"Any day," she said, with her face against his shoulder.
"Any day, Anne? You mean that? You mean me to choose?"