XII
Atthe station Con got another taxi.
“We could not stand the train to-night,” he said, as they swept down into the high-road, and he slipped an arm round her and drew her close and kissed her. “This will be our last little spell together for some time probably.... You’ve not felt any qualms or regrets yet?”
“Do I feel as if I had?” and she nestled the closer inside his protecting arm. “I shall never feel anything but glad, Con, ... whatever comes. We belong to one another and nothing can take that from us.... But you will be very careful, dear, for my sake, won’t you?”
“I will, dear. Be sure of that.... For the rest, we are in God’s hands and we must just leave it at that.”
They did not talk very much. It was enough to feel one another so close in body and closer still in heart,—enough to lie back in the shadow, with arms and hands interwoven, while the taxi whirled in and out of the lamp-lights, and Alma’s face, sweet and strong in the restraint she was imposing on herself, swam up out of the darkness like a beautiful cameo growing under the unseen touch of a master-hand,—dim ... clear ... perfect, to his hungry eyes, as the face of an angel in its confident hope and trust ... then in a moment it was gone, and all he had was the feel of her as he watched for the first glimmer of her face again in the darkness.
They did not talk much, because there was so much to say—so little need to say it—so much that could never be put into words. Silence and nearness sufficed them,—the silence of overfull hearts, the nearness of souls about to part,—perhaps, as each well knew, for ever.
“Wife!” said Con one time, drawing her still closer, though that had seemed impossible.
“My husband!” murmured Alma, and drew his head down with her arm and kissed him passionately.
An unforgettable ride, and all too soon at an end.
Con stopped the cab a hundred yards this side of the hospital, and they walked slowly on towards the great gateway.
It was still one minute to ten as they stopped there in its shadow. There was little traffic at that time of night and few passers-by.
He took her face gently between his hands and held it before him. He could not see it but he knew the pure sweet eyes were looking straight up into his.
A big clock in the distance boomed the first stroke of ten. Their time was up. He kissed her fervently, a kiss for each stroke, and she kissed him back.
“May God in His great mercy have us both in His keeping!” he said, hoarse with the depth of his feeling.
“Dear ... He will!”
He turned and pressed the button of the bell. The door opened and, with one more look, full of confident hope, she was gone—and in tears before the door closed, but that he did not know.
With that last sweet sight of her—to him the fairest vision of Faith and Hope and Love Incarnate that ever was or could be—he turned and walked away along the dark empty street, slowly and heavily, and felt his life for the moment as dark and empty as the street.