Its little parish church to-day hides the ashes of the
pensive pastoral poet Thomson, and the bones of the great actor Kean.
But, Anstruther's active mind was only dwelling in the present,
as Miss Mildred nodded in the carriage. He saw again the simple
wedding of the morning, and heard once more those touching words
"I, Eric, take thee, Florence." Then his eyes sought the face of
Alixe Delavigne in a burning glance, which caused that lady to seek
her own bower in Rosebank villa, and hide her blushes from "Him
Who Would Not Be Denied." Miss Mildred smiled and nodded behind
her fan, for she heard the Bells of the Future sounding afar off.
The graceful woman escorted Captain Anstruther to the river's
edge that night, when he departed to a conference of moment with
Hardwicke and Halton. She fled back, like the swift Camilla, to
her own nest, as the Captain went forth upon the river. Only the
listening flowers heard her startled answer when Anstruther had found
a voice to tell the Pilgrim of Love his own story in a soldier's
frank way. "Wait, Anson! Wait, till you know me better, till our
quest is done; wait till the roses bloom here once more," she had
whispered.
"And if I do wait, Alixe--if I ask you again?" Anstruther cried as
he kissed her slender hand.
"Then you shall have my answer," she faltered, but her eyes shone
like stars as she lightly fled away.
Captain Anson Anstruther had reckoned without his host when he
rejoiced over Alan Hawke's departure.
Pages:
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378