But
she lay like a child asleep. Presently her dazed eyes opened
and stared with wonderment, and then she smiled. The tears,
I think, were on my cheeks, and seeing them, she put her arms
around my neck and - forgave me.
She had fallen on her head and had been stunned. I caught
the horses while she sat still, and we walked them slowly
home. When we got within sight of her hut on the outskirts
of the town, she would not let me go further. There was
sadness in her look when we parted. I made her understand (I
had picked up two or three words) that I would return to see
her. She at once shook her head with an expression of
something akin to fear. I too felt sorrowful, and worse than
sorrowful, jealous.
When the night fell I sought her hut. It was one of the
better kind, built like others mainly with matting; no doors
or windows, but with an extensive verandah which protected
the inner part from rain and sun. Now and again I caught
glimpses of Arakeeta's fairy form flitting in, or obscuring,
the lamplight. I could see two other women and two men. Who
and what were they? Was one of those dark forms an Othello,
ready to smother his Desdemona? Or were either of them a
Valentine between my Marguerite and me? Though there was no
moon, I dared not venture within the lamp's rays, for her
sake; for my own, I was reckless now - I would have thanked
either of them to brain me with his hoe.
