CHAPTER XX

Once, in the night, I awoke--fully. Before that, there had been periods of half-stupor, and then, a deep, restful sleep. But just for a minute, I was wide-awake, abnormally conscious.

"Bill?"

He was sitting beside the bed. The light was very dim. His hand was on my bandaged hand which was lying over the sheet.

"Dearest?"

"You're all right?"

"I'm well," he said, "and you will be much better in the morning. Close the dear eyes now, and sleep."

"You won't go away?"

"Never. Go to sleep, Mavis."

In the morning he was still there, sleeping, wrapped in his funny, fuzzy bathrobe, in a big chair close to the bed. His hand was still on mine.

I looked for a long minute at his tired face. One eyebrow was burned almost all off. There were marks of burns on his face. And he was smiling in his sleep.

I felt so rested, so very well, except for a languor and a weakness. My hands pained me. Both, I was amused to discover, were bandaged. There was a little burn on my arm.

Through water and fire--

"Good morning!" said Bill, smiling at me.

I closed my eyes against the look in his. It was beautiful to have him look at me so, but I could not bear it.

"G-Good morning," said I, and felt the hot color flood my face. From the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair I was blushing.

It was very early. The sudden tropical dawn was only a few minutes old. There was a riot of bird-song outside the window, and a wonderful, dew-washed breeze blowing through the room.

"Mavis?" said Bill.

He was on his knees beside the bed. I put out one bandaged hand and clumsily touched his hair.

"Do you know what you've done?" he asked.

"Been a fool, as usual," I suggested, looking ruefully at the bandages.

"Sweet little fool," he said, in that new, deep voice. "Mavis, how could you, you frightened me almost to death--?"

I thought of those leaping flames, the angry, crimson sky, and shuddered.

"I'm sorry," I said meekly.

He gave a little low laugh under his quickened breath.

"You love me!" announced my husband arrogantly, beginning, as usual, at the wrong end.

"Why so I do!" I admitted in a small voice.

His arms went around me, gently, closely, and I shut my eyes under the touch of his lips on their lids. The dawn-birds were singing--in the room: in my heart.

"I love you," said Bill, and kissed my mouth.

I lay quite still then, between tears and laughter.

"It has taken you," I said, "a very long time to find it out!"

"It took me," he contradicted pleasantly, "about three minutes. From the very first--darling."

"Me, too!" said I, in utter astonishment. It was true. From the very first. I had fought a good fight, I thought, as I lay there in my utter content, against this heavenly surrender. I pity men who never know this wonderful release of self.

Followed a half-hour of the most ridiculous cross-examination:

"When did you first--?"

"Do you remember--?"

"How could you say--?"

"Whose girl are you, Mavis? Tell me!"

And all the rest of the eternal litany of lovers.

Sarah, peeped in to see how I was. Silas, I discovered from her beaming countenance, was all right. I had forgotten to ask. It was with assumed enthusiasm that I heard that a portion of the cane had been saved. It really didn't matter--not to me. Nothing mattered. Only Bill, and my sense of Harbor in the Far Country of my dreams--

"Such a nice fire!" I said, happily, my face on Bill's one unscarred shoulder.

"You little wretch!"

He kissed me again.

Norah arrived with a very early breakfast. I twisted in Bill's hold. To no avail. Bar, again, such strong bars, so tender, so utterly protective.

"What's the matter?"

"Norah--"

"But," said Bill in triumph, after the door had been shut behind the smiling woman, "after all, Mavis, we're married!"

"Why, so we are!"

I sat up in bed and stared at him.

"It's not fair!" said I, hotly.

"What?"

"We've not even been engaged," I said, "or anything. I don't like it!"

"Don't you, honestly?"

I shook my head, and then nodded, violently.

"You darling!" said my new Bill. "You lovely little thing. I adore you--"

"Why didn't you tell me so before?" I asked, in what was a deplorably peevish tone.

"Tell you! And get my face slapped! You were the prickliest small porcupine, for all your soft ways--rather not! But Gosh," said Bill, "it was hard--"

"You might have saved us a lot of trouble," said I reproachfully.

He got to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Might I? I didn't know, you see. I had had your repeated assurance that you regarded me as dirt under your little feet. How could I tell you?"

"You were awfully stupid!" said I, with keen satisfaction.

But he was kissing my finger-tips, protruding stiffly through the neat bandaging.

"Dear little hands!" he said. "Oh, Mavis--if anything had happened to you--"

"If anything had happened to _you_--!" said I, and for a moment we looked at each other in a sort of blind horror. Presently he smiled.

"But we're as right as rain!" said he. "We're young, all life before us--and we love each other--Thank God!" he ended, on a deep, grave note.

"Thank God!" said I, and put my arms up to him.

When he raised his head, his eyes were shining.

"My beloved wife!" said Bill.

I put him from me for a moment--looked into his eyes.

"Please," I said, very low, "it's all so new--and a little terrifying. I--I didn't know I could feel like this. Will you let us go on just as we are--for a little while--? Perhaps I'm silly--but--I can't help it. Please," I begged, "won't you let me get a little used to you--?"

His eyes were very tender now.

"Of course," he said. "You know that."

"A real engagement!" said I happily.

"That's the best thing, after all," said Bill, laughing, "married first, and then engaged for the rest of one's life!"

He held me very closely.

"I'll cherish you always," he said, "all my life long. I've wanted you so--Mavis. You'll never know. God bless you, my dearest!"

"Father," I said in my heart, "you were right: you knew. I'm so happy--"

And my heart answered me.

"Where are you going?" said I, sternly, to my husband, as he laid me back on my pillows and turned away.

"Outside," said he, with the old, impish grin, "to dance a fandango on the lawn! And, incidentally, to put on some clothes and pretend an intelligent interest--which I don't in the least experience--in Harry Reynolds destroyed sugar-crop. Bless those incendiary natives!" he added, piously.

"Back soon?" I asked.

"Don't look at me like that!" said Bill severely, "or I won't be able to go! As your physician I forbid you to endanger my pulse. It is hardly normal now. Try and rest, dear, and when I come back I want to see more steady color in your cheeks. You've had a pretty bad shock, Mavis--"

"I should say I have!" I said, in tones I vainly tried to infuse with self-pity. "How about yourself?"

He blew me a kiss--just a mean, tiny one--and vanished without answering, but poked his head in at the door immediately after, to ask, seriously,

"Shall I bring you a statement of your indebtedness to me when I return, Mrs. Denton?"

"I wish I'd cost you more," said I, crossly. "You just wait--I'm going to buy a trousseau when I get to New York that will put you in the poor-house. I'm afraid," said I primly, "that I must ask you to wait for your settlement, Doctor."

"I'll keep you so in debt," he declared, "that you will never be able to struggle out, and you'll pay me in love, young person, for every sleepless night I've spent, and every swear I've sworn behind closed doors, and for every time I've wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you till you cried for mercy--"

"I think--I shouldn't have cried," I said, reflectively.

He was back in the room again.

"For heaven's sake," said I, extricating myself with some difficulty, "what will people think--door open and everything?"

But it was fully ten minutes before he really went.

I closed my eyes, and with Father's miniature under my pillow, tried to sleep. So happy--so happy! It was hard to lie still and think. So I didn't think. I kissed the ring on my finger, under the bandages, half a dozen times, and slept, at last, drifting from dream into dream.

Life was very wonderful. And the Love that had suffered and strayed was the most perfect, at the last. For all the times I had hurt him, how I would repay my husband, with depth on depth of devotion. I would make it up to him--

Through water and fire....