It trickled rather than played, but its delicate music
was soothing and sweet as a murmured lullaby; and from the shaded seat
beside it there was a glimpse between tree trunks of the burning desert
gold.
On this wooden seat by the fountain Stephen waited for Victoria, and
saw her coming to him, along the straight path that led to the round
point. She wore a white dress which Lady MacGregor had brought her, and
as she walked, the embroidery of light and shadow made it look like lace
of a lovely pattern. She stopped on the way, and, gathering a red rose
with a long stem, slipped it into her belt. It looked like a spot of
blood over her heart, as if a sword had been driven in and drawn out.
Stephen could not bear to see it there. It was like a symbol of the
wound that he was waiting to inflict.
She came to him smiling, looking very young, like a child who expects
happiness.
"Have I kept you waiting long?" she asked. Her blue eyes, with the
shadow of the trees darkening them, had a wonderful colour, almost
purple. A desperate longing to take her in his arms swept over Stephen
like a wave. He drew in his breath sharply and shut his teeth. He could
not answer. Hardly knowing what he did, he held out his hands, and very
quietly and sweetly she laid hers in them.
"Don't trust me--don't be kind to me," he said, crushing her hands for
an instant, then putting them away.
She looked up in surprise, as he stood by the fountain, very tall and
pale, and suddenly rather grim, it seemed to her, his expression out of
tune with the peace of the garden and the mood in which she had come.
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