The Obstacle Race by Ethel May Dell (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📕

mere distractions. She was the only thing that counted in his world.
His earnest assurances on this point had their effect. She sat up and smiled at him through her tears.
"Yes, I know, my Christopher," she said, and kissed him between the eyes. "But the difficulty now is, what are we going to do?"
Columbus pondered for a few seconds, and then suggested a crab-hunt.
"Excellent idea!" said Juliet, and let him go.
But she herself sat on in the early sunshine with her chin upon her hand for a long, long time.
The tide was coming in. The white-tipped waves broke in flashing foam that spread almost to her feet. The sparkle of it danced in her dreaming eyes, but it did not rouse her from her reverie.
Perhaps she was half asleep after the weary watching of the night, or perhaps she was only too tired to notice, but when a voice suddenly spoke behind her she started as if at an electric shock. She had almost begun to feel that she and Columbus were indeed marooned on this wide shore.
"Are you waiting for the sea to carry you away?" the voice said. "Because you won't have to wait much longer now."
She turned as she sat. She had heard no sound of approaching feet. The swish of the waves had covered all beside. She looked up at him with a feeling of utter helplessness. "You!" she said.
He turned behind her, slim, upright, intensely vital, in the morning light. She had an impression that he was dressed in loose flannels, and she saw a bath-towel hanging round his neck.
"You have been bathing," she said.
He laughed down at her, she saw the gleam of the white teeth in his dark face. "I say, what a good guess! You look shocked. Is it wrong to bathe on Sunday?"
And then quite naturally he stretched a hand to her and helped her to her feet.
"I've been watching you for a long time," he said. "I was only a dot in the ocean, so of course you didn't see me. I say,--tell me,--what's the matter?"
The question was so sudden that it caught her unawares. She found herself looking straight into the dark eyes and wondering at their steady kindliness. She knew instinctively that she looked into the eyes of a friend, and as a friend she spoke in answer.
"I have had rather a worrying night. I came out for a little fresh air. It was such a perfect morning."
"And you hoped you would have the place to yourself and be able to cry it off in comfort," he said. "I wouldn't have interfered for the world if I hadn't been afraid that you were going to drown yourself into the bargain. And I really couldn't bear that. There are limits, you know."
She laughed a little in spite of herself. "No, I have no intention of drowning myself. I am not so desperate as that."
He smiled at her whimsically. "It happens sometimes unintentionally. Let's climb up to the next shelf and sit down!"
Her hand was still in his. He kept it to help her up the tumbling stones to a higher ridge of shingle.
"Will this do?" he asked her. "May I stay for a bit? I'll be very good."
"You always are good," said Juliet, as she sat down.
"No? Really? You don't mean that? Well, it's awfully kind of you if you do, but it isn't true." He dropped down beside her and offered her his cigarette-case. "I can be--I have been--a perfect devil sometimes."
"Yes. I know," she said, as she chose a cigarette.
"Oh, you know that, do you? How do you know?" He was watching her closely, but as the faint colour mounted to her face, his eyes fell. "No, don't tell me! It doesn't matter. Wait while I get you a match!"
He struck one and held it first for her and then for himself, his brown hand absolutely steady. Then he turned with a certain resolution and fixed his eyes upon the gleaming horizon.
"It was kind of you to come round to the sing-song last night," he said, after a pause. "I hope it wasn't that that made you sleep badly."
"I enjoyed it," said Juliet, ignoring the last remark. "Your performance was wonderful. I should think you are tired after it."
"That sort of thing doesn't tire me," he said. "There's no difficulty about it when it goes with a swing and everybody is out to make it a success. I shall get you to sing next time."
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Green."
"Why not?" He turned and looked at her again, his hand shading his eyes.
She hesitated.
"Do you mind telling me?" he said gently. "There is a reason of course?"
"Yes." Yet she smoked her cigarette in silence after the word as though there were nothing more to be said.
He sat motionless, still with his hand over his eyes. At last "Juliet," he said, his voice very low, "am I being--a nuisance to you?"
She looked at him swiftly. He had uttered the name so spontaneously that she wondered if he realized that he had made use of it.
He went on before she could find words to answer him. "I'm not a bounder. At least I hope not. But--yesterday--last night--I hadn't got such a firm hold on myself as usual. I began by being furiously angry--you remember the episode at the gate--and that weakened my self-control. Then--when I knew you were standing there listening--temptation came to me, and I hadn't the strength to resist. You knew, didn't you? You understood?"
She nodded mutely.
"Will you forgive me?" he said.
She was silent. How could she tell him what that wild passion of music had done to her?
He went on after a moment. "I hope you'll try anyway, because I never meant to offend you. Only somehow I felt possessed. I had to reach you--or die. But I didn't mean to hurt you. My dear, you do believe that, don't you? My love is more than a selfish craving. I can do without you. I will--since I must. But I shall go on loving you--all my life."
His voice was still very low, but it had steadied. He spoke with the strong purpose of a man secure in his own self-mastery. He loved her, but he made no demand upon her. He recognized that his love entitled him to no claim. He even asked her forgiveness for having revealed it to her.
And suddenly the hot tears welled again in Juliet's eyes. She could not speak in answer, but in a moment she stretched her hand to his.
He took it and held it close. "Don't cry!" he said gently. "I'm not worth it. I've been a fool--no, not a fool to love you, but a three times idiot to lose hold of myself like this. There! It's over. I'm not going to bother you any more. And you're not going to let yourself be bothered. What? You're not going to run away because of me, are you? Promise me you won't!"
Her fingers closed upon his. It was almost involuntarily. "I don't think I ought to stay," she whispered.
"I knew that was it!" He bent towards her. "Juliet! I say, please, dear, please! If one of us must go, it must be I. But there is no need. Believe me, there is no need. I've got myself in hand. I won't come near you--I swear--if you don't wish it."
"But--suppose--suppose--" Her voice broke. She drew her hand free and covered her face. "Oh, it's all so hopeless!" she sobbed. "I ought to have managed--better."
"No, no!" In a flash his arm was round her, strong and ready; he drew her to rest against his shoulder. "There's nothing to cry about really--really! If you knew how I loathe myself for making you cry! But listen! Nobody knows. Nobody's going to know. What happened last night is between you and me alone. Only you had the key. It isn't going to make any difference in your life. You'll go on as you were before. You'll forget I ever dared to intrude on you. What, darling? What? Yes, you will forget. Of course you'll forget. I'll see to it that you do. I'll--I'll--"
"Oh, stop!" Juliet said, and suddenly her face was turned upwards on his shoulder, her forehead was against his neck. "You're making the biggest mistake of your life!"
"What?" he said, and fell abruptly silent and so tensely still that she thought even his heart must have been arrested on the word.
For a long, long second she also was motionless, rigidly pressed to him, then with an odd little fluttering sigh she began to withdraw herself from the encircling arm. "I've dropped my cigarette," she said.
"Juliet!" He stooped over her; his face was close to hers. "Am I mad? Or am I dreaming? Please make me understand! What is the mistake I have made?"
She did not look at him, but he saw that her tears were gone and she was faintly, tremulously smiling. "That cigarette--" she murmured. "It really isn't safe to leave it. I don't like--playing with fire."
He bent lower. "We've got to risk something," he said, and with a swiftness of decision that she had not expected he took her chin and turned her face fully upwards to his own.
The colour rushed in vivid scarlet to her temples. She met his eyes for one fleeting second then closed her own with a gasp and a blind effort to escape that was instantly quelled. For he kissed her--he kissed her--pressing his lips to hers closely and ever more closely, as a man consumed with thirst draining the cup to the last precious drop.
When he let her go, she was burning, quivering, tingling from head to foot as if an electric current were coursing through and through her. And the citadel had fallen. She made no further attempt to keep him out.
But he did not kiss her a second time. He only held her against his heart. "Ah, Juliet--Juliet!" he said, and she felt the deep quiver of his words. "I've got you--now! You are mine."
She was panting, wordless, thankful to avail herself of the shelter he offered. She leaned against him for many seconds in palpitating silence.
For so long indeed was she silent that in the end misgiving pierced him and he felt for the downcast face. But in a moment she reached up and took his hand in hers, restraining him.
"Not again!" she whispered. "Please not again!"
"All right. I won't," he said. "Not yet anyhow. But speak to me! Tell me it's all right! You're not frightened?"
"I am--a little," she confessed.
"Not at me! Juliet!"
"No, not at you. At least," she laughed unsteadily. "I'm not quite sure. You--you--I think you must let me go for a minute--to get back my balance."
"Must I?" he said.
She lifted the hand she had taken and laid it against her cheek. "I've got--a good deal to say to you, Dick," she said. "You've taken me so completely by storm. Please be generous now! Please let me have--the honours of war!"
"My dear!" he said.
He let her go with the words, and she clasped her hands about her knees and looked out to sea. She was still trembling a little, but as he sat beside her in unbroken silence she grew gradually calmer, and presently she spoke without any apparent difficulty.
"You've taken a good deal for granted, Dick, haven't you? You don't know me very well."
"Don't I?" he said.
"No. You've been--dreadfully headlong all through." She smiled faintly, with a touch of sadness. "You've skipped all the usual preliminaries--which isn't always wise. Don't you teach your boys