The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

call you that?"
"Of course," she returned practically. "My actual name is Christina, but that's a detail. You can call me Christine if you like it best."
"I have another name for you," he said, with slight hesitation.
"Have you?" she asked with interest. "What is it? Do tell me!"
But he still hesitated. "It will not vex you? No?"
She flashed him her merriest smile. "Of course not. Why should it?"
He smiled back upon her, but there was the light of something deeper than mirth in his eyes. "I call you my bird of Paradise," he said.
"How pretty!" said Chris. "Quite poetical, _preux chevalier_! You may go on calling me that if you like, but it's too long for general use. And what shall I call you? Tell me your Christian name."
"Bertrand, mademoiselle."
She held up an admonitory finger. "Chris!"
"Christine," he said, with his friendly smile.
She nodded. "Now don't forget! I think I shall call you Bertie because it sounds more English. I'm going to dive now, so don't row any farther."
She sprang to her feet and stepped on to the thwart, where she stood balancing, her arms above her head.
He waited motionless to see her go. But she remained poised for several seconds, the sunlight full upon her slim, straight figure and bare, upraised arms. Her hair, that had begun to dry, fluttered a little in the breeze. The splendour of it almost dazzled the onlooker. He sat with bated breath. She was like a young goddess, invoking the spirit of the morning.
Suddenly she turned a laughing face over her shoulder. "Bertie!"
He pulled himself together. "Christine!" he answered, with a quick smile.
She laughed a little more. "Well done! I wondered if you would remember. Will you do something for me?"
"All that you wish," he said.
"Well, when you come to tea with me in the Magic Cave on the tenth bring a lantern. Will you?"
"But certainly," he said.
"I want to explore," said Chris. "I want to find out all the secrets there are."
She turned back to contemplate the deep blue water at her feet, paused a moment longer; then, "Good-bye, Bertie!" she cried, and was gone.
He saw the curve of her young body in the sunshine before she disappeared, felt the spray splash upwards on his face; but he continued to gaze at the spot where she had stood as a man spellbound, while every pulse and every nerve throbbed with the thought of her and the mad, sweet exultation that she had stirred to life within him. Child she might be, but in that amazing moment he worshipped her as man was made to worship woman in the beginning of the world.


CHAPTER V
THE BIRTHDAY TREAT

It was her birthday, and Chris scampered over the sands with Cinders tugging at her skirt, singing as she ran. She had three good reasons for being particularly happy that day--the first and foremost of these being the long-anticipated adventure that lay before her; the second that her two young brothers had improved so greatly in health that the tedious hours of her solitude were very nearly over; and the third that a letter from Jack, cousin and comrade, was tucked up her sleeve.
Jack's letters were infrequent and ever delightful. He always struck the right note. He had written for her birthday to tell her that he had bought a present for her to celebrate the memorable occasion, but that he was reserving to himself the pleasure of offering it in person when they should meet again, which happy event would, he believed, take place at no distant date. In fact, Chris might see him any day now, since the privilege of escorting her and her following back to England was to be his, and he understood that the ruling power had decreed that their return should not be postponed much longer.
She was by no means anxious to go; in fact, when the time came she would be sorry. But she was not thinking of that to-day. It was not her custom to dwell upon unwelcome things, and Jack had, moreover, made the prospect attractive by the suggestion that they might possibly spend two or three days in Paris on their return. Paris under Jack's auspices would be paradise in Chris's estimation. She could imagine nothing more enchanting.
So she and Cinders were in high spirits and prepared to enjoy the birthday treat to the uttermost. She carried a small--very small--bag of cakes which Mademoiselle had packed for her picnic--poor Mademoiselle, who could not understand how any _demoiselle_ could prefer to eat her food upon the beach. In fact, Chris had only carried the point because it was her birthday, and naturally Mademoiselle had not been informed that she had invited a guest to the meagre feast.
Chris, however, was quite content. With the serenity of childhood she was sure there would be enough. She even told herself privately that it would be the best birthday-party she had ever had. And Cinders was apparently of the same opinion.
They raced nearly all the way to the rocks, spurred by the sight of a familiar white figure awaiting them there. He came to meet them with his customary courtesy, bare-headed, with shining eyes.
"Will you accept my good wishes?" he said, as he bent over her hand.
She laughed and thanked him. "I'm getting horribly old. Do you know I'm seventeen? I shall have to put up my hair next year."
"I grieve to hear it," he protested.
"Never mind. It isn't next year yet. Have you remembered the lantern? Where is it? No, I don't want any help, thank you. I balance best alone."
She was already skipping over the rocks with arms extended. He followed her lightly, ready to give his hand at a moment's notice. But Chris was very sure-footed, and though she allowed him to take her parcel, she would not accept his assistance.
"I haven't brought anything to drink," she remarked presently, "I hope you don't mind."
No, he minded nothing. Like herself, he was enjoying the treat to the uttermost. He had not forgotten the lantern. It was waiting by the Magic Cave. He begged that she would not hasten. The tide would not turn yet.
But Chris was in an impetuous mood. She wanted to start upon her adventure without delay. Should they not explore first and have tea after? It should be exactly as she wished, he assured her. Was it not her _fete_?
But when at length she reached the shingle under the cliffs, she found a surprise in store for her that made her change her mind.
A white napkin was spread daintily upon a flat-topped rock, and on this were set a large pink and white cake and a box of _fondants_.
"Goodness!" ejaculated Chris.
"_Merveilleux_!" exclaimed the Frenchman.
She turned upon him. "Now, Bertie, you needn't pretend you are not at the bottom of it, for I am old enough to know better. No," as he shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, "it's not a bit of good doing that. It doesn't deceive me in the least. I know you did it, and you're a perfect dear, and it was sweet of you to think of it. It's the best picnic I ever went to. And you even thought of tea," catching sight of a small spirit-kettle that sang in a sheltered corner. "Let's have some at once, shall we? I'm so thirsty."
He had forgotten nothing. From a basket he produced cups, saucers, plates, knives, and arranged them on his improvised table.
Chris surveyed the cake with frank satisfaction. "What a mercy the gulls didn't seize it while your back was turned! Do cut it, quick!"
"No, no! You will perform that ceremony," smiled Bertrand.
"Shall I? Oh, very well. I expect I shall do it very badly. What lovely sweets! Did they come out of the Magic Cave? I hope they won't vanish before we come to eat them."
"I thought that my bird of Paradise would like them," he said softly.
"Your bird of Paradise loves them," promptly returned Chris. "In fact, if you ask me, I think she is inclined to be rather greedy. Please take the kettle off. It's spluttering. You must make the tea if I'm to cut the cake. And let's be quick, shall we? I believe it's going to rain!"
They were not very quick, however, for, as Chris herself presently remarked, one couldn't scramble over such a cake as that. And the rain came down in a sharp shower before they had finished, and drove them into the Magic Cave for shelter.
The girl's young laughter echoed weirdly along the rocky walls as she entered, and she turned with a slightly startled expression to make sure that her companion was close to her.
He had paused to rescue the remains of the feast. "Quick!" she called to him. "You will be drenched."
"_Je viens vite--vite_," he called back, and in a few seconds was at her side.
"_Comment_!" he said. "You are afraid, no?"
"No," said Chris, colouring under his look of inquiry. "But it's horribly eerie. Where is Cinders?"
A muffled bark from the depths of the cave answered her. Cinders was obviously exploring on his own account, and believed himself to be on the track of some quarry.
"Light the lantern--quick!" commanded Chris, her misgivings diverted into another channel. "We mustn't lose him. Isn't it cold!"
She shivered in her light dress, but turned inwards resolutely.
"_Tenez_!" exclaimed the Frenchman, quick to catch her mood. "I will go to find the good Cinders. He is not far."
"And leave me!" said Chris quickly.
"_Eh bien_! Let us remain here."
"And leave Cinders!" said Chris.
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, then stooped without further words and kindled his lamp.
The rain was still beating in fierce grey gusts over the sea and pattering heavily upon the shingle. The waves broke with a sullen roaring. Evidently a gale was rising.
Chris, with her face to the darkness of the cave, shivered again. Somehow her spirit of adventure was dashed.
The flame of Bertrand's lamp shone vaguely inwards, revealing a narrow passage that wound between rugged cliff-walls into darkness. The rock gleamed black and shiny on all sides. Underfoot were stones of all shapes and sizes, worn smooth by the sea.
"What a ghastly place!" whispered Chris, and something seemed to catch the whisper and repeat it sibilantly a great many times as if learning it off by heart.
"Permit me to precede you," said Bertrand. "You will find it not so narrow in a moment. If you look behind you, you will see the sea as in the frame of a picture. It is beautiful, is it not?"
His soft voice and casual words reassured her. She looked and admired, though the sea was grey and the shore all blurred with rain.
"There will be a rainbow soon," he said. "See! It grows more light already."
But he was looking at her as he spoke, though his glance fell directly she turned towards him.
"Do you come here often?" she asked.
"But very often," he said.
"And what do you do here?"
"I will show you by and bye."
"Very well," she said eagerly. "Then we won't go any farther when we have found Cinders."
But this last suggestion was not so easy of accomplishment. The darkness had swallowed Cinders as completely as though the jaws of the dragon had closed upon him.
"Where can he be?" said Chris, a quiver of distress in her voice.
"Have no fear! We will find him," Bertrand assured her.
He moved forward, holding the lantern to guide her. She kept very close to him, especially when a curve in the passage hid the entrance behind her. Her fancy for exploring