Chereads / The Abyssal world of yu-atlanchi / Chapter 17 - MERRIMENT

Chapter 17 - MERRIMENT

"Maybe no—maybe so," the little Frenchman shrugged. "Anyway I think it better we say 'After you' to her." The girl looked at them, then at Graydon, inquiringly. "They are afraid. They think it is—that you have—" Graydon stumbled. "That I have put sleep—or death in it? And you?" she asked. For answer, Graydon raised his cup and drank. "Yet it is natural," she turned to Soames. "Yes, it is natural that you three should fear this, since—is it not so—it is what you would do if you were we, and we were you? But you are wrong. I tell you again that what there may be to fear is only that which is in yourselves."

She poured wine into her own cup and drank it; broke off a bit of Starrett's bread and ate it; took a cake from Dan's plate and ate that; set white teeth in one of the fruits. "Are you satisfied?" she asked them. "Oh, be very sure that if it is in my wish to bring death to you, it is in no such shape as this." For a moment Soames glared at her. He jumped to his feet, strode over to the hooded figure and snatched aside the cowl. The uncovered face was like old ivory. It was seamed with scores of fine lines. It was a face stamped with an incredible ancientness—but the eyes were as bright and as youthful as their setting was ancient. It stared at Soames, inscrutably. For a dozen heart-beats the gaunt New Englander stared back. Then, slowly, he let the hood drop. He returned to the silver cloth. As he passed, Graydon saw that all color had drained from his cheeks. He threw himself down at his place, and drank deep of the wine, the hand that raised the goblet shaking. He drank, and drank again from the flagon. And soon, whatever the terror he had felt, the wine drowned it. The first ewer and a second, drawn by Sierra from the llama's panniers, were emptied by the three before Soames lurched to his feet. "You're all right, sister," he said, half-drunkenly. "Just keep on treating us like this, and we'll end by all bein' little pals together." "What does he say?" asked Sierra of Graydon. "He approves of your—entertainment," answered Graydon, dryly.

"Good," Sierra, too, arose. "Then let us be going." "We're going, sister, never fear," grinned Soames. "Dan, you stay right here and watch things. Come on, Bill—" he slapped Starrett on the back. "Everything's just fine. Come on, Graydon—bygones is bygones." Starrett scrambled up. He linked his arm in the New Englander's. They staggered over to the tent. Dan, upon whom the wine seemed to have had little effect, settled down on a boulder just beyond the fire and began his watch, rifle at readiness. Graydon lingered. Soames had forgotten him, for a time at least. He meant to make the best of that time with this strange maid whose beauty and sweetness had touched him as no other woman's ever had. He drew so close that the fragrance of her cloudy hair rocked him; so close that her touching shoulder sent a flame through him.

"Sierra—" he began. She turned, and silenced him with slender fingers on his lips. "Not now—" she whispered. "Not now—tell me nothing now of what is in your heart—Not now—nor, it may be, ever! I promised that I would save you—if I could. "Of that promise was born another" her glance turned to the silent figure meaningly.