"But that isn't all. A pot with nothing to put in it isn't much use. I've brought you something good to eat."
Plunging his hand into the pot he brought out half a dozen live crabs and threw them at her feet.
"Aren't they beauties?" he exclaimed. "I'll bet they'll taste dandy, too. Look out! Mind they don't nip your fingers with their claws. They're pretty lively. They bite like the mischief."
Grace's mouth was already watering:
"What shall I do with them?" she asked helplessly.
"Cook 'em, of course," he replied, with a grin. "You get them ready while I go and fetch some water."
She listened in consternation, not liking to tell him she did not know how to cook. His women, of course, could work and do everything to help themselves.They could sew and make their own dresses. She felt ashamed of her own uselessness and was about to make confession when he hurried away. As he ran he turned and called out:
"You'd better take a shell and see if you can scrape off some of that rust inside the pot."
He disappeared, leaving her looking in dismay, first at the iron pot and then at the crabs, already striving to regain their liberty. She had not the slightest idea what to do. Her only knowledge of crabs was when their tender, white, flakelike meat was served in chafing-dish with delicious sherry sauce. How to accomplish the operation of transforming those crawling, dangerous-looking things into a toothsome dish she had not the slightest notion. Even if she did know, how could she touch the nasty things when they were raising their nippers so menacingly and already trying to scud away in the direction of their native habitat, the sea. The most she could do was to run after each wriggling deserter and with her foot turn him over on his back. As to the other order she had received—that was easy. She could scrape the pot with a shell.That was easy enough. Yet if she were busy on the pot the crabs would profit by it to slip away, and then they would have no supper at all. It was certainly a problem worthy of the Sphinx.
She was still trying to solve it when Armitage reappeared. In one hand he carried a gigantic cocoanut filled to the brim with sparkling, fresh water; with the other he was dragging along the sand a huge plant of unfamiliar aspect.
"Are you all ready?" he called out.
"No—I'm afraid not," she stammered confusedly.
Quick to guess the reason, he merely smiled.
"All right," he said pleasantly. "I'll fix it."
Carefully putting down the precious liquid, he seized hold of the iron pot, and, with a few strokes of his sheath-knife, soon had it in condition and on the fire. Over such fierce heat, the water did not take long to boil, and a few minutes later the obstreperous crustaceans were on the way to discharge their natural debt to two starving humans.
"What a feast we'll have!" exclaimed Grace, as she eagerly watched his preparations. "If only we had some bread to go with them."
"Here's something just as good," he replied quickly. Stooping down toward the plant he had just brought in he plucked some of the fruit—long, yellow pods with red speckles—and held them out to her.
"What is it?" she asked, in surprise. "I never saw fruit like that before."
"They are plantains—the potatoes of the tropics," he answered.
"They look like bananas," said Grace, starting to peel and eat one.
"Same family," he explained. As if surprised at her ignorance, he went on: "It is a wonderful fruit. It's meat, potatoes, and bread all in one. Its fiber one can use as thread, and its enormous leaves make warm clothing. When the fruit is powdered and baked you would hardly know it from rice. Speke, Stanley, and the other African explorers frequently mention plantains as the staple food of the natives. We're fortunate to find it here, and there seems to be an abundance."
Grace looked at him curiously. She was not aware that seamen were so well versed.
"What do you know about African explorers?" she demanded.
Her question seemed to amuse him, for he showed his teeth in a smile.
"Oh, I've read their books," he replied. "We sailormen pick up a good deal of information knocking about the world as we do."
She would have liked to question him further, curious to learn something of his history, but there was an air of reserve about him that gave her little encouragement. On reflection she thought it unwise to appear interested. He might misconstrue her motive. She had not forgotten the bad reputation he had borne on the steamer, and while there had been nothing in his behavior so far to give her cause for alarm, she must not forget that she was entirely alone on this island with a man of the lower classes, a man unaccustomed, probably, to self-control. She must discourage all familiarity, and never for a moment permit him to forget the broad social gulf which separated them. With these anxieties running through her mind she relapsed into silence. He seemed to notice the sudden change in her manner,for he looked up from the fire and said:
"I'll soon have it ready. Suppose you get two big, flat shells for plates. We'll have to use our fingers for forks."
As she went to carry out his suggestion, she said apologetically:
"You think of everything. I wish I could be of more assistance."
"Nonsense!" he answered. "Why was I saved from the wreck if not to look after you?"
She did not like this speech, savoring as it did of clumsy gallantry, so she made no rejoinder. By the time she had found the kind of shells suitable for plates, the crabs were cooked to a turn, and they immediately sat down in semi-reclining position to enjoy them.
It was a veritable feast of Lucullus served picnic-fashion in mid-ocean. To Grace it seemed that in all her life she had never tasted anything so delicious. The crabs were tender and sweet-flavored, and the plantains provided her with a new taste which improved on acquaintance. In spite of their thus sharing a common meal there was a certainrestraint. Each seemed to be uncertain of and mistrust the other. They ate quickly and in silence, each preoccupied, Grace becoming more and more nervous as the shadows about her deepened, Armitage, silent, in admiring contemplation of his companion's shapely hands, her full bust and white neck, her beautiful eyes which, when they looked full into his, caused every nerve in his body to thrill.
By the time they had eaten the last scrap, the evening was well advanced. The sun had dipped below the watery horizon long ago, and it was getting dark very rapidly. Grace's growing nervousness became more and more apparent. He noticed it and suddenly broke the silence.
"Where will you sleep to-night?" he asked. "You're worn out after all you've gone through."
"Yes—I am very tired," she replied.
He rose, and, after throwing more wood on to the fire, he turned to her.
"I'll have to fix you up a bed in the cave the best way I can. I can get fern-leaves and long, cypress-haired moss in the woods. That'll make capital stuffing, and with a few plantain-leaves you'll have amattress fit for a queen. It'll do for to-night. To-morrow we'll make you more comfortable."
Before she could murmur her gratitude he had hurried away in the direction of the woods.
Left alone, her nervousness increased. She wondered what he would do for a bed, if he would insist on sharing the shelter of the cave with her, or if he would prefer to sleep outside under the stars. She felt singularly apprehensive. A panicky feeling seized her. How could she spend all the lonely hours of the night in the terrifying darkness—alone with that man? She felt nervous and uneasy, as if some new peril threatened her. Certainly, she would not be able to close an eye. A night of mental torture was before her.
Soon Armitage returned, his arms filled with a great load of fern-leaves and grass.
Grace followed him into the gloomy cave, the interior of which was now quite dark. Laying his burden down, he prepared to arrange her couch.
"How would you like to lie?" he asked.
"I think I would prefer to lie in the open," she replied, with a little, nervous shudder.
He shook his head.
"No—you'd better sleep in there," he said. "It may rain. Besides, we don't know what may be roaming round here during the night. In there you'll be protected on all three sides, and, as to the entrance, I'll throw a few big branches across. Nothing can get past without you knowing it."
"And where will you be?" she inquired timidly.
"Oh, I'll throw myself down by the fire. I'm accustomed to roughing it."
The bed was swiftly made, soft and springy. All it lacked were pillow and covering.
"Take my advice and don't sleep in your clothes," he said. "You can't sleep properly unless you do, and you'll need all your strength. There's no one to disturb you. You can use your dress for a pillow and your mantle for a sheet. Don't be nervous. I'll be on hand if you want me. Good night."
"Good night!" she echoed faintly.
He went out and she was alone. It was now quite dark outside. The night was clear, and the heavens were studded with their countless stars. The only light which entered the cave enabling her to grope her way about was a ghostly flicker from the distant fire.
She tried the bed. It was fairly comfortable. Utterly exhausted, she thought she ought to sleep until daylight. She surely would if only she could calm her nerves and allay this persistent premonition of impending peril. After all, she thought, it was foolish to be afraid. So far he had been thoughtful and respectful, and given her no cause for alarm, and as to wild animals, they couldn't get at her if the entrance were closed. Should she disrobe entirely orremain fully dressed to be ready for any emergency? Certainly she would be more comfortable undressed. Besides, it was the only way in which she could get a pillow and covering.
At that moment a heavy thud just outside made her heart leap to her mouth.
"Who's there?" she cried out.
"It's only me," answered Armitage. "I'm fixing the door of your hotel. I guess nothing can get in now. Good night."
"Good night!" she replied faintly.
She listened to his footsteps as they died away in the distance, and slowly began to disrobe.
She was soon undressed and was about to get into bed and cover herself up when a thought occurred to her. There was something still to be done. Dropping on her knees, her bare feet on the cold sand, she buried her face in her hands and for the first time in her life offered up a fervent prayer to the unknown, Almighty Power that directs all things. Grace had never been a devout girl. She had no decided metaphysical views of any kind. She was merely indifferent. Given up solely to a life of pleasure,religion to her had been only a word. Her parents had a pew at St. Thomas', on Fifth Avenue, and when she had a new hat or a new gown to show off, she attended the services in the same spirit that she would go to the horse show or any other fashionable function. Never until now had she felt the need of that moral support and encouragement which never fails to bring comfort to the faithful in their hour of trouble. She prayed earnestly to be saved from her present desperate situation, for protection during the coming night, and she prayed also for her late ship companions who at that moment might be suffering in the open boats. This done, her mind felt easier, and, covering herself as well as she could, she closed her eyes and courted sleep.
Happily the night was warm, otherwise her scant covering, consisting solely of a thin mantle, would not have sufficed. Everything outside was perfectly still. The lazy splash of the surf and the gentle murmur of the breeze were the only sounds that reached her ears. Not hearing Armitage moving about she concluded that he had rolled himself up near the fire and gone to sleep.
She closed her eyes, and, lulled into drowsiness by the distant music of the sea, she gradually sank into the delicious semi-conscious state that just precedes slumber. Through her tired brain passed confused mental pictures of the extraordinary happenings of the last forty-eight hours—the dance on the deck, the sudden storm, the shock as the great liner struck the sunken reef, the rush for the life-boats, her fall into the water and the long swim until she came to herself on this island and recognized the refractory stoker, Armitage, as her rescuer. She wondered if he was really as black as he had been painted. If he was, she had seen nothing of his bad qualities. He was only a stoker—a superior one to be sure, from his conversation and knowledge of things—and so far he had behaved like a gentleman.
She wondered what she would do if suddenly he forced his way in now and attacked her. Would she scream, or faint, or do any of the hysterical things a woman is supposed to do in such circumstances? Her mind dwelt upon his personal appearance. She recalled how handsome, and graceful, and strong he looked as he came along the beach at a swinginggait, bringing to her that greatly needed breakfast, which she had devoured with such appetite. From him, her thoughts traveled homeward. She saw her poor mother and father grieving for her, and her supposed loss the sensation of the hour in their immediate circle of friends. Then her thoughts grew mixed and confused. Her breathing grew more regular, her bosom rose and fell with rhythmic motion, her brain ceased thinking. She was asleep.
The long hours of the night passed slowly. Her slumber had been as peaceful and profound as that of a child when, about three o'clock, she suddenly awoke with a start. At first she believed she was still in her luxurious stateroom on board theAtlanta, but the rough couch, the prickly points of which punctured her thin garment, and the splash of the surf outside rudely reminded her of her misfortune.
She wondered what had interrupted her sleep. It was still pitch-dark and everything was quiet, yet she was wide-awake with every sense and nerve alert and tense. Like most persons who awake suddenlyin the middle of the night without being able to explain the cause, she was at once seized with nervous dread. Something was wrong.
Hastily, fearfully she glanced around, but her eyes were unable to penetrate the opaque darkness that surrounded her. The faint light that came from the cave entrance only served to make the shadows deeper. She strained her ears, but heard no sound. Yet she could not shake off the terrifying suggestion thatsome oneorsomethinghad entered the cave while she was asleep and now stood in the shadows watching her, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to attack her.
The more she thought of the possibility of such a thing, the more alarmed she became, and her nervousness increased each minute until she was bathed in perspiration from head to foot. She tried to reason with herself, to shake off the impression, and with an exclamation of impatience at her own childishness she turned over and again closed her eyes. But as she movedItmoved also. Her alert ear caught the sound of a slow and cautious movement, as ifsome oneorsomethingwere creeping on allfours toward her. Petrified with fright, her heart in her mouth, she called out:
"Who's there?"
There was no answer, but the sound ceased.
Something was there, that was certain. At any moment it might spring upon her. She shook with terror, her teeth chattered. She dare not make a movement. Her ears were strained for sounds of further moves. Almost rigid with fright, each passing moment seemed a century. If only she could flee from there and reach the open. She was sorry now that Armitage had left her alone. What would she not give to be able to call him now to her aid!
Suddenly the bed moved as thoughsomethinghad accidentally stumbled against it. She distinctly heard a rustling sound as ifsomethinghad grazed the branches of which her couch was built. TheThing, whatever it was, man or beast, was close to her. The suspense was more than she could bear. Almost swooning from terror she sprang up, and, leaning over the side, peered into the darkness. What she beheld made the blood freeze in her veins.
A long, slimy-looking, sinuous thing, almost asthick as a man's arm and nearly six feet in length, was gliding slowly and aimlessly about in the shadow. In the faint glimmer of light that struggled in from the entrance to the cave was plainly discernible a pair of glistening eyes set in a squat, flat head, and a cruel mouth with fanglike teeth in which a forked tongue darted rapidly back and forth. It was a huge hooded cobra, the deadliest of all the venomous serpents inhabiting tropical Asia.
Panic-stricken, Grace opened her mouth to scream, but no sound issued forth. She tried to flee, but some irresistible power held her rooted to the spot. Every faculty, every muscle in her was paralyzed by unspeakable horror.
With eyes dilated with terror, with every nerve tense to the snapping-point, she watched with fearful fascination that hideous, slimy head as with slow, rhythmic motion it swayed from side to side, the forked tongue darting from the horrid mouth as lightning rends the skies. Staring straight into the cruel, beady eyes, her fixed gaze seemed riveted there against her will, as if the reptile had cast over her a hypnotic spell. She felt herself gradually growingnumb, cold sweat burst from every pore, her flesh crept, and there was a tingling sensation at the roots of her hair.
Each instant she expected that the cobra would dart forward and strike her. The suspense was fearful. The seconds seemed like centuries. She wondered when the fatal moment would come that would mean her death. Certainly, all was over with her now. The storm, the shipwreck—that was nothing. This new peril, a thousand times more deadly than those she had emerged from safely, was momentarily coming nearer, and she was powerless to avert it. She must be resigned to perish miserably and cruelly the most shocking of deaths. Escape was out of the question. Coiled up in threatening attitude at the foot of the bed the reptile was between her and safety. If she attempted to run she would never reach the open.
That the cobra was conscious of her presence and was preparing to attack there could be no doubt. It showed its irritation in the manner usual to its species, by dilating its neck until it formed the shape of a broad hood. Evidently the reptile made itshome in one of the dark recesses of the cave. Asleep, it had awakened during the night, and its keen sense of smell attracted by the unusual odor of a warm human body, it had crawled to where she lay and now was ready to claim its prey. The slightest move on her part and it would dart forward. A lightninglike thrust forward of that loathsome head, then the powerful, scaly coils would close around her, there would be the ghastly sound of bones being crunched, and all would be over. Armitage would come in only to find her mangled and partially devoured body, perhaps himself to meet with a similar fate.
Again she opened her mouth to scream and warn him. Her tongue clove, speechless, to her dry palate. A feeling of nausea came over her, her temples were throbbing, her heart seemed to have stopped beating. She wondered if she had gone mad.
She was noting the curious, spectacle-like markings on the back of the reptile's hood when suddenly the cobra started to hiss loudly as slowly it began to move nearer to its trembling victim. Coil after coil of its glistening, sinuous body followed the hideoushead as the creature dragged itself along. As it glided its sinister way over the sand the cruel, beady eyes for a brief instant were averted from the girl. Instantly the hypnotic spell which had held her transfixed was broken. Uttering a piercing scream, she sprang from the bed and took refuge on the far side of the cave. The cobra, enraged at her attempt to escape, hissed more loudly, and, accelerating its movements, moved rapidly in her direction.
Flattened up against the wall of the cave Grace's lips parted in a last, despairing prayer. She could retreat no farther. Solid rock barred the way, and escape to the open was cut off. She had not improved her position. By seeking to evade her doom, the agony was only drawn out the longer. The cobra was now only a dozen feet away. Coiling upon itself within striking distance it suddenly drew back its head, then, with lightning speed, shot it forward.
Quick as the movement was, Grace was quicker. Her instinct of self-preservation enabled her to foretell the instant the creature would spring, and the energy of despair gave her strength. Giving anothershout for help, she nimbly jumped aside just in time to avoid the blow. Hissing furiously with baffled rage the serpent resumed the attack. Dawn was slowly breaking, and in the dim light she could see the creature's cruel eyes scintillating as they turned to look for her.
Breathless, panting from the unusual exertion, in a state of complete nervous collapse, Grace was in no condition to continue the unequal combat. She realized that her strength was fast ebbing. It was only a question of seconds now when she must succumb. As those horrid, beady eyes met hers, again she was seized with that strange sense of limpness, utter inability to move a muscle. Again she was under the hypnotic spell. She realized that death in its most fearful form was there before her, claiming her. She felt sick and faint. Staggering as she clutched the cold, rocky wall of her living prison, she gave another despairing scream like a wail of human agony.
Scarcely conscious, she saw through her half-closed eyes the cobra gliding nearer, she could almost feel the reptile's fetid breath upon her cheek.With hopeless horror she saw it approach closer and closer, then stop and again coil itself ready for the final spring. She shuddered, and, closing her eyes, waited for the end. There was a strange buzzing in her ears. Suddenly everything grew dark. The cobra began hissing more furiously. There was a loud crash and she knew no more.
When again she opened her eyes, she was lying on the bed and Armitage was kneeling by her side, bathing her face with water. Surprised to find herself still alive, she looked at him, the look of terror still in her face. Fearfully she whispered:
"Where is it? Did you see it?"
"It's all right," he said cheerily, trying to quiet her. "It won't trouble you any more."
"Was it only a nightmare?" she murmured.
"Nightmare—no," he answered. "It was real enough. Look!"
He pointed to a few paces away where lay the cobra, dead, its head crushed in by an enormous stone.
"I heard you scream," he explained. "I was asleep. It woke me. At first I thought I wasdreaming. Then came another scream. I ran here and saw you against the wall yonder and the serpent preparing to spring. I picked up a stone and killed him. I was just in time, a second later and it would have been too late."
"Thank God!" she said.
Then she fainted again.
It was some time before Grace had recovered sufficiently from the nervous shock of her terrifying encounter with the cobra to be able to get about, and during this period of enforced idleness she was compelled to depend altogether on Armitage. He supplied her with the necessaries and, as well as he was able, administered to her comfort.
Grateful to him for his attentions, it was not long before her feeling of obligation changed into real regard for the man. The dread in which she at first held him had completely disappeared, as was only natural after the services he had rendered her. Twice she owed him her life. That alone was a debt she could never repay. Moreover, he was thoughtful and courteous, and, so far, at least, had shown no disposition to take advantage of her helpless situation. How much worse her position would be if he were not there at all!
But she was too much worried and preoccupiedwith her own troubles to give her strange companion much thought. She watched him at work, and she ate listlessly the food he brought her, but that was about all the interest she took in anything.
Her one burning desire was to get away. During all her waking hours her thoughts turned only in one direction: how to escape as speedily as possible from this wretched island. As the days went by and no vessel appeared, she began to wonder if they would ever be rescued, or if she was doomed to remain on that remote islet for the rest of her days unable to communicate with her father and mother and friends, who, in ignorance of her fate, had long since given her up as dead. Perhaps in years to come some ship touching at the island in search of water would find, strewed along the beach, her bleached bones and his—picked clean by the vultures. She wept bitterly as she thought of it; her face was bathed in tears of compassion over her misfortune. She was ashamed to let Armitage see that she had been crying, but all day she brooded over her sorrow, and at night she dreamed that he was building a boat stout enough to convey them to the mainland.
Fearful that she would lose all notion of time, she started to count the days, keeping a rough kind of calender by scratching notches at regular intervals on a shell. She notched off the days one by one, her spirits sinking in proportion as their number increased. In her despair she appealed to her companion to reassure her. But Armitage shook his head dubiously. He had little comfort to offer.
"We must be patient," he said grimly. "We're here scarcely a week. Think of those shipwrecked sailors who have been marooned on desert islands for months, even years, often with almost nothing to eat. When finally they were rescued they were not recognizable as men. Their clothes hung upon them in shreds, their hair was matted and over-grown, they had forgotten how to talk, they tore the meat given them with their fingers like famished wolves. We have not so much to complain of. We have plenty of water, enough to eat. It's no use fretting. We must wait patiently. Perhaps we won't have to wait long. Any day our signal-fire may be sighted by a vessel."
They now kept two fires going, one close at handfor their own use, and another much bigger on top of the hill for signaling purposes. The hill-top commanded a superb view of every part of the island, and, viewed from the ocean, it must have been a conspicuous mark for miles. They christened it Mount Hope, for on it Grace centered all her fervent prayers for rescue. It became her Mecca, and each day she made the long and exhausting climb up its precipitous slope in the expectation of seeing steamer smoke or a sail on the distant horizon. But disappointment always awaited her. There was nothing in every direction but dreary, monotonous wastes of heaving water, the boisterous waves dancing in the sunlight as if to mock her misery.
The care of keeping this signal-fire going devolved on Armitage, and it was the day's most important task. The fire was kept banked with damped moss and peat in the daytime, so it would throw off a smoke thick enough to be visible miles away at sea. At night it was made to blaze furiously with the same object in view.
The cave had been deserted long ago. The day following her horrible experience with the serpent,Grace protested hysterically that nothing could induce her to enter the gloomy place again. Sleeping in it, she declared, was utterly out of the question. The cobra was dead, but there was no telling what other reptile as venomous and deadly might again crawl out of the cave's countless holes and recesses. Armitage admitted the possibility, and at once offered to build a cabin for her in the open. It would be far more healthy and comfortable.
She gladly consented, and he went to work with a will. He had no tools, and his construction materials were necessarily of the most primitive character. Happily, the weather continued fine, and, while her new home was in the building, Grace managed as best she could under a temporary shelter.
Selecting a site that was high and dry, Armitage first dug a square hole in the ground three feet deep by about fourteen feet in length and breadth. Each side of the excavation he lined with stone walls made of huge boulders piled one on top of another, and decreasing in weight and size until they reached a height all round of nearly nine feet. The interstices he filled with clay to keep out the wind andrain, and additional strength was secured for the walls by banking up earth on all four exterior sides. It was a herculean task, for each of the big, heavy stones had to be dragged a considerable distance, and the only implement he had to dig with was a crude spade which he made out of a piece of planed wood found among the drift along the shore and sharpened and hardened in fire. Light entered through a door and window, and then came the roof. This he made with heavy limbs of trees equally matched, which rested on top of the stone walls, these in turn being crossed with smaller branches, and the whole covered with a thick thatch of tussac-grass and moss held in place by heavy stones. The floor inside was strewn with tussac-grass to keep the feet dry from the damp earth. There was also a fireplace for logs, with a flue and chimney to carry off the smoke, and before it was ready for occupancy he started a fire, thus driving out the damp and making it dry and inhabitable.
He toiled unceasingly and tirelessly, whistling cheerfully as he worked. As Grace watched him, the thought was impressed upon her more stronglythan ever that this man was far happier here amid primeval conditions, thrown upon his own resources, than he had been in a so-called civilized state. Evidently he had no keen desire to be rescued. The thought filled her again with dismay. Not that it would really make any material difference. If succor were coming, they would be rescued whether her mysterious companion wished it or not. But that any human being could be reconciled to spending the remainder of his days on a barren islet in a remote part of the ocean, without clothes, tools, books, or even the bare necessaries of life, was intolerable. A man who could entertain such an idea for a moment could have instincts little superior to a savage.
Often she had watched her strange, moody companion as he worked and wondered what his history was. He was no ordinary seaman—that was evident from his speech and manner. He had certainly known better days. He never spoke of himself, and when tactfully she broached the subject, he abruptly changed the conversation. One day she said to him:
"You weren't always a stoker, were you—you weren't born to that kind of life?"
He stopped in his work, and for a moment looked at her in silence, as if seeking time to frame his answer. Then laconically he said:
"My past life is dead. I live only in the present. Just what I seem I am."
Still unconvinced, she returned to the attack.
"Why did you desert from the steamer in New York?"
He clenched his fist as thus brutally she revived the memory of his past suffering, and in a low tone, which came almost like a hiss from between his set teeth, he said:
"Because I could not stand it any longer—I just couldn't. I was desperate."
"Why did you take to such dreadful work?" she persisted. "Was there nothing else more congenial, less brutalizing that you could do?"
He shook his head.
"No—nothing. There was nothing else." Bitterly he added: "The poor must slave so that the rich may enjoy."
Puzzled, she asked:
"What do you mean?"
"It's no use going into particulars," he replied, almost contemptuously. "You wouldn't understand."
Turning on his heel, he resumed his work on the cabin.
Grace did understand. She understood that there was something in the past life of this man which he did not wish to divulge. She felt that he had suffered, and she was sorry for him. Again she tried to draw him out, but skilfully he parried her questions, and appeared to resent them. Noticing this, she desisted. His past, as far as she was concerned, at any rate, was and must remain a sealed book.
But Grace did not remain silent for all that. She was too much of a woman to permit of that. Seeing that she could get nothing from him, she talked about herself. She chattered about her home in New York, about her friends, about the things which interested her and the things which bored her. He listened as he worked, apparently interested, and when she said that she despised the empty and frivolous amusements of her set and was ambitious to do something more worthy in life, he nodded approvingly.When she had told him everything, once more she attempted to question him in turn, but he relapsed into an obstinate silence.
After a week's continuous toil the cabin was completed. As a finishing touch, he made some furniture for it—a crude table and two three-legged stools. When he had put the bed in place the hut was ready for occupancy. When at last everything was ready, he called out to Grace to come and inspect her new home.
"You'll be comfortable in here," he said cheerily. "At least there are no snakes. I can promise you that."
He waited for her to say something, expecting that she would be pleased.
"It's very nice," she said hesitatingly. "Only——"
"Only what?" he demanded in a tone of disappointment.
"It's too bad to have taken so much pains for so short a time," she said.
He laughed carelessly.
"So short a time?" he echoed. Almost mockingly he asked: "Do you expect to leave here so soon?"
"As soon as I can—you may depend upon that!" she replied determinedly, almost ready to cry.
His indifference angered her. She thought it brutal when he knew how unhappy and miserable she was and how anxious to get back to her family. At that moment she hated him.
"Ah, that's just it!" he exclaimed, with a gesture of impatience. "As soon as you can! But you can't! We're prisoners here—in prison just as securely as though we were behind iron bars. We can't get away."
"But we'll get away some time, won't we?" she gasped.
He shook his head.
"The chances are slim," he replied grimly.
"Then what good is our signal-fire?" she persisted.
"Not much good," he admitted frankly.
Her heart sank. Her face paled, and her lips trembled as she asked:
"Don't you think it'll be seen sooner or later? Ships must pass by here some time."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Even if they do, they may not see the fire. If a ship passes near this island it would be a great distance away. It would never occur to them to look here for signals. Besides, very few vessels do pass. A ship may not sight our signal for a year, maybe five years, perhaps never. You remember Alexander Selkirk—Robinson Crusoe. He was twenty-eight years on Tobago island—in complete solitude."
Grace gave a low moan of distress.
"At least," he went on, after some hesitation, "we have each other."
This remark angered her. She thought it impertinent. The boldness of his veiled insinuation was more than she could bear. He actually contemplated the possibility of a permanent stay.
"I couldn't stand it," she cried hoarsely, her eyes filled with scalding tears. "I would rather kill my self."
He shrugged his shoulders, and that made her all the more angry.
"You don't care," she went on. "You're willing to sacrifice me because you prefer this kind of existence to the wretched life you've had."
This speech aroused him to action. All his life he had suffered from injustice. This girl, he thought, was like all the others. For a moment, he lost his sang-froid.
"You're unjust!" he replied hotly. "I'm doing all I can. Who built the signal-fire on Mount Hope? I did. Who keeps it going night and day? I do. It's no fun climbing up that steep hill collecting fresh fuel, but I do it. Even in my sleep sometimes I wake up in fright, thinking I may have neglected to throw on enough fuel, fearful that the fire will go out—my last match gone. I work myself into a cold sweat thinking of it. I can't sleep. At last I am unable to stand it any longer. I get up and rush to the hill-top, all for nothing. The signal-fire is still burning brightly. All that time you are sleeping peacefully. Does that look as if I didn't care?"
"Forgive me," she murmured between her tears. "I'm peevish and unreasonable. Forgive me. I'm so unhappy!"
He smiled sympathetically.
"Don't get discouraged," he said kindly. "As long as we're here, it's best to get along as well aswe can. It's no use fretting. If help is coming it will come. You'll not mend matters by worrying."
She felt he was right. What use were her tears and her irritation? He was doing all he could. They were in the hands of an inscrutable Providence. As long as the signal-fire was kept burning there was hope.
Slowly the weeks slipped by. The castaways were still in their island prison with relief as far away, apparently, as ever.
Grace had taken possession of her cabin and made herself as comfortable as it was possible under the circumstances. The luxuries to which she had always been accustomed were lamentably lacking. There was no dainty bathroom for her ablutions, no maid to answer her call, no extensive wardrobe to select from, no telephone through which she could chat with friends. But at least she had shelter and a bed to sleep upon, and for these blessings she was sensible enough to be devoutly thankful. Armitage had built close by, for his own use, a similar, but less elaborate, hut, and he took a certain pride in keeping it in order.
One day Grace found some flowers on the table in her cabin. Only one person could have put themthere, and when she realized that fact, it came rather as a shock to find her strange companion paying her attentions of this nature.
"Thank you for the flowers," she said, with some embarrassment.
"I thought they'd brighten the place up a bit," he replied awkwardly:
He smiled, and she noticed for the first time that he had fine white teeth. But nothing more was said, and he went unconcernedly about his work.
For the remainder of that morning she avoided him. She left her cabin and fled to Mount Hope, straining her eyes once more in a fruitless effort to see appear on the horizon the ship which would come to her rescue.
Monotonous and lonely as was their existence on this remote islet, there was plenty of work to be done, and the hours sometimes sped by so quickly that both Grace and Armitage were astonished. The shadows of night would fall when they had thought it only a little past noon; Each did a share of the day's work, glad of the occupation that helped to divert the mind.
The signal-fire on Mount Hope demanded most of Armitage's attention; When not engaged in gathering fuel, he went on long foraging expeditions. The problem of procuring food was no light one, and, like other shipwrecked sailors, who have had to exercise their wits, he was quick to devise ways to keep their larder supplied. He caught fish with a hook made out of a sharp-pointed stick hardened in flame; he killed sea-gulls with stones hurled from a sling; he overturned turtles while they lay basking in the sun, and he saw to it that they had an abundant supply of fresh drinking-water.
Grace also was not idle. She mended and patched their clothes with needles made of fish-bone and thread made of the fiber of plantain fruit; and under Armitage's clumsy tuition she quickly learned how to cook. He showed her how to clean and broil the fish he caught, and taught her how to obtain salt by boiling sea water until the water evaporated. In a cleverly improvised oven which he built for her, she learned how to bake delicious cakes of flour made from dried and pulverised plantain fruit. She prepared their meals, which they ate together atregular hours, and for dessert she set before him plantains, quinces, limes, and cocoanuts which she herself had gathered in the wood.
This constant and intimate association could have only one result. Every day it brought the proud beauty and her taciturn companion closer than would have been possible under any other conditions. At times, in her interest in the work of the moment, Grace would entirely forget their difference in class. She would unbend and laugh and chat with him as though she had known him for years. Then, an instant later, suddenly conscious of their respective positions and what she thought she owed to her own dignity, she would relapse into an abrupt silence and draw away once more, cold and reserved. But this purely artificial demeanor could not be kept up. A few hours later, obeying her natural impulse, she was herself again, chatting with him freely, asking his opinion, trying to please him, full of respect for his superior judgment.
Armitage listened to her ceaseless prattle, amused at her vivacity, replying gravely to her questions, explaining all she wished to know. During long,idle afternoons they would sit together on the beach and he would tell her stories of the sea, about lands he had visited, strange people he had seen, while Grace, curled up at his feet, like a child, listened with breathless attention.
Thus gradually, almost unconsciously, their mutual interest in each other grew. They became necessary to each other. Sharing common perils, they naturally sought each other's companionship, and to Grace as much as to Armitage the unconventional association and comradeship was as delightful as it was novel. Grace was pleased because he treated her not as other men had done, as a toy, only to be flattered with foolish compliments, but as a woman, a helpmate, whose opinion was worth having.
Greatly to her surprise, Grace soon found herself taking pleasure in this bucolic, semi-savage sort of a life. It was so utterly unlike anything which she had ever known that, at times, she thought it must be all unreal and that, sooner or later, she would wake up from what was only a fantastic dream. But it was real enough. She had only to glance around her to realize the grim truth. There wasArmitage a short distance away along the beach trying with a crudely made net to catch fish for their noonday meal, yonder on top of Mount Hope a column of black smoke was ascending to the blue sky—a mute and urgent summons to the outer world for help—and if any further testimony were needed she had only to look down at her own tattered rags, scarcely recognizable now as a gown to bring back with vividness all that had happened since the moment the typhoon broke.
Yet, as the time went on, with rescue no nearer than before, Grace seemed each day more resigned to her precarious situation. She did not fret so much. Her nervousness disappeared and her spirit became more buoyant. There ware moments when she even felt happy. Armitage was quick to notice it, and by the way he smiled as he greeted her, by the almost boyish enthusiasm he went about his work, it was evident that he welcomed the change.
Grace was surprised herself. At first it alarmed her to note her growing indifference. She could not understand the reason. Sensibly she argued that she could not be always fretting. If she did,nervous collapse would be the consequence. It never occurred to her that this new life in the exhilarating sea air explained the secret, that her body was growing more healthy and normal under the new hygienic conditions, and that as her body changed, her mental outlook changed also. The discomforts which she had to put up with were, of course, many, and her anxiety regarding the outcome of the adventure as poignant as ever, yet in other respects it was an almost ideal existence.
The weather was perfect. She lived, so to speak, in a bower of flowers, in idyllic peace, with nothing to disturb the general serenity. She had all the food to eat that her appetite craved for, there was plenty of crystal spring water to drink. At night she slept peacefully, lulled by the rhythmical music of the waves as they washed lazily against the shore, and when she awoke the birds were singing their joyous notes of welcome to another glorious day. It was the voluptuous life of the tropics with all its dreamy languor, its sensuous charm.
Constant living in the open had indeed effected a wonderful improvement in her personal appearance.Had she possessed a mirror she would scarcely have recognized in that health-flushed face, tanned by wind and sun, the pale and languid girl whose condition had alarmed her friends in New York. With her large dark eyes, clear and limpid, her lips, red and tempting as cherries, her glorious hair caught up in careless knot, her bosom fuller, her lines more rounded, her walk with an elasticity it had never known before—she was in the full bloom of youth and beauty. Grace herself realized the change, and vaguely she guessed that this explained the new mental attitude she had assumed toward her unfortunate position. Not only in body, but in her mind she felt more vigorous. Her despondency had given place to a pronounced optimism. She took keen interest in everything taking place around her. She was no longer peevish and irritable. She laughed and chatted with the spontaneous gaiety of youth, and if it were not for a constantly gnawing anxiety to know what the future had in store, to communicate with her parents, she would have been content to go on living like this for months.
Not only were the surroundings ideal and conduciveto real happiness, but it was a new and pleasurable sensation to her to find that she could be of some use in the world. She took pride in doing her share of the work, and her respect for herself grew in proportion as she felt that her services were appreciated by Armitage. Gradually she learned to scrutinize his face to see if he approved what she had done, and if she saw him smile she beamed with satisfaction.
Long ago she had come to the conclusion that her companion was no ordinary man. Not only was he above his apparent station in life, but he possessed qualities that she had never yet detected in any of the men she had met. Not only was he handsome and built like an Apollo, but she recognized his superior mentality. He was born for leadership—that was evident by the manner in which he had managed things on this island. He had suffered in life, for some cause which he kept secret, and had been forced to take to brutalizing work. But it had not degraded him. He was kind and gentle, unselfish and brave.
While he succeeded in concealing his own pastlife, Armitage was less successful in concealing his interest in his companion. Grace's feminine tuition told her that he admired her, and, although she knew that socially he was far beneath her, she was still woman enough to be gratified. Besides, she did not seek to disguise from herself the fact that she was strangely attracted toward this man. He had about him a magnetism which she could not explain. Perhaps more than anything else it was the very mystery with which he surrounded himself that interested and attracted her. She found herself speculating strangely. Suppose he had been a man of her own class, would she marry him? Was he the type of man she could love? She remembered Professor Hanson's queer hypothesis that afternoon on the steamer. Suppose this man were to make love to her and insisted on the ties suggested by the professor. What could she do to protect herself? What could she do? She was utterly helpless. There would be nothing to do but throw herself on his generosity.
It annoyed her when she realized how much her companion entered into her thoughts. She tried notto feel lonely when he was away. She tried not to feel pleased when he returned. But she knew that she was lying to herself, and at moments it terrified her when slowly it dawned upon her that her strange, mysterious companion had entered into her most intimate life. Was it love? She laughed at the absurdity of the idea, and to show her indifference, so Armitage might plainly understand the difference in their positions, she forced herself to seem cold and reserved. He noticed the sudden change in her manner, and, unable to account for it, thought he must have displeased her.
One day he had gone up to Mount Hope to attend, as usual, to the signal-fire. She was alone. The day's work was done, and, somewhat fatigued, she was resting, seated on the verdant, sloping beach overlooking the sea. At her feet stretched the golden sands, gently laved by the rippling, transparent waves. The air was full of sweet scents, and the temperature so warm that even the thinnest clothing was almost unendurable. Drowsy from the heat, she lay under the grateful shade of spreading trees, and, looking out over the glistening ocean, watchedthe water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Her eyes half-closed, her entire being thrilled by a novel sensation of languor, she abandoned herself to the voluptuousness of the place and moment. Had she been alone, with no one to see her and no danger of a sudden surprise, she would have loved to divest herself of all her clothing and, nymphlike, roll nude in the golden sands like the woman she once saw in a picture called "The Birth of the Wave." Her form was physically as beautiful. She wondered if Armitage thought her beautiful—if he ever thought of her at all as men think of women—and gradually her mind wandered in strange channels.
As she lay there basking in the ardent sunshine, she felt the pleasurable, exhilarating sensation of enjoying perfect animal health. A strange feeling of languor came over her. This, she knew, was happiness and the joy of life, and yet she felt that there was still something lacking to make that happiness complete. As her eye dwelt on the loveliness of the surrounding scene, perhaps for the first time she understood the enthusiasm of those nature lovers who are content only when in the country. What,indeed, were the artificial, tawdry delights of the man-made cities compared with the delights of life in the God-made fields? She thought of overheated ballrooms, inane afternoon teas, tiresome bridge-parties. What were they compared to lying there, listening to the birds singing in the trees, her cheek gently wafted by the soft sea breeze, the pure air filling her lungs and shading the damask on her cheek. If her dear old dad saw her he would hardly know her.
She knew what her life lacked—love. A man whom she could admire and respect, a man who would rule her with his iron will and crush her if need be in his strong arms. Would she ever meet such a man? Had she already met him? Once more her mind conjured up the picture of the ideal man—the man of her day-dream on the steamer. If he should come along now, would she have the strength of will to resist the pressure of his ardent lips. Her eyes closed, she fancied she saw him coming, his head thrown back, straight as an arrow, handsome as an Apollo. As he passed he stopped, fascinated by her beauty. He came nearer, andwith a cry of joy clasped her closely in furious embrace. Weakly she tried to avoid the warm kisses he rained on her too willing mouth. As she turned she chanced to see his face, and, starting back, she gave a cry. It was a face she knew. Frightened, she opened her eyes and sat up. Armitage was standing before her.
"Were you asleep?" he asked, with a smile. "I hope I didn't disturb you."
"Where have you been?" she asked, embarrassed.
"Up on Mount Hope tending the fire," he replied, his eyes taking in every detail of her splendid beauty. Her hair was disarranged and her bodice open at the neck because of the heat. He thought she looked the prettier, and he was only human.
"Nothing in sight, I suppose," she asked.
"No, nothing," he answered.
She rose and, going to the cabin, hastened to prepare their supper.
While she bustled about he sat quietly and watched her. He hoped she would not read on his face the happiness that was in his heart.
Yes, she had guessed aright. He was happier onthis desert island than ever before. It was true that he had no wish to be rescued. For him rescue meant going back to purgatory, while this was Elysium. Never in all his life had he known such happiness as this. Only one thing was lacking to make his happiness complete. It was to call this woman—wife. He did not know how it had come to him, but he loved her with a fierceness that frightened him. He did not like to even admit it to himself or even to think of it. But he knew that he must have this woman or his life must end. To live without her was impossible. It was inconceivable. He had tasted of Heaven these last few weeks, and if he lost that he must lose everything. Of course it was an impossible dream. She was rich. When she left here she would forget him. If one day she met him in New York she would even disdain to look at him.
He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Why should he lose this happiness that had come to him? He wanted this woman. No one should rob him of her. Even if it cost him his life and hers, he was determined to have her for his own. Why should he be denied her? Their rescue from this islandwas improbable, if not impossible. Ships never passed near there. It was too far from the beaten track, too full of hidden dangers. Navigators knew that and gave the island a wide berth. He had lied to her to reassure her, but he knew rescue was out of the question. They would spend the rest of their days there. The days would lengthen into months, the months into years. Their youth would go. Old age would come. Then it would be too late, and they would both be sorry. Why should they not mate now? He remembered the mutineers of H. M. S.Bounty—a true story of the sea which had always fascinated him. The men revolted and killed their officers and landed on an island inhabited by savages. They killed the men and married the women, and to this day their descendants were sturdy fishermen.
Long after Grace had retired to rest, Armitage sat under the trees alone amid the silent beauty of the tropical night. The stars in their countless millions shone bright and resplendent in the clear atmosphere. The firmament was a glorious blaze of light. The planets flashed like suns, and changedcolor as he gazed at them. The small stars twinkled more humbly in a milky way that stretched across the heavens, while now and again a brilliant meteor, outlaw of the heavenly host, shot across space and as quickly disappeared. It was a spectacle for the gods, but Armitage heeded it not. Lost in meditation of things more earthly, he was wondering if he could win this woman for himself, how he could delay the dreaded moment which would take her out of his life.
The next day when he suggested that they explore their lonely domain together, Grace readily consented to accompany him. Laughing merrily and chattering like a magpie, she walked briskly along at his side. The day was ideal. The weather was dry and clear, with an invigorating breeze from the sea, and, as they strode along in the dazzling sunshine, Grace felt buoyant with health and exuberant spirits.
They followed the coast-line, making their way in and out among the rocks. From the interstices of the tall cliffs as they approached flew out hundredsof wild sea-gulls uttering shrill cries of alarm. Armitage picked up a stone, but Grace stayed his arm.
"It's bad luck to kill one," she said. "Let them live. Besides, they're our neighbors. They're the only other inhabitants besides ourselves."
The tide was out, so their way along the smooth sands was easy. The beach was covered with shells of remarkable luster and beauty, and Grace insisted on stopping to gather some. Presently they came to a creek, with stepping-stones covered with slippery moss. The problem was how to get across.
"Come along," said Armitage, leading the way.
"I'm afraid I'll fall into the water," exclaimed Grace, looking ruefully at the water.
"No, you won't. Take my arm," said Armitage.
They went across together, her arm closely locked in his.
Suddenly she slipped. If she had not been holding tight to his arm, she would have fallen into the creek. As it was, she was badly frightened, and clung more nervously to him. He felt her warm body pressed close against his, and a thrill went through him. There was still some distance to gobefore the opposite bank was reached. Putting his arm round her waist, Armitage reassured her.
"You won't fall. Just keep close to me and step as I step," he said.
He felt her warm breath on his cheek. His head seemed to swim round. It needed all his self-control to keep his equilibrium and get across. Finally they reached the other bank in safety.
Leaving the beach, they clambered up the rocks, to the higher land, where they found an abundance of coarse grass with ravines and hollows choked up with a luxuriant growth of tropical vegetation. They entered a dense wood, almost impenetrable with tangled foliage, thick undergrowth, and hidden roots of trees. Carefully, he made a path for her, and once, when they came to a running stream with no way to ford it, he had to lift her up in his strong arms and take her across like a baby. Soon they came to a clearing, sweet with the odor of wild orchids and jasmine. Through the thick foliage of the spreading trees they had glimpses of the shimmering surface of the turquoise-blue sea. They sat down in the grass, glad to rest after their exertions,and when they got hungry they ate the provisions Grace had thoughtfully provided. It was a delightful picnic, and Grace laughed with glee.
Armitage had plucked a plantain and was eating the fruit when suddenly he stopped and looked fixedly at her.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked roguishly.
"Because you are nice to look at," he answered gravely. "I look at the sea because it is beautiful. I look at you. You are beautiful."
She laughed and reddened. The compliment was clumsy, but it pleased her because she knew he meant it. To her it sounded better than any of the compliments paid her in New York's drawing-rooms. To change the conversation she said:
"I wonder if we shall ever get away from here?"
He said nothing, but his eyes sought hers. After a pause, he said boldly:
"I don't know. To be quite honest, I'm in no hurry. I'm very happy here."
Grace made no reply. This time she did not even seem angry.