"Hugh, have you observed anything strange in Mr. Veath lately?"
The interrogation came suddenly from Grace, the next morning, on deck. They had been discussing the plans for a certain day in May, and all the time there was evidence of trouble in her eyes. At last she had broached a subject that had been on her mind for days.
"Can't say that I have." The answer was somewhat brusque.
"I am convinced of one thing," she said hurriedly, coming direct to the point. "He is in love with me."
"The scoundrel!" gasped Hugh, stopping short and turning very white. "How dare he do such--"
"Now, don't be absurd, dear. I can't see what he finds in me to love, but he has a perfect right to the emotion, you know. He doesn't know, dear."
"Where is he? I'll, take the emotion out of him in short order. Ah, ha! Don't look frightened! I understand. You love him. I see it all. It's as--"
"Stop! You have no right to say that," she exclaimed, her eyes flashing dangerously. His heart smote him at once and he sued humbly for pardon. He listened to her views concerning the hapless Indianian, and it was not long before he was heart and head in sympathy with Veath.
"Poor fellow! When I told him last night that I was to be married within a year he actually trembled from head to foot. I never was so miserable over a thing in my life," she said dismally. "Really, Hugh, I can't bear to think of him finding out how we have played with him."
"Shall I tell him all about it?" asked he in troubled tones.
"Then I should not be able to look him in the face. Dear me, elopements have their drawbacks, haven't they?"
Other passengers joined them, Veath and Lady Huntingford among them. In the group were Captain Shadburn, Mr. and Mrs. Evarts, Mr. Higsworth and his daughter Rosella, Lieutenant Hamilton--a dashing young fellow who was an old and particularly good friend of Lady Huntingford. Hugh noted, with strange satisfaction, that Hamilton seemed unusually devoted to Miss Higsworth. In a most casual manner he took his stand at the rail beside her Ladyship, who had coaxed Captain Shadburn to tell them his story of the great typhoon.
Presently, a chance came to address her.
"Grace tells me that your name is an odd one, for a girl--woman, I mean--Tennyson. Were you named for the poet?"
"Yes. My father knew him well. Odd, isn't it? My friends call me Lady Tennys. By the way, you have not told Grace what I told you last night on deck, have you?" she asked.
"I should say not. Does she suspect that you know her secret and mine?" he asked in return.
"She does not dream that I know. Ah, I believe I am beginning to learn what love is. I worship your sweetheart, Hugh Ridgeway."
"If you could love as she loves me, Lady Huntingford, you might know what love really is."
"What a strange thing it must be that you and she can know it and I cannot," she mused, looking wistfully at the land afar off.
At Aden everybody went ashore while the ship coaled at Steamer Point, on the western side of the rock, three miles from the town proper. Multitudes of Jewish ostrich-feather merchants and Somali boys gave the travellers amusement at the landing and in the coast part of the town. The Americans began to breathe what Hugh called a genuinely oriental atmosphere.
They were far from Aden when night came down and with it the most gorgeous sunset imaginable. Everybody was on deck. The sky was aflame, the waters blazed and all the world seemed about to be swept up in the wondrous conflagration. Late in the afternoon a bank of clouds had grown up from the western line, and as the sun dropped behind them they glowed with the intensity of fiercely fanned coals of huge dimensions. At last the fiery hues faded away, the giant holocaust of the skies drew to an end, and the soft afterglow spread across the dome, covering it with a tranquil beauty more sublime than words can paint.
Grace looked eagerly among the impressed spectators for Henry Veath. Somehow she longed for him to see all this beauty that had given her so much pleasure. He was not there and she was conscious of a guilty depression. She was sitting with Hugh and Lady Huntingford when, long afterward, Veath approached.
"I'd like a word with you, Hugh," he said after the greetings, "when the ladies have gone below."
"It is getting late and I am really very tired," said Grace. It was quite dark, or they could have seen that her face was pale and full of concern. She knew instinctively what it was that Veath wanted to say to Hugh. Then she did something she had never done before in the presence of another. She walked quickly to Hugh's side, bent over and kissed his lips, almost as he gasped in astonishment.
"Good-night, dear," she said, quite audibly, and was gone with Lady Huntingford. The astounded lover was some time in recovering from the surprise inspired by her unexpected act. It was the first time she had ever been sisterly in that fashion before the eyes of others.
"I hope I have said nothing to offend them," said Veath miserably. "Was I too abrupt?"
"Not in the least. They've seen enough for one night anyhow, and I guess they were only waiting for an excuse to go below," replied Hugh. To himself he said, "I wonder what the dickens Grace did that for? And why was Lady Huntingford so willing to leave?"
Veath sat nervously wriggling his thumbs, plainly ill at ease. His jaw was set, however, and there was a look in his eyes which signified a determination to brave it out.
"You know me pretty well by this time, Hugh," he said. Hugh awoke from his abstraction and displayed immediate interest. "You know that I am straightforward and honest, if nothing else. There is also in my make-up a pride which you may never have observed or suspected, and it is of this that I want to speak before attempting to say something which will depend altogether upon the way you receive the introduction."
"Go ahead, Henry. You're serious to-night, and I can see that something heavy is upon your mind."
"It is a very serious matter, I can assure you. Well, as you perhaps know from my remarks or allusions on previous occasions, I am a poor devil. I have nothing on earth but the salary I can earn, and you can guess what that will amount to in Manila. My father educated me as best he could, and I worked my way through college after he had given me to understand that he was unable to send me there himself. When I was graduated, I accepted a position with a big firm in its engineering service. Within a year I was notified that I could have a five months' lay-off, as they call it. At the end of that period, if matters improved, I was to have my place back. Out of my wages I saved a couple of hundred dollars, but it dwindled as I drifted through weeks of idleness. There was nothing for me to do, try as I would to find a place. It was a hard pill to swallow, after four years of the kind of work I had done in college, but I had to throw every plan to the winds and go to the Philippines. My uncle, who is rich, sent me money enough to prepare for the voyage, and here I am, sneaking off to the jungles, disgusted, discouraged and disappointed. To-night I sit before you with less than one hundred dollars as the sum total of my earthly possessions."
"By George, Veath, just let me know how much you need--" broke in Hugh warmly, but the other silenced him, smiling sadly.
"I'm greatly obliged to you, but I don't believe it is money that I want now--at least, not borrowed money. When you told me that your sister was to become a missionary, I inferred that you were not burdened with worldly goods, and I felt at home with you both--more so than I should, I believe--"
"Oh, the devil!"
"But a few days ago your sister told me that she is not to be a missionary and that she is rich enough to make this trip to the Orient for mere pleasure--oh, well, you know better than I how rich you both are." His voice was low and unsteady. "I don't know why you should have told me that she--she was to be a missionary."
"It was--I did it for a little joke on her, honestly I did," mumbled Hugh.
"And it was a serious one for me. Before I knew of her real position she seemed more approachable to me, more as if I could claim her friendship on the grounds of mutual sympathy. I was deceived into believing our lots not vastly unequal, and I have suffered more than I can tell you by the disparity which I now know exists."
"But what difference can it make whether we are rich or poor? We can still be friends," said Hugh eagerly.
"It was when I believed your sister to be a missionary that I learned to love her better than all else in this world. Now do you understand?"
"Great Scott!" gasped his listener, starting from his chair. Now he realised that she had not been mistaken in her fears. "Does she know this?" he managed to ask.
"No, and I dare not tell her--I cannot. I had to tell some one, and to whom should I confess it if not to the brother of the woman I love? It is no disgrace, no dishonor to her. You cannot blame me for being honest with you. Some day after you have gone back to America you can tell her that I love her and always will. She has intimated to me that she is to marry another man, so what chance is there for a poor wretch like me? I don't see how I have endured the awakening from the dreams I have had. I even went so far as to imagine a little home in Manila, after I had won her from the mission field and after I had laid by the savings of a year or two. I had planned to fairly starve myself that I might save enough to make a home for her and--and--" but he could say no more. Hugh heard the sob and turned sick at heart. To what a pass their elopement had come!
Above all things, how could he comfort the unfortunate man? There was no word of encouragement, no word of hope to be given. The deepest pity he had ever felt went out to Henry Veath; the greatest remorse he had ever known stung his soul. Should he tell Veath the truth? Could he do it?
"Do you see my position?" asked Veath steadily, after a long silence. "I could never hope to provide for her as she has been accustomed to living, and I have too much pride to allow my wife to live other than the way in which I would have to live."
"She may not love you," said Hugh, suddenly hopeful.
"But I could win her love. I'm sure I could, Hugh. Even though she is pledged to another man, I could love her so powerfully that a new love would be inspired in her for me. You don't know how I love her. Hugh, you are not angry with me for having told you this?"
"Angry? Great Heavens, no! I'm heartbroken over it," cried Hugh. There were traces of tears in his eyes.
"You know how hopeless it is for me," went on Veath, "and I hope you will remember that I have been honest and plain with you. Before we part in Manila I may tell her, but that is all. I believe I should like to have her know that I love her. She can't think badly of me for it, I'm sure."
Hugh did not answer. He arose and silently grasped the hand of the other, who also had conic to his feet.
"I would to God that I could call you brother," said he.
"Don't say it! It is too wild an improbability," cried Veath.
"Yes; it is more than that: it is an impossibility."
"If in the end I should conclude to tell Miss Ridge of my feelings, will you tell me now that I may do so with your permission?"
"But there is no hope," cried Hugh miserably.
"I do not ask for hope. I shall not ask her to love me or to be my wife. I may want to tell her that I love her, that's all. You can have no objection to that, Hugh."
"I have no objection," murmured Ridgeway, a chill striking deep into his heart.
Ridgeway passed another sleepless night. Had not Veath said he could win her love, even though it were pledged to another? The thought gave birth to a fear that he was not perfectly sure of her love, and that it might turn to Henry Veath, after all. In the early morning hours, between snatches of sleep, he decided to ask Lady Huntingford's advice, after explaining to her the dilemma in full. He would also tell Grace of Veath's declaration, putting her on guard. Breakfast time found the sea heavy and the ship rolling considerably, but at least three people gave slight notice to the weather. Hugh was sober and morose; Veath was preoccupied and unnatural; Grace was restless and uneasy. Lady Huntingford, who came in while they were eating, observed this condition almost immediately, and smiled knowingly, yet sadly. Later Hugh Ridgeway drew her to a secluded corner and exploded his bomb. Her cool little head readily devised a plan which met his approval, and he hurried off to warn Grace before it was too late. Lady Huntingford advised him to tell Veath nothing of the elopement, allowing him to believe as he had all along, but suggested a radical change in their future plans. It was her advice that they go on to Japan and be married.
At first Grace demurred to this plan, which he necessarily proposed as his own, holding that it would be absolutely cruel to desert Veath at the last minute. Finally she agreed to the compromise and kissed him with tears in her eyes.
Days passed and the strain grew more tense than ever. TheTempest Queenwas nearing the Archipelago, after the stops at Penang and Singapore. At Hong Kong the Manila-bound passengers were to be transferred to one of the small China Sea steamers. The weather had been rough and ugly for many days. Lady Huntingford had not left her stateroom in two days. Grace was with her a greater portion of the time, ministering to her wants gently and untiringly. Ridgeway and Veath, anxious and troubled, wandered aimlessly about the ship, smoking cigar after cigar, praying for a cessation of the ugly weather. Finally, all passengers were peremptorily forbidden the deck. The skilled sailors were in constant danger of being washed overboard. Captain Shadburn admitted that they were being driven from their course by the fury of the typhoon. Secretly he feared that theQueenmight rush upon a reef at night.
Dinner on the second violent evening was a sombre affair. Lady Huntingford, pale, sweet and wan, made her appearance with Grace, occupying Veath's seat, that gentleman moving to the next chair, its original occupant being confined to his berth. Lord Huntingford, austere and imperturbable, entered some time before his wife and purposely ignored her when she came in.
As the party arose from the table, a heavy lurch of the boat threw Grace headlong into Veath's arms. By a superhuman effort he managed to keep his feet. He smiled down at her; but there was something so insistent in the smile that it troubled her.
"It's an ill wind that blows no good," said Veath softly.
"What blows well for one may blow ill for another," she responded a little coldly, though she did not refuse the proffered arm; and they staggered toward the doorway.
As they passed into the main saloon he suddenly asked her if she would let him speak to her of a matter that long had been on his mind. She did not look him in the face, but she knew it was white and determined. The time had come when he was to tell her that he loved her. He begged for a moment's time and gained her unspoken permission. They sank to a couch near the stairway, Grace giving a last helpless, hopeless glance at Hugh as he and his companion passed from the apartment.
"I can see by the manner in which you act that you know what I want to say to you. It is also plain to me that you would rather not hear me," he said, after a moment.
"Please do not say it," she entreated, and he saw the little hope that he had been nourishing dashed away.
"I did not dream until a few moments ago that you had discerned my love for you, Miss Ridge, but I am not sorry that I have been so transparent. How you have guessed my secret I cannot imagine. I tried to keep it from you," he said, as if he had wounded her. "Perhaps your brother told you."
She was on the point of telling him that Hugh was not her brother, but something checked the impulse and she could only answer by shaking her head.
"You told me that you expect to marry another man, but that has not kept me from telling you that I love you, nor will it prevent me from trying to win your love. Pride, if nothing else, has kept my lips sealed, for what right have I to ask any woman to share my lot? In sheer humiliation I must tell you that my life looks like a failure to me. I have a hard struggle ahead of me. You may say that I am young and strong, but I cannot, for my soul, see anything bright ahead." His voice trembled and she glanced up at his face. He was looking at the diamond that sparkled on her left hand.
"You have no right to say that life is a failure; you have no right to lie down on your arms and give, up the fight. That is the act of a coward. After all, it is not the way to win a woman's love."
"You don't mean--is it possible that you could--" he began.
"No, no! You must not hope. I love another as dearly as you love me. But I will not have you say that you cannot succeed in life. I know you are strong, and I know you are determined. There is nothing impossible to you," she said hurriedly, seeking feverishly to draw him from his purpose. "When first we met you were cheerful and hopeful, strong and full of life. Then some one came into your life and you saw a black cloud of despair arise. It came up easily and you can drive it away just as easily. It is not of your nature to give up, I know. You can win fame and fortune and the love of some one much worthier than I."
"If I live to be a thousand I shall love none as I love you," he said simply. "If you loved me I could win against all the world. Your wealth is a natural barrier between poor love and rich pride, both true possessions of mine. But for the latter the former would win. Can you understand?" he asked almost vehemently.
"I--I--no, I do not understand you," she said panic-stricken. His eyes were flashing again in the same old way and his voice, low pitched, had a gallant ring.
"I mean I'd win your love and I'd make you my wife."
"Mr. Veath! How can you--how dare you--" she began, arising indignantly, yet a trifle carried away by his impetuous manner. Her heart was thumping tumultuously and she dared not look into his eyes.
"Dare!" he cried. "You urge me to fight it out and die in the trenches, as it were, and now you ask me why I dare tell you what I'd do under certain conditions. I merely tell you what I could and would do if I could change the conditions."
"You are a trifle over-confident, Mr. Veath," she said coldly. "Good-night."
"Don't be angry, please," he cried in humility. "You have spoken to me in a way that has awakened a new spirit--the spirit that men call 'do or die.' To-night the storm rages and we are all in danger. I feel that in an hour like this and in a place like this I am worth more than I have ever been or could be in any other position. The fierceness of the night and the sting of your advice combine to give life and nerve to my weak heart. I am not the man who begged you a moment ago to listen to the weakness of a despairing lover; it is another man, another Henry Veath who talks to you now. From this instant I shall begin the battle against old conditions and you shall be the spoils of battle. Grace, look at me! I am going to show you what real determination means. I want you and I'll win you." His tall figure straightened, his blue eyes gleamed and flashed with the fire of enthusiasm. The timid, fearful Veath was gone, and in his stead stood the valiant, aggressive, inspired contestant.
The rolling of the ship sent her staggering toward him, and he caught her by the arms. Steadying himself against the staircase, he cried in her bewildered ear:
"I love you better than all else in the world. You are a part of my life, all of my joy. Do you think I can give you up now that I have found the courage to begin the struggle? I'll win my way and I'll win your love. Nothing but death can stop me now. Come! Don't look as though you hate me for it."
"I do not hate you," she said humbly, almost glaring into his bright eyes, unable to turn from the love which governed them so completely. "But you must not talk like this. I cannot listen to you. Mr. Veath, there is no possible hope."
"The hope to win and the will to win are two different propositions, and it is the latter under which I am enlisted. To me it is worth fighting for to the end of time."
"Oh, you must not say these things to me," she cried fiercely, trying to escape from his eyes.
"I shall not say another word to you after to-night until I am sure I have won the victory. Then I shall ask you to be my wife. To-morrow I'll tell your brother I am bound to win. He must know my honest intentions."
"My brother!" she gasped. Her knees grew weak and a faintness assailed her heart, almost to overpowering. "You--you must not--shall not say a word to Hugh. I forbid you--I--"
"Why are you so agitated? Why am I not to speak to him? He is fair-minded, and I know he likes me."
"You don't know what it would mean to me. There is something you do not know. No, no! You shall not speak to Hugh." It was her turn to command, and he wavered.
"Your will is the law which I obey. He shall not know--not now, at least," he said. "There are to be but two factions in the struggle, then, your love against mine."
"You forget the--the other man," she said, sudden tears springing to her eyes.
"I think only of one woman," he said softly, lovingly.
She leaned wearily against the staircase, her hands clasping the railing. There was a piteous, hopeless entreaty in the dimming eyes as she turned them to his and tried to speak calmly.
"I have something to say to you--to-morrow. Let us say good-night."
"Nothing you can say will alter my love. When the storm to-night is at its worst remember that I will give my life for your sake."
She did not answer, but her hand clasped his arm impulsively. In the doorway they met Hamilton and Gregory, just from the captain, their faces white and fear-stricken. Hugh and Lady Huntingford were hurrying toward them.
"What's wrong?" asked Veath, alarmed by the agitation of the two soldiers.
"Captain Shadburn estimates that we are two hundred miles out of our course, away to the south. It's impossible to get our bearings without the sun, and the Lord only knows where we're running to," said Hamilton, holding to the door casing.
Hugh and Lady Huntingford had joined the others by this time and were listening with blanched faces to the men in uniform.
"It's as black as ink outside," said little Lieutenant Gregory, shivering in a manner most unbecoming in a soldier. "As long as they can keep the boat out of the trough we'll ride the waves safely, but the deuced danger lies in the reefs and little islands. We may be dashing into one of them at this minute."
"You're a cheerful hero," cried Hugh indignantly. "What's the use of imagining a thing like that? It's time enough to think about it when we strike the reef; and, besides, it can't help us any to cry. We can't leave the ship for a walk back to dry land. We're here to see the thing to the end, no matter where it is, and I don't believe in howling before we're hurt."
"That's right," agreed Veath. "Possibly we're out of the course. That happens in every storm that comes up at sea."
"But there are hundreds of reefs here that are not even on the chart," cried Gregory.
"Well, there have been thousands of ships to escape them all, I fancy," said Ridgeway boldly. The two women were speechless.
"And there have been thousands of storms, too," added Veath, a sort of wild exultation ringing in his voice, plain to Grace if not to the others.
"Do not try to deceive us, gentlemen," wavered Lady Tennys. "We can be a great deal braver if we know the real situation. I know you are making light of this dreadful storm out of consideration for Miss Ridge and myself, but don't you think it would be better if we were told the worst? Women are not always the greater cowards."
"Yes, Hugh, we should know the worst," said Grace firmly. "The ship is rolling frightfully, and Lieutenant Hamilton has said enough to assure us that Captain Shadburn is alarmed, even apprehensive."
"Perhaps I am too much of an optimist, but I stick to my statement that while we are in some danger--any fool can see that--we are by no means lost," said Hugh, looking at Gregory when he used the word fool.
"As long as the engine and steering apparatus hold together the crew of the ship can pull her through," said Veath. "I have the utmost confidence in the boat and the men."
"But all the men on the ocean cannot keep her from striking an unseen rock, nor could any ship withstand such a shock," argued the young Englishwoman bravely.
"That's right, Lady Tennys," quickly cried Hamilton. "I don't say the ship will get the worst of a straight fight against the sea, but we won't stand the ghost of a chance if we strike a reef."
"The best thing we all can do is to find some place where there is not quite so much danger of having our brains dashed out against these walls. It's getting so that I can't keep my feet much longer. This is no time to be taking chances of a broken leg, or an arm or a neck, perhaps. We'll need them all if we have to swim to Hong Kong."
Despite his attempted jocularity, Ridgeway was sorely troubled. Common sense told him that they were now in a most perilous position. The dead reckoning of the captain and his chartmaster, while able to determine with a certain degree of accuracy the locality in which the ship was beating, could not possibly account for the exact position of those little islands. He began to think of the life preservers. A feeble smile came to the ladies when he spoke of swimming to Hong Kong, but the men, Veath included, looked serious.
"I think it would be wise if we make every preparation to leave the ship, awful as the prospect may seem. My judgment is that we should take time by the forelock. It will be too late after the crash comes." Veath said this solemnly, and a deeper sense of realization came to all of them. Strange to say, it inspired energy and calmness rather than weakness and panic.
"The life preservers, you mean?" almost whispered Grace. A fearful lurch of the boat caused the whole party to cling desperately to the supports. Before he could answer a ship's officer came scudding down below.
"Captain Shadburn says that every one is to prepare for the worst. The propeller's smashed and we can't live in this sea. Be quick!" cried the pale-faced sailor, hurrying onward. In an inconceivably short space of time the passages and saloons were crowded with rushing passengers. Pandemonium prevailed. Women were shrieking, men yelling and praying. Cooler heads were utterly powerless to subdue the crazy disorder. Ridgeway and Veath hurried the two women to their staterooms, plunging along, almost falling with the savage rolling of the boat.
"For God's sake, hurry!" called Hamilton from afar. "We are turning into the trough."
How our friends got into the cumbersome preservers and prepared themselves for the end they could never have told. Everything seemed a blank, the whole world whirled, all the noises in the universe rolled in their ears. Then they were stumbling, rolling, tearing toward the upper deck, hardly knowing whither they went or how they progressed. Before, behind, beside them were yelling, maddened men and women, rushing upward ruthlessly into the very waves of the ocean, all to be lost.
On the steps Hugh and Grace, who were together in advance of Veath and Lady Tennys, encountered the latter's husband. Pie had fallen, and was grovelling, cursing, screaming, praying on the steps. Hugh pulled him to his feet. With a mad yell he fled onward and upward. At the top he was checked by the sailors, who were vainly trying to keep the people back. He struggled past them and on toward the open deck. An officer caught him and held him firmly until Hugh, Veath, and the two trembling women came up.
"Get back, all of you!" yelled Shadburn. "You can't come out here. Every sailor on deck has been washed overboard!"
"Don't let us sink! Don't let us sink! For God's sake!" shrieked Lord Huntingford. Then he saw his wife. "Save me, Tennys; we are lost! We are lost!"
A great wave swept over the deck, washing all of them back into the companionway, half drowned.
"Is there any hope, Mr. Frayne?" yelled Hugh to the second officer, holding himself and his half-dead sweetheart against the leaping of the boat.
"One chance in a million! Stay back there and we'll try the boats. God knows they can't live in this sea, but they're the only hope. We'll turn clear over with the next big wave. Stay back!" he yelled. "We are trying to get the boats ready. Stay back!"
Hugh and Grace from where they clung could see the great black mountains of water rushing upon them, each wave a most terrifying spectacle. Then again the whole dark, seething ocean seemed to be below them and they were flying to the clouds. The breath of relief died instantly, for again the helpless ship sank into the trough and the foaming mountains towered about her. Grace hid her eyes and screamed with terror. Those huge murderous waves already had swept many from the ship. A score of sailors and as many courageous soldiers were in the churn of the merciless waters.
Crash! A horrid grating sound, splintering! Then the instantaneous shock, the awful, stunning force of a frightful blow and a shipful of human beings were flung violently in all directions, many never to rise again. TheTempest Queenhad struck! The last chance was gone!
"My God!" groaned the captain. "It's all over!" Then he roared: "All hands! All hands! Stations! To the boats! Stand back there! Women first!"
Ridgeway, dimly realizing that the end had come, staggered to his feet and instinctively reached for the body of the woman who lay before him. He did not know that she was conscious, nor did he know whether the ship was afloat or sinking. A gigantic wave swept over her, tons of water pouring in upon them. Blankly he dragged her to the opening which led to the watery deck, clinging to a railing with all his might. He was gasping for breath, his life almost crushed out of his body. It required all his strength to drag the limp form safely away from the passage, through which now poured their crazed companions, rushing headlong into the sea.
"In the name of God what shall we do?" he heard a hoarse voice shout in his ear. It was Veath, also burdened with the helpless form of a woman.
"It is death here and death there. I am going to trust to the life preservers," gasped Ridgeway, as another wave struck. The constant crackling and crashing told him that theTempest Queenwas being ground to pieces on the rock and that she had but a few minutes to live.
"Wait, Hugh, we may get off in a boat," cried the other, but he was not heard. Hugh was in the sea!
Just as Veath began his anguished remonstrance the ship gave a tremendous lurch, an overpowering wave hurled itself upon the frail shell and Hugh Ridgeway's frenzied grasp on the rail was broken. When he saw that he was going, he threw both arms about the girl he had brought to this awful fate, and, murmuring a prayer, whirled away with the waters over the battered deck-house and into the black depths.
They shot downward into the sea and then came to the hideous surface, more dead than alive. His one thought was that nobody in the world would ever know what had become of Hugh Ridgeway and Grace Vernon.
Gasping for breath, blinded, terrified beyond all imagination, crying to God from his heart, Hugh gave up all hope. Fathoms of water beneath them, turbulent and gleeful in the furious dance of destruction; mountains of water above them, roaring, swishing, growling out the horrid symphony of death! High on the crest of the wave they soared, down into the chasm they fell, only to shoot upward again, whirling like feathers in the air.
Something bumped violently against Ridgeway's side, and, with the instinct of a drowning man, he grasped for the object as it rushed away. A huge section of the bowsprit was in his grasp and a cry of hope arose in his soul. With this respite came the feeling, strong and enduring, that he was not to die. That ever-existing spirit of confidence, baffled in one moment, flashes back into the hearts of all men when the faintest sign of hope appears, even though death has already begun to close his hand upon them. Nature grasps for the weakest straw and clings to life with an assurance that is sublime. The hope that comes just before the end is the strongest hope of all.
"For God's sake, be brave, darling! Cling tight and be careful when you breathe," he managed to cry in her ear. There was no answer, but he felt that she had heard.
The night was so black that he could not see the spar to which he clung. At no time could he see more than the fitful gleam of dark water as some mysterious glimmer was produced by the weird machinery of the air. He could hear the roar of the mighty waves, could feel the uplifting power and the dash downward from seemingly improbable heights, but he could not see the cauldron in which they were dancing.
It was fortunate that he could not, for a single glimpse of that sea in all its fury would have terrified him beyond control. In sheer despair he would have given up the infinitesimal claim he had for salvation and welcomed death from the smothering tons, now so bravely battled against.
The girl to whom he clung and whose rigid clasp was still about his neck had not spoken, and scarcely breathed since the plunge into the sea. At times he felt utterly alone in the darkness, so death-like was her silence. But for an occasional spasmodic indication of fear as they and their spar shot downward from some unusual elevation, he might have believed that he was drifting with a corpse.
Rolling, tossing, dragging through the billows, clinging to the friendly spar, Hugh Ridegway sped onward, his body stiff and sensationless, his brain fogged and his heart dead with that of the girl to whom he clung so desperately. At last the monstrous waves began to show their outlines to his blinding eyes. The blackness of the dome above became tinged with a discernible shade of ever-increasing brightness. A thrill shot through his fagging soul as he realized that the long night was ending and day was dawning. The sun was coming forth to show him his grave.
Slowly the brightness grew, and with it grew the most dreadful aspect that ever fell upon the eye of man--the mighty sea in all its fury. Suddenly, as he poised on the summit of a huge wave, something ahead struck him as strange. A great mass seemed to rise from the ocean far away, dim, indistinct, but still plain to the eye. With the next upward sweep he strained his eyes in the waning darkness and again saw the vast black, threatening, uneven mass.
An uncanny terror enveloped him. What could the strange thing be that appeared to be rushing toward him? As far as the eye could see on either side stretched the misty shape. The sky grew brighter, a faint glow became apparent ahead, spreading into a splendor whose perfection was soon streaked with bars of red and yellow, racing higher and higher into the dome above. His dull brain observed with wonder that the brightness grew, not out of the sea, but beyond the great object ahead, and he was more mystified than ever. The tiny, fiery beams seemed to spring from the dark, ugly, menacing cloud, or whatever it might be. Finally he realized that it was the sun coming into the heavens from the east, and--his heart roared within him as he began to grasp the truth--the great black mass was land!
"Oh, God! It is land--land!" he tried to shriek. "Grace! Grace! Lookup! See! The land!"
The arms about his neck tightened sharply and a low moan came to his ears. Slowly and painfully he turned his head to look at the face that had been so near in all those awful hours of the night, unseen. His heart seemed to stop beating with that moan, for it bore the announcement that the dear one was still alive.
It was still too dark to distinguish her features plainly. The face was wet and slimy with the salt water; her hair was matted over the forehead and wrapped in ugly strips about the once pretty face, now ghastly with the signs of suffering, fear and--yes, death, he thought, as he strove to see one familiar feature.
Into his eyes came a quizzical stare that slowly changed to an intense look of bewilderment. Gradually they grew wider with horror.
The death-like face was not that of the girl he loved!
While he gazed numbly, almost insanely, upon the closed eyelids, they slowly opened and a pair of wild, dark eyes gazed despairingly into his, expressive of timidity more than fear. The trembling lips parted, but the effort to speak ended in a moan. Again the eyes closed and her arms slipped from his neck.
Every vestige of strength left him with this startling discovery and, had his arm been anything but rigid with paralysis, she might have drifted off with the billows, a fate which her voluntary action invited.
A great wave rushed them violently forward and the next moment Ridgeway, faint, bewildered, and unable to grasp the full force of the remarkable ending to that night in the water, found himself, still grasping his limp burden and the broken spar, washed far upon the sands. A second wave swept them higher, and he realized, as he lay gasping on the edge of the waters, that the vast ocean was behind him and the beautiful woman he had rescued by mistake.
He lost consciousness in the attempt to drag himself and his companion farther up the beach. His arms and legs refused to move in response to his efforts, and the last he remembered was that his body was stiff and he was absolutely powerless. When he again opened his eyes he was lying on a grassy sward with spreading green branches above him. For some minutes he lay perfectly still, dimly sensible that he was alive, but utterly unable to fix his whereabouts. Through his brain there still roared the awful waves; in his eyes there still lingered the vision of the sea as it was when dawn first developed the picture.
Fearing that he could not lift his head, he rose to his trembling elbow. His wide eyes swept the view before him. There was the sea not two hundred yards down the slope, rushing and booming upon the stretch of sand which reached within fifty feet of his grassy bed. Behind him grew a forest of queer, tropical trees, the like of which he never had seen before. His jacket had been rolled up as a pillow for his head; his shoes and stockings were off, his shirt bosom unbuttoned. Two soggy life preservers lay near by.
At last he caught sight of a woman, alone, forlorn, the picture of despondency. Far down the beach to his right there rose a rugged, stony formation, extending into the sea and rising several hundred feet in the air. At the base of this rocky promontory a multitude of great boulders lay scattered, some quite large and jagged, others insignificant in size.
Upon one of the smaller stones, well up the slope, sat the figure of the woman he had drugged from the sea and whom he had hated with his last conscious breath. Her head was lying against the sheer wall that ran up alongside, and he could tell that she was staring out toward the sea, which roared against the rocks so close by that the spray must have reached her feet. The distance to this rock was fully three hundred yards. There was a fascination about her loneliness that held him immovable for a long time. Finally he struggled to a sitting posture, faint and dizzy. At the same moment she slowly turned her head and looked in his direction. Half rising, she made a movement as if to come toward him, first peering intently. Then she sank back upon the rock and sent her gaze out to the sea again.
With all the haste he could command he scrambled eagerly toward the rocks, carrying the crumpled jacket in his hand. Not once did she take her eyes from the breakers. Tired and faint, he at last came to the edge of the rocky pile. Here his strength failed him and he sank trembling with exhaustion upon the first friendly stone, still a hundred feet from where she sat. In his bitter rage against her he strove to shout, but the effort was little more than a hoarse whisper. Lying there impotently, he studied her attitude as the minutes crept by, and there came at last into his heart a touch of pity that swelled with the sight of her.
Pain-racked but determined, he again started toward the elevation, crawling over and around the boulders that intervened. He was within five feet of her before he spoke, and then not until he had studied her face for some moments, steadying himself against a large rock. She was more beautiful than ever with her black hair awry and matted, brushed away from the pure white face and fastened recklessly with the shell combs she had worn on board theTempest Queen. Her blue eyes looked mournfully from beneath their long lashes. The slender white hands lay listlessly in the lap of the once white dress, now water-stained, wrinkled and shapeless. In spite of all that dreadful buffeting by the wind and water she was still the beautiful creation of nature he had found so charming in a realm where nature seldom presents herself.
"Lady Tennys," he called hoarsely. "You do not know how I thank God you are alive."
She turned slowly, as if she had known all along of his tortuous approach. Her voice was low and thrilling.