At one o’clock the lunch was served.
Pats had placed before the lady a portion of a ham, a plate of crackers, some marmalade, and a bottle of claret.
“There are provisions in the cellar,” he said, “to last a year: sacks of flour, dried apples, preserved fruits, potatoes, all sorts of canned things, and claret by the dozen.”
As he spoke, he laid his hand upon the back of the chair that held the miniature,–the seat opposite her own.
“Don’t sit there!” she exclaimed. “We must respect the customs of the house.”
“Of course!” and he drew up another seat.
Food and a little wine tended to freshen the spirits of both travellers. Pats especially acquired new life and strength. The arrival of86a glass or two of claret in his yearning stomach revived his hopes and loosened his tongue. Noticing that her eyes were constantly returning to the little portrait that faced her, he said, at last:
“By the way, there is something in the cellar that may throw some light on this lady, or on that empty grave back there.” And he nodded toward the pines.
“What is that?”
“A coffin.”
He smiled at her surprise and horror. In a low voice, she murmured:
“It is empty, of course!”
“Yes, I raised the lid.”
“What can it mean?”
“I have no idea, unless some one disappointed somebody else by remaining alive, when he–or she–ought to be dead. That sometimes happens.”
“It is very mysterious,” and she looked into the eyes of the miniature as if for enlightenment.
“Very, indeed; but on the other hand, certain things are pretty evident. Such as the character of our host, and various points in his career.”
“You mean that he is a hermit with a history?”
“Yes, and more specific than that!” Then,87turning about in his chair and surveying the room: “He is an aristocrat, to begin with. These works of art are ancestral. They are no amateur’s collection. Moreover, he left France because he had to. A man of his position does not bring his treasures into the wilderness for the fun of it. And when he settled here he had no intention of being hunted up by his friends–or by his enemies.”
Elinor, with averted eyes, listened politely, but with no encouraging display of interest.
“But let us be sure he is not within hearing,” Pats added, and he stepped to the door and looked about. “Not a sail in sight.”
At this point Solomon renewed his efforts to get his master to follow him, but in vain.
“Why don’t you go with him?” said Elinor. “He may have made an important discovery, like the graves, perhaps.”
“More likely a woodchuck’s hole, or a squirrel track. Besides,” he added, with a smile, as he dropped into his chair again, “these broomsticks of mine have collapsed once to-day, and I am becoming cautious. It has been a lively morning–for a convalescent.”
With a look that was almost, but not quite, sympathetic, she replied: “You have done too88much. Stay here and rest. I will go with him, just for curiosity.”
She went out, preceded by the bounding Solomon. Through the open door Pats watched them, and into his face came a graver look as he followed, with his eyes, the graceful figure in the gray dress until it disappeared from the sunlight among the shadows of the forest.
That he and she were stranded at a point far away from his own home he had little doubt. No such extraordinary house as this could have existed within fifty miles of Boyd’s Island without his hearing of it. Moreover, he keenly regretted on her account his own physical condition. Since rising from his bed of fever he had carefully avoided all fatigue, according to his doctor’s injunction. But now, after this morning’s efforts, his legs were weak and his head was flighty. Things showed a tendency to dance before his eyes in a way that he had not experienced heretofore. When he lay upon the ground an hour ago he did it, among other reasons, to avoid tumbling from dizziness and exhaustion.
The lady’s situation was bad enough already. To have a collapsible man upon her hands was a supreme and final calamity that he wished to spare her. He leaned back in his chair and89rested his feet on the heavy carving beneath the table. How good it was, this relaxation of all one’s muscles!
The pompous rooster, with a few favorites of his seraglio, came and stood about the open door, eying him in disapproval, and always muttering.
In looking idly about Pats found himself becoming interested in the huge tapestry extending across the room at his right,–the one that served as a screen to the bed-chamber. While no expert in no such matters, he recognized in this tapestry a splendid work of art, both from its color and wealth of detail, and from the quality of its material. The more he studied it, the deeper became his interest–and his amusement. The scene, a formal Italian garden of the sixteenth century, of vast dimensions, showed fountains and statues without limit, and trees trimmed in fantastic shapes, with a château in the background. But the central group of figures brought a smile to his face. For, while the gardens were filled with lords and ladies of the court of Henri III., those in the foreground being nearly the size of life,–all clad in their richest attire, feathers in their hats, high ruffs about the neck, and resplendent with jewels, the ladies in stiff bodices and voluminous90skirts,–there were two figures in the centre in startling contrast with their overdressed companions. These two, a man and a woman, wore nothing except a garland of leaves about the hips.
Pats smiled and even forgot his fatigue, as he realized that he was gazing upon a serious conception of the Garden of Eden. And the bride and groom showed no embarrassment. The groom was pointing, in an easy manner, to anything, anywhere, while the bride, in a graceful but self-conscious pose, ignored his remarks.
And all the lords and ladies round about accepted, as a matter of course, the nakedness of this unconventional pair. While still fascinated by the brazen indifference of this famous couple, and pleasantly shocked by their disregard for all the rules of propriety, he was aroused by the sudden appearance in the doorway of Elinor Marshall. She had evidently been hurrying. There was excitement in her voice, as she exclaimed:
“He is here! He has come back!”
“The owner?”
“Yes, he is taking a nap on a bench, on the other side of the point.”
In another moment Pats was beside her, both walking rapidly through the wood. Approaching91the western edge of the point, they saw, between the trees, a figure sitting upon a bench, overlooking the water, his back toward them. With one elbow upon an arm of the rustic seat, his cheek resting on his hand and his knees crossed, he seemed in full enjoyment of a nap.
Pats took a position in front of the sleeper, at a respectful distance, then said, in a voice not too loud:
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
There was no responsive movement. When it became clear that he had not been heard, Pats stepped a very little nearer and repeated, in a louder tone:
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
Still the sleeper slept.
Pats glanced at Elinor Marshall, who smiled, involuntarily. Pats also smiled, as he realized that this ceremonious and somewhat labored greeting had a distinctly comic side, especially when so completely thrown away. However, he was about to repeat the salutation and in a louder voice, when he was struck by the color of the hand against the cheek. He went nearer and, stooping down, looked up into the sleeper’s face. A glance was enough.
92Slowly he straightened up, then reverently removed his hat.
Elinor, with a look of awe, came nearer and whispered:
“Dead! Is it possible!”
For a moment both stood in silence, looking down upon the seated figure. It was that of an elderly man, short, and slight of frame, with thick gray hair, and a beard cut roughly to a point. The face, brown, thin, and bony, was unduly emphasized by a Roman nose, too large for the other features. But the face, as a whole, impressed the two people now regarding it as almost handsome. He was clad in a dark gray suit, and a soft felt hat lay upon the seat beside him.
“How long has he been here, do you think?” asked Elinor, in a low voice.
“A day or two, I should say. His clothes are a little damp, and there are pine-needles on his shoulders and on his head.”
“But how dreadfully sudden it must have come! Not a change in his position, or in his expression, even.”
“An ideal death,” said Pats. “I have helped bury a good many men this year, both friends and enemies, but very few went off as comfortably as this.”
93He took out his watch, seemed to hesitate a moment, then said, reluctantly:
“This is bad for us, you know, finding him dead this way.”
“Why?”
“It means there is no boat to get away with.”
A look of alarm came into her face.
“We may as well face the situation,” he continued, looking off over the water. “This man lived here alone, as we know from what we have seen in his house. And he evidently selected this place, not wishing to be disturbed. We are at the end of a bay at least ten miles deep, with no settlement in sight. There is nothing whatever to bring a visitor in here. The traffic of the gulf is away out there, perhaps thirty miles from here.”
She made no reply. Venturing to glance at her face, he saw there were no signs of anger, only a look of anxiety.
“I will tell you just what I think, Miss Marshall, and you can act accordingly. I shall, of course, do whatever you wish. But, as nearly as I can judge, we are prisoners until we can get away by tramping through the wilderness.”
He indicated, with a gesture, the broad current at their feet, washing the western edge of94the point. “That river we can never cross without a boat, or a raft; and in that direction–I don’t know how many miles away–is Boyd’s Island. In the other direction, to the east, there is nothing but wilderness for an indefinite distance. That is, I think so. Now, if you prefer, I will go up this bank of the river at once, tie some logs together and try for a passage; then push on as fast as possible for our place, or the nearest settlement, and come back for you. Or, I will stay until we can go on together. Whatever you decide shall be done.”
He had spoken rapidly, and was ill at ease, watching her earnestly all the while.
As for her, she was dismayed by his words. She had been listening with a growing terror. Now, she turned away to conceal a tendency to tears. But this was repressed. With no resentment, but with obvious emotion, she inquired:
“Can you get across the river?”
“Very likely.”
“If you fail, or if anything happens to you, what becomes of me?”
“You would be here alone, and in a very bad plight. For that reason I think I would better stay until we can start together.”
A slight gesture of resignation was her only95reply. There was a pause; uncomfortable for Pats from his consciousness of her low opinion of him. However, he continued, in a somewhat perfunctory way, turning to the silent occupant of the bench.
“Now, as we take possession of this place, the least we can do is to give the owner a decent burial. Fortunately for us a grave is dug and a coffin ready.”
“Yes,hisgrave andhiscoffin,” and she regarded with a gentler expression the sitting figure. “And I think I know why he dug the grave.”
“To save somebody else the trouble?”
“To be sure of resting beside his companion.”
“Of course! that explains it all. He knew that strangers might bury him in the easiest place; that they would never chop through all those roots.”
He stepped around behind the body, placed his hands under the arms, and made an effort to raise it, but the weight was beyond his strength. Looking toward his companion with an apologetic smile, he said: “I am sorry to be so useless, but–together we can carry him, if you don’t mind.”
96At this suggestion Elinor, with a look of horror, took a backward step.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “for suggesting it. I have been doing so much of this work that I had forgotten how it affected others.”
“What work?”
“Burying people. In the Transvaal. One morning, with a squad, I buried twenty-eight. Nine of them my own friends. So, if I go about this in the simplest way, do not think it is from want of sympathy.”
“I shall understand.”
“Then I will bring that wheelbarrow I saw behind the house.”
He started off, then stopped as if to say something, but hesitated.
“What is it, Mr. Boyd?”
“I am afraid that coffin is too heavy for me. Would you mind helping with it?”
“No. And I can help you with the body, too, if necessary.” And together they returned to the cottage.
Never, probably, did simpler obsequies befall a peer of France.
Sitting up in the same position as on the rustic bench, his cheek upon his hand, his elbow on97the side of the barrow, the hermit was wheeled to his final resting-place beneath the pines. Beside him, with a helping hand, walked Elinor Marshall, shocked and saddened by these awful incongruities.
Behind came Solomon.
Among the pines, in the solemn shade of this cathedral, grander and more impressive than any human temple, moved the little procession.
No requiem; only the murmuring in the boughs above, those far-away voices, dearer to him, perhaps,–and to his companion in the grave beside,–than all other music.
The supper that evening was late.
After the simple repast–of crackers, tongue, and a cup of tea–Pats and Elinor strolled out into the twilight and sat upon a rock. The rock was at the very tip of the point, overlooking the water to the south.
On the right, off to the west, the land showed merely as a purple strip in the fading light, stretching out into the gulf a dozen miles or more. Behind it the sinking sun had left a bar of crimson light. To the east lay another headland running, like its neighbor, many miles to the south. These two coasts formed a vast bay, at whose northern extremity lay the little point at which Miss Elinor Marshall and Mr. Patrick Boyd had been landed by theMaid of the North. In the gathering gloom this prospect,99with the towering forest that lay behind, was impressive–and solemn. And the solemnity of the scene was intensified by the primeval solitude,–the absence of all sign of human life.
Both travellers were silent, thoughtful, and very tired. It had been a long day, and then the misunderstanding in the middle of it had told considerably upon the nerves of both. To Pats the most exhausting experience of all had been the business of the baggage,–its transportation from the beach below to the house above. Elinor’s trunk, being far too heavy for their own four hands, Pats had suggested carrying the trays up separately; and this was done. Certain things from his own trunk he had lugged off into the woods, where, as he said:
“There’s a little outbuilding that will do for me. Not a royal museum like this of yours, but good accommodations for a bachelor.”
She did not inquire as to particulars. The gentleman’s bed-chamber was not a subject on which she cared to encourage confidences.
Her fatigue had merely created a wholesome desire for rest,–the sleepiness and indifference that come from weary muscles. But Pats’s exhaustion was of a different sort. All the100strength of his body had departed. Every muscle, cord, and sinew was unstrung. His spine seemed on the point of folding up. A hollow, nervous feeling had settled in the back of his head, and being something new it caused him a mild uneasiness. Moreover, his hands and feet were cold. Dispiriting chills travelled up and down his back at intervals. This might be owing to the change in temperature, as a storm was evidently brewing.
The wind from the northwest had grown several degrees colder since the sun went down, and the heavens were sombre. There was not a star in sight. A yearning to close his eyes and go to sleep came over him, but he remembered how offensive was his presence to this lady, even at his best behavior. He must take no liberties; so he remarked, cheerfully, in a tone indicative of suppressed exuberance of spirit:
“I hope you will not feel nervous in your château to-night.”
“No, I think not. It is a weird place to sleep in, however.”
“Yes, it is. Wouldn’t you like me to sleep just outside, near the door? I am used to camping out, you know.”
101“No, I thank you. I shall get along very well, I have no doubt.”
After that a prolonged silence. At last the lady arose.
“I think I shall go in, Mr. Boyd. I find I am very tired.”
While they were groping about the cottage for a lamp, Elinor remembered two candelabra that stood upon a cabinet, stately works of art in bronze and gilt, very heavy, with five candles to each. One of them was taken down.
“Don’t light them all,” said Elinor. “We must not be extravagant.”
But Pats did light them all, saying: “This is a special occasion, and you are the guest of honor.”
The guest of honor looked around this ever-surprising interior and experienced a peculiar sense of fear. She kept it to herself, however; but as her eyes moved swiftly from the life-sized figures in the tapestry to the sharply defined busts, and then to the canvas faces, the whole room seemed alive with people.
“Plenty of company here,” said Pats, reading her expression. “But in your chamber, there, you will have fewer companions, only the host and his wife.” Then, with a smile, “Excuse102my suggesting it, if an impertinence, but if you would like to have me take a look under that monumental bed I shall be most happy to do it.”
She hesitated, yet she knew she would do it herself, after he had gone. While she was hesitating, Pats drew aside the tapestry and passed with the candelabrum into the chamber. He made a careful survey of the territory beneath the bed and reported it free of robbers. Solomon, also, was investigating; and Pats, who was doing this solely for Elinor’s peace of mind, knew well that if a human being were anywhere about the dog would long ago have announced him. But they made a tour of the room, looking behind and under the larger objects, lifting the lids of the marriage chests and opening the doors of the cupboard. Into the cellar, too, they descended, and made a careful search. The five candles produced a weird effect in their promenade along this subterraneous apartment, lighting up an astonishing medley of furniture, garden implements, empty bottles, the posts and side pieces of an extra bed, a broken statue, another wheelbarrow, a lot of kindling wood, and the empty corner where the coffin had awaited its mission. There seemed to be everything except the man they were looking for.
103“Fearfully cold down here!” Pats’s teeth chattered as he spoke, and he shivered from crown to heel.
“Cold! It doesn’t seem so to me,” and her tone suggested a somewhat contemptuous surprise.
“To me it is like the chill of death.” The candles shook in his hand as he spoke.
“Perhaps you have taken cold,” and with stately indifference she moved on toward the stairs.
“Proximity of a Boston iceberg more likely.” But this was not spoken aloud.
Upstairs, when about to take his departure, Pats was still shivering. As he stood for a moment before the embers in the big open fireplace at the end of the cottage, his eyes rested upon a chest near by, with a rug and a cushion on the top, evidently used as a lounge by the owner. After hesitating a moment, he asked:
“Would you object to my occupying the top of that chest, just for to-night?”
As she turned toward him he detected a straightening of the figure and the now familiar loftiness of manner which he knew to be unfailing signs of anger–or contempt. Possibly both.
104“Certainly not. If you have a cold, it is better you should remain near the fire. I have no objections to sleeping in that other house. You say thereisanother house.”
“Oh, yes! There is another house,” he hastened to explain. “And it’s plenty good enough. Of course I shall go there. I beg your pardon for suggesting anything else. I forgot my resolve. I didn’t realize what I was doing.”
“I prefer going there myself,” she said, rapidly. “Imuchprefer it.”
And she turned toward the chamber to make arrangements for departure. But Pats stepped forward and said, decisively, and in a tone that surprised her:
“You stay here. I go to the other house myself.”
He took his hat, and with Solomon at his heels strode rapidly to the door. There he stopped, and with his hand on the latch said, more gently, in his usual manner:
“Wouldn’t you like Solomon to stay here with you? He is lots of company, and a protector.”
She made no reply, but looked with glacial indifference from the man to his dog.
105“You would feel less lonesome, I know.” Patting Solomon on the head and pointing to the haughty figure, “You stay here, old man. That’s all right. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The dog clearly preferred going with his master, but Pats, with a pleasant good-night to the lady, stepped out into the darkness and closed the door behind him.
Solomon, with his nose to the door, stood for several moments in silent protest against this desertion. Later, however, he followed Elinor into the bed-chamber, and although his presence gave her courage and was distinctly a solace, she remained vaguely apprehensive and too ill at ease to undress and go to bed; so, instead, she lay on the outside of it, in a wrapper.
Without, the northeast wind had become a gale. The howling of the storm, together with the ghostly silence of the many-peopled room excited her imagination and quickened her fears.
But weariness and perfect physical relaxation overcame exhausted nerves, and at last the lady slept.
So sound was Elinor Marshall’s sleep that when she awoke the old clock behind the door was celebrating, with its usual music, the hour of nine. From the fury of the rain upon the roof and the sheets of water coursing down the little panes of the window in her chamber, it seemed as if a deluge had arrived. And upon opening the front door she stepped hastily back to avoid the water from the roof and the spattering from the doorstep. But Solomon was not afraid. He darted out into the rain and disappeared among the pines.
“Mr. Boyd will surely get a soaking when he comes for his breakfast,” she thought. And she wondered, casually, if he had a waterproof or an umbrella. He would soon appear, probably, and, as men were always hungry, she107turned her attention to hunting up food and coffee for a breakfast. These were easily found. Having started a fire and set the table for two, she got the coffee under way. Crackers, boiled eggs, sardines, marmalade, cold ham, and apples were to appear at this repast.
But at ten o’clock Mr. Boyd had not appeared. At half-past ten she realized the folly of waiting indefinitely for a man who preferred his bed to his breakfast, and she sat down alone. In the midst of her meal, however, she heard Solomon scratching at the door. No sooner had he entered–dripping with rain–than he began the same pantomime of entreaty as that of yesterday when he tried to get somebody to follow him. Now, perhaps his master was in trouble.
But Elinor remembered what Mr. Boyd himself had said, “He has probably found a woodchuck or a squirrel track.”
Looking out into the driving rain she decided to take the benefit of the doubt. But Solomon was persistent; so aggressively persistent that in the end he became convincing. At last she put on her waterproof and plunged forth into the tempest, the overjoyed dog capering wildly in front. Straight into the woods he led her.
108Only a short distance had they travelled among the pines when she stopped, with a new fear, at the sound of voices. Two men, she thought, were quarrelling. Then a moment later, she heard the fragment of a song. After listening more attentively she decided that the voice of Mr. Boyd was the only one she heard. But was he intoxicated? All she caught was a senseless, almost incoherent flow of language, with laughable attempts at singing. At this, Elinor was on the point of turning back, prompted both by terror and disgust, when Solomon, with increasing vehemence, renewed his exhortations. She yielded, and a few steps farther the sight of Pats lying upon the ground at the foot of a gigantic pine, his valise beside him, its contents, now soaked with rain and scattered about, brought a twinge of remorse.
So he had done this rather than oppose her ideas of propriety! And yesterday, when he spoke of another house, she, in her heart, had not believed him.
All scruples regarding intoxication were dismissed. She hastened forward and knelt beside him. Pats, with feverish face, lay on his back in wild delirium. The pine-needles that formed his bed were soggy with rain, and his clothing109was soaked. She laid her hand against his face and found it hot. His eyes met hers with no sign of recognition.
“That’s all right,” he muttered, rolling his head from side to side, “nobody denies it. Run your own business; but I want my clothes. Damn it, I’m freezing!”
His teeth chattered and he shook his fist in an invisible face. Involuntarily, from a sense of helplessness, she looked vaguely about as if seeking aid.
Here, in the woods, was protection from the wind, but the branches aloft were moving and tossing from the fury of the gale above. The usual murmuring of the pines had become a roar. Great drops of rain, shaken from this surging vault, fell in fitful but copious showers. This constant roar,–not unlike the ocean in a gale,–the sombre light, the helpless and perhaps dying man before her, the chill and mortal dampness of all and everything around, for an instant congealed her courage and took away her strength. But this she fought against. All her powers of persuasion, and all her strength, she employed to get him on his feet. Pats, although wild in speech and reckless in gesture, was docile and willing to obey. The weakness of his own legs,110however, threatened to bring his rescuer and himself to the ground. And, all the time, a constant flow of crazy speech and foolish, feeble song.
Half-way to the cottage he stopped, wrenched his arm from her grasp and demanded, with a frown: “I say; you expect decent things of a woman, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” And she nodded assent, trying to lead him on again. But he pushed her away and would have fallen with the effort had she not caught him in time.
“Well, there’s this about it,” he continued, trying feebly to shake his arm from her hands yet staggering along where she led, “I’m not stuck on that woman or any other. I’m not in that line of business. Do I look like a one-eyed ass?”
“No, no, not at all!” And, gently, she urged him forward.
“Because three or four fools are gone over her, she thinks everybody else–oh! who cares, anyway? Let her think!”
It was a zigzag journey. He reeled and plunged, dragging her in all directions; and so yielding were his knees that she doubted if they could bear him to the house. Once, when seemingly on the point of a collapse, he muttered,111in a confidential tone: “This hauling guns under a frying sun does give you a thirst, hey? Say, am I right, or not?”
“Yes, yes, you are right. Come along: just a little farther.”
“Did you ever swim in champagne with your mouth open?”
“No.”
“What a fool!”
Then he stopped, straightened up and sang, in a die-away, broken voice, with chattering teeth:
“See the Britons, Bloody Britons,Millions of ’em doncherknow,All a swarming up the kopje–Just to turn about an hopje!O, where in hell to go!Bloody Britons!”
“See the Britons, Bloody Britons,Millions of ’em doncherknow,All a swarming up the kopje–Just to turn about an hopje!O, where in hell to go!Bloody Britons!”
Grasping her roughly by the shoulder, he exclaimed: “Why don’t you join in the chorus, you blithering idiot?”
This song, in fragments and with variations, he sang–or rather tried to sing–repeatedly. At the edge of the woods he seemed to shrink from the fury of the storm which drove, in cutting blasts, against their faces. And on the threshold of the cottage he again held back.112In the doorway, leaning against the jamb, he said, solemnly:
“Look here, young feller, just mark my words, women are devils. The less you have to do with them the better for you. D–n the whole tribe! That’s what I say!”
But she dragged him in and supported him to a chair before the fire. He sat shivering with cold, his chin upon his breast, apparently exhausted by the walk. The water dripping from his saturated garments formed puddles on the floor.
Elinor, for a moment, stood regarding him in heart-stricken silence. Once more she felt of his clothes, then, after an inward struggle, she made a resolve. As she did it the color came into her cheeks.
After a lapse of time–an unremembered period of whose length he had no conception–Pats awoke.
Was it a little temple of carved wood in which he lay? At each corner stood a column; above him a little dome of silk, ancient and much faded. Gradually–and slowly–he realized that he was reposing on a bed of vast dimensions and in a room whose furnishings belonged to a previous century. A mellow, golden light pervaded the apartment. This light, which gave to all things in the room an air of unreality–as in an ancient painting luminous with age–came from the sunshine entering through a piece of antiquated silk, placed by considerate hands against the window.
Pats’s wandering eyes encountered a lady in a chair. She sat facing him, a few feet away, her114head resting easily against the carved woodwork behind, a hand upon each arm of the seat. She was asleep. In this golden mist she seemed to the half-dreaming man a vision from another world–something too good to be true–a divine presence that might vanish if he moved. Or, perhaps, she might fade back into a frame and prove to be only another of the portraits that hung about the room. So far as he could judge, with his slowly awakening senses, he was gazing upon the most entrancing face he had ever beheld. At first the face was unfamiliar, but soon, with returning memory, he recalled it. But it seemed thinner now. There were dark lines beneath the eyes, and something about the mouth gave an impression of weariness and care; and these were not in the face as he had known it. However, the closed lids, and the head resting calmly against the back of the high chair made a tranquil picture. For a long time he lay immovable, his eyes drinking in the vision. There was nothing to disturb the silence save the solemn ticking of a clock in another part of the cottage. He heard, beyond the big tapestry, the sound of a dog snapping at a fly. Pats smiled and would have whistled to Solomon, but he remembered the weary angel by his bed. With a sort115of terror he recalled this lady’s capacity for contempt.
Being too warm for comfort he pushed, with exceeding gentleness and caution, the bed-clothes farther from his chin. But the movement, although absolutely noiseless, as he believed, caused the eyes of the sleeper to open. She arose, then stood beside him. A cool hand was laid gently upon his forehead; another drew up the bed-clothes to his chin, as they were before. With anxious eyes he studied her face, and when he found therein neither contempt nor aversion he experienced an overwhelming joy. And she, detecting in the invalid’s eyes an unwonted look, bent over and regarded him more intently. As his eyes looked into hers he smiled, faintly, experimentally, in humble adoration. The face above him lit up with pleasure. In a very low tone she exclaimed:
“You are feeling better!”
He undertook to reply but no voice responded. He tried again, and succeeded in whispering:
“Has anything happened?”
“You have been very ill.”
“How long?”
“This is the eighth day.”
“The eighth day!” He frowned in a mental116effort to unravel the past. “Then I must have been–out of my head.”
“Yes, most of the time.” She was watching him with anxious eyes. “Perhaps you had better not talk much now. Try and sleep again.”
“No, I am–full of sleep. Is this the same house–we discovered that first day?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes, and again she rested a hand upon his brow.
“Who is here besides you?” he asked.
“No one–except Solomon.”
“Solomon!” and he smiled. “Is Solomon well?”
“Oh, yes! Very well.”
“Then you have taken care of me all this time?”
She turned away and took up a glass of water from a table near the bed.
“Yes; Solomon and I together. Are you thirsty? Would you like anything?”
Pats closed his eyes and took a long breath. There was no use in trying to say what he felt, so he answered in a husky voice, which he found difficult to control:
“Thank you. Iamthirsty.”
117“Would you like tea or a glass of water?”
“Water, please.”
“Or, would you prefer grapes?”
“Grapes!”
“Yes, grapes, or oranges, or pears, whichever you prefer.”
His look of incredulity seemed to amuse her. “Do you remember the two boxes and the barrel left by theMaid of the Northon the beach with our baggage?”
He nodded.
“Well, one of those boxes was filled with fruit.”
“Is there plenty for both of us?”
“More than enough.”
“Then I will have a glass of water first and then grapes–and all the other things.”
He drank the water, and as she took away the empty glass, he said, in a serious tone: “Miss Marshall, I wish I could tell you how mortified I am and how–how–”
“Mortified! At what?”
“All this trouble–this–whole business.”
“But you certainly could not help it!”
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s all wrong–all wrong!”
She smiled and moved away, and as she drew118aside the tapestry and disappeared, he turned his face to the wall, and muttered, “Disgraceful! Disgraceful! I must get well fast.”
And he carried out this resolve. Every hour brought new strength. In less than a week he was out of bed and sitting up. During this early period of convalescence–the period of tremulous legs and ravenous hunger–the Fourth of July arrived, and they celebrated the occasion by a sumptuous dinner. There was soup, sardines, cold tongue, dried-apple sauce, baked potatoes, fresh bread, and preserved pears, and the last of the grapes. At table, Elinor faced the empty chair that held the miniature, for the absent lady’s right to that place was always respected. Pats sat at the end facing the door. They dined at noon. A bottle of claret was opened and they drank to the health of Uncle Sam.
Toward the end of the dinner, Pats arose, and with one hand on the table to reinforce his treacherous legs, held aloft his glass. Looking over to the dog, who lay by the open door, his head upon his paws, he said:
“Solomon, here’s to a certain woman; of all women on earth the most unselfish and forgiving, the most perfect in spirit and far and away119the most beautiful–the Ministering Angel of the Pines. God bless her!”
At these words Solomon, as if in recognition of the sentiment, arose from his position near the door, walked to Elinor’s side and, with his habitual solemnity, looked up into her eyes.
“Solomon,” said Pats, “you have the soul of a gentleman.”
In Elinor’s pale face there was a warmer color as she bent over and caressed the dog.
After the dinner all three walked out into the pines, Pats leaning on the lady’s arm. The day was warm. But the gentle, southerly breeze came full of life across the Gulf. And the water itself, this day, was the same deep, vivid blue as the water that lies between Naples and Vesuvius. The convalescent and his nurse stopped once or twice to drink in the air–and the scene.
Pats filled his lungs with a long, deep breath. “I feel very light. Hold me fast, or I may float away.”
Both his head and his legs seemed flighty and precarious. Those two glasses of claret were proving a little too much–they had set his brain a-dancing. But this he kept to himself.120She noticed the high spirits, but supposed them merely an invalid’s delight in getting out of doors.
Under the big trees they rested for a time, in silence, Elinor gazing out across the point, over the glistening sea beyond. The shade of the pines they found refreshing. The convalescent lay at full length, upon his back, looking up with drowsy eyes into the cool, dark canopy, high above. Soothing to the senses was the sighing of the wind among the branches.
“This is good!” he murmured. “I could stay here forever.”
“That may be your fate,” and her eyes moved sadly over the distant, sailless sea. “It is a month to-day that we have been here.”
“So it is, a whole month!”
Elinor sighed. “There is something wrong, somewhere. It seems to me the natural–the only thing–would be for somebody to hunt us up.”
“Certainly.”
“Could they have sailed by this bay and missed us?”
“Not unless they were idiots. Everybody on the steamer knew we sailed into a bay to get here.”
121“Still, they may have missed us.”
“Well, suppose they did go by us, once or twice, or several times; people don’t abandon their best friends and brothers in that off-hand fashion.”
After a pause he added, “Something may have happened to Father Burke or to Louise.”
“But even then,” said Elinor, turning toward him, “wouldn’t they try and discover why I had not arrived? And wouldn’t they huntyouup?”
“No, I was to be a surprise. None of them knew I was coming. They think I am still in South Africa.”
There was a long silence, broken at last by Pats. “What a hideous practical joke I have turned out! In the first place I strand you here and–”
“No! I was very unjust that day and have repented–and tried to atone.”
“Atone! You! Angels defend us! If atonement was due from you, where am I? Instead of getting you away, I go out of my head and have a fever–and am fed–like a baby.”
She smiled. “That is hardly your fault.”
“Yes, it is. Nomanwould do it. Pugs and Persian cats do that sort of thing. For122men there are proper times for giving out. But there is one thing I should like to say–that is, that my life is yours. This skeleton belongs to you, and the soul that goes with it. Henceforth I shall be your slave. I do not aspire to be treated as your equal; just an abject, reverent, willing slave.”
She smiled and played with the ears of the sleeping Solomon.
“I am serious,” and Pats raised himself on one elbow. “Just from plain, unvarnished gratitude–if from nothing else–I shall always do whatever you command–live, die, steal, commit murder, scrub floors, anything–I don’t care what.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“I do.”
“Then stop talking.”
With closed eyes he fell back into his former position. But again, partially raising himself, he asked, “May I say just one thing more?”
“No.”
Again he fell back, and there was silence.
For a time Elinor sat with folded hands gazing dreamily beyond the point over the distant gulf, a dazzling, vivid blue beneath the July sun. When at last she turned with a question123upon her lips and saw the closed eyes and tranquil breathing of the convalescent, she held her peace. Then came a drowsy sense of her own fatigue. Cautiously, that the sleeper might not awake, she also reclined, at full length, and closed her eyes. Delicious was the soft air: restful the carpet of pine-needles. No cradle-song could be more soothing than the muffled voices of the pines: and the lady slept.
But Pats was not asleep. He soon opened his eyes and gazed dreamily upward among the branches overhead, then moved his eyes in her direction. For an easier study of the inviting creature not two yards away, he partially raised himself on an elbow. The contemplation of this lady he had found at all times entrancing; but now, from her unconscious carelessness and freedom she became of absorbing interest. Her dignity was asleep, as it were: her caution forgotten. With captivated eyes he drank in the graceful outlines of her figure beneath the white dress, the gentle movement of the chest, the limp hands on the pine-needles. Some of the pride and reserve of the clean-cut, patrician face–of which he stood in awe–had melted away in slumber.
Maybe the murmur of the pines with the124drowsy, languorous breeze relaxed his conscience; at all events the contours of the upturned lips were irresistible. Silently he rolled over once–the soft carpet of pine-needles abetting the manœuvre–until his face was at right angles to her own, and very near. Then cautiously and slowly he pressed his lips to hers. This contact brought a thrill of ecstasy–an intoxication to his senses. But the joy was brief.
More quickly than his startled wits could follow she had pushed away his face and risen to her feet. Erect, with burning cheeks, she looked down into his startled eyes with an expression that brought him sharply to his senses. It was a look of amazement, of incredulity, of contempt–of everything in short that he had hoped never to encounter in her face again. For a moment she stood regarding him, her breast heaving, a stray lock of hair across a hot cheek, the most distant, the most exalted, and the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. Then, without a word, she walked away. Across the open, sunlit space his eyes followed her, until, through the doorway of the cottage, she disappeared.
For a moment he remained as he was, upon the ground, half reclining, staring blankly at the125doorway. Then, slowly, he lowered himself and lay at full length along the ground, his face in his hands.
Of the flight of time he had no knowledge: but, at last, when he rose to his feet he appeared older. He was paler. His eyes were duller. About the mouth had come lines which seemed to indicate a painful resolution. But to the shrunken legs he had summoned a sufficient force to carry him, without wavering, to the cottage door. He entered and dropped, as a man uncertain of his strength, into the nearest chair–the one beside the doorway. Solomon, who had followed at his heels, looked up inquiringly into the emaciated face. Its extraordinary melancholy may have alarmed him. But Pats paid no attention to his dog. He looked at Elinor who was ironing, at the heavy table–the dining-table–in the centre of the room. Her sleeves were rolled back to the elbow; her head bent slightly over as she worked.
The afternoon sun flooded the space in his vicinity and reached far along the floor, touching the skirt of her dress. Behind her the old tapestry with the two marble busts formed a stately background. To the new arrivals she paid no attention.
126After a short rest to recover his breath, and his strength, Pats cleared his throat:
“Miss Marshall, you will never know, for I could not begin to tell you–how sorry–how, how ashamed I am for having done–what I did. I don’t ask you to forgive me. If you were my sister and another man did it, I should–” He leaned back, at a loss for words.
“I don’t say it was the claret. I don’t try to excuse myself in any way. But one thing I ask you to believe: that I did not realize what I was doing.”
He arose and stood with his hand on the back of the chair. As he went on his voice grew less steady. “Why, I look upon you as something sacred; you are so much finer, higher, better than other people. In a way I feel toward you as toward my mother’s memory; and that is a holy thing. I could as soon insult one as the other. And I realize and shall never forget all that you have done for me.”
In a voice over which he seemed to be losing control, he went on, more rapidly:
“And it’s more than all that–it’s more than gratitude and respect. I–” For an instant he hesitated, then his words came hotly, with a reckless haste. “I love you as I never thought127of loving any human being. It began when I first saw you on the wharf. You don’t know what it means. Why, I could lay down my life for you–a thousand times–and joyfully.”
From Elinor these words met with no outward recognition. She went quietly on with her ironing.
Pats drew a deep breath, sank into his chair and muttered, in a lower tone, “I never meant to tell you that. Now I–I–have done it.”
During the pause that followed these last words she said, quietly, without looking up:
“I knew it already.”
He straightened up. “Knew what already?”
She lifted a collar she was ironing and examined it, but made no reply.
“You knew what already?” he repeated. “That I was in love with you?”
She nodded, still regarding the collar.
“Impossible!”
She laid the collar beside other collars already ironed and took up another; but he heard no answer.
“How did you know?” he asked. “From what?”
“From various things.”
“What things?”
128There was no reply.
“From things I did?”
She nodded, rather solemnly, and her face, what he could see of it–seemed very serious. Pats was watching her intently, and exclaimed, in surprise:
“That is very curious, for I kept it to myself!”
“Any woman would have known.”
Pats leaned back, and frowned. A torturing thought possessed him. In an anxious tone he said: “I hope I did not talk much when I had the fever.”
As she made no reply he studied the back of her head for some responsive motion. But none came.
“Did I?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
A look of terror came into his face and his voice grew fainter as he asked: “Did I talk about you?”
“Freely.”
With trembling fingers he felt for his handkerchief and drew it across his brow. “Did I say things that–that–I should be ashamed of?”
She nodded.
Pats sunk lower in his chair and closed his129eyes. Judging from the lines in his cadaverous face the last three minutes had added years to his age.
“Would you mind telling me,” he asked in a deferential voice, so low that it barely reached her, “whether they were impertinent and ungentlemanly–or–or–what?”
“Everything.”
His lips were dry, and on his face came a look of anguish–of unspeakable shame. There was a pause, broken only by the faint sound of the flatiron.
“Then I really talked about you–at one time?”
She nodded.
“More than once?”
“For days together.”
Pats closed his eyes in pain, and there was a silence. Then he opened them: “Would you mind telling me some of the things I said?”
“I could not remember.”
“Have you forgottenall?”
“No–but I prefer not repeating them.”
On Pats’s face the look of shame deepened. In a very low voice he said: “Please remember that I was not myself.”
130“I make allowance for that.”
“Excuse my asking, but if I was out of my head and irresponsible, what could I have said to make you believe that I was–in love with you?”
“You protested so violently that you were not.”
With unspeakable horror and humiliation Pats began to realize the awful possibilities of that divulgence of his most secret thoughts. A cold chill crept up his spine. He looked down at the floor, from fear that she might glance in his direction and meet his eyes. Solomon, who felt there was trouble in the air, came nearer and placed his cold wet snout against the clinched hands of his master; but the hands were unresponsive.
At last, the stricken man mustered courage enough to stammer in a constrained voice:
“It is not from curiosity I ask it, but would you mind telling me–giving me at least some idea of what I said?”
Elinor carefully deposited a neatly folded handkerchief upon a little pile of other handkerchiefs. Then, looking down at the table and not at Pats, she said calmly, as she continued her work:
131“You said I was a pious hypocrite–coldblooded and heartless–and a fool. You repeated a great many times that I was superior, pretentious, and ‘everlastingly stuck on myself,’–I think that was the expression. Of course, I cannot repeat your own words. They were forcible, but exceedingly profane.”
“Oh!”
“You kept mentioning three other men who could have me for all you cared.”
Pats felt himself blushing. He frowned, grew hot, and bit his lip. Mingled with his mortification came an impotent rage. He felt that behind her contempt she was laughing at him. As there was a pause, he muttered bitterly:
“Go on.”
But she continued silently with her ironing.
“Please go on. Tell me more; the worst. I should like to know it.”
Raising one of the handkerchiefs higher for a closer examination, she added: “You sang comic songs, inserting my name, and with language I supposed no gentlemen could use.”
Pats gasped. His cheeks tingled. In shame he closed his eyes. The ticking of the old132clock behind the door seemed to hammer his degradation still deeper into his aching soul. As his wandering, miserable gaze encountered the marble face of the Marshal of France he thought the old soldier was watching him in contemptuous enjoyment.
But Elinor went on quietly with her ironing.
Suddenly into his feverish brain there came a thought, heaven-born, inspiring. It lifted him to his feet. With a firm stride he approached the table. No legs could have done it better. He stood beside her, but she turned her back as she went on with the ironing. His expression was of a man exalted, yet anxious; and he spoke in a low but unruly voice.
“You say you have known I was in love with you ever since the fever?”
She nodded slightly, without looking up.
“And yet you have been very–kind, and not–not annoyed or offended. Perhaps after all, you–you–oh, please turn around!”
But she did not turn, so he stepped around in front. Into her cheeks had come a sudden color, and in her eyes he saw the light that lifts a lover to the highest heaven.
It was Pat’s cry of joy and his impulsive and somewhat violent embrace of this lady133that awakened the dog reposing by the door. Looking in the direction of the voice Solomon seemed to see but a single figure. This was a natural mistake. In another moment, however, he realized that extraordinary things were happening,–that these two distinct and separate beings with a single outline signified some momentous change in human life. Whether from an over-mastering sympathy, from envy, delicacy, or disgust, Solomon looked the other way. Then, thoughtfully, with drooping head, he walked slowly out and left the lovers to themselves.