HOW MISS GOWER GOES FOR A PLEASANT ROW UPON THE LAKE WITH HER
NEPHEW; AND HOW SHE ADMIRES THE SKY AND THE WATER; AND HOW PRESENTLY
FEAR FALLS ON HER; AND HOW DEATH THREATENS HER; AND HOW BY A MERE
SCRATCH OF A PEN SHE REGAINS SHORE AND LIFE.
"How delicious the water looks to-day!" says Miss Gower, gazing at
the still lake beneath her with a sentimental eye. The eye is under
one of the biggest sun-hats in Christendom. "And the sky," continues
Miss Gower, now casting the eye aloft, "is admirably arranged too.
What a day for a row, and so late in the season, too!"
"'Late, late, so late!'" quotes her nephew, in a gloomy tone.
"Nonsense!" sharply; "it is not so very late, after all. And even if
it were there would be no necessity for being so lugubrious over it.
And permit me to add, Randal, that when you take a lady out for a
row, it is in the very worst possible taste to be in low spirits."
"I can't help it," says Mr. Gower, with a groan.
"What's the matter with you?" demands his aunt.
"Ah, no matter--no matter!"
"In debt, as usual, I suppose?" grimly.
"Deeply!" with increasing gloom.
"And you expect me to help you, I suppose?"
"No. I expect nothing. I hope only for one thing," says Mr. Gower,
fixing a haggard gaze upon her face.
"If it's a cheque from me," says his aunt sternly, "you will hope a
long time."
"I don't think so," sadly.
"What do you mean, sir? Do you think I am a weathercock, to change
with every wind? You have had your last cheque from me, Randal. Be
sure of that. I shall no longer pander to your wicked ways, your
terrible extravagances."
"I didn't mean that. I wished only to convey to you the thought that
soon there would be no room for hope left to me."
"Well, there isn't _now!" _says Miss Gower cheerfully, "if you are
alluding to me. Row on, Randal; there isn't anything like as good a
view from this spot as there is from the lower end!"
"I like the middle of the lake," says Mr. Gower, in a sepulchral
tone. As he speaks he draws in both oars, and leaning his arms upon
them, looks straight across into her face. It is now neck or
nothing, he tells himself, and decides at once it shall be neck.
"Aunt," says he, in a low, soft, sad tone--a tone that reduces
itself into a freezing whisper, _"Are you prepared to die?"_
"What!" says Miss Gower. She drops the ropes she has been holding
and glares at him. "Collect yourself, boy!"
"I entreat you not to waste time over trivialities! I entreat you to
answer me, and quickly."
Mr. Gower's voice is now apparently coming from his boots.
"Good gracious, Randal, what do you mean?" cries the spinster,
turning very yellow. "Prepared to _die!_ Why ask me such a
question?"
"Because, dear aunt, your time has come!"
"Randal!" says Miss Gower, trying to rise, "pull me ashore. Do you
hear me, sir? Pull me ashore at once. Cease your levity."
"Sit down," says her nephew sadly. "Pray sit down. It comes easier
sitting than any other way, I have been told."
"What comes?" Miss Gower casts a wild glance round her. They are far
from the shore, and, indeed, even if they had been nearer to it, no
help could reach her, as there is not a soul to be seen, and from
where they now are not a glimpse of the house is to be had. "Randal,
would you murder me?" cries she.
"Oh, dear aunt, what a question!" says Mr. Gower with deep reproach.
"No, far from that. Learn that I, too, am resolved to die!"
"Oh, heavens!" cries Miss Gower, clinging to the sides of the boat.
"What brought me out to-day? And to think insanity should break out,
in our family here, for the first time! Unhappy youth, bethink
yourself! Would you have my death upon your soul?"
Here all at once it occurs to her that she has read somewhere of the
power of the human eye. _She_ has an eye, and it is human; she will
use it! She leans forward and half closes her lids (presumably to
concentrate the rays within), and casts upon Gower a glance that she
herself would have designated "fell." The effect is, perhaps, a
little destroyed by the fact that her big hat has fallen over her
left ear, and that she has put on a diabolic grin--meant to be
impressive--that gives all the gold with which the dentist has
supplied her, to public view. Quite a little fortune in itself! She
speaks.
"How _dare_ you!" says she, in a voice meant to be thunder, but
which trembles like a jelly. "Take me back at once to the house!
What _madness_ is this!"
She is frightened when she utters the word "madness." But the
present madman does not seem to care about it.
"Not madness, aunt," says he, still with unutterable sadness in look
and tone, "but sober, terrible _truth!_ Life has ceased to have
charms for me. I have therefore resolved to put an end to it!"
"But what of me, Randal!" cries the spinster in an agonized tone.
"I cannot bear to die alone, dear aunt. To leave you to mourn my
memory! Such misery I am resolved to spare you. We--_die together!"_
"Randal--Randal, I say, you are out of your mind."
She has forgotten the power of the eye--everything.
"You are right, dear aunt, I _am_ out of my mind," says Mr. Gower,
with the utmost gentleness. "I am out of my mind with misery! I
have, therefore, bored a hole in the bottom of this boat, through
which I"--sweetly--"am glad to see the water is swiftly coming."
He points gently to where he has removed the plug, and where the
water is certainly coming into the boat.
"It is rising, I think," says he softly and very pleasantly.
Miss Gower gives a wild scream.
"Help! help!" yells she. She waves her hands and arms towards the
shore, but there is no one there to succour her. "Oh, Randal, the
water is coming in--it's wetting my boots. It's getting on to my
petticoats! Oh, my goodness! What shall I do?"
Here she picks up most of her garments; nay, all of them, indeed,
and steps on to a loose bit of wood lying in the boat.
"Don't look! don't look!" screams she. There is a flicker of
something scarlet--a second flicker of something that might be
described as white tuckers of white embroidery.
"Look!" says Mr. Gower reproachfully. "What do you take me for? I'd
die first. Ah!"--turning modestly aside--"how I have always been
maligned!" He sighs. "I'm going to die now," says he. "Go on, aunt,"
in a melancholy tone. "There is little time to lose. Perfect your
arrangements. The water is rising. I admire you. I do, indeed. There
is a certain dignity in dying nicely, and without a sound."
"I _won't_ die!" cries Miss Gower wildly. "I _won't_ be dignified.
Ho! there! Help! help!"
She is appealing to the shores on either side, but no help is
forthcoming. She turns at last a pale glance on Randal.
"Randal!" cries she, "you say _you_ are tired of life. But--I--I'm
not!"
"This is folly," says Mr. Gower. "It is born of an hour, filled with
a sudden fear. In a few moments you will be yourself again, and will
know that you are glad of a chance of escaping from this hateful
world that you have been for so many years reviling. Just think!
Only yesterday I heard you abusing it, and now in a very few moments
you will sink through the quiet waters to a rest this world has
never known."
"You are wrong. It is _not_ folly," says Miss Gower wildly. "I don't
want to die. You do, you say. Die, then! But why sacrifice me? Oh,
goodness gracious, Randal, the boat is sinking! I _feel_ it. I know
it is going down."
"So do I," says Gower, with an unearthly smile. "Pray, aunt, pray!"
"I shan't!" cries Miss Gower. "Oh, you wretched boy! Oh, Randal,
what's the matter with the boat?"
"It's settling," says Mr. Gower tragically. "There is time for a
last prayer, dear aunt."
Miss Gower gives a wild shriek.
"Forgive me, my beloved aunt," says Mr. Gower, with deep feeling. He
is standing up now, and is doing something in the bottom of the
boat. "Honour alone has driven me to this deed."
"Honour! Randal! Then it isn't madness. Oh, my dear boy, what is it?
Oh," shrieking again to the irresponsive shore, "will no one save
us?"
"You can!" says Mr. Gower. "At least you _could_. I fear now it is
too late. I gave you a hint about that before, but you scorned my
quotation. Therefore, thy death be on thy own head!"
"Oh, it can't be too late yet. You can swim, my dear good Randal. My
_dearest_ boy! I can help, you say. But how, Randal, is it--_can_ it
be that the debt you spoke of a while ago has driven you to this?"
"Ay, even to this!" says Mr. Gower in a frenzied tone.
"How much is it, dearest? Not _very_ much, eh? Your poor old aunt,
you know, is far from rich." As a fact, she hardly knows what to do
with her money. "Oh, speak, my dear boy, speak!"
"It is only seven hundred pounds," says Mr. Gower in a voice full of
depression. "But rather than ask you to pay it, aunt I would----" He
bends downwards.
"Oh, _don't!"_ screams Miss Gower. "For Heaven's sake don't make any
more holes!"
"Why not?" says Randal. "We all can die but once!"
"But we can live for a long time yet."
"I _can't,"_ says he. "Honour calls me. Naught is left me but to
die."
Here he stands up and begins to beat frantically upon the bottom of
the boat, as if to make a fresh hole.
"Oh, darling boy, don't! Seven hundred pounds, is it? If that can
save us, you shall have it, Randal, you shall indeed!"
"Is that the truth?" says Gower. He seats himself suddenly upon the
seat opposite to her, and with a countenance not one whit the less
draped in gloom, pulls from his pocket a cheque-book, a pen, and a
tiny little ink case.
"I hardly know if there is yet time," says he, "but if you will sign
this, I shall do my best to get back to a life that is apparently
dear to you, though not"--mournfully--"to me."
Miss Gower takes the pen, plunges it into the ink, and writes her
name. It is not until to-morrow that she remembers that the cheque
was drawn out in every way, except for her signature.
"Ah, we may yet reach the shore alive!" says Mr. Gower, in a
depressing tone, putting in the plug.
When they reach it, he gives his arm to his aunt, and, in the
tenderest fashion, helps her along the short pathway that leads to
the house.
In the hall quite a large number of people are assembled, and
everyone runs toward them.
"Why, we thought you were lost," says Mrs. Chichester.
"Yes, so we were very nearly," says Mr. Gower, shaking his head and
advancing into the hall with the languid airs of one who has just
undergone a strange experience.
"But how--how?" They all crowd round him now.
"Poor aunt and I were nearly drowned," says Mr. Gower pathetically.
He takes a step forward, and the water drips from his trousers. He
looks back at Miss Gower. "Weren't we?" says he.
"But you are dripping!" cries Tita, "whilst Miss Gower seems quite
dry. Dear Miss Gower," turning anxiously to that spinster, "I hope
you are not wet."
"Ah! she was so nice, so _nice,"_ says Randal sweetly, "that she
wouldn't let me do much for her. But if you will just look under her
petticoats I am afraid you will----"
"Randal!" cries Miss Gower indignantly.
After this the spinster is hurried upstairs by many willing hands
and is put to bed. Tita, on her way down from seeing her made
comfortable, meets Randal redressed and dry and comfortable in the
library.
"What does all this mean?" says she. "When you spoke this morning of
taking Miss Gower out on the lake I--I did not suspect you of
anything--but now----"
"Well, now, you shall hear the truth," says Gower. Whereupon he
gives her a graphic account of the scene on the lake.
"I knew she'd take _that_ fence," says he. "And I was right; there
wasn't even a jib."
"I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourself," says Tita indignantly.
"Don't wonder any more. I _am_ ashamed of myself. I'm so ashamed
that I'm going at once to pay my debts."
"Oh, I like that!"
"Well, I am. I shall give my landlady five pounds out of her
account."
"And the account?"
"I really think it must be about seventy or eighty by this time,"
says Mr. Gower thoughtfully. "However, it doesn't matter about that.
She'll be awfully pleased to get the five pounds. One likes five
pounds, you know, when one has lost all hope of ever getting it."
"Oh, go away!" says Tita. "You are a _horrid_ boy!"