A PERILOUS TRUCE.
The very stars in their courses seemed to fight for this young man.
No sooner had Wenna Rosewarne fled to her own room, there to think
over in a wild and bewildered way all that had just happened, than her
heart smote her sorely. She had not acted prudently; she had forgotten
her self-respect; she ought to have forbidden him to come near her
again--at least until such time as this foolish fancy of his should
have passed away and been forgotten.
How could she have parted with him so calmly, and led him to suppose
that their former relations were unaltered? She looked back on the
forced quietude of her manner, and was herself astonished. Now her
heart was beating rapidly; her trembling fingers were unconsciously
twisting and untwisting a bit of ribbon; her head seemed giddy with
the recollection of that brief and strange interview, Then, somehow,
she thought of the look on his face when she told him that henceforth
they must be strangers to each other. It seemed hard that he should be
badly used for what was perhaps no intentional fault. If anybody had
been in fault, it was herself in being blind to a possibility to which
even her own sister had drawn her attention; and so the punishment
ought to fall on her.
She would humble herself before Mr. Roscorla. She would force herself
to be affectionate toward him in her letters. She would even write to
Mabyn, and beg of her to take no notice of that angry remonstrance.
Then Wenna thought of her mother, and how she ought to tell her of all
these things. But how could she? During the past day or two Mrs.
Rosewarne had been at times singularly fretful and anxious. No letter
had come from her husband. In vain did Wenna remind her that men were
more careless of such small matters than women, and that it was too
soon to expect her father to sit down and write. Mrs. Rosewarne sat
brooding over her husband's silence; then she would get up in an
excited fashion and declare her intention of going straight back to
Eglosilyan; and these fitful moods prayed on the health of the
invalid. Ought Wenna to risk increasing her anxiety by telling her
this strange tale? She would doubtless misunderstand it. She might be
angry with Harry Trelyon. She would certainly be surprised that Wenna
had given him permission to see her again--not knowing that the girl,
in her forced composure, had been talking to him as if this avowal of
his were of no great moment.
All the same, Wenna had a secret fear that she had been imprudent in
giving him this permission; and the most she could do now was to make
his visits as few, short and ceremonious as possible. She would avoid
him by every means in her power; and the first thing was to make sure
that he should not call on them again while they remained in Penzance.
So she went down to the small parlor in a much more equable frame of
mind, though her heart was still throbbing in an unusual way. The
moment she entered the room she saw that something had occurred to
disturb her mother. Mrs. Rosewarne turned from the window, and there
was an excited look in her eyes. "Wenna," she said hurriedly, "did you
see that carriage? Did you see that woman? Who was with her? Did you
see who was with her? I know it was she: not if I live a hundred years
could I forget that--that devil in human shape!"
"Mother, I don't know what you mean," Wenna said, wholly aghast.
Her mother had gone to the window again, and she was saying to
herself, hurriedly and in a low voice, "No, you don't know--you don't
know: why should you know? That shameless creature! And to drive by
here! She must have known I was here. Oh, the shamelessness of the
woman!"
She turned to Wenna again: "Wenna, I thought Mr. Trelyon was here. How
long has he gone? I want to see him most particularly--most
particularly, and only for a moment. He is sure to know all the
strangers at his hotel, is he not? I want to ask him some questions.
Wenna, will you go at once and bid him come to see me for a moment?"
"Mother!" Wenna said. How could she go to the hotel with such a
message?
"Well, send a note to him, Wenna--send him a note by the girl down
stairs. What harm is there in that?"
"Lie down, then, mother," said the girl calmly, "and I will send a
message to Mr. Trelyon."
She drew her chair to the table, and her cheeks crimsoned to think of
what he might imagine this letter to mean when he got the envelope in
his hands. Her fingers trembled as she wrote the date at the head of
the note. Then she came to the word "Dear," and it seemed to her that
if shame were a punishment, she was doing sufficient penance for her
indiscretion of that morning. Yet the note was not a compromising one.
It merely said--
"DEAR MR. TRELYON: If you have a moment to spare, my mother
would be most obliged to you if you would call on her. I hope
you will forgive the trouble.
"Yours sincerely,
WENNA ROSEWARNE."
When the young man got that note--he was just entering the hotel when
the servant arrived--he stared with surprise. He told the girl he
would call on Mrs. Rosewarne directly. Then he followed her.
He never for a moment doubted that this note had reference to his own
affairs. Wenna had told her mother what had happened. The mother
wished to see him to ask him to cease visiting them. Well, he was
prepared for that. He would ask Wenna to leave the room. He would
attack the mother boldly, and tell her what he thought of Mr.
Roscorla. He would appeal to her to save her daughter from the
impending marriage. He would win her over to be his secret ally and
friend; and while nothing should be done precipitately to alarm Wenna
or arouse her suspicions, might not these two carry the citadel of her
heart in time, and hand over the keys to the rightful lord? It was a
pleasant speculation: it was at least marked by that audacity that
never wholly forsook Master Harry Trelyon. Of course he was the
rightful lord, ready to bid all false claimants, rivals and pretenders
Beware!
And yet, as he walked up to the house, some little tremor of anxiety
crept into his heart. It was no mere game of brag in which he was
engaged. As he went into the parlor Wenna stepped quietly by him, her
eyes downcast, and he knew that all he cared to look forward to in the
world depended on the decision of that quiet little person with the
sensitive mouth and the earnest eyes. Fighting was not of much use
there.
"Well, Mrs. Rosewarne," said he, rather shamefacedly, "I suppose you
mean to scold me?"
Her answer surprised him. She took no heed of his remark, but in a
vehement, excited way began to ask him questions about a woman whom
she described.
He stared at her. "I hope you don't know anything about that elegant
creature?" he said.
She did not wholly tell him the story, but left him to guess at some
portions of it; and then she demanded to know all about the woman and
her companion, and how long they had been in Penzance, and where they
were going. Master Harry was by chance able to reply to certain of her
questions. The answers comforted her greatly. Was he quite sure that
she was married? What was her husband's name? She was no longer Mrs.
Shirley? Would he find out all he could? Would he forgive her asking
him to take all this trouble? and would he promise to say no word
about it to Wenna? When all this had been said and done the young
man felt himself considerably embarrassed. Was there to be no mention
of his own affairs? So far from remonstrating with him and forbidding
him the house, Mrs. Rosewarne was almost effusively grateful to him,
and could only beg him a thousand times not to mention the subject to
her daughter.
"Oh, of course not," said he, rather bewildered. "But--but I thought
from the way in which she left the room that--that perhaps I had
offended her."
"Oh no, I am sure that is not the case," said Mrs. Rosewarne; and she
immediately went and called Wenna, who came into the room with rather
an anxious look on her face. She immediately perceived the change in
her mother's mood. The demon of suspicion and jealousy had been as
suddenly exorcised as it had been summoned. Mrs. Rosewarne's fine eyes
were lit by quite a new brightness and gayety of spirits. She bade
Wenna declare what fearful cause of offence Mr. Trelyon had given, and
laughed when the young man, blushing somewhat, hastily assured both of
them that it was all a stupid mistake of his own.
"Oh yes," Wenna said rather nervously, "it is a mistake. I am sure you
have given me no offence at all, Mr. Trelyon."
It was an embarrassing moment for two, at least, out of these three
persons; and Mrs. Rosewarne, in her abundant good-nature, could not
understand their awkward silence. Wenna was apparently looking out of
the window at the bright blue bay and the boats, and yet the girl was
not ordinarily so occupied when Mr. Trelyon was present. As for him,
he had got his hat in his hands; he seemed to be much concerned about
it or about his boots; one did not often find Master Harry actually
showing shyness.
At last he said, desperately, "Mrs. Rosewarne, perhaps you would go
out for a sail in the afternoon? I could get you a nice little yacht
and some rods and lines. Won't you?"
Mrs. Rosewarne was in a kindly humor. She said she would be very glad
to go, for Wenna was growing tired of always sitting by the window.
This would be some little variety for her.
"I hope you won't consider me, mother," said the young lady quickly
lady and with some asperity. "I am quite pleased to sit by the window:
I could do so always. And it is very wrong of us to take up so much of
Mr. Trelyon's time."
"Because Mr. Trelyon's time is of so much use to him!" said that young
man with a laugh; and then he told them when to expect him in the
afternoon, and went his way.
He was in much better spirits when he went out. He whistled as he
went. The plash of the blue sea all along the shingle seemed to have a
sort of laugh in it: he was in love with Penzance and all its
beautiful neighborhood. Once again, he was saying to himself, he would
spend a quiet and delightful afternoon with Wenna Rosewarne, even if
that were to be the last. He would surrender himself to the gentle
intoxication of her presence. He would get a glimpse, from time to
time, of her dark eyes when she was looking wistfully and absently
over the sea. It was no breach of the implied contract with her that
he should have seized this occasion. He had been sent for. And if it
was necessary that he should abstain from seeing her for any great
length of time, why this single afternoon would not make much
difference. Afterward he would obey her wishes in any manner she
pleased.
He walked into the hotel. There was a gentleman standing in the hall
whose acquaintance Master Harry had condescended to make. He was a
person of much money, uncertain grammar and oppressive generosity: he
wore a frilled shirt and diamond studs, and he had such a vast
admiration for this handsome, careless and somewhat rude young man
that he would have been very glad had Mr. Trelyon dined with him every
evening, and taken the trouble to win any reasonable amount of money
of him at billiards afterward. Mr. Trelyon had not as yet graced his
table.
"Oh, Grainger," said the young man, "I want to speak to you. Will you
dine with me to-night at eight?"
"No, no, no," said Mr. Grainger, shaking his head in humble protest,
"that isn't fair. You dine with me. It ain't the first or the second
time of asking, either."
"But look here," said Trelyon, "I've got lots more to ask of you. I
want you to lend me that little cutter of yours for the afternoon:
will you? You send your man on board to see she's all right, and I'll
pull out to her in about half an hour's time. You'll do that, won't
you, like a good fellow?"
Mr. Grainger was not only willing to lend the yacht, but also his own
services to see that she properly received so distinguished a guest;
whereupon Trelyon had to explain that he wanted the small craft merely
to give a couple of ladies a sail for an hour or so. Then Mr. Grainger
would have his man instructed to let the ladies have some tea on
board; and he would give Master Harry the key of certain receptacles
in which he would find cans of preserved meat, fancy biscuits, jam,
and even a few bottles of dry sillery; finally, he would immediately
hurry off to see about fishing-rods. Trelyon had to acknowledge to
himself that this worthy person deserved the best dinner that the
hotel could produce.
In the afternoon he walked along to fetch Mrs. Rosewarne and her
daughter, his face bright with expectation. Mrs. Rosewarne was dressed
and ready when he went in, but she said, "I am afraid I can't go, Mr.
Trelyon. Wenna says she is a little tired, and would rather stay at
home."
"Wenna, that isn't fair," he said, obviously hurt. "You ought to make
some little effort when you know it will do your mother good. And it
will do you good too, if only you make up your mind to go."
She hesitated for a moment: she saw that her mother was disappointed.
Then, without a word, she went and put on her hat and shawl.
"Well," he said approvingly, "you are very reasonable and very
obedient. But we can't have you go with us with such a face as that.
People would say we were going to a funeral."
A shy smile came over the gentle features, and she turned aside.
"And we can't have you pretend that we forced you to go. If we go at
all, you must lead the way."
"You would tease the life out of a saint," she said with a vexed and
embarrassed laugh; and then she marched out before them, very glad to
be able to conceal her heightened color.
But much of her reserve vanished when they had set sail; and when the
small cutter was beginning to make way through the light and plashing
waves Wenna's face brightened. She no longer let her two companions
talk exclusively to each other. She began to show a great curiosity
about the little yacht; she grew anxious to have the lines flung out;
no words of hers could express her admiration for the beauty of the
afternoon and of the scene around her.
"Now, are you glad you came out?" he said to her.
"Yes," she answered shyly. "And you'll take my advice another time?"
"Do _you_ ever take any one's advice?" she said, venturing to look up.
"Yes, certainly," he answered, "when it agrees with my own
inclination. Who ever does any more than that?"
They had now got a good bit away from land.
"Skipper," said Trelyon to Mr. Grainger's man, "we'll put her about
now and let her drift. Here is a cigar for you: you can take it up to
the bow and smoke it, and keep a good lookout for the sea-serpent."
By this arrangement they obtained, as they sat and idly talked, an
excellent view of all the land around the bay, and of the pale, clear
sunset shining in the western skies. They lay almost motionless in the
lapping water: the light breeze scarcely stirred the loose canvas.
From time to time they could hear a sound of calling or laughing from
the distant fishing-boats; and that only seemed to increase the
silence around them.
It was an evening that invited to repose and reverie: there were not
even the usual fiery colors of the sunset to arouse and fix attention
by their rapidly-changing and glowing hues. The town itself, lying
darkly all around the sweep of the bay, was dusky and distant:
elsewhere all the world seemed to be flooded with the silver light
coming over from behind the western hills. The sky was of the palest
blue; the long mackerel clouds that stretched across were of the
faintest yellow and lightest gray; and into that shining gray rose the
black stems of the trees that were just over the outline of these low
heights. St. Michael's-Mount had its summit touched by the pale glow:
the rest of the giant rock and the far stretches of sea around it were
gray with mist. But close by the boat there was a sharper light on the
lapping waves and on the tall spars, while it was warm enough to
heighten the color on Wenna's face as she sat and looked silently at
the great and open world around her.
They were drifting in more ways than one. Wenna almost forgot what had
occurred in the morning. She was so pleased to see her mother pleased
that she conversed quite unreservedly with the young man who had
wrought the change, was ready to believe all that Mrs. Rosewarne said
in private about his being so delightful and cheerful a companion. As
for him, he was determined to profit by this last opportunity. If the
Strict rules of honor demanded that Mr. Roscorla should have fair
play, or if Wenna wished him to absent himself--which was of more
consequence than Mr. Roscorla's interest--he would make his visits few
and formal, but in the mean time, at least, they would have this one
pleasant afternoon together. Sometimes, it is true, he rebelled
against the uncertain pledge he had given her. Why should he not seek
to win her? What had the strict rules of honor to do with the prospect
of a young girl allowing herself to be sacrificed, while here he was,
able and willing to snatch her away from her fate?
"How fond you are of the sea and of boats!" he said to her. "Sometimes
I think I shall have a big schooner yacht built for myself, and take
her to the Mediterranean, going from place to place just as I have the
fancy. But it would be very dull by one's self, wouldn't it, even if
one had a dozen men on What one wants is to have a small party all
very friendly with each other, and at night they would sit up on deck
and sing songs. And I think they would admire those old-fashioned
songs that you sing, Miss Wenna, all the better for hearing them so
far away from home--at least, I should, but then I'm an outer
barbarian. I think you, now, would be delighted with the grand music
abroad--with the operas, you know, and all that. I have had to knock
about these places with people, but I don't care about it. I would
rather hear 'Norah, the Pride of Kildare,' or 'The Maid of
Llangollen,' because, I suppose, those young women are more in my
line. You see, I shouldn't care to make the acquaintance of a gorgeous
creature with black hair and a train of yellow satin half a mile long,
who tosses up a gilt goblet when she sings a drinking-song, and then
gets into a frightful passion about what one doesn't understand.
Wouldn't you rather meet the 'Maid of Llangollen' coming along a
country road--coming in by Marazion over there, for example--with a
bright print dress all smelling of lavender, and a basket of fresh
eggs over her arm? Well--What was I saying? Oh yes!, Don't you think
if you were away in the Adriatic, and sitting up on deck at night, you
would make the people have a quiet cry when you sang 'Home, Sweet
Home'? The words are rather silly, aren't they? But they make you
think such a lot if you hear them abroad."
"And when are you going away?--this year, Mr. Trelyon?" Wenna said,
looking down.
"Oh, I don't know," he said cheerfully: he would have no question of
his going away interfere with the happiness of the present moment.
At length, however, they had to bethink themselves of getting back,
for the western skies were deepening in color and the evening air was
growing chill. They ran the small cutter back to her moorings: then
they put off in the small boat for the shore. It was a beautiful,
quiet evening. Wenna, who had taken off her glove and was allowing
her bare hand to drag through the rippling water, seemed to be lost in
distant and idle fancies not altogether of a melancholy nature.
"Wenna," her mother said, "you will get your hand perfectly chilled."
The girl drew back her hand and shook the water off her dripping
fingers. Then she uttered a slight cry. "My ring!" she said, looking
with absolute fright at her hand and then at the sea.
Of course they stopped the boat instantly, but all they could do was
to stare at the clear, dark water. The distress of the girl was beyond
expression. This was no ordinary trinket that had been lost: it was a
gage of plighted affection given her by one now far away, and in his
absence she had carelessly flung it into the sea. She had no fear of
omens, as her sister had, but surely, of all things in the world, she
ought to have treasured up this ring. In spite of herself, tears
sprang to her eyes. Her mother in vain attempted to make light of the
loss.
And then at last Harry Trelyon, driven almost beside himself by seeing
the girl so plunged in grief, hit upon a wild fashion of consoling
her. "Wenna," he said, "don't disturb yourself. Why, we can easily get
you the ring. Look at the rocks there: a long bank of smooth sand
slopes out from them, and your ring is quietly lying on the sand.
There is nothing easier than to get it up with a dredging machine: I
will undertake to let you have it by to-morrow afternoon."
Mrs. Rosewarne thought he was joking, but he effectually persuaded
Wenna, at all events, that she should have her ring next day. Then he
discovered that he would be just in time to catch the half-past six
train to Plymouth, where he would get the proper apparatus, and return
in the morning.
"It was a pretty ring," said he. "There were six stones in it, weren't
there?"
"Five," she said. So much she knew, though it must be confessed she
had not studied that token of Mr. Roscorla's affection with the
earnest solicitude which most young ladies bestow on the first gift of
their lovers.
Trelyon jumped into a fly and drove off to the station, where he sent
back an apology to Mr. Grainger. Wenna went home more perturbed than
she had been for many a day, and that not solely on account of the
lost ring.
Everything seemed to conspire against her and keep her from carrying
out her honorable resolutions. That sail in the afternoon she could
not well have avoided, but she had determined to take some;
opportunity of begging Mr. Trelyon not to visit them again while they
remained in Penzance. Now, however, he was coming next day, and
whether or not he was successful in his quest after the missing ring,
would she not have to show herself abundantly grateful for all his
kindness?
In putting away her gloves she came upon the letter of Mr. Roscorla,
which she had not yet answered. She shivered slightly: the handwriting
on the envelope seemed to reproach her. And yet something of a
rebellious spirit rose in her against this imaginary accusation; and
she grew angry that she was called upon to serve this harsh and
inconsiderate task-master, and give him explanations which humiliated
her. He had no right to ask questions about Mr. Trelyon. He ought not
to have listened to idle gossip. He should have had sufficient faith
in her promised word; and if he only knew the torture of doubt and
anxiety she was suffering on his behalf--She did not pursue these
speculations farther, but it was well with Mr. Roscorla that she did
not at that moment sit down and answer his letter.