When the great storms raged along the Atlantic coast, they sometimes
tossed a token into Diver's Bay. In more than one of the rude cabins
composing the fishermen's settlement memorials of shipwreck and disaster
might be found; and these memorials did not always fail to kindle
imagination, and to arouse soft feelings of pity for the calamities they
suggested.
One morning, that dawned bright and mild after a week of tempest,
Clarice Briton went out with her coarse basket to gather the sea-weed
tossed on the shore. She was the first child out that morning, and on
account of the late storm, which had prevented the usual daily work, the
harvest was a rich one.
There was always need that Clarice should work with her might when she
found work to do, and she now labored from dawn till sunrise, filling
her basket many times over, until the boards where she spread the weed
to dry were nearly covered. Then she threw herself down to rest by her
father's door. But when the sun was rising she went and sat among the
rocks, and watched the changing of the sky and water, and the flocks of
birds as they came screaming from their nests to dive among the waves
and mount beyond her sight among the mists of morning. She never tired
of watching them, or of gazing on these scenes. She knew the habits of
the shore birds, understood their indications and devices, and whatever
their movements foreboded concerning the weather. Clarice was also
versed in winds and clouds, and knew as well as the wise fishermen what
the north-wind had in store, and what the south-wind would give them.
While she sat resting a few minutes, and wondering that the other
children of the beach were so long in waking to the pleasant day,
suddenly, as she looked down along the rocks that lay between her and
the water, she saw lying near her feet, securely lodged by the waves
among the stones, a basket. It was a very different affair from that
other, lying a few paces off, with which she went about gathering
sea-weed. It was small, and light, and delicately woven,--embroidered,
too, with floss. When she bent forward and picked it up, long strings
of shiny weed dangled dripping from the handles,--and something beside;
for, as she attempted to remove the traces of wild voyaging, something
that was not weed resisted her efforts, and caused her to raise the lid.
As she did so, a chain, which had been partly secured by the closing of
the lid, was disengaged, and fell into her lap.
"What's that, Clarice?" said a voice just above her, as she in amazement
lifted the chain, and endeavored to free it from the weed.
"Oh, Luke, there must have been a wreck! See! I found it just here at
my feet," said Clarice, sorrowfully,--apparently not taken by surprise
by the sudden coming and speaking of Luke Merlyn; she did not even lift
her head, nor for an instant turn to him from what occupied her.
"There's a ring, too, I declare!" said Luke, coming down to her side;
and he took from her lap a small ring, in which was set a solitary
pearl;--the ring had dropped from the chain. "What next? Look in."
Clarice opened the basket again, and turned out the white silk lining,
which was soaking and stained with wild sea-travel. "That is all," said
she.
"That chain is a gold one," remarked Luke Merlyn. "There must have been
a wreck. Who do you suppose these things belonged to? Some lady? Look at
that basket now. She kept her trinkets in it. I suppose lots of 'em got
shook out by the way. I am glad it was you found it, Clarice. Just try
that ring on your finger now; I should think it might fit you."
He took up the ring and looked at Clarice, but she shrunk back
shuddering.
"Oh, no!--I should feel as if it would drag me down to the bottom of the
sea after the owner."
"It's the neatest thing I ever saw, though, Clarice. Look, what a pearl!
You must keep it for your own, any way, if you won't wear it. Nobody
about here is fit but you. The poor little basket, too,--poor little
ark!"
He took it up and looked it over, much as though it were a dead bird, or
some other pretty thing that once had life, and knew bow to enjoy it.
"Are you going out to-day, Luke?" asked Clarice.
"Don't you see I've got the net? Father will be down by the time I'm
ready. We are tired enough hanging about waiting for the blow to be
over."
"May-be you will see something," said Clarice, in an undertone. "If you
could only find out about the ship, and the poor passengers!"
"May-be," answered Luke,--saying this to comfort her. "Is your father
going out to-day?"
"He said he would, last night. I'm glad it came off so pleasant. See
how long this chain is!--a great many times longer than his big
watch-chain!"
"Worth fifty times as much, too."
"Is it?" said Clarice, looking up in wonder, almost incredulous;--but
then Luke had said it.
"This is gold. Come and walk down to the boat, Clarice. How many times
have you filled your basket this morning? You look tired. How did you
come to wake up so soon? I believe I heard you singing, and that was
what brought me out so quick."
"I haven't sung any, Luke," she answered, looking at him in wonder.
"Oh, yes!--I'm sure I heard you. I got up and looked out of my window;
there you were. You are the best girl around, Clarice! Come now, why
don't you say I'm the best fellow? Then we'll be even. I am, you know.
But then I want to hear you say so."
The merry fellow was in earnest, though he laughed. He blushed more
deeply than the girl,--indeed, she did not blush at all,--when he thus
spoke to her. She looked at him a little surprised.
"Come," said he, with gentle coaxing. "I know what you think. Speak out,
and make me feel happy, all the days of my life. If it wasn't that you
feel so about the ring--But why shouldn't you feel solemn about it? It
belonged to some beautiful lady, I suppose, who lies at rest in the
bottom of the sea by this time. _H.H._"--he read the initials engraved
on the clasp of the chain.
Clarice, who held the ring, inadvertently turned it that moment to the
light so that her eyes could not fail to perceive that two letters were
also written by a graver underneath the pearl. These letters likewise
were _H.H._ She gave the ring, to Luke, pointing to the initials.
"Yes, to be sure," said he, examining it with his bright eyes. "It's the
prettiest thing I ever saw. These letters must have stood for something.
Clarice,"--he hesitated a moment,--"Clarice, they might stand for
something yet, _Heart and Hand_. Here they are,--take them,--they're
yours,--my heart and my hand,--till Death comes between!"
"Don't talk that way, Luke," answered the girl, gravely. "Your father is
waiting for you, I'm sure."
But Luke did not believe that she was in such haste to be rid of him.
"He hasn't gone down yet. I've watched," said he. "He'd be willing to
wait, if he knew what I was saying. Besides, if you are in a hurry, it
won't take but a minute to say yes, Clarice. Will you take my heart and
my hand? Here is your ring."
Clarice took the ring and looked away; but, in looking away, her eyes
fell on Luke, and she smiled.
"It's the prettiest thing, that ring is, in the world, except you,
Clarice,"--so the smile made him speak.
"That's new for me," said the girl. "Talk sense, Luke."
"Handsome is that handsome does, say I. And if you a'n't the best
girl in the Bay, Clary, who is, then? When are you going to say yes?"
demanded the young fellow.
"Now," replied Clarice, suddenly.
"Have you taken my heart and hand?" asked the lad as quickly, his face
glowing with delight.
"Yes."
"To keep forever, Clarice?" It seemed, after all, incredible.
"Yes, Luke." And so speaking, the girl meant _yes, forever_.
Now this promise had not really taken either of these children by
surprise. They had long understood each other. But when they had given
a mutual promise, both looked grave. Clarice stood by the water's edge,
careless that time was passing. Luke was in no hurry for his father.
But at length a shrill voice called the girl. Dame Briton stood in the
cabin door, and her angry tongue was laden with reproaches ready for
utterance when Clarice should come within easier reach of her voice.
"I must go," said Clarice to Luke.
"I'll follow you, to-night. Don't work too hard," he answered. "Take
care of my heart, Clarice."
A storm broke upon Clarice when she went home to her mother. She bore
the blame of her idleness with tolerable patience, until it seemed as if
the gale would never blow over. At last some quick words escaped her:--
"Three bushels of weed lie there on the boards ready spread, and drying.
I gathered them before another creature was stirring in Diver's Bay."
Then she added, more gently, "I found something besides."
But though Dame Briton heard, she passed this last bit of information
without remark.
"Idling down there on the beach to see the boys off fishing!" she could
not help saying. "You needn't be up afore the break o' day for work like
that."
"It was Luke Merlyn."
"No matter."
"I showed him what I had found. Ask him if I'm ever too free. He'd know
as quick as anybody,--and care as much."
Clarice, while speaking this, had departed yet farther both in look and
voice from her usual serenity.
The dame let her last words pass without taking them up. She was by this
time curious.
"What did you find?" asked she.
Clarice showed the basket and the gold chain. Her mother handled both
with wondering admiration, asking many a question. At last she threw the
chain around her neck.
"It's gold," said she. "It's worth much. If you could pick up the like
of that every day, you might let the old weed-basket drift."
"I had rather gather weeds till my back was broken doing it, than ever
find another," said Clarice.
The dame took this for a child's exaggeration; observing which, Clarice
said, sadly,--
"Why, don't you see how it came to shore? There's been a wreck in the
storm last week. Oh, may-be I've found all that will tell of it!"
"What's that in your hand?" asked the dame, who spied the ring.
Clarice half opened her palm; she did not like to let the ring pass from
her keeping, and all this while she had stood doubting whether or not
she should show it to her mother.
Dame Briton took it quickly. The dull glitter of greedy eyes fell on the
mild lustre of the pearl, but found no reflection.
"A ring!" said she, and she tried to fit it to her little finger. It
would not pass the first rough joint.
"Try it," said she to Clarice.
"No," was the quiet answer. "But I will keep the ring. It must have been
a lady's. May-be it was a token."
"May-be it was.--If your father should take that chain to the Port,
he might make a handsome bargain,--if he was worth a snap at
bargains.--Here's something; what be these marks? look here, Clarice."