"LOYOLA"
Meanwhile Jack wandered off along the shore with bent head and
stumbling feet, not knowing nor caring where he went, for his brain was
seething in a ferment.
The news which Bill Benson had given him racked the distracted man
almost beyond the limit of endurance. His heart leaped at one moment to
a fierce, delirious joy, to be cast down the next into the very depths
of despair.
Then a rage seized him, a wild, ungovernable fury, which shook his
weak, overstrained body to the very core, till he was forced to sink
upon the sand from sheer physical inability to remain erect. Hot,
passionate words rushed in a low, hoarse whisper from his cracked
lips; the blind eyes sparkled with a gleam of almost madness, and the
emaciated hands clenched and unclenched ceaselessly.
Slowly the paroxysm passed; a look of dreadful sadness came into the
eyes, and a long, dry sob broke huskily from his lips.
"What shall I do? Oh, God! what shall I do?" he wailed miserably.
"Kill the devil!" whispered a voice within him.
"No! no!" interposed another. "Let him be. It's none of your business.
She made her bed and must lie on it. She cast you aside, and now you
have no right to interfere."
"But she loved me--I know she did. Even at that last meeting, when I
like a fool lost my temper, even then I saw the love in her eyes," he
whispered softly; then with a deep, bitter groan, "My God! why did she
do it? Why did she do it? And that beast, of all men. And now--what
now, I wonder?"
The rover sat silent in an unnatural calm. He was hidden from the group
of men round the whaleboat by a clump of cocoa-palms, jutting down on
to a sort of promontory from the main grove.
Suddenly his ears, sharpened by his blindness, caught the sound of
approaching footsteps. With his head on one side in the attitude of
listening, he waited, cool without, but a very whirlwind of excitement
within; for as they drew nearer he recognised the soft tread of those
unknown feet.
Yes, it was! At last she was coming! This one thought filled him and
set his heart beating to suffocation. The strangeness of the meeting
on this lonely atoll of the two who had separated under such tragic
circumstances, he did not realise at the time.
A great, overpowering longing to see her and touch her filled the
blind man. How slowly she was approaching! Would she never reach him?
What if she did not see him--should he shout? No, that might bring the
hated Hawksley from the lagoon, which would never do. Jack desired of
all things that this first meeting between the two should be private.
Besides, he mistrusted himself with Hawksley; he knew there was murder
in his heart crying for accomplishment, and at the very thought his
fingers crooked significantly.
No, assuredly it would not do to risk drawing Hawksley's attention.
Should he rise to his feet and stumble forward to meet her? The
knowledge of his blindness struck him like a blow. He dreaded the
moment when she should find it out. "How would she take it?" he
wondered miserably. No, he dared not blunder upon her like a drunken
beachcomber. His manhood rose in rebellion. He desired most fervently
to hide from her this tragedy which fate had put upon him, this fearful
calamity which destroyed his strength and nerve and scourged his pride
through his utter helplessness.
So the sorely-tried man waited, crouching on his knees.
Coming slowly through the clump of palms was a white woman, clad in a
creamy dress of some silken texture, with a wide-brimmed panama perched
upon a wavy mass of dark brown hair, which shone like gold where the
sunbeams kissed it.
Her face was of a dead white, and the beautiful features were thin and
drawn, whilst her brown eyes, ringed in black circles and filled with a
look of piteous sadness, seemed too big for the rest of the face.
As she reached the edge of the sand and espied the rolling-stone, an
involuntary cry broke from her lips. For a second she stood stock
still, whilst a look of amazement crept into her eyes.
Then, satisfied that her vision was playing her no trick, she advanced
into the open, restraining with difficulty a passionate desire to rush
forward and throw herself at the blind man's feet.
And then, as she drew nearer to this man whom she had treated so
badly, though from no fault of her own, but through sheer force of
circumstances, a strange hesitation filled her. Her heart, beating
suffocatingly, urged her forward and yet dragged her back at the same
time; her feet lagged, then hurried, then lagged again, whilst her
hands twined themselves together nervous and shaking.
At last she stood before him, looking down upon his haggard,
storm-lined features, from which the blind eyes stared up vacantly with
an expression which even in her agitation she could not help but notice.
"You, Jack--you?" she began softly, and her voice trembled in spite of
a great endeavour to keep it steady.
"Yes, me, Loyola," came the reply; but how dull, how indifferent, how
hard and cold were the well-known tones.
An icy chill crept shuddering down her back at the sound of this
strange new voice, so different to the one she had been used to in the
old happy days, now so far away, so long ago, though not in time.
The pallor of her face took on a greyish tinge and the sadness in her
eyes deepened.
There was no forgiveness, as there was no hope. Why should she expect
it? Ah! but what a difference it would have made to her! How it would
have helped her to bear her fate!
For a second she tottered on the verge of a breakdown, and then
rallied, drawing upon that splendid woman's courage which enables such
as her to stand and bear with fate where others would fall and be
crushed.
Bravely she forced herself to continue, beating down the misery and
despair which the cold tones of his voice had raised within her.
"And what are you doing here, Jack?"
"Tossed ashore by the capricious sea. I might ask you the same
question, had I not already heard your story."
"Not from--Hawksley?" She stumbled miserably over her husband's name,
and then with a sudden fear cast an uneasy look over her shoulder.
"No; the bluejacket," said Jack's even voice, and he got slowly to his
feet.
"Won't you--won't you even shake hands, Jack?" pleaded the woman in her
low, sad voice. "I know you won't forgive me, and I don't expect you
to; but----"
It was the "but," the misery, the despair, the utter hopelessness, and
yet the passionate entreaty in that last little word which conquered
Jack's iron-bound soul and swept away his righteous indignation at a
treatment which had spoiled his life.
He was touched; that "but" weighed down the scales on the side of his
love, till his grievance, his outraged feelings, and the resultant
misery leaped from him lightly as a feather.
"Why, of course I will. And as for forgiving you, I've forgiven you
long ago."
The new warmth in his voice brought a bright flush of pleasure to the
woman's face.
"Oh, Jack," she began; but stopped, watching with slowly growing
amazement whilst the blind man tried to find her outstretched hand.
What was the matter with Jack? Why did he paw the air in that uncertain
fashion, instead of grasping the hand she extended to him?
Anxiously she looked at him, unable to fathom his strange action; then
took his wavering hand in hers and held it, a great comfort and a new
joy springing up within her.
What surer sign of friendship, of love, of deep understanding than a
firm hand-grasp?
His bony fingers closed on her slender ones with a grip that made her
wince, and a sudden light lit up his dull eyes.
And so they stood for one long minute of time, hand in hand.
The sun played upon them, lighting the woman's hair with sparkles of
yellow fire, and warmed the tired bodies with its tender glow, just
as the content of this tardy but complete reconciliation warmed their
tired souls.
The long rollers boomed a deep note of approval as they surged
shorewards in snowy foam, and the gentle breath of the trade wind
touched them caressingly with its invisible fingers.
The very sands flashed their delight up at them, and the swaying
palm-tops rustled with a drowsy murmur of satisfaction.
Often thus does nature seem to tune herself in accord with the feelings
and emotions of mankind.
In that moment the sinister barrier of misunderstanding, which for so
long had stood gloomy, forbidding, impassable, had been removed from
between their hearts, and the very air, the sea, the earth, the waving
foliage, the shining sand rejoiced thereat.
But as the cowboy would say, "You can't buck against destiny."
Destiny had tied a knot--a huge, cruel, untieable knot--which held the
lives of these two apart, set though they were in the same web of fate.
Bitterness, doubt, misery had been the direct result; but now, by the
aid of that little winged cherub who plays such pranks with most lives,
the bitterness, the doubt, the misery, all had been swept aside--only
the knot remained.
With a long sigh of thankfulness Loyola murmured gently,
"You do forgive me, Jack?"
"I do, I do, child," he replied, the hardness all gone from his voice.
"I don't know why you did it. Only this I know, it was no fault of
yours. Fate in some way stepped in between us, and--and--and I can feel
it in the air"--he lifted his head and drew a long, deep breath--"I
feel that we are still the friends, the----" he stopped, hesitating,
flushed, and a tender light glowed in the blind eyes.
"Yes, Jack?" she whispered, longing to hear the word he had left
unspoken.
"Who used to be so fond of each other," he ended lamely.
"But," cried the woman eagerly, "I must tell you why I did it. I did
it----"
"Don't tell me, Lolie; I don't want to hear. I know now you must have
had some good reason, that is enough for me. We can still be friends."
"But I must, I must. I did it to save Big Harry, poor old dad. He
was caught in Hawksley's clutches and I sold myself to save him,
and--and--and it was all no use," she sobbed. "He had cheated the pair
of us. It broke dad's heart, and he died two months after you left the
schooner."
"My God! If I had only known!" groaned the man, with miserable
self-reproach. "And that's why! and that's why! I might have guessed
something of the sort if I hadn't been such a cursed, jealous fool."
"I treated you shamefully, Jack," she whispered brokenly. "I ought
to have given you a reason, but I couldn't. Shame held my tongue,
and I let you go away without a word; but--but God knows I've been
bitterly punished. No one could imagine what I have suffered with that
demon--aye, and must continue to suffer."
"Can't anything be done, Lolie?"
"I must brave it out to the end, I suppose, as others have done before
me," she muttered drearily.
"Something shall be done!" cried Jack cheeringly.
His old confidence was coming back to him. Now that the mystery of
Loyola's strange marriage was cleared up, and he was no longer in doubt
that she still loved him, a mighty flood of gladness was surging up
within him.
For the present this newly gained knowledge was sufficient. Who knew
what the future might not bring forth? At any rate her love was his;
that, Hawksley could have no part in.
As for Hawksley, he despised Hawksley. Let the ruffian take care.
Snakes were only fit for stamping on, and Jack began to see himself
stamping on Hawksley with a keen satisfaction.
So the rover mused, whilst Loyola stood by his side, watching him.
"And now," he proposed, "I'll give you a sketch of the events which
landed me on this coral spit, after which we'll plan out the future."
And, standing there in the glaring sunlight, Jack plunged into a
recital of his late adventures, whilst Loyola listened without comment
until he came to the part the moon had played.
At the news of his blindness an involuntary cry broke from her, the
shock of the quiet announcement struck her like a blow. Her Jack, dear
old Jack of the happy _Moonbeam_ days, blind? No, it could not be! Fate
was cruel, as she well knew, but not as cruel as that. Leaning forward,
she placed her hands on his shoulders and peered into the blind eyes,
as if she would reassure herself by their appearance.
She saw no difference in them, no difference from the eyes she used to
know. It could not be! Jack was mistaken, and yet, how could a man be
mistaken as to whether he could see or not?
Again she peered desperately, her face within an inch of his. Jack
could feel her soft breath on his cheek; her lips, half opened in her
excitement, seemed to be touching his moustache; the slightest movement
forward on his part and they would be against his.
Never had the man been so tempted. At the same moment a wolfish head
poked stealthily through the brushwood, and a pair of cruel, cunning
eyes glared forth angrily upon the scene.