"MR. LISLE HAS GIVEN ME A RING."
"Vouchsafe to wear this ring."
_Richard III._
FOR several days after this startling occurrence, Miss Denis did not
appear in public. She would gladly have denied herself to all visitors
save Mrs. Home; but who could shut out Mrs. Creery? She penetrated
to Helen's room, and from thence issued daily bulletins to the whole
station in this style,—
"The girl was knocked up; her nerves were unstrung. She was in a very
weak state. She required rousing!"
Miss Caggett also forced her way in, and imparted to her friends and
acquaintances "that, from what she saw of the invalid, it would never
surprise _her_ to hear that there was insanity in the Denis family, and
SHE would not be astonished if she was going off her head!"
This affair had given Mrs. Creery something fresh to talk about, and
she related the whole story at least thrice separately to every one
in Ross, and as often as she had the opportunity to the people from
the out-stations. On each occasion she added a little touch here, and
detail there, till by the end of a week it was as thrilling a narrative
as any one would wish to hear. Mrs. Creery flattered herself that she
told a story uncommonly well; so also said public opinion—but then
their reading of the word _story_ was not exactly the same as hers. She
had brought herself to believe that she had been the only person on
the wreck who had evinced any presence of mind, and it would take very
little to persuade her that she herself had been in personal conflict
with Aboo—Aboo who had been duly hanged at Viper on the succeeding
Monday morning! She now commenced all conversations with,—
"Of course you have heard of my terrible adventure on the wreck? and
the marvellous escape we all had?" and then, before she could be
interrupted, the rehearsal was in full swing. This intrepid, loquacious
lady entirely ignored Mr. Lisle, of whom Dr. Malone reported that
he was nearly convalescent, the cuts from Aboo's knife were healing
rapidly, and that he was going about as usual at Aberdeen.
Mr. Lisle was among Helen's first visitors; and he came alone. He wore
his arm in a sling—this gave him quite an interesting aspect,—and
carried a small parcel in his hand. He was struck, as he entered the
drawing-room, with Miss Denis's altered appearance; her face was thin
and white, and her eyes had a startled, sunken look. They shook hands
in silence, and for quite a moment neither of them spoke. At last he
said,—
"I hope you are all right again?"
"Yes, thank you. And your arm?"
"Is well; this sling is only Malone's humbug. I have heard of you daily
from him—our mutual medical attendant, you know—and would have been
over before, only he said you saw no one. I have brought you this."
"What is it? Oh, my sketch!"
"Yes, I fetched it from the wreck. I thought you might not like to lose
it."
"Oh, I don't care! I had forgotten it. But how _could_ you go back to
that horrible place?" and she shuddered visibly.
"Why not?"
She did not answer this question, but said in a rather husky voice,—
"Mr. Lisle, you remember what you said to papa. That was absurd. Only
for you I would not be sitting here now. No," raising her hand with a
deprecatory gesture as she saw that he was about to speak, "if you had
not come that time, I know in another moment I would have been dead."
"Was it so bad as all that? Well, but Miss Denis, that I should drag
that fellow off was a matter of course—that's understood. Do you think
any man would stand by and see that brute throttle a girl before his
face? But that you should interfere in my behalf was quite a different
affair—you know that. My life hung on a thread—I believe I was within
ten seconds of eternity. If you had not made that dash when you did, I
should have been a dead man. I owe my life to your courage."
"Courage! Oh, if you only knew how little I deserve the word! You would
not believe what a miserable coward I am. I actually tremble in the
dark; I dread to open a door—much less to look round a corner; in
every shadow I seem to see _Aboo's face_. I never, never could have
believed that in so short a time I should have sunk to such an abject
condition."
"You will get over it all right. It is the reaction. You will soon
forget it all," he answered reassuringly.
"I wish I could—all but your share in it. I shall never forget that!"
"Miss Denis," he answered gravely, "I am not good at making speeches,
like—" he was going to add Quentin, but substituted—"other people;
but whatever I say, I mean. I shall always remember that you stood by
me at a great crisis, just as a man might have done. If you were a man,
I would ask you to be my friend for life—and I am not a fellow of many
friends—but as it is—" and he hesitated.
"But as it is," she was the only girl he had ever cared two straws
about, and she was in love with James Quentin.
As it was, she repeated, surprised at this sudden pause, "I shall be
very glad to be your friend all the same." Then, with a sudden pang of
apprehension lest she had been over-bold, she blushed crimson, and came
to a full stop.
"Agreed, Miss Denis. If you ever want a friend—I speak in the fullest
sense of the word—remember our bargain, and that you have one in me."
The conversation had become so extremely personal that Helen was glad
to change it rather abruptly by saying,—
"I have something here belonging to you," opening her work-basket as
she spoke, and carefully unfolding from some tissue-paper the ring from
the wreck.
He received it from her in silence, turned it over several times in the
palm of his hand, and seemed to waver about something. At last he said
with an evident effort,—
"Would you think me very presumptuous if I asked you to keep it?"
The young lady looked at him with startled eyes and vivid colour.
What did he mean?
Observing her bewilderment, he added quickly,—
"Only as a memento of last Thursday—not to recall the whole hateful
business, but just to remind you," and he stammered—"of—a friend."
"I should like to have it, thank you; and I shall always keep it," she
replied, "and value it very much. Papa!" to her father, who had just
entered the room, "look here—Mr. Lisle has given me a ring!"
Colonel Denis started visibly, and was not unnaturally a good deal
amazed at this somewhat suggestive announcement. He liked Lisle far
better than Quentin. Despite of the latter's fascinating manners to
most, he scarcely noticed Colonel Denis during his constant visits; he
considered him a slow old buffer, left him to walk behind, elbowed him
out of the conversations, and altogether folded him up, and put him by.
Helen's parent was an easy-going gentleman, but he had his feelings,
and he did not care for Apollo, and he liked his pauper-friend Lisle;
nevertheless he was not prepared to give him Helen—indeed, he had
never dreamt of him as being one of her cloud of admirers, and he
looked very blank indeed to hear his daughter say, "Mr. Lisle has given
me a ring!" and saying it with such supreme _sang-froid_, as if it were
a matter of course!
Mr. Lisle read his host's face like a book, and saw that, for once in
his life, he was quite capable of uttering the word "No."
"It is only a queer old ring that I found on the wreck," he hastened
to explain. "It fell out from behind the wainscoting in the cabin,
and your daughter was looking at it, and in the subsequent confusion
carried it away. She wished to restore it to me now, but I have been
asking her to do me the honour of keeping it, as——"
"Certainly, certainly," interrupted the elder gentleman, greatly
relieved; "and so she shall, so she shall."
"It just fits me, papa," she said, slipping it on her third finger, and
holding it up for approval.
The two men gazed at it in silence, and made no verbal remark, but the
same thought occurred to both—assuredly that strange old ring had
never graced a prettier hand!
When Mr. Lisle had taken his departure, Colonel Denis said to his
daughter, as he picked up the _Pioneer_,—
"I like that fellow—uncommonly; there is no nonsense about _him_."
"So you should, papa, if you put any value on me."
"That is a thing apart, my dear. But I had always a fancy for Lisle,
for he reminds me of a very old friend of mine, who was killed in the
Mutiny. His name was not Lisle, but Redmond; but, all the same, the
likeness is something extraordinary, especially about the eyes—and
Lisle has his very laugh!"
"Which you do not often hear," remarked his daughter. "I'm sure Mr.
Lisle is a gentleman by birth,—no matter what Mrs. Creery says."
"What does she say?"
"That she is sure his mother was a Portuguese half-caste from
Chittagong."
"She be blessed!" angrily. "Lisle may have empty pockets, but he has
good blood in his veins."
"Mrs. Creery also says she notices——"
"She notices everything! If any one has a button off their glove, she
proclaims it on the house-top," rattling his paper irritably.
"I declare, papa!" pausing in the act of rubbing up the ring with her
handkerchief, "What do you think is in this ring?"
"A finger, of course," without lifting his head.
"No, you dear, silly old gentleman, but a motto, and I believe I can
make it out. Listen to this."
Colonel Denis looked over his paper, now all attention.
"It is rather faint, but," holding it close to her eye, "the first is a
big L. Love—me—Love me—and leave—"
"Love me and leave!" cried her father. "A pretty motto, truly! I could
do better than that myself!"
"Wait, here's another word. Now I have it; here it is, 'Love me and
leave me not.'"
"Show it!" holding out his hand. "It's one of those old posy rings.
Yes, there is a motto, but it was not intended for you, my young
lady——"
"Of course not, papa," colouring. "Mr. Lisle did not even see it." (We
would not be so sure of that.)
"I could not make out what you meant, Nell, when you told me so
suddenly that he had given you a ring—I declare, I fancied for a
second that—that—but of course it was utter nonsense,—and, of all
people, LISLE!"