"DARK ROLL THE DEEPENING DAYS..."
In the very circumscribed limits of shipboard it is difficult enough for
any two people who want to avoid each other to do so. Given, however,
two who are, even in spite of themselves, animated by no such wish, the
thing is well-nigh impossible.
Thus it proved to these two. Roden Musgrave, for all his steel-plated
armour of pride, for all his strength of purpose, was conscious of a
weak place, of a joint in his harness. Deep down in his heart was a
great craving, even for a little while, for the old time as it had been.
Again he reviewed all that had gone before; again he began to find
excuses for her. She had been startled, shocked, horrified. She had
been "got at" by Suffield, who, he feared, was at heart a bit of a
sneak. Moreover, he himself had hustled, had scurried her too
impetuously. A little further time for reflection, for accustoming
herself to the--it must be owned rather startling--idea, and she would
have acted very differently. He had expected too much--had
unconsciously fallen back into the old, old blunder of his salad days,
expecting to find something of the nature of an angel; discovering, of
course, only a woman.
Not all at once did he come round to this change of opinion. He could
not forget that she had believed the charge against him in its
entirety--believed that he had treacherously slain a comrade for the
sake of robbery; and a very paltry robbery at that. That she should
believe him guilty of the homicide was nothing; but of theft! No, that
he could never forgive.
Yet as they sat at table three times a day--sat facing each other--her
demeanour was hardly that of one who believed him capable of anything so
despicable; and soon, all unconsciously, the cynical ring faded from his
tone; the drift of his remarks became no more than normally biting. And
often, as though, by some strange, sweet magnetism, it would seem to
those two that they were making conversation for themselves alone,
talking to each other with a kind of subtle understanding imperceptible
to the rest, even when the talk was general.
The captain was right in congratulating himself upon having a snug
corner for the voyage. This is just what it was, notwithstanding the
vicinity of a bore or so, providentially not quite near enough to put
idiotic questions very often. And to two, at any rate, the sound of the
bell was a welcome one, though for a widely different reason to that
which caused the residue to hail its distracting clamour. For it
brought them together for a space.
Only for a space! They might have been together all day and every day
had they so wished it. Yet they were never seen together alone. Other
couples in plenty, philandering in cane chairs during the torrid heat of
the day, pacing the deck by starlight, or leaning against the taffrail
rather close together when the moon rose over the sheeny, liquid plain;
but these two, never. They would converse, but always in the presence
of that third person which in such instances is jocularly supposed to
constitute "a crowd." Sometimes, indeed, the good-natured third person,
actuated by the best intentions, would drop out of it, not
ostentatiously either. But then it was not long before Roden found some
excuse for transferring his presence elsewhere.
Now as the days went by Mona began to grow bitter and reckless. To her,
too, the appearance of this man on board the _Scythian_ had come with
the shock of a mighty surprise. Her voyage to England was being
undertaken indirectly through his agency, for such a depression and
lowness of spirits had been the result of her high-strung efforts at
unconcern as seriously to undermine her health; and, as a last resource,
she had resolved upon that change which to the Colonial-born woman is
the most welcome of all--a trip to the Old Country. And here on board
this ship, under circumstances which would bring them together daily for
at least three weeks, she had found him again, and--he would have none
of her.
Had she not shown him how bitterly she repented her demeanour on that
day; shown him by word, by look, by every subtle tenderness which she
knew so well how to import into both? But of telling him so in plain
language he seemed determined to afford her no opportunity. There were
moments when she thought of punishing him by arousing his jealousy, if
he had got one spark of that evil combustible within him. It was easily
done; there was no lack of material to hand. But, fortunately, she
recollected that he had not--except in the form of unmitigated
contempt--and that however such a plan might answer with some men, with
this one its only result could be to fix the gulf between them more
irrevocably wide than ever. For the first time in her life Mona found
herself unpopular with the opposite sex; for not by any representative
of it as there gathered together could she be induced to indulge in
moonlight walks, or protracted sitting out when dancing was forward, or,
in short, in the barest suspicion of any approach to a flirtation
whatsoever.
Towards Lambert she made no attempt to conceal her dislike, her
detestation; and this she was able to indulge on the pretext of being
well aware why he had selected this ship for his own trip home. So,
seeing that she would have nothing to say to him, he desisted, and
retired in snarling exasperation. But he consoled himself by watching
her and Roden Musgrave on every available opportunity. The latter, in
his surprise, he had at first greeted with a stiff, jerky nod, which had
not been returned. Looking him straight in the eye Roden had cut him
dead. Furious with jealous hatred and impotent spite, Lambert vowed an
easy revenge. The murder story. It would be just as effective here as
at Doppersdorp. Yet--would it? And Lambert remembered uneasily that
his own word was all he had to go upon here. Never expecting to see
Roden again he had left the papers with Mr Shaston. On the whole, he
decided to let that story alone for the present. But whatever Lambert
might or might not think fit to do mattered not twopence to Roden
Musgrave.
The latter seemed to get through his time without an effort. He read a
good deal and chatted a little, took a passive part in anything that was
got up, whether as appreciative audience at charade or theatrical, or
contributing his quotum to the sweepstake upon the daily run, diligently
organised by Israel and Judah. He passed many an evening in Captain
Cheyne's cabin, where these two cynics would sharpen their sardonic wit
upon the grindstone of their species. In short, he seemed to be laying
himself out for a good time generally, and to have it. But all the
while the iron was in his soul; for the days were going by with flying
rapidity, and each day brought the parting nearer.
The parting? Why, they had not yet met, not in reality, at least.
Well, it was better so, he told himself. He had to face the world
afresh. He was in worse plight than a year ago, infinitely worse. What
prospect did life hold out? A straggle, and a profitless one. Faith in
all things shattered and dead--what remained?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Would you like to hear the circumstances under which I killed John
Denton?"
Mona started from the taffrail over which she had been leaning, and
turned--her heart thumping. She was alone, and it was night. She had
not heard his approach. Her first intimation of it was the voice--low,
even, and clear.
"You--you did kill him, then?" she faltered, her eyes dilating in the
starlight.
"But I did not rob him."
"Oh, could you not see? could you not see? I never believed that, never
really. Have I not shown you that much; here, since we meet again?
Tell me, tell me--did you ever love me, really love me? You are too
strong, too self-contained, too unbelieving. You do not know what it is
to love, to love really!"
She had caught both his hands, and was wringing them to and fro in a
vice-like grip, as she sobbed forth those wild, rapid sentences in a
tone that was indescribably passionate and despairing. It seemed as
though she were afraid of losing him if she relaxed her hold for a
moment. This, the first time for all these days, the first time they
had been alone together--if anybody can be said ever to be alone in so
limited a space as that afforded by a ship--she was in an agony of dread
lest the opportunity should slip away from her, never to recur. The
stem of one of the ship's boats, swung in upon chocks, made, with the
taffrail, quite a snap little corner. The decks were nearly deserted,
for there had been heavy tropical showers throughout the day, rendering
the planking steamy and damp.
"To love, did you say? What _is_ love?" he rejoined coldly, scarcely
even bitterly. But beneath the now fast yielding crust the molten fires
were raging. "Too strong, too self-contained did you say? Well for me
that I am. But if you would care to hear that episode I will tell it
you--now."
She made no answer beyond a bend of the head. Why did he torture her
thus? He was exacting to the last fraction a truly terrible revenge.
For were he murderer, midnight robber, twenty times over, it made no
difference to her now. She loved him, as that six months of separation,
final as she thought it, had taught her how she could love. And he,
triumphing in his strength, in his ultra-human, well-nigh demoniacal
capacity for self-control, he was tearing her very heart strings. It
was a refinement of cruelty. Yet her only fear was lest this meeting--
they two, alone together at last--should be shortened by a single
moment. Still she kept tight hold of his hands, half-mechanically now.
The vessel was gliding smoothly through the oily waters of the tropical
sea: the clang of the engines, the throb of the propeller, the soft wash
of the wave from her stem, the only sounds. The surface was flooded
with patches of phosphorescent light, and here and there in the dim
offing hung a dark and heavy rain-cloud.
"The facts are very ordinary and soon told," he began. "Denton was a
distant relative of mine, and we had grown up close friends from
boyhood. Then we became rivals--in love, you understand--and I was the
favoured one, for I was well off in those days. I believed in people
then--a little--consequently the last thing I dreamt of was to suspect
Denton of being the thief and liar he afterwards turned out. He had the
management of all my affairs, for he was a little older than I, and
shrewd and clever; and, as he afterwards told me, in pursuance of a set
purpose of revenge he started to ruin me. He succeeded, too, and that
very soon, and so completely as to divert pretty nearly all that had
belonged to me into his own pocket; so craftily too, that the law was
powerless to touch him. For I was something bad in the way of a fool in
those days, and trusted everybody. Well, I stood ruined; a very
ordinary and every-day occurrence.
"Then I began to find out the real meaning of the word, love--the real
worth of tenderness and passion and inexhaustible vows. I have found
out since on more than one occasion, but it did me no harm, because then
I knew what the upshot would be, and merely stood by watching into which
hole the solitaire marble would find its end, and laughed. That first
time though, it hurt. It was badly done, too; badly and heartlessly,
and after a while John Denton stepped into my shoes. All this, of
course, took some little time; but it is commonplace enough, so I pass
over, it quickly.
"Well, I had learned a thing or two by then, so I made no sign that I
even felt I had been wronged. I took a leaf out of their book, and
professed great friendliness still. You know--the frank and
can't-be-helped sort of article. I meant to lie low and wait, but I
meant to be even with master John one of these days. So I went to
America, and led a strange, hard, knock-about life for some time. I was
in the thick of it through '66 and '67, when all the Plains tribes were
out on the war-path; and it was in one of those ructions that I came by
that queer double scar, for it was chipped out by an Indian arrow whose
tip had become curiously split.
"Well, I was watching my opportunity, and it came at last; came earlier
than I expected. Denton soon got into difficulties, for he was an awful
gambler, and lost pretty nearly all he was worth; all that should have
been mine. What easier than to induce him to come out West? There were
always openings there. For, mind you, I had remained on outwardly
friendly terms with him.
"He came, and from the moment he did so, I determined to kill him, not
as I eventually did, that was more than three parts accident, but in
fair stand-up fight. The worst of me is I am of the most vindictive
temperament in the world, I cannot forgive--still less could I then. We
went into all sorts of things together, but all the time I hated him--
all the time I was only watching my opportunity.
"I meant that he should meet me in fair fight, that we should stand an
even chance. But that night at Stillwell's Flat, when he came back
after a successful gamble, more self-sufficient, more overbearing than
ever, I could hold back no longer. I proposed to him that we should
fight it out--a duel _a outrance_. But he came at me unawares, swearing
I wanted to plunder him of his winnings; came at me with an axe. We had
a desperate struggle, an awful struggle. It was touch and go with
either of us, and then all the devils in me were let loose as I thought
of what he had done. I killed him--killed him without mercy.
"I will spare you a repetition of the detail, which to you would be
horrible; and it was horrible. Yet, even then I did not regret it, nor
have I ever done so since. But the instinct of self-preservation arose
at once. Had he fallen in an open and daylight quarrel, sympathy would
have been with me, or at any rate I should have been held harmless. But
there was a dark and murderous look about a secret and midnight deed,
which would in all probability mean swift and unreasoning retribution.
So by way of obscuring the trail I hid away the money, thinking, like
the fool I was, that that would divert suspicion from myself, that no
one would suspect _me_ of killing a man for the sake of a few hundred
dollars. Another idea occurred to me. The Sioux were `bad' around
there just then. By putting their mark upon the body--the throat
cutting--I might throw the suspicion on to them. Then I departed,
intending to return shortly and affect unbounded surprise. But I fell
in with a war-party, and was clean cut off from the settlements; and the
running I had to make for nearly two weeks right through the Indian
country simply bristles with marvels. Well, the affair was after all a
very commonplace instance of vendetta, with no sordid motive underlying
it. There the dollars are still; I could put my hand upon them at any
moment, unless, that is to say, somebody else has already done so, which
isn't probable. Now you have the whole story, and can hardly be
surprised that I had learned caution, and was not one to give away all
my life's history to the latest comer."
Mona made no reply; she could not at first. The wild ecstasy of joy
with which she listened to this revelation was too great--for she
believed every word of it, only wondering how she could ever have
believed anything to the contrary. It resolved itself into a mere
accidental affair, a tussle--a fight for life. Moreover, she could
hardly realise it. The thing had happened so far away, so long ago,
that the recital of it seemed more like a book narrative, a story at
second hand, than the confession of a terrible deed of blood at the lips
of him who had perpetrated it. There were a few moments of silence as
they stood gazing at each other's faces in the darkness. Then came a
startling interruption. A whirring rush through the air, and something
fell--plashed down upon them where they stood. One of the heavy showers
hanging about in pillar-like clouds was overhead, and now it fell. To
the shrill whistle of the boatswain's pipe a squad of sailors came
tumbling aft, springing like monkeys on to the taffrail, casting loose
the lashings of the awning. Down it came with a rush, the roaring,
hissing, tropical rain, each spout as it struck the dark, oily surface
of the sea throwing up rings and globes of phosphorescent light till it
seemed that the whole expanse was one mass of wreathing, glimmering
tongues of flame--a scene of weird and marvellous beauty.
Even in the moment it took these two to reach the shelter of the
companion, so vehement was the downpour that they were not a little wet.
They had the deck to themselves, however, for in anticipation of
something of the kind, most of the passengers preferred the dry comfort
of the smoking-room or saloon. From the latter came up now snatches of
talk and laughter, but it was late, and most were already for turning
in. Still these two lingered, looking forth upon the sea hissing into
flame with the discharge of the cloud-torrent.
How would that interview have ended but for this inopportune
interruption? Were the very heavens fighting against them? thought
Mona, with a sick pain at her heart. But still the fountains of the
skies roared down, streaming over the decks, carried in seething
torrents along the scuppers. Not again could they venture forth
to-night. Long before the state of the deck would allow of it, even if
the rain cleared off, it would be too late.
"I must go below," she said at last. "They are putting out the lights
already. Good-night. I shall see you again in the morning."
This was obviously a superfluous statement; yet there was a meaning in
the words as she uttered them--a volume of meaning--gratulation that
such was the case, that the ice was broken, that the past was healed, or
nearly so--ah! a world of meaning. Then they clasped hands; the first
time since they had met on board. Was there a lingering, clinging
pressure in that grasp--on the part of one--on the part of both? It may
have been so.
Mona went down to her cabin, of which, the crowded state of the ship
notwithstanding, she by favour enjoyed sole possession. There, alone,
her mind went over all that had passed between them during that all too
short interview. Why had that miserable interruption been allowed? It
was too bad, it was heart-breaking, she thought resentfully, as she
dried the wet, curly rings in her hair where that first detestable
rain-splash had left them. Then a strange, eerie sense of apprehension
came upon her, just such a feeling as had tormented her that night at
Quaggasfontein, a heavy foreboding of evil, combined with present and
personal fear. Then it had proved a true one--but now? Her nerves were
all unstrung. Her reflection as she saw it in the glass was haggard and
heavy-eyed. There was a weird ghostliness about the phosphorescent
water lapping so softly without, and stifling as the tropical heat was,
she felt almost tempted to close the scuttle, as her fancy pictured
nameless horrors--cold, slimy tentacles entering through the aperture,
feeling their way around the cabin in the darkness. And throughout all
these nerve-tormenting apprehensions mingled the dull, aching sense of
loss.
To such a pitch was she wrought up, that there was left but one way of
ensuring the sleep she needed. Out came that phial again.--No
hesitation this time; the process had acquired a certain familiarity.
Holding the bottle to the light, she measured out the drops, adding
somewhat to the usual portion. The effect was well-nigh instantaneous.
A sudden drowsiness came over her. Still wrapped in her dressing-gown,
she sank down, already half-unconscious, upon the outside of the bed,
and slept--slept hard and dreamlessly.