A REBUFF FOR ADONIS.
The next two days were stormy. It rained steadily; and, prevented by
the extreme roughness of the sea from going on deck, the passengers
lounged about in the close atmosphere below, till, growing weary of the
sound of their own voices, they lapsed into a dismal, moping condition.
Even Nina succumbed to the general wretchedness. They were crossing the
track of a gale that was cyclonic in its tendencies; and her husband
either could not or would not come below, not even for his meals or to
inquire after her.
Miss Marsden did not leave her room. Nina sat with her until she drove
her away, when she usually fell into the hands of the ever-waiting
Delessert. How strange that on the first day at sea she should have
thought one could never get tired of staring at his handsome face!
Alas! in his case, “beauty soon grows familiar, fades in the eye, and
palls upon the sense.” For he had nothing to sustain it, no manliness,
no energy. He often reminded the girl--horribly enough--of something
without life, a waxen image, a marble statue, even a dead man; so
perfectly emotionless, so soulless did he usually appear. What a
contrast he was to the forceful, hard-working man above, who did not
condescend to come to see her!
Nina’s conversations with the beauty tired her greatly: and yet she
kept them up, for she had shrewdness enough to perceive that Adonis
really admired her; that he made an effort to please her by keeping
above flattering, semi-flirting commonplaces; and also, most potent of
all, that he had some mysterious interest in her, connected with the
subject of her parentage.
True to her resolve, she would not ask him questions with regard
to this interest; and he did not volunteer information except
occasionally, and in the most delicate and blameless way. If by chance
she left the region of the ship and referred to some occurrence in
her former life, there would be in his manner a slight infusion
of animation, and he would drop some item of slight information.
Then she would hastily leave the subject, until her next lapse into
forgetfulness.
When Mrs. Grayley chose to leave the seclusion of her own room during
the two days of imprisonment below, Nina was faintly amused, for the
lady of middle age was consumed with admiration for Mr. Delessert.
Upon her appearance he was obliged to put all his small graces and
accomplishments on exhibition, and she fairly worried him to invent
devices for whiling away the tedium of the long hours.
When the weather permitted, and often when it did not, the piano was
resorted to; and Mr. Delessert was obliged to sing and play even at the
risk of rolling off the stool several times during the performance of
one piece. Upon these latter occasions, Mrs. Grayley always clapped her
lily-like hands and gaily assured him that never before, off the stage,
had she seen a man fall so gracefully.
He took her merriment not at all in good part, and usually wandered
away. But always to come back; for the other people on board, the men
especially, for some reason or other kept themselves severely away from
him. Captain Eversleigh, who at first had shown a slight preference for
his society, now, Nina noticed, never addressed him, but was constantly
with the tall youth Maybury.
On the evening of the last day of bad weather Nina was in Miss
Marsden’s room.
“It is eleven o’clock,” that young lady at last observed, “don’t you
think you would better go to bed?”
“Don’t send me away yet,” pleaded Nina; “tell me some more things about
yourself.”
The girl was kneeling by the lounge of her new-made friend; and,
lovingly throwing an arm around her feet, she listened to stories of
wanderings in Europe, until another half-hour had elapsed, when Miss
Marsden insisted upon her saying good night.
“Shall I send Marie with you?” she inquired, when Nina reluctantly
approached the door.
Nina darted a glance at the sleepy maid in the upper berth, shook her
head and hurried from the room. With a light heart she trotted down the
long passages. The Boston girl was a darling. She thoroughly approved
of her. She was far more interesting to talk to than that faultfinding
’Steban. She did not miss him at all. She was glad that she had in some
way offended him. She did not want to know what it was about. Very
likely he was jealous of that wretched man, Delessert; and she scowled
at his open cabin door that she was just passing.
A ray of light from it streamed out on the semi-dark passage; and as
her pattering footsteps approached, he himself stepped out.
Nina threw him a hasty glance as he stood in the doorway. His face was
deeply flushed and he was staring boldly at her. He had been drinking,
the scamp, and she shrugged her shoulders in scorn. Once or twice
before she had had her suspicions; now they were confirmed. And he had
left the door-post and was blocking the passage.
She must control herself and not show wrath. That had been Mrs.
Danvers’s instruction with regard to drunken tramps on the Rubicon
Meadows roads. “Don’t cross them, but placate them and then run,” and
Nina scanned the way behind him.
“What do you wish?” she asked, when he seemed to have some difficulty
in articulating a sentence.
He was standing gracefully flourishing one hand and trying to manage
his suddenly thickened tongue. “It is with regard to the name Nina
Stephana,” he said, at last. “May I offer an explanation?”
His words were more courteous than his glances, and Nina, forgetting
her caution, said, sharply, “No, I am in a hurry to go to my room.
Please let me pass.”
“Nina Stephana,” he continued, in a dense voice; then he paused in
order to adjust a trifling difficulty connected with balancing himself.
“Pretty name,” he went on, “brute of husband--stole child.”
Nina was not at all frightened. She became suddenly angry. He would
slander that absent husband, would he?
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she snapped at him; “a young man
like you to get drunk. What do you suppose will become of you when you
are old? _Will_ you let me go by? If you don’t--”
She was furious now, and although his brain was slightly clouded, he
took in her meaning. She had said that he was drunk. “Isn’t enough on
_Merrimac_ to overcome me,” he muttered. “Pretty girl, but insulting.
Must stand still, till apologise,” and one of his hands went weakly
wandering in search of hers.
She was so intent upon watching his face that he did manage to seize
one hand in his hot grasp, one of the hands that her ’Steban always
held--even when he had them against her will--as gently and cautiously
as if they were rose-leaves. The drunken scamp!
“Let that go at once,” she said, in a low, furious voice. “If you
don’t, I will call my husband and he will knock you down.”
If she had been less absorbed in the present scene, and had given one
glance behind her, she would have seen that husband coming down the
passage with measured tread. But her attention was fully concentrated
on her companion, and his on her; and the man behind stopped short as a
pink palm suddenly flew into the air and then descended mercilessly.
She was only a little thing, but she had plenty of courage, and was by
no means afraid of the tall young man bending over her; and there were
no half-way measures with her. She had slapped the aggressor in the
face, and had done it so successfully that he was glad to let her go.
With a curious dash of sympathy in the scorn with which he regarded the
tottering figure, Captain Fordyce moved toward him and laid a hand on
his shoulder: “Never mind her,--get into your room.”
Adonis was about to follow her, to endeavour to seize the wicked palm
and press it in punishment to his lips; but now he speedily changed his
mind, and in a shuffling manner proceeded to fall in with the advice
given.
Captain Fordyce went after him, said a few words in his ear, then he
stepped outside.
Nina had paused away down there in the half-darkness, and was looking
back. If her enemy had fallen, it would have been like her to return
and give him assistance. But now he had safely disappeared, and there
was her husband.
She did not like the expression of his face. How unfortunate that he
should have come on the scene just now! He would think that she had
been flirting with that miserable young man. Should she go back and
explain? No, she was afraid of that black Spanish temper. She would
wait until morning; and, wisely wagging her head, she scampered the
rest of the way to her room with the guilty air of a wanderer returning
home.
However, she loitered by the doorway and listened with ears in the air.
Her husband had followed her for some distance. Now he was going up a
near stairway and giving vent to his displeasure by that most common
and convenient of all methods,--violently banging a door. She shivered,
and with a pagan wish that some dire calamity might befall the young
man who had been the cause of her mortification, she went to bed.
For some reason or other she could not sleep. There was a thorn in her
pillow; and although she shook it vigorously, it would not be driven
out; therefore in impatient, healthy restlessness she lay awake, her
brain a jumble of thought, pierced occasionally by the clear, weird
sound of the boatswain’s whistle as it blew at intervals through the
long, long night.
At seven o’clock she got up, and, with a face “tinged with wan from
lack of sleep,” looked out the window. The storm was over. She had
scarcely noticed its subsidence during the night, but now she saw
that they had come to a glorious day. The air was keen and cool, the
eastern sky was adorned with crimson and gold streaks, the morning sun
was flashing on the deep green waves, and another quotation from her
school-books leaped into her mind.
“‘The waters burn
With his enkindling rays,
No sooner touched than they return
A tributary blaze.’”
Dazzled by the glare, she turned away; she reflected that, as Miss
Marsden had promised to take a walk with her before breakfast if the
day were perfectly fine, she would have ample opportunity to admire
the beauties of sea and sky from the vantage-ground of the deck. She
would also prefer to have her first meeting with her husband, after
the encounter of last night, away from the breakfast-table, and in the
presence of a third person.
Therefore she scrambled through her dressing, and in a very few minutes
closed her door behind her, and stepping outside, stumbled against
the stewardess, who was passing by. She received good-naturedly Nina’s
penitent apology, and asked her whether she was going on deck.
“You’d better have your rubbers, mem, and some one to hold on to. The
decks are awful wet. Have you heard about the capting?”
“What about him?” asked Nina, catching her breath.
“He had a bad fall last night.”
“A fall,--is he hurt?”
“Pretty bad, mem. He’s got a long cut down his cheek.”
Nina laid a hand on her heart, and leaned up against the wall. “When
did it happen?”
“Between eleven and twelve. You see he was walkin’ toward the bridge.
He didn’t notice a heavy sea boardin’. It knocked him down; he struck
an iron bar and lost some blood. But the doctor fixed him.”
“Is he--is he walking about?” asked Nina, with a white face, and
stammering as she usually did when much moved.
“Yes, mem, but I guess he’ll go to bed now it’s turned fine. He don’t
rest much in storms.”
Nina suddenly became absent-minded, and the woman took her departure.
Left alone, she indulged in a guilty shudder and a confused soliloquy.
Probably she had been the cause of this accident. ’Steban, horrified at
last evening’s escapade in which she had been so blameless, had rushed
on deck, and, blinded by rage, had forgotten to be watchful and had
been struck down. He might have been killed; in which case she would
have been the cause of his death.
In a transport of compassion and fear she drew her cloak about her and
clambered on deck. She paused in the doorway and looked out. Storms
leave their traces, and though the sky was so clear the sea had by no
means calmed down; and the _Merrimac_ rolled steadily from side to
side, her decks for the greater part of the time covered with water.
Nina could not get out. Planks about two feet high were placed on
the thresholds of the doors to keep the water from coming in. If she
ventured out it would be at the risk of being washed overboard. In
deep discontent she stared about her. No one passed until some sailors
came to heave the log. She watched the long line reeling out, then
mechanically counted the knots as it was pulled in. The cheerful “heave
ho” of the men’s voices prevented her from hearing some one splashing
through the water. Not until a shadow darkened the doorway did she
turn around. Captain Fordyce was just passing. His appearance was so
unexpected and so singular that it drew from her a nervous, hysterical
laugh.
The sickly hue of his face changed slightly, and he hastened his steps
to get away from the sound of her voice.
“Oh, how bad I am!” she ejaculated. “He will think I am making fun of
him, and I am so sorry. I must get out;” and, desperately climbing and
scrambling over the planks, she fell into a wave that was running down
the deck. The water surged coldly around her ankles; she felt herself
slipping. The sailors had finished their work and were going away. The
only person in sight was the rubber-clad form disappearing around a
distant capstan.
“Captain Fordyce!” she called, despairingly.
He apparently did not hear her.
“Captain Fordyce,” she cried, indignantly, “_will_ you come back?”
Her voice impressed him this time, and he turned around. His determined
young wife had fallen on her knees in the water; with one hand she held
back a tangle of curls that the wind had blown about her face; with
the other she groped after a slipper sailing merrily toward the lee
scuppers. With a few quick strides he was beside her, and, lifting her
up, attempted to put her in the doorway. But she wriggled away from
him, and took hold of the iron railing that ran around the deck cabins.
“You must not stand here,” he said, shortly.
She gazed earnestly at his averted face. Her eyes were full of tears,
her voice seemed to have left her. “It must be his strange appearance,”
she reflected, mournfully. “Those bandages are dreadfully disfiguring.
One of his eyes is quite closed; his face is swollen, and the corner
of his mouth is half-way up his cheek: and perhaps it is my fault.
’Steban,” she said, tentatively, “I heard about your fall a few minutes
ago. I am so sorry--Good gracious! what an immense wave! Do you think
it is coming over?”
“Yes.”
She threw a hurried glance about her. The _Merrimac_ was lurching
heavily. Along her sides the waves seemed hollowed out in a huge
valley; other waves rose behind them like a range of hills. A dizzy
feeling came over her, and she felt as if she were slipping for ever
into the yawning gulf before her. “’Steban, ’Steban!” she shrieked,
imploringly, as she clung to him, “don’t let me fall.”
His arms were strong. One of them was around her, the other grasped a
stanchion. She felt perfectly safe now, and her heart beat a little
quicker. His face was still averted. Jealousy, the rage of man, had
probably entire possession of him; but just for an instant when they
went down, down, till the rail that surrounded the deck dipped into
the sea, the grasp of his arm tightened, the expression of his face
changed. But when the ship righted herself he was again cold and
forbidding, and all her courage died away. Dropping her eyes, she said,
meekly, “I will go in now.”
“Wait an instant,” he said, quietly. “You must give up talking to that
young man who has been amusing you during the past two days, and who
was having so touching an interview with you last evening.”
“He is a very nice young man,” said Nina, feebly.
“He is a professional gambler.”
“A what?” she exclaimed, flinging up her head.
“A gambler,--a man whose business it is to fleece any person he
meets who is silly enough to engage in games of chance with him,
and”--meaningly--“he likes to play for high stakes.”
Nina restlessly moved one of her wet feet about the moist deck. And
this was the sort of man she had allowed to talk to her,--to be
friendly with her.
“A short time ago,” her husband went on, “he got into trouble on a
French steamer because one of his victims shot himself.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?” murmured the girl, resentfully.
“Suppose I wanted you to learn a lesson.”
“You didn’t want me to learn a lesson,” she said, vehemently. “I don’t
believe you knew, for sure, what he was like till just now: that sort
of thing is _not_ permitted. The captain of a ship--”
“Has no right whatever to control the amusements of his passengers
unless they interfere with the exercise of his duties. I really wished
to give you a lesson, though I did not know surely how bad he was till
yesterday. The longer I live, the more I wonder over the guilelessness
of women--good women--in making acquaintances.”
“I hate suspicious people,” retorted Nina.
“You must go below and change those wet clothes,” he said, peremptorily
lifting her inside the door, “and don’t wear house slippers on deck
again.”
She discontentedly made her way to her room. The interview had not been
satisfactory. “He was dreadfully cross,” she muttered; “and he can look
as disagreeable with one eye as most people can with two.”