HELEN'S act was strange, and demands a word of explanation. If she had
thought the steamboat was a strange vessel, she would have lighted the
bonfire; if she had known her father was on board, she would have lighted
it with joy. But Hazel, whose every word now was gospel, had said it was
Arthur Wardlaw in that boat, searching for her.
Still, so strong is the impulse in all civilized beings to get back to
civilization, that she went up that hill as honestly intending to light
the bonfire as Hazel intended it to be lighted. But, as she went, her
courage cooled, and her feet began to go slowly, as her mind ran swiftly
forward to consequence upon consequence. To light that bonfire was to
bring Arthur Wardlaw down upon herself and Hazel living alone and on
intimate terms. Arthur would come and claim her to his face. Could she
disallow his claim? Gratitude would now be on his side as well as good
faith. What a shock to Arthur! What torture for Hazel! torture that he
foresaw, or why the face of anguish, that dragged even now at her
heart-strings? And then it could end only in one way; she and Hazel would
leave the island in Arthur's ship. What a voyage for all three! She stood
transfixed by shame; her whole body blushed at what she saw coming. Then
once more Hazel's face rose before her; poor crippled Hazel! her hero and
her patient. She sat down and sighed, and could no more light the fire
than she could have put it out if another had lighted it.
She was a girl that could show you at times she had a father as well as a
mother. But that evening she was all woman.
They met no more that night.
In the morning his face was haggard, and showed a mental struggle; but
hers placid and quietly beaming, for the very reason that she had made a
great sacrifice. She was one of that sort.
And this difference between them was a foretaste.
His tender conscience pricked him sore. To see her sit beaming there,
when, if he had done his own duty with his own hands she would be on her
way to England! Yet his remorse was dumb; for, if he gave it vent, then
he must seem ungrateful to her for _her_ sacrifice.
She saw his deep and silent compunction, approved it secretly; said
nothing, but smiled, and beamed, and soothed. He could not resist this;
and wild thrills of joy and hope passed through him, visions of unbroken
bliss far from the world.
But this sweet delirium was followed by misgivings of another kind. And
here _she_ was at fault. What could they be?
It was the voice of conscience telling him that he was really wining her
love, once inaccessible; and, if so, was bound to tell her his whole
story, and let her judge between him and the world, before she made any
more sacrifices for him. But it is hard to stop great happiness; harder
to stop it and ruin it. Every night, as he lay alone, he said, "To-morrow
I will tell her all, and make her the judge." But in the morning her
bright face crushed his purpose by the fear of clouding it. His limbs got
strong and his heart got weak. And they used to take walks, and her head
came near his shoulder. And the path of duty began to be set thicker than
ever with thorns; and the path of love with primroses. One day she made
him sit to her for his portrait; and, under cover of artistic enthusiasm,
told him his beard was godlike, and nothing in the world could equal it
for beauty. She never saw but one at all like it, poor Mr. Seaton's; but
even that was very inferior to his. And then she dismissed the sitter.
"Poor thing," said she, "you are pale and tired." And she began to use
ornaments; took her bracelets out of her bag, and picked pearls out of
her walls, and made a coronet, under which her eyes flashed at night with
superlative beauty--conscious beauty brightened by the sense of being
admired and looked at by the eye she desired to please.
She revered him. He had improved her character, and she knew it, and
often told him so.
"Call me Hazelia," she said; "make me liker you still."
One day, he came suddenly through the jungle, and found her reading her
prayer-book.
He took it from her, not meaning to be rude, neither, but inquisitive.
It was open at the marriage-service, and her cheeks were dyed scarlet.
His heart panted. He was a clergyman; he could read that service over
them both.
Would it be a marriage?
Not in England; but in some countries it would. Why not in this? This was
not England.
He looked up. Her head was averted; she was downright distressed.
He was sorry to have made her blush; so he took her hand and kissed it
tenderly, so tenderly that his heart seemed to go into his lips. She
thrilled under it, and her white brow sank upon his shoulder.
The sky was a vault of purple with a flaming topaz in the center; the
sea, a heavenly blue; the warm air breathed heavenly odors; flaming
macaws wheeled overhead; humming-birds, more gorgeous than any flower,
buzzed round their heads, and amazed the eye with delight, then cooled it
with the deep green of the jungle into which they dived.
It was a Paradise with the sun smiling down on it, and the ocean smiling
up, and the air impregnated with love. Here they were both content now to
spend the rest of their days--
"The world forgetting; by the world forgot."