"I hate to see a woman cry."
"So do I, mate. Makes the place dull."
There was a pause, during which Abel carved away diligently, and Bart
watched him intently, with his hands deep in his pockets.
"It's all off, ar'n't it, mate?" said Bart at last.
"Ay, it's all off," said Abel; and there was another pause.
"Think there'd be any chance for a man now?"
Abel looked up at his visitor, who took off the rough, flat, fur cap he
wore, as if to show himself to better advantage; and after breathing on
one rough, gnarled hand, he drew it down over his hair, smoothing it
across his brow; but the result was not happy, and he seemed to feel it
as the wood-carver shook his head and went on with his work.
"S'pose not," said the looker-on with a sigh. "You see, I'm such a
hugly one, Abel, lad."
"You are, Bart. There's no denying of it, mate; you are."
"Ay! A reg'lar right-down hugly one. But I thought as p'r'aps now as
her heart were soft and sore, she might feel a little torst a man whose
heart also was very soft and sore."
"Try her, then, mate. I'll go and tell her you're here."
"Nay, nay, don't do that, man," whispered the big fellow, hoarsely. "I
durstent ask her again. It'll have to come from her this time."
"Not it. Ask her, Bart. She likes you."
"Ay, she likes me, bless her, and she's allus got a kind word for a
fellow as wishes a'most as he was her dog."
"What's the good o' that, lad? Better be her man."
"Ay, of course; but if you can't be her man, why not be her dog. She
would pat your head and pull your ears; but I allus feels as she'll
never pat my head or pull my ears, Abel, lad; you see, I'm such a hugly
one. Blubbering, eh?"
"Does nothing else. She don't let me see it; but I know. She don't
sleep of a night, and she looks wild and queer, as Sanderson's lass did
who drowned herself."
"Then he has behaved very bad to her, Abel?"
"Ay, lad. I wish I had hold of him. I'd like to break his neck."
Bart put on his cap quickly, glanced toward the inner room, where there
was a sound as of someone singing mournfully, and then in a quick, low
whisper--
"Why not, lad?" said he; "why not?"
"Break his neck, Bart?"
The big fellow nodded.
"Will you join in and risk it?"
"Won't I?"
"Then we will," said Abel. "Curse him, he's most broke her heart."
"'Cause she loves him," growled Bart, thoughtfully.
"Yes, a silly soft thing. She might have known."
"Then we mustn't break his neck, Abel, lad," said Bart shaking his head.
Then, as if a bright thought had suddenly flashed across his brain--
"Look here. We'll wait for him, and then--I ar'n't afeard of his
sword--we'll make him marry her."
"You don't want him to marry her," said Abel, staring, and utilising the
time by stropping his knife on his boot.
"Nay, I can do what she wants, I will as long as I live."
"Ah! you always was fond of her, Bart," said Abel, slowly.
"Ay, I always was, and always shall be, my lad. But look here,"
whispered Bart, leaning towards his companion; "if he says he won't
marry her--"
"Ah! suppose he says he won't!" said Abel to fill up a pause, for Bart
stood staring at him.
"If he says he won't, and goes and marries that fine madam--will you do
it?"
"I'll do anything you'll do, mate," said Abel in a low voice.
"Then we'll make him, my lad."
"Hist!" whispered Abel, as the inner door opened, and Mary entered the
room, looking haggard and wild, to gaze sharply from one to the other,
as if she suspected that they had been making her the subject of their
conversation.
"How do, Mary?" said Bart, in a consciously awkward fashion.
"Ah, Bart!" she said, coldly, as she gazed full in his eyes till he
dropped his own and moved toward the door.
"I'm just going to have a look at my boat, Abel, lad," he said. "Coming
down the shore?"
Abel nodded, and Bart shuffled out of the doorway, uttering a sigh of
relief as soon as he was in the open air; and taking off his flat fur
cap, he wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow.
"She's too much for me, somehow," he muttered, as he sauntered down
towards the shore. "I allus thought as being in love with a gell would
be very nice, but it ar'n't. She's too much for me."
"What were you and Bart Wrigley talking about?" said Mary Dell, as soon
as she was alone with her brother.
"You," said Abel, going on scraping his netting-needle.
"What about me?"
"All sorts o' things."
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? Why, you know. About your being a fool--about the
fine captain and his new sweetheart. Why, you might ha' knowed, Mary."
"Look here, Abel," cried Mary, catching him by the wrist, and dragging
at it so that he started to his feet and they stood face to face, the
stunted brother and the well-grown girl wonderfully equal in size, and
extremely alike in physique and air; "if you dare to talk to me again
like that, we shall quarrel."
"Well, let's quarrel, then."
"What?" cried Mary, staring, for this was a new phase in her brother's
character.
"I say, let's quarrel, then," cried Abel, folding his arms. "Do you
think I've been blind? Do you think I haven't seen what's been going
on, and how that man has served you? Why, it has nearly broken poor old
Bart's heart."
"Abel!"
"I don't care, Polly, I will speak now. You don't like Bart."
"I do. He is a good true fellow as ever stepped, but--"
"Yes, I know. It ar'n't nat'ral or you to like him as he likes you; but
you've been a fool, Polly, to listen to that fine jack-a-dandy; and--
curse him! I'll half-kill him next time we meet!"
Mary tried to speak, but her emotion choked her.
"You--you don't know what you are saying," she panted at last.
"Perhaps not," he said, in a low, muttering way; "but I know what I'm
going to do!"
"Do!" she cried, recovering herself, and making an effort to regain her
old ascendency over her brother. "I forbid you to do anything. You
shall not interfere."
"Very well," said the young man, with a smile; and as his sister
persisted he seemed to be subdued.
"Nothing, I say. Any quarrel I may have with Captain Armstrong is my
affair, and I can fight my own battle. Do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear," said Abel, going toward the door.
"You understand! I forbid it. You shall not even speak to him."
"Yes, I understand," said Abel, tucking the netting-needle into his
pocket, and thrusting his knife into its sheath; and then, before Mary
could call up sufficient energy to speak again, the young man passed out
of the cottage and hurried after Bart.
Mary went to the little casement and stood gazing after him thoughtfully
for a few minutes, till he passed out of her sight among the rocks on
his way to where the boat lay.
"No," she said, softly; "he would not dare!"
Then turning and taking the seat her brother had vacated, a desolate
look of misery came over her handsome face, which drooped slowly into
her hands, and she sat there weeping silently as she thought of the
wedding that was to take place the next day.