The Duke was the first to be astir in the morning, and as soon as he
opened his eyes he made up his mind that the weather was improving. The
sea was still running high, but there was no sound of water breaking
over the bulwarks. He emerged from his deck-cabin, and took a sniff of
the morning air. A reef had been shaken out of the trysails, and the
fore-topsail and jib were set. He went aft, and found the mate just
heaving the patent log.
"Nine and a half, your Grace," said the officer with a chuckle, for he
was an old sailor, and hated steamers.
"That's very fair," remarked the owner, skating off with his bare feet
over the wet deck. Then he went back to his cabin to dress.
Presently Mr. Barker's neat person emerged from the cuddy. He looked
about to see if any one were out yet, but only a party of red-capped
tars were visible, swabbing the forward deck with their pendulum-like
brooms, and working their way aft in a regular, serried rank. The
phalanx moved with an even stroke, and each bare foot advanced just so
many inches at every third sweep of the broom, while the yellow-haired
Norse 'prentice played the hose in front of them. Mr. Barker perceived
that they would overtake him before long, and he determined on flight,
not forward or aft, but aloft; and he leisurely lifted himself into the
main-shrouds, and climbing half-way, hooked his feet through the
ratlines. In this position he took out a cigar, lighted it with a
vesuvian, and, regardless of the increased motion imparted to him at his
greater elevation, he began to smoke. The atmosphere below must have
been very oppressive indeed to induce Mr. Barker to come up before
breakfast--in fact, before eight o'clock--for the sake of smoking a
solitary cigar up there by the catharpings. Mr. Barker wanted to think,
for an idea had struck him during the night.
In ten minutes the parade of deck-swabbers had passed, and Claudius also
appeared on deck, looking haggard and pale. He did not see Barker, for
he turned, seaman-like, to the weatherside, and the try-sail hid his
friend from his sight. Presently he too thought he would go aloft, for
he felt cramped and weary, and fancied a climb would stretch his limbs.
He went right up to the crosstrees before he espied Barker, a few feet
below him on the other side. He stopped a moment in astonishment, for
this sort of diversion was the last thing he had given the American
credit for. Besides, as Barker was to leeward, the rigging where he was
perched stood almost perpendicular, and his position must have been a
very uncomfortable one. Claudius was not given to jocularity as a rule,
but he could not resist such a chance for astonishing a man who imagined
himself to be enjoying an airy solitude between sky and water. So he
gently swung himself into the lee rigging and, leaning far down,
cautiously lifted Mr. Barker's cap from his head by the woollen button
in the middle. Mr. Barker knocked the ash from his cigar with his free
hand, and returned it to his mouth; he then conveyed the same hand to
the top of his head, to assure himself that the cap was gone. He knew
perfectly well that in his present position he could not look up to see
who had played him the trick.
"I don't know who you are," he sang out, "but I may as well tell you my
life is insured. If I catch cold, the company will make it hot for
you--and no error."
A roar of laughter from below saluted this sally, for the Duke and
Sturleson had met, and had watched together the progress of the joke.
"I will take the risk," replied Claudius, who had retired again to the
crosstrees. "I am going to put it on the topmast-head, so that you may
have a good look at it."
"You can't do it," said Barker, turning himself round, and lying flat
against the ratlines, so that he could look up at his friend.
"What's that?" bawled the Duke from below.
"Says he will decorate the maintruck with my hat, and I say he can't do
it," Barker shouted back.
"I'll back Claudius, level money," answered the Duke in stentorian
tones.
"I'll take three to two," said Barker.
"No, I won't. Level money."
"Done for a hundred, then," answered the American.
It was an unlikely thing to bet on, and Barker thought he might have
given the Duke odds, instead of asking them, as he had done. But he
liked to get all he could in a fair way. Having arranged his bet, he
told Claudius he might climb to the mast-head if he liked, but that he,
Barker, was going down so as to have a better view; and he forthwith
descended. All three stood leaning back against the weather bulwarks,
craning their necks to see the better. Claudius was a very large man, as
has been said, and Barker did not believe it possible that he could drag
his gigantic frame up the smooth mast beyond the shrouds. If it were
possible, he was quite willing to pay his money to see him do it.
Claudius put the woollen cap in his pocket, and began the ascent. The
steamer, as has been said, was schooner-rigged, with topsail yards on
the foremast, but there were no ratlines in the main topmast shrouds,
which were set about ten feet below the mast-head. To this point
Claudius climbed easily enough, using his arms and legs against the
stiffened ropes. A shout from the Duke hailed his arrival.
"Now comes the tug of war," said the Duke.
"He can never do it," said Barker confidently.
But Barker had underrated the extraordinary strength of the man against
whom he was betting, and he did not know how often, when a boy, Claudius
had climbed higher masts than those of the _Streak_. The Doctor was one
of those natural athletes whose strength does not diminish for lack of
exercise, and large as he was, and tall, he was not so heavy as Barker
thought. Now he pulled the cap out of his pocket and held it between his
teeth, as he gripped the smooth wood between his arms and hands and
legs, and with firm and even motion he began to swarm up the bare pole.
"There--I told you so," said Barker. Claudius had slipped nearly a foot
back.
"He will do it yet," said the Duke, as the climber clasped his mighty
hands to the mast. He would not slip again, for his blood was up, and he
could almost fancy his iron grip pressed deep into the wood. Slowly,
slowly those last three feet were conquered, inch by inch, and the broad
hand stole stealthily over the small wooden truck at the topmast-head
till it had a firm hold--then the other, and with the two he raised and
pushed his body up till the truck was opposite his breast.
"Skal to the Viking!" yelled old Sturleson, the Swedish captain, his
sunburnt face glowing red with triumph as Claudius clapped the woollen
cap over the mast-head.
"Well done, indeed, man!" bawled the Duke.
"Well," said Barker, "it was worth the money, anyhow."
There was a faint exclamation from the door of the after-cabin; but none
of the three men heard it, nor did they see a horror-struck face, stony
and wide-eyed, staring up at the mast-head, where the Doctor's athletic
figure swayed far out over the water with the motion of the yacht. Time
had flown, and the bright sunlight streaming down into the ladies' cabin
had made Margaret long for a breath of fresh air; so that when Lady
Victoria appeared, in all sorts of jersies and blue garments, fresh and
ready for anything, the two had made common cause and ventured up the
companion without any manly assistance. It chanced that they came out on
the deck at the very moment when Claudius was accomplishing his feat,
and seeing the three men looking intently at something aloft, Margaret
looked too, and was horrified at what she saw. Lady Victoria caught her
and held her tightly, or she would have lost her footing with the lurch
of the vessel. Lady Victoria raised her eyes also, and took in the
situation at a glance.
"Don't be afraid," she said, "he can take care of himself, no doubt. My
brother used to be able to do it before he grew so big."
Claudius descended rapidly, but almost lost his hold when he saw
Margaret leaning against the taffrail. He would not have had her see him
for worlds, and there she was, and she had evidently witnessed the whole
affair. Before he had reached the deck, the Duke had seen her too, and
hastened to her side. She was evidently much agitated.
"How can you allow such things?" she said indignantly, her dark eyes
flashing at him.
"I had nothing to say about it, Countess. But he did it magnificently."
Claudius had reached the deck, and eluding the compliments of Barker and
Sturleson, hastened to the cuddy door, bowing to the ladies as he
passed. He meant to beat a retreat to his cabin. But Margaret was
determined to call him to account for having given her such a fright.
"Dr. Claudius," said the voice that he loved and feared.
"Yes, Countess," said he, steadying himself by the door as the vessel
lurched.
"Will you please come here? I want to speak to you." He moved to her
side, waiting his chance between two seas. "Do you think you have a
right to risk your life in such follies?" she asked, when he was close
to her. The Duke and Lady Victoria were near by.
"I do not think I have risked my life, Countess. I have often done it
before."
"Do you think, then, that you have a right to do such things in the
sight of nervous women?"
"No, Countess, I pretend to no such brutality, and I am very sincerely
sorry that you should have unexpectedly seen me. I apologise most
humbly to you and to Lady Victoria for having startled you;" he bowed to
the Duke's sister as he spoke, and moved to go away. He had already
turned when Margaret's face softened.
"Dr. Claudius," she called again. He was at her side in a moment.
"Please do not do it again--even if I am not there." She looked at him;
he thought it strange. But he was annoyed at the whole business, and
really angry with himself. She had spoken in a low tone so that the
others had not heard her.
"Countess," said he in a voice decidedly sarcastic, "I pledge myself
never in future to ascend to the mast-head of any vessel or vessels
without your express permission."
"Very well," said she coldly; "I shall keep you to your word." But
Claudius had seen his mistake, and there was no trace of irony in his
voice as he looked her steadfastly in the eyes and answered.
"Believe me, I will keep any promise I make to you," he said earnestly,
and went away. Lady Victoria, who was not without tact, and had guessed
that Margaret had something to say to the Doctor, managed meanwhile to
keep her brother occupied by asking him questions about the exploit, and
he, falling into the trap, had begun to tell the story from the
beginning, speaking loud, by way of showing Claudius his appreciation.
But Claudius, recking little of his laurels, went and sat in his cabin,
pondering deeply. Barker, from a distance, had witnessed the
conversation between Margaret and the Doctor. He came up murmuring to
himself that the plot was thickening. "If Claudius makes a corner in
mast-heads, there will be a bull market," he reflected, and he also
remembered that just now he was a bear. "In that case," he continued
his train of thought, "no more mast-heads."
"Good morning, Countess; Lady Victoria, good morning," he said, bowing.
"I would take off my hat if I could, but the Doctor has set the cap of
liberty on high." Lady Victoria and the Duke laughed, but Margaret said
"Good morning" without a smile. Barker immediately abandoned the subject
and talked about the weather, which is a grand topic when there is
enough of it. It was clear by this time that they had passed through a
violent storm, which had gone away to southward. The sea was heavy of
course, but the wind had moderated, and by twelve o'clock the yacht was
running between nine and ten knots, with a stiff breeze on her quarter
and all sails set.
The Duke was extremely attentive to Margaret all that day, rarely
leaving her side, whether she was below or on deck; bringing her books
and rugs, and adjusting her chair, and altogether performing the offices
of a faithful slave and attendant. Whenever Claudius came within hail
the Duke would make desperate efforts to be animated, lengthening his
sentences with all the vigorous superlatives and sledge-hammer adverbs
he could think of, not to mention any number of "you knows." His efforts
to be agreeable, especially when there appeared to be any likelihood of
Claudius coming into the conversation, were so palpable that Margaret
could not but see there was a reason for the expenditure of so much
energy. She could not help being amused, but at the same time she was
annoyed at what she considered a bit of unnecessary officiousness on the
part of her host. However, he was such an old friend that she forgave
him. But woman's nature is impatient of control. Left to herself she
would have avoided Claudius; forcibly separated from him she discovered
that she wanted to speak to him. As the day wore on and the Duke's
attentions never relaxed, she grew nervous, and tried to think how she
could send him away. It was no easy matter. If she asked for anything,
he flew to get it and returned breathless, and of course at that very
moment Claudius was just out of range. Then she called Miss Skeat, but
the Duke's eloquence redoubled, and he talked to them both at once; and
at last she gave it up in despair, and said she would lie down for a
while. Once safe in her stateroom, the Duke drew a long breath, and went
in search of Mr. Barker. Now Mr. Barker, in consequence of the idea that
had unfolded itself to his fertile brain in the darkness of night, had
been making efforts to amuse Claudius all day long, with as much
determination as the Duke had shown in devoting himself to the Countess,
but with greater success; for Barker could be very amusing when he
chose, whereas the Duke was generally most amusing when he did not wish
to be so. He found them in the smoking cabin, Claudius stretched at full
length with a cigarette in his teeth, and Barker seated apparently on
the table, the chair, and the transom, by a clever distribution of the
various parts of his body, spinning yarns of a high Western flavour
about death's-head editors and mosquitoes with brass ribs.
The Duke was exhausted with his efforts, and refreshed himself with beer
before he challenged Barker to a game.
"To tell the truth, Duke," he answered, "I don't seem to think I feel
like winning your money to-day. I will go and talk to the ladies, and
Claudius will play with you."
"You won't make much headway there," said the Duke. "The Countess is
gone to bed, and Miss Skeat and my sister are reading English history."
"Besides," put in Claudius, "you know I never play."
"Well," said Barker, with a sigh, "then I will play with you, and
Claudius can go to sleep where he is." They cut and dealt. But Claudius
did not feel at all sleepy. When the game was well started he rose and
went out, making to himself the same reflection that Margaret had made,
"Why is my friend so anxious to amuse me to-day?" He seldom paid any
attention to such things, but his strong, clear mind was not long in
unravelling the situation, now that he was roused to thinking about it.
Barker had guessed the truth, or very near it, and the Duke and he had
agreed to keep Claudius and Margaret apart as long as they could.
He went aft, and descended to the cabin. There sat Miss Skeat and Lady
Victoria reading aloud, just as the Duke had said. He went through the
passage and met the steward, or butler, whom he despatched to see if the
Countess were in the ladies' cabin. The rosy-cheeked, gray-haired priest
of Silenus said her ladyship was there, "alone," he added with a little
emphasis. Claudius walked in, and was not disappointed. There she sat at
the side of the table in her accustomed place, dark and beautiful, and
his heart beat fast. She did not look up.
"Countess," he began timidly.
"Oh, Doctor Claudius, is that you? Sit down." He sat down on the
transom, so that he could see the evening light fall through the
port-hole above him on her side face, and as the vessel rose and fell
the rays of the setting sun played strangely on her heavy hair.
"I have not seen you all day," she said.
"No, Countess." He did not know what to say to her.
"I trust you are none the worse for your foolish performance this
morning?" Her voice was even and unmodulated, not too friendly and not
too cold.
"I am, and I am not. I am unspeakably the worse in that I displeased
you. Will you forgive me?"
"I will forgive you," in the same tone.
"Do you mean it? Do you mean you will forgive me what I said to you
that--the other night?"
"I did not say that," she answered, a little weariness sounding with the
words. Claudius's face fell.
"I am sorry," he said very simply.
"So am I. I am disappointed in you more than I can say. You are just
like all the others, and I thought you were different. Do you not
understand me?"
"Not entirely, though I will try to. Will you not tell me just what you
mean to say?"
"I think I will," she answered, looking up, but not towards Claudius.
She hesitated a moment and then continued, "We are not children, Dr.
Claudius; let us speak plainly, and not misunderstand each other." She
glanced round the cabin as if to see if they were alone. Apparently she
was not satisfied. "Move my chair nearer to the sofa, please," she
added; and he rose and did her bidding.
"I have not much to say," she went on, "but I do not want to say it
before the whole ship's company. It is this: I thought I had found in
you a friend, a man who would be to me what no one has ever been--a
friend; and I am disappointed, for you want to be something else. That
is all, except that it must not be thought of, and you must go."
An Englishman would have reproached her with having given him
encouragement; an Italian would have broken out into a passionate
expression of his love, seeking to kindle her with his own fire. But the
great, calm Northman clasped his hands together firmly on his knee and
sat silent.
"You must go--" she repeated.
"I cannot go," he said honestly.
"That is all the more reason why you should go at once," was the
feminine argument with which she replied.
"Let us go back to two days ago, and be as we were before. Will you not
forget it?"
"We cannot--you cannot, and I cannot. You are not able to take back your
words or to deny them."
"May God forbid!" said he very earnestly. "But if you will let me be
your friend, I will promise to obey you, and I will not say anything
that will displease you."
"You cannot," she repeated; and she smiled bitterly.
"But I can, and I will, if you will let me. I am very strong, and I will
keep my word;" and indeed he looked the incarnation of strength as he
sat with folded hands and earnest face, awaiting her reply. His words
were not eloquent, but they were plain and true, and he meant them.
Something in the suppressed power of his tone drove away the smile from
Margaret's face, and she looked toward him.
"Could you?" she asked. But the door opened, and Lady Victoria entered
with her book.
"Oh!" said Lady Victoria.
"I must go and dress," said Claudius.
"We will go on with the book to-morrow," said the Countess. And he bore
away a light heart.
On the following day the Duke began to take care of the Countess, as he
had done yesterday, and Barker turned on the fireworks of his
conversation for the amusement of Claudius. Claudius sat quite still for
an hour or more, perhaps enjoying the surprise he was going to give the
Duke and Barker. As the latter finished a brilliant tale, for the
veracity of which he vouched in every particular, Claudius calmly rose
and threw away his cigarette.
"That is a very good story," he said. "Good-bye for the present. I am
going to read with the Countess." Barker was nearly "taken off his
feet."
"Why--" he began, but stopped short. "Oh, very well. She is on deck. I
saw the Duke bring up her rugs and things." His heavy moustache seemed
to uncurl itself nervously, and his jaw dropped slowly, as he watched
Claudius leave the deck-cabin.
"I wonder when they got a chance," he said to himself.
But Barker was not nearly so much astonished as the Duke. The latter was
sitting by Margaret's side, near the wheel, making conversation. He was
telling her such a good story about a mutual friend--the son of a great
chancellor of the great empire of Kakotopia--who had gambled away his
wife at cards with another mutual friend.
"And the point of the story," said the Duke, "is that the lady did not
object in the least. Just fancy, you know, we all knew her, and now she
is married again to--" At this point Claudius strode up, and Margaret,
who did not care to hear any more, interrupted the Duke.
"Dr. Claudius, I have our book here. Shall we read?" The Doctor's face
flushed with pleasure. The Duke stared.
"I will get a chair," he said; and his long legs made short work of it.
"Well, if you will believe it," said the Duke, who meant to finish his
story, "it was not even the man who won her at cards that she married
when she was divorced. It was a man you never met; and they are living
in some place in Italy." The Duke could hardly believe his eyes when
Claudius boldly marched up with his chair and planted himself on
Margaret's other side. She leaned back, looking straight before her, and
turning the leaves of the book absently backwards and forwards. The Duke
was evidently expected to go, but he sat fully a minute stupidly looking
at Margaret. At last she spoke.
"That was not a very nice story. How odd! I knew them both very well. Do
you remember where we left off, Dr. Claudius?"
"Page one hundred and nineteen," answered the Doctor, who never forgot
anything. This looked like business, and the Duke rose. He got away
rather awkwardly. As usual, he departed to wreak vengeance on Mr.
Barker.
"Barker," he began with emphasis, "you are an ass."
"I know it," said Barker, with humility. "I have been saying it over to
myself for a quarter of an hour, and it is quite true. Say it again; it
does me good."
"Oh, that is all. If you are quite sure you appreciate the fact I am
satisfied."
"It dawned upon me quite suddenly a few minutes ago. Claudius has been
here," said Barker.
"He has been there too," said the Duke. "He is there now."
"I suppose there is no doubt that we are talking about the same thing?"
"I don't know about you," said the other. "I am talking about Claudius
and Countess Margaret. They never had a chance to speak all day
yesterday, and now she asks him to come and read with her. Just as I was
telling no end of a jolly story too." Mr. Barker's wrinkle wound slowly
round his mouth. He had been able to shave to-day, and the deep furrow
was clearly defined.
"Oh! she asked him to read, did she?" Then he swore, very slowly and
conscientiously, as if he meant it.
"Why the deuce do you swear like that?" asked the Duke. "If it is not
true that she has refused him, you ought to be very glad." And he
stuffed a disreputable short black pipe full of tobacco.
"Why, of course I am. I was swearing at my own stupidity. Of course I am
very glad if she has not refused him." He smiled a very
unhealthy-looking smile. "See here--" he began again.
"Well? I am seeing, as you call it."
"This. They must have had a talk yesterday. He was here with me, and
suddenly he got up and said he was going to read with her. And you say
that she asked him to read with her when he went to where you were."
"Called out to him half across the deck--in the middle of my story, too,
and a firstrate one at that."
"She does not care much for stories," said Barker; "but that is not the
question. It was evidently a put-up job."
"Meaning a preconcerted arrangement," said the Duke. "Yes. It was
arranged between them some time yesterday. But I never left her alone
until she said she was going to lie down."
"And I never left him until you told me she had gone to bed."
"She did not lie down, then," said the Duke.
"Then she lied up and down," said Barker, savagely playful.
"Ladies do not lie," said the Duke, who did not like the word, and
refused to laugh.
"Of course. And you and I are a couple of idiots, and we have been
protecting her when she did not want to be protected. And she will hate
us for ever after. I am disgusted. I will drown my cares in drink. Will
you please ring the bell?"
"You had better drink apollinaris. Grog will go to your head. I never
saw you so angry." The Duke pressed the electric button.
"I loathe to drink of the water," said Barker, tearing off the end of a
cigar with his teeth. The Duke had seen a man in Egypt who bit off the
heads of black snakes, and he thought of him at that moment. The steward
appeared, and when the arrangements were made, the ocean in which Barker
proposed to drown his cares was found to consist of a small glass of a
very diluted concoction of champagne, bitters, limes, and soda water.
The Duke had some, and thought it very good.
"It is not a question of language," said Barker, returning to the
conversation. "They eluded us and met. That is all."
"By her wish, apparently," said the other.
"We must arrange a plan of action," said Barker.
"Why? If she has not refused him, it is all right. We have nothing more
to do with it. Let them go their own way."
"You are an old friend of the Countess's, are you not?" asked the
American. "Yes--very well, would you like to see her married to
Claudius?"
"Upon my word," said the Duke, "I cannot see that I have anything to say
about it. But since you ask me, I see no possible objection. He is a
gentleman--has money, heaps of it--if she likes him, let her marry him
if she pleases. It is very proper that she should marry again; she has
no children, and the Russian estates are gone to the next heir. I only
wanted to save her from any inconvenience. I did not want Claudius to be
hanging after her, if she did not want him. She does. There is an end of
it." O glorious English Common Sense! What a fine thing you are when
anybody gets you by the right end.
"You may be right," said Barker, with a superior air that meant "you are
certainly wrong." "But would Claudius be able to give her the position
in foreign society--"
"Society be damned," said the Duke. "Do you think the widow of Alexis
cannot command society? Besides, Claudius is a gentleman, and that is
quite enough."
"I suppose he is," said Mr. Barker, with an air of regret.
"Suppose? There is no supposing about it. He is." And the Duke looked at
his friend as if he would have said, "If I, a real, palpable, tangible,
hereditary duke, do not know a gentleman when I see one, what can _you_
possibly know about it, I would like to inquire?" And that settled the
matter.
But Mr. Barker was uneasy in his mind. An idea was at work there which
was diametrically opposed to the union of Claudius and Margaret, and day
by day, as he watched the intimacy growing back into its old
proportions, he ground his gold-filled teeth with increasing annoyance.
He sought opportunities for saying and doing things that might curtail
the length of those hours when Claudius sat at her side, ostensibly
reading. Ostensibly? Yes--the first day or two after she had allowed him
to come back to her side were days of unexampled industry and severe
routine, only the most pertinent criticisms interrupting from time to
time the even progress from line to line, from page to page, from
paragraph to paragraph, from chapter to chapter. But soon the criticism
became less close, the illustration more copious, the tongue more
eloquent, and the glance less shy. The elective strength of their two
hearts rose up and wrought mightily, saying, "We are made for each
other, we understand each other, and these foolish mortals who carry us
about in their bosoms shall not keep us apart." And to tell the truth,
the foolish mortals made very little effort. Margaret did not believe
that Claudius could possibly break his plighted word, and he knew that
he would die rather than forfeit his faith. And so they sat side by side
with the book, ostensibly reading, actually talking, most of the day.
And sometimes one or the other would go a little too near the forbidden
point, and then there was a moment's silence, and the least touch of
embarrassment; and once Margaret laughed a queer little laugh at one of
these stumbles, and once Claudius sighed. But they were very happy, and
the faint colour that was natural to the Doctor's clear white skin came
back as his heart was eased of its burden, and Margaret's dark cheek
grew darker with the sun and the wind that she took no pains to keep
from her face, though the olive flushed sometimes to a warmer hue, with
pleasure--or what? She thought it was the salt breeze.
"How well those two look!" exclaimed Lady Victoria once to Mr. Barker.
"I have seen Claudius look ghastly," said Barker, for he thought they
looked too "well" altogether.
"Yes; do you remember one morning--I think it was the day before, or the
day after, the accident? I thought he was going to faint."
"Perhaps he was sea-sick," suggested Barker.
"Oh no, we were a week out then, and he was never ill at all from the
first."
"Perhaps he was love-sick," said the other, willing to be spiteful.
"How ridiculous! To think of such a thing!" cried the stalwart English
girl; for she was only a girl in years despite her marriage. "But
really," she continued, "if I were going to write a novel I would put
those two people in it, they are so awfully good-looking. I would make
all my heroes and heroines beautiful if I wrote books."
"Then I fear I shall never be handed down to posterity by your pen, Lady
Victoria," said Barker, with a smile.
"No," said she, eyeing him critically, "I don't think I would put you in
my book. But then, you know, I would not put myself in it either."
"Ah," grinned Mr. Barker, "the book would lose by that, but I should
gain."
"How?" asked her ladyship.
"Because we should both be well out of it," said he, having reached his
joke triumphantly. But Lady Victoria did not like Mr. Barker, or his
jokes, very much. She once said so to her brother. She thought him
spiteful.
"Well, Vick," said her brother good-naturedly, "I daresay you are
right. But he amuses me, and he is very square on settling days."
* * * * *
Meanwhile Lady Victoria was not mistaken--Mr. Barker was spiteful; but
she did not know that she was the only member of the party to whom he
ventured to show it, because he thought she was stupid, and because it
was such a relief to say a vicious thing now and then. He devoted
himself most assiduously to Miss Skeat, since Margaret would not accept
his devotion to her, and indeed had given him little chance to show that
he would offer it. The days sped fast for some of the party, slowly for
others, and pretty much as they did anywhere else for the Duke, who was
in no especial hurry to arrive in New York. His affairs were large
enough to keep, and he had given himself plenty of time. But
nevertheless his affairs were the object in view; and though he did not
like to talk about those things, even with Barker, the fate of Claudius
and Margaret as compared with the larger destinies of the Green Swash
Mining Company were as the humble and unadorned mole-hill to the glories
of the Himalaya. People had criticised the Duke's financial career in
England. Why had he sold that snuffbox that Marie Therèse gave to his
ancestor when--well, you know when? Why had he converted those
worm-eaten manuscripts, whereon were traced many valuable things in a
variety of ancient tongues, into coin of the realm? And why had he
turned his Irish estates into pounds, into shillings, yea, and into
pence. Pence--just think of it! He had sold his ancestral lands for
_pence_; that was what it came to. These and many other things the
scoffers scoffed, with a right good-will. But none save the Duke could
tell how many broad fields of ripening grain, and vine-clad hills, and
clean glistening miles of bright rail, and fat ore lands sodden with
wealth of gold and silver and luscious sulphurets--none save the Duke
could tell how much of these good things the Duke possessed in that
great land beyond the sea, upon which if England were bodily set down it
would be as hard to find as a threepenny bit in a ten-acre field. But
the Duke never told. He went about his business quietly, for he said in
his heart, "Tush! I have children to be provided for; and if anything
happens to the old country, I will save some bacon for them in the new,
and they may call themselves dukes or farmers as far as I am concerned;
but they shall not lack a few hundred thousand acres of homestead in the
hour of need, neither a cow or two or a pig."
The breeze held well, on the whole, and old Sturleson said they were
having a wonderful run, which was doubtless an effort on the part of
nature to atone for the injury she had done. But the days flew by, and
yet they were not at their voyage's end. At last, as they sat sunning
themselves in the fair September weather, Sturleson came to them, his
bright quadrant, with its coloured glasses sticking out in all
directions, in his hand, and told the Duke he thought that by to-morrow
afternoon they would sight the Hook. The party were all together, as it
happened, and there was a general shout, in which, however, Claudius
joined but faintly. He longed for contrary winds, and he wished that
Sandy Hook and all its appurtenances, including New York and the United
States, would sink gently down to the bottom of the sea. He knew, and
Sturleson had told him, that with unfavourable weather they might be at
sea a month, and he was one of the two who voted to go to Bermuda when
the accident occurred.
That evening, as the sun was going down to his tossing bed of golden
waves, all canopied with softest purple, Margaret stood leaning over the
taffrail. Every stitch of canvas was out--topsails, gaff-topsails,
staysails, and jibs--and the good yacht bounded with a will to the
bright west. But the dark woman looked astern to where the billows
rolled together, forgetting what precious burden they had borne.
Claudius stole to her side and stood a moment looking at her face.
"So it is over," he said at last.
"Nearly over. It has been very pleasant," said she.
"It has been more than pleasant. It has been divine--for me."
"Hush!" said Margaret softly; "remember." There was silence, save for
the rushing of the rudder through the dark-blue foam. Again Claudius
spoke, softly, and it seemed to her that the voice was not his, but
rather that it came up mystically from the water below.
"Are you sorry it is over?" he asked--or the voice of the mighty deep
welling up with its burden of truth.
"Yes, I am very sorry," she answered, whether she would or no. The sun
sank down, and the magic after-glow shone in the opposite sky, tinging
ship and sails and waves.
"I am very sorry too," he said; and he sighed and looked astern
eastwards, and thought of the golden hours he had spent on that broad
track stretching away behind. Margaret leaned down, resting her chin on
her hands, and presently she unfolded them, and her fingers stole
upwards and covered her face, and she bent her head. There was a mighty
beating in Claudius's breast, and a thousand voices in the air cried to
him to speak and to say what was in his heart to say. But he would not,
for he had given the woman at his side the promise of his faith. At last
she looked up and turned toward him. They were alone on the deck in the
faintness of the gathering twilight.
"Claudius, you have kept your promise truly and well. Keep it--keep it
always." She held out her ungloved hand.
"Always, my queen and my lady," and he kissed the white fingers once.
"Hullo!" shouted the Duke, emerging from the cuddy. "Upon my word! Why,
it's dinner time."