"You had forgotten what, madam?"
She flashed a look upon him. "You know," she said icily.
"Yes, I know," he answered. "I know that the perils of this night had
driven from your mind several things. For a little while you have
thought of, and treated me, as an equal, have you not? You could not
have been more gracious to,--let us say, to Sir Charles Carew. But now
you have remembered what I am, a man degraded and enslaved, a felon,--in
short, the criminal who, as you very justly say, should not be let to
live."
She made no answer, and he rose to his feet.
"It is almost day, and the moon is shining brightly. You no longer fear
the face in the dark? I will first waken the slaves, and then will push
along the shore, and strive to discover where we are."
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Wait," she said, putting out
a trembling hand. "I have hurt you. I am sorry. Who am I to judge
you? And whatever you may have done, however wicked you may have been,
to-night you have borne yourself towards a defenseless maiden as truly
and as courteously as could have done the best gentleman in the land.
And she begs you to forget her thoughtless words."
Landless fell upon his knee before her. "Madam!" he cried, "I have
thought you the fairest piece of work in God's creation, but harder than
marble towards suffering such as may you never understand! But now you
are a pitying angel! If I swear to you by the honor of a gentleman, by
the God above us, that I am no criminal, that I did not do the thing for
which I suffer, will you believe me?"
"You mean that you are an innocent man?" she said breathlessly.
"As God lives, yes, madam."
"Then why are you here?"
"I am here, madam," he said bitterly, "because Justice is not blind.
She is only painted so. Led by the gleam of gold she can see well
enough--in one direction. I could not prove my innocence. I shall
never be able to do so. And any one--Sir William Berkeley, your father,
your kinsman--would tell you that you are now listening to one who
differs from the rest of the Newgate contingent, from the coiners and
cheats, the cut-throats and highway robbers in whose company he is
numbered, only in being hypocrite as well as knave. And yet I ask you
to believe me. I am innocent of that wrong."
The moonlight struck full upon his face as he knelt before her. She
looked at him long and intently, with large, calm eyes, then said softly
and sweetly:--
"I believe you, and pity you, sir. You have suffered much."
He bowed his head, and pressed the hem of her skirt to his lips.
"I thank you," he said brokenly.
"Is there nothing?" she said after a pause, "nothing that I can do?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, madam. You have given me your belief and
your divine compassion. It is all that I ask, more than I dared dream
of asking an hour ago. You cannot help me. I must dree my weird. I
would even ask of your goodness that you say nothing of what I have told
you to Colonel Verney or to any one."
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "If I cannot help you, it were wiser not
to speak. I might but make your hard lot harder."
"Again I thank you." He kissed the hem of her robe once more, and rose
to his feet with a heart that sat lightly on its throne.
The day began to break. With the first faint flush Landless woke the
slaves, who at length yawned and shivered themselves into consciousness
of their surroundings. "What are we to do now?" demanded Patricia.
"We had best strike through that belt of woods until we come to some
house, whence we may get conveyance for you to Verney Manor."
"Very well. But oh! do not let us enter the forest here where we saw
that fearful face. Let us walk along the shore until the light grows
stronger. It is still night within the woods."
Landless acquiesced with a smile, and the four--he and Patricia in
front, the negroes straying in the rear--set out along the shore. The
air was chill and heavy, but there was no wind, and the unclouded sky
gave promise of a hot day. In the east the rosy flush spread and
deepened, and a pink path stretched itself across the fast subsiding
waters. The wet sand dragged at their feet, and made walking difficult,
moreover Patricia was chilled and weary, so their progress was slow.
There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lips had a weary,
downward curve; her golden hair, broken from its fastenings, hung in
damp, rich masses against her white throat and blue-veined temples, and
amidst the enshrouding glory her perfect face looked very small and
white and childlike. The magnificent eyes carried in their clear, brown
depths an expression new to Landless. Heretofore he had seen in them
scorn and dislike; now they looked at him with a grave and wondering
pity.
As the sun rose, the shipwrecked party left the shore, and entered the
forest. A purple light filled its vast aisles. Far overhead bits of
azure gleamed through the rifts in the foliage, but around them was the
constant patter and splash of rain drops, falling slow and heavy from
every leaf and twig. There was a dank, rich smell of wet mould and
rotting leaves, and rain-bruised fern. The denizens of the woodland
were all astir. Birds sang, squirrels chattered, the insect world
whirred around the yellow autumn blooms and the purpling clusters of the
wild grape; from out the distance came the barking of a fox. The
sunlight began to fall in shafts of pale gold through openings in the
green and leafy world, and to warm the chilled bodies of the wayfarers.
"It is like a bad dream," said Patricia gayly, as Landless held back a
great, wet branch of cedar from her path. "All the storm and darkness,
and the great hungry waves and the danger of death! Ah! how happy we
are to have waked!"
Her glance fell upon Landless's face, and there came to her a sudden
realization that there were those in the world, to whom life was not one
sweet, bright gala day. She gazed at him with troubled eyes.
"I hope you care to live," she said. "Death is very dreadful."
"I do not think so," he answered. "At least it would be forgetfulness."
She shuddered. "Ah! but to leave the world, the warm, bright, beautiful
world! To die on your bed, when you are old--that is different. But to
go young! to go in storm and terror, or in horror and struggling as did
that man who was murdered! Oh, horrible!"
The thought of the murdered man brought another thought into her mind.
"Do you think," she said, "that we had better tell that we saw the
murderer at the first house to which we come, or had we best wait until
we reach Verney Manor?"