SEEING THE RAINBOW
A few days on a yacht, with a calm sea and sun-cool weather, may be
something like a century of bliss for a pair of lovers, if they happen
to have taken the lucky hour. The conventions of yacht life allow a
companionship from dawn till dark, if they choose to have it; there is
a limited amount of outside distraction; if the girl be an outdoor
lass, she looks all the sweeter for the wind rumpling her hair; and on
shipboard, if anywhere, mental resourcefulness and good temper achieve
their full reward.
Aleck had been more crafty than he knew when he carried Mélanie and
Madame Reynier off on the _Sea Gull_. Almost at the last moment Mr.
Chamberlain had joined them, Aleck's liking for the man and his
instinct of hospitality overcoming his desire for something as near as
possible to a solitude _à deux_ with Mélanie.
They could not have had a better companion. Mr. Chamberlain was
nothing less than perfect in his position as companion and guest. He
enjoyed Madame Reynier's grand duchess manners, and spared himself no
trouble to entertain both Madame Reynier and Mélanie. He was a hearty
admirer, if not a suitor, of the younger woman; but certain it was,
that, if he ever had entertained personal hopes in regard to her, he
buried them in the depths of his heart by the end of their first day on
the _Sea Gull_. He understood Aleck's position with regard to Mélanie
without being told, and instantly brought all his loyalty and courtesy
into his friend's service.
Madame Reynier had an interest in seeing the smaller towns and cities
of America; "something besides the show places," she said. So they
made visits ashore here and there, though not many. As they grew to
feel more at home on the yacht, the more reluctant they were to spend
their time on land. Why have dust and noise and elbowing people, when
they might be cutting through the blue waters with the wind fresh in
their faces? The weather was perfect; the thrall of the sea was upon
them.
The roses came into Mélanie's cheeks, and she forgot all about the
professional advice which she had been at such pains to procure in New
York. There was happiness in her eyes when she looked on her lover,
even though she had repulsed him. As for Mr. Chamberlain, he breathed
the very air of content. Madame Reynier, with her inscrutable grand
manner, confessed that she had never before been able precisely to
locate Boston, and now that she had seen it, she felt much better.
Even Aleck's lean bulk seemed to expand and flourish in the atmosphere
of happiness about him. His sudden venture was a success, beyond a
doubt. The party had many merry hours, many others full of a quiet
pleasure, none that were heavy or uneasy.
If Aleck's outer man prospered in this unexpected excursion, it can
only be said that his spiritual self flowered with a new and hitherto
unknown beauty. It was a late flowering, possibly--though what are
thirty-four years to Infinity?--but there was in it a richness and
delicacy which was its own distinction and won its own reward.
Mélanie's words, spoken in their long interview in the New York home,
had contained an element of truth. There was a poignant sincerity in
her saying, "You do not love me enough," which touched Aleck to the
center of his being. He was not niggardly by nature; and had he given
stintingly of his affection to this woman who was to him the best? His
whole nature shrank from such a role, even while he dimly perceived
that he had been guilty of acting it. If he had been small in his gift
of love, it was because he had been the dupe of his theories; he had
forsworn gallantry toward women, and had unwittingly cast aside warmth
of affection also.
But such a condition was, after all, more apparent than real. In his
heart Aleck knew that he did love Mélanie "enough," however much that
might be. He loved her enough to want, not only and not mainly, what
she could give to him; but he wanted the happiness of caring for her,
cherishing her, rewarding her faith with his own. She had not seen
that, and it was his problem to make her see it. There was only one
way. And so, in forgetting himself, forgetting his wants, his
comforts, his studies and his masculine will--herein was the blossoming
of Aleck's soul.
Mélanie instinctively felt the subtle change, and knew in her heart
that Aleck had won the day, though she still treated their engagement
as an open question. Aleck would read to her in his simple, unaffected
manner, sometimes with Madame Reynier and Mr. Chamberlain also for
audience, sometimes to her alone. And since they lived keenly and
loved, all books spoke to them of their life or their love. A line, a
phrase, a thought, would ring out of the record, and each would be glad
that the other had heard that thought; sometime they would talk it all
over. They learned to laugh at their own whimsical prejudices, and
then insisted on them all the harder; they learned, each from the
other, some bit of robust optimism, some happiness of vision, some
further reach of thought.
After they had read, they would play at quoits, struggling sternly
against each other; or Chamberlain would examine Mélanie in nautical
lore; or together, in the evening, they would trace the constellations
in the heavens. During their first week they were in the edge of a
storm for a night and a day; but they put into harbor where they were
comfortable and safe, and merry as larks through it all.
So, day by day, Aleck hedged Mélanie about with his love. Was she
thoughtful? He let her take, as she would, his thoughts, the best he
could give from his mature experience. Was she gay? He liked that
even better, and delighted to cap her gaiety with his own queer,
whimsical drolleries. Whatever her mood, he would not let her get far
from him in spirit. It was not in her heart to keep him from her; but
Aleck achieved the supermundane feat of making his influence felt most
keenly when she was alone. She dwelt upon him in her thoughts more
intensely than she herself knew; and that intenseness was only the
reflection of his own thought for her.
They had been sailing a little more than a week, changing the low,
placid Connecticut fields for the rougher northern shores, going
sometimes farther out to sea, but delighting most in the sweet,
pine-fringed coast of Maine. There were no more large cities to visit,
only small villages where fishermen gathered after their week's haul or
where slow, primitive boat-building was still carried on. Most of the
inhabitants of the coast country appeared to be farmers as well as
fishermen, even where the soil was least promising. The aspect of the
shores was that of a limited but fairly prosperous agricultural
community. Under the shadow of the hills were staid little homes, or
fresh-painted smart cottages. Sometimes a bold rock-bank formed the
shore for miles and miles, and the hills would vanish for a space.
Here and there were headlands formed by mighty boulders, against which
the waves endlessly dashed and as endlessly foamed back into the sea.
Such a headland loomed up on their starboard one evening when the sun
was low; and as the plumes of spray from the incoming waves rose high
in the air a rainbow formed itself in the fleeting mist. It was a
fairy picture, repeating itself two or three times, no more.
"That's my symbol of hope," said Aleck quite impersonally, to anybody
who chose to hear.
Mr. Chamberlain turned to Aleck with his ready courtesy. "Not the only
one you have received, I hope, on this charming voyage."
Madame Reynier was ready with her pleasant word. "Aren't we all
symbols for you--if not of hope, then of your success as a host? We've
lost our aches and our pains, our nerves and our troubles; all gone
overboard from the _Sea Gull_."
"You're all tremendously good to me, I know that," said Aleck, his slow
words coming with great sincerity.
Mélanie kept silence, but she remembered the rainbow.
The headland was the landward end of a small island, one part of which
was thickly wooded. A large unused house stood in a clearing,
evidently once a rather pretentious summer residence, though now there
were many signs of delapidation. The pier on the beach had been almost
entirely beaten down by storms, and a small, flimsy slip had taken its
place, running far down into the water. A thin line of smoke rose from
the chimney of one of the outbuildings; and while they looked and
listened the raucous cry of a peacock came to them over the still
water. Presently Chamberlain suggested:
"I feel it in my bones that there'll be lobsters over there to be had
for the asking. I heard your man say he wanted lobsters, Van; and I
believe I'll row over there and see. I'm feeling uncommonly fit and
need some exercise."
"All right, I'll go too," said Aleck.
"I'll bet a bouquet that I beat you rowing over--Miss Reynier to
furnish the bouquet!" was Chamberlain's next proposition. "Do you
agree to that, my lady?"
"And pray, where should I get a bouquet?"
"Oh, the next time we get on land. And we won't put up with any old
bouquet of juniper bushes and rocks, either. We want a good,
old-fashioned round bouquet of garden posies, with mignonette round the
edge and a rose in the middle; a sure-enough token of esteem--that kind
of thing, you know. Is it a bargain, Miss Reynier?"
"Very well, it is a bargain," agreed Mélanie; "but I shall choose
bachelors' buttons!"
So they took the tender and got off, with a great show of exactness as
to time and strictness of rules. Madame Reynier was to hold the watch,
and Aleck was to wave a white handkerchief the minute they touched
sand. Mr. Chamberlain was to give a like signal when they started
back. The yacht slowed down, and held her place as nearly as possible.
Chamberlain pulled a great oar, and was, in fact, far superior to Aleck
in point of skill; but his stroke was not well adapted to the choppy
waves inshore. He had learned it on the sleepy Cam, where the long,
gliding blade counts best. The men stayed ashore a long time,
disappearing entirely beyond the clump of trees that screened the
outbuildings. When they reappeared, an old man was with them,
following them down to the boat. Then the white handkerchief appeared,
and the boat started on its return.
Aleck profited by Chamberlain's work, and made the boat leap forward by
a shorter, almost jerky stroke. He came back easily with five minutes
to spare.
"Good work!" said Mr. Chamberlain. "You have me beaten, and you'll get
the bachelors' buttons; but you had the tide with you."
"Nonsense! I had the lobsters extra!" asserted Aleck.
"Well, if you had been born an Englishman, we'd make an oarsman out of
you yet!"
"Huh!" said Aleck.
But they had news to tell the ladies, and while they were having their
dinner their thoughts were turned to another matter. The island, it
appeared, had for some years been abandoned by its owner, and its only
inhabitant was a gray and grizzly old man, known to the region as the
hermit. His fancy was to keep a light burning always by night in the
landward window of his cabin, so as to warn sailors off the dangerous
headland. There was no lighthouse in the vicinity, and by a kindly
consent the people on the neighboring islands and on the mainland
opposite encouraged his benevolent delusion, if delusion it might be
called. They contrived to send him provisions at least once a week;
and they had supplied him with a flag which, it was understood, he
would fly in case he was in actual need. So, alone with his cow and
his fowls, the old hermit spent his days, winter and summer, tending
his lamp when the dark came on.
Aleck and Mr. Chamberlain had picked up some of this information at the
last port which the _Sea Gull_ made; but what was of new and real
interest to them now was the story which the old man told them of a
castaway on the island a few days before.
"All hands had abandoned the yacht just before she went down, it
appears. The owner was robbed by his own men and marooned on the
hermit's island--that's the gist of it," said Aleck.
"The hermit said the man wouldn't eat off his table," went on Mr.
Chamberlain; "but asked him for raw eggs and ate them outdoors. Said
that except when he asked for eggs he never spoke without cursing. At
least, the hermit couldn't understand what he said, so he thought it
was cursing. And while the old man was talking," added Chamberlain
resentfully, "that blooming peacock squawked like a demon."
"The yacht that went down, according to the man, was the _Jeanne
D'Arc_," said Aleck, who had been grave enough between all their
light-hearted talk. "I didn't tell you, Chamberlain, that my cousin,
my old chum, went off quite unexpectedly on a boat called the _Jeanne
D'Arc_. Where he went or what for, I don't know. Of course, it may
have been another _Jeanne D'Arc_; it probably was. But it troubles me."
Mélanie was instantly aroused. "Oh, I had an uncanny feeling when you
first mentioned the _Jeanne D'Arc_!" she cried. "But could you not
find out more? What became of the man that was marooned?"
"He got off the island a day or two ago," said Aleck. "The people that
brought provisions to the old man took him to the mainland, to
Charlesport."
"The beggar left without so much as thanking the old man for his eggs,"
added Chamberlain.
"We'll put into Charlesport to-night, if you don't mind," said Aleck.
"If I can find the man that was marooned, I may be able to learn
something about Jim, if he really was on the yacht. You can all go
ashore, if you like. There's a big summer hotel near by, and it's a
lovely country."
"We'll stay wherever it's most convenient for you to have us," said
Mélanie, looking at Aleck; for once, with more than a friendly interest
in her eyes.
"And perhaps I can help you, Van; two heads, you know," said
Chamberlain.
Aleck, troubled as he was, could not help being grateful to his
friends. So the _Sea Gull_, turned suddenly from her holiday mood,
headed into the harbor of Charlesport.
The village still rang, if so staid a community could be said to ring,
with reports of the event of the week before. Doctor Thayer had been
sphinx-like, and Little Simon had been imaginative and voluble; and it
would have been difficult to say which had teased the popular curiosity
the more. Aleck found a tale ready for his ears about the launch and
its three passengers, with many conflicting details. Some said that a
great singer had been wrecked off Ram's Head, others that it was the
captain and mate of the _Jeanne D'Arc_, others that it was a daughter
of old Parson Thayer's sweetheart and two sailors that came ashore.
Little or nothing was known about the island castaway. Aleck followed
the only clue he could find, thinking to get at least some inkling of
the truth.