_THE WATER CURSE._
For a brief space of time Winslow gazed at Marie, and then broke out,
astonishment written in his face:
"What, Marie! Then we have both changed."
Her look was equally one of surprise and pain as she took his extended
hand, and she was powerless to utter a word.
She was spared further embarrassment, however, by Pierre, who said:
"Marie, put Mr. Winslow's room to rights. We have been waiting for you."
Marie, glad to escape, hurried away.
From that moment a new light came into the life of Marie. New and
pleasant duties became hers. Miss Gaston, who heard from her a few days
after Winslow's arrival, realized the change in her friend. She wisely
concluded not to go to Pierre Island that year, or at least till she was
sure her coming would not be the cause of any break in the new condition
of affairs. She had her own history to make, and yet her own happiness
did not prevent her entering into the lives of her friends.
As the days went by, Marie became more and more a revelation to Winslow.
After the fatigue of his journey, and the long and tedious road to
Pierre Island, he did not realize fully what the extent of the
development was that had taken place in Marie. He saw it more and more
as the time passed and his keener perceptions renewed their activity.
So Winslow saw only Pierre and his family about him. It was some days
before he could walk to the beach, although his strength came back with
every breath of the Fundy air and the pure sunshine of the late summer
days. Marie from the first was installed as nurse and companion. As an
associate she was in a very short time as necessary as she had at first
been as a nurse. In this way Winslow came to know the woman better than
he had known the girl, every day disclosing some quality of her
beautiful nature. At last he found that his years spent in the Yukon
were of the greatest value in his life. They led to his present
position, which any other course would have lost to him.
One day he said to Pierre:
"What has become of Len's boat?"
"The poor fellow got into a rage one day, during a talk with me. It was
in the height of summer, and the dread of the curse was breaking him
down. He suddenly left me and hurried away to his boat, which was lying
on the beach out of the tide. I saw him go aboard of her, and very soon
smoke rose from the little cabin. I suspected what he intended to do
when he left me, and went after him, but too late to prevent him setting
the fire, which soon spread over the whole boat from the cabin. Len
stood by, looking on without a word or movement, till the coming tide
washed over the remains of the Marie. He then went away, and I did not
see him for weeks, nor did I know where he had gone."
"You wrote to me that he had fallen a victim to the water curse, as the
other members of the family had before him."
"Yes, poor boy. He often told me that he did not believe he would be
afflicted, as his father was not so bad with it as his grandfather."
"Len was a strange character to me," said Winslow. "There was at times a
mad look in his eyes. I think it must be a form of insanity, perhaps a
mild type of mental derangement."
"It came on like a fever, and seemed to affect his mind."
"Was it a sudden fever, or did it gradually affect him?" asked Winslow.
"The thirst came with awful suddenness," the old man replied; "but
leading up to that time for weeks and months he was a changed man. It
was a sad thing to see him avoiding everybody but me, and moving about
as if followed by something he did not see, but feared at every step."
"Was there an accompanying sickness of any kind?"
"No, not that we could detect. At the last he remained with us till the
worst came."
"Marie was away?"
"Yes, and we did all we could for him. Nothing gave him ease of mind. At
last, on the day when he came of age, we were in the house. Len was
never quiet. For days he did not rest, and I think he got very little
sleep, for I often heard him pacing the house or passing out of doors.
Several times I followed him to the cliffs, fearing he might do violence
to himself. For during those last days his life must have been very hard
to bear. Yet he had no idea of committing suicide. Surely Len's
suffering was enough to atone for any act committed by any ancestor of
his."
"Len was a very intelligent fellow. Perhaps this had much to do with
making his dread of the curse greater than it would have otherwise
been?"
"Perhaps you are right. His wealth gave him a different standing in the
community, and his love for Marie also made him look upon the coming of
the curse with hatred. At last the time came. He was exhausted with
expectation and with the sleepless wandering of many days and nights. He
could not stand, but sat with a ghastly face and rolling eyes as the
moment came. The time passed. I saw the nervous twitching of his mouth
and the clenching of his hands. Several minutes passed, and he began to
struggle as one in a fit. He started from his chair, only to fall back
again like a corpse. He slipped to the floor, beating with his hands the
mat on which he lay; then with a terrible cry he was on his feet again,
and seizing me by the arm, he cried:
"'Pierre! Pierre! the curse is upon me! The curse is mine! I am dying of
thirst.'
"Rushing to the kitchen, he seized a large tin of water, and carrying it
to his lips, he began to drink eagerly. I thought he would kill himself,
for he took every drop, except what he spilled in his madness to drink
and satisfy his terrible thirst.
"Strange to say, he calmed down, and burying his face in his hands, he
wept, a broken-spirited man."
"You think it changed him?"
"He was from that moment another man. A more hopeless and afflicted
looking man you could not easily find. I feared insanity before the
curse worked its worst upon him. I do not know what the effect of the
fatal thirst will finally be, but if he does not lose his reason
entirely, he will kill himself. Poor boy, poor boy!" murmured the old
man.
"It seems to me a wonderful case, and impossible to understand. Has he
been under any treatment?"
"He spent some time with two eminent physicians who were interested in
his case, but they failed to help him in any way, and did not seem to
understand the affliction at all. He is away now. It unfits him sadly
for any occupation, and his easy means of living permits him too much
time to brood over his condition."
"He has ceased expecting any hope from Marie, then?"
"He no longer speaks of her. He does not even mention your name now. He
is dead to his old life, old in his youth, and with no desire in life
but to be cured of his insatiable thirst. That is the only hope left to
him."
Winslow was much impressed by Pierre's account of Len's trouble, and
while they were speaking Marie appeared, coming towards them. He at once
left the old man, who looked after him with a kindly look of affection
in his eyes.
"You are late, nurse," said Winslow, as he came near her. "Your father
has been able to tell me all about Len while I have been waiting for
you."
"Suzanne needed my help, and could not wait. I knew the patient could,"
said Marie, laughing, "especially if he had père to talk to."
So they both walked away from the old man, who still gazed after them.
His heart was with them as their forms gradually became smaller with the
increasing distance.
We cannot go with Marie and Winslow very far in their walk. They talked
a great deal about Len, and Marie spoke of him with sorrow, and heard of
his great trouble with tears. They had been friends in their younger
days, and of late years had been separated completely, while his case
seemed to her so sad she turned away for a moment to hide her tears from
her companion.
Winslow looked at her as she turned away, and suddenly he stepped close
to her and spoke words that quickly gushed from his heart. She was
startled and turned about to face him, her eyes now uncovered and moist
with tears. There she stood without a word, and he came even nearer,
looking into the eyes that did not fall from his own. He saw a fresh
flow of tears as her look fell away at last, and from the sight of his
happy eyes she hid the new glory which came into hers.