For the first time in her young life, Jess lies awake through all
the long, dark, cool hours of the night. As a rule, her senses droop
swiftly into the lands of dreams quite as soon as her dark, curly head
touches the pillow. To-night the sweet boon of sleep is denied her for
the first time.
She believes it is the great event of the journey which has unsettled
her, for it is the first time in her young life, that she can remember,
that she has been away from Blackheath Hall. Then she drifts into
thinking of the handsome stranger whom she met at the gate, and still
thinking of him, the long hours wear away at last, and morning breaks.
It is a hardship for Jess to lie in bed after the pink dawn has ushered
in a glorious day, and, creeping silently out of her white nest, in
which Lucy is still sleeping soundly, she is soon dressed and out of
the house, exploring the grounds.
There is another one beneath that roof who is an early riser, and that
one Mr. Moore, as he has permitted himself to be called.
Looking out from his window, in the dewy light of the early morning, he
is amazed to see the lithe, slim figure of Jess gliding like a fairy
vision among the great rosebuds of the old-fashioned garden.
And, furthermore, he is still more amazed to see her running over the
diamond-incrusted grass bare of foot, swinging her shoes and stockings
in her right hand as she hurries along.
Last night he had formed the opinion of the girl--that she had deceived
him, when he had beheld her in all the furbelows of fashionable attire
in which she had made her appearance at the farmhouse; now he realized
that she was indeed a child of nature, with a heart as light and free
as a bird’s.
He made haste to join her.
Jess was not aware of his presence, for she had not heard his step on
the thick, green carpet of grass until a voice beside her said:
“Permit me to gather those roses for you, Miss Jess. The thorns on that
bush are long and sharp; you will never be able to manage them, I am
sure.”
A cry of dismay broke from the girl’s lips; down went the shoes and
stockings all in a heap in the dew-wet grass.
For the first time in her life, Jess wished that the earth could open
and swallow her, for, standing directly in the path before her, was
the object of her thoughts, and he was looking amusedly down at the
bare, brown feet, which the green grass seemed to part wide to display,
instead of bending over and pityingly covering them from his sight.
For the first time in her life, Jess was covered with a strange,
hitherto unknown, unexperienced, bashful confusion.
“I did not know that any one would be up for hours yet,” she stammered,
gaspingly, thinking, shudderingly, of the awful bareness of those feet,
and that she would give anything that she possessed on earth if she
could cover them from his gaze--only cover them. A new, sweet shyness
was coming over her. It was the dawning of womanhood breaking through
the childish existence she had led up to the hour when she had first
met the gaze of the man standing before her.
“Farm life means a life of early rising,” he returned. “They are astir
in the house, all save Miss Lucy. She is rarely visible before eight,
when half of the morning is spent, as I often tell her.”
To the last day of her life, Jess is thankful to him that he turned
to the rosebush and began gathering roses, cutting them off with his
silver penknife; and, as he cut each one, slitting off the thorns.
Jess never knew how she seized upon that moment of time to replace her
shoes and stockings, wet though they were, and the next moment, when he
faced about, instead of seeing the slender, brown feet among the green
grasses, which he had been so eagerly admiring, he noted that they were
now clothed; and he noted, too, that the girl’s face, as her eyes
followed the direction of his gaze, was covered with confused blushes.
Handing her the roses, he said:
“Shall we saunter over the hills, or shall I take you for a little sail
on a miniature lake which lies down in yonder valley?”
“Neither. I--I am going back to the house,” she answered, a little
hesitatingly, “to--to unpack some books which I promised Mrs. Bryson I
would read a little of every morning.”
“The books and reading can wait for an hour or two,” he urged. “This
is too fine a morning to waste indoors. This is October, you know, and
even in this sunny, Southern clime, it will not remain for long as
delightful as it is to-day.”
The quiet mastery in his voice seemed to exercise a spell over her
which she was powerless to shake off or combat, and when he led the way
down the path, her feet involuntarily led her along in his wake.
It was but a short walk to the lake, and when they reached it, bathed
as it was in the crimson light of the rising sun, Jess was enraptured
at the beautiful sight which it presented, and with the glorious white
water lilies which swayed to and fro on its glassy bosom, and the tiny,
white boats moored here and there along its flower-bordered banks.
“I will go out for a row with you, if I may gather some of the lilies!”
cried Jess, enthusiastically. “Oh, how beautiful they are--and, see,
there is a bed of pink ones farther out.”
“The lilies are fair to look upon, but they are unattainable,” her
companion answered, gravely. “They have cost every one who ventures
near enough to lay hands on them their life. It appears that in their
vicinity is an underground whirlpool, which draws down beneath the
water’s surface, and probably far down into the depths of the lake, all
who come within its reach. Therefore, I repeat, that one can admire the
lilies, but they cannot be gathered.”
“The longing for them, while they are in my sight, and so near, will
spoil the pleasure of the row on the water,” said Jess.
“You are like the moth who would flutter around the flame, although it
knows that therein lies danger, a singed wing, perhaps death,” he said,
slowly. “The lilies are not worth such a sacrifice.”
“I should not mind making it to possess them,” declared Jess, very
coolly. “I should like to gather them, and surprise the folks at the
farmhouse by wearing them in to breakfast in my hair and in my belt.”
An expression of deep annoyance crossed his fine face.
“Vain, and proud of adornment--at any cost,” was his mental comment, as
he looked down at the eager, flushed face coldly.
“I dare you to row me out to them, Mr. Moore!” she cried, shrilly.
“What do you say?”
Without a word, he commenced to untie the boat.
“You--consent!” cried Jess, excitedly, and with shining eyes.
“I will go for them, alone,” he replied, quietly, stepping into the
boat, and with a dexterous movement pushing away from the shore almost
before she could divine his intention.
“Oh, Mr. Moore, let me go with you, to manage the boat if--if it become
unmanageable!” she cried, her face blanched to a whiteness rivaling the
leaves of the snow-white lilies.
He shook his head emphatically.
“Can you swim?” called out the girl, as the little, rocking boat shot
out farther from her over the glassy waves.
“No,” he answered, and that one brief word seemed to stifle and kill
the beating heart in her bosom as it fell upon her ears.
Her great, dark eyes opened to their widest limit in horror too great
for words.
“You cannot swim!” she gasped, faintly; then, in a fervor of frenzied
terror, she called to him:
“Then come back. I do not want the lilies, indeed I do not.”
But if he heard, he did not heed her words, nor the gasping words which
accompanied them.
Out over the water sped the tiny boat, with almost the swiftness of an
arrow, under the measured strokes of his arms, while the girl stood on
the green, mossy bank, with locked hands and beating heart, watching
his every movement with terror-stricken conscience.
“What if I have sent him to his death!” she whispered, hoarsely, and in
that moment the truth came to her--that this man, whose acquaintance
she could count by a few, fleeting hours, was more to her than life
itself. She had done as the heroine in the greatest book she had read
had done--fallen in love; lost her heart to this handsome stranger at
first sight.
“Oh, Mr. Moore, come back! Come back!” she called, shrilly, repeating:
“I do not want the lilies; it was only a thoughtless, girlish caprice
which prompted me to dare you to get them for me. Can you hear me?” And
now her voice was raised shrilly in the most piteous agony.
But he never once turned back toward her, and the echo of her wild
cries came back to her from over the dimpling waters and the forest
trees that lay beyond.
On and on shot the little skiff over the sun-kissed waves, heading
toward the fatal spot where the alluring lilies lay so white and pure
on the bosom of the lake.
“Oh, merciful God! if he would but hear, and heed me!” sobbed Jess,
wildly. “Why will he not?”
But the waves that babbled on the green, mossy bank at her feet, and
the wind sighing among the boughs of the trees over her head had no
answer for her.
Another moment and he would be within reach of the lilies. The girl’s
brain reeled and a deathly faintness stole over her, as she watched
every motion of the oars as they rose and fell, catching the gold of
the sunshine and carrying it down with them into the water’s dark depth.
Standing there, with strained eyes, she saw him reach for the lilies:
then--all in an instant--boat and boatman were suddenly swallowed up
in the seething underground whirlpool, disappearing from sight, and
not even a ripple marred the spot to show where he had gone down--down
to death among the beautiful, shining, white water lilies that he had
risked sweet life for at her command!