“The dream is over, and I stand
Alone upon the sun-kissed shore;
My heart is lone--empty each hand;
My love comes here no more.
Oh, hush! ye waves; dance not in play
When I am waiting here;
Ye breezes, pass upon your way,
There is no pastime here.
“Oh, love, lost love, the world shall know
No more of this unfinished tale;
It shall not taunt with laughter low
Because I chance to fail.
And so, I stand alone and mute
Upon the bare, forsaken shore,
And broken is Love’s fairy lute.
I hear its notes no more.”
For an instant, that seemed the length of eternity, Jess stood on the
bank, watching, with strained eyes, the spot where the boat and its
occupant had gone down to death among the treacherous lilies that
floated to and fro on the bosom of the waters.
In all the after years of her life she could never fully explain just
how it was accomplished. The girl was only conscious of seizing a
little skiff that floated idly near at hand, and rowing for dear life
to the scene of the catastrophe. She was indifferent to the awful
danger, though she had just witnessed a cruel example of it. Her one
thought was to seek death in the same spot where the victim of her
foolish caprice had gone down to his untimely fate.
In that moment her athletic powers stood the girl in good stead, for
the arms that wielded the oars were like steel, which told in the
powerful strokes with which she sent the little skiff fairly flying
over the placid water.
In less time than it takes to describe it, Jess had reached the spot;
but her weight was too slight to capsize the boat, though she could
feel it being drawn down--down--down.
She reached out and grasped the lilies, and as she did so, the boat
disappeared, and she was left struggling in the water, with apparently
the same fate which her hapless companion met awaiting her.
And as she realized this, she realized also that her hands were
grasping something else beside the slimy stems of the lilies. One
glance, and the heart in her bosom seemed to fairly leap with wild
exultation and joy. Her fingers were clutching tightly the hand of the
man whom she had told herself that she would rescue, or she would meet
the same fate which had befallen him.
By the strange ministration of Providence, in reaching out for the
lilies, he had fallen among them, and the thick network of stems had
borne him up, despite the underground springs which would have carried
him down had he not fallen in just the spot where fate had placed him.
He had not lost consciousness, but was struggling with might and main
to keep his head above water.
A cry broke from Jess’ lips, and her grasp tightened on his hand.
“Courage!” cried the girl. “I will save you! Keep still and let me
float you along. I--I am an expert swimmer.”
“No, no! Save yourself!” he cried, white to the lips. “I would only
hamper you. I have nothing left in life worth the effort of living for.
To you life is sweet; life is everything. Save yourself, girl--never
mind me.”
If the girl heard, she did not heed his words, but grasping him the
more firmly with one hand, with the other she struck out into the
stream again, dragging him with her by main force.
He was sorry that she had undertaken such an herculean task--this
slender child--yet he dared not struggle to free himself from her
grasp, knowing that it would not only retard her progress, but make it
doubly hard for her.
With a courage that was almost superhuman, Jess struck out, dragging
her living burden after her.
And with the strength of an Amazon, strength which had been developed
by her out-of-door life and daring exploits, the girl passed safely
over the mouth of the underground current, which yawned wide to
swallow her, and struck out valiantly for the shore.
When she was within a rod or so of the bank, her splendid strength and
heroic courage seemed suddenly to fail her, and when within reach of
safety by but a few more strokes, she suddenly sank back.
It was at this critical moment that he whom she had thus far brought
from a watery grave came to the rescue.
The water was up as far as his neck, but he knew that the danger was
past. Catching the lithe form in his arms as she sank backward in the
water, he succeeded in bringing her quickly to the shore.
When Jess returned to consciousness, she found herself back in the old
Caldwell farmhouse, in her own bed-chamber, with Lucy bending over her.
“What is the matter? What has happened?” she exclaimed, with wide-open
eyes staring into Lucy’s white face. But before a reply could be given,
she cried out, shrilly:
“Oh, I remember it all--the water lilies, and Mr. Moore going for them
because I dared him to--the accident, and how I tried to save him, for
he could not swim--and how everything grew black around me when within
but a few yards of the bank!”
“Mr. Moore turned the tables then, and saved you,” said Lucy. “You
had brought him to wading depths; the rest was easy. It gave us all a
terrible scare when he brought you in, dripping wet and white in the
face as one drowned! And then he explained, in a word, almost, how it
had all come about.”
“It was all my fault!” sobbed Jess. “Will he ever forgive me? I deserve
that he should despise me to the end of his life. If he had died! Oh!
oh! oh!”
“Never mind conjuring up such a possibility,” declared Lucy. “Be glad
that he did not, and never send any human being into such danger again.
I hope this will be a warning.”
“Don’t say any more,” sobbed Jess, pitifully. “Indeed, I feel bad
enough over it. Will you tell him that for me, Lucy?”
The farmer’s daughter shrugged her shoulders. The turn affairs had
taken was not at all to her liking. Jess and Mr. Moore were getting
along altogether too famously in their friendship to suit her. They had
not known each other twenty-four hours, and now Mr. Moore owed his life
to the girl, and she, in turn, owed hers to him.
It was with some little trepidation that Jess entered the presence of
Mr. Moore, late that afternoon. The feeling was so strong within her
breast that he would hate her for sending him to the death which he
missed so narrowly.
He held out his strong, white hand to her, with a grave smile which
disarmed her fears at once.
“I am so sorry it happened,” she faltered. “Do you forgive me?”
“Certainly,” he responded. “That should go without saying. I may also
add, but for that affair I should never have known what a brave and
daring little girl you are, I have to thank you profoundly for the life
you have saved to me, useless though I find it, and wish also to add
that hereafter it is to be devoted to you and your interests, if you
will allow it to be so. If life and living were sweet to me, I should
thank you for giving me a chance to continue them.”
Jess was puzzled at his words. She was too young, and had too little
experience with the world, to comprehend them fully.
The entrance of the family interrupted the reply she would have made
him.
But from that hour the friendship between the two ripened wonderfully.
Each hour little Jess fell deeper and deeper under the glamour of a
spell which she could not cast off--the glamour of a young girl’s
awakened heart, with its sweet throbbings, proclaiming that it had
learned its first lesson from the book of love, and the lesson
enthraled her.
What Mr. Moore’s feelings were it was hard to conjecture.
One moment he hated all womankind, for the sake of the one he had found
so fair and so false--beautiful Queenie Trevalyn, whom he had loved too
well, and to his bitter cost.
Then he found himself softening toward one of the hated sex--little
Jess, whose heart was as innocent and pure as a little babe’s.
He wondered if she would ever have the heart to draw a man on to
declare his love, and then, when she found that he was not possessed of
wealth, discard him as unconcernedly as she would a withered flower of
which she had grown tired.
Had it not been for his cruel lesson in that unhappy past, he might
have looked with favor upon the girl whom his uncle picked out for him
to wed--might even have learned to care for her, though she was little
more than a child, while he was a man of the world, too used to finding
all things different from what they appeared on the surface.
A week passed, and during that time he was thrown constantly into the
companionship of Jess.
To him she was nothing more than an innocent, young girl, a very
happy, thoughtless child; one who would grow, perhaps, in the years to
come, into a very interesting woman. Further than that, his thoughts
regarding Jess never traveled.
He remained at the farm simply because the cause which would have
taken him down to Louisiana--to see this selfsame little Jess--was now
removed.
He had now no need to go to the mountain, as it were, for the mountain
had come to him.
He wondered idly at the interest the girl seemed to take in his
society, with never a thought as to whether he was rich or poor.
But, then, she was very young; all such worldly knowledge as to the
importance of making a good match--that is, marrying a man who had
money--would come to her later.
And at the thought a bitter smile curved his lips, a smile accompanied
by a heavy sigh.