XI

There must have been a conspiracy against my happiness--or for it,

perhaps; but Eve seemed only mildly interested. So I made some excuse to

her--I do not like to make excuses to Eve--and I went to Newport with

Old Goodwin and Cecily. Eve could not go. She did not say why.

Cecily kept us late in Newport, trying to get a glimpse of Tom. We had

got a glimpse of him, dressed in a sailor suit and driving some admiral

or other in a big gray car, but he would not look at us, and that did

not satisfy Cecily. But she was not discouraged, and we left her to the

pursuit of her quarry, and we went about our business, that took some

time. Then, after a long search, we found Cecily talking to Tom beside

his car. That admiral of his did not appear for hours, and Cecily would

not leave until he did, so we left them alone together on the curbstone,

and we waited around the next corner. We did not get home until nearly

eight, and Old Goodwin took us to his house for dinner, and there were

Eve and Elizabeth and Bobby.

It was a good dinner, as was fitting for Old Goodwin's house, and when

it was over we all wandered out upon the piazza where stands the

telescope, and from which we could see out upon the bay. This part of

the piazza is like another room, with many rugs upon the floor, and

tables and comfortable chairs; and it is lighted at night--dimly, to be

sure, and but so much as lets one see easily where he is going, if he is

going, and descry the faces of the others sitting there. But that is for

those who are gone blind in the dark. I am not blind in the dark, but I

can see well enough if I am but out of doors, where there is always

light enough to see where one is going. It is only lights that blind me.

I do not like lights out of doors. Besides, on this night there was a

reddish moon hanging rather low in the southeast, with wisps of fog

driving under it. I have forgotten my astronomy,--thank heaven!--which

would tell me why the moon sometimes pursues her course high overhead

and sometimes low toward the horizon. The moon is no friend of mine

anyway, and I care not at all where she goes, or whether her course is

from west to east or north to south, or whether she shine at all. But on

this night she shone bravely for the time, and there would have been

light enough with no other.

So we sat there for some time in silence, feeling pleasant and satisfied

because we had just dined well, and Old Goodwin smoked his cigar, and

Bobby and I smoked our pipes. And I was becoming less and less pleasant

and satisfied with those lights above me, and Bobby was getting

restless, being seized with curious alternations of restless nervousness

and pleasant satisfaction. Eve seemed to be satisfied enough, and

Elizabeth sat motionless, her hands in her lap, and a half-smile on her

lips. I could not see her eyes, but she seemed to be watching.

There had been some desultory talk, and the lights had become too much

for me, and I had wandered out with Eve into a sort of balcony that had

no lights. And we sat--closer together than we could have sat if the

balcony had been lighted--and Eve's hand came searching for mine that

was already searching for hers, and we clasped our fingers close, and we

looked out at the waters of the bay that sparkled dimly, and at the

tapering band of moonlight that widened to a broad circle under the

moon, and at the riding lights of the Arcadia and of Old Goodwin's great

steamer,--a great dark shape. Fog hung about. It would be in presently.

"Tell me, Adam," said Eve softly. "What did you see at Newport?"

"Tom," I answered. "He's a sight in his sailor suit."

She laughed. "Of course; but nothing to what you would be. We're very

fond of Tom, aren't we, and of Cecily? What else?"

"The beach and the town and the cliffs and the training station and the

new barracks and many vessels at anchor."

"Exasperating!" And she shook me. "Didn't you go into the War College?"

"We did. Your father seems to know many there."

"Adam," said Eve, "aren't you going to tell me?"

She bent forward and looked up into my eyes, and I looked down into

hers. I kissed her.

"I will tell you, Eve. Never fear. When you look at me like that, I

would tell anything. I tell you everything sooner or later."

"I like it sooner."

"I have some fear that you will not like it."

"If you have done it, Adam, I shall like it. If I do not like it, you

will never know it. Tell me. You did not go to view the country. I know

that well enough."

"Well," I began, and stopped, somewhat troubled. Scraps of talk had

drifted out to us, now and then, from that room we had left, and by

turning we could get a glimpse of one or another, sitting in the dim

yellow light.

Bobby had just said something, and then there fell a sudden

silence--absolute silence. It was the silence that stopped me, and I

cast back over my unconscious recollection to see if I knew what he had

said. And the things that had happened in there in the last minute took

gradual shape in my mind, as things sometimes do that are heard with the

ear but not consciously noted. Old Goodwin had asked Bobby some

question, I know not what, and Bobby had answered him in a dull, dead

sort of voice. I recalled the voice because it was strange for Bobby to

use it; but he had done many strange things. What had he said in that

dull, indifferent voice that sounded as if all that he cared for were

destroyed utterly? I had it, and so did Eve. It had not taken a half a

minute. He had announced that he was to go to England and join a

destroyer.

No one had spoken in that half-minute, and I peeked through at

Elizabeth. She was sitting as she had been for some time, the same

half-smile upon her lips, her hands in her lap; but I saw that her hands

were clasped together and every muscle tense.

"Rather sudden news, Bobby," said Cecily at last. "You don't seem as

glad as I should have supposed you would be."

"Oh, yes," Bobby answered, "I'm glad enough. I've had enough of chasing

phantoms. There are no submarines over here. I have some reason to

believe that it is different over there. There is nothing, I think," he

added rather bitterly, "to keep me over here--no reason why I should not

be glad to go."

Again that silence fell. I saw Elizabeth's hands twisting slightly,

clasped in her lap.

"What vessel do you join?" Cecily asked. "And when do you go?"

"I don't know the vessel," he said, "and I'm sorry that I am not

permitted to tell you when I go. But it will be soon. There are troops

going to France. I suppose I should not tell that, but I trust there are

no spies here." And he laughed shortly.

Elizabeth had said nothing, nor made any movement, but she had sat as

motionless as a statue--if one had not observed her hands. Now she rose

slowly, as if weary with sitting still, and she wandered slowly from one

thing to another, and seemed not to find comfort in any; and she was

come near the door, and passed out, and we heard her light step going

slowly along the piazza behind us and down some steps in the distance.

Then I turned back, and I looked out at the moonlight on the quiet

water, and at the great dark shape with its anchor light and a light or

two more shining through some portholes, and her decks white under the

moon.

I turned to Eve, for I would have spoken; but she laid her finger on my

lips, and she pressed my arm, and would not let me lean forward. And I

heard a faint rustling, but very faint, and I saw the tops of a great

clump of bushes move in order, as if some creature--some person--moved

along behind them; and there was not wind enough to stir them. Those

bushes were very near to us, almost in front of us. And the movement of

the bushes stopped, and everything was still, and the veiled moon shone

down, making gray and ghostly everything that its half-light shone upon,

and casting black shadows.

Bobby had become uneasy, and he had risen and was wandering slowly

about, as Elizabeth had done; and at last he was come to the door, and

he bolted through it, and we heard his light footsteps running along the

piazza behind us. Bobby was a runner when he was in college, and he ran

with no noise. And he took the steps at a leap, and I heard a faint

chuckle from Old Goodwin.

Then nothing happened for a long time, and I could feel Eve laughing

silently, and I knew that Bobby was ramping about the place, looking

for somebody that he found not. It was as bad as chasing submarines.

And at last the bushes moved again, and I heard Bobby's voice

whispering, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Where are you?" And the bushes near

us shivered, and there came a gasp, and somebody started to run, but

Bobby caught her. I could see nothing, but I could imagine his catching

her by both hands, and I could hear. I could not help hearing.

"Oh!" she gasped; and "Oh!" again.

Then he seemed to catch her close.

"Elizabeth!" he whispered. "Elizabeth! I give up. It's unconditional

surrender, Elizabeth. I've fought against it, but it's no use. I don't

care what you are if you'll only love me."

Elizabeth was between laughter and tears.

"Even if I am a German spy, Bobby?"

"Even if you're a German spy," he whispered fiercely. "But you're not.

You couldn't be. You're too honest--and true."

"Honest and true, Bobby," Elizabeth whispered, clinging to him--I

guessed. "But you don't know what a woman can do. If I were a German

spy, I should be doing just this--to worm your secrets out of you."

There was a silence.

"Do it again," he said, "--German spy!"

She did it again--I guessed.

"I'm only," she whispered, half-crying on his shoulder, "practising

wireless on the Arcadia. You knew that, Bobby, didn't you?"

Eve touched my arm, and we began to withdraw soundlessly.

"And, oh, Bobby," Elizabeth went on, "I'm afraid that you--that you may

not come back. Those destroyers are--but I'm proud of you, so proud!"

"I'm coming back," said Bobby. "Trust me, if I have you to come back to.

I always did have luck, and I've always come back. I do have you, don't

I?"

"You seem to," Elizabeth whispered merrily. "And I--"

Then Eve and I were out of that balcony at last, and we went along the

piazza as silently as might be, and down the steps. I began to sing

softly, "The cloudless sky is now serene," and Eve laughed and checked

me.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Adam?"

"No, Eve," I said, "but I rejoice mightily."

"And so do I," she said, "and there is but one thing more needed to make

me very happy. And that you shall tell me."

And we wended over the grass that was flecked with moonlight--it was wet

too, that grass--and through the greenery that was no more green, but

was of a dense blackness, and came out upon the bank above my clam beds,

where the sod breaks off to the sand. And there Eve sat her down where

the pebbles once shone in the sun, ADAM and EVE.

"I know it is wet," she said, "and I do not care. Now do you finish

what you began to tell me--about yourself."

I sat beside her. "It seems trivial now. Indeed, it is no great matter,

but I am easier in my mind now that I have done it. I have enrolled in

the navy. And that is all, and soon told. And if you do not like it,

Eve, I am sorry, but I had to do it."

She laughed, and she gave a glad little cry, and her arms were about my

neck.

"That is what I wanted to hear, Adam."

"But I thought that you had pacifist leanings, Eve."

"Every woman has such leanings, especially where the matter concerns

those she loves. But I know that you will be happier, and not ashamed,

and that is much to me; and I can be proud. I am very happy, but I am

afraid too--terribly afraid. I pray that you may not be led into any

danger--and if that is wicked I cannot help it."