The air was keen and salt. He paused on the well-worn stone wall and
turned his face to the spray. A hundred memories were at work in his
brain, and the relief of solitude was unspeakable. It was horribly
lonely, but he hugged his loneliness. That laughing voice in the hotel
coffee-room had driven him forth to seek it. No mental or physical
discomfort would have induced him to return.
He propped himself against a piece of stonework and gazed moodily out to
sea. He did not want to leave this haven of his childhood. Yet the
thought of remaining in close proximity to a party of tourists was
detestable to him. Why in the world couldn't they stop away, he wondered
savagely? And then his own inconsistency occurred to him, and he smiled
grimly. For the place undoubtedly had its charm.
A fisherman in a blue jersey lounged on to the quay at this point of
his meditations, and, old habit asserting itself, Merefleet greeted
him with a remark on the weather. The man halted in front of him in a
conversational attitude. Merefleet knew the position well. It came back
to him on a flood of memory. He could not believe that it was twenty
years since he had talked with such an one.
"Wind in the nor'-east, sir," said the man.
"Yes. It's cold for the time of year," said Merefleet.
The man assented.
"Fish plentiful?" asked Merefleet.
"Nothing to boast of," was the guarded reply.
Merefleet had expected it. Right well he knew these fisher-folk.
"You get a few visitors now, I see," Merefleet observed.
The fisherman nodded. "Don't know what they come for," he observed.
"Bathing ain't good, and them pleasure-boats--well"--he lifted his
shoulders expressively--"half-a-capful of wind would upset 'em. There's a
lady staying at this here hotel--an American lady she be--what goes out
every day regular, she and a young gentleman with her. They won't have me
nor yet any of my mates to go along, and yet--bless you--they could no
more manage that boat if a squall was to come up nor they could fly. I
told her once as it wasn't safe. And she laughed in my face, sir. She
did, really."
Merefleet smiled a little.
"Well, if she likes to run the risk it's not your fault," he said.
"No, sir. It ain't. But that don't make me any easier. She's a pretty
young lady, too," the man added. "Maybe you've seen her, sir."
Merefleet shook his head. He had heard her, and he had no desire to
improve his acquaintance with her.
"As pretty a young lady as you would wish to see," continued the
fisherman reflectively. "Wonderful, she is. 'Tain't often we get such a
picture in this here part of the country. Ever been to America, sir?"
"Just come home," said Merefleet.
"Are all the ladies over there as pretty as this one, I wonder?" said his
new acquaintance in an awed tone.
"She seems to have made a considerable impression," said Merefleet, with
a laugh. "What is the lady like?"
But the man's descriptive powers were not equal to his admiration. "I
couldn't tell you what she's like, sir," he said. "But she's that sort
of young lady as makes you feel you oughtn't to talk to her with your hat
on. Ever met that sort of lady, sir?"
Merefleet uttered a short laugh. The man's simplicity amused him.
"I can't say I have," he said carelessly. "Good-looking women are not
always the best sort, in my opinion."
"That's very true, sir," assented his companion thoughtfully. "There's my
wife, for instance. She's as good a woman as you'd find anywhere, but her
best friend couldn't call her handsome, nor even plain."
And Merefleet laughed again. The man's talk had diverted his thoughts.
The intolerable sense of desolation had been lifted from his spirit. He
began to feel he had been somewhat unnecessarily irritated by a very
small matter.
He lighted a cigar and presented one to his new friend. "I shall get you
to row me out for a couple of hours to-morrow," he said. "By the way, did
you ever know a man called Quiller who had some fishing craft in these
parts twenty years ago?"
The man beamed at the question. "That's my father, sir. He lives along
with my wife and the kids. Will you come and see him, sir? Oh, yes,
he's well and hearty. But he's getting on in years, is dad. He don't go
out with the luggers now. You'll come and see him, eh, sir?"
"To-morrow," said Merefleet, turning. "He will remember me, perhaps.
No, I won't give you my name. The old chap shall find out for himself.
Good-night."
And he began to saunter back towards his hotel.
The searchlight of a man-of-war anchored outside the harbour was flashing
over the shore as he went. He watched the long shaft of light with
half-involuntary attention. He noted in an idle way various details along
the cliffs that were revealed by the white glow. It touched the hotel at
last and rested there for the fraction of a minute.
And then a strange thing happened.
Looking upwards as he was, with fascinated eyes, following the slanting
line of light, Merefleet saw a sight which was destined to live in his
memory for all the rest of his life, strive as he might to rid himself of
it.
As in a dream-picture he saw the figure of a girl standing on the steps
of the terrace in front of the hotel. The searchlight discovered her and
lingered upon her. She stood in the brilliant line of light, a splendid
vision of almost unearthly beauty. Her neck and arms were bare, curved
with the exquisite grace of a Grecian statue. Her face was turned towards
the light--a marvellous face, touched with a faint, triumphant smile. She
was dressed in a robe of pure white that fell around her in long, soft
folds.
Merefleet gazed upon the wonder before him and asked himself one
breathless question: "Is that--a woman?"
And the answer seemed to spring from the very depth of his being: "No!
A goddess!"
It was the most gloriously perfect picture of beauty he had ever looked
upon.
The searchlight flashed on and the hotel garden was left in darkness.
A chill sense of loss swept down upon Merefleet, but the impression did
not last. He threw away his cigar with an impetuosity oddly out of
keeping with his somewhat rugged and unimpressionable nature. A hot
desire to see that face again at close quarters possessed him--the face
of the loveliest woman he had ever beheld.
He reached the hotel and sat down in the vestibule. Evidently this
marvellous woman was staying in the place. He watched the doorway with
a strange feeling of excitement. He had not been so moved for years.
At length there came a quick, light tread. The next moment he was
gazing again upon the vision that had charmed him out of all commonsense.
She stood, framed in the night, white and pure and gloriously, most
surpassingly, beautiful. Merefleet felt his heart throb heavily. He sat
in dead silence, looking at her with fascinated eyes. Had he called her a
Greek goddess? He had better have said angel. For this was no earth-born
loveliness.
She stood for several seconds looking towards him with shining, radiant
eyes. Then she moved forward. Merefleet's eyes were fixed upon her. He
could not have looked away just then. He was absurdly uncertain of
himself.
She paused near him with the light pouring full upon her. Her eyes met
his with a momentary questioning. Then ruthlessly she broke the spell.
"Say, now!" she said in brisk, high tones. "Isn't that searchlight thing
a real cute invention?"