Slowly the weeks slipped by. The castaways were still in their island
prison with relief as far away, apparently, as ever.
Grace had taken possession of her cabin and made herself as comfortable
as it was possible under the circumstances. The luxuries to which she
had always been accustomed were lamentably lacking. There was no dainty
bathroom for her ablutions, no maid to answer her call, no extensive
wardrobe to select from, no telephone through which she could chat with
friends. But at least she had shelter and a bed to sleep upon, and for
these blessings she was sensible enough to be devoutly thankful.
Armitage had built close by, for his own use, a similar, but less
elaborate, hut, and he took a certain pride in keeping it in order.
One day Grace found some flowers on the table in her cabin. Only one
person could have put them there, and when she realized that fact, it
came rather as a shock to find her strange companion paying her
attentions of this nature.
"Thank you for the flowers," she said, with some embarrassment.
"I thought they'd brighten the place up a bit," he replied awkwardly:
He smiled, and she noticed for the first time that he had fine white
teeth. But nothing more was said, and he went unconcernedly about his
work.
For the remainder of that morning she avoided him. She left her cabin
and fled to Mount Hope, straining her eyes once more in a fruitless
effort to see appear on the horizon the ship which would come to her
rescue.
Monotonous and lonely as was their existence on this remote islet, there
was plenty of work to be done, and the hours sometimes sped by so
quickly that both Grace and Armitage were astonished. The shadows of
night would fall when they had thought it only a little past noon; Each
did a share of the day's work, glad of the occupation that helped to
divert the mind.
The signal-fire on Mount Hope demanded most of Armitage's attention;
When not engaged in gathering fuel, he went on long foraging
expeditions. The problem of procuring food was no light one, and, like
other shipwrecked sailors, who have had to exercise their wits, he was
quick to devise ways to keep their larder supplied. He caught fish with
a hook made out of a sharp-pointed stick hardened in flame; he killed
sea-gulls with stones hurled from a sling; he overturned turtles while
they lay basking in the sun, and he saw to it that they had an abundant
supply of fresh drinking-water.
Grace also was not idle. She mended and patched their clothes with
needles made of fish-bone and thread made of the fiber of plantain
fruit; and under Armitage's clumsy tuition she quickly learned how to
cook. He showed her how to clean and broil the fish he caught, and
taught her how to obtain salt by boiling sea water until the water
evaporated. In a cleverly improvised oven which he built for her, she
learned how to bake delicious cakes of flour made from dried and
pulverised plantain fruit. She prepared their meals, which they ate
together at regular hours, and for dessert she set before him
plantains, quinces, limes, and cocoanuts which she herself had gathered
in the wood.
This constant and intimate association could have only one result. Every
day it brought the proud beauty and her taciturn companion closer than
would have been possible under any other conditions. At times, in her
interest in the work of the moment, Grace would entirely forget their
difference in class. She would unbend and laugh and chat with him as
though she had known him for years. Then, an instant later, suddenly
conscious of their respective positions and what she thought she owed to
her own dignity, she would relapse into an abrupt silence and draw away
once more, cold and reserved. But this purely artificial demeanor could
not be kept up. A few hours later, obeying her natural impulse, she was
herself again, chatting with him freely, asking his opinion, trying to
please him, full of respect for his superior judgment.
Armitage listened to her ceaseless prattle, amused at her vivacity,
replying gravely to her questions, explaining all she wished to know.
During long, idle afternoons they would sit together on the beach and
he would tell her stories of the sea, about lands he had visited,
strange people he had seen, while Grace, curled up at his feet, like a
child, listened with breathless attention.
Thus gradually, almost unconsciously, their mutual interest in each
other grew. They became necessary to each other. Sharing common perils,
they naturally sought each other's companionship, and to Grace as much
as to Armitage the unconventional association and comradeship was as
delightful as it was novel. Grace was pleased because he treated her not
as other men had done, as a toy, only to be flattered with foolish
compliments, but as a woman, a helpmate, whose opinion was worth having.
Greatly to her surprise, Grace soon found herself taking pleasure in
this bucolic, semi-savage sort of a life. It was so utterly unlike
anything which she had ever known that, at times, she thought it must be
all unreal and that, sooner or later, she would wake up from what was
only a fantastic dream. But it was real enough. She had only to glance
around her to realize the grim truth. There was Armitage a short
distance away along the beach trying with a crudely made net to catch
fish for their noonday meal, yonder on top of Mount Hope a column of
black smoke was ascending to the blue sky--a mute and urgent summons to
the outer world for help--and if any further testimony were needed she
had only to look down at her own tattered rags, scarcely recognizable
now as a gown to bring back with vividness all that had happened since
the moment the typhoon broke.
Yet, as the time went on, with rescue no nearer than before, Grace
seemed each day more resigned to her precarious situation. She did not
fret so much. Her nervousness disappeared and her spirit became more
buoyant. There ware moments when she even felt happy. Armitage was quick
to notice it, and by the way he smiled as he greeted her, by the almost
boyish enthusiasm he went about his work, it was evident that he
welcomed the change.
Grace was surprised herself. At first it alarmed her to note her growing
indifference. She could not understand the reason. Sensibly she argued
that she could not be always fretting. If she did, nervous collapse
would be the consequence. It never occurred to her that this new life in
the exhilarating sea air explained the secret, that her body was growing
more healthy and normal under the new hygienic conditions, and that as
her body changed, her mental outlook changed also. The discomforts which
she had to put up with were, of course, many, and her anxiety regarding
the outcome of the adventure as poignant as ever, yet in other respects
it was an almost ideal existence.
The weather was perfect. She lived, so to speak, in a bower of flowers,
in idyllic peace, with nothing to disturb the general serenity. She had
all the food to eat that her appetite craved for, there was plenty of
crystal spring water to drink. At night she slept peacefully, lulled by
the rhythmical music of the waves as they washed lazily against the
shore, and when she awoke the birds were singing their joyous notes of
welcome to another glorious day. It was the voluptuous life of the
tropics with all its dreamy languor, its sensuous charm.
Constant living in the open had indeed effected a wonderful improvement
in her personal appearance. Had she possessed a mirror she would
scarcely have recognized in that health-flushed face, tanned by wind and
sun, the pale and languid girl whose condition had alarmed her friends
in New York. With her large dark eyes, clear and limpid, her lips, red
and tempting as cherries, her glorious hair caught up in careless knot,
her bosom fuller, her lines more rounded, her walk with an elasticity it
had never known before--she was in the full bloom of youth and beauty.
Grace herself realized the change, and vaguely she guessed that this
explained the new mental attitude she had assumed toward her unfortunate
position. Not only in body, but in her mind she felt more vigorous. Her
despondency had given place to a pronounced optimism. She took keen
interest in everything taking place around her. She was no longer
peevish and irritable. She laughed and chatted with the spontaneous
gaiety of youth, and if it were not for a constantly gnawing anxiety to
know what the future had in store, to communicate with her parents, she
would have been content to go on living like this for months.
Not only were the surroundings ideal and conducive to real happiness,
but it was a new and pleasurable sensation to her to find that she could
be of some use in the world. She took pride in doing her share of the
work, and her respect for herself grew in proportion as she felt that
her services were appreciated by Armitage. Gradually she learned to
scrutinize his face to see if he approved what she had done, and if she
saw him smile she beamed with satisfaction.
Long ago she had come to the conclusion that her companion was no
ordinary man. Not only was he above his apparent station in life, but he
possessed qualities that she had never yet detected in any of the men
she had met. Not only was he handsome and built like an Apollo, but she
recognized his superior mentality. He was born for leadership--that was
evident by the manner in which he had managed things on this island. He
had suffered in life, for some cause which he kept secret, and had been
forced to take to brutalizing work. But it had not degraded him. He was
kind and gentle, unselfish and brave.
While he succeeded in concealing his own past life, Armitage was less
successful in concealing his interest in his companion. Grace's feminine
tuition told her that he admired her, and, although she knew that
socially he was far beneath her, she was still woman enough to be
gratified. Besides, she did not seek to disguise from herself the fact
that she was strangely attracted toward this man. He had about him a
magnetism which she could not explain. Perhaps more than anything else
it was the very mystery with which he surrounded himself that interested
and attracted her. She found herself speculating strangely. Suppose he
had been a man of her own class, would she marry him? Was he the type of
man she could love? She remembered Professor Hanson's queer hypothesis
that afternoon on the steamer. Suppose this man were to make love to her
and insisted on the ties suggested by the professor. What could she do
to protect herself? What could she do? She was utterly helpless. There
would be nothing to do but throw herself on his generosity.
It annoyed her when she realized how much her companion entered into her
thoughts. She tried not to feel lonely when he was away. She tried not
to feel pleased when he returned. But she knew that she was lying to
herself, and at moments it terrified her when slowly it dawned upon her
that her strange, mysterious companion had entered into her most
intimate life. Was it love? She laughed at the absurdity of the idea,
and to show her indifference, so Armitage might plainly understand the
difference in their positions, she forced herself to seem cold and
reserved. He noticed the sudden change in her manner, and, unable to
account for it, thought he must have displeased her.
One day he had gone up to Mount Hope to attend, as usual, to the
signal-fire. She was alone. The day's work was done, and, somewhat
fatigued, she was resting, seated on the verdant, sloping beach
overlooking the sea. At her feet stretched the golden sands, gently
laved by the rippling, transparent waves. The air was full of sweet
scents, and the temperature so warm that even the thinnest clothing was
almost unendurable. Drowsy from the heat, she lay under the grateful
shade of spreading trees, and, looking out over the glistening ocean,
watched the water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Her eyes half-closed,
her entire being thrilled by a novel sensation of languor, she abandoned
herself to the voluptuousness of the place and moment. Had she been
alone, with no one to see her and no danger of a sudden surprise, she
would have loved to divest herself of all her clothing and, nymphlike,
roll nude in the golden sands like the woman she once saw in a picture
called "The Birth of the Wave." Her form was physically as beautiful.
She wondered if Armitage thought her beautiful--if he ever thought of
her at all as men think of women--and gradually her mind wandered in
strange channels.
As she lay there basking in the ardent sunshine, she felt the
pleasurable, exhilarating sensation of enjoying perfect animal health. A
strange feeling of languor came over her. This, she knew, was happiness
and the joy of life, and yet she felt that there was still something
lacking to make that happiness complete. As her eye dwelt on the
loveliness of the surrounding scene, perhaps for the first time she
understood the enthusiasm of those nature lovers who are content only
when in the country. What, indeed, were the artificial, tawdry delights
of the man-made cities compared with the delights of life in the
God-made fields? She thought of overheated ballrooms, inane afternoon
teas, tiresome bridge-parties. What were they compared to lying there,
listening to the birds singing in the trees, her cheek gently wafted by
the soft sea breeze, the pure air filling her lungs and shading the
damask on her cheek. If her dear old dad saw her he would hardly know
her.
She knew what her life lacked--love. A man whom she could admire and
respect, a man who would rule her with his iron will and crush her if
need be in his strong arms. Would she ever meet such a man? Had she
already met him? Once more her mind conjured up the picture of the ideal
man--the man of her day-dream on the steamer. If he should come along
now, would she have the strength of will to resist the pressure of his
ardent lips. Her eyes closed, she fancied she saw him coming, his head
thrown back, straight as an arrow, handsome as an Apollo. As he passed
he stopped, fascinated by her beauty. He came nearer, and with a cry of
joy clasped her closely in furious embrace. Weakly she tried to avoid
the warm kisses he rained on her too willing mouth. As she turned she
chanced to see his face, and, starting back, she gave a cry. It was a
face she knew. Frightened, she opened her eyes and sat up. Armitage was
standing before her.
"Were you asleep?" he asked, with a smile. "I hope I didn't disturb
you."
"Where have you been?" she asked, embarrassed.
"Up on Mount Hope tending the fire," he replied, his eyes taking in
every detail of her splendid beauty. Her hair was disarranged and her
bodice open at the neck because of the heat. He thought she looked the
prettier, and he was only human.
"Nothing in sight, I suppose," she asked.
"No, nothing," he answered.
She rose and, going to the cabin, hastened to prepare their supper.
While she bustled about he sat quietly and watched her. He hoped she
would not read on his face the happiness that was in his heart.
Yes, she had guessed aright. He was happier on this desert island than
ever before. It was true that he had no wish to be rescued. For him
rescue meant going back to purgatory, while this was Elysium. Never in
all his life had he known such happiness as this. Only one thing was
lacking to make his happiness complete. It was to call this woman--wife.
He did not know how it had come to him, but he loved her with a
fierceness that frightened him. He did not like to even admit it to
himself or even to think of it. But he knew that he must have this woman
or his life must end. To live without her was impossible. It was
inconceivable. He had tasted of Heaven these last few weeks, and if he
lost that he must lose everything. Of course it was an impossible dream.
She was rich. When she left here she would forget him. If one day she
met him in New York she would even disdain to look at him.
He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Why should he lose this
happiness that had come to him? He wanted this woman. No one should rob
him of her. Even if it cost him his life and hers, he was determined to
have her for his own. Why should he be denied her? Their rescue from
this island was improbable, if not impossible. Ships never passed near
there. It was too far from the beaten track, too full of hidden dangers.
Navigators knew that and gave the island a wide berth. He had lied to
her to reassure her, but he knew rescue was out of the question. They
would spend the rest of their days there. The days would lengthen into
months, the months into years. Their youth would go. Old age would come.
Then it would be too late, and they would both be sorry. Why should they
not mate now? He remembered the mutineers of H. M. S. _Bounty_--a true
story of the sea which had always fascinated him. The men revolted and
killed their officers and landed on an island inhabited by savages. They
killed the men and married the women, and to this day their descendants
were sturdy fishermen.
Long after Grace had retired to rest, Armitage sat under the trees alone
amid the silent beauty of the tropical night. The stars in their
countless millions shone bright and resplendent in the clear atmosphere.
The firmament was a glorious blaze of light. The planets flashed like
suns, and changed color as he gazed at them. The small stars twinkled
more humbly in a milky way that stretched across the heavens, while now
and again a brilliant meteor, outlaw of the heavenly host, shot across
space and as quickly disappeared. It was a spectacle for the gods, but
Armitage heeded it not. Lost in meditation of things more earthly, he
was wondering if he could win this woman for himself, how he could delay
the dreaded moment which would take her out of his life.
* * * * *
The next day when he suggested that they explore their lonely domain
together, Grace readily consented to accompany him. Laughing merrily and
chattering like a magpie, she walked briskly along at his side. The day
was ideal. The weather was dry and clear, with an invigorating breeze
from the sea, and, as they strode along in the dazzling sunshine, Grace
felt buoyant with health and exuberant spirits.
They followed the coast-line, making their way in and out among the
rocks. From the interstices of the tall cliffs as they approached flew
out hundreds of wild sea-gulls uttering shrill cries of alarm. Armitage
picked up a stone, but Grace stayed his arm.
"It's bad luck to kill one," she said. "Let them live. Besides, they're
our neighbors. They're the only other inhabitants besides ourselves."
The tide was out, so their way along the smooth sands was easy. The
beach was covered with shells of remarkable luster and beauty, and Grace
insisted on stopping to gather some. Presently they came to a creek,
with stepping-stones covered with slippery moss. The problem was how to
get across.
"Come along," said Armitage, leading the way.
"I'm afraid I'll fall into the water," exclaimed Grace, looking ruefully
at the water.
"No, you won't. Take my arm," said Armitage.
They went across together, her arm closely locked in his.
Suddenly she slipped. If she had not been holding tight to his arm, she
would have fallen into the creek. As it was, she was badly frightened,
and clung more nervously to him. He felt her warm body pressed close
against his, and a thrill went through him. There was still some
distance to go before the opposite bank was reached. Putting his arm
round her waist, Armitage reassured her.
"You won't fall. Just keep close to me and step as I step," he said.
He felt her warm breath on his cheek. His head seemed to swim round. It
needed all his self-control to keep his equilibrium and get across.
Finally they reached the other bank in safety.
Leaving the beach, they clambered up the rocks, to the higher land,
where they found an abundance of coarse grass with ravines and hollows
choked up with a luxuriant growth of tropical vegetation. They entered a
dense wood, almost impenetrable with tangled foliage, thick undergrowth,
and hidden roots of trees. Carefully, he made a path for her, and once,
when they came to a running stream with no way to ford it, he had to
lift her up in his strong arms and take her across like a baby. Soon
they came to a clearing, sweet with the odor of wild orchids and
jasmine. Through the thick foliage of the spreading trees they had
glimpses of the shimmering surface of the turquoise-blue sea. They sat
down in the grass, glad to rest after their exertions, and when they
got hungry they ate the provisions Grace had thoughtfully provided. It
was a delightful picnic, and Grace laughed with glee.
Armitage had plucked a plantain and was eating the fruit when suddenly
he stopped and looked fixedly at her.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked roguishly.
"Because you are nice to look at," he answered gravely. "I look at the
sea because it is beautiful. I look at you. You are beautiful."
She laughed and reddened. The compliment was clumsy, but it pleased her
because she knew he meant it. To her it sounded better than any of the
compliments paid her in New York's drawing-rooms. To change the
conversation she said:
"I wonder if we shall ever get away from here?"
He said nothing, but his eyes sought hers. After a pause, he said
boldly:
"I don't know. To be quite honest, I'm in no hurry. I'm very happy
here."
Grace made no reply. This time she did not even seem angry.