The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. The act was
mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching
about for a new vent. He was a just man, and he did not care to
start any thunder which was not based upon fairness. He had no wish
to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. He had already shown the
covering envelope and its instructions to Ruth, and she had ignored
or misunderstood the warning. The boy was right. Ruth could not be
told now. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless
cruelty to give her a push toward it. But all these hours, trying
to teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his back
was turned, this!
He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation--his own
interest in Ruth. The haste to send her upon her way now had but
one interpretation--the recognition of his own immediate danger,
the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in
offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had
happened--the love of a man who was in all probability older than
her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so
ridiculous.
He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a
chagrined lover. He dropped the key on the counterpane.
"If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said,
lamely.
"I know exactly what I have done," replied Spurlock. "She is my
lawful wife."
"I should have opened that letter in the beginning," said the
doctor. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. Had you died, I
should have fully obeyed the instructions on that envelope. You
will make her suffer."
"For every hurt she has, I shall have two. I did not lay any traps
for her. I asked her to marry me, and she consented."
"Ah, yes; that's all very well. But when she learns that you are a
fugitive from justice...."
"What proof have you that I am?"--was the return bolt.
"A knowledge of the ways of men. I don't know what you have done; I
don't want to know now. But God will punish you for what you have
done this day."
"As for that, I don't say. But I shall take care of Ruth, work for
her and fight for her." A prophecy which was to be fulfilled in a
singular way. "Given a chance, I can make bread and butter. I'm no
mollycoddle. I have only one question to ask you."
"And what might that be?"
"Will McClintock take us both?"
"You took that chance. There has never been a white woman at
McClintock's."
He paused, and not without malice. He was human. The pause
lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the
set mockery of Spurlock's mouth.
"You begin to have doubts, eh? A handful of money between you, and
nothing else. There are only a few jobs over here for a man of your
type; and even these are more or less hopeless if you haven't
trained mechanical ability." Then he became merciful. "But
McClintock agrees to take you both--because he's as big a fool as I
am. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. You will be
under the eye of the best friend I have; and if you do not treat
that child for what she is--an innocent angel--I promise to hunt
you across the wide world and kill you with bare hands."
Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. "And on my part, I shall
not lift a hand to defend myself."
"I wish I could have foreseen."
"That is to say, you wish you had let me die?"
"That was the thought."
This frankness rather subdued Spurlock. His shoulders relaxed and
his gaze wavered. "Perhaps that would have been best."
"But what, in God's name, possessed you? You have already wrecked
your own life and now you've wrecked hers. She doesn't love you;
she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in
novels. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which
to govern her acts. I am a physician first, which gives the man in
me a secondary part. You have just passed through rather a severe
physical struggle; just as previously to your collapse you had gone
through some terrific mental strain. Your mind is still subtly
sick. The man in me would like to break every bone in your body,
but the physician understands that you don't actually realize what
you have done. But in a little while you will awake; and if there
is a spark of manhood in you, you will be horrified at this day's
work."
Spurlock closed his eyes. Expiation. He felt the first sting of the
whip. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the
sensation of exaltation.
"If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be
something to stand on--a reason why for this madness. I can fairly
understand Ruth; but you...!"
"Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in
anguish? Twenty-four hours a day to think in, alone?... Perhaps I
did not want to go mad from loneliness. I will tell you this much,
because you have been kind. It is true that I do not love Ruth; but
I swear to you, before the God of my fathers, that she shall never
know it!"
"I'll be getting along." The doctor ran his fingers through his
hair, despairingly. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the
world can't undo it. I'll put you aboard _The Tigress_ to-morrow
after sundown. But remember my warning, and play the game!"
Spurlock closed his eyes again. The doctor turned quickly and made
for the door, which he opened and shut gently because he was
assured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign of
violence. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock.
All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what
was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up
in his own lonely heart.
Opals. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the
truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women
who make havoc with the hearts of men.
Marriage!--and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The
shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly--and
bitterly. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some
hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become
a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an
object of pity and contempt.
There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful
shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. The picture might
easily apply to _The Tigress_: outwardly disreputable, but richly
and comfortably appointed below. The flush deck was without wells.
The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a
spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. Amidship
there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and
dirty.
The dining saloon was done in mahogany and sandalwood, with eight
cabins, four to port and four to starboard. The bed-and table-linen
were of the finest texture. From the centre of the ceiling hung a
replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. The odour of coconut
prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned
pleasure junket, _The Tigress_ was a copra carrier, shell and fibre.
McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him
annually about half a million nuts. Natives brought him an equal
amount from the neighbouring islands. As the palm bears nuts
perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the
beach. Thus, McClintock carried to Copeley's press about half a
million pounds of copra. There was a very substantial profit in the
transaction, for he paid the natives in commodities--coloured
cotton cloths, pipes and tobacco, guns and ammunition, household
utensils, cutlery and glass gewgaws. It was perfectly legitimate.
Money was not necessary; indeed, it would have embarrassed all
concerned.. A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth,
tobacco and so forth. In the South Seas, money is the eliminated
middleman.
Where the islands are grouped, men discard the use of geographical
names and simply refer to "McClintock's" or "Copeley's," to the
logical dictator of this or that island.
* * * * *
At sundown Spurlock was brought aboard and put into cabin 2, while
Ruth was assigned to cabin 4, adjoining. From the Sha-mien to the
yacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in the
semi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him.
Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an
extraordinary fascination. She had suddenly become as the jewels of
the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach,
sacred. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer
absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had
put her outside that circle. His lawful wife; but nothing more;
beyond that she was only an idea, a trust.
An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it was
incredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. There
were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble.
What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; she
was also young and physically beautiful--his lawful wife. He had
put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a
vestal in the temple. Such was the condition of his mind that the
danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Here would be the
true test of his strength. Upon this island whither he was bound
there would be no diversions, breathing spells; the battle would be
constant.
All at once it came to him what a fool he was to worry over this
phase which was wholly suppositional. He did not love Ruth. They
would be partners only in loneliness. He would provide the
necessities of life and protect her. He would teach her all he knew
of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she
would be able to defend herself. He was always anticipating,
stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent
troubles. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the
doctor.
"Good-bye, young man; and good luck."
"You are offering your hand to me?"
"Without reservations." The doctor gave Spurlock's hand a friendly
pressure. "Buck up! While there's life there's hope. Play fair with
her. You don't know what you have got; I do. Let her have her own
way in all things, for she will always be just."
Spurlock turned aside his head as he replied: "Words are sometimes
useless things. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I
could make you understand."
"Probably not. The thing is done. The main idea now is of the
future. You will have lots of time on your hands. Get out your pad
and pencil. Go to it. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your
peculiar bent."
"You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there was
eagerness in his eyes. "Rot, weren't they?"
"No. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create
yet. Go to it; and the best of luck!"
He went out. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to
him. There was still in his heart that fierce anger which demands
physical expression; but he had to consider Ruth in all phases. He
proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for
him by the ladder. He handed Ruth a letter.
"What is this?" she wanted to know.
"A hundred dollars which was left from your husband's money."
"Would you be angry if I offered it to you?"
"Very. Don't worry about me."
"You are the kindest man I have ever known," said Ruth, unashamed
of her tears. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. It is
useless to talk. I could never make you understand."
Almost the identical words of the boy. "Will you write," asked the
doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?"
"Oh, yes!"
"The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination;
get him started with his writing. Remember, some day you and I are
going to have that book." He patted her hand. "Good-bye, Mac. Don't
forget to cut out all effervescent water. If you will have your
peg, take it with plain water. You'll be along next spring?"
"If the old tub will float. I'll watch over these infants, if
that's your worry. Good-bye."
The doctor went down the side to the waiting sampan, which at once
set out for the Sha-mien. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the
rocking light until it vanished. One more passer-by; and always
would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.
She was quite assured that she would never see him again.
"Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. His natal burr was always in
evidence when he was sentimentally affected. He knocked his pipe on
the teak rail. "Took a great fancy to you. Wants me to look out for
you a bit. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to
you. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player."
"Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?"
"No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet.
Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. I'm a bit daffy
about music."
"That sounds funny ... to play it with your feet!"
McClintock laughed. "It's a pump, like an organ."
"Oh, I see. What a wonderful world it is!" Music. She shuddered.
"Ay. Well, I'll be getting this tub under way."
Ruth walked to the companion. It was one of those old sliding trap
affairs, narrow and steep of descent. She went down, feeling rather
than seeing the way. The door of cabin 2 was open. Someone had
thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb.
She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold
and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. In the
subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake.
Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a
hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the
position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the
divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written
with her heart's blood.
What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the
divine fire was hers.
"Ruth?" he called.
She entered and approached the bunk. "I thought you were asleep. Is
there anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, and
found it without fever. She had worried in fear that the excitement
would be too much for him.
"Call me Hoddy. That is what my mother used to call me."
"Hoddy," she repeated. "I shall like to call you that. But now you
must be quiet; there's been too much excitement. Knock on the
partition if you want anything during the might. I awaken easily.
Good night!" She pressed his hand and went out.
For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. He heard the
panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor
chains. Presently he felt motion. He chuckled. The vast ironic
humour of it: he was starting on his honeymoon!