IN WHICH JASPER BEGG ENTERS THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA
I drew back into a patch of shadow and waited for her to come up to me.
Others might be with her and the moment inopportune for our encounter.
She walked with slow steps. Care had written its story upon her sweet
face. I saw that she was alone, and I put out my hand and touched her
upon the arm.
"Miss Ruth," said I, so soft that I wonder she heard me--"Miss Ruth,
it's Jasper Begg. Don't you know me?"
She turned swiftly, but did not cry out. One wild look she cast about
the half, with one swift glance she made sure of every door, and then,
and only then, she answered me.
"Jasper, Jasper! Is it really Jasper Begg?" she cried, with a look of
joy and gratitude I never shall forget.
Now, she had asked a woman's natural question; but I shall always say
that there never were wits quicker than Ruth Bellenden's; and hardly
were the useless words out of her mouth than she drew back to the room
she had left; and when I had entered it after her she closed the door
and listened a little while for any sounds. When none came to trouble
her she advanced a step, and so we two stood face to face at last, in
as pretty a place as all London, or all Europe for that matter, could
show you.
Let me try to picture that scene for you as it comes to me when I write
of it and seek to bring it back to my memory. A trim, well-kept cabin,
such I call her room--a boudoir the French would name it--all hung
round with pale rose silk, and above that again an artist's pictures
upon a wall of cream. Little tables stood everywhere and women's
knick-knacks upon them; there were deep chairs which invited you to
sit, covered in silks and satins, and cushioned so that a big man might
be afraid of them.
Upon the mantel-shelf a clock from Paris swung a jewelled pendulum, and
candlesticks matched it on either side. A secretaire, littered over
with papers and bright with silver ornaments, had its back to the
seaward wall; a round window, cut in the rock above it, stood hidden by
curtains of the richest brocade. The carpet, I said, was from Turkey;
the mats from Persia. In the grate the wood-fire glowed warmingly. Ruth
Bellenden herself, the mistress of the room, capped the whole, and she
was gowned in white, with rubies and diamonds strung about her stately
neck, and all that air of proud command I had admired so much in
the days bygone. Aye, such a scene, believe me, as a grand London
drawing-room might show you any night of London's months you care to
name, and yet so different from that. And I, a plain sailor, found
myself thrust forward there to my confusion, yet feeling, despite it
all, that the woman I spoke to was woman at heart, as I was man. A few
days ago I had come to her to say, "You have need of me." To-night it
was her lot to answer me with my own words.
"Jasper," she said, her hand still on the switch of the lamp, "what
miracle brings you to this place?"
"No miracle, Miss Ruth," said I, "but a plain road, and five men's
necessity. We were dying on Ken's Island and we found a path under the
sea. It was starvation one way, surrender the other; I am here to tell
Mr. Czerny everything and to trust my life to him."
Now, she heard me almost with angry surprise; and coming forward into
the light she stood before me with clasped hands and heated face.
"No," she said, and her "No" was a thing for a man to hear. "No, no;
you shall never tell my husband that. And, oh, Jasper!" she cried upon
it, "how ill you look--how changed!"
"My looks don't tell the truth," said I, not wishing to speak of
myself; "I am up and down like a barometer in the tropics. The plain
fact is, Miss Ruth, that the ship's gone, clean gone! I gave Mister
Jacob the sure order to stand by us for three days, and that he didn't
do. It means, then, that he couldn't. I greatly fear some accident has
overtaken him; but he'll come back yet as I'm a living man!"
She heard me like one dazed: her eyes were everywhere about the room,
as though seeking something she could not find. Presently she opened
the door with great caution, and was gone a minute or more. When she
returned she had a flask of spirits and some biscuits in her hand, and
this time, I noticed, she locked the door after her.
"Edmond is sleeping; they have sent Aunt Rachel to Tokio," she almost
whispered; "Benno, our servant, is to be trusted. I heard that you were
starving in the hills; but how could I help--how could I, Jasper? It
was madness for you to come here, and yet I am glad--so glad! And oh,"
she says, "we'll find a way; we'll find a way yet, Jasper!"
I poured some brandy from the flask, for I had need of it, and gulped
it down at a draught. Her vivacity was always a thing to charm a man;
as a girl she had the laughter and the spirits of ten.
"What shall we do, Jasper?" she kept on saying, "what shall we do next?
Oh, to think that it's you, to think that it is Jasper Begg in this
strange house!" she kept crying; "and no way out of it, no safety
anywhere! Jasper, what shall we do--what shall we do next?"
"We shall tell your husband, Miss Ruth," said I, "and leave the last
word with him. Why, think of it, five men cast adrift on his shore, and
they to starve. Is he devil or man that he refuses them food and drink?
I'll not believe it until I hear it. The lowest in humanity would never
do such a thing! Aye, you are judging him beyond ordinary when you
believe it. So much I make bold to say!"
I turned to the fire, and began to warm my fingers at it, while she, for
her part, drew up one of the silk-covered chairs, and sat with her
pretty head resting in a tired way between her little hands. All our
talk up to this time had been broken fragments; but this I judged the
time for a just explanation, and she was not less willing.
"Jasper," says she of a sudden, "have you read what I wrote in the
book?"
"To the last line," said I.
"And, reading it, you will ask Edmond to help you?"
"Miss Ruth," said I, "how shall one man judge another? Ships come to
this shore, and are wrecked on it. Now and then, perchance, there is
foul play among the hands. Are you sure that your husband has any part
in it--are you sure he's as bad as you think him?"
Well, instead of answering me, she stood up suddenly and let her dress
fall by the shoulder-knots. I saw the white flesh beneath bruised and
wealed, as though a whip had cut it, and I knew that this was her
witness to her story. What was in my heart at such a sight I would have
no man know; but my fingers closed about the pistol I carried, and my
tongue would speak no word.
"Why do you compel me to speak?" she went on, meanwhile. "Am I to tell
of all the things I have seen and suffered on this dreadful place in
the year--can it be only that?--the long, weary year I have lived here?
Do you believe, Jasper, that a man can fill his house with gold as this
is filled--this wild house so far from the world--and fill it honestly?
Shall I say, 'Yes, I have misjudged him,' the man who has shot my
servant here in this room and left me with the dead? Shall I say that
he is a good man because sometimes, when he has ceased to kill and
torture those who serve him, he acts as other men? Oh, I could win much
if I could say that; I could win, perhaps, all that a woman desires.
But I shall never speak--never; I shall live as I am living until I am
old, when nothing matters!"
It was a very bitter and a very surprising thing for me to hear her
speak in this way. Trouble I knew she must have suffered on Ken's
Island; but this was a story beyond all imagination. And what could I
say to her, what comfort give her--I, a rough-hearted sailor, who,
nevertheless, would have cut off my own right hand if that could have
served her? Indeed, to be truthful, I had nothing to say, and there we
were for many minutes, she upon one side of the fire and I upon the
other, as two that gazed into the reddening embers and would have found
some old page of our life therein recorded.
"Miss Ruth," said I at last, and I think she knew what I meant, "I
would have given much not to have heard this thing to-night; but as it
is spoken--if it were twenty times as bad for me and those with me--I
am glad we came to Ken's Island. The rest you will anticipate and there
is no need for me to talk about it. The day that sees me sail away will
find a cabin-passenger aboard my ship. Her name I will not mention, for
it is known to you. Aye, by all a man's promise she shall sail with me
or I will never tread a ship's deck again."
It was earnestly meant, and that, I am sure, Miss Ruth knew, for she
put her hand upon mine, and, though she made no mention of what I had
said, there was a look in her eyes which I was glad to see there. Her
next question surprised me altogether.
"Jasper," she asked, with something of a smile, "do you remember when I
was married?"
"Remember it!" cried I; and I am sure she must have seen the blood rush
up to my face. "Why, of course, I remember it! How should a man forget
a thing like that?"
"Yes," she went on, and neither looked at the other now, "I was a girl
then, and all the world was my playground. Every day was a flower to
pick; the night was music and laughter. How I used to people the world
my hopes created--such romantic figures they were, such nonsense! When
Edmond Czerny met me at Nice, I think he understood me. Oh, the castles
we built in the air, the romantic heights we scaled, the passionate
folly with which we deceived ourselves! 'The world is for you and I,'
he said, 'in each other's hearts'; and I, Jasper, believed him, just
because I had not learnt to be a woman. His own story fascinated me; I
cannot tell how much. He had been in all countries; he knew many
cities; he could talk as no man I had ever met. Perhaps, if he had not
been so clever, it would have been different. All the other men I knew,
all except one, perhaps----!"
"There was one, then," said I, and my meaning she could not mistake.
But she turned her face from me and would not name the man.
"Yes," she went on, without noticing it, "there was one; but I was a
child and did not understand. The others did not interest me. Their
king was a cook; their temple the Casino. And then Edmond spoke of his
island home; I was to be the mistress of it, and we were to be apart
from all the world there. I did not ask him, as others might have asked
him, 'What has your life been? Why do you love me?' I was glad to
escape from it all, that little world of chatter and unreality, and I
said, 'I will be your wife.' We left Europe together and went first to
San Francisco. Life was still in a garden of roses. If I would awake
sometimes to ask myself a question, I could not answer it. I was the
child of romance, but my world was empty. Then one day we came to Ken's
Island, and I saw all its wonders, and I said, 'Yes, we will visit here
every year and dream that it is our kingdom.' I did not know the truth;
what woman would have guessed it?"
"You learnt it, Miss Ruth, nevertheless," said I, for her story was
just what I myself had imagined it to be. "You were not long on Ken's
Island before you knew the truth."
"A month," she said, quietly. "I was a month here, and then a ship was
wrecked. My husband went out with the others; and from the terrace
before my windows I saw--ah, God! what did I not see? Then Edmond
returned and was angry with the servant who had permitted me to see. He
shot him in this room before my face. He knew that his secret was mine,
he knew that I would not share it. The leaves of the rose had fallen.
Ah! Jasper, what weeks of terror, of greed, of tears--and now you--you
in this house to end it all!"
I sat for a long while preoccupied with my own thoughts and quite
unable to speak to her. All that she had told me was no surprise, no
new thing; but I believe it brought home to me for the first time the
danger of my presence in that house, and all that discovery meant to
the four shipmates who waited for me down below in the cavern.
For if this man Czerny--a madman, as I always say--had shot down a
servant before this gentle girl, what would he do to me and the others,
sworn enemies of his, who could hang him in any city where they might
find him; who could, with one word, give his dastardly secret to the
world; who could, with a cry, destroy this treasure-house, rock-built
though it might be? What hope of mercy had we from such a man? And I
was sitting there, it might be, within twenty paces of the room in
which he slept; Miss Ruth's hand lay in my own. What hope for her or
for me, I ask again? Will you wonder that I said, "None; just none! A
thousand times none"! The island itself might well be a mercy beside
such a hell as this.
"Miss Ruth," said I, coming to myself at last, "how little I thought
when you went up to the great cathedral in Nice a short year ago that
such a sunny day would end so badly! It is one of the world's
lotteries; just that and nothing more. Edmond Czerny is no sane man,
as his acts prove. Some day you will blot it all out of your life as
a page torn and forgotten. That your husband loved you in Nice, I do
believe; and so much being true, he may come to reason again, and
reason would give you liberty. If not, there are others who will
try--while they live. He must be a rich man, a very rich man,
must Edmond Czerny. God alone knows why he should sink to such an
employment as this."
"He has sunk to it," she said, quickly, "because gold is fed by the
love of gold. Oh, yes, he is a rich man, richer than you and I can
understand. And yet even my own little fortune must be cast upon the
pile. A month ago he compelled me to sign a paper which gives up to him
everything I have in the world. He has no more use for me, Jasper; none
at all! He has sent my only living relative away from me. When you go
back to England they will tell you that I am dead. And it will be
true--true; oh, I know that it will be true."
She had come to a very low state, I make sure, to utter such a word as
this, and it was a sorry thing for me to hear. To console her when I
myself was in a parlous plight was just as though one drowning man
should hold out his hand to another. To-morrow I myself might be flung
into that very ocean whose breakers I could hear rolling over the glass
of the curtained windows. And what of little Ruth then?
That question I did not answer. Words were on my lips--such words as a
driven man may speak--when there came to us from the sea without the
boom of a distant gun, and, Miss Ruth springing to her feet, I heard a
great bell clang in the house and the rush of men and the pattering of
steps; and together, the woman I loved and I, we stood with beating
hearts and white faces, and told each other that a ship was on the
rocks and that Edmond Czerny's devils were loose.