Transcriber's Notes:
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http://books.google.com/books?id=pPYUAAAAQAAJ
(Oxford University)
TRUE TO A TYPE
TRUE TO A TYPE
BY
R. CLELAND
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCLXXXVII
_All Rights reserved_
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAP.
XX. PAUL AND VIRGINIA.
XXI. IS SHE HERE?
XXII. "WELL, PETER?"
XXIII. "POOR SUSAN!"
XXIV. "THEY MET, 'TWAS IN A CROWD."
XXV. ROSE AND THE RING.
XXVI. THE MOTHERS.
XXVII. AN OBDURATE DAUGHTER.
XXVIII. THEY HAVE IT OUT.
XXIX. "IT IS ALL A MESS!"
XXX. A CLOSE OBSERVER.
XXXI. THE LADY PRINCIPAL.
XXXII. "YOU MAY TRUST ME TO HOLD MY TONGUE!"
XXXIII. SUSAN IS EQUAL TO THE EMERGENCY.
XXXIV. MISS ROLPH IS SEVERE.
XXXV. MILLICENT.
TRUE TO A TYPE.
CHAPTER XX.
PAUL AND VIRGINIA.
The storm exhausted itself at length. The thunder passed on westward,
the rain abated and ceased, the clouds parted and rolled away, leaving
the sky clear but paler for its agony of tears. It was now evening,
and the air felt fresh even to chilliness, for the temperature had
fallen a matter of fifteen degrees--from 90° to 70° or 75°. The party
stood round the fire with something not greatly removed from a shiver,
and warmed their hands. It was not actually cold, but the transition
had been sudden and violent, which came to the same thing.
"And now to get back?" said Wilkie, looking at his watch. "The gong at
the beach is just going to sound for supper. I confess I feel peckish.
Should we not be thinking of a move, Blount?"
Blount coughed. "There are rather many of us for my small boat, in the
present state of the weather. There is probably more wind, and
certainly more swell, than you would suppose from looking at the
landlocked channel down there. I fear we must postpone thoughts of
supper for the present."
"If we delay, no one can say when we may get in. I don't see why we
should not make the attempt at once. We shall at least have daylight
to lessen our difficulties if we attempt it now. What do you say?"
"I fear it is impossible. What do _you_ say, Jake?"
Jake caught a look from his "boss," and understood. "No, sir-ree! you
won't reach Lippenstock to-night in that aar boat with a crew of six.
It 'ud be more'n a man's life is worth, with the sea as is on in the
bay now."
"Suppose we go four, then. I could take charge of the young ladies."
"We won't break up the party, neither Margaret nor I," said Rose. "You
might try the voyage with Jake, however, by yourself. You could tell
them at the beach to expect us for breakfast."
Wilkie looked doubtfully to Jake; but Jake's eyes were averted. He had
pulled out his plug of tobacco, and was intent upon judiciously
whittling off the exact quantity for a chew. He had no idea of making
the voyage twice for the accommodation of one man, that man not being
the "boss," and one, besides, who did not seem over-likely to remember
to tip. Jake's look afforded little encouragement to make a proposal,
and that reminded Wilkie in time that the figure he himself would make
would not be heroic if he arrived alone at the beach and said that the
others were coming. He elevated his eyebrows into the British
equivalent of a Frenchman's plaintive shrug, and sighed, and resigned
himself to his fate. If he had even had some one to "spoon" with, it
would not have been so bad; but after his experience in that hut
during the hours of the thunderstorm, he realised that he was in the
position of one who at the last moment goes to a place of amusement,
and finds every desirable place ticketed "engaged."
"Worse than Robinson Crusoe," he grumbled to himself, "for I've no man
Friday."
"Then you would make the rest of us stand for the savages," laughed
Blount; "which is scarcely flattering. But keep up your heart, old
man; it might be worse. It is warm in here, at any rate--thanks to our
absent hosts the fishermen. We must not forget to leave something
behind in payment for the use of their wood-heap."
"Why didn't they leave provisions when they were about it? Even a
ship-biscuit would be agreeable now."
"And sugar and tea," laughed Margaret. "They might have left some
tea--and cups and saucers."
Wilkie objected to being chaffed. He looked severe. "I feel almost
faint, I can tell you, Miss Naylor. Brain-workers, I suppose, are more
susceptible to physical privation than the generality," and his eye
rested on the other two gentlemen, as though they were instances in
point. "The brain is a delicate organ, and easily thrown out of gear.
It needs frequent nourishment at short intervals, to keep it in good
working order."
"You will have to give your brain a rest to-night, then, Mr Wilkie,
and husband your fibre, as there is nothing here to renew it with--no
larder, even, except the sea down there. I am glad that, being a
woman, I have no brain to speak of. The exhaustion of its fibre won't
be noticed."
"You've hit it, Margaret!" cried Blount--"without even caring--as you
so often do. Smart girl, and don't know it. The sea is our larder,
full of fish, and Jake has lines in the boat's locker. Let's go
fishing."
"The boat will be wet after the rain," said Rose, "and I have had one
wetting already. I shall not go fishing, thanks; but I do not mind
looking among the rocks for limpets and mussels, and things. They tell
me they are good to eat, when people are very hungry."
"Not a bad thing to do. Whoever likes, can fish from the boat; I shall
_shell_-fish on shore," chimed in Margaret.
"To shell-fish is not wisely selfish," retorted Wilkie, with the air
of a wag. "How much more comfortable to sit in the boat hauling up
your fish, than go pottering and stumbling over slippery rocks with a
lapful of rubbish you won't be able to cook after you have got it!
while we could broil some fish nicely on the hot coals. Believe me,
it's better to be wisely selfish than to bother about worthless
shell-fish."
"I don't think I am selfish; but you may end in becoming a punster if
you are not warned in time; and to show you are not selfish, you had
better go out with Jake, and we will all assist you to cook and eat
whatever you may be lucky enough to catch."
Wilkie looked to the other two men, but both were reaching down hats
for the girls from lofty pegs where they had been hung. No one heeded
him, and he deemed it best to follow Jake, who had already gone down
to the boat and was preparing to launch it. If he was condemned to be
a supernumerary, it was better to be a useful and independent one
afloat, than merely in the way on shore; and he had his reward in a
calm and tranquil evening on the water, his self-love unfretted by the
view of less learned men preferred to himself, his hand bobbing
peacefully with his line, and his head in a cloud of soothing tobacco.
Occasionally he would get a bite, and hauled in his fish with the
consoling thought that there were some creatures whom he could catch,
and that the girls would not object to partake of his fish, however
they might disregard himself.
The four remaining in the hut stood by the door and watched the
launching of the boat; then they likewise descended to the beach and
began to look among the rocks for shell-fish. But either there were
few to find, or the seekers were inattentive in their search, for they
did not find many, and soon wearying, abandoned even the pretence of
being useful.
They wandered idly along in the purple light, now waning swiftly into
bluish grey and shadowy indistinctness. Of the wild and lonely scene
of half an hour ago, nothing was left but the dusky darkness of the
land lifting its solid outline against the tinted sky, where wan
transparent gleams of the departing day contended with the darkling
blue of night, and the dim sea escaping from the shadows of the
islands spread away to the horizon, to bound the low-down glimmer in
the southern sky.
The talk had split itself into two separate strands, and the talkers
had drifted apart, each couple following the thread of its own
discourse, and oblivious to its divergence from the other. Joseph and
Rose were alone again. She was walking by his side, looking with level
gaze straight out before, to the distant line where sea and sky,
straining to meet each other, were yet parted where they touched, as
two who could not be united. She was thinking--or more, perhaps, she
was waiting--with head inclining forward and to her companion, while
his eyes sought the ground. His footsteps sounded irregular as he
walked, as though he were not at ease, but laboured with something to
be said, for which the word was difficult to find. He looked up more
than once as if about to speak, and then his eyes fell again without
his having spoken. She did not observe. Her eyes were on the horizon
and the light was dim.
At length he clenched his hands, stopped short, and spoke abruptly.
His voice was low, but there was an intensity in the utterance, which
made her start although she had been expecting him to speak.
"Rose! will you be my wife?... Why should I try to lead up easily to
what I meant to say? I am too much in earnest to be able to coin
phrases."
She turned and looked at him. She did not look up shyly, but yet she
was not bold. Doubt, if there had been light enough to see, or if his
mind had been calm enough to observe, was the prevailing sentiment
which her face betrayed. She looked, and her lips grew tense, and then
she drew a heavy, deep, slow breath; and, like a sleep-walker obeying
an impulse apart from common consciousness or volition, she held out
her hand.
He caught it in both of his, and raised it to his lips, and clasped it
as if he never would let it go; and the boiling blood went tingling
through his veins in a transport of tumultuous joy, which shook his
frame and made it vain for him to try to raise his voice.
She thought she heard him whisper, "Rose! My own!" and straight the
tears began to gather in her eyes, and her breathing broke into a sob.
She thought, she was about to give way, and covered her face with the
other hand. And yet there was a stillness in her heart, as though it
were some one else--a looker-on--a curious and yet an approving
onlooker, but one who felt no joy at her being sought, no hope and no
elation, though it bade her accept. And then a despairing pang shot
through her. Was it impossible for her to love? But she would! She was
resolved to love--to love this man. She had read in him that he loved
her well. He was good and true; she more than liked or even respected
him. She was resolved to love as fondly and as faithfully as ever
woman had, if only to show----but she would not think of that--never
again. The past was buried. Let it lie.
Joseph, in his own tumultuous exaltation, felt the trembling of her
hand. He heard her sob. He saw her cover her face as if to hide her
tears, and caught her in his arms, folding her in, and pressing her to
his heart in a tender transport. To dry those tears was now his
rightful privilege; and very tenderly and softly did he whisper in her
ear, bidding her calm herself and have no fear, for he loved and
worshipped her, and would devote his life to shelter her from care or
harm.
And now the stars came out upon the night, looking down with friendly
understanding eyes, like beings of a higher sphere, approving the
troth-plight and bidding them be happy. They sat them down upon a
broad flat rock; her hand was nestling in his palm, and her form drawn
up against him within his encircling arm; and the silent peace of
night, tranquil and still beneath the keeping of the kindly stars,
wore in upon their agitated spirits, helping the fever in their blood
to cool.
To realise that there is some one in accord, and all our own, who
shares desire and hope, our present and our future, to whom the inmost
thought might be revealed, if that were possible, without the
conventional disguises in which we hide while we converse with one
another, is a sensation of the rarest joy, but seldom known, and never
known for long. To Joseph, who had lived alone in heart, it was very
new and inexpressibly delightful. There were no words to image forth a
tithe of what he felt. Speech failed. He held her hand, and breathed
the pure delicious night in gasps of satisfaction: and it was all so
still and simple; only the outlined rocks against the sky, and
glimmering faint reflections of the stars on the dim water; no
troubling details or petty objects, no motion but the ceaseless
current of the universe, the noiseless unseen marching of the host of
heaven from east to west. He and his love were the only two in all the
mighty vault. For them the night was still, the air so sweet, the
stars so kind and friendly. They and the universe were in company and
at one in some mysterious way, and the peace of the universe flowed in
upon his soul.
Rose sat in wonder at the intensity of the silence. How this man must
love her! It was sweet to be so loved, but it was solemn. She felt
small within his clasping arms. Her hand was laid in his, and nestled
in the tender warmth of its grasp, so strong and so protecting. He had
taken her for his very own, and she felt humble in the unworthiness of
the self he set such store on. She felt ashamed at the inward
stillness which could respond so coldly; but the feeling roused and
warmed her somewhat, and she was glad of it. She had striven to win
him. Honestly she had striven, if in a divided spirit, which made
her blush now to think of the depth and tenderness of the love which
she had won. But at least he should never have ground to suspect
half-heartedness. She would compel herself to love him more; and if
the reality fell short of what she felt she owed, at least the
expression should not fall short in fulness. She crept closer, and
strove to thaw away the numbing chill which hung about her heart, and
was so stubborn to dispel. He responded with a tightening clasp
against the strong warm throbbing of his breast, till she vibrated
with the pulses of his perfect love. She looked out across the sea,
and vowed to be more than he had hoped or dreamed, and felt still and
strengthened by the peace spread out around her. And so they sat,
together, and yet so far apart in feeling; and time went by without
their taking heed.
* * * * *
At length--they knew not when or how the idea came into their minds,
but probably it was because a star, appearing to have parted from the
rest, came down, and seemed to be pursuing an independent course, and
to outstrip its fellows, being only, when they looked a little later,
the lantern hung out upon a passing ship--they started from their
reverie and stood up.
"The dew is falling; you will be chilled." It was Joseph who spoke.
"Let me button my coat round your shoulders. It is not thick or warm,
but at least it adds another fold of covering."
"Thanks, but I am warm.... No; I do not want it. But you are kind to
mean giving it. Only you should not think that I would strip you of
your coat. Is it not time that we were turning back?"
"Yes; we have strayed a long way from the hut. The ground is rough,
and it is so dark one cannot see where one steps. You will stumble.
Give me your hand, and let me lead."
The unevenness of the ground, and the consequent stumbling among rocks
and boulders in the uncertain dimness, soon brought them back to the
level of everyday life; and when at length, after an hour of
floundering and groping, they came in sight of the fire-glow streaming
from the fishermen's shelter, they were completely themselves
again--gayer even than their wont, in the reaction from the deeper
feelings in which they had been lately steeped.
They were the last of the party to come in. The others were already
round the fire, assisting with their advice the experienced Jake, who
was on his knees broiling fish upon the coals. They made a tolerable
supper, without bread or salt, Jake assuring Wilkie that, coming from
the sea, fish needed none, and that they would lie the lighter on his
"stommick" for lack of fixings. And then the girls were left alone,
and the men withdrew to the boat, under whose shelter they contrived
to sleep till morning, when they sailed from the desert island, each
with some memory or experience to mark it in his recollection for
life.