With the Russian's wild death cry still echoing in her senses Emily
awoke a half-hour later to a vivid consciousness. She found herself
lying in the protecting shade of the boat sail tent which Lavelle had
erected for her habitation near the eastern side of the hill on the day
after the landing. The scene upon which her eyes had closed flashed
again across her vision and she sat up with a shudder.
The movement brought to her senses for the first time a realization of
physical pain. Remembering the strength of spirit which had been given
to her to stand upon fire she throttled the cry which sprang to her
lips. Her suffering became precious to her even as the agony of travail
is dear to a woman. Her eyes welled with hot tears.
Putting out a hand blindly she found the little canvas sandals. She
picked them up and pressed them to her bosom. The charred heels and
soles crumbled away at her touch. She kissed them with the impulse which
would carry a warrior's lips to his colors. To her these pieces of
canvas were the symbols of a faith which had sustained her in a trial
which passed her understanding.
Looking downward at her feet, she found both of them bandaged. She had
been dimly conscious of Lavelle doing this service for her. She
recognized the bindings as pieces of the hem of her night robe with
which she had bound his brow in the boat. A mysterious thrill went
through her; her eyes overflowed.
The breeze lifted the edge of the tent and disclosed Lavelle to her
view. She caught the canvas and held it back. He was just finishing the
restepping of the signal mast. His back was toward her.
Straightening from his task to his full height and with one of his
strong bare arms extended to the mast and the other hanging loosely at
his side, he looked out over the sea to the southward. His tattered
shirt and trousers still wet with sea water clung tightly to his lithe,
powerful form. There was a challenge in the set of his head and in the
grim line of his jaw. His attitude breathed of a man indomitable--one
who, indeed, was master of his fate; the intrepid captain of his soul.
His destiny would find him thus.
The woman in the tent watched this man in wondrous awe, nor could she
know that his thoughts were alone of her at that moment--of a woman
sanctified in his sight not alone by living fire, but also by the
passion of a love unutterable. She saw the breeze toss the forelock of
his dark brown hair. He started. She dropped the edge of the tent,
realizing, without any amazement, that they two were alone in an empty,
far-flung waste of the world. She laid her head down on her long coat
which he had rolled into a pillow. She dared not speak.
During what seemed an interminable time, the woman in the tent heard
Lavelle moving about outside, and, of a sudden, the singleness of his
footfall brought Chang surging into her thoughts. A moment later Lavelle
stood in the tent entrance, carrying food and drink. She sat up to
behold in his face an expression which stabbed her with its pain.
"You are suffering, little woman," he said tenderly.
All she could do was shake her head that she was not. Discovering what
it was she was holding tightly to her bosom he turned away. He
understood.
Presently he pressed her to eat the meal he had prepared. Although it
nearly choked her to swallow she ate and drank because he wished her to
do so.
"What of Chang? Has he gone--gone away?" she dared to ask finally.
The man sitting in the tent entrance had his gaze fixed far away upon
the relentless ocean's breast. He nodded his head sadly.
"God's benison be with him--the truest, the best friend it has ever been
given to any man to know," Lavelle said, facing Emily. After a second's
pause he went on in a tense voice:
"This treacherous earth--treacherous with the sea's treachery--opened at
our feet down there like the snapping jaws of a monster. Chang went
first. I put out a hand to save him. The jaws got me.
"It seemed very hard that the end should come like that--without even a
moment to say good-by." Lavelle paused again. "You can have no idea," he
resumed, "what a torment of waters is down there--waters filled with
reeds and roots which catch at one's limbs and cling to them--like
serpents.
"As we came up to--to snatch at the crust of shore--it crumbled at our
touch. I could see the hill. You--you had just turned away. As I looked
your head passed out of my sight. Then, we saw that--that fiend climb up
here. We saw him stop and--and look back. I shouted--that is, I tried to
shout, but I had no breath. I never was so weak in all--all my days.
But whether he heard me or didn't he must have seen what had happened to
us. He would never have dared come near you--if he hadn't.
"The earth broke under our hands again and again. The sea tore at us.
There is a tremendous current under this island. I heard you cry
for--for us to come to you. Chang heard you. But we were
caught--struggling like two foolish animals in a trap. When the signal
staff went down----Why, I think--I could not think. We saw you come to
the edge of the hill there--heard you cry again, but the sea----"
Lavelle became silent. His eyes sought the great blue deeps below. Emily
could not speak. Her soul was crying to comfort this man. The yearning
of an unknown motherhood was in her heart.
"Like most sailor men--deep-water men----" he went on, "Chang could not
swim. I imagine he must have found a foothold in one of the roots in the
water. He caught me--suddenly--lifted me bodily, it seemed, up out of
the sea--on to the shore. He was very powerful. I turned to help him.
All was quiet up here. He shook his head and--and let go.
"'Go, master. Quick--go! Good-by, flen'. Good-by flor you!'
"A second only he floated. Then the sea sucked him--down. He went with a
smile--unafraid. And I came to--to you--on the hill. You don't----"
His voice broke. He leaped to his feet and walked away. It is not a good
thing that a man's tears shall be seen by a strange woman.