NIGHT was falling fast as Howard and Dorothy, with Jackson close
behind, made their way slowly back to the Queen over the tangled
wreckage, following the trail blazed by Howard two days before. The
Joyces had promised to join them later.
Except for necessary help and caution about the road, the three walked
and climbed for the most part in silence, each immersed in thought.
Only once did Dorothy speak.
“Captain Forbes said that his men had taken possession of the Queen and
were removing her stores,” she warned. “Do you think he was telling the
truth?”
Howard shook his head. “Probably not,” he answered. “But we shall see.”
The Queen came in view at last, and each of the three thrilled at sight
of her familiar form. Wrecked, ruined, half-sunken, nevertheless she
stood to all three as a home and place of refuge, however insecure.
Glad as they had been to leave her, they were far gladder to return and
find her untouched. For Forbes had been lying.
With the touch of the deck beneath their feet, a feeling of
embarrassment descended on the three. On the way over they had been
silent because they were thinking; now they were silent because of the
strange new relation in which they stood to each other. Even Jackson
was conscious of it, and stammered and hesitated when he tried to
speak; while Dorothy’s flushed cheeks and quivering lips showed that
the nerves which had so well sustained her while necessity lasted, were
on the verge of giving way.
Fortunately supper had to be prepared and served and eaten, and these
familiar tasks relieved the tension somewhat. Even then no one dared
to speak of what had occurred, though no one thought of anything
else. The thing lay too close to their hearts to be lightly or easily
broached. At last Jackson, with glances at his two companions, threw
down his knife and fork and slouched out of the saloon without a word.
Left alone, the girl and the man looked at each other, she with
trembling lips and lovely, frightened eyes, and he with an infinite
compassion in his face.
“You want to say something to me?” he questioned, gently. “Say it.
Don’t be afraid. You will find that I can understand.”
Tears welled in Dorothy’s eyes. “To-day,” she murmured, brokenly, “I
made a bargain. I saw myself trapped, driven into marriage with a
man whom I loathed--oh, God only knows how I had come to loathe him!
Anything was better than he--anything! So I made my offer. I would be
a loyal wife to any man who would save me from Captain Forbes. You
answered.”
“I answered.”
“You are a much smaller man than Captain Forbes. No one would have
thought you a match for him, least of all himself. He meant to kill
you. There was murder in his eye. You must have seen it. Yet you faced
him. Why did you do it?”
Howard shrugged his shoulders. “You make too much of the affair,” he
said, lightly. “The man was strong, but he was past his first youth and
moved slowly. After the first two minutes I had no fear of the result.
But you ask me why I came forward. What else could any gentleman
do--and, in spite of my trial and conviction, I trust I am still a
gentleman. I came forward because I had to.”
“Then you did not fight for the poor prize I offered?”
Howard smiled. “Assuredly not,” he answered. “Why, you yourself saw
that I was ready to fight again a moment later to avoid taking it!”
“But you took it.”
“Yes--I took it.”
“And now I ask you to give it up again. I--I--Mr. Howard, I have heard
of you for two years. You have been painted very black in my eyes. I
have known you two weeks, and they have reversed the picture. I should
not have looked for generosity in the man I once thought you to be,
but I beg it from the man I have found you to be. I am your wife. I
have promised before God to be loyal, loving, and obedient to you. I
made that promise with my eyes open, and if you ask it I shall try to
keep it. I am not of those who take their marriage vows lightly. I am
your wife and I am wholly at your mercy. But--but--you do not love me
nor I you. We are mere acquaintances. Do not--oh, it is hard for me
to say this. Have pity on me. Hold me, not as your wife, as I must
hold myself, but as only a poor girl in distress, and--see, I kneel to
you----”
Howard caught her hands and drew her to her feet again. “Poor little
girl,” he murmured gently. “So that is what is troubling you! Do not
fear. You are my wife--yes. But it is a tie that can easily be sundered
when once we get back to dry land. A marriage like this is no marriage
without the after-consent of the parties. Any court in the land would
dissolve it--or, more likely, declare it null and void from the
beginning. Do not fear. You are quite safe with me.”
Dorothy’s breath came fast, but she did not speak. She tottered and put
her hand out for support. Howard guided her to a chair.
“Sit quietly for a moment,” he ordered gently. “I must see Jackson
about something, but I will soon be back and help you to your
state-room. You must be worn out.”
With the last word he turned and went up the companionway, more to give
the girl time to recover herself than because of any desire to see
Jackson. As he reached the top of the stairs his foot struck something,
and he stooped and picked up a pistol wrapped round with a half-sheet
of paper.
Wonderingly he took it to the lamp. He read:
I know where Forbes keeps his rifles. Mrs. Joyce is going to get some
of them for us. I’m going back to help. I leave my pistol in case I
don’t get back. Anyhow, I guess you’d rather be alone to-night.