A SUMMER DAY ON THE THAMES.
It occurred to him as he walked down to the station--perhaps he went
early on the chance of finding her there alone--that he ought seriously
to study the features of this girl's face; for was there not a great
deal of character to be learned, or guessed at, that way? He had but
the vaguest notion of what she was really like. He knew that her teeth
were pearly white when she smiled, and that the rippling golden-brown
hair lay rather low on a calm and thoughtful forehead; but he had a less
distinct impression that her nose was perhaps the least thing
_retrousse_; and as to her eyes? They might be blue, gray, or green, but
one thing he was sure of was that they could speak more than was ever
uttered by any speech. He knew, besides, that she had an exquisite
figure: perhaps it was the fact that her shoulders were a trifle squarer
than is common with women that made her look somewhat taller than she
really was.
He would confirm or correct these vague impressions. And as the chances
were that they would spend a whole long day together, he would have
abundant opportunity of getting to know something about the character
and disposition of this new acquaintance, so that she should no longer
be to him a puzzling and distracting will-o'-the-wisp. What had he come
to London for but to improve his knowledge of men and of women, and to
see what was going on in the larger world? And so this earnest student
walked down to the station.
There were a good many people about, mostly in groups chatting with each
other; but he recognized no one. Perhaps he was looking out for Colonel
and Mrs. Ross; perhaps for a slender figure in black, with blue beads;
at all events, he was gazing somewhat vacantly around when some one
turned close by him. Then his heart stood still for a second. The sudden
light that sprang to her face when she recognized him blinded him. Was
it to be always so? Was she always to come upon him in a flash, as it
were? What chance had the poor student of fulfilling his patient task
when, on his approach, he was sure to be met by this surprise of the
parted lips, and sudden smile, and bright look? He was far too
bewildered to examine the outline of her nose or the curve of the
exquisitely short upper lip.
But the plain truth was that there was no extravagant joy at all in
Miss White's face, but a very slight and perhaps pleased surprise; and
she was not in the least embarrassed.
"Are you looking for Mrs. Ross," said she, "like myself?"
"Yes," said he; and then he found himself exceedingly anxious to say a
great deal to her, without knowing where to begin. She had surprised him
too much--as usual. She was so different from what he had been dreaming
about. Here was no one of the imaginary creatures that had risen before
his mind during the stillness of the night. Even the pale dreamer in
black and blue beads was gone. He found before him (as far as he could
make out) a quiet, bright-faced, self-possessed girl, clad in a light
and cool costume of white, with bits of black velvet about it; and her
white gloves and sunshade, and the white silver chain round her slender
waist, were important features in the picture she presented. How could
this eager student of character get rid of the distressing trivialities?
All night long he had been dreaming of beautiful sentiments and
conflicting emotions: now his first thought was that he had never seen
any costume so delightfully cool, and clear, and summer-like. To look at
her was to think of a mountain spring, icy cold even in the sunshine.
"I always come early," said she, in the most matter-of-fact way. "I
cannot bear hurry in catching a train."
Of course not. How could any one associate rattling cabs, and excited
porters, and frantic mobs with this serene creature, who seemed to have
been wafted to Charing Cross on a cloud? And if he had had his will,
there would have been no special train to disturb her repose. She would
have embarked in a noble barge, and lain upon couches of swans-down, and
ample awnings of silk would have sheltered her from the sun, while the
beautiful craft floated away down the river, its crimson hangings here
and there just touching the rippling waters.
"Ought we to take tickets?"
That was what she actually said; but what those eloquent, innocent eyes
seemed to say was, "_Can you read what we have to tell you? Don't you
know what a simple and confiding soul appeals to you?--clear as the
daylight in its truth. Cannot you look through us and see the trusting,
tender soul within?_"
"Perhaps we had better wait for Colonel Ross," said he; and there was a
little pronoun in this sentence that he would like to have repeated. It
was a friendly word. It established a sort of secret companionship. It
is the proud privilege of a man to know all about railway tickets; but
he rather preferred this association with her helpless innocence and
ignorance.
"I had no idea you were coming to-day. I rather like those surprise
parties. Mrs. Ross never thought of going until last evening, she says.
Oh, by the way, I saw you in the theatre last evening."
He almost started. He had quite forgotten that this self-possessed,
clear-eyed, pale girl was the madcap coquette whose caprices and griefs
had alternately fascinated and moved him on the previous evening.
"Oh indeed," he stammered. "It was a great pleasure to me--and a
surprise. Lieutenant Ogilvie played a trick on me. He did not tell me
before we went that--that you were to appear."
She looked amused.
"You did not know, then, when we met at Mrs. Ross's that I was engaged
at the Piccadilly Theatre?"
"Not in the least," he said, earnestly, as if he wished her distinctly
to understand that he could not have imagined such a thing to be
possible.
"You should have let me send you a box. We have another piece in
rehearsal. Perhaps you will come to see that."
Now if these few sentences, uttered by those two young people in the
noisy railway station, be taken by themselves and regarded, they will be
found to consist of the dullest commonplace. No two strangers in all
that crowd could have addressed each other in a more indifferent
fashion. But the trivial nothings which the mouth utters may become
possessed of awful import when accompanied by the language of the eyes;
and the poor commonplace sentences may be taken up and translated so
that they shall stand written across the memory in letters of flashing
sunlight and the colors of June. "_Ought we to take tickets?_" There was
not much poetry in the phrase but she lifted her eyes just then.
And now Colonel Ross and his wife appeared, accompanied by the only
other friend they could get at such short notice to join this scratch
party--a demure little old lady who had a very large house on Campden
Hill which everybody coveted. They were just in time to get comfortably
seated in the spacious saloon carriage that had been reserved for them.
The train slowly glided out of the station, and then began to rattle
away from the midst of London. Glimpses of a keener blue began to
appear. The gardens were green with the foliage of the early summer;
martins swept across the still pools, a spot of white when they got into
the shadow. And Miss White would have as many windows open as possible,
so that the sweet June air swept right through the long carriage.
And was she not a very child in her enjoyment of this sudden escape into
the country? The rapid motion, the silvery light, the sweet air, the
glimpses of orchards, and farm-houses, and millstreams--all were a
delight to her; and although she talked in a delicate, half-reserved,
shy way with that low voice of hers, still there was plenty of vivacity
and gladness in her eyes. They drove from Gravesend station to the
river-side. They passed through the crowd waiting to see the yachts
start. They got on board the steamer; and at the very instant that
Macleod stepped from the gangway on to the deck, the military band on
board, by some strange coincidence, struck up "A Highland lad my love
was born." Mrs. Ross laughed, and wondered whether the band-master had
recognized her husband.
And now they turned to the river; and there were the narrow and shapely
cutters, with their tall spars, and their pennons fluttering in the
sunlight. They lay in two tiers across the river, four in each tier, the
first row consisting of small forty-tonners, the more stately craft
behind. A brisk northeasterly wind was blowing, causing the bosom of the
river to flash in ripples of light. Boats of every size and shape moved
up and down and across the stream. The sudden firing of a gun caused
some movement among the red-capped mariners of the four yachts in front.
"They are standing by the main halyards," said Colonel Ross to his
women-folk. "Now watch for the next signal."
Another gun was fired; and all of a sudden there was a rattling of
blocks and chains, and the four mainsails slowly rose, and the flapping
jibs were run out. The bows drifted round: which would get way on her
first? But now there was a wild uproar of voices. The boom end of one of
the yachts had caught one of the stays of her companion, and both were
brought up head to wind. Cutter No. 3 took advantage of the mishap to
sail through the lee of both her enemies, and got clear away, with the
sunlight shining full on her bellying canvas. But there was no time to
watch the further adventures of the forty-tonners. Here and closer at
hand were the larger craft, and high up in the rigging were the mites of
men, ready to drop into the air, clinging on to the halyards. The gun is
fired. Down they come, swinging in the air; and the moment they have
reached the deck they are off and up the ratlines again, again to drop
into the air until the gaff is high hoisted, the peak swinging this way
and that, and the gray folds of the mainsail lazily flapping in the
wind. The steamer begins to roar. The yachts fall away from their
moorings, and one by one the sails fill out to the fresh breeze. And
now all is silence and an easy gliding motion, for the eight competitors
have all started away, and the steamer is smoothly following them.
"How beautiful they are!--like splendid swans," Miss White said: she had
a glass in her hand, but did not use it, for as yet the stately fleet
was near enough.
"A swan has a body," said Macleod. "These things seem to me to be all
wings. It is all canvas, and no hull."
And, indeed, when the large top-sails and big jibs came to be set, it
certainly seemed as if there was nothing below to steady this vast
extent of canvas. Macleod was astonished. He could not believe that
people were so reckless as to go out in boats like that.
"If they were up in our part of the world," said he, "a puff of wind
from the Gribun Cliffs would send the whole fleet to the bottom."
"They know better than to try," Colonel Ross said, "Those yachts are
admirably suited for the Thames; and Thames yachting is a very nice
thing. It is very close to London. You can take a day's fresh air when
you like, without going all the way to Cowes. You can get back to town
in time to dine."
"I hope so," said Miss White, with emphasis.
"Oh, you need not be afraid," her host said, laughing. "They only go
round the Nore; and with this steady breeze they ought to be back early
in the afternoon. My dear Miss White, we sha'n't allow you to disappoint
the British public."
"So I may abandon myself to complete idleness without concern?"
"Most certainly."
And it was an enjoyable sort of idleness. The river was full of life and
animation as they glided along; fitful shadows and bursts of sunshine
crossed the foliage and pasture-lands of the flat shores; the yellow
surface of the stream was broken with gleams of silver; and always, when
this somewhat tame, and peaceful, and pretty landscape tended to become
monotonous, they had on this side or that the spectacle of one of those
tall and beautiful yachts rounding on a new tack or creeping steadily up
on one of her opponents. They had a sweepstakes, of course, and Macleod
drew the favorite. But then he proceeded to explain to Miss White that
the handicapping by means of time allowances made the choice of a
favorite a mere matter of guesswork; that the fouling at the start was
of but little moment: and that on the whole she ought to exchange yachts
with him.
"But if the chances are all equal, why should your yacht be better than
mine?" said she.
The argument was unanswerable; but she took the favorite for all that,
because he wished her to do so; and she tendered him in return the bit
of folded paper with the name of a rival yacht on it. It had been in her
purse for a minute or two. It was scented when she handed it to him.
"I should like to go to the Mediterranean in one of those beautiful
yachts," she said, looking away across the troubled waters, "and lie and
dream under the blue skies. I should want no other occupation than that:
that would be real idleness, with a breath of wind now and then to
temper the heat; and an awning over the deck; and a lot of books. Life
would go by like a dream."
Her eyes were distant and pensive. To fold the bits of paper, she had
taken off her gloves: he regarded the small white hands, with the blue
veins and the pink, almond-shaped nails. She was right. That was the
proper sort of existence for one so fine and pale, and perfect even to
the finger-tips. Rose Leaf--Rose Leaf--what faint wind will carry you
away to the south?
At this moment the band struck up a lively air. What was it?
"O this is no my ain lassie,
Fair though the lassie be."
"You are in great favor, to-day, Hugh," Mrs. Ross said to her husband.
"You will have to ask the band-master to lunch with us."
But this sharp alternative of a well-known air had sent Macleod's
thoughts flying away northward, to scenes far different from these flat
shores, and to a sort of boating very different from this summer
sailing. Janet, too: what was she thinking of--far away in Castle Dare?
Of the wild morning on which she insisted on crossing to one of the
Freshnist islands, because of the sick child of a shepherd there; and of
the open herring smack, and she sitting on the ballast stones; and of
the fierce gale of wind and rain that hid the island from their sight;
and of her landing, drenched to the skin, and with the salt-water
running from her hair and down her face?
"Now for lunch," said Colonel Ross; and they went below.
The bright little saloon was decorated with flowers; the colored glass
on the table looked pretty enough; here was a pleasant break in the
monotony of the day. It was an occasion, too, for assiduous helpfulness,
and gentle inquiries, and patient attention. They forgot about the
various chances of the yachts. They could not at once have remembered
the name of the favorite. And there was a good deal of laughter and
pleasant chatting, while the band overhead--heard through the open
skylight--still played,
"O this is no my ain lassie,
Kind though the lassie be."
And behold! when they went up on deck again they had got ahead of all
the yachts, and were past the forts at the mouth of the Medway, and were
out on an open space of yellowish-green water that showed where the tide
of the sea met the current of the river. And away down there in the
south, a long spur of land ran out at the horizon, and the sea
immediately under was still and glassy, so that the neck of land seemed
projected into the sky--a sort of gigantic razor-fish suspended in the
silvery clouds. Then, to give the yachts time to overtake them, they
steamed over to a mighty ironclad that lay at anchor there; and as they
came near her vast black bulk they lowered their flag, and the band
played "Rule, Britannia." The salute was returned; the officer on the
high quarterdeck raised his cap; they steamed on.
In due course of time they reached the Nore lightship, and there they
lay and drifted about until the yachts should come up. Long distances
now separated that summer fleet; but as they came along, lying well over
before the brisk breeze, it was obvious that the spaces of time between
the combatants Would not be great. And is not this Miss White's vessel,
the favorite in the betting, that comes sheering through the water, with
white foam at her bows? Surely she is more than her time allowance
ahead? And on this tack will she get clear round the ruddy little
lightship, or is there not a danger of her carrying off a bowsprit? With
what an ease and majesty she comes along, scarcely dipping to the slight
summer waves, while they on board notice that she has put out her long
spinnaker boom, ready to hoist a great ballooner as soon as she is round
the lightship and running home before the wind. The speed at which she
cuts the water is now visible enough as she obscures for a second or so
the hull of the lightship. In another second she has sheered round; and
then the great spinnaker bulges out with the breeze, and away she goes
up the river again. Chronometers are in request. It is only a matter of
fifty seconds that the nearest rival, now coming sweeping along, has to
make up. But what is this that happens just as the enemy has got round
the Nore? There is a cry of "Man overboard!" The spinnaker boom has
caught the careless skipper and pitched him clean into the plashing
waters, where he floats about, not as yet certain, probably, what course
his vessel will take. She at once brings her head up to wind and puts
about; but meanwhile a small boat from the lightship has picked up the
unhappy skipper, and is now pulling hard to strike the course of the
yacht on her new tack. In another minute or two he is on board again;
and away she goes for home.
"I think you have won the sweepstakes, Miss White," Macleod said. "Your
enemy has lost eight minutes."
She was not thinking of sweepstakes. She seemed to have been greatly
frightened by the accident.
"It would have been so dreadful to see a man drowned before your
eyes--in the midst of a mere holiday excursion."
"Drowned?" he cried. "There? If a sailor lets himself get drowned in
this water, with all these boats about, he deserves it."
"But there are many sailors who cannot swim at all."
"More shame for them," said he.
"Why, Sir Keith," said Mrs. Ross, laughing, "do you think that all
people have been brought up to an amphibious life like yourself? I
suppose in your country, what with the rain and the mist, you seldom
know whether you are on sea or shore."
"That is quite true," said he, gravely. "And the children are all born
with fins. And we can hear the mermaids singing all day long. And when
we want to go anywhere, we get on the back of a dolphin."
But he looked at Gertrude White. What would she say about that far land
that she had shown such a deep interest in? There was no raillery at all
in her low voice as she spoke.
"I can very well understand," she said, "how the people there fancied
they heard the mermaids singing--amidst so much mystery, and with the
awfulness of the sea around them."
"But we have had living singers," said Macleod, "and that among the
Macleods, too. The most famous of all the song-writers of the Western
Highlands was Mary Macleod, that was born in Harris--Mairi Nighean
Alasdair ruaidh, they called her, that is, Mary, the daughter of Red
Alister. Macleod of Dunvegan, he wished her not to make any more songs;
but she could not cease the making of songs. And there was another
Macleod--Fionaghal, they called her, that is the Fair Stranger. I do not
know why they called her the Fair Stranger--perhaps she came to the
Highlands from some distant place. And I think if you were going among
the people there at this very day, they would call you the Fair
Stranger."
He spoke quite naturally and thoughtlessly: his eyes met hers only for a
second; he did not notice the soft touch of pink that suffused the
delicately tinted cheek.
"What did you say was the name of that mysterious stranger?" asked Mrs.
Ross--"that poetess from unknown lands?"
"Fionaghal," he answered.
She turned to her husband.
"Hugh," she said, "let me introduce you to our mysterious guest. This is
Fionaghal--this is the Fair Stranger from the islands--this is the
poetess whose melodies the mermaids have picked up. If she only had a
harp, now--with sea-weed hanging from it--and an oval mirror--"
The booming of a gun told them that the last yacht had rounded the
lightship. The band struck up a lively air, and presently the steamer
was steaming off in the wake of the procession of yachts. There was now
no more fear that Miss White should be late. The breeze had kept up
well, and had now shifted a point to the east, so that the yachts, with
their great ballooners, were running pretty well before the wind. The
lazy abandonment of the day became more complete than ever. Careless
talk and laughter; an easy curiosity about the fortunes of the race; tea
in the saloon, with the making up of two bouquets of white roses,
sweet-peas, fuchias, and ferns--the day passed lightly and swiftly
enough. It was a summer day, full of pretty trifles. Macleod,
surrendering to the fascination, began to wonder what life would be if
it were all a show of June colors and a sound of dreamy music: for one
thing, he could not imagine this sensitive, beautiful, pale, fine
creature otherwise than as surrounded by an atmosphere of delicate
attentions and pretty speeches, and sweet, low laughter.
They got into their special train again at Gravesend, and were whirled
up to London. At Charing Cross he bade good-bye to Miss White, who was
driven off by Mr. and Mrs. Ross along with their other guest. In the
light of the clear June evening he walked rather absently up to his
rooms.
There was a letter lying on the table. He seized it and opened it with
gladness. It was from his cousin Janet, and the mere sight of it seemed
to revive him like a gust of keen wind from the sea. What had she to
say? About the grumbling of Donald, who seemed to have no more pride in
his pipes, now the master was gone? About the anxiety of his mother over
the reports of the keepers? About the upsetting of a dog-cart on the
road to Lochbuy? He had half resolved to go to the theatre again that
evening--getting, if possible, into some corner where he might pursue
his profound pyschological investigations unseen--but now he thought he
would not go. He would spend the evening in writing a long letter to his
cousin, telling her and the mother about all the beautiful, fine, gay,
summer life he had seen in London--so different from anything they could
have seen in Fort William, or Inverness, or even in Edinburgh. After
dinner he sat down to this agreeable task. What had he to write about
except brilliant rooms, and beautiful flowers, and costumes such as
would have made Janet's eyes wide--of all the delicate luxuries of life,
and happy idleness, and the careless enjoyment of people whose only
thought was about a new pleasure? He gave a minute description of all
the places he had been to see--except the theatre. He mentioned the
names of the people who had been kind to him; but he said nothing about
Gertrude White.
Not that she was altogether absent from his thoughts. Sometimes his
fancy fled away from the sheet of paper before him, and saw strange
things. Was this Fionaghal the Fair Stranger--this maiden who had come
over the seas to the dark shores of the isles--this king's daughter clad
in white, with her yellow hair down to her waist and bands of gold on
her wrists? And what does she sing to the lashing waves but songs of
high courage, and triumph, and welcome to her brave lover coming home
with plunder through the battling seas? Her lips are parted with her
singing, but her glance is bold and keen: she has the spirit of a king's
daughter, let her come from whence she may.
Or is Fionaghal the Fair Stranger this poorly dressed lass who boils the
potatoes over the rude peat fire, and croons her songs of suffering and
of the cruel drowning in the seas, so that from hut to hut they carry
her songs, and the old wives' tears start afresh to think of their brave
sons lost years and years ago?
Neither Fionaghal is she--this beautiful, pale woman, with her sweet,
modern English speech, and her delicate, sensitive ways, and her hand
that might be crushed like a rose leaf. There is a shimmer of summer
around her; flowers lie in her lap; tender observances encompass and
shelter her. Not for her the biting winds of the northern seas; but
rather the soft luxurious idleness of placid waters, and blue skies, and
shadowy shores ... _Rose Leaf! Rose Leaf! what faint wind will carry you
away to the south?_