A CAVE IN MULL.
Of love not a single word had so far been said between these two. It was
a high sense of courtesy that on his part had driven him to exercise
this severe self-restraint; he would not invite her to be his guest, and
then take advantage of the various opportunities offered to plague her
with the vehemence and passionate yearning of his heart. For during all
those long winter months he had gradually learned, from the
correspondence which he so carefully studied, that she rather disliked
protestation; and when he hinted that he thought her letters to him were
somewhat cold, she only answered with a playful humor; and when he tried
to press her to some declaration about her leaving the stage or about
the time of their marriage, she evaded the point with an extreme
cleverness which was so good-natured and friendly that he could scarcely
complain. Occasionally there were references in these letters that
awakened in his breast a tumult of jealous suspicions and fears; but
then again he consoled himself by looking forward to the time when she
should be released from all those environments that he hated and
dreaded. He would have no more fear when he could take her hand and look
into her eyes.
And now that Miss Gertrude White was actually in Castle Dare--now that
he could walk with her along the lonely mountain-slopes and show her the
wonders of the Western seas and the islands--what was it that still
occasioned that vague unrest? His nervous anxiety that she should be
pleased with all she saw? or a certain critical coldness in her glance?
or the consciousness that he was only entertaining a passing visitor--a
beautiful bird that had alighted on his hand, and that the next moment
would be winging its flight away into the silvery South?
"You are becoming a capital sailor," he said to her one day, with a
proud light on his face. "You have no fear at all of the sea now."
He and she and the cousin Janet--Mr. White had some letters to answer,
and had stayed at home--were in the stern of the gig, and they were
being rowed along the coast below the giant cliffs of Gribun. Certainly
if Miss White had confessed to being a little nervous, she might have
been excused. It was a beautiful, fresh, breezy, summer day; but the
heavy Atlantic swell, that slowly raised and lowered the boat as the men
rowed along, passed gently and smoothly on, and then went booming and
roaring and crashing over the sharp black rocks that were quite close at
hand.
"I think I would soon get over my fear of the sea," she said, gently.
Indeed, it was not that that was most likely to impress her on this
bright day--it was the awful loneliness and desolation of the scene
around her. All along the summit of the great cliffs lay heavy banks of
cloud that moved and wreathed themselves together, with mysterious
patches of darkness here and there that suggested the entrance into far
valleys in the unseen mountains behind. And if the outer surface of
these precipitous cliffs was brightened by sunlight, and if there was a
sprinkling of grass on the ledges, every few minutes they passed the
yawning archway of a huge cavern, around which the sea was roaring with
a muffled and thunderous noise. He thought she would be interested in
the extraordinary number and variety of the sea-birds about--the solemn
cormorants sitting on the ledges, the rock-pigeons shooting out from the
caves, the sea-pyots whirring along the rocks like lightning-flashes of
color, the lordly osprey, with his great wings outstretched and
motionless, sailing slowly in the far blue overhead. And no doubt she
looked at all these things with a forced interest; and she herself now
could name the distant islands out in the tossing Atlantic; and she had
in a great measure got accustomed to the amphibious life at Dare. But as
she listened to the booming of the waves around those awful recesses;
and as she saw the jagged and angry rocks suddenly appear through the
liquid mass of the falling sea: and as she looked abroad on the unknown
distances of that troubled ocean, and thought of the life on those
remote and lonely islands, the spirit of a summer holiday forsook her
altogether, and she was silent.
"And you will have no fear of the beast when you go into Mackinnon's
cave," said Janet Macleod to her, with a friendly smile, "because no one
has ever heard of it again. Do you know, it was a strange thing? They
saw in the sand the footprint of an animal that is not known to any one
about here; even Keith himself did not know what it was--"
"I think it was a wild-cat," said he.
"And the men they had nothing to do then; and they went all about the
caves, but they could see nothing of it. And it has never come back
again."
"And I suppose you are not anxious for its coming back?" Miss White
said.
"Perhaps you will be very lucky and see it some day, and I know that
Keith would like to shoot it, whatever it is."
"That is very likely," Miss White said, without any apparent sarcasm.
By and by they paused opposite the entrance to a cave that seemed even
larger and blacker than the others; and then Miss White discovered that
they were considering at what point they could most easily effect a
landing. Already through the singularly clear water she could make out
vague green masses that told of the presence of huge blocks of yellow
rock far below them; and as they cautiously went farther toward the
shore, a man at the bow calling out to them, these blocks of rock became
clearer and clearer, until it seemed as if those glassy billows that
glided under the boat, and then went crashing in white foam a few yards
beyond, must inevitably transfix the frail craft on one of these jagged
points. But at length they managed to run the bow of the gig into a
somewhat sheltered place, and two of the men, jumping knee-deep into the
water, hauled the keel still farther over the grating shell-fish of the
rock; and then Macleod, scrambling out, assisted Miss White to land.
"Do you not come with us?" Miss White called back to the boat.
"Oh, it is many a time I have been in the cave," said Janet Macleod;
"and I will have the luncheon ready for you. And you will not stay long
in the cave, for it is cold and damp."
He took her hand, for the scrambling over the rough rocks and stores was
dangerous work for unfamiliar ankles. They drew nearer to this awful
thing, that rose far above them, and seemed waiting to enclose them and
shut them in forever. And whereas about the other caves there were
plenty of birds flying, with their shrill screams denoting their terror
or resentment, there was no sign of life at all about this black and
yawning chasm, and there was an absolute silence, but for the rolling of
the breakers behind them that only produced vague and wandering echoes.
As she advanced over the treacherous shingle, she became conscious of a
sort of twilight appearing around her. A vast black thing--black as
night and still as the grave--was ahead of her; but already the change
from the blaze of sunlight outside to this partial darkness seemed
strange on the eyes. The air grew colder. As she looked up at the
tremendous walls, and at the mysterious blackness beyond, she grasped
his hand more tightly, though the walking on the wet sand was now
comparatively easy. And as they went farther and farther into this
blackness, there was only a faint, strange light that made an outline of
the back of his figure, leaving his face in darkness; and when he
stopped to examine the sand, she turned and looked back, and behold the
vast portal by which they entered had now dwindled down into a small
space of bewildering white.
"No," said he, and she was startled by the hollow tones of his voice;
"I cannot find any traces of the boat news; they have all gone."
Then he produced a candle and lit it; and as they advanced farther into
the blackness, there was visible this solitary star of red fire, that
threw dull, mysterious gleams from time to time on some projecting
rocks.
"You must give me your hand again, Keith," said she, in a low voice; and
when he shifted the candle, and took her hand in his, he found that it
was trembling somewhat.
"Will you go any farther?" said he.
"No."
They stood and looked around. The darkness seemed without limits; the
red light was insufficient to produce anything like an outline of this
immense place, even in faint and wandering gleams.
"If anything were to move, Keith," said she, "I should die."
"Oh, nonsense!" said he, in a cheerful way; but the hollow echoes of the
cavern made his voice sound sepulchral. "There is no beast at all in
here, you may be sure. And I have often thought of the fright a wild-cat
or a beaver may have got when he came in here in the night, and then
discovered he had stumbled on a lot of sleeping men--"
"Of men!"
"They say this was a sanctuary of the Culdees; and I often wonder how
the old chaps got their food. I am afraid they must have often fallen
back on the young cormorants: that is what Major Stuart calls an
expeditious way of dining--for you eat two courses, fish and meat, at
the same time. And if you go further along, Gertrude, you will come to
the great altar-stone they used."
"I would rather not go," said she. "I--I do not like this place. I think
we will go back now, Keith."
As they cautiously made their way back to the glare of the entrance, she
still held his hand tight; and she did not speak at all. Their footsteps
echoed strangely in this hollow space. And then the air grew suddenly
warm; and there was a glow of daylight around; and although her eyes
were rather bewildered, she breathed more freely, and there was an air
of relief on her face.
"I think I will sit down for a moment, Keith," said she; and then he
noticed, with a sudden alarm, that her cheeks were rather pale.
"Are you ill?" said he, with a quick anxiety in his eyes "Were you
frightened?"
"Oh, no!" said she, with a forced cheerfulness, and she sat down for a
moment on one of the smooth boulders. "You must not think I am such a
coward as that. But--the chilling atmosphere--the change--made me a
little faint."
"Shall I run down to the boat for some wine for you? I know that Janet
has brought some claret."
"Oh, not at all!" said she--and he saw with a great delight that her
color was returning. "I am quite well now. But I will rest for a minute,
if you are in no hurry, before scrambling down those stones again."
He was in no hurry; on the contrary, he sat down beside her and took her
hand.
"You know, Gerty," said he, "it will be some time before I can learn all
that you like and dislike, and what you can bear, and what pleases you
best; it will be some time, no doubt; but then, when I have learned, you
will find that no one will look after you so carefully as I will."
"I know you are very kind to me," said she, in a low voice.
"And now," said he, very gently, and even timidly, but his firm hand
held her languid one with something of a more nervous clasp, "if you
would only tell me, Gerty, that on such and such a day you would leave
the stage altogether, and on such and such a day you would let me come
to London--and you know the rest--then I would go to my mother, and
there would be no need of any more secrecy, and instead of her treating
you merely as a guest she would look on you as her daughter, and you
might talk with her frankly."
She did not at all withdraw the small gloved hand, with its fringe of
fur at the end of the narrow sleeve. On the contrary, as it lay there in
his warm grasp, it was like the small, white, furred foot of a
ptarmigan, so little and soft and gentle was it.
"Well, you know, Keith," she said, with a great kindness in the clear
eyes, though they were cast down, "I think the secret between you and me
should be known to nobody at all but ourselves--any more than we can
reasonably help. And it is a very great step to take; and you must not
expect me to be in a hurry, for no good ever came of that. I did not
think you would have cared so much--I mean, a man has so many
distractions and occupations of shooting, and going away in your yacht
and all that--I fancy--I am a little surprised--that you make so much
of it. We have a great deal to learn yet, Keith; we don't know each
other very well. By and by we may be quite sure that there is no danger;
that we understand each other; that nothing and nobody is likely to
interfere. But wouldn't you prefer to be left in the meantime just a
little bit free--not quite pledged, you know, to such a serious thing--"
He had been listening to these faltering phrases in a kind of dazed and
pained stupor. It was like the water overwhelming a drowning man. But
at last he cried out--and he grasped both her hands in the sudden
vehemence of the moment--
"Gerty, you are not drawing back! You do not despair of our being
husband and wife! What is it that you mean?"
"Oh, Keith!" said she, quickly withdrawing one of her hands, "you
frighten me when you talk like that! You do not know what you are
doing--you have hurt my wrist!"
"Oh, I hope not!" said he. "Have I hurt your hand, Gerty?--and I would
cut off one of mine to save you a scratch! But you will tell me now that
you have no fears--that you don't want to draw back! I would like to
take you back to Dare, and be able to say to every one, 'Do you know
that this is my wife--that by and by she is coming to Dare--and you will
all be kind to her for her own sake and for mine.' And if there is
anything wrong, Gerty, if there is anything you would like altered, I
would have it altered. We have a rude way of life; but every one would
be kind to you. And if the life here is too rough for you, I would go
anywhere with you that you choose to live. I was looking at the houses
in Essex. I would go to Essex, or anywhere you might wish; that need not
separate us at all. And why are you so cold and distant, Gerty? Has
anything happened here to displease you? Have we frightened you by too
much of the boats and of the sea? Would you rather live in an English
county away from the sea? But I would do that for you, Gerty--if I was
never to see a sea-bird again."
And in spite of himself tears rose quickly to his eyes; for she seemed
so far away from him, even as he held her hand; and his heart would
speak at last--or break.
"It was all the winter months I was saying to myself, 'Now you will not
vex her with too much pleading, for she has much trouble with her work;
and that is enough; and a man can bear his own trouble.' And once or
twice, when we have been caught in a bad sea, I said to myself, 'And
what matter now if the end comes?--for perhaps that would only release
her.' But then again, Gerty, I thought of the time you gave me the red
rose; and I said, 'Surely her heart will not go away from me; and I have
plenty to live for yet!'"
Then she looked him frankly in the face, with those beautiful, clear,
sad eyes.
"You deserve all the love a woman can give you, Keith; for you have a
man's heart. And I wish I could make you a fair return for all your
courage, and gentleness, and kindness--"
"Ah, do not say that," he said, quickly. "Do not think I am complaining
of you, Gerty. It is enough--it is enough--I thank God for his mercy to
me; for there never was any man so glad as I was when you gave me the
red rose. And now, sweetheart--now you will tell me that I will put away
all this trouble and have no more fears; and there will be no need to
think of what you are doing far away; and there will be one day that all
the people will know--and there will be laughing and gladness that day;
and if we will keep the pipes away from you, all the people about will
have the pipes, and there will be a dance and a song that day. Ah,
Gerty, you must not think harshly of the people about here. They have
their ways. They would like to please you. But my heart is with them;
and a marriage-day would be no marriage-day to me that I did not spend
among my own people--my own people."
He was talking quite wildly. She had seen him in this mood once or twice
before, and she was afraid.
"But you know, Keith," said she, gently, and with averted eyes, "a great
deal has to be done before then. And a woman is not so impulsive as a
man; and you must not be angry if I beg for a little time--"
"And what is time?" said he, in the same glad and wild way--and now it
was his hand holding hers that was trembling. "It will all go by in a
moment--like a dream--when we know that the one splendid day is coming.
And I will send a haunch to the Dubh Artach men that morning; and I will
send a haunch to Skerryvore; and there will not be a man in Iona, or
Coll, or Mull, that will not have his dram that day. And what will you
do, Gerty--what will you do? Oh, I will tell you now what you will do on
that morning. You will take out some sheets of the beautiful, small,
scented paper; and you will write to this theatre and to that theatre:
'_Good-by--perhaps you were useful to me once, and I bear you no
ill-will: but--Good-by forever and ever!_' And I will have all the
children that I took to the Crystal Palace last summer given a fine
dinner; and the six boy-pipers will play _Mrs. Macleod of Raasay_ again;
and they will have a fine reel once more. There will be many a one know
that you are married that day, Gerty. And when is the day to be, Gerty?
Cannot you tell me now?"
"There is a drop of rain!" she exclaimed; and she suddenly sprang to her
feet. The skies were black overhead. "Oh, dear me!" she said, "how
thoughtless of us to leave your poor cousin Janet in that open boat, and
a shower coming on! Please give me your hand now, Keith. And you must
not take all these things so seriously to heart, you know; or I will say
you have not the courage of a feeble woman like myself. And do you think
the shower will pass over?"
"I do not know," said he, in a vague way, as if he had not quite
understood the question; but he took her hand, and in silence guided her
down to the rocks, where the boat was ready to receive them.
And now they saw the strange transformation that had come over the
world. The great troubled sea was all of a dark slate-green, with no
glad ripples of white, but with long-squally drifts of black; and a cold
wind was blowing gustily in; and there were hurrying clouds of a leaden
hue tearing across the sky. As for the islands--where were they? Ulva
was visible, to be sure, and Colonsay--both of them a heavy and gloomy
purple; and nearer at hand the rock of Errisker showed in a wan, gray
light between the lowering sky and the squally sea; but Lunga, and
Fladda, and Staffa, and Iona, and even the long promontory of the Ross
of Mull, were all hidden away behind the driving mists of rain.
"Oh you lazy people!" Janet Macleod cried, cheerfully--she was not at
all frightened by the sudden storm. "I thought the wild beast had killed
you in the cave. And shall we have luncheon now, Keith, or go back at
once?"
He cast an eye towards the westward horizon and the threatening sky:
Janet noticed at once that he was rather pale.
"We will have luncheon as they pull us back," said he, in an absent way,
as if he was not quite sure of what was happening around him.
He got her into the boat, and then followed. The men, not sorry to get
away from these jagged rocks, took to their oars with a will. And then
he sat silent and distraught, as the two women, muffled up in their
cloaks, chatted cheerfully, and partook of the sandwiches and claret
that Janet had got out of the basket. "_Fhir a bhata_," the men sang to
themselves; and they passed under the great cliffs, all black and
thunderous now; and the white surf was springing over the rocks. Macleod
neither ate nor drank; but sometimes he joined in the conversation in a
forced way; and occasionally he laughed more loudly than the occasion
warranted.
"Oh yes," he said, "oh yes, you are becoming a good sailor now,
Gertrude. You have no longer any fear of the water."
"You will become like little Johnny Wickes, Miss White," the cousin
Janet said, "the little boy I showed you the other day. He has got to be
like a duck in his love for the water. And, indeed, I should have
thought he would have got a fright when Keith saved him from drowning;
but no."
"Did you save him from being drowned?" she said, turning to him. "And
you did not tell me the story?"
"It was no story," said he. "He fell into the water, and we picked him
up somehow;" and then he turned impatiently to the men, and said some
words to them in the Gaelic, and there was no more singing of the
Farewell to the Boatman after that.
They got home to Castle Dare before the rain came on; though, indeed, it
was but a passing shower, and it was succeeded by a bright afternoon
that deepened into a clear and brilliant sunset; but as they went up
through the moist-smelling larch-wood--and as Janet happened to fall
behind for a moment, to speak to a herdboy who was by the
wayside--Macleod said to his companion,--
"And have you no other word for me, Gertrude?"
Then she said with a very gracious smile,
"You must be patient, Keith. Are we not very well off as we are? I know
a good many people who are not quite so well off. And I have no doubt we
shall have courage to meet whatever good or bad fortune the days may
bring us; and if it is good, then we shall shake hands over it, just as
the village people do in an opera."
Fine phrases; though this man, with the dark and hopeless look in his
eyes, did not seem to gain much gladness from them. And she forgot to
tell him about that engagement which was to last till Christmas; perhaps
if she had told him just then he would scarcely have heard her.