Things that seem far-fetched are sometimes simple matters of fact. Just
as Claude was glancing back, and feeling as if she would give anything
to be back home, a dove among the trees in the fern-clad glen began to
coo, and Mary laughed.
"There," she said, "only listen. You can't go back now. It would be
absurd."
"But you are so imprudent," whispered Claude, whose cheeks were growing
hotter. "How could you?"
"I wanted to see you happy, my darling coz," was whispered back. "I saw
him coming here with his fishing-rod, and--"
"But, Mary, what will Chris Lisle think?"
"Think he's in luck, and bless poor little humpy, fairy godmother me,
and--no, no, too late to retreat. We have been seen."
For as they had passed out into an open part of the glen where the river
widened into a pool, there, only a short distance from them, and with
his bright, sun-browned face directed toward the river, was a sturdy,
well-built young fellow, dressed in a dark tweed Norfolk jacket and
knickerbockers, busily throwing a fly across the pool till, as if
intuitively becoming aware that he was watched, he looked sharply round.
The next moment there was again the peculiar buzzing sound made by a
rapidly-wound-up multiplying winch, the rod was thrown over the young
man's shoulder, and he turned to meet them.
"Ah, little Mary!" he cried merrily; and then, with a voice full of
tender reverence, he turned, straw hat in hand, to Claude.
"I did not expect to see you here."
"And I am as much surprised," she said hastily. "Mary and I were having
a walk."
"And now we are here, Mr Lisle, you may as well show us all your
salmon," said Mary seriously.
"My salmon! I haven't had a rise."
"And we have interrupted you, perhaps, just as the fish are biting.
Come, Mary. Good-morning, Mr Lisle."
"Oh!"
Only a little interjection, but so full of reproach that Claude coloured
here deeply, and more deeply still as, upon looking round for her
companion, she found her comfortably seated upon a mossy stone, and with
her head turned away to hide the mischievous delight which flashed from
her eyes.
"I'm beginning to be afraid that I have offended you, Miss Gartram--
Claude."
"Oh, no; what nonsense. Come, Mary."
The stone upon which she sat was not more deaf.
"Don't hurry away. I thought I was some day to give you a lesson in
salmon fishing."
"I should never learn, Mr Lisle; and, besides, it is not a very
ladylike accomplishment."
"Anything you did, Claude, would be ladylike. Come, I know there are
two or three salmon in this pool. They will not rise for me; they might
for you."
"I should scare them away."
"No," said the young man meaningly; "you would attract anything to
stay."
"Mr Lisle!"
"Well, what have I said? There, forgive me, and take the rod. You
promised I should show you how to throw a fly."
"Yes, yes; but some other time--perhaps to-morrow."
"To-morrow comes never," said the young man laughingly. "No; I have my
chance now. Miss Dillon, did not your cousin promise to let me show her
how to catch a salmon?"
"Yes; and I am so tired. I'll wait till you have caught one, Claude."
"There," cried the young man hurriedly; and the stronger will prevailing
over the weaker, Claude allowed her instructor to thrust the lithe rod
he held into her hands, and, trembling and blushing, she suffered
herself to be led to the side of the pool.
"I shall never learn," she said.
"Not learn! I shall be able to come up to the Fort carrying your first
salmon, and to say to Mr Gartram: `there, sir; salmon fishing taught in
one lesson,' What do you say to that?"
"How can she be so foolish?--Of what am I talking?--Mr Lisle, pray let
me go."
All silent sentences, but as the last was thought Claude raised her eyes
to her companion, to meet his fixed upon hers, so full of tender,
reverent love that she dropped her own, and fell a-trembling with a joy
she tried vainly to crush down, while her heart beat heavily the old,
old theme,--
"He loves me well--he loves me well."
They had known each other since they were boy and girl, and the
affection had slowly and steadily grown stronger and stronger, but Chris
Lisle had said to himself time after time that it was too soon to tell
her his love, and ask for the guardianship of her heart; and he had
waited, feeling satisfied that some day Claude Gartram would be his.
"There," he said playfully, "now for lesson the first. Let me draw out
some more line. That's the way. Now, you know as well as I do how to
throw. Try to let your fly fall amongst that foam below where the water
rushes into the pool. That's the way. Bravo!"
"There, Mr Lisle," cried Claude, after making a very fair cast, "now
take the rod, for I must go. Mary, dear, come along."
"Sha'n't," said Mary to herself, as she grew more deaf than ever.
"Gather your rosebuds while you may, dear. He's a nice, good fellow.
Ah! how I could have loved a man like that."
"Mary Dillon is too much interested in her book," said Chris. "There,
that's plenty of line for a good cast. You must go on now. It isn't so
very wicked, Claude."
"There, then, this one throw and I must go," said the girl, her cheeks
burning, and her head seeming to swim, for she was conscious of
nothing--running river, the foam and swirl, the glorious landscape of
rugged glen side, and the bright sun gilding the heathery earth upon
which she stood--conscious of nothing save the fact that Chris Lisle was
by her, and that his words seemed to thrill her to the heart, while in
spite of herself he seemed to have acquired a mastery over her which it
was sweet to obey.
"Well back," he cried; "now then, a good one."
It was not a good cast, being a very clumsy one, for the fly fell with a
splash right out in a smooth, oily looking patch of water behind some
stones. But, as is often the case, the tyro is more successful than the
tried fisherman. The fly had no sooner touched the water than there was
a rise, a singing whirr from the winch, and Chris shouted aloud with
joy.
"There!" he cried. "You have him. First lesson."
"Have I caught it?"
"Yes, yes; hold up the point of your rod."
Claude immediately held it down, and the line went singing out, till
Chris darted close behind his pupil and seized the rod, just over her
hands, raising the top till it bent nearly double.
"A beauty!" he cried excitedly. "You lucky girl!"
"Thank you. That's right. Now, take the rod and pull it out."
"No, no," he said, with his lips close to her ear, and she trembled more
and more as she felt his crisp beard tickle the back of her neck, and
his strong arms tightly press hers to her sides; "you must land him
now."
Away darted the salmon wildly about the pool, but Claude could not tell
whether it was the excitement caused by the electric messages sent
through the line, or by the pressure of Chris Lisle's hands as he held
hers to the rod.
"Mary, come and see Mr Lisle catch this salmon," she cried huskily; but
Mary only turned over a leaf, and seemed more deaf than ever, while the
fish tugged and strained.
"Mr Lisle, loose my hands now. This is absurd. What are you doing?"
"Telling you I love you," he whispered, in spite of himself, for the
time had come, "Claude, dearest, better than my life."
"No, no; you must not tell me that," she said, half tearfully, for the
declaration seemed to give her pain.
"I must. The words have come at last."
"And you have lost your fish," cried Claude for the line had suddenly
become slack.
"But have I won you?"
"No, no. And pray let me go now."
"No?"
There was so much anguish in the tone in which that one little word was
spoken, that it went right to Claude's heart, and as if involuntarily,
she added quickly,--
"I don't know."
"Claude, dearest," he whispered, and his voice trembled as the words
were breathed in her ear, "for pity's sake don't trifle with me."
"I am not trifling with you. I told you the truth. I don't know."
"Ah, that's not catching salmon," came sharply from behind them.
"Claude, dear, don't listen to him. He's a wicked fortune-hunter."
Chris started away from Claude as if some one had struck him a violent
blow.
"Mary!" cried Claude.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. What did I say?"
_Whizz_!
"Mr Lisle! Help!" cried Claude, for the line had suddenly tightened,
the top of the rod bent over in a curve, and the winch sang out as it
rapidly revolved.
"Take the rod, please, Mr Lisle," continued Claude, in a voice full of
emotion; and, as he took it without a word, she saw that he was deadly
pale, and that his white teeth were pressing hard upon his nether lip.
He played the fish mechanically, and with Claude steadily looking on,
and feeling as if she would like to run home to shut herself in her own
room and throw herself upon her knees and sob. But the face before her
held her as by a chain, and she turned with a bitter look of reproach
upon her cousin, as she saw the way in which Chris was stung.
"Don't look at me like that, dear," cried Mary, "the words slipped out.
I did not mean them, indeed. It's a big fish, isn't it, Mr Lisle?
Shall I gaff it for you?"
"Thank you," he said drearily; and Mary picked up the bamboo staff with
the glistening hook at the end.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mr Lisle."
"Granted," was the laconic reply.
"Don't, pray, don't punish me for saying those words," cried Mary.
"There, finish your lesson in love and fishing. Claude," she whispered,
as the young man had to follow the fish a few yards down the stream,
"you've caught him tightly; shall I gaff him as well?"
"Yes; you had better finish your lesson, Miss Gartram," said Chris,
walking back slowly winding in the line, and speaking in a hard, cold
tone.
"No; you had better finish," she replied hastily; and then, as she saw
the cloud deepening on his brow, she stepped forward quickly, and laid
her hand on the rod. "Yes, let me finish, Chris," she said, and she
gazed at him with her eyes full of faith and trust.
"Claude," he whispered, as he gave her the rod, "you couldn't think--"
"Hallo! What's this?" cried a harsh voice, and all started, so suddenly
had Norman Gartram--followed closely by his visitor--stepped up to where
they stood.
"Mr Lisle giving Claude and me a lesson in fishing," said Mary sharply.
"Now, Claude, dear, wind in and I'll hook him out."
"Most interesting group," said Parry Glyddyr, with rather a contemptuous
look at the teacher of the art.
"Very," said Norman Gartram, frowning. "Here, Claude, stop that fooling
and come home."
"Mary, Mary, what have you done?" whispered Claude, as they walked away.
"Made a mess of it, darling, I'm afraid."
As they turned a corner of the glen, with her father's guest talking
about what she did not know, Claude stole a glance back, to see
Christopher Lisle standing with his hands resting upon the rod he held,
and a bright, silvery fish lying at his feet.
The girl's heart went on beating heavily with pulsations that seemed as
full of pleasure as of pain.
Volume One, Chapter IV.
"ALL TO BITS!"
Mary Dillon did the greater part of the talking on the way home, Gartram
saying scarcely a word, but making great use of his eyes, to see how
Glyddyr took the unpleasant _contretemps_.
"And just after what I had said to him," muttered Gartram. "The
insolent young scoundrel! The miserable, contemptible pauper! How dare
he?"
But Glyddyr's behaviour was perfect, and excited Gartram's wonder.
"He can't have seen what I did," he thought, "or he would never talk to
her so coolly."
For, ignoring everything, and as if he was blind to what had passed,
Glyddyr dashed at once into a series of inquiries about Danmouth, and
the weather in the winter.
"Do the storms affect the place much?" he said, looking at Claude.
"Knock the pots off sometimes, and always wash the slates clean," said
Mary, before Claude could reply.
"Not pleasant for the inhabitants," said Glyddyr, after giving Mary a
quick, amused glance before turning again to Claude. "But at the Fort,
of course, you are too high up for the waves to reach?"
"Salt spray coats all the windows, and makes the walls shine,"
interposed Mary.
"What will he think of me?" thought Claude; and then she wondered that
she did not feel sorry, but that all the time, in spite of her father's
fiercely sullen looks, a peculiar kind of joy seemed to pervade her
breast.
Glyddyr talked on, but he was completely talked down by Mary, who felt
that the kindest thing she could do was to draw every one's attention
from her cousin, till they had passed through the little town, and
nearly reached the Fort, where they were met by a rough-looking workman,
who ran unceremoniously towards them, caught hold of Gartram roughly,
and cried out, in wild excitement,--
"Come on to the quarry at once."
"What's the matter--fall of rock?" cried Gartram.
"Blasting--Woodham--blown all to bits," panted the man.
"Then he has been using dynamite."
"Nay; soon as we picked him up, he said it was the cursed bad powder."
"Bah! Where is he?"
"We took him home, and I fetched the doctor, and then come on here."
"Run home, girls. No, Mr Glyddyr, see them in. I'm going on to my
workmen's cottages."
He hurried off, and Glyddyr turned to Claude.
"I'm sorry there is such terrible news," he began; but Claude did not
seem to hear him.
"Make haste, Mary," she said hurriedly. "Bring brandy and wine, and
join me there."
"My dear Miss Gartram, are you going to the scene of the accident?"
Claude looked at him in an absent way.
"I am going to the Woodhams' cottage," she said hurriedly. "Sarah
Woodham was our old servant. Don't stop me, please."
She hurried along the narrow road leading west, and it was not until she
had gone some hundred yards following the messenger, who was trotting
heavily at Gartram's heels, that she realised that she was not alone.
"Mr Glyddyr!" she exclaimed.
"Pray pardon me," he said, in a low, earnest voice. "As a friend, I
cannot let you go alone at a time like this."
Claude looked up at him wildly, but there was so much respectful
deference in his manner that she could say nothing. In fact, her
thoughts were all with the suffering man and woman--the victims of this
deplorable mishap.
It was nearly half-a-mile along the rough cliff road; and it was
traversed in silence, Claude being too much agitated to say more.
The scene was easy enough to find when they were approaching the place,
for a knot of rough quarry workmen were gathered round a clean-looking,
white-washed cottage, from out of whose open door came the harsh tones
of a man's voice, while the crowd parted left and right, and several
placed the short black pipes they were smoking hurriedly in their
pockets.
Claude had nearly reached the door when the words which were being
uttered within the cottage seemed to act like a spell, arresting her
steps and making her half turn shuddering away, as they seemed to lash
her, so keenly and cuttingly they fell.
"Curse you! curse you! It's all your doing. You've murdered me.
Sarah, my girl, he has done for me at last."
Gartram's voice was heard in low, deep, muttering tones, as if in
reproof; but the injured man's voice overbore it directly, sounding
shrill and harsh from agony as he cried,--
"Let every one outside hear it. Hark ye, lads, I wanted to use the
dinnymite, but he made me use the cursed old powder again, and he has
murdered me."
"My good man," said a fresh voice, which sounded clear in the silence,
"you must be calm. It was a terrible accident."
"Nay, doctor, it's his doing; it's his meanness. I wanted him to use
the dinnymite, and he would keep to powder. He has murdered me."
There was a low groan, and then a terrible cry; and as Glyddyr mentally
pictured the scene within, of the doctor dressing the injuries, he
turned to the trembling girl beside him.
"Miss Gartram," he whispered, "this is no place for you. There is
plenty of help. Let me see you home."
She shook her head as she looked at him wildly, and, making a
deprecating gesture, Glyddyr turned to one of the men.
"Is he very bad?" he whispered.
"Blowed a'most to bits," said the man in a hoarse whisper.
"Did the powder go off too soon?"
"It warn't powder at all," said the man, as Gartram stepped quickly out
of the cottage. "It were the dinnymite. He would use it, and he warn't
used to its ways."
It was evident from the peculiar tightening of Gartram's lips that he
had heard the man's words; and he turned back and re-entered the
cottage, for his name was sharply pronounced within.