As Burns said, matters go very awkwardly sometimes for those who plot
and plan--as if some malicious genius took delight in thwarting the most
carefully-laid designs, and tangling matters up, till the undoing seems
hopeless.
Chris Lisle had had a bad time mentally. He was wroth against Gartram
and Glyddyr, and far more wroth with himself for letting his anger get
the better of him.
"It was as if I had made up my mind to fight against my own interests,
for I could not have done that man a greater service than to strike
him."
"That's it, sure enough," he said. "This good-looking yachting dandy is
the man, and it was enough to make poor Claudie think me a violent
ruffian, upon whom she must never look again. But I will not give her
up. I'd sooner die; and, bless her, she will never allow herself to be
forced into marrying such a man as that, good-looking as he is. Well,
we shall see."
To go up to the Fort and apologise seemed to him impossible, and he
spent his time wandering about the shore, the pier, harbour and rocks,
everywhere, so that he could keep an eye on Glyddyr's proceedings.
He told himself that he merely went down to breathe the fresh air, but
the air never seemed to be worth breathing if he could not watch the
different trimly-rigged yachts lying in the harbour, the smartest and
best kept one of all being _The Fair Star_.
Glyddyr stayed at the hotel while his yacht was in the harbour, and
Chris avoided that hotel on principle; but all the same he seemed to be
attracted to it, and several times over the young men had met, to pass
each other with a scowl, but they had not spoken since the day they had
encountered up at the Fort.
There was a lurking hope, though, in Chris's breast, that sooner or
later he would meet Claude, and come to an explanation.
"Just to ask her," he said, "to wait. I know I'm poor; at least, I
suppose I am, but I'll get over that, and force myself somehow into a
position that shall satisfy the old man. He will not be so hard upon me
when he sees what I have done. How unlucky in my choice of time. He
was in a horrible fit of irritability from his illness, and I spoke to
him like a weak boy. I ought to have known better."
Just then he caught sight of a dress in the distance, and his heart
began to beat fast.
"It's Claude!" he exclaimed, and he increased his pace.
"No, it is not," he said, slackening directly. "Stranger."
If he could have seen two hundred yards farther, and round a corner, he
would not have checked his pace, but then his were ordinary eyes, and he
continued his course, looking half-inquiringly at the figure which had
attracted his attention, and gradually grew more curious as he became
aware of the fact that the lady was fashionably dressed, and very
elegant in her carriage.
The next minute he saw that she was young, and almost directly that she
was very handsome, while, to complete his surprise, she smiled, showing
her white teeth, and stopped short.
"I demand your pardon, monsieur," she said, in a particularly rich,
sweet voice, and pronouncing the words with a very foreign accent, "but
I am so strange at zis place. I want ze small ship yacht _Ze Fair
Star_. You will tell me?"
"Oh, certainly," said Chris quickly; "one, two, three, four," he
continued pointing to where several graceful-looking yachts swung at
their buoys. "That is it, the fourth from the left."
"Ah, but yes, I see. One--two--tree--four, and zat is _Ze Fair Star_?"
There was something droll and yet prettily piquant about her way of
speaking, and in spite of himself Chris smiled, and the stranger laughed
a little silvery laugh.
"I say someting founay, _n'est-ce pas_?" she said.
"I beg your pardon," cried Chris. "I don't think I made myself
understood."
"Ah, perfectly. I am not Engleesh, but I understand. I count one, two,
tree, four, and zat is _Ze Fair Star_, nombair four. Is it not so?"
"Quite right," said Chris.
"But how shall I get to him?"
"You must go down to the landing-place and hail her, or else hire a
boatman to take you to her."
"Hail! What is hail?"
"Call--shout to the men on board."
"But, yes: I am vairay stupide. But where is ze boat to take me. I am
so strange here at zis place."
"If you will allow me, I will show you."
"Ah, I tank you so much," and in the most matter-of-fact way, the
stranger walked beside Chris towards the harbour, smiling and chatting
pleasantly.
"I make you laugh vairay much," she said merrily; and then, "aha! ze
_charmante_ young lady is your friend. I will find my own way now."
She looked curiously at Chris, who had suddenly turned scarlet and then
ghastly pale, for at the lane leading to the harbour they had come upon
Claude and Mary, both looking wonderingly at him and his companion, and
passing on without heeding his hurried salute.
"No, no," said Chris, recovering himself quickly; and there was a flash
of anger in his eyes as he continued rather viciously, "I will see you
to the harbour, and speak to one of the boatmen for you."
"I thank you so vairay much," she said; "but I understand you wish to go
back to ze two ladies."
"You are mistaken," he said coldly; "this way, please. It is very
awkward for a stranger, and especially for a foreign lady."
She smiled, looking at him curiously, and, aware that they were the
object of every gaze, Chris walked on by her trying to be perfectly cool
and collected; but, as he replied to his companions remarks, feeling
more awkward than he had ever felt in his life, and growing moment by
moment more absent as in spite of his efforts he wondered what Claude
would think, and whether he could overtake her afterwards and explain.
"I am French, and we speak quite plain, what we do tink," she said
laughingly; "here you have been vairay good to me, but you want to go to
ze ladies we encounter; is it not so?--Ah!"
The laughing look changed to one full of vindictive anger, as she
muttered that quick, sharp cry, and increased the pace almost to a run.
Chris stared after his companion, seeming to ask himself whether she was
a mad woman, but almost at the same moment he caught sight of Glyddyr
and a showily--dressed stranger, just at the end of the little half-moon
shaped granite pier which sheltered the few fishing luggers, brigs and
schooners, and formed the only harbour for many miles along the coast.
They were sixty or eighty yards away, and as he saw Chris's late
companion running towards them, Glyddyr stepped down from the harbour
wall, and, with less activity, his companion followed, that being a spot
where some rough granite steps led down to the water, and where boats
coming and going from the yachts were moored.
Chris stood still for a moment or two, and then, carried away by an
intense desire to see the end of the little adventure, he walked slowly
down towards the pier, gradually coming in sight of Glyddyr and his
companion, as the little gig into which they had descended was pulled
steadily out towards the yacht.
There were plenty of loungers close up by the houses beneath the cliff,
and sailors seated about the decks of the vessels, but the pier was
occupied only by the handsomely-dressed woman, who increased her pace to
a run, and only paused at the end, where she stood gesticulating
angrily, beating one well-gloved hand in the other as she called upon
the occupants of the boat to stop.
The stranger looked back at her and raised his hat, but Glyddyr sat
immovable in the stern, looking straight out to sea, while the sailors
bent to their oars, and made the water foam.
Chris stopped short some thirty yards from the end.
"It is no business of mine," he thought. "Is this one of Mr Glyddyr's
friends?"
Then he felt a thrill of excitement run through him as he heard the
woman shriek out, shaking her fist threateningly,--
"_Lache! Lache_!" And then in quick, passionate, broken English, "You
will not stop? I come to you."
Chris heard a shout behind him, and stood for a few moments as if
petrified, for, with a shrill cry, the woman sprang right off the pier,
and he saw the water splash out, glittering in the morning sun.
Then once more a thrill of excitement ran through him, as, thinking to
himself that there would be ten feet of water off there at that time of
the tide, and that it was running like a mill-race by the end of the
pier, he dashed along as fast as he could go, casting off his loose
flannel jacket and straw hat, bearing a little to his left, and plunging
from the pier end into the clear tide.
As he rose from his dive, he shook his head, and saw a hand beating the
water a dozen yards away; then this disappeared, and a patch of bright
silk, inflated like a bladder, rose to the surface, and then two hands
appeared, and, for a moment or two, the white face of the woman.
All the time Chris was swimming vigorously in pursuit.
The tide carried him along well, and as he made the water foam with his
vigorous strokes, he took in the fact that Glyddyr was standing up in
the gig, and that his companion was gesticulating and calling upon the
men to row back. The pier, too, was resounding with the trampling of
feet, and men were shouting orders as they came running down.
There was plenty of help at hand, but Chris knew that there was time for
any one to drown before a boat could be manned, cast off and rowed to
the rescue. If help was to come to the half-mad woman, it must be first
from him, and then from Glyddyr's gig, which seemed to be stationary, as
far as the swimmer could see.
But he had no time for further thought; his every effort was directed to
reaching the drowning woman, and it seemed an age before he mastered the
distance between them, and then it was just as she disappeared. But,
raising himself up, he made a quick turn, and dived down and caught hold
of the stiff silken dress, to rise the next moment, and then engage in
an awkward struggle, for first one and then another clinging hand
paralysed his efforts. He tried to shake himself clear and get hold of
the drowning woman free from her hands, but it was in vain. She clung
to him with the energy of despair, and, in spite of his efforts to keep
his head up, he was borne down by the swift tide; the strangling water
bubbled in his nostrils, and there was a low thundering in his ears.
A few vigorous kicks took him to the surface again, and, in his
helplessness, he looked wildly round for help, to see that Glyddyr's gig
was still some distance away; but the men were backing water, and the
stranger was leaning over the stern, holding the boat-hook towards them.
Then the tide closed over his head again, and a chilling sense of horror
came upon him; but once more the dim shades of the water gave place to
the light of day, and he managed to get partially free, and again to
make desperate strokes to keep himself on the surface.
But he felt that his strength was going, and that, unless help came
quickly, there was to be the end.
A shout away on the left sent a momentary accession of strength through
him, and he fought desperately, but in vain, for again his arm was
pinioned, and the water rolled over his head just as he felt a sharp
jerk, and, half-insensible, he was drawn up to the stern of a boat.
What happened during the next few minutes was a blank. Then Chris found
himself being lifted up the rough granite steps on to the pier, amidst
the cheering of a crowd; and in a hoarse voice he gasped,--
"The lady; is she safe?"
"All right, Mr Lisle, sir," cried one of the men. "She's all square."