“She splashed, and she dashed, and she turned herself round,
And heartily wished herself safe on the ground.”
JANE TAYLOR.
AND where were the missing pair?
Vera had lingered about, fancying she was helping to pack the
photographic apparatus, while the others dispersed. Presently, seeing no
one near, Hubert Delrio said, in a gentle diffident voice, “It would be a
great pleasure to me if I might ask you to listen to the verses on St.
Cyriac and his mother that the design brought with it.”
“I should love it better than anything,” said Vera, highly flattered.
“If you would come down this way, there is a charming secluded cove,
where we should be free from interruption.”
“How deliciously romantic! Quite stunning!” cried Vera, as her cavalier
conducted her down a steep path along the side of the cliff to the stony
beach, where a few red rocks had been manipulated into a tiny harbour,
with a boathouse for the little skiff in which Captain Henderson was wont
to go round to the marble works on the other side of the headland. The
boat looked very inviting as it lay swinging gently in the sluggish waves
in the advancing shade of the tall cliff; and Vera exclaimed with delight
as she was assisted into it, and placed herself comfortably on the
cushion, with one hand dabbling in the cool translucent wave. Hubert
Delrio opened his manuscript and began to read his ballad, if so it was
to be called, being the history of the little boy of four years old, who,
being taken with his mother before the tribunal at Tarsus, was lifted on
the proprætor’s knee, but struggled, crying out, “I am a Christian!” till
the proprætor, in a rage, hurled him down. His skull was fractured on
the marble pavement, and his mother gave thanks for his soul’s safety,
when she too was sentenced to be beheaded. Great pains had been taken
with the noble-minded tale; and the verses had considerable merit, more,
perhaps, than Vera could appreciate. But to read such a production of
his own, in such surroundings, to the auditor whom youthful fancy most
preferred, was such luxury to both that it was no wonder that under the
broad shady hat with the lily wreath she was nodding in the gentle
breeze, the lapping of the waves, and the soft cadence of the poetry,
till at an effective passage on the mother’s death, the poet looked up,
expecting to receive a responsive glance from those blue eyes.
Not only were they hidden, but the cliff was farther off. The mooring
rope and the stake were dragging behind in the water. The tide had
turned, and the boat was already out of reach of the rock where it had
been drawn up. His exclamation of dismay awoke Vera, who would have
started up with a little shriek, but for his, “Don’t! Don’t! I’ll row
back.”
But he was a landsman, whose only knowledge of the water was in an
occasional bathe, or in a river steamer; and his first attempt at placing
the oars in the rowlocks resulted in one falling overboard, while he
helplessly grasped the other; and Vera screamed again.
“Don’t be frightened, my dear! Dearest, don’t! We must be seen. Some
one will come out and help us.”
“Can’t you get on with one oar? They do in pictures.”
“Punting? Yes, but there must be a bottom. No, don’t move, whatever you
do. There can’t be any danger. Fishermen must be about. Or we shall be
seen from the cliffs.”
“They are getting farther off! Can’t you shout?”
Hubert shouted, and Vera added her shriller cries; but all in vain, and
the outgoing tide was carrying them, not towards the quay and marble
rocks, but farther to sea. The waves grew rougher and had crests of
foam, and discomfort began. Once the feather of a steamer was seen on
the horizon. They waved handkerchiefs and redoubled their shouts, and
Hubert had to hold his companion to prevent her from leaping up; but they
never were within the vessel’s ken, and she went on her way, while the
sea bore them farther and farther.
The shore was growing dim and indistinct, the sun was sinking, and the
cloud, that had at first shown only a golden border, was lifting tall
perpendicular masses, while the tossing of the little boat became more
and more distressing. Anxiety and sense of responsibility kept Hubert
from feeling physical discomfort; but Vera began to cry, and to declare
that it would be the death of her if she were not landed immediately.
“If it were only possible!” sighed Delrio.
“There must be some way! You are so stupid! Oh! There was a flash of
lightning.”
“Summer lightning.”
“No such thing! There will be a storm, and we shall be drowned. Oh, I
wish I had never listened to your nonsense, and got into this horrible
boat.” She was in a state for scolding, and scold she did, as the clouds
rose higher, and sheets of lightning more decided. “How could you? You,
who know nothing about boats, and going on, on, with those horrid
tiresome verses—not minding anything—I wish I had never come near you!”
Vainly the poor young fellow tried to get in a word of consolation; it
only made her scold the more, till there was no question that the storm
was raging overhead; the hail rattled and splashed, the waves raised them
to a height, then subsided into endless depths; the thunder pealed, and
she clung to Hubert, too frightened for screaming. His fear was that the
cockleshell of a boat should fill and founder; he tried to bale out the
water with his hat, and to make her assist, but she seemed incapable, and
he could only devise laying her down in the bottom of the boat with his
coat over her, hiding her face in terror. Her hat had long ago been
blown away, and her hair was flapping about. Ejaculations were in his
heart, if not on his lips, and once or twice she cried out something
like, “Save me!” but in general it was, “We are sinking! Hold me! We
are going! Paula! Nag!” clutching at his legs, so as to hamper him in
the baling out the water.
The hail passed, but there was a solid sheet of rain descending on them,
undistinguishable from the foam that rushed over them as they went down,
down, down. Vera was silenced; and Hubert, drenched and nearly beaten
out of life, almost welcomed every downward plunge as the last, tried to
commend his spirit, and was amazed to find his little boat lifted up
again, and the black darkness not so absolute.