A SUMMER DAY
The life of suspense now forced upon Winn was not agreeable. He had too
much inborn ambition and energy of character, and once he had come to
feel himself his own master, as his mission to Rockhaven allowed, never
again could he fill a menial position and be satisfied, and the
possibility of it once more seemed degradation. Then again his present
dilemma was galling. He had followed Jess Hutton's advice, but no word
came from the city except the weekly remittance from his firm and
letters urging him to sell stock. He would not do so now, not even if
those honest people had offered any price, and what he had sold was a
source of dread. But no one wanted more, for the partial cessation of
work in the quarry was handwriting on the wall.
And so the summer days sped by, and Winn's longing for a better
understanding with Mona grew stronger. In a way he stood in a false
position toward all these people except Jess, and the longer it
remained so the worse it seemed, so one evening he resolved to confide
in Mona.
"Let us go over to the cave to-morrow afternoon," he said, "I've
something to tell you." It was the first step toward the right, and he
felt better for having taken it. When they were crossing the mile of
undulating ledges separating the village from this lonely gorge, Winn,
carrying the little green bag and leading Mona like a child around the
rocks, experienced a strangely sweet feeling of protection and care for
her, and with it came the determination to utter no more of the cutting
speeches so natural to him.
"I may not be here much longer," he thought, "and it shall be a pleasant
afternoon for her to recall when I am gone."
And be it said here that when a man feels that way toward a woman,
love's silken cord has been knotted about his heart. When they reached
the niche, at the head of the gorge, a surprise awaited Winn, for its
floor was carpeted thick with freshly gathered ferns, and bunches of
wild roses and clusters of red berries were thrust into each crevice.
"What good fairy has been here ahead of us?" exclaimed Winn as he looked
at the charming nook. "Was it you, Mona?"
"It must have been one of your mermaids," she answered prettily, "and
our coming has frightened her away."
"One who plays the violin, I imagine," he answered smiling, "and has
raven tresses instead of sea-green."
But when Mona was seated and he opposite reclined on the fresh green
carpet, he was in no hurry to tell his story, and for reason. The spot,
with its wild grandeur of cliff wall on one side, the other gently
sloping and broadening down to where the white-crested billows leaped in
among the weed-draped rocks, was beyond all question the most
picturesque bit of coast scenery he had ever seen. And now it seemed
endowed with a newer charm. Here he was, hidden away from all the wide
world and almost from himself, with Nature at her grandest and the
limitless ocean voicing eternity at his feet. For a little time he
watched the white-crested billows tossing the rockweed and brown kelpie
aloft as they swept into the gorge with a solemn roar. Somehow, just
then, it seemed to him as if he and Mona were alone with God, and the
world was young, and life all before him. And at this moment he forgot
all his troubles, and the price of Rockhaven stock seemed of less
account than the ferns he sat upon.
"This spot makes a better man of me, Mona," he said at last, "and
to-day it lifts me into the frame of mind that the church bells always
do at eventide. I am not a believer such as you people here are who join
the church. I am only of the world, worldly, embittered somewhat by
experience and therefore rather distrustful. And yet here it all
disappears, and only God seems good to me." Then he paused, looking out
on the wide ocean once more while Mona watched him with wistful eyes,
wondering what odd speech would fall from his lips next.
"I asked you to come here to-day, little girl," he said at last, "to
tell you the story of my life and what has made me as I am. You have
been kind and tender and patient with my whims, your mother has opened
her door to me, your uncle has trusted me and been my friend, your
minister and many others have been kind to me also, and in all ways a
welcome to me and my errand here has been extended. And now I will tell
my story." And tell it all he did, not even omitting Ethel Sherman. All
the years he had been a menial in Weston & Hill's office, his associates
the while and their influence, and then this new departure in life with
all its hopes and ambitions, to end in a fog of doubt and suspense. When
the recital was ended he felt better; how Mona felt her words can best
indicate.
"I am glad you trust me so much," she said, "and I wish I could say a
word that would help you. Uncle Jess's advice must be for the best." And
then an intuition that all this meant Winn's leaving the island soon
brought a shadow over her face. For a little time the two sat in
silence, unconscious of the wild romance of the nook or the ceaseless
monotone of the ocean just below.
"I have worked hard to make this venture a success," he said at last, in
a dejected tone, "and hoped for much, but now it all seems likely to
vanish, and worse than that, the good people here who have bought stock
will lose by it and blame me. I cannot tell them how matters stand, or
even leave here at present, and yet any day I may hear that the company
has dissolved. I've lost all confidence in them now, and to protect
myself am forced to act a dishonorable part and let them send money I do
not need. I have a friend to whom I sent our stock, but no word comes
from him, and so, little girl, you see why I am so disheartened."
But Mona scarcely understood all he had said--some of it not at all. The
matter of stock values and how the present dilemma came about was quite
beyond her. What she did understand was that some grave danger
threatened Winn and he must leave the island. She had, impelled by a
sweet girlish impulse, come to the cave early that day, bringing ferns
and flowers to deck it and surprise this man whose every word and smile
seemed of so much value. She had brought her violin, glad if he cared to
hear her play; she had hoped the little outing, away from all others in
this trysting place, would be charming to him; and in her girlish heart
meant to make it so, and now the little plan had come to naught, and
instead she had heard what caused a heartache. The ferns were fast
wilting and the violin remained in its case.
"Come, dear," said Winn, speaking freely and seeing the cloud on her
face, "let us forget this trouble and enjoy this afternoon. We may not
have another one here. Please play for me now."
But her muse had fled, and she only turned away to hide the pain in her
face.
"I will by and by," she said faintly; "I want to think now."
And Winn, conscious of the blow he had dealt her, felt a strange sense
of guilt. He had known for many weeks that his every word and look and
smile was a joy to her, and while not for one instant had she
overstepped the bounds of maidenly reserve, her thoughts were of him.
And then as he looked at her with face half turned away and lips
tightly closed as if to keep back the tears, a sudden impulse to gather
her close in his arms and whisper fond and loving words came to him. But
he put it away.
"I wish you would play for me, dear," he said very gently, "and drive
away my blues. Play something lively." And the boy god, ever hovering
where hearts are tender, sheathed his arrow and flew away.
Many times afterward Winn thought of that moment and always with regret.
A little longer Mona waited, and then, like an obedient child, drew her
violin from its case.
Our moods are our masters, and be it untutored girl or world-wise man or
woman, they shadow or brighten all expression. And though Mona played at
his bidding one and another of the lively airs she knew, a minor chord
of sadness ran through them all.
Then, to his surprise, she began one of the late light operas he had
sent for and given her weeks before. She did not play it with ease, a
halt came now and then, but she played it all through and then paused.
"I am surprised," he said; "when and how did you learn that? You told me
you could not read a note of music."
"I have been learning to read," she answered quietly, "and Uncle Jess
has helped me."
And then Winn, wishing to encourage her in some way, or at least lead
her thoughts out of their present gloom, uttered a bit of foolish
advice.
"Mona, my dear," he said earnestly, "some day I hope you may have a
chance to study music in the city. If you have, and I would advise it,
you will win a name for yourself."
"Would you come to hear me if I did?" she answered sadly.
"Most assuredly," he said, "and shower you with choicest flowers."
When the lowering sun had left the gorge in shadow, and twilight had
crept into the cave, Mona picked up her violin, and, as if to utter her
own heartache, softly played the old love song Winn had first heard
whispering out of that wild gorge. Watching her and listening thus to
what seemed the quivering of that girl's heart, his eyes grew misty.
"Come, dear," he said, when the sad song ended, "it's time to go home."
And all the way back he held her arm and gently guided her steps among
the rocks.