Olivia was very silent.
The coast of Sark shows some of the most fantastic workmanship of the
sea, but the Gouliot Caves are its wildest and maddest freak. A strong,
swift current sets in from the southwest, and being lashed into a giddy
fury by the lightest southwest wind, it has hewn out of the rock a
series of cells, and grottos, and alcoves, some of them running far
inland, in long, vaulted passages and corridors, with now and then a
shaft or funnel in the rocky roof, through which the light streams down
into recesses far from the low porches, which open from the sea. Here
and there a crooked, twisted tunnel forms a skylight overhead, and the
blue heavens look down through it like a far-off eye. You cannot number
the caverns and niches. Everywhere the sea has bored alleys and
galleries, or hewn out solemn aisles, with arches intersecting each
other, and running off into capricious furrows and mouldings. There are
innumerable refts, and channels, and crescents, and cupolas,
half-finished or only hinted at. There are chambers of every height and
shape, leading into one another by irregular portals, but all rough and
rude, as though there might have been an original plan, from which,
while the general arrangement is kept, every separate stroke perversely
diverged.
But another, and not a secondary, curiosity of this ocean-labyrinth is,
that it is the habitat of a multitude of marine creatures, not to be
seen at home in many other places. Except twice a month, at the
neaptides, the lower chambers are filled with the sea; and here live and
flourish thousands, upon thousands of those mollusks and zoophytes which
can exist only in its salt waters. The sides of the caves, as far as the
highest tides swept, were studded with crimson and purple and amber
mollusca, glistening like jewels in the light pouring down upon them
from the eyelet-openings overhead. Not the space of a finger-tip was
clear. Above them in the clefts of the rock hung fringes of delicate
ferns of the most vivid green, while here and there were nooks and
crevices of profound darkness, black with perpetual, unbroken shadow.
I had known the caves well when I was a boy, but it was many years since
I had been there. Now I was alone in them with Olivia, no other human
being in sight or sound of us. I had scarcely eyes for any sight but
that of her face, which had grown shy and downcast, and was generally
turned away from me. She would be frightened, I thought, if I spoke to
her in that lonesome place, I would wait till we were on the cliffs, in
the open eye of day.
She left my side for one moment while I was poking under a stone for a
young pieuvre, which had darkened the little pool of water round it with
its inky fluid. I heard her utter an exclamation of delight, and I gave
up my pursuit instantly to learn what was giving her pleasure. She was
stooping down to look beneath a low arch, not more than two feet high,
and I knelt down beside her. Beyond lay a straight narrow channel of
transparent water, blue from a faint reflected light, with smooth,
sculptured walls of rock, clear from mollusca, rising on each side of
it. Level lines of mimic waves rippled monotonously upon it, as if it
was stirred by some soft wind which we could not feel. You could have
peopled it with tiny boats flitting across it, or skimming lightly down
it. Tears shone in Olivia's eyes.
"It reminds me so of a canal in Venice," she said, in a tremulous voice.
"Do you know Venice?" I asked; and the recollection of her portrait
taken in Florence came to my mind. Well, by-and-by I should have a right
to hear about all her wanderings.
"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I spent three months there once, and this
place is like it."
"Was it a happy time?" I inquired, jealous of those tears.
"It was a hateful time," she said, vehemently. "Don't let us talk of it.
I hate to remember it. Why cannot we forget things, Dr. Martin? You, who
are so clever, can tell me that."
"That is simple enough," I said, smiling. "Every circumstance of our
life makes a change in the substance of the brain, and, while that
remains sound and in vigor, we cannot forget. To-day is being written on
our brain now. You will have to remember this, Olivia."
"I know I shall remember it," she answered, in a low tone.
"You have travelled a great deal, then?" I pursued, wishing her to talk
about herself, for I could scarcely trust my resolution to wait till we
were out of the caves. "I love you with all my heart and soul" was on my
tongue's end.
"We travelled nearly all over Europe," she replied.
I wondered whom she meant by "we." She had never used the plural pronoun
before, and I thought of that odious woman in Guernsey--an unpleasant
recollection.
We had wandered back to the opening where Tardif had left us. The rapid
current between us and Breckhou was running in swift eddies, which
showed the more plainly because the day was calm, and the open sea
smooth. Olivia stood near me; but a sort of chilly diffidence had crept
over me, and I could not have ventured to press too closely to her, or
to touch her with my hand.
"How have you been content to live here?" I asked.
"This year in Sark has saved me," she answered, softly.
"What has it saved you from?" I inquired, with intense eagerness. She
turned her face full upon me, with a world of reproach in her gray eyes.
"Dr. Martin," she said, "why will you persist in asking me about my
former life? Tardif never does. He never implies by a word or look that
he wishes to know more than I choose to tell. I cannot tell you any
thing about it."
I felt uncomfortably that she was drawing a comparison unfavorable to me
between Tardif and myself--the gentleman, who could not conquer or
conceal his desire to fathom a mystery, and the fisherman, who acted as
if there were no mystery at all. Yet Olivia appeared more grieved than
offended; and when she knew how I loved her she would admit that my
curiosity was natural. She should know, too, that I was willing to take
her as she was, with all the secrets of her former life kept from me.
Some day I would make her own I was as generous as Tardif.
Just then my ear caught for the first time a low boom-boom, which had
probably been sounding through the caves for some minutes.
"Good Heavens!" I ejaculated.
Yet a moment's thought convinced me that, though there might be a little
risk, there was no paralyzing danger. I had forgotten the narrowness of
the gully through which alone we could gain the cliffs. From the open
span of beach where we were now standing, there was no chance of leaving
the caves except as we had come to them, by a boat; for on each side a
crag ran like a spur into the water. The comparatively open space
permitted the tide to lap in quietly, and steal imperceptibly higher
upon its pebbles. But the low boom I heard was the sea rushing in
through the throat of the narrow outlet through which lay our only means
of escape. There was not a moment to lose. Without a word, I snatched up
Olivia in my arms, and ran back into the caves, making as rapidly as I
could for the long, straight passage.
Neither did Olivia speak a word or utter a cry. We found ourselves in a
low tunnel, where the water was beginning to flow in pretty strongly. I
set her down for an instant, and tore off my coat and waistcoat. Then I
caught her up again, and strode along over the slippery, slimy masses of
rock which lay under my feet, covered with seaweed.
"Olivia," I said, "I must have my right hand free to steady myself with.
Put both your arms round my neck, and cling to me so. Don't touch my
arms or shoulders."
Yet the clinging of her arms about my neck, and her cheek close to mine,
almost unnerved me. I held her fast with my left arm, and steadied
myself with my right. We gained in a minute or two the mouth of the
tunnel. The drift was pouring into it with a force almost too great for
me, burdened as I was. But there was the pause of the tide, when the
waves rushed out again in white floods, leaving the water comparatively
shallow. There were still six or eight yards to traverse before we could
reach an archway in the cliffs, which would land us in safety in the
outer caves. Across this small space the tide came in strongly, beating
against the foot of the rocks, and rebounding with great force. There
was some peril; but we had no alternative. I lifted Olivia a little
higher against my shoulder, for her long serge dress wrapped dangerously
around us both; and then, waiting for the pause in the throbbing of the
tide, I dashed hastily across.
One swirl of the water coiled about us, washing up nearly to my throat,
and giving me almost a choking sensation of dread; but before a second
could swoop down upon us I had staggered half-blinded to the arch, and
put down Olivia in the small, secure cave within it. She had not spoken
once. She did not seem able to speak now. Her large, terrified eyes
looked up at me dumbly, and her face was white to the lips. I clasped
her in my arms once more, and kissed her forehead and lips again and
again in a paroxysm of passionate love and gladness.
"Thank God!" I cried. "How I love you, Olivia!"
I had told her only a few minutes before that the brain is ineffaceably
stamped with the impress of every event in our lives. But how much more
deeply do some events burn themselves there than others' I see it all
now--more clearly, it seems to me, than my eyes saw it then. There is
the huge, high entrance to the outer caves where we are standing, with a
massive lintel of rocks overhead, all black but for a few purple and
gray tints scattered across the blackness. Behind us the sea is
glistening, and prismatic colors play upon the cliffs. Shadows fall from
rocks we cannot see. Olivia stands before me, pale and terrified, the
water running from her heavy dress, which clings about her slender
figure. She shrinks away from me a pace or two.
"Hush!" she cries, in a tone of mingled pain and dread--"hush!"
There was something so positive, so prohibitory in her voice and
gesture, that my heart contracted, and a sudden chill of despondency ran
through me. But I could not be silent now. It was impossible for me to
hold my peace, even at her bidding.
"Why do you say hush?" I asked, peremptorily. "I love you, Olivia. Is
there any reason why I should not love you?"
"Yes," she said, very slowly and with quivering lips. "I was married
four years ago, and my husband is living still!"