A SUMMER STORM.
"Yes," said Leicester, staring at himself in his shaving-glass the
morning after the dinner at Coombe Lodge. "That is the question. Do
I love her? If not, why when I am awake do I think over every little
trivial word she has spoken, recall every expression of her face that
accompanied it; and also when I am asleep do I dream of her, see her
face, with its deep, pure eyes, all through the night? If I asked
Bertie he would say that I do love her, and yet to myself I distrust
myself. I cannot bring myself to acknowledge that I, the selfish,
egotistical Leicester, truly and madly love a girl, sweet faced,
violet-eyed angel though she be. Madly I said; and madly it must be. It
is not in me to do or feel anything by halves. I must be hot and eager
in action, thought and emotion, notwithstanding my seeming frigidity.
Now," and his handsome face frowned, candidly, "I hate Captain Howard
Murpoint. It's wicked, I know it is, but I hate him in despite of my
principles."
Just then came a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Leicester, thinking it was his valet; "you are a nice,
active body servant, William. I'm half dressed, and----Hello! it's you,
is it?" he broke off as Bertie entered the room.
"Yes; you've cut your face, old fellow."
"Thank you for nothing; my glass told me that," said Leicester. "I
never could shave myself, and William hasn't condescended to get up.
I couldn't lie in bed such a morning as this, and you couldn't either,
evidently."
"No," said Bertie, eagerly. "I say, Les, what a day this would be for
the yachting trip."
Leicester smiled.
"Wind's in the right quarter for a good blow," he said.
"I wonder now," said Bertie, hesitatingly, "if Mrs. Mildmay would like
a----"
"You mean Lady Ethel," interrupted Leicester, with a smile.
Bertie's frank face flushed.
"Well, both of them," he said. "Suppose you ride over to the lodge and
bring Fitz and her over here while I go down to the Park and ask Mrs.
Mildmay and the captain, and of course Miss Violet."
"Suppose you ride over yourself," retorted Leicester.
Bertie shook his head with sad significance.
"That wouldn't do," he said. "Do you think Lady Lackland would trust
Ethel--I mean Lady Boisdale to me, even though Fitz was with her? No!
You go over and she won't say no; but if I go the sun will be too hot,
or the trip too much, or something."
"Yes, have your own way, obstinate," said Leicester, and so after
breakfast he mounted his hunter and rode over to Coombe Lodge.
When Bertie got over to the Park he found that the captain had gone out
on urgent business.
Mrs. Mildmay, when asked if she would take the trip, looked over to
Violet, who gave a quiet affirmative, and Bertie, trusting Leicester
had been similarly lucky in his embassage, bore the ladies off to the
beach.
Bertie hailed the captain's boat, and before it had rowed from the
yacht to the shore Lord Fitz's dogcart came rattling down the rural
parade.
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Violet, as Ethel sprang lightly down. "I was
so afraid you would not come."
When the gentlemen had skillfully assisted the ladies on deck a chorus
of delighted admiration rewarded them.
"How beautiful," said Violet. "Why, I thought a ship was always dirty
and in disorder. But this is as clean and neat as a lady's workbox."
"Neater, I hope, or I shall have to discharge my sailing master," said
Leicester, smiling.
Violet and Ethel went from one end of the little vessel to the other,
delighted with the novelty.
"Heave hoy! Heave hoy!" and up came the anchor.
Then at a word from Leicester her white, graceful sails fluttered out
to the winds, and the birdlike _Petrel_, with a graceful toss, as if in
laughing delight at her freedom, went off before the summer breeze.
Fitz understood yachting as he did hunting, shooting, and all manly
sports, and while Leicester gave the orders and sailed the vessel Fitz
explained the different technical terms, taking a great deal of trouble
to make the matter clear to Violet.
She was grateful to him, and interested, and as she was not in love
with Mr. Leicester Dodson yet, her face was as bright to Fitz as to
him, and when the owner of the yacht came with the rugs he found her
quite occupied laughing with Fitz.
Bertie had secured Ethel, and at some little distance apart was talking
as only he knew how to talk.
Leicester therefore had Mrs. Mildmay left to him, and, like a gallant
gentleman, amused her.
He was not of a jealous disposition, and he was satisfied if Violet was
happy; but after a little while he came up to Fitz's side.
"Miss Mildmay would like to see how the yacht is steered. Show her the
wheel, Fitz."
"You do the honors," said Fitz, good naturedly. "You understand them
best."
Mr. Leicester took her to the wheel and explained it.
"How I should like to steer!" she said. "I am ambitious; and ought to
be encouraged."
"Yes," said Leicester, "it is a laudable ambition. Take hold of the
wheel and I will show you."
The instruction being done more by the hand than the voice it followed
that Leicester's strong, firm fingers came in contact with Violet's
white, soft ones very frequently.
There arose suddenly upon the flash of the sea, the flap of the sails,
and the murmur of the conversation, the musical notes of the ship's
bell.
"Luncheon," said Leicester.
So they all "tumbled down," said Bertie, into the saloon, on entering
which the ladies were again transfixed with astonishment.
The table glittered with cut glass, plate, flowers, and a luncheon fit
for the Caliph of Bagdad himself.
Never had that little bower of luxury ever been filled with sweeter
voices or lighter laughter.
It was all delightful, from the lobsters that would roll about as if
they were alive to the champagne which popped about the cabin like
mimic guns of distress, Violet declared; and Leicester, seated next
her, was heard to laugh aloud at one of Bertie's jokes--a thing unknown
hitherto.
"Now suppose," said Leicester to Lady Ethel, "we turned out to be
pirates, and all this while were carrying you off to the Mediterranean."
As he spoke the sails flapped against the mast, and the vessel rolled
suddenly.
He looked up at the sky through the window with a sharp glance.
"The wind is changing," he said, quietly. "We shall have a calm."
"A calm," said Lady Ethel to Bertie. "Then we shall not be able to get
on."
"Yes," he said, with a secret thrill of exultation. "I am afraid not.
Where are you going, Leicester?"
"On deck," said Leicester, and he sprang up the companionway.
Presently he returned.
"What news?" said Fitz.
"Doubtful," said Leicester, pouring out a glass of wine for Mrs.
Mildmay. "A calm, I say--my sailing master says a--storm."
"A storm!" said Mrs. Mildmay, with dismay.
"Only a summer storm," said Leicester, lightly.
He quietly ran up on deck, and they heard his deep voice giving the
command to tack round.
Then there followed a hurried trampling on deck and suddenly a voice
called out:
"Tumble up! All hands on deck!"
Fitz ran up the gangway, and Bertie would have followed, but Mrs.
Mildmay seemed rather alarmed, and he stayed talking and laughing to
reassure her.
Presently Leicester came down and with a smile said:
"The rain is coming and some more wind. Mrs. Mildmay, you are in the
pirates' clutches, so make yourself comfortable on the sofa."
She obeyed, for she was really frightened.
Violet sat beside her, and Bertie and Lady Ethel did their best to
convince her that there was no danger.
Then Violet stole to the door of the cabin and looked longingly toward
the dark sky.
As she looked Leicester, passing, saw her.
"Let me come up with you, please," she said.
"I couldn't think of it," he said.
But he called down to ask Mrs. Mildmay if she would permit it, and then
handed Violet up.
All the sails were furled, yet the yacht drove along at tremendous pace
before the gale.
Leicester's voice was scarcely deep enough to drown the wind, and the
little vessel tossed like a nutshell as it forced its way along the
breakers.
So anxious had Leicester grown that he seemed to have forgotten the
ladies.
But he had not, for presently, after a colloquy with the skipper, he
shrugged his shoulders and came up to Violet, who was standing, not in
the least wet or frightened, by the forecastle.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing much," he said, with a smile. "I have resigned command, that's
all. My skipper knows this coast better than I do, and I have left him
to steer us right."
"Is there any danger of going wrong, then?" she asked.
"Well----" he hesitated.
At that moment the skipper shouted out something that sounded
dreadfully sharp and stern in the wind, Leicester caught Violet's arm
and drew her to him, glancing as he did so to Bertie and Fitz, who were
both guarding Lady Ethel.
The yacht sprang forward under the press of sail which the skipper had
ordered to be put on.
"Right now," said Leicester, cheerily. "We shall fly home to Penruddie;
I can almost see the white cliffs. Ah!" he broke off, sharply, "port
your helm! Breakers ahead! Great Heaven! we are on the north reef!"
He sprang to the helm, Violet paled with a sudden fear, cowered, and
dropped to her knees.
The next instant she felt an arm round her, and a voice in her ear
whispered, passionately:
"You are not frightened! We are safe!"
Then she felt herself lifted up and carried down the gangway.
She had not fainted--or had she, and were the words, "Oh, my darling,
my Violet!" only creations of fancy?