THE EMBERS ARE STIRRED.
Hildegarde--strange how that name has always affected me, above all
other names on earth--Hildegarde had immediately walked some little
distance away upon reaching the deck of the yacht.
No doubt she felt the curious eyes of the royal Diana fastened upon
her, and though I had known the time when this beauty had to be content
with the _rôle_ of second fiddle when Hildegarde was present, the
latter seemed to shrink from facing her now.
Why was this?
Indeed, I could not guess, though half a dozen vague thoughts flashed
through my racked brain.
Perhaps she had no reason to be proud of her presence in this Central
American metropolis, and hotbed of revolution--perhaps things had
happened of which I was utterly ignorant, but of which Diana must be
cognizant. Perhaps--and here was the keenest rub of all, for it came
as a personal blow--perhaps she was utterly ashamed to be seen in my
company, after the manner in which I had once left her.
Well, I had no shame in the matter, and stood ready to do the thing
over again if I might serve her.
When Thorpe had wrung my hand like a pump handle in his old, mechanical
way, so characteristic of the fellow, who pretended to be a snob, yet
was, at heart, a good chap, he began to bombard me with questions.
Really, I could not blame him for being eager to know what I had been
doing to get myself embroiled in such a hot mess with the citizens of
Bolivar; and as for his fair cousin, Diana, she was almost consumed
with feminine curiosity.
The presence of a mysterious woman in the case added to its piquancy in
her mind.
I was not in the humor to gratify this curiosity, at least just then,
since other things needed my attention.
“Pardon me for the present, my friends, I beg, and when the
opportunity arrives I will relate the story. Just now much demands my
attention; I am wounded, the yacht must get out of here before we are
overwhelmed--and a lady needs my attention. In half an hour I will join
you.”
Then I bawled out to Cummings, who had taken charge since our captain
was left seriously ill at New Orleans:
“Mr. Cummings, we must get out of this without delay. Have the launch
aboard, the anchor up, and before we are an hour out I’ll talk with you
about our course.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” he replied, for Cummings was an old nautical man, whose
home had been for many years upon the briny, wherever his hat chanced
to be hung.
I forgot Robbins for the time being, but he was just the chap to make
himself quite at home anywhere.
Hildegarde had stood at a distance, waiting to see what disposition I
would make of her; she could not have heard what passed between the
Thorpes and myself, and I rather fancied she had no desire to listen.
There was an attitude of pride in the way she stood there which I did
not like.
Surely, I had given her no fresh cause for dislike or scorn; on the
contrary, I was fool enough to cherish a fond hope that my battles in
her behalf on this mad night might serve to blot out my shortcomings of
the past, if such a thing were possible.
“I must apologize for leaving you even for a minute,” I said, in a low
voice.
“It does not matter--you need not apologize. I expected this, and must
pay for my weakness in coming,” she replied, coldly.
That was certainly Greek to me; when one has the key, all these puzzles
become as simple as the easiest sum in arithmetic, but lacking that,
they prove enigmas.
She expected what--that I would neglect her? Surely, she had become
captious, indeed, when a minute’s unavoidable delay on my part was to
be so keenly resented.
I bit my lips with vexation.
“If you will go with me, Hildegarde, I can show you your stateroom.”
“My stateroom?” she echoed, with just a trace of bitterness in her
voice. “I beg that you will not deprive any lady or yourself of an
apartment on account of my presence on board. I would not have it for
the world.”
“Make your mind easy; no one has occupied this stateroom since I left
Algiers, where I had a party of friends aboard.”
“In that case I accept. It will not be for long. I shall expect you to
land me at some American port, where I can be in telegraphic touch with
New York.”
I did not answer, perhaps because I wanted to make no reply that would
commit me to a measure I might be averse to carrying out.
We entered the cabin.
It was brightly illuminated, and if I do say it myself, who perhaps
should not, that cabin was about as cozy a den as any one would desire.
There were books in racks, easy-chairs, divans and furnishings that had
cost me quite a snug sum of money.
The prevailing tint was old rose, her favorite color, as I knew well.
That person must be hard to please who failed to find solid
satisfaction aboard the _Wanderer_.
Hildegarde threw back the veil that had concealed her face, for which
I was more than glad, as I felt eager to look upon her beauty again,
strangely eager.
She was no longer deathly pale, as when I carried her in my arms to the
quay, or when she crouched in the bottom of the boat while Robbins and
myself engaged in our hot little engagement with the enemy; instead, a
glow was in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, and though the chase had
loosened her golden hair, I never saw her look so distractedly charming
as at that moment.
She glanced around, and a wave of color passed over her brow; then I
knew she had recognized the choice I had made in the prevailing tint of
the hangings, with the full knowledge that it had been her favorite.
Slowly her eyes traveled around, even the pictures not escaping her
scrutiny.
I heard her give a sigh, as of relief.
Good heavens! could it be possible she had been under the impression I
kept such bachelor quarters aboard that my yacht was not a fit place
for a lady? Would that account for her aversion to the thought of
coming aboard?
It seemed almost incredible; surely, she should know my tastes of old,
and that no matter what my weakness might be, it did not run in the
line of debauchery.
Then she turned to me, and I saw an expression of genuine anxiety sweep
over her face.
“Oh! you are wounded--you look terrible--it must be seen to. How can I
forgive myself for thinking as I did when you have been in such peril
for me? Please go to as little trouble as you can for me; show me my
room, and I will bother you no more to-night. It is all so unfortunate,
so wretched, that I am almost sorry I sent that note.”
“Well, I am not,” I said, firmly; “but I must present a very
disagreeable sight to any one’s eyes. We have no maid aboard,
unfortunately, so I have to do the honors myself. This is your room,
Hildegarde.”
I opened the door.
The little cubbyhole did look rather alluring, I am bound to confess,
and it quite pleased Hildegarde, who could not suppress an ejaculation
of pleasure.
“Will it do?” I asked, humbly. She must never know what strange
thoughts used to haunt me whenever I shut myself in that particular
little stateroom and endeavored to imagine her there, and how more than
once I had even been unmanly enough to shed a few tears over the dismal
prospect of such a strange event ever happening to take myself sternly
to task afterward about it.
“It is very sweet and lovely. I thank you for all your kindness,
Morgan,” she said, with a tremor in her voice that affected me
curiously.
“I’m glad you like it,” I replied, tempted to tell her that she had
been in my mind when I fixed up that little place, but realizing the
folly of any sentiment between us whom fate had drifted asunder until a
whole gulf yawned between, an impassable gulf.
“Now, go and have your wound attended to. I should be very sorry if you
suffered any serious inconvenience on my account. Of course, you are
mystified because of finding me in Bolivar; it is a strange story, and
I promise to tell it to you some other time--perhaps to-morrow.”
“I confess I am very curious about it.”
“Nor can I blame you. On my part, I am amazed at the wonderful chance
that brought you, of all men on earth, there to my assistance. It seems
incredible--it worries me to think the world is so very small or that a
cruel fate persists in throwing us together.”
“Cruel, Hildegarde?”
“Yes, cruel, because it is needless, since we can never be even
friends again. It would not do--it would be monstrous!”
Her words shocked me.
They seemed to suggest some dreadful barrier between us; on my part, I
knew of none, save our dispute and separation, both of which might be
forgiven, and the abyss bridged with the planks of love and charity.
Ah! perhaps it was on her side. The old suspicion arose again
concerning her having obtained her freedom at the hands of the law, and
married again.
I shivered as with a chill, and then ground my teeth together.
She must not suspect my weakness, at least until I had heard her story,
and knew the worst I might expect.
“It shall be as you say, Hildegarde. This has been such a strange
fortune that threw us together I had begun to hope there might be a
meaning to it; but I shall respect your wishes always.”
I turned to go.
“One other favor, Morgan.”
“A dozen, if you like.”
“Would it be possible for the present to keep my identity unknown?”
I knew she was thinking of Diana--her red cheeks betrayed her.
“Why not, if you desire it?” I replied.
“You are very kind; it would please me.”
“Shall I send Carmencita to you? She can act as your maid, as I presume
she is?”
“Yes, please; and, Morgan--once more, I thank you. God bless you!” and
the door closed.