With the coming of dawn the storm passed away northwards, across a sea
snow-flecked and still panting with its fury, and leaving behind many
traces of its violence, even upon these waste and empty places. A lurid
sunrise gave little promise of better weather, but by six o'clock the
wind had fallen, and the full tide was swelling the creeks. On a
sand-bank, far down amongst the marshes, Jeanne stood hatless, with her
hair streaming in the breeze, her face turned seaward, her eyes full of
an unexpected joy. Everywhere she saw traces of the havoc wrought in
the night. The tall rushes lay broken and prostrate upon the ground;
the beach was strewn with timber from the breaking up of an ancient
wreck. Eyes more accustomed than hers to the outline of the country
could have seen inland dismantled cottages and unroofed sheds, groups
of still frightened and restive cattle, a snapped flagstaff, a fallen
tree. But Jeanne knew none of these things. Her face was turned towards
the ocean and the rising sun. She felt the sting of the sea wind upon
her cheeks, all the nameless exhilaration of the early morning
sweetness. Far out seaward the long breakers, snow-flecked and white
crested, came rolling in with a long, monotonous murmur toward the
land. Above, the grey sky was changing into blue. Almost directly over
her head, rising higher and higher in little circles, a lark was
singing. Jeanne half closed her eyes and stood still, engrossed by the
unexpected beauty of her surroundings. Then suddenly a voice came
travelling to her from across the marshes.
She turned round unwillingly, and with a vague feeling of irritation
against this interruption, which seemed to her so inopportune, and in
turning round she realized at once that her period of absorption must
have lasted a good deal longer than she had had any idea of. She had
walked straight across the marshes towards the little hillock on which
she stood, but the way by which she had come was no longer visible. The
swelling tide had circled round through some unseen channel, and was
creeping now into the land by many creeks and narrow ways. She herself
was upon an island, cut off from the dry land by a smoothly flowing
tidal way more than twenty yards across. Along it a man in a
flat-bottomed boat was punting his way towards her. She stood and
waited for him, admiring his height, and the long powerful strokes with
which he propelled his clumsy craft. He was very tall, and against the
flat background his height seemed almost abnormal. As soon as he had
attracted her attention he ceased to shout, and devoted all his
attention to reaching her quickly. Nevertheless, the salt water was
within a few feet of her when he drove his pole into the bottom, and
brought the punt to a momentary standstill. She looked down at him,
smiling.
"Shall I get in?" she asked.
"Unless you are thinking of swimming back," he answered drily, "it
would be as well."
She lifted her skirts a little, and laughed at the inappropriateness of
her thin shoes and open-work stockings. Andrew de la Borne held out his
strong hand, and she sprang lightly on to the broad seat.
"It is very nice of you," she said, with her slight foreign accent, "to
come and fetch me. Should I have been drowned?"
"No!" he answered. "As a matter of fact, the spot where you were
standing is not often altogether submerged. You might have been a
prisoner for a few hours. Perhaps as the tide is going to be high, your
feet would have been wet. But there was no danger."
She settled down as comfortably as possible in the awkward seat.
"After all, then," she said, "this is not a real adventure. Where are
you going to take me to?"
"I can only take you," he answered, "to the village. I suppose you came
from the Hall?"
"Yes!" she answered. "I walked straight across from the gate. I never
thought about the tide coming up here."
"You will have to walk back by the road," he answered. "It is a good
deal further round, but there is no other way."
She hung her hand over the side, rejoicing in the touch of the cool
soft water.
"That," she answered, "does not matter at all. It is very early still,
and I do not fancy that any one will be up yet for several hours."
He made no further attempt at conversation, devoting himself entirely
to the task of steering and propelling his clumsy craft along the
narrow way. She found herself watching him with some curiosity. It had
never occurred to her to doubt at first but that he was some fisherman
from the village, for he wore a rough jersey and a pair of trousers
tucked into sea-boots. His face was bronzed, and his hands were large
and brown. Nevertheless she saw that his features were good, and his
voice, though he spoke the dialect of the country, had about it some
quality which she was not slow to recognize.
"Who are you?" she asked, a little curiously. "Do you live in the
village?"
He looked down at her with a faint smile.
"I live in the village," he answered, "and my name is Andrew."
"Are you a fisherman?" she asked.
"Certainly," he answered gravely. "We are all fishermen here."
She was not altogether satisfied. He spoke to her easily, and without
any sort of embarrassment. His words were civil enough, and yet he had
more the air of one addressing an equal than a villager who is able to
be of service to some one in an altogether different social sphere.
"It was very fortunate for me," she said, "that you saw me. Are you up
at this hour every morning?"
"Generally," he answered. "I was thinking of fishing, higher up in the
reaches there."
"I am sorry," she said, "that I spoiled your sport."
He did not answer at once. He, in his turn, was looking at her. In her
tailor-made gown, short and fashionably cut, her silk stockings and
high-heeled shoes, she certainly seemed far indeed removed from any of
the women of those parts. Her dark hair was arranged after a fashion
that was strange to him. Her delicately pale skin, her deep grey eyes,
and unusually scarlet lips were all indications of her foreign
extraction. He looked at her long and searchingly. This was the girl,
then, whom his brother was hoping to marry.
"You are not English," he remarked, a little abruptly.
She shook her head.
"My father was a Portuguese," she said, "and my mother French. I was
born in England, though. You, I suppose, have lived here all your life?"
"All my life," he repeated. "We villagers, you see, have not much
opportunity for travel."
"But I am not sure," she said, looking at him a little doubtfully,
"that you are a villager."
"I can assure you," he answered, "that there is no doubt whatever about
it. Can you see out yonder a little house on the island there?"
She followed his outstretched finger.
"Of course I can," she answered. "Is that your home?"
He nodded.
"I am there most of my time," he answered.
"It looks charming," she said, a little doubtfully, "but isn't it
lonely?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps," he answered. "I am only ten minutes' sail from the mainland,
though."
She looked again at the house, long and low, with its plaster walls
bare of any creeping thing.
"It must be rather fascinating," she admitted, "to live upon an island.
Are you married?"
"No!" he answered.
"Do you mean that you live quite alone?" she asked.
He smiled down upon her as one might smile at an inquisitive child. "I
have a ser--some one to look after me," he said. "Except for that I am
quite alone. I am going to set you ashore here. You see those telegraph
posts? That is the road which leads direct to the Hall."
She was still looking at the island, watching the waves break against a
little stretch of pebbly beach.
"I should like very much," she said, "to see that house. Can you not
take me out there?"
He shook his head.
"We could not get so far in this punt," he said, "and my sailing boat
is up at the village quay, more than a mile away."
She frowned a little. She was not used to having any request of hers
disregarded.
"Could we not go to the village," she asked, "and change into your
boat?"
He shook his head.
"I am going fishing," he said, "in a different direction. Allow me."
He stepped on to land and lifted her out. She hesitated for a moment
and felt for her purse.
"You must let me recompense you," she said coldly, "for the time you
have lost in coming to my assistance."
He looked down at her, and again she had an uncomfortable sense that
notwithstanding his rude clothes and country dialect, this man was no
ordinary villager. He said nothing, however, until she produced her
purse, and held out a little tentatively two half-crowns.
"You are very kind," he said. "I will take one if you will allow me.
That is quite sufficient. You see the Hall behind the trees there. You
cannot miss your way, I think, and if you will take my advice you will
not wander about in the marshes here except at high tide. The sea comes
in to the most unexpected places, and very quickly, too, sometimes.
Good morning!"
"Good morning, and thank you very much," she answered, turning away
toward the road.
* * * * *
Cecil de la Borne was standing at the end of the drive when she
appeared, a telescope in his hand. He came hastily down the road to
meet her, a very slim and elegant figure in his well-cut flannel
clothes, smoothly brushed hair, and irreproachable tie.
"My dear Miss Jeanne," he exclaimed, "I have only just heard that you
were out. Do you generally get up in the middle of the night?"
She smiled a little half-heartedly. It was curious that she found
herself contrasting for a moment this very elegant young man with her
roughly dressed companion of a few minutes ago.
"To meet with an adventure such as I have had," she answered, "I would
never go to bed at all. I have been nearly drowned, and rescued by a
most marvellous person. He brought me back to safety in a flat-bottomed
punt, and I am quite sure from the way he stared at them that he had
never seen open-work stockings before."
"Are you in earnest?" Cecil asked doubtfully.
"Absolutely," she answered. "I was walking there among the marshes, and
I suddenly found myself surrounded by the sea. The tide had come up
behind me without my noticing. A most mysterious person came to my
rescue. He wore the clothes of a fisherman, and he accepted half a
crown, but I have my doubts about him even now. He said that his name
was Mr. Andrew."
Cecil opened the gate and they walked up towards the house. A slight
frown had appeared upon his forehead.
"Do you know him?" she asked.
"I know who he is," he answered. "He is a queer sort of fellow, lives
all alone, and is a bit cranky, they say. Come in and have some
breakfast. I don't suppose that any one else will be down for ages."
She shook her head.
"I will send my woman down for some coffee," she answered. "I am going
upstairs to change. I am just a little wet, and I must try and find
some thicker shoes."
Cecil sighed.
"One sees so little of you," he murmured, "and I was looking forward to
a tete-a-tete breakfast."
She shook her head as she left him in the hall.
"I couldn't think of it," she declared. "I'll appear with the others
later on. Please find out all you can about Mr. Andrew and tell me."
Cecil turned away, and his face grew darker as he crossed the hall.
"If Andrew interferes this time," he muttered, "there will be trouble!"