Before luncheon the next day, Fessenden had begun to acquire some
acquaintance with the members of the Sandywood house-party--a particular
acquaintance with the celebrated Miss Yarnell. It did not take him long
to perceive that Miss Yarnell and he had been provided for each other's
amusement. Harry Cleborne's fatuous devotion to May Belle
Cresap--Fessenden rather disliked the two-part Christian name--and the
good-natured cliquishness of the four married people, threw upon him the
duty of entertaining the unattached bachelor girl. He took up the burden
with extraordinary cheerfulness.
Pinckney Cresap watched his progress, frankly interested. Once, indeed,
he took occasion to compliment him.
"You Northerners _have_ some temperament, I see. If only Roland Cary
were here, my boy!"
"He would have even more, I suppose," laughed Fessenden. "Polly told me
about him yesterday."
"Eh? Oh, yes, so she was telling me. Oh, I'm not sure about the
temperament--unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to judge." He
chuckled. "But there's a charm there, that's certain." He chuckled
again, as if vastly amused at the recollection of some humor of Roland
Cary's. "An eligible _parti_," he went on. "The head of _the_ first
family of Maryland. Father and mother both dead--brought up by a doting
great-uncle."
"Confound him! I'm quite jealous. Where is he? Doesn't he dare show
himself?"
"Off on some philanthropic scheme, I believe. Roland Cary has notions.
But you needn't be jealous--you're doing very well with Madge Yarnell."
Toward noon, as they were all debating whether or not a game of tennis
was worth while, a trim-looking sloop rounded a wooded point of the bay
shore, and ran down toward the boat-landing.
"I think that's your yacht, Fessenden," said Cresap. "If Danton has been
keeping her up at the Polocoke River Club, she'd be just about due here
now."
"Let's all go down and have a look at her."
A hat or two had to be gotten, and by the time they reached the
landing-stage the boat was already tied up. A sunburned man touched his
cap to the party.
"Mr. Charles Danton's _Will-o'-the-Wisp_," he said. "I was to deliver
her at the Cary place, to Mr. Fessenden."
"I'm Mr. Fessenden. She looks like a good boat."
"There ain't any better of her class from Cape May to Hatteras," said
the boatman. "It's a pity Mr. Danton's got the power-boat idea in his
head."
"Yes, he told me that was one of the reasons he's giving up the
_Will-o'-the-Wisp_. He's bought a hundred-ton steam-yacht, I believe."
"That's right, sir. Well, she's all right, and I'm to be master of her,
so I guess I hadn't ought to complain, but, after all, a real sailer is
better, _I_ think, sir."
The boat was sloop-rigged, seaworthy rather than fast, and, for her
length, very broad of beam and astonishingly roomy. Spars and deck were
spick and span in new ash, and her sides glistened with white paint.
"Would you like to go over her?" suggested the boatman. "Here's the keys
to everything, Mr. Fessenden--the rooms, and these are for the lockers
and the water-tanks."
The party clambered aboard and proceeded to explore the little craft.
The women exclaimed with surprise and delight.
"Two cabins!" said Mrs. Dick Randall. "One at each end--do you see,
Polly? And what's this cunning cubby-hole between the rooms?"
"That's the galley, ma'am," answered the boatman. "The kitchen, you'd
call it. Do you see that little oil-stove, there? Big enough to do
what's wanted plenty. Yes'm, she's as well found as any old-time
Baltimore clipper, she is. A cabin aft for the owner, and a fok's'l room
for me. Mr. Danton used to say he had a right to make me comfortable, if
he wanted to. You know his queer ways, maybe. We kept the stores in
those lockers. She's got some of 'em aboard yet."
"I should say so," declared Polly, who had been rummaging about. "Potted
tongue and jams, and a whole ham, and, I declare, here's the sweetest
little coffee-tin full of coffee!"
"Mr. Danton was thinkin' of takin' a cruise," explained the boatman.
"And when you bought the _Wisp_, sir, he telegraphed to turn her over
right away, in case you wanted to use her while you was here. Well,
gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'll be walkin' over to the station to
catch my train back to Polocoke." He touched his cap and tramped away up
the knoll toward the road.
"Let's all go for a sail in her," said May Belle.
At the suggestion, an idea sprang full-grown into Fessenden's mind.
"Some other time," he returned. "I'd rather try her out by myself first.
I want to see if she has any mean tricks before I risk any life besides
my own. If the wind's right, I may tack about a bit this afternoon."
He realized that he had explained too elaborately--Miss Yarnell bent an
intent look upon him. As he was returning up the pathway at her
side--the others a safe distance ahead--she touched his arm.
"Please take me with you when you go sailing this afternoon?"
"Oh, I may not go. If I do, I think you'd better not. You see, the
_Wisp_ may be a crank."
"Nonsense! Besides, I'm a good sailor--swimmer too. I shouldn't care if
we were capsized."
"I'd care for you."
"Please take me. I want particularly to go."
"Really, I can't."
"You mean you won't!"
"I'd rather not, at any rate."
Again her intent look surprised him. "Not if I bent 'on bended knee' to
you?"
"Not if you begged me with bitter tears," he laughed.
"I thought you wouldn't, before I asked you," she said broodingly. "I
knew it would be of no use."
"You did? Why do you want so much to go?"
"If I tell you that, will you tell me why you won't take me?"
"I can't promise. But what reason can there be except that I don't care
to risk your life in a boat I know nothing about?"
"What solicitude!" she said with sarcasm. "'Men were deceivers ever.'"
She gave him an enigmatic smile as they took up their tennis rackets.
Beyond an amused wonder at the vagaries of the modern American--or, at
any rate, Maryland--girl, this incident made little impression on
Fessenden's mind, occupied as it was with schemes of its own. By the
time luncheon had been over an hour or two, however, and it drew on to
the time when he might be expected to take out the _Will-o'-the-Wisp_,
he confidently anticipated a renewal of Miss Yarnell's request.
He was downright disappointed, therefore, when the young woman in
question announced that she had a slight headache and thought a nap
would do her good. Polly and Mrs. Dick chorused hearty approval, and
Pinckney advised a julep.
Thus supported, Miss Yarnell mounted the staircase from the wide
hallway, not vouchsafing a single glance at Fessenden, who lingered
rather ostentatiously about in his yachting flannels. Although his
determination--as whimsical as the girl who had inspired it--to keep his
projected visit to White Cottage a secret forbade the presence of Madge
Yarnell upon the _Wisp_, he would willingly have had another trial of
wits with her. However, this was denied him.
Mrs. Dick and Polly made perfunctory petitions to accompany him, easily
waved aside. Dick Randall himself and Cresap were too lazy even to offer
their companionship. May Belle and her follower had taken themselves off
an hour before. Thus Fessenden found nothing to hinder his announced
plan of trying out the _Wisp_ alone.
"I'm off," he declared. "By the way, if I'm not back for dinner, don't
worry, and don't wait dinner for me. The wind may fall and make it a
drifting match against time, you know, so don't think of delaying
dinner, if I don't turn up."
Once on board the sloop, he cast off, hoisted mainsail and jib, and
stood away to the northward.
Although unfamiliar with the dry land of Maryland, Fessenden was not
entirely so with its waters. Once or twice he had taken a cruise on the
fickle Chesapeake, and he was fairly well acquainted with the character
of the sailing and the configuration of the bay.
Moreover, he had given a half-hour's close study to some of Cresap's
charts that morning. He knew, therefore, that his first long reach on
the starboard tack would take him well clear of the land. Thence he
planned to come about and sail with the wind to a little cove he had
noticed on the map. This cove lay a mile or so above Sandywood, and was
concealed therefrom by a heavily-wooded point. He counted upon making a
landing there about six o'clock.
It was a delightful day for sailing. The breeze was firm, but not too
strong--just brisk enough to ruffle the water with a steady purr under
the bow as the sloop slid up into the wind.
In pure enjoyment Fessenden whistled shrilly and sang snatches of song.
His trip had enough of mystery about it to arouse all the boy in him.
The thought of his evasion of Miss Yarnell's importunity, too, made him
laugh aloud. To be sure, his merriment was a little diminished by his
recollection that she had shown no desire to accompany him at the last.
Was she merely whimsical, he wondered, or had she acted with a motive?
He hauled the mainsail a trifle tauter, and watched with critical eye
the flattening of the canvas. The _Wisp_ fairly sailed herself, and
needed little attention. He burst into song:
"And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle fre-e-e,
Away the good ship flies and leaves
Old England on her lee."
He stopped. The wind pushed persistently at the flattening sail; the
water purred under the bow; the shore was already hazy behind him. These
things were as they ought to be, yet he had become conscious that
something extraordinary had interrupted his flow of song.
His eyes, sweeping the whole horizon, came back to the sloop, surveyed
her slowly from bowsprit to rudder-post, and rested finally on the
closed double-doors of the little cabin that faced him across the
cockpit.
At that moment a loud knocking shook the latticed doors. Then a mellow
voice spoke distinctly:
"'Behind no prison grate,' she said,
'That slurs the sunshine half a mile,
Live captives so uncomforted
As souls behind a smile--
God's pity let us pray,' she said."
The doors were flung open, and framed in the hatchway appeared the upper
part of the body, the dark hair, the defiant eyes, and the
faintly-smiling mouth of the celebrated Miss Madge Yarnell.
[Illustration: MISS YARNELL MOUNTED THE PAIR OF STEPS FROM THE CABIN]