LIPPENSTOCK BAY.
The next morning early, ere yet the last night's arrivals were astir,
there was bustle in the hotel. Omnibuses, carriages, buggies, and a
few saddle-horses, waited before the door, and soon a loquacious
company of pleasure-seekers, comprising three-fourths of all the
guests, came down and were borne away.
Joseph Naylor had the buggy which led, Rose Hillyard by his side, as
nearly always happened now--though he had many competitors who strove
hard to supplant him. His luck or good management was remarkable; for
somehow, though the lady was conspicuously gracious and encouraging to
the rest, it was nearly always to him that it fell to escort her. Lucy
Naylor and Lettice Deane were provided each with a horse and a
cavalier; Margaret, in her riding-habit, was following; Peter Wilkie
sprang forward to hold her stirrup, but it felt so warm that she
changed her mind and followed her mother into a carriage, which
changeableness the latter was far from approving; but Mrs Petty was
beside her, and young Walter on the box, so nothing could be said, and
if Peter's mother muttered "whimsical monkey," and looked cross,
nobody minded. In ten minutes every one had mounted or scrambled into
a place, and the company started away.
The air was still. The sea stretched like a mirror beneath the limpid
sky, repeating in livelier tones its cerulean blueness and the pearly
brightness of the clouds, save near the shore, where the reflections
grew troubled in the swinging of the glassy swell which broke and
crumbled in a fringe of glittering surf. There was no breeze, but the
sun was low as yet, and the coolness of night still lingered in the
air with a pleasant saltness and the scent of fresh sea-wrack cast up
along the shore. It was a charming drive, that summer morning, along
the even firmness of the beach, so smooth, and free from noise, jolt,
or rattle. The fall of the horses' feet was scarcely audible, and the
air was astir with the plashing of the breakers in faint monotonous
resonance, a low and unobtrusive accompaniment to the blithesome
voices of the merry-makers as they wended along.
The motion was smooth, but the progress was not rapid. The sand was
heavy beneath the wheels and the horses' feet, and offered a dead
impediment to speed. But speed was not a thing to be greatly desired.
The morning, with its brightness, its freshness, and its waxing
warmth, was something to be lingered in, and breathed with long deep
inspirations of enjoyment; and no one thought of haste or complained
of delay, though it took an hour to do the five miles' distance which
brought them to Lippenstock Bay and the wooden jetty, where a
steamboat was waiting to take them on board. Out upon the water was a
new and fresh sensation, and one which arrived just as the other was
losing its charm. The sands, when they left them, were not as cool as
they had been an hour before--the genial warmth was beginning to verge
on heat; and the party crowded on board with enthusiasm, in haste to
secure commodious corners and lounge at ease, inhaling new freshness
as the boat put off from the shore with a screech like the cry of a
sea-gull, and breasted the glassy waters on its voyage round the bay.
Lippenstock Bay is an inlet of eight miles' width, running deep into
the land, and guarded at its mouth by a double row of islands, which
shelter it from the outer ocean, breaking the lines of westward-driven
billows, and rendering it a sheltered roadstead in all weathers. It
cuts into the gently swelling country which comes down upon the sea,
with its sandy pasture-tracks, and scattered farmhouses nestling in
sheltered spots among meadows and shady trees, so snug and thrifty,
but, alas for the landscape! so aglare with whitewash. If ever the
spirit of the picturesque shall invade those shores, her first
exploit, I fear, will be to scatter something of neglect, if not
decay, upon the scene. In that transparent atmosphere, with its sharp
uncompromising lights and shadows, the human element of the present is
aggressively manifest. Each dwelling, in its flagrant paint or
whiteness, obtrudes itself upon the eye, and insists on being counted
in, one more residence of a citizen of the Great Republic. The fields
and roads, the fences and blocks of bush, are scrupulously
rectangular, without one softening curve: illustrated in the varying
greens and yellows of the different crops, the country looks as if it
were covered with a vast patch bed-quilt.
The hills of the rougher country, backed by the blue outline of
distant mountains, come into view at the upper end of the bay, basking
sweetly in the light, and clothed in pearly greys where their verdure
falls in shadow. They relieve the scene from the sense of vulgar
commonplace which the rawness of nearer objects might impose, and
above is the immeasurable vault filled with transparent air suffused
with brightness, including all, and reducing stretches of monotonous
country within symmetrical limits. The hills behind send down a spur
across the lower levels to the sea. This ends in a ridge which enters
the head of the bay, and on it stands the pretty old town of
Lippenstock.
Lippenstock is one of the oldest settlements on the Atlantic coast;
and being old, it is rich in the mellowness of tone so sadly wanting
in other places. Having grown with the community, it harmonises like a
natural production with surrounding nature, free from the harsh
obtrusiveness of a brand-new construction, and might almost be a
cutting from the Old World ingrafted on the still scarce-ripened New.
Clustered on its tongue of land, it stretches out into the blue deep
water, a lesser bay margined with yellow sand confining and compacting
it on either hand; fringed on three sides with wharfs, whose tar-black
timbers lend a solid definition to the base from which it rises, in
blocks of russet brown, red brick, and grimy stone, with roofs and
steeples rising tier on tier in jagged outline backward and upward,
spreading as they recede, in every tone of blue and purple grey, among
the tops of the embowering elms which line the quiet streets. A ship
or two is moored along the quays; for the drowsy place has
considerable trade, and fishing-boats, with half-reefed umber sails
and their red-shirted crews, are sleeping on the water.
The throbbing of the steamer's engine sounded far and wide across the
tranquil calm, the gurgling waters parting at its bow and speeding
backward in a trail of troubled undulations. The air seemed quickened
into life by the motion, and fanned the voyagers gently as they
reclined upon the deck, steeping themselves in sunshine, which, now
they were on the water, seemed less ardent than it had been ashore.
Mrs Naylor, being an invalid, had had her choice of places. Reclining
near the bow, where the air was untainted by engine-room vapours, she
sat in the shadow of her white umbrella in perfect comfort, Margaret
beside her, with her book and fan and other paraphernalia at hand when
wanted.
At Margaret's elbow, leaning against the bulwarks, stood Walter Petty
in watchful patience, waiting for something to say when opportunity
should arise, though his mind felt too blank to originate an
observation, while he watched and admired in a worshipful silence
which ought to have gratified her if she had understood it; but she
did not. She liked him as a young fellow always kind and nice, but he
bored her, rather, with his superfluity of still life and lack of
initiative; or, to put it plainly, she found him much too diffident
and young.
He was three years older than herself, it is true, and was looked on
as a wonder of readiness and knowledge by his compeers among the
budding lawyers of Toronto; but then he was in love, poor lad, in his
first and earliest passion, which is like the measles, and deals more
hardly with a man, when, having passed him by before, it falls on him
out of season. He had studied hard, and his ambition had been so
entirely in his profession that he had had no thought to waste upon
young ladies; and often had he scoffed and pitied, to see the
ridiculous figure his fellows cut in the ecstasies of their calf-love.
He had listened to their idiotic raptures of hope and despair, and
wondered how rational creatures could become such fools. Now, the fate
had fallen on himself. It is decreed that man shall once in his life
make an ass of himself in dealing with the other sex, however wise and
prudent he may be in commerce with his own; and the man who never does
so stumble must be a wiseacre, or worse, an imperfect organism, from
whose construction the heart or the ideal impulses have been omitted.
Walter's hot fits and cold were like an ague, and left him as limp and
powerless as an ague would. The briskest and most talkative of his set
at other times, he found his mind under this new influence dried up
and sterile, without an idea fit to put in words, now when he was most
anxious to be amusing and to shine. His being seemed turned into a
pool of receptivity, absorbing the worshipped image, but unable to
give back a reflection. He was happy where he stood, within range of
so much sweet influence, but he was scarcely agreeable; he had nothing
to say, and he still retained sufficient common-sense to feel a little
foolish.
Peter Wilkie, sitting beside him on a coil of rope, was under no such
disadvantage. His feelings were in no wise overpowering, only
sufficient to make him wish to be at his best. He had had both measles
and calf-love in their appointed season, and in such easy form as his
constitution allowed. He had been in love many times, according to his
capacity--an easy-going and pleasant acceleration of the pulses,
mental and bodily, without fever or foolishness of any kind. The thing
ran its course, and went off again as judgment advised, leaving him
none the worse, and ready to begin the pretty game again on proper
occasion.
Mr Peter considered Margaret a remarkably fine girl--handsome, clever,
and with money--who would do him credit as a wife, if he should make
up his mind to take her. He had very nearly done so. He would have
done so, but that there was another, a competing beauty, as eligible,
seemingly, in all respects, and still more attractive. Miss Hillyard
was quite as handsome; and if Clam Beach knew less about her fortune,
that was the natural consequence of her being from Chicago. Her dress
and appointments betokened wealth; and he had gathered from the
American boarders that the Deanes, with whom she travelled, were
people of note, and very rich. Her complete self-possession showed
both that she had lived in the world, and had held a good place in it;
and, for herself, she was perhaps handsomer than the other. Their
styles were so different that they could not be compared; but if
anything, he preferred Miss Hillyard's. Being sandy-haired and
pale-eyed himself, the brilliant brunette, with her rich colour,
bright eyes, and abundant hair, had the attraction which lies in
opposites; and then her conversation and manner were so much more
formed and matured than were Margaret's. She was a woman, in fact,
while the other was a girl, and, he fancied, would suit him better as
a companion.
Miss Hillyard, however, was at the other end of the boat with Mr
Naylor, as she so often was now--"Why did she waste so much of her
company on that old cod?" he wondered--in the centre of a knot of
young people, whose frequent laughter showed that the conversation was
general.
Margaret was before him, and glancing up at her where she sat, he
doubted if anything could be prettier than the picture she made, under
the shadow of her broad-leafed hat, bound with a copious scarf. She
had little colour; but the healthy pallor harmonised with the blueness
of her violet eyes, and the brown hair escaping into sunshine behind
her ear, and flashing like ruddy gold. The colour of her eyes repeated
itself in the handkerchief knotted at her throat; and her Holland
riding-habit, fitting without a crease, displayed to perfection the
lithe young figure, with arms so free and supple. "C[oe]lebs in search
of a wife" began to doubt if this damsel were not the better choice.
He coughed to clear his voice, and proceeded to make conversation in
his best manner.
He talked about the scenery. The bay reminded him of the Bay of
Salerno, and every other bay, seemingly, which he had ever seen in
distant places--especially in the Mediterranean--which sounded
picturesque and romantic to Margaret, who had never been out of Canada
till now, and tended to impress her with his merit as an accomplished
traveller and man of the world. He had maundered eastward as far as
the Gulf of Corinth, and even alluded casually to the Golden Horn,
with the intention of taking it next, waxing eloquent over the glories
of Constantinople, and favouring her with recollections and anecdotes
of Eastern life, when Petty, standing by disgusted at his exclusion
from a conversation in which he could not gain standing-room, cried
out--
"See! they are actually launching a big sail-boat up the cove yonder.
What can people want with a sail-boat in a calm like this?"
Margaret started and turned round, regardless of the coast of Greece,
Dardanelles, and Bosphorus, about which she had been expecting to
hear.
"Where are they launching a boat, Mr Petty? Pray show me;" and there
came a flush to her cheek, and she looked at him so brightly with a
grateful smile, that the young fellow's heart beat faster than before,
and he was very happy.
"Do you think they will make out to sail to-day? I wish there would
spring up a little wind. Do you not think they will manage to get
along, Mr Petty, with skilful steering?"
"I fear, if they do not get under way, they will have little
opportunity to steer. When a boat is lying at rest in the water, it
does not make any difference how you turn the helm. But see! they are
taking out the oars. They will kill themselves in this hot weather.
Two men to go rowing a heavy boat like that!"
"Ah, poor fellows! And how they tug and strain to get the great
unwieldy thing in motion! They will kill themselves, toiling in the
heat--get sunstroke perhaps. How I wish----" but here she stopped
short. Perhaps she knew in her heart that she did not wish the thing
she had been going to say, or perhaps she thought best to keep her own
counsel. She clutched her hands, and wrung them a little, but not
enough to be remarkable, and watched the boat.
"What makes her take such interest in the boat?" said Peter within
himself. "It sounded as if she wished they had not gone out. But who
are they, that she should wish about them? Or perhaps she was wishing
that she had not made them go. Ha! that must be it. How eagerly she
turned to look when Petty spoke! And who could recognise any one at
this distance? Aha! I smell a rat--a lover--a rival. Have a care,
Master Peter, or you will miss your footing. Propose and be refused,
and look like a fool! Take time, and make sure before you leap."
Walter Petty had heard Margaret's exclamation likewise, but it
affected him differently. Either he was too much interested in the
young lady, or he was too little interested and hopeful for himself.
He had always thought of himself as but a poor creature by the side of
Margaret. All that he perceived was, that Margaret took an interest in
the boat which he had pointed out, and seemed uneasy about its men
working so hard. Why she should be uneasy he did not stop to inquire.
It might be the holy pity of her nature, which sympathised with the
toils and sufferings of all mankind in a way beyond his ken. It might
be anything. He only saw that she was troubled and anxious about that
boat and its occupants, and he hastened to mitigate her anxiety.
"It will not be so very hard when they get the boat under way," he
said. "Already it goes easier; and see how well they row! They are
experienced hands. No; never fear. They will not hurt themselves. And
see, out there upon the bay, those moving clouded places! 'Cats'-paws'
the sailors call them. They are caused by a puff of air striking the
water. When the boatmen get out there, their sail will help them, and
I should not wonder but a breeze is springing up, which causes those
cats'-paws. Never fear; the boat will do well enough."
He had his reward in the grateful smile with which Margaret regarded
him, in looking past his ear at the evolutions of the boat in
question, and which made him feel more adult than he had felt in her
presence since his lunacy began. The climax of his satisfaction came
when she began to speak--
"How much you know about sailing and the sea, Mr Petty! and how
interesting it is, to be sure! Yes, really; I must watch that boat to
see it work into the breezy water. But of course; there is breeze even
here. See how my handkerchief flutters when I hold it out;" and it
seemed to Peter Wilkie, looking on, that one of the boatmen thereupon
drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Hm," he muttered below his breath. "Look out, Peter Wilkie!"
Walter Petty explained to Margaret that the breeze which stirred her
handkerchief arose not from the motion of the air, but from their own
motion through it.
"You seem to know everything, Mr Petty, about boats and sailing;
and I am so ignorant. Tell me all you know. It seems so mysterious
that--that pressing the tiller, for instance, to one side should make
the boat go to the other;" and Margaret turned round full front to
Petty--it _may_ have been past his ear that she was looking--with her
profile towards Wilkie, whose countenance fell a little as he asked
himself--
"Does she guess that I have been smelling out her little game?"
The "smelling out" had seemed droll to him the moment before; but now,
when this slight sign of displeasure--if it were a sign--might be
taken as confirmation, it was not so amusing. And yet the girl seemed
a finer girl than ever, now that he suspected a rival, and perhaps a
favoured rival, in her regard. He was not going to be allowed to play
sultan, it appeared, throwing his handkerchief as he pleased, without
fear of refusal; wherefore he ceased to question the value of the
prize, and began really to think that he desired it.
What would Mrs Naylor, sitting complacently within touch of her
daughter, and accepting the conversation of her friends, have said,
had she known the suspicion which had crossed the mind of Peter?
Margaret was safe at her elbow, and receiving the attentions of the
two most eligible young men on board. She would not have believed that
her girl, open as the day, truehearted and candid to a fault, could be
signalling to a man--a man unrecognisable for the distance--out there
in an open boat on Lippenstock Bay. A proceeding on her part so bold
and so underhand was impossible. And yet, if it were true, whose fault
was it but her own? Oppression, it has been said, will drive a wise
man mad. And this was only a girl, pushed, by nagging and injudicious
curbing, after a course of equally imprudent liberty, to take her own
way. She had but herself to thank, whatever might happen.
Mothers can remember their children as babies; they have tended and
ruled them through the years of growth with undisputed sway, and
maturity arrives so imperceptibly that it is natural they should not
perceive when the term of their reign has come--that the sceptre has
withered like a reed, and the children have grown to be women, with
wills and rights and aspirations of their own.