ON BOARD THE "SEAMEW."
With September the lovely weather suddenly broke up, and a few days
later there was a great storm along the eastern seaboard. One morning
news came to Heron Dyke that during the night a brig of some three
hundred tons burden, the _Seamew_, bound from Dantzic to London, had
struck on the Creffel Bank, and lay there a helpless wreck. Two of the
crew had been washed overboard; the rest, including the master, were
rescued by the Easterby lifeboat. The Creffel Bank was known as one of
the most dangerous spots on that part of the coast, and many a gallant
craft had gone to pieces on its shifting and treacherous shoals.
Miss Winter at once sent Hubert Stone into the village with
instructions to aid the shipwrecked men in whatever way might seem
best. All of them, except the captain, expressed a desire to be
forwarded to London, and were accordingly packed off by rail, their
fares being paid by Hubert. As the brig did not at once break up, when
the storm abated several boats went out to her, and in the course of a
couple of days succeeded in landing that portion of her cargo which
remained unspoiled, and most of her loose fittings; but the little
_Seamew_ herself was so deeply imbedded in the sand that it was
impossible to get her off, and the next gale would doubtless break her
up entirely.
One sunny afternoon, Ella took her sketchbook to the sands, and was
dutifully accompanied by Mrs. Toynbee with a novel. But Ella was not
long in discovering that she was in no mood for sketching, that she
was rather in a mood which inclined to day-dreaming, and to vague
golden visions of some far-off future. Could it be that the recent
visit of Edward Conroy had anything to do with these idle fancies?
At length she shut up her book with a little gesture of impatience,
and strolled slowly down to the farther shore. Mrs. Toynbee sighed and
followed meekly. Her seat had been a comfortable one, and she was in
the middle of an interesting chapter; but duty is duty, however
unpleasant it may be.
The tide was beginning to ebb, and, as the two ladies paced the sands
a little above high-water mark, they presently saw a boat propelled by
a single rower making for the shore. The rower was Hubert Stone, and
the boat belonged to him. He was fond of the water, and often went out
for hours at a time, alone or accompanied by some friend. Ella stood
and watched the boat coming in. It seemed to be making for the spot
where she stood. Hubert's strong and regular strokes propelled it
swiftly through the water, and in a little while it shot gently up the
sands. Putting down his oars, the young man stood up and raised his
straw hat to Miss Winter. How handsome he looked as he stood there in
the afternoon sunshine, with his coat thrown carelessly across his
arm!
"Have you been far?" asked Ella, when he stepped ashore.
"Only as far as New Nullington and back," answered Hubert.
"It must be very pleasant on the water to-day."
"Very pleasant indeed. There is quite a refreshing breeze when you get
a little way out. What do you say, Miss Ella, to letting me pull you
and Mrs. Toynbee as far as the _Seamew_ and back?"
Miss Winter looked at Mrs. Toynbee.
"Oh, that would be very charming, I think," said the latter lady: and
they did not observe that she spoke half ironically.
"Who is on board the brig?" asked Ella.
"George Petherton is there now," said Hubert. "If the weather holds up
fine, they hope to be able to save some more of the cargo; meanwhile
George remains there in charge."
"Then let us go. We shall get back in time for dinner."
She knew George Petherton well. He was one of the oldest and steadiest
boatmen round Easterby.
Without more ado, Ella stepped lightly into the boat and sat down.
Hubert held out his hand to Mrs. Toynbee. But, at the last moment,
that lady's heart failed her; in fact her bravery had been but put on.
Involuntarily she drew back a step or two.
"There is not the slightest cause for alarm, ma'am," said Hubert.
But the boat was a very small one, and looked dreadfully unsafe, she
thought. Then the wreck was more than two miles away, and what was it
that Mr. Stone had just said about there being a pleasant breeze when
you got away from shore? How could any breeze be pleasant at sea?
"I--I don't feel very well, and I think, my dear, I must ask you to
excuse me," she said to Ella, with a little quaver of the voice.
"You are not afraid, are you?" asked Ella, with a smile. "The breeze
when we get out will do you good."
Mrs. Toynbee shuddered.
"Really, my dear, I should feel pleased if you would excuse me," she
said. "I am not at all myself this afternoon: and I am apt to be so
very ill upon the water. Do excuse me--and I will wait for you here."
"Well, I should like to go," responded Ella. "I should like to see the
wreck, and I shall not be long away. You can watch me skimming over
the water."
"I will," assented Mrs. Toynbee, with an air of relief. "I wish you
_bon voyage_, and a safe return."
Hubert waited for no more. He pushed the boat into deeper water, then
got in and took up his oars. He wanted no Mrs. Toynbee in it, not he,
and was glad matters had turned out so. That lady stood on the sands
waving her handkerchief till they were quite a quarter of a mile away
from shore, and then sat down to continue her novel.
But--it may as well be at once mentioned--the expedition took longer
than Mrs. Toynbee had expected. She grew tired of waiting, felt rather
chilly, for she had but a thin gauze shawl on, and she got up at
length and went back to the Hall.
Hubert Stone rowed on with strong steady strokes, feeling like a
man who cannot be sure whether he is dreaming or awake. Could it be
true, he asked himself, that he and his sweet mistress were alone
together--alone on the waste of waters where no living soul could come
between them? Together, yes; but in reality as far as the poles
asunder. Still, to be so near her, to have her as it were all to
himself, though only for one short hour, was both a pleasure and a
pain unspeakable. If they could but have gone on thus for ever,
sailing away into infinity, and never touching land again, unless it
were some desert island untrodden by any footsteps save their own!
Wild, foolish longings! In an hour their little voyage would be at an
end, and never again, in all human probability, would Ella and he be
in a boat together; never alone, as they were to-day. He needed no
prophet to tell him that. Never again!
By-and-by Ella roused herself from her reverie: for she too had fallen
into one. They were nearing the wreck. It lay low on its sandy bed,
slightly heeled over to starboard. There was little more of it left
than the bare hull. Masts and bowsprit had been unshipped and carried
away.
"How quiet and deserted it looks!" she exclaimed. "I don't see George
Petherton."
"We shall have a splendid sunset," remarked Hubert, as he rested for a
moment on his oars, and taking no notice of her words. "See there,
Miss Winter!"
"Yes, many of those cloud-effects are very lovely!"
A few more minutes brought them close to the wreck. Ella was looking
at it steadfastly.
"I do not see George Petherton," she again remarked.
"He is probably below deck, smoking his pipe, or trying to fish up
some more of the cargo. George is not the sort of man to care for
sunset-effects." Hubert said this with a short, hard laugh, which
Ella, preoccupied, took little notice of. It was well perhaps that she
did not see the expression of his face. It had changed strangely
during the last few minutes. His mouth was hard-set, and in his eyes
there sat a look which might have been set down as compounded of
despair, burning passion, and desperate resolve.
Hubert shipped his oars, and made a trumpet of his hands to sing out.
"Hillo there! Petherton--Petherton, I say, where are you?" But there
came no answer; there was no sign of life whatever on board the wreck.
"Can he have gone ashore?" exclaimed Ella, quickly.
"Not likely," returned Hubert. "He is shut in below, smoking his pipe,
and cannot hear: perhaps has dropped asleep. I will go and arouse him.
But let me help you on board first, Miss Winter.--Hark! yes, George is
there, safe enough. I hear him."
He brought the boat up under the lee of the wreck, made her fast with
a rope, sprang lightly on the _Seamew's_ deck, and turned to assist
Miss Winter.
But Ella held back. "Go and tell him to come and help you to get me
up," she said laughingly.
Hubert disappeared down the cabin stairs. He did not come back
immediately. Left alone in the boat, Ella began to feel anxious,
vaguely uneasy. Could she but have divined his treachery! He knew
perfectly well that George Petherton was not on board, that he had
gone ashore at mid-day.
Hubert made his way aft into a little room, not much bigger than a
rabbit-hutch, but which was in reality the captain's cabin. Here he
found a keg of hollands, still about one-third full; near it was a
horn drinking-cup. Twice in quick succession he filled the cup with
neat spirits and drank it off. He was very pale, and there lay still
that same strange lurid light in his eyes.
After drinking the spirits, he stood rigid as a statue, his hands
clenched, his eyes fixed on the ground. "His or mine--his or mine?" he
muttered under his breath. "Not his--not his! Death before that."
Once again he filled the cup and drank its contents. Then he pressed
his hand to his heart for a moment, as though to still some wild
commotion there; and then, as if afraid to hesitate any longer, he
made his way quickly back on deck.
Ella was watching anxiously for him. The moment she saw his white set
face, she became filled with alarm. "What is amiss?" she cried, her
fears flying to the boatman. "Is Petherton ill? Has anything happened
to him?"
"Yes," shortly replied Hubert; "not much. You had better come on
board, Miss Winter."
Ella did not hesitate another moment. She had known George Petherton
all her life, and liked him greatly. A thought came over her that the
man might have fallen and hurt himself amidst the damaged cordage and
rigging.
"Put one foot there and the other here, and give me your hand," said
Hubert. Miss Winter, active and fearless, did as she was bidden. Next
moment she was standing on the deck.
"You will find him aft in the captain's cabin, if you go down," said
Hubert.
Thinking only of the poor old boatman, Ella went slowly down the
little staircase, and was presently lost to view. When Hubert could no
longer see her, he gave a great gasp, and, sinking on one knee, he
laid his head against the bulwarks of the brig. "What have I done?
What have I done?" he cried. "It is too late now to turn back. Too
late!"
He rose slowly when he heard the young lady's returning footsteps. She
came up looking about her.
"I can't find George Petherton," she said. "He is not below. I thought
you told me----"
"I told you a lie, Miss Winter. Petherton went ashore hours ago."
Ella gazed at him in amazement.
"Then why did you say he was on board? What does all this mean?"
"Oh, are you blind?--cannot you guess?" he burst forth, unfolding his
arms and drawing a step nearer to her.
Ella, on her part, stepped back: she was becoming frightened at the
matter altogether, and at the fierce, dreadful look in his eyes.
"I brought you here, knowing we should be alone and beyond the reach
of men, to tell you a secret, Miss Winter. I brought you here because
I love you," he added, flinging himself on his knees before her;
"because I cannot live another day without telling you! I have you to
myself here, and none can interfere."
"Get up instantly," she indignantly cried, with all the bravery she
could command. "Never let me hear another word of this folly. Help me
into the boat again: I will return to the shore." Her heart was
beating very fast and all the colour had left her lips, but there was
a fine fire of anger in her eyes.
"Folly! yes, that is the word for it," answered Hubert, as he rose to
his feet. "Not until you have listened to the whole tale of folly do
you leave this spot."
"You would not dare to detain me?" said Ella, proudly.
"Indeed, but I would: I do. Being in the mood, I would dare much more
than that," boasted Hubert. The spirit he had taken was beginning to
take effect upon him. "Oh, my sweet mistress!" he resumed, his manner
changing to softness, "why do you scorn me thus? How was it possible
for me daily to see you and not love you? Do you think I have
willingly brought this misery on myself? You have blighted my life,
but what of that?--it has been one long worship of you. I have loved
you ever since the days when we used to gather blackberries in the
lanes with your nurse, and dig for pretty shells in the sand."
He paused with emotion. Ella felt more scared with every word.
"Why did not Fate make me your equal instead of your servant? Surely
the force of my love would have drawn yours in return. I have hands to
work for you, I have a brain to plan for you, I have love that would
never grow cold. I am not without manners or education; but, despite
all these things, the world does not count me--a gentleman. I am but a
son of the soil, and I must not dare to look up to any lady with the
eyes of love."
His tone, full of anguish--almost of despair, was respectful now.
Despite Ella's indignation, she felt some compassion for him.
"You must forget all this," she said, with gentle gravity: "and I will
try to forget that you have spoken as you have to-day. You have an
honourable career before you if you choose to follow it, and you may
rely upon my doing all that is in my power to further your interests.
But never must you address me in this strain again; recollect that.
And now I shall be glad if you will row me ashore."
What a revelation his words had been to her! A thousand little tokens,
never noticed before, flashed across her memory.
But Hubert made no movement towards the boat.
"Forget all this! never speak of it again!" he exclaimed with renewed
bitterness. "What easy words to say! There is one thing I should like
to remind you of, Miss Ella; it may lessen my seeming presumption. My
mother was a lady born; but she left friends, station, everything, to
follow my father's humble fortunes. Other gentlewomen there are, who
have sacrificed all for love, and deemed the world well lost."
This persistence annoyed Ella while it frightened her. She had never
seen the expression on his face that it wore this afternoon, and she
shuddered while she looked. Surely this could not be the Hubert Stone
she had known for so many years! It was the spirit of some demon which
had got possession of him and was looking out of his eyes. She had
seen that other kind of spirit below, and rightly deemed that he had
been making free with it. It might not answer to be too severe with
him.
"Will you not let me go? I am tired," she said, pleasantly. "You are
not like yourself, Hubert. I hardly know you this afternoon."
"Faith, I hardly know myself," he answered, with a strange, jarring
laugh. "It is all your fault: you have ruined me, body and soul."
Ella cast an imploring glance towards the distant shore. She was
growing desperately frightened. Again his mood changed to tenderness.
"Oh, my sweet mistress, is there no hope for me?" he wailed. "Is there
none, none? No man else could love you as I love; no heart could be as
faithful as mine would be."
"Hubert Stone, enough of this," cried Ella, her fears merged in her
indignation. "Once and for all, understand that you could never be
anything to me in the way you speak of. If you have the slightest
spark of honour, you will not persecute me further."
There was scorn in her voice and indignation in her eyes, but never
had he seen her look more beautiful than at that moment.
"I wish the lightning of your eyes could strike me dead at your feet,"
he exclaimed. "It would be better both for you and me. I know it is
useless to ask for that which it is not in your power to give. Your
secret is known to me, Miss Winter, well hidden though it be. You love
another, and you believe that he loves you in return."
She opened her lips to answer, but closed them again. A lovely colour
flushed the alabaster of her cheeks.
Close to the bulwarks she had drawn now, and could get no farther
away. He stepped nearer, and laid one finger lightly on her arm.
"I heard all that passed between you and him the other evening," he
said, staring straight into her eyes.
"All that passed between _whom?_" gasped Ella.
"Between you and that man--that Mr. Conroy--your lover. I heard his
low-voiced questions and all your soft replies. You gave no scorn or
contempt to him: yet am I not as good as he, and do I not love you a
thousand times better?"
"Let me pass, sir, this moment! How dare you insult me thus!" she
cried, brought to bay. "If I could but strike him to the ground!" was
her unspoken thought.
"You shall go when I am ready to let you go, and not one minute
before," answered Hubert. "You love this man: I know it from the
way you speak to him, from the way you look at him. And he loves
you--apparently. But--I beg you listen to me, Miss Winter. I have
something I must say. That man is wise in his generation. He waited
until your uncle was dead, and Heron Dyke yours, and then--not before,
mark you--he comes with his low, honeyed words to steal away your
heart. But now--are you listening?"
What could she do but listen?
"Dare to wed that man," he went on, "and, on the day you do so, the
secret I have kept for your sake shall be a secret no longer. The
world shall ring with it."
"A secret for my sake!" she exclaimed in her surprise.
"It would be a grand thing for this adventurer, this journalist--this
newspaper hack, to become the master of Heron Dyke, would it not? _He_
thinks so. But that he shall never be."
"Be silent, sir. You know not what you are saying."
"Unfortunately, I know too well. Should he marry you, he will not find
you the heiress he expects. He will find too late that his wife has no
more title to the estates of Heron Dyke than I have; that what she
holds, she holds by _fraud_. By fraud alone."
"By fraud!" Anxious though she was to get away, Hubert's words
startled her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this, Miss Winter. A dozen words from me, and Heron Dyke would
know you as its mistress no more."
"Then speak those words," said Ella, bravely. "It is your bounden duty
to do so. I have no wish to keep what belongs to another."
Her tone was clear and decided. She believed there was something in
this: that he meant what he said.
"Why should I speak them--and injure you? No. Give up this man, who
cares only for your money, and my lips shall be sealed for ever."
"Do your duty, that is all I ask. I have no other word to say to you."
"Will you promise to give up this man?"
"No."
"Beware! You are driving me to desperation."
"I cannot help that."
"You have not a better word to say to me?"
"Not one."
"So be it. You have driven me to do it. Remember that."
"What would you do?" she asked, a little faintly.
"You shall see."
He crossed to where the boat that had brought them was tied to the
wreck. He unfastened the rope that held it, and let it drop into the
water. Then he took up a broken spar and pushed the boat away. The
tide was still on the ebb, and the boat floated slowly out to sea.
Ella sprang forward.
"You would not murder me!" she exclaimed.
"No, I will not murder you," he answered, quietly. "But since the
Fates have willed that we shall not live together, we can at least die
together."
Ella sank back faint and dizzy. Could it be that the only link between
themselves and the shore was really broken? There was no other boat
near, and two miles of water intervened between the wreck and the
land. It was terrible to think of the doom to which this madman had
possibly condemned her.
Madman! Was it not likely that he was one in reality? It flashed
across Ella's mind that, long years before, she had heard that Hubert
Stone's mother had died insane. Had he inherited the awful malady, and
had this day's agitation brought it suddenly out? In terrible fear she
glanced across at him.
He was standing on the opposite side of the deck, lighting a cigar.
His hat was off, and the breeze ruffled his black, silky hair. Could
anything but madness account for his actions this afternoon? Ella
shuddered and hid her eyes, and tried to think. The pulses of life
beat strongly within her. It was hard to realise that the end--and
such an end--was so near.
Presently Hubert came a little nearer. He was puffing quietly at his
cigar. All traces of his previous excitement had disappeared.
"The barometer has been going down all day," he observed, "and the
wind is beginning to rise. It will blow a gale during the night, the
wreck will break up, and when daylight comes, the _Seamew_ will have
disappeared for ever."
Miss Winter made no answer.
"A few days hence," he resumed slowly, "two bodies will be washed
ashore--those of a man and a woman; and the woman will be so closely
locked in the arms of the man that people will not be able to separate
them. They will be buried together, and she who would not be his bride
in life shall be his bride for ever in the grave."
"That shall never be," said Ella to herself, with a shudder. But she
spoke no word aloud.
"Meanwhile, Miss Winter, you have nothing to fear. We have still some
hours before us."
By this time the boat looked a mere speck in the distance. Sunset
splendours flooded the western sky. In mid heaven, borne swiftly away
by some upper current, were ragged shreds and fragments of cloud,
looking like crimson fleeces that had been roughly torn asunder; but
in the north and north-east an ominous-looking bank of sullen sky was
climbing out of the sea, and creeping slowly up towards the zenith.
There was not much wind, but what there was blew in fitful puffs that
went as suddenly as they came, hurrying away to whisper elsewhere of
the coming storm. The tide had begun to turn, and was bringing with it
a heavier swell. Now and then the timbers of the ship creaked and
strained; it was as though the brave old brig knew that its end was
near, and could not repress its groans. In another hour darkness would
reign over land and sea.
Hubert went on smoking in silence, lighting a second cigar when the
first one was finished, and--what could Ella say? Even if she were to
appeal to him to save her life, and he listened to her appeal, it
would be useless. The boat was gone beyond recovery, and with it their
last chance of reaching the shore. A few short hours, and then would
come the bitter end; one brief struggle, and that coil of joys,
sorrows, and perplexities which we call Life would have snapped like a
broken dream, and the unknown awful dawn of Eternity would be shining
in her eyes.
She was sitting crouched up against the bulwarks, her face hidden in
her hands. Never had the wheels of thought moved more swiftly, she had
so many things to think of, and so little time to give to them! She
thought of Mrs. Toynbee sitting placidly reading her novel in the
drawing-room at Heron Dyke--for that she had gone home ere this, Ella
did not doubt--looking at her watch occasionally, and wondering what
had become of the runaway, but otherwise quietly enjoying herself.
Next her thoughts flew off to Edward Conroy. Where was he at that
moment, and what was he doing? Oh! if he only knew the bitter strait
she was in! Ella no longer attempted to disguise from herself the fact
that she loved him. Would she ever see him again on earth? A blinding
rush of tears filled her eyes, and for a little while she felt as if
the bitterness of death were already upon her. But before long she
grew calmer, silently praying that help and strength might be given
her; and she did not pray in vain.
"Are you not cold, Miss Ella?" asked Hubert, by-and-by. "Is there
nothing I can do for you?"
"I am not cold, and all my wish is to be left alone," she answered.
He turned away with a groan, and muttered something under his breath.
"I would give my heart's blood for you," he cried passionately. "But
you shall never be the wife of that man. I have sworn it, and I will
keep my oath. We will die together."
Striding off, he gave a look round at the weather, and went below.
Probably in search of more hollands.
Ella rose to her feet as he disappeared. She felt cramped and chilled,
and everything seemed to swim before her. She strained her eyes across
the darkling waters, and, while she was looking, the lamps of Easterby
lighthouse flashed suddenly out. The sight made her heart beat more
quickly. With help so near, it was hard to realise that there was no
help for her. The great bank of cloud was still creeping slowly up,
and the wind was beginning to pipe more shrilly. What was that madman
doing below? If he would but stay there, and not come on deck again!
But--while she was looking and listening--a strange, wild idea, born
of despair, flashed across her mind as suddenly and clearly as the
rays from the lighthouse lamps had flashed across her sight. For a
moment she stood with her fingers pressed to her temples, asking
herself whether she should do this thing or not. Yes! In it lay her
only hope of rescue. The staircase which Hubert had gone down could be
shut up in bad weather, by means of a hinged door, which at present
stood wide open. It was the work of a moment for Ella to shut this
door and shoot the bolt into the staple. Her enemy was a prisoner.
Broken boxes and other wreckage lumbered the deck. There was also a
small tub containing a quantity of tar. Ella quickly made a pile of
these boxes, and poured the tar over them. Then she tore a number of
leaves out of her sketchbook and put them under the boxes. Hubert's
fusee-box lay close by, where he had left it. After some little
difficulty, she succeeded in setting light to the paper, the tar
caught fire, and in a little while a bright sheet of flame was leaping
toward the sky.
This was effected just as Hubert found out that he was imprisoned. He
shook the door and flung himself against it with all his strength. To
no purpose. He found a heavy piece of wood, and began battering the
door with all his might. The blows filled Ella's soul with affright.
Surely, surely, she said to herself, her signal would be seen from
shore, and help would come--sent by God. But--would it come in time?
would it come before that caged madman succeeded in breaking loose?
She was partly crouching, partly kneeling, a little way off the fire.
Suddenly, the faint sound of what seemed a far-off shout fell upon her
straining ears. Even while she asked herself whether it was only
fancy, it grew more distinct. Help must be approaching. The revelation
was too much for her. Hubert's blows grew fainter in her ears, and she
fell on the deck bereft of sense and feeling.