THE SIGN
I was left alone with Jenny, and found her glaring at me white with
anger. I was startled and fell back from her, for it seemed for a
moment as though her father's madness had descended upon her, and that
I was to be whirled into another storm of frenzy. But as she gazed at
me, her fierce eyes blazing, I soon came to realize that nothing worse
than anger possessed her, and I wasn't long in learning the cause of it.
"You would kill my daddy," she said with sharp emphasis, still fixing
me with her gaze.
"Jenny!" I answered weakly.
"Yes, you would shoot my daddy," she continued relentlessly, "you would
shoot him: and he loves you."
What was I to say? I advanced towards her, but she stepped back, and
said fiercely, "I hate you!"
I stood still, my mind in a maze. It seemed so utterly unreasonable.
Surely she knew I had been in danger of my life? I began to stammer
something to that effect, but she stamped her foot and cried, "I hate
you, I hate you!"
"Then I shall shoot myself," I answered, holding the pistol at my heart.
She watched me without a word, and at last as I still delayed said,
"Well, when?"
I think I was as near death at that moment as I have ever been, for
a sudden rage welled up in my heart, a rage of self-pity at Jenny's
unreasonable reproach, and my finger had tightened on the trigger;
but whether I really heard it, or whether it was an idle illusion, I
can't say, but from far away I thought I heard the faintest echo of a
whistle, and I recognized a few notes of a sailor's chantey such as my
father had used to sing. The pistol dropped to my side, and I stood
listening. I hardly heard Jenny saying, "You see, you daren't." For the
moment my mind was elsewhere; but the sound had gone.
I turned again to Jenny. "Good-bye," I said, and made towards the door.
"Tommy," she cried after me in her imperious way, "where are you going?"
"Away," I answered.
"Where?"
"A long way away. I shall never see you again."
"Tommy!"
I was at the door, and had no intention of turning back, but the sudden
change of tone from anger to tearful appeal swung me round against my
will, and before I knew what I was doing I was at her side.
"What?" I asked.
"Are you going to leave me, Tommy?" she said; and her voice was gentle
enough now.
I realized I had been fooled, and answered shortly; "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you hate me." I couldn't resist the retort.
"I don't hate you," she declared.
"You said you did," I threw back, not meaning to be easily appeased,
and itching, moreover, to be away after that summoning whistle.
"Only if you hate daddy," she said.
"He...." I began in self-justification; but she wouldn't listen.
"He loves you," she cut in. "And it's only the bad man who makes him
like that." Then she seemed fired by a sudden inspiration. "Tommy," she
cried, "you find the bad man."
"Then I'll kill him," I declared easily.
"Promise?" she said, gazing up eagerly into my eyes.
"I'll start now," I answered, and walked out of the room. And as soon
as I was out of the house I raced at full speed to where I thought
I had heard the whistle. But though I searched for an hour or more,
whistling odd snatches of melody which I knew my father would recognize
if he were near, yet I saw no one, except indeed one immense fellow
swinging up the shadowy road towards Rancey Bridge. But he was too huge
to have been my father. I watched him pass on into the night; and then
I thought I heard the whistling begin again. I listened, but it was
merely the stranger who had just passed me. I felt a sinking of heart,
for I thought I had been tricked by a mischievous spirit.
I walked back slowly to the great dark house, feeling lonely and
miserable; for though I knew the Captain was fond of me, yet I never
felt safe in his presence; and Jenny was stupidly unreasonable, blaming
me for defending myself against a madman. I knew now that I wanted
my father; for the sudden hope of seeing him again had been cruelly
dashed, and my heart was left bleeding as though from a wound.
I crept upstairs to my room, a little chamber next to Jenny's which
had been fitted up for me, intending to sleep till the first of the
morning, and then to steal away from that accursed house and make
tracks for the _Dolphin_. But Jenny had heard me return; and I heard my
door opened, and her voice whispering to me through the dark, for I
hadn't lit my candle: "Tommy, did you find him?"
"No," I said.
"But you will find him?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
I thought she had gone, but she had glided silently up to me where I
lay on my bed still dressed; and I felt her lips pressed passionately
to mine, murmuring, "There, I don't hate you, Tommy."
I was in no mood for kissing. Indeed these sudden whims of quarrelling
and caressing, unaccountable hate melting into unaccountable
tenderness, baffled me. It was perplexing; it savoured of madness. It
seemed to me that the Captain's blood ran very freely in Jenny's veins.
I was bewildered by her moods and transformations, and began to wish
for the fresher atmosphere of my father's companionship.
I merely said, "Very well," and turned on my side.
She left me, and I thought I heard a faint whimper. What now, I
wondered. But the handle turned and the latch clicked; she had gone.
I was away early, snatching a bite of breakfast in the larder, and
stocking my pockets with morsels for the road, for I didn't know where
or how I was to get my next meal. As I left the gate I should have
turned south straight away, but I knew if I turned north for a hundred
yards I should have another sight of Jenny's window. I didn't stop to
ask myself why I should want another sight of Jenny's window. Perhaps I
rather reproached myself for my coldness to her the night before when
she so evidently wanted to heal the wound she had dealt me. However
that might be, the fact remains recorded against me that I yielded
to the unreasoning prompting of my heart to throw a farewell kiss to
her window before I started again on my travels, with our next meeting
shrouded somewhere in the mists ahead.
I reached the heap of stones where I had hidden from the false-legged
beggarman, and gazed back at the house. I could see Jenny's window,
black among the ivied stone. But as I looked a white figure appeared
there, and I knew it was Jenny. I sprang on to the pile of stones and
waved my hands. She saw me, and waved in return. For a moment a strange
unaccustomed thrill ran along my blood, and I thought I would go back
to her for a warmer leave-taking. But she had gone; and at that moment
I heard stealthy steps approach me. I looked round, to see the officers
Worthing had warned me of. I sprang from the pile and ran, but there
was a third who had cut off my retreat, and I was hopelessly trapped.
My arms were tied behind me, and with threats and proddings I was
marched away for Rancey Bridge.
The reverse from freedom to captivity was so sudden that I was numbed
by it and couldn't think. It seemed like the kind of thing that
happened in nightmares. I should awake soon and find it all an ugly
fancy. But one consoling thought re-echoed through my mind: at least
Jenny hadn't seen.
It was some time before my brain began to work again. So overwhelmed
was I that the blow seemed final and irretrievable. I could see nothing
beyond the cell they were haling me to, though that I could see clearly
enough. And it wasn't the horror of the thing that appalled me; I could
face that. The loneliness and the dark meant little to me. Rather it
was the loss of my liberty that oppressed me. A moment before, and I
was my own master; I was off for the _Dolphin_ and the delights of a
summer-time with my father, though I hadn't considered very deeply
upon what foundations my hopes had been built. Still, here I was with
nothing but the prospect of four walls about me, closing me in and
shutting out the wonderful air of heaven and the sound and beauty of
the sea.
I remember I experienced one pang of conscience, for a voice said that
this was retribution for trying to deceive Jenny. I had left her,
pretending to seek for her father's foe, when in reality I was merely
bent on finding my own father, and having found him I should in all
probability have forgotten Jenny and her mission.
But little by little my spirit revived, and I told myself they couldn't
imprison me for ever; and once free of the cells I should know well
enough how to make my escape from Rancey Bridge.
We were in the village at last. There was a crowd in the street
blocking up the way so that one of the officers had to push ahead
to clear a passage. If my wits had been clearer I should have asked
myself what could have called a crowd together at this time of the
morning; for it was early, though the sun had risen. Then some one
called "Hullo, Tommy!" and I saw the faces of my schoolmates about
me. Of course they had been out for their morning run. I told myself
that the morning run would be a good time to make my next escape. But
they had stopped in their run; something had caught their attention.
I heard laughter, and peering into the heart of the throng saw by
glimpses a beggarman who seemed to be yarning volubly to an admiring
mob. There were three rows of military decorations across his breast.
An old soldier, I thought. Then he moved forward a step, and I caught
the _clop_ of a wooden leg. I glanced swiftly, and recognized the
one-legged impostor I had seen at his trickery.
So, I thought, a rogue like that may enjoy his liberty, while every
one thinks him a hero, but I must go on my way to a cell! I don't
remember having felt so bitterly in my life before. Nor was my sense of
injustice appeased when he caught my eye and slowly winked at me, as
though realizing full well that our places should have been reversed.
All this took but a moment's time, and the officers having cleared a
path jerked me forward. I lost sight of the old humbug. But suddenly he
started singing, and his words sent the blood leaping to my heart:
"'Twas at Ebb-Tide Cave by the Smugglers' Gate,
At the dawn of a summer's day;
And there those happy lovers met,
All on the first of May."
I heard him cry merrily, "Would you like to hear the story of that,
m'lads?" and the boys shouted for the narrative. I turned my face away
so that no one should see my sudden emotion, but only to meet the eyes
of Worthing watching me intently, while the old soldier's voice still
echoed the refrain, for my benefit I knew:
"All on the first of May,
My dear,
All on the first of May."
Worthing's face showed no sign of comprehension; but I knew that he
knew.
I began wondering what the date might be, but had no notion, except
that it must be well on in April. The first of May! How could I be at
Ebb-Tide Cave by the first of May?
The full meaning of my calamity was borne in upon me as by a great
wave. The gripping hands of the officers seemed like chains of adamant
about my arms, relentless and unbreakable.