It was some weeks after the receipt of Eve's letter that Reuben, having
paid several fruitless visits to Kay's Wharf, walked down one afternoon
to find the Mary Jane in and Captain Triggs on board. The work of the
short winter's day was all but over, and Reuben accepted an invitation
to bide where he was and have a bit of a yarn.
"You've bin bad, haven't 'ee?" Captain Triggs said with friendly anxiety
as, seated in the little cabin, their faces were brought on a level of
near inspection.
"Me--bad?" replied Reuben. "No. Why, what made you think of that?"
"'Cos you'm lookin' so gashly about the gills."
"Oh, I was always a hatchet-faced fellow," said Reuben, wondering as he
spoke whether his lack of personal appearance had in any way damaged his
cause with Eve, for poor Reuben was in that state when thoughts,
actions, words have but one centre round which they all seem unavoidably
to revolve.
"But you'm wuss than ever now. I reckon," continued Captain Triggs,
"'tis through addlin' your head over them clocks and watches too close,
eh?"
"Well, perhaps so," said Reuben. "I often think that if I could I should
like to be more in the open air."
"Come for a voyage with me, then," said Triggs heartily. "I'll take 'ee,
and give'ee a shake-down free; and yer mate and drink for the aitin'.
Come, you can't have fairer than that said, now, can 'ee?"
A wild thought rushed into Reuben's mind. Should he go with him, see Eve
once more, and try whether it was possible to move her to some other
decision? "You're very kind, I'm sure," he began, "and I feel very much
obliged for such an offer; but--"
"There! 'tis nothin' to be obliged for," interrupted Triggs, thinking it
was Reuben's modesty made him hesitate. "We'm a hand short, so anywise
there's a berth empty; and as for the vittals, they allays cooks a sight
more than us can get the rids of. So I'm only offerin' 'ee what us can't
ate ourselves."
"I think you mean what you're saying," said Reuben--"at least," he
added, smiling, "I hope you do, for 'pon my word I feel as if I should
like very much to go."
"Iss, sure, Come along, then. Us sha'n't start afore next week, and
you'll be to Bristol and back 'fore they've had time to miss 'ee here."
"Bristol?" ejaculated Reuben. "I thought you were going to Cornwall
again?"
"Not to wance, I ain't, but wouldn't 'ee rather go to Bristol? 'Tis a
brave place, you know. For my part, I'd so soon see Bristol as London:
'tis pretty much o' the same lookout here as there." But while Captain
Triggs had been saying these words his thoughts had made a sudden leap
toward the truth, and, finding Reuben not ready with a remark, he
continued: "'Tain't on no account of the young female you comed aboard
here with that's makin' 'ee think o' Cornwall, is it?"
"Yes, it is," said Reuben bluntly. "I want to see her. I've had a letter
from her, and it needs a little talkin' over."
"Awh! then I 'spects there's no need for me to tell 'ee that her's took
up with Adam Pascal. You knaws it already?"
Reuben felt as if a pike had been driven into his heart, but his
self-command stood him in good stead, and he said quite steadily, "Do
you happen to know him or anything about him?"
"Awh, iss: I knaws 'en fast enuf," said Triggs, who felt by intuition
that Reuben's desire was to know no good of him, "and a precious
stomachy chap he is. Lord! I pities the maid who'll be his missis:
whether gentle or simple, her's got her work cut out afore her."
"In what way? How do ye mean?"
"Why, he's got the temper o' the old un to stand up agen, and wherever
he shows his face he must be head and chief and must lay down the law,
and you must hearken to act by it or else look out for squalls."
Reuben drew his breath more freely. "And what is he?" he asked.
"Wa-all, I reckon he's her cousin, you knaw," answered Triggs,
misinterpreting the question, "'cos he's ole Zebedee's awnly son, and
the ole chap's got houses and lands and I dunno what all. But, there! I
wouldn't change with 'em; for you knaw what they be, all alike--a
drunk-in', fightin', cussin' lot. Lor's! I cudn't stand it, I cudn't, to
be drunk from mornin' to night and from night to mornin'."
"And is he one of this sort?" exclaimed Reuben in horror. "Why, are her
relations like that?"
"They'm all tarred with the wan brush, I reckon," replied Triggs. "If
not, they cudn't keep things goin' as they do: 'tis the drink car'ies
'em through with it. Why, I knaws by the little I've a done that ways
myself how 'tis. Git a good skinful o' grog in 'ee, and wan man feels
he's five, and, so long as it lasts, he's got the sperrit and 'ull do
the work o' five too: then when 'tis beginnin' to drop a bit, in with
more liquor, and so go on till the job's over."
"And how long do they keep it up?" said Reuben.
"Wa-all, that's more than I can answer for. Let me see," said Triggs,
reflectively. "There was ole Zeke Spry: he was up eighty-seben, and he
used to say he'd never, that he knowed by and could help, bin to bed not
to say _sober_ since he'd comed to years o' discretion. But in that ways
he was only wan o' many; and after he was dead 't happened just as 't
ole chap had said it wud, for he used to say, 'When I'm tooked folks
'ull get up a talk that ole Zeke Spry killed hisself with drink; but
don't you listen to it,' he says, ''cos 'tain't nothin' o' the sort: he
died for want o' breath--that's what killed he;' and I reckon he was
about right, else there wudn't be nobody left to die in Polperro."
"Polperro?" said Reuben: "that's where your ship goes to?"
"No, not ezactly: I goes to Fowey, but they bain't over a step or so
apart--a matter o' six miles, say."
There was a pause, which Captain Triggs broke by saying, "Iss, I thought
whether it wudn't surprise 'ee to hear 'bout it bein' Adam Pascal.
They'm none of 'em overmuch took with it, I reckon, for they allays
counted on 'im havin' Joan Hocken: her's another cousin, and another
nice handful, by all that's told up."
Reuben's spirit groaned within him. "Oh, if I'd only known of this
before!" he said. "I'd have kept her by force from going, or if she
would have gone I'd have gone with her. She was brought up so
differently!" he continued, addressing Triggs. "A more respectable woman
never lived than her mother was."
"Awh! so the Pascals all be: there's none of 'em but what's respectable
and well-to-do. What I've bin tellin' of 'ee is their ways, you knaw:
'tain't nothing agen 'em."
"It's quite decided me to go down and see her, though," said Reuben. "I
feel it's what her mother would have me do: she in a way asked me to act
a brother's part to her when she was dying, for she didn't dream about
her having anything to do with these relations whom she's got among
now."
"Wa-all, 'twas a thousand pities you let her go, then," said Triggs;
"and, though I'm not wantin' to hinder 'ee--for you'm so welcome to a
passage down to Fowey as you be round to Bristol--still, don't it strike
'ee that if her wudn't stay here for yer axin' then, her ain't likely to
budge from there for your axin' now?"
"I can but try, though," said Reuben, "and if you let me go when you're
going--"
"Say no more, and the thing's settled," replied Triggs decisively. "I
shall come back to London with a return cargo, which 'ull have to be
delivered: another wan 'ull be tooked in, and, that aboard, off us
goes."
"Then the bargain's made," said Reuben, holding out his hand; "and
whenever you're ready to start you'll find me ready to go."
Captain Triggs gave the hand a hearty shake in token of his willingness
to perform his share of the compact; and the matter being so far
settled, Reuben made his necessary preparations, and with all the
patience he could summon to his aid endeavored to wait with calmness the
date of departure.
While Reuben was waiting in London activity had begun to stir again in
Polperro. The season of pleasure was over: the men had grown weary of
idleness and merrymaking, and most of them now anxiously awaited the
fresh trip on which they were about to start. The first run after March
was always an important one, and the leaders of the various crews had
been at some trouble to arrange this point to the general satisfaction.
Adam's temper had been sorely tried during these discussions, but never
had he so well governed it nor kept his sharp speech under such good
control; the reason being that at length he had found another outlet for
his wounded sensibility.
With the knowledge that the heart he most cared for applauded and
sympathized with his hopes and his failures Adam could be silent and be
calm. To Jerrem alone the cause of this alteration was apparent, and
with all the lynx-eyed sharpness of vexed and wounded vanity he tried to
thwart and irritate Adam by sneering remarks and covert suggestions that
all must now give way to him: it was nothing but "follow my leader" and
do and say what he chose--words which were as pitch upon tow to natures
so readily inflamed, so headstrong against government and impatient of
everything which savored of control. And the further misfortune of this
was that Adam, though detecting Jerrem's influence in all this
opposition, was unable to speak of it to Eve. It was the single point
relating to the whole matter on which the two kept silent, each
regarding the very mention of Jerrem's name as a firebrand which might
perchance destroy the wonderful harmony which for the last week or so
had reigned between them, and which to both was so sweet that neither
had the courage to endanger or destroy it.
At length the day of departure had come, and as each hour brought the
inevitable separation closer Eve's heart began to discover itself more
openly, and she no longer disguised or hid from those around that her
love, her hopes, her fears were centred upon Adam.
In vain did Jerrem try, by the most despairing looks and despondent
sighs, to attract her attention and entice her to an interview. Away
from Adam's side--or, Adam absent, from Joan's company--Eve would not
stir, until Jerrem, driven into downright ill-humor, was forced to take
refuge in sullen silence.
It had been decided that the Lottery was to start in the evening, and
the day had been a busy one, but toward the end of the afternoon Adam
managed to spare a little time, which was to be devoted to Eve and to
saying the farewell which in reality was then to take place between
them.
In order to ensure a certain amount of privacy, it had been arranged
that Eve should go to an opening some halfway up Talland lane and there
await Adam's approach, which he would make by scrambling up from under
the cliff and so across to where she could see and come to meet him.
Accordingly, as soon as five o'clock had struck, Eve, who had been
fidgeting about for some time, got up and said, "Joan, if Jerrem comes
in you won't tell where I've gone, will you?"
"Well, seein' I don't knaw the where-abouts of it myself, I should be
puzzled," said Joan.
"I'm goin' up Talland lane to meet Adam," faltered Eve; "and as it's to
say good-bye, I--we--don't want anybody else, you see."
The tremulous tone of the last few words made Joan turn round, and,
looking at Eve, she saw that the gathered tears were ready to fall from
her eyes. Joan had felt a desire to be sharp in speech, but the sight of
Eve's face melted her anger at once, and with a sudden change of manner
she said, "Why, bless the maid! what's there to cry about? You'm a nice
one, I just say, to be a sailor's wife! Lor's! don't let 'em see that
you frets to see their backs, or they'll be gettin' it into their heads
next that they'm somebodys and we can't live without 'em. They'll come
back soon enough, and a sight too soon for a good many here, I can tell
'ee."
Eve shook her head. "But will they come back?" she said despairingly.
"I feel something different to what I ever felt before--a presentiment
of evil, as if something would happen. What could happen to them, Joan?"
"Lord bless 'ee! don't ax un what could happen to 'em. Why, a hunderd
things: they could be wracked and drowned, or catched and killed, or
tooked and hung." Then, bursting into a laugh at Eve's face of horror,
she exclaimed, "Pack o' stuff, nonsense! Don't 'ee take heed o' no
fancies nor rubbish o' that sort. They'll come back safe enuf, as
they've allays done afore. Nothin's ever happened to 'em yet: what
should make it now? T' world ain't a-comin' to an end 'cos you'm come
down fra' London town. There, get along with 'ee, do!" and she pushed
her gently toward the door, adding, with a sigh, "'Twould be a poor tale
if Adam was never to come back now, and it the first time he ever left
behind un anything he cared to see agen."
Eve soon reached her point of observation, and under shelter of the
hedge she stood looking with anxious eyes in the direction from which
Adam was to come. It had been a clear bright day, and the air blew fresh
and cool; the sky (except to windward, where a few white fleecy masses
lay scattered about) was cloudless; the sea was of a deep-indigo blue,
flecked with ridges of foam, which unfurled and spread along each wave,
crested its tip and rode triumphant to the shore. Inside the Peak, over
the harbor, the gulls were congregated, some fluttering over the water,
some riding on its surface, some flying in circles over the heights, now
green and soft with the thick fresh grass of spring. Down the spine of
the cliff the tangle of brier-wood and brambles, though not leafless,
still showed brown, and the long trails which were lifted and bowed down
as the sudden gusts of wind swept over them, looked bare and wintry.
Eve gave an involuntary shiver, and her eyes, so quick to drink in each
varied aspect of the sea, now seemed to try and shut out its beauty from
before her.
What should she do if the wind blew and the waves rose as she had seen
them do of late, rejoicing in the sight, with Adam by her side? But
with him away, she here alone--oh, her spirit sank within her; and to
drive away the thoughts which came crowding into her mind she left her
shelter, and, hurrying along the little path, crossed the cress-grown
brook, and was soon halfway up the craggy ascent, when Adam, who had
reached the top from the other side, called out, "Hallo! I didn't think
to find you here. We'd best walk back a bit, or else we shall be just in
the eye of the wind, and it's coming on rather fresh."
"You won't go if it blows, Adam?" and Eve's face betrayed her anxiety.
"Oh, my dear one," he said kindly, "you mustn't think of the wind's
having anything to do with me. Besides, it's all in our favor, you know:
it'll rock us to sleep all the sooner."
Eve tried to smile back as she looked up at him, but it was a very
feeble attempt. "I don't want to feel frightened," she said, "but I
can't help it."
"Can't help what?"
"Why, thinking that something may happen."
"Oh, nonsense!" he said: "there's nothing going to happen. It's because
you care for me you think like that. Why, look at me: ain't I the same?
Before this I never felt anything but glad to be off and get away; but
this time"--and he drew a long sigh, as if to get rid of the
oppression--"I seem to carry about a lump of lead inside me, and the
nearer it comes to saying good-bye the heavier it grows."
This sympathy seemed to afford Eve some consolation, and when she spoke
again it was to ask in a more cheerful tone how long their probable
absence would be, where they were going, what time they would take in
getting there; to all of which Adam answered with unnecessary exactness,
for both of them felt they were talking, for talking's sake, of things
about which they knew all they could know already. Yet how was it
possible, in the light of open day, when at any moment they might be
joined by a third person, to speak of that which lay deep down in their
hearts, waiting only for a word, a caress, a tender look, to give it
voice?
Adam had had a dozen cautions, entreaties, injunctions to give to Eve:
he had been counting through every minute of the day the time to this
hour, and now it had come and he seemed to have nothing to say--could
think of nothing except how long he could possibly give to remaining.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed after more than an hour had slipped away--time
wasted in irrelevant questions and answers, with long pauses between,
when neither could think of anything to say, and each wondered why the
other did not speak--"By Jove, Eve! I must be off: I didn't think the
time had gone so quick. We mustn't start at the furthest later than
eight; and if I ain't there to look after them nobody'll think it worth
while to be ready."
They were back under shelter of the hedge again now, and Adam (who
possessed the singular quality of not caring to do his lovemaking in
public) ventured to put his arm round Eve's waist and draw her toward
him. "You'll never let me go again," he said, "without bein' able to
leave you my wife, Eve, will you? 'Tis that, I b'lieve, is pressing on
me. I wish now more than ever that you hadn't persisted in saying no all
this long winter."
"I won't say no next time," she said, while the hitherto restrained
tears began to fall thick and fast.
Adam's delight was not spoken in words, and for the time he forgot all
about the possibility of being overlooked: "Then, when I come back I
sha'n't be kept waiting any longer?"
"No."
"And we shall be married at once?"
"Yes."
Adam strained her again to his heart. "Then, come what may," he said, "I
sha'n't fear it. So long as I've got you, Eve, I don't care what
happens. It's no good," he said, after another pause. "The time's up,
and I must be off. Cheer up, my girl, cheer up! Look up at me, Eve,
that's a sweetheart! Now, one kiss more, and after that we must go on to
the gate, and then good-bye indeed."
But, the gate reached and the good-bye said, Eve still lingered. "Oh,
Adam!" she cried, "stop--wait for one instant."
And Adam, well pleased to be detained, turned toward her once more.
"Good-bye, Adam: God watch over you!"
"Amen, my girl, amen! May He watch over both of us, for before Him we
are one now, Eve: we've taken each other, as the book has it, for
better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health."
"Till death do you part," said the sepulchral tones of a voice behind
the hedge; and with a laugh at the start he had given them Jerrem passed
by the gate and went on his way.