ONE OF THE DELIGHTFUL PEOPLE
Next morning broke gorgeous and absolutely windless, the sea like a
mirror, and Sam grumbling that they had to put in another day over the
grass.
Martia, who never let pleasure stand in front of business, had so much
to do on board, that she could not get ashore before ten. She had not
only to tidy up things and put the cabin to rights, but also to pack
food for the working party.
Bobby rowed her off, and having beached the boat with the help of
Bowler, he led her along to the opening of the cañon he had ascended
yesterday.
Sam did not bother them. He was on board writing up his log.
The air was hot in the cañon, the atmosphere even out in the _Lorna_
was many degrees hotter than yesterday, the wind having withdrawn for
the last twenty-four hours seemed to have made way for a momentary
summer.
When they reached the place where the cañon fanned out and the downs
lay before them, Martia paused to rest for a moment. She was tired.
Nothing tires one more than sudden change in the temperature like
this, especially coming after weeks of invigorating sea breezes.
"Sure you're up for the climb?" asked Bobby. "Or would you sooner go
back? We can come another day."
"No thanks," replied Martia. "I'm all right."
They took the rise at a slant and with intervals for rest, and when
they arrived on the shoulder of the down, the girl stood for a moment
looking around her. Then she glanced up at the peak. The eagle had
left his eerie and was circling in the blue just as he had circled
yesterday. His sharp cry came through the crystal clear air; then he
passed away and vanished towards the eastern-most side of the peak, and
the silence resumed itself. The silence which yet held so many sounds,
the faint murmur and hum of insects, the vaguest murmur of the sea,
less sounds than indications of what might be hidden in the way of
sounds in that silence old as the peak or Hyalos itself.
"This is the strangest, queerest place," said Martia, half laughing
and turning her head this way and that as though she were listening or
looking for something. "You'd never expect a bit of country like this
up here, it's almost English."
"Yes, I told you," said Bobby. "It's like the downs."
"'Where the wild bee makes honey
And the thyme
Is sweet as when the gods of old were young,'"
murmured Martia.
"Yes, it's something like that," said Bobby, who had caught the words.
"Makes you feel lonely, doesn't it?"
He looked up. The eagle had returned to the sky and was circling above
them at a great height. He seemed climbing a spiral staircase in the
air, and they sat down to watch him, leaning on their elbows and
looking up till reaching a certain height he struck off seaward and to
the north-west.
"I wonder where he is going to?" said the girl.
"If he goes far enough on that course he'll reach Milo," replied the
other. "I expect he's making for there, it's not so very far in a
straight line."
It was the first time they had been alone together since leaving
England, and Bobby who had always lots to say on board ship found
himself without conversation now.
The fact of the matter was he wanted to say a lot of things to Martia
but couldn't. Much as he was beginning to care for her, the expedition
stood first, it was a serious business that had to be finished and done
with before personal considerations were to be thought of. He did not
know in the least how her feelings stood towards him, and to risk a
refusal or a rebuff that might make the position on board impossible,
was not to be thought of.
"Where was the place by the cliffs that you were talking about?" asked
Martia, waking from a moment of reverie during which she seemed to have
forgotten the eagle and its destination and even Bobby.
"Which place?"
"The place by the cliffs where you went and lay down."
"Oh, right over there." He pointed to the grass line where the southern
slope began. "I went to sleep somewhere about here and then I must have
got up and walked over there and lain down."
"Right by the cliff edge?"
"A few yards away."
"You might have gone over."
"Oh, there is a Providence who looks after sleep-walkers."
"I believe there is," said Martia. "At least a Providence that protects
people from evil and danger. I don't like this place."
"Hyalos?"
"No; here. It feels like a room that has been locked up for ever so
long--I should think no one ever comes up here, not even fishermen."
She paused and they could hear the faint murmur of insects and the
fainter murmur of the sea. The wild goats were not feeding here to-day,
they had moved towards the other side of the peak.
Martia, leaning on her side listening to the murmuring that filled the
warm air, forgot for a moment her dislike for this place. The sense of
release from the weariness and distress of life that had touched Bobby
yesterday came to her now even more strongly than it had come to him,
yet meeting with a stronger opposition. Looking across the hollow where
the temple column lay, her eyes were fixed on a far-off gull, just a
flake of white on the southern sky, when something in the hollow drew
her gaze.
The air seemed boiling in the hollow. That was the only way she could
express it to herself. Just as the air quivers and shakes over a hot
sandy beach so the air in the hollow was disturbed.
Then suddenly the boiling ceased, the air became normal, but there was
something left, a whirling, a residuum, a dream, a reality, a terror,
grotesque, obscene, soul-shaking.
In the amazement of the moment she clutched her companion by the arm,
clinging to him for ten or twelve seconds--releasing him for want of
power to retain her grip.
Then, as quick as they could, rising to their feet, they left that
place, saying not one word to each other as they made their way down
and back to the beach in a silence understandable--if you have ever
seen a faun.
Neither then nor during their after life did they ever refer to this
terrible matter which formed, yet, a bond between them, the bond of a
common danger which they had escaped.