THE waiter’s reveille was very unwelcome next morning, but I rose and
dressed and found Miss Finnock already in the parlor.
“Oh, the morning air is so bracing, is it not?” she said, as we left
the hotel; “it buoys one up so; I feel so light-hearted and free early
in the morning; I am as airy as a feather,” and she almost skipped in
her youthful exuberance of spirits.
“You had better weigh,” I said, somewhat morosely, as we passed the old
lame man and his scales.
I confess I was out of humor. Can you blame me? To be roused at such
an hour, to parade over to see tiresome Indians, with a fidgety little
woman, who was trying to captivate me, and whom I hated now. Would not
her very flow of spirits be provoking?
“See yon dew-drops how they sparkle,” she exclaimed, pointing with a
finger on which shone a diamond ring over her glove. “Nature, unlike
the ladies, wears her jewels at morn.”
“Then the ladies are not natural,” I said emptily.
“Oh! I confess we are quite artificial in many respects, though not
artful—at least I am not.”
“Really, Miss Finnock, do you confess to artificial aid in your beauty?”
“If I had any beauty it would be artificial, of course. You admire
beauty, do you not—your lady love is so beautiful?”
“To whom do you refer as my lady love, Miss Finnock?”
“Why, the lady who called you away from me yesterday. Please tell me if
you love her. Now, confide in me, won’t you?” and she looked up at me
with an affected squint in her broad little eyes.
“I would trust you, Miss Finnock, but there is nothing to confide.”
“Then, of course, there is no love, as that is something of great
importance.”
“Do you think so?” I said, vacantly, as we entered the camp ground.
We spent half an hour strolling about, and after I had given five
dollars for an old bead basket, that was said to have some Indian
legend connected with it, and presented it to the little enthusiast,
we turned back to our hotel. I was unusually dull, for I felt that it
would be inconsistent with previous attentions and her expectations to
introduce commonplace topics, and I had determined not even to hint at
love. She seemed to notice my reticence, and tried to rally me.
“You do not seem as cheerful as usual, Mr. Smith. Can I have offended
you in any way?”
“Thank you, Miss Finnock, for the hint that I am not entertaining,” I
said, glad of anything to take up; “let us hasten our steps that you
may be the sooner relieved of my presence.”
“Oh, how cruelly you misinterpret my meaning. The pleasure of your
company is as great—I mean that——” she feigned confusion, “I like to
be with you, but there is such a change in your manner since yesterday.”
“Is there?” I said, mechanically, and thoughtlessly continued: “I was
hardly aware of it. I am sure my feelings have not changed.”
“Have they not?” she exclaimed eagerly; “neither have mine.”
‘Twas too far gone to correct, and so I said nothing. After another
pause she tried to look roguish and said, “Did you not chastise the
waiter for his interruption yesterday?”
What could I say but that I feared she had already rewarded him for so
opportune an entrance.
“I regretted it as much as you possibly could,” she said, softly
looking down at the beaten path.
It was abrupt, perhaps unkind, but I inquired if she would take a glass
of water, as we were just then near the springs. She assented with a
slightly reproachful look, and we approached the circular railing,
which was surrounded by a throng of health-seeking drinkers, all
eagerly waiting for the glasses from the long whirling dippers.
It was the same crowd that is always there. The stylish young lady, who
puts her glass down after the third sip; the pale young man with the
large Adam’s apple, which goes up and down his throat like the piston
of a pump, carrying down whole gills of water at every gulp; the tall
school girl, with her hair plaited in ribbons, leaning over to the
glass and holding her dress back with one hand from its drippings; the
fat bad child, his mother holding a glass to his mouth, and resting her
hand on his head as if it was the faucet she had to hold open for the
water to run down; and the delicate, meek boy, who has been brought to
the springs by his father, who is now standing by, watching with deep
interest and a notch stick the glasses he takes. Poor little fellow!
standing with a Hogarth’s curve in his shoulders, both hands grasping
the glass, he swigs away, while the veins and leaders in his neck
swell and tighten, and the dark lines under his eyes grow deeper, and
his eyelids redder, as they disappear behind the rising edge of the
tumbler. He takes it down and blows out: “How many’s that, pa?” and
receiving the plaudit, “Five, my dear boy,” is led away to the hotel,
to spend the day in his room, instead of playing himself into health
with other children.
When Miss Finnock and I had left the pagoda, and were walking up
the hill towards the hotel, she made a pretence of pondering over
something, and suddenly said:
“Mr. Smith, will you tell me something if I ask you?”
“Most assuredly, Miss Finnock, if it is in my power to do so.”
“Well, I want to know—no, I can’t ask you now, I’ll wait till we part
at the hotel.”
When we ascended the steps I begged to know her question.
“Oh! I cannot tell, it sounds so silly,” she said, twirling the Indian
basket with assumed bashfulness.
“I must bid you good morning, then,” I said, turning to leave.
“No, I will tell you; I don’t mind; I only wanted to know the remainder
of the sentence you left unfinished yesterday.”
“I will tell you soon,” I replied, bowing and leaving her, for I knew
not what else to say. Now I am in for it, I said to myself, as I walked
across the street to Congress Hall, to breakfast with our family. I
will consult Carlotta upon it and take her advice.
As unpleasant as my walk had been in some respects, it had imparted an
appetite that made porterhouse steaks and _omelettes souffle_ disappear
with a celerity alarming to the proprietors. As we rose from the table
Carlotta told me that she and Lola were going over to the lake, and
insisted that I should join them. As I now felt no delicacy about
obtruding, since she had informed me of the relation she sustained to
him, I consented. Lola and I had scarcely finished our cigars when his
carriage was announced, and, going up to our parlors we found Carlotta
waiting, the picture of perfect loveliness, beneath a broad sun hat.
The road was already filled with vehicles, and the dust was floating in
clouds about our faces; Lola leaned forward and spoke to the driver;
“Go ahead, Michael,” and with dizzy speed his splendid horses whirled
us past every team, and we were breathing again the pure fresh air.
When we reached the lake house, and had refreshed with some ices, I
went down and secured a boat for a sail. Lola said he preferred the
bowling alley, and Carlotta and I took our places in the graceful
little craft I had chosen. My experience on the Sound at home had made
me a good sailor, and I dismissed the boatman.
Running up the sail and getting before the wind, so that there was no
danger of a gybe, I lashed the rudder so as to direct our course across
the lake, and took my seat by Carlotta under the awning. The scene and
situation were enchanting. The purple hills held the crystal lake in
their bosom, like an immense dew drop, while soft fleecy clouds floated
off from their hazy tops like smoke from an altar. The glittering
surface of the lake was crimped by the breeze into myriad ruffles,
that rustled their little foam against our vessel’s side. Other boats
were sailing far off, and with their glistening canvas looked like
white herons flying hither and thither with a slow, objectless flight.
Behind us was the lake-house, its verandahs thronged with people,
its carriage way crowded with constantly arriving and departing
vehicles, and at the water’s edge, a long walk-way extending out into
the lake—all receding farther and farther from us. By my side was
Carlotta, a bright glow on her cheeks, her beautiful eyes beaming with
pleasure, and her magnificent hair caught up in an immense coil, that
seemed oppressive in its weight as it was bewitching in its negligée.
One glove was withdrawn and her sleeve pushed high up the swelling arm,
while the dimpled hand dangled in the rippling waters, that reflected
the smooth white fingers in crooked, dancing outlines. Out on the
lake alone, and Heaven only knows how I loved her! yet I did not dare
to disclose it. The very intimacy of our childhood, the relations we
bore to each other in our family, the brilliancy of her career in
society, and the constant adulation she received, all made me feel
that she could regard my tame proposal of love with nothing less than
ridicule. So, while my heart fluttered with its restrained emotion, I
spoke carelessly and lightly, admiring the view with her, and quoting
Wordsworth and Tupper with pedantic inaptitude. Leaving scenery we
became more personal, and, after asking her secrecy, I told her of my
affair with Miss Finnock and asked her advice.
“And you promised to finish the sentence soon?” she said, laughing, and
flipping the water from her fingers’ ends as she drew on her glove;
“what was its intended conclusion?”
“I was about to ask her that, if I were to offer my hand and heart,
would she accept?” feeling a little ashamed of the commonplace phrases.
“A subjunctive courtship, truly,” she said, smiling, as she took off
her hat and threw back her hair from her white forehead to catch the
fresh breeze. “Well, you have, indeed, committed yourself. You have
attached too much importance to the matter, by deferring it, to give
it some trivial conclusion, such as, ‘were I to raise the piano would
you play?’ or, if I call this evening, will you ride with me? You have
promised, and her heart is beating high with expectation.”
“It will beat a long time before it is satisfied, then,” I said,
somewhat morosely.
“Suppose you write her a note, and candidly inform her that your
feelings have undergone a change,” she suggested archly.
“That would wound her feelings,” I said, “and I cannot do that.”
“But are you sure the lady loves you? That is a matter of some
importance.”
“I have every reason to believe it.”
“I see nothing that you can do but wait the issue of events. Wouldn’t
it be funny if you had to marry her, or be sued for a breach of
promise?”
“Pardon me for not seeing the fun in either case,” I replied,
shuddering at the bare idea of marrying her; “but see, here comes
another boat!”
The large boat at the lake house had been manned, and was rapidly
catching up with us, under the pressure of sails, and oars to which a
couple of stout Irishmen were bending. As they drew nearer we saw that
the occupants were Mr. Marshman and party. Miss Finnock was sitting in
the prow of the boat, armed with an opera glass, which she now lowered
from the hills to our boat. I fancied her eyes grew wider apart as she
saw who my companion was. Their boat came swiftly on, foaming at her
prow, and bearing down upon us like a pirate on a prize.
They were near enough now to bow, and I raised myself from my reclining
position to touch my hat. Mr. Finnock was steering, and I saw he knew
nothing about it.
As I had tied my rudder I did not unloose it, as I thought of course
they would pass by. Such was Finnock’s intention, but attempting to
bear to one side, he gave the rudder too strong a turn, and to correct
that turned too much the other way, and their boat, at full speed, ran
obliquely against us. Carlotta and Miss Finnock both had risen to their
feet as they saw the impending collision, and were both precipitated
into the water, between the boats, which separated as soon as they
struck.
Carlotta had scarcely touched the water before I was by her side.
Did you ever see waves close over one you love? then you know the
horror that stamped the whole scene upon my memory, indelible in
its distinctness, and perfectly vivid in its minutest detail. Her
frightened look, as the boats came together, her agonizing cry for
help as she fell, the dull splash of the water, the eddies that curled
above the place she sank, all are present still. I remember now how
clear the water was, and how, as with one stroke of my hands, I reached
the spot, I saw her dress floating scarce beneath the surface, and
then her face, distorted in her convulsive struggles for life, slowly
rising upward. To draw her head above the surface was the work of a
second, and as soon as she had cleared the water from her eyes and
mouth sufficiently to become conscious, I bade her take my hand, and
with the other commenced to swim to the nearest boat. As soon as she
realized the situation she regained her presence of mind, and clung to
me tenderly, though not so as to impede my movements. The large boat
was not more than a dozen feet from us, and the occupants, as is usual
in such cases, were in a frenzy of salvation, throwing overboard for
our assistance, everything that would float. One of their intended
life-buoys—a heavy oar—struck me on the head, almost stunning me,
but I shook the water from my eyes and struggled on. The next moment
my feet became entangled in a web of garments, a bubbling shriek burst
forth close at my ear, and my arms were pinioned by the frantic Miss
Finnock, who rose near me.
“B-r-r-sh ok—ok—Oh! chtl-Mr. Smith k-k—tl save your-k—d-arling,
tlsave me k-ok—Oh! tlsave-k-me. D-ts-earest tsave me;” and, sputtering
and choking, she clung to my neck, dragging me down irresistibly. As
soon as Carlotta saw my danger, she let go my hand, and said, in her
trembling voice, “Save yourself, John!”
But all this occurred in half the time I have taken to write it, and
the people in the boat had now recovered their senses. The two Irishmen
were in the water, and Mr. Marshman and Finnock stood ready with ropes
to aid them. Carlotta was first drawn on board, then Miss Finnock and
myself. Mr. Marshman fortunately happened to have a flask of brandy
along, so the ladies went to work on the ladies, the gentlemen on me,
while the boat hands overhauled our little boat, took down the sail,
and lashed it fast to the large one. At first I felt weak and dizzy,
but after a while I was able to sit up, though I could not render
much help to the others. Carlotta was very pale, and her loosened
hair, rendered still more glossy by the water, hung in jetty masses
around her marble features. She was conscious, though faint, and lay
helplessly in Mrs. Marshman’s lap, occasionally raising her soft eyes
to mine with an expression so full of grateful meaning that it thrilled
me into life and activity. Miss Finnock had fainted, of course, and lay
like one dead in Miss Stelway’s lap.
The pallor on her face did not tend to increase her beauty, and a large
roll of wet hair was hanging to her own knot by a single hair-pin.
Finnock and Miss Stelway were chafing her hands, and trying to
get some of the brandy between her lips. Mrs. Marshman suggested
unfastening her clothing, but after Miss Stelway had stolen a hand
under her bodice, she withdrew it hopelessly, as if there was rather
too much to undo and cut.
Very soon Miss F. commenced gasping, like a fish on a sand bank, and
opening and closing her eyes in the most approved stage-faint style.
Miss Stelway kissed her forehead, and called her “dear Saph,” with a
fine resuscitating effect, for little Sappho began to utter broken
sentences in faint but nervous sudden tones, jerking the words out, as
if she could not control them.
“Oh where—where—is he?” she said, looking straight up into Miss
Stelway’s face. “She sunk—him—I know she—did. I saw—her cling-ing
to him.”
With Miss Stelway’s assistance she sat up, and her eyes met mine. When,
with an affected scream, she buried her face in Miss Stelway’s bosom,
and sobbed.
“There, darling,” said Miss S., “compose yourself; we all are safe, and
are nearly at the shore.”
“Oh, Nellie,” said Miss Finnock, between her sobs, “did—they—all—see
my—feet?”
Those at the Lake House had seen the accident, and Herrara met us at
the shore with his carriage. We drove rapidly back to the town, and
were met by mother, with uplifted hands and a face full of horror.
Afraid of forming a scene, I bade them good morning, and went over to
my room to change my clothes. A strange happiness was at my heart, for
Carlotta had pressed my hand, when we parted, with grateful fervor.