"I cast it off," said she, with a smile.
"Then," said I, "you must have come while I was asleep." Another thought
came on me heavy as a ton of lead. "And where's _he_?" said I. "Where's
the boat?"
"He's drowned," said she, as easy as that. "And I let the boat go
adrift. You wouldn't hear me when I called."
"But look here," said I. "If you came through the store-room, why didn't
you wake me up? Tell me that!" It sounds foolish enough, me standing
like a lawyer in court, trying to prove she _couldn't_ be there.
She didn't answer for a moment. I guess she sighed, though I couldn't
hear for the gale, and her eyes grew soft, sir, so soft.
"I couldn't," said she. "You looked so peaceful--dear one."
My cheeks and neck went hot, sir, as if a warm iron was laid on them. I
didn't know what to say. I began to stammer, "What do you mean--" but
she was going back down the stair, out of sight. My God sir, and I used
not to think she was good-looking!
I started to follow her. I wanted to know what she meant. Then I said to
myself, "If I don't go--if I wait here--she'll come back." And I went to
the weather side and stood looking out of the window. Not that there was
much to see. It was growing dark, and the Seven Brothers looked like the
mane of a running horse, a great, vast, white horse running into the
wind. The air was a-welter with it. I caught one peep of a fisherman,
lying down flat trying to weather the ledge, and I said, "God help them
all to-night," and then I went hot at sound of that "God."
I was right about her, though. She was back again. I wanted her to speak
first, before I turned, but she wouldn't. I didn't hear her go out; I
didn't know what she was up to till I saw her coming outside on the
walk-around, drenched wet already. I pounded on the glass for her to
come in and not be a fool; if she heard she gave no sign of it.
There she stood, and there I stood watching her. Lord, sir--was it just
that I'd never had eyes to see? Or are there women who bloom? Her
clothes were shining on her, like a carving, and her hair was let down
like a golden curtain tossing and streaming in the gale, and there she
stood with her lips half open, drinking, and her eyes half closed,
gazing straight away over the Seven Brothers, and her shoulders swaying,
as if in tune with the wind and water and all the ruin. And when I
looked at her hands over the rail, sir, they were moving in each other
as if they bathed, and then I remembered, sir.
A cold horror took me. I knew now why she had come back again. She
wasn't a woman--she was a devil. I turned my back on her. I said to
myself: "It's time to light up. You've got to light up"--like that, over
and over, out loud. My hand was shivering so I could hardly find a
match; and when I scratched it, it only flared a second and then went
out in the back draught from the open door. She was standing in the
doorway, looking at me. It's queer, sir, but I felt like a child caught
in mischief.
"I--I--was going to light up," I managed to say, finally.
"Why?" said she. No, I can't say it as she did.
"_Why?_" said I. "_My God!_"
She came nearer, laughing, as if with pity, low, you know. "Your God?
And who is your God? What is God? What is anything on a night like
this?"