LIFE OR DEATH?
"Is there no hope?" a voice asked despairingly.
"There is hope for a long time," answered Phyllis Alden quietly. "I
have heard my father say that people may sometimes be revived after
being in the water for many hours."
"She must live, or I can not bear it," declared Tom Curtis brokenly.
"Oh, won't some one go for a doctor? Can't you do something else for
her?"
"The man has gone for a doctor, Tom," soothed Mrs. Curtis. "Does your
arm pain you much?"
"Never mind my arm," groaned Tom. "She saved my life, mother, and now
she's dead." His voice broke.
"You mustn't say that," cried Phyllis sharply. "She _can't_ be dead."
"Phil," entreated Miss Jones, "let me take your place. I am sure I can
do what you are doing."
Phyllis shook her head. "I can't leave her."
Phyllis Alden knelt on the ground on one side of the unconscious girl.
Jack Bolling and an old fisherman knelt opposite her. The artist, Mr.
Brown, was trying to assist in restoring Madge to consciousness.
Phyllis Alden had been drilled in "first aid to the drowning" by her
father. Long experience with the sea had taught the sailor what to do.
But Madge had resisted all their efforts to bring her to consciousness.
She had battled too long with the merciless waves and her strength was
gone before the fisherman, coming home in his rowboat, had spied the
three figures at the moment when Madge was about to give up the fight.
He had hauled her and Tom inside his boat, and poor Brownie had somehow
managed to swim ashore.
On the beach the fisherman found an anxious group of picnickers
watching the storm with fearful eyes. Their fear was changed to
horror, however, when the fisherman deposited his ghastly freight on
the beach.
Fifteen minutes after being brought to shore Tom Curtis had returned to
consciousness. His first words were for Madge. Although Tom had been
a longer time in the water than his rescuer, his injured arm, which was
sprained, but not broken, had prevented him from making so fierce a
struggle; therefore he was far less exhausted than was his companion.
To those who watched anxiously for the first faint sign of returning
life it seemed hours since the fisherman had laid that still form on
the sand. It was none other than the old fisherman who discovered the
faint spot of color which appeared in Madge's cheeks, then disappeared.
After that the work of resuscitation went on more steadily than ever,
and slowly and painfully Madge came back to life. Strange noises
sounded in her ears. A gigantic weight was pressing upon her chest.
She tried to speak, but it was choking her, crushing her. She made an
heroic effort to throw it off, and then her eyes opened and dimly she
beheld her friends.
"She has come back to us." Phil's voice was ineffably tender. She
glanced up and her eyes met those of Jack Bolling. Forgetting her
dislike for him, she smiled. She remembered only that he was Madge's
cousin. Jack had always thought Phil ugly, but as he gazed into her
big, black eyes and white, serious face, he decided that she had more
character than any other girl he had ever met, and he would never
forget the splendid effort she had made to save his cousin.
As soon as the work of resuscitation was completed and Madge declared
out of danger, Mrs. Curtis insisted that on their return to the
mainland her son's brave little rescuer should be taken to the
Belleview Hotel, where she would be able to rest far more comfortably
than if carried on board the houseboat.
A yacht was chartered to take the picnic party home. The sailboat had
completely disappeared, and Tom was able to tell only a part of their
strange adventure. From whence the youth whom they had taken on board
their boat had come and why he had made off with their boat and left
them to drown were questions which no one seemed able to answer.
It was not until two days later that the fisherman, searching along the
very shore from which they had started, found the sailboat resting
quietly at anchor about two miles from the pier where the picnic party
had landed. The boat was uninjured, and Madge's hat, coat and skirt
lay on the deck, where she had thrown them when she dived into the bay.
But the wild lad who had caused the mischief had vanished completely.
No one near had seen or heard of him. His identity was a mystery. If
any one of the fisher folk knew his name, or where he had gone, they
did not betray that knowledge. Mrs. Curtis wished to offer a reward
for the fellow's capture. Tom would not consent. He intended to find
his enemy himself, and to settle his own score. At night Tom used to
lie awake for hours to plan how he would track the stranger and at last
run him down. But in the day time he was much too fully occupied with
entertaining his mother's young guest to plan revenge.
Madge had been the guest of Mrs. Curtis at the Belleview Hotel for five
days. It had taken but a day for her to recover from the effect of her
narrow escape from drowning. She possessed far too happy a disposition
to dwell long on an uncomfortable memory, and her recent mishap soon
became like a dream to her. But her feeling of affection for Mrs.
Curtis was not in the least like a dream, and grew stronger with every
hour she spent in her new friend's company. It was a red letter time
for Madge.
Mrs. Curtis tried in every possible way to manifest her gratitude. Had
not Madge saved her son's life? She felt that she could make no
adequate return for the heroic service the young girl had rendered her.
She insisted that the most attractive apartment in the hotel should be
Madge's and surrounded her with all sorts of luxuries. The young
girl's suite consisted of a cosy little sitting room and a wonderful
bedroom with white, rose-bordered walls and Circassian walnut
furnishings. There was a little, white bath leading out from the
bedroom and Madge reveled in her new-found treasures.
All day long her apartment was lovely with flowers. Tom Curtis ordered
a box of roses to be delivered to her each day from Baltimore. The
roses were presented to Madge every morning when the maid brought up
her breakfast-tray, and for the first time in her life Miss Madge
enjoyed the luxury of eating her breakfast in bed. Boxes of candy
became so ordinary that she fairly pleaded with her friends when they
came to visit her to take them back to the houseboat.
"Madge will never be happy again on the 'Merry Maid,' will she, girls?"
The four girls were rowing back to their floating home after a visit to
their friend.
"Yes, she will," returned Phil stoutly, though she felt a slight pang
when she remembered how cheerfully Madge had kissed them goodbye.
"I am sure she is well enough to come home now," burst forth Lillian,
"only Mrs. Curtis and Tom won't hear of it. Dear me! I suppose our
little captain is happy at last. She has always dreamed of what it
would feel like to be rich and a heroine, and now she is both. But
nothing seems quite the same on the boat," she added wistfully. "I
think we are all homesick for her."
Miss Jennie Ann laughed at their doleful faces. "She will soon be with
us again," she declared. "I'll tell you a secret. She is coming home
to the houseboat day after to-morrow. She whispered to me to-day that
there was really no reason why she should stay any longer with Mrs.
Curtis, and that she did not wish to presume on her hospitality. Mrs.
Curtis is very fond of her. She does not wish Madge to leave her."
Miss Jones looked so mysterious that the girls regarded her curiously.
"I think it is a good thing for Madge and for Mrs. Curtis to spend a
few days together. Mrs. Curtis is lonely and needs good company,"
added Miss Jones.
"So do we," murmured Phil, with a rueful laugh. "We need Madge as much
as Mrs. Curtis does."
After the girls had left her, Madge lay back luxuriously among her
linen pillows. She was looking very lovely in a pale pink silk tea
gown Mrs. Curtis had insisted on her wearing, for Madge had arrived at
the hotel with no clothes other than the wet garments she had on when
rescued from the waves. Her fine clothes occupied very little of her
thoughts, however. She had something of far greater import on her mind.
The time had come to tell Mrs. Curtis that she must go back to the
houseboat. She was not sorry to go; she was only sorry to leave her
new friends. During her stay at the hotel Mrs. Curtis had treated
Madge as though she were her own daughter. The imaginative young girl
was completely fascinated with the beautiful, white-haired woman, whose
sad face seemed to indicate that she had suffered some tragedy in her
life. While Madge lay thinking of the most courteous way in which to
announce that she must return to the "Merry Maid" a light knock sounded
on her door. Tom's mother came softly into the room, gowned in an
exquisite afternoon costume of violet organdie and fine lace, which was
very becoming to her white hair and youthful face.
"Are you awake, Madge?" were her first words. "How do you feel?"
Her guest smilingly raised herself from her pillows. "I am awake as
can be, and as well as can be! To tell you the truth, Mrs. Curtis, I
have never been in the least ill from my adventure. I was tired the
day after it happened, but since that time I am afraid I have allowed
you and Tom to believe that I was sick because I liked to be petted and
made much of." Madge laughed frankly at her own confession. "You have
been so good to me, and I do appreciate it, but now I must go home to
my comrades. Eleanor was awfully disappointed to-day when I told her I
was not going back with them this afternoon."
"I wish you would stay with me longer," pleaded Mrs. Curtis, taking the
girl's firm brown hand in hers and looking down at it gravely, as it
lay in her soft white one. She gazed earnestly at Madge's clear-cut,
expressive face. "Tom and I will be lonely without you," she said. "I
want a daughter dreadfully, and Tom needs a sister. If only you were
my own daughter."
Madge sighed happily. "It has been beautiful to pretend that I was
your real daughter. It has been like the games I used to play when I
was a little girl. I have been lying here in the afternoons, when you
thought I was asleep, making up the nicest 'supposes.' I supposed that
I was your real daughter, that I had been lost and you had found me
after many years. Just at first you did not know me, because time had
made such a change in me. But---- Why, Mrs. Curtis, what is the
matter?" There was wonder and concern in Madge's question. "You don't
mind what I have said, do you? I have been making up things to amuse
myself ever since I was a little girl." She looked anxiously into the
face of the older woman. It was very white, and seemed suddenly to
have become drawn and old.
"My dear child, I love to have you tell me of your little dreams and
fancies," said Mrs. Curtis affectionately, laying her hand on Madge's
head. "What made you think I didn't?"
"You looked as though what I said hurt your feelings," returned Madge,
coloring at her own frankness.
"It was only that something you said brought back a painful memory,"
explained the older woman. "I would prefer not to talk of it. Tell
me, is there nothing I can do to induce you to remain with me a little
longer?"
Her guest shook her head. "Thank you," she replied gratefully, "but I
must go back to my chums. It won't be going away, really, for I will
come to see you as often as you like, and you and Tom and Jack must
visit us on the houseboat. I want you to like the other girls _almost_
as well as you do me," smiled Madge. "Please don't like them quite as
well, though. That doesn't sound very generous, but I should like to
feel that I was first in your heart."
"You shall be, my dear." Mrs. Curtis bent and kissed the young girl's
soft cheek. "And to prove just how much I do care for you I wish to
give you something which I hope you will like and keep as a remembrance
of me. I know your uncle and aunt will be willing to let you have this
little gift when they learn of the spirit which prompted the giving of
it." Mrs. Curtis drew from a little lavender and gold bag which she
carried a square, white silk box and laid it in the astonished little
captain's hand.
"What--why--is it for me?" stammered Madge, sitting up suddenly, her
eyes fastened on the box.
"It is for no one else," was the smiling answer. "Shall I open it for
you?"
Mrs. Curtis touched a tiny spring in the white box. It flew open!
There before Madge's wondering gaze, coiled on its dainty silk bed, lay
a string of creamy pearls. They were not large, but each pearl was
perfect, an exquisite bit of jewelry. Mrs. Curtis took the necklace
from its case. She leaned over and clasped it about Madge's slender
throat, saying: "Tom and I talked a long time about what we wished to
give you as a slight remembrance of our appreciation of what you did
for us. At last we decided upon this as being particularly suitable to
you. Then, too, we wished to give you something that came up out of
the sea."
"It is the loveliest necklace in the world," declared Madge happily,
touching the pearls. "It is far too beautiful for me. I shall love it
all my life and never, never part with it. You have been too good to
me, Mrs. Curtis," she added earnestly.
"But think what you did for me," reminded the stately, white-haired
woman.
"That isn't worth remembering. I did only what any one else would have
done if placed in the same circumstances."
"But you saved my son's life, and that is the greatest service you
could possibly render me."
Yet before her vacation was over Madge Morton was to perform for her
friend a further service equally great.