AGAIN BY THE WINTRY SEA
"We will walk down by the shore; it is always pleasant there," said Le.
"Yes, let us go there. It will be too dark in the woods, but there will be
moonlight on the sea and shore."
And they walked through the east gate, and down the wooded hill to the
water side.
From an instinct of delicacy, Le turned to the south, which led in an
opposite direction from his own home; but Odalite stopped him.
"Let us walk north, toward Greenbushes. We cannot go so far, because it is
too late, but it will be pleasant to walk in that direction, Le," she
said.
"Will it, now? To you, Odalite?" he asked, surprised and pleased, yet
anxious.
"Very, very pleasant," she answered, brightly.
He turned with her at once, and had courage to ask:
"Will you take my arm, Odalite?"
She took it at once, and, when he held her hand close to his throbbing
heart, she did not draw it away. What should he say to her? How should he
understand her? She seemed content, and even happy, to be alone with him.
She seemed exactly as she had been before the tempter came between
them--content and happy--though it had only been four days since she had
been suddenly and effectually separated from the man whom she had declared
that she wished to marry. She had said that no one forced her to marry
him. But--did any one force her to wish to marry him? That was the
question. Was his dream or vision at sea a prophetic one? Was Wynnette's
and Elva's belief a true inspiration? And had Odalite, in her consent to
marry Anglesea, thrown herself into the waves to escape the flames? And
now that she was happily rescued from the waves, was she glad?
He looked at her again. Her face was calm and bright. And it was a true
index to her mind, which was also calm and bright.
Why should it not be? She had been saved from a fate worse than
death--saved from the slavery of an abhorrent marriage, she was free--with
a sense of freedom that she had never fully enjoyed until she had lost her
liberty and regained it. Her own and her dear mother's mortal enemy, whose
presence, even on the continent, crowded her as it did Wynnette, was gone
across the sea! And she knew nothing--poor child!--of the chain the man
had thrown around her mother's, his victim's, neck before he went away!
Mrs. Force had never told that dread secret to her daughter. It was not
necessary to do so, at least not yet, so she let Odalite recover her
cheerfulness and enjoy her life, if it were only in a fool's paradise.
So Odalite reveled in a fanciful freedom, which to her was delightfully
real.
Le looked at her, watched her, studied her.
Her eyes were bright with pleasure, her cheeks flushed with health, her
lips smiling in mirth, her step was so light that she seemed to dance
along the sands, and her voice was so fresh and cheerful that it was
impossible to believe that she cherished any other feeling on the subject
of her broken marriage than one of delight at her enfranchisement.
"Odalite," he said, at length, "you seem very happy."
"I am very happy," she replied, beaming.
"Then you have not the least regret for that----"
"There! Stop just there, Le, dear! Never mention that nightmare dream to
me while you live!" said Odalite, in a commanding but jubilant tone.
"Well, then, I won't. Goodness knows I am not so fond of him as to want to
ring the changes on his name!"
"It was nothing but a nightmare dream, Le, and I wish to forget all about
it."
"Then you never loved him----"
"Loved him!" interrupted Odalite, with flushing cheeks and flashing eyes.
"Who ever imagined that I could ever love him? I never told you that I
loved him, Le."
"No, by Jove, so you never did! You never told me that you loved him; and
you did tell me that you had never let him kiss you!" exclaimed Le, with a
new ring of joy in his voice and a new light of joy in his eyes.
"No," said Odalite. "It was my greatest merit and my worst fault that I
did not love him when I consented to marry him. I was wrong, under any
inducement, to consent to such a union; but, Le, if I had loved him, I
must have been something of a kindred spirit to him! And that, you know, I
am not."
"Odalite!" said the young man, taking her hand between both of his and
trying to calm his tumultuous feelings, and to speak quietly, while they
slackened their pace and walked very slowly; "Odalite, darling, I had a
long interview with your father yesterday, in which we talked over all
these matters. He believes that your fancy and imagination were
fascinated, captivated by the arts of that man, who shall be nameless,
because I cannot bear to utter, nor you to hear, the accursed name. Your
father, however, gave me permission to have this final talk with you, on
certain conditions, which I promised to keep."
Odalite looked up, anxiously, into his face.
"My darling," he said, as he caressed the hand he held, "when I asked you
to take this walk with me to-night, it was because I knew that you were
free in hand, at least, to receive the proposal that I came to make you;
it was not that we should immediately renew the old engagement that bound
our hearts and souls together from our childhood up to the time when the
stranger came between us, for I did not know then that your heart, as well
as your hand, was free. I thought that it would take time to heal the
wound that I supposed you had received in the sudden rupture of your
marriage; but that, in time, your woman's pride, your sense of honor and
your conscientiousness would enable you to conquer any lingering interest
you might feel in that man. So I came here not to plead for an immediate
renewal of our precious betrothal, but only to plead as the best grace you
might give me that we might correspond, as brother and sister, while I am
at sea, doing my duty there and waiting for the time when we may, please
Heaven, be united in a dearer, closer love----"
"But, Le!" she broke out, impulsively; "I love you--I love you--I have
never ceased to love you, Le!" And then she would have given words to have
recalled the hasty, if true, words.
But they were spoken, and every tone of her voice, every glance of her
eyes, every play of her features gave such unquestionable evidence of
their truth that she never could have repudiated them.
"Then, oh, my dearest one! why were you ever beguiled into consenting to
marry that man--into thinking that you could possibly live with that
man?"
"Oh, Le, I was never for a moment beguiled! I never for one moment
imagined that I could live with him. I knew I could not do so. I knew I
should die under the upas tree of his hateful presence! I knew that it was
my life I laid down to save others whom I did love!"
"Odalite!" he exclaimed, amazed and overwhelmed by her passion.
"Le! Oh, Le! I have told you more than I meant ever to have told any one!
The truth burst from my heart unawares. Forget what I have said, Le! Oh,
forget it!"
"Never, never, never can I forget these words, dear Odalite! Those words
that have revealed to me a glimpse of a soul braver, nobler, more
self-immolating than I ever believed could live in the form of mortal man,
not to say in that of a fragile girl," said the young man, fervently,
earnestly.
"Oh, dear Le, such overpraise humbles me! Let it pass! But, oh, my dear,
as you unwittingly surprised my confidence, so respect it. Whisper it to
no human being--no, not even to yourself in your moments of deepest
solitude!" she pleaded.
"I will not, my best beloved, my only love! I will not; but I will hide it
in my heart as my secret, sacred treasure, to comfort me, to strengthen
me, to elevate me in all places and circumstances of my life--in the long,
long sea voyages, in the midnight watches on the deck, it shall be my
hope, my solace and my consolation. Always with me, until I return to
claim the greater, higher, better treasure that it promises!" exclaimed
Le, with enthusiasm.
"Oh, Le, you have twice spoken of the sea! But you will never go to sea
again! You have resigned from the navy," she said, anxiously looking in
his face for a confirmation of her words.
"No, dear," he answered, very gently. "I have not resigned. I wish now
that I had done so, but it is too late."
"Oh, Le, why did you not, when you meant to do so?"
"My darling, when I inherited Greenbushes, I fully intended to leave the
navy, marry my betrothed, and settle down on our farm. But, when I came
home and learned that she was to be married to some one else, I did the
very opposite thing to resigning. I wrote to the department and asked for
sailing orders, because I could not bear to stay in the neighborhood, or
even in the country, after such a bitter disappointment."
"Oh, my dear Le!"
"Never mind, love. It will all come right now. I put Greenbushes in the
hands of Beever and Copp, and waited to hear from the department. I
received my sailing orders yesterday. That was the reason why I spoke to
your father and asked for this interview."
"Oh, Le! Le! can you not yet resign?" pleaded Odalite.
"Yes, dear, of course I can, but not with honor. Having asked for these
orders, I must obey them. I must not trifle with duty, dear Odalite," he
answered, gravely.
"Oh, Le, and there seems no real necessity for you to go!"
"Honor, love," gently suggested the youth.
"When do you leave us, and where are you going this time, Le?"
"I leave on the second of January, to join my ship at the Brooklyn Navy
Yard, to sail in a few days after for the Pacific coast."
"Oh, I am so sorry! But I ought not to say so, Le. I ought not to say
anything to make it harder to do your duty, and I will not."
"Dearest Odalite, will you say something that will make it easy for me to
do my duty? Will you say that you will correspond with me regularly while
I am gone, as you did during my first voyage? And will you promise that
when I return, three years hence, and leave the service--as I can with
honor then--you will give me this dear hand of yours, which I cannot help
feeling belongs to me only, and has belonged to me of right all the time?
Say you will give me your hand, Odalite! Shall I go away happy in the
knowledge that you are to be my wife on my return?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, Le! With all my heart!" she impulsively answered. Then,
catching her breath in a spasmodic way, as some painful thought sped like
an arrow through her heart, she added, in a subdued tone: "But, Le, before
anything of that sort is quite settled between us, I want you to talk with
my mother about it."
"But why? Aunt Elfrida will have no objection. She likes me. She liked our
engagement, before any one came between us," said Le, growing uneasy and
very thoughtful.
"Yes, I know she loves you, Le, and liked our engagement. And, of course,
all will be right! But, still, I would rather that you should speak to my
mother," persisted the girl, with a dark foreshadowing of evil which she
could not shake off.
"Well, love, I will have a talk with Aunt Elfrida to-night," said Le, with
a laugh.
"No, no, not to-night. We shall be in the drawing room, engaged in some
Christmas games for the children. Do not take her away from the family
circle to-night. To-morrow will do quite as well. You can talk to her
after breakfast," pleaded Odalite, with a shudder she could not control.
"You are cold," said Le. "I have kept you out too long. Come, let us go
home. I will speak to Aunt Elfrida in the morning."
They turned and walked homeward under the moonlight, wintry sky, along the
shore, then up the wooded hill, through the lawn and on to the house, the
whole front of which was brilliantly lighted from within in honor of the
holy, festive season.
They entered, and threw off their wraps in the hall, just as the tea bell
rang.
A merry party assembled around the table, upon which every suitable
Christmas dainty was spread.
After tea the family and guests, with the new addition of Dr. Ingle--who
dropped in, as usual--gathered in the drawing room, and engaged in merry
games, in which they spent the Christmas evening.