_THE ISLAND_
"What hath life been? What will it be?
How have I lived without thee? How
Is life both lost and found in thee?
Feel'st thou For ever in this Now?"
--OWEN MEREDITH.
People were coming down to the river when the boat touched the bank
again; there was a large group gathered at the landing-place. Two men
started forward to help Miss Kilner to step on shore.
Elsie's good angel must surely have taken wing at that moment. With a
bright smile, and a sudden flashing look from her dark eyes, she gave
her hand to Francis Ryan, and then, chancing to make a false step, she
nearly fell into his arms.
He was charmed, puzzled, delighted. Brown eyes sometimes say more than
they mean, and Elsie never knew how much seemed to be conveyed in that
flashing look. Had she awakened all at once to the knowledge that
Francis (with a very little encouragement) was willing to lay himself
and all his worldly goods at her feet?
Arnold Wayne was puzzled too, and a sharp pain smote him to the heart.
Was this the woman who had spoken to him in the little London room, with
a voice like that of an angel? Then they had seemed to stand on the
threshold of a beautiful life to be. There had been the unuttered
consciousness of a comfort that each could give--a feeling of need and
longing that each could fill.
And that golden hour had gone by. She was only a flirt, after all; more
clever and more refined than the other flirts he had known, but just as
unreal and unscrupulous as the rest.
She did not know what she had done. It seems to be a long way down from
the mountain-top to the common earth at its base; but a woman can
accomplish the descent in a moment.
She was very beautiful, certainly; he had not discovered until this
instant what a power of witchery lurked in those dark eyes. He had gazed
into their brown depths as a man who looks deep into a crystal pool,
thinking that he sees all that is there.
She had not looked at him when she rejected his aid and sprang out with
the help of Francis. She did not look at him when she turned and took
Jamie by the hand.
"Are you not tired of the boy yet?" asked Mrs. Verdon's silvery voice.
"You are very kind, dear Miss Kilner; but pray send him to nurse if he
wearies you."
"He does not weary me in the least," Elsie answered, looking smilingly
into Katherine's face. She could smile unflinchingly, although she saw
that Arnold was staying by the "fair ladye's" side.
"Let them go their way together," she thought. "After all, what right
have I to care?"
As to Francis Ryan, he forgot that Lily Danforth was looking after him
with glances full of the deepest reproach. He had never been thoroughly
in love with Lily; he had only felt for her that spurious kind of love
which grows out of proximity. But she, poor girl, had set all her hopes
upon him, and was very miserable when she saw what Elsie had done. She
began to think that she had made an enemy of Miss Kilner.
"It was Mary's fault," she thought bitterly. "Mary decided that we
should give her the cold shoulder. 'We don't know who she is,' she said.
Absurd! It would have been better to have been civil."
Elsie, too, had forgotten Lily. The hint which Arnold had given her
about the old attachment between his cousin and Ryan had slipped out of
her mind. She was intent on wearing a brave face before the world, and
hiding all the outward and visible signs of heartache.
Yet there was no need to hide a pain which no one suspected her of
enduring. No one, save Mrs. Lennard, had discovered that Elsie had a
secret, and the old lady could keep her own counsel.
"I have scarcely had a word from you all day," said Francis, not caring
to conceal his delight as he walked up the meadow by her side.
"I did not know that my words were of any value," Elsie answered.
The flush was still warm on her cheek, and the dangerous light still
shone in her eyes. Under the shade of her black lace hat the face glowed
like a rich flower.
"Is that quite true, Miss Kilner?" asked Francis, looking down at her
with undisguised admiration. "I think you must know that any word of
yours--even the lightest--is of value to me."
"I'm afraid I say a great many foolish words," she replied lightly. "And
they are best forgotten. What a glorious day we are having! This is
Jamie's first picnic, and he will look back on it in years to come as a
joy for ever. Rushbrook is certainly a charming place."
"Could you be content to live in Rushbrook?" Ryan suddenly asked.
"Always? I don't know."
"Try and see if you get tired of it, Miss Kilner."
"I am not tired of it yet," she said hurriedly, half afraid that he
would go too far. "It is a place to remember and dream of on a November
day in London."
"Do you realise that we are not very far from November?" Francis said.
"We are only divided from that dreaded month by September and October.
And they will go by like a dream; they always do. 'Gather ye rosebuds
while ye may.'"
"I've been gathering them ever since I came here, Mr. Ryan. Don't talk
of November now; I hate it."
"I should not hate it," he murmured, "if we could spend it together."
"Here is Mrs. Lennard looking for me," exclaimed Elsie hastily. "I have
lost sight of her too long."
She went quickly towards her old friend, who received her with
questioning eyes.
"You are getting too warm, my dear," Mrs. Lennard said. "Come and sit
down in a cool spot. Mrs. Appleby has been wanting to chat with you; she
knew your mother years ago."
Elsie found Mrs. Appleby on a camp-stool under the beeches, and sank
down on the grass by her side. Mrs. Lennard took possession of Jamie,
and kept him quiet by telling him an enchanting story.
The talk about old days soothed Elsie, and brought her, unawares, into a
better state of mind. Mrs. Appleby knew nothing of the storm that she
was helping to still. She chatted on, pleasantly and calmly, about those
who had done with all storms for ever and ever; and by-and-by the young
woman beside her began to remember that the struggle is short, and the
rest long.
They were drinking tea under the trees when the wanderers came dropping
in, by twos and threes, from all points of the compass. Among the latest
were Arnold and Mrs. Verdon--a goodly pair.
People smiled furtively, and exchanged meaning glances when these two
arrived. Arnold's eyes sought for the person who still interested him
above all others, in spite of the shock she had given him. His heart was
comforted when he saw her sitting quietly under a gigantic beech by an
old lady's side.
"Dear Elsie," Jamie whispered, "I've had enough tea. It'll soon be my
bedtime. Take me down to the boat and let me have just one row more, and
then give me to nurse."
At the same moment Mrs. Lennard was addressing Francis in her most
persuasive voice.
"Dear Mr. Ryan, you are doing nothing, and we are all so comfortably
idle here in the shade. It will be most kind if you will hold my skein
of yarn."
The young man held out his hands with ready obedience. Elsie was only
two or three yards away, and he was content.
A few moments later Miss Kilner rose and took Jamie by the hand; and at
the same instant Mrs. Verdon gave a sudden exclamation.
"I have left my little white shawl in the boat!" she cried. "It's a dear
little shawl. I wouldn't lose it for the world."
"I will get it for you," Elsie said readily. "Jamie and I are going down
to the boat before he says 'Good-night.'"
"Oh, thanks!" Mrs. Verdon responded gratefully; and then she glanced at
Arnold, as if she expected him to sit down beside her on the grass.
But he remained standing bolt upright for a second. Then he took a
stride in Elsie's direction. "I think I'll look after the shawl myself,"
he was heard to say. "Giles's old brain is apt to get confused after any
kind of excitement."
Francis Ryan made an uneasy movement, but he was tied and bound with the
skein of yarn; and Mrs. Lennard, winding steadily, was smiling into his
eyes.
The hand which held Jamie unconsciously tightened its grasp, and the boy
looked up in surprise.
"Why do you squeeze me so hard, Elsie?" he asked. "I ain't going to run
away."
She did not reply; her heart was throbbing fast, and Arnold found that
even the most commonplace remark stuck in his throat somehow. They
walked for some yards together in silence.
"I hope you have had a pleasant day," he said at last.
"Very pleasant," she answered; "and Jamie has been the best of good
boys."
"Yes, I've been very good indeed," remarked that gentleman in a tone of
self-congratulation. "And I didn't eat too much, did I?"
"Well, there was the cherry tart; I had to take away your second
plateful."
Arnold laughed, and the laugh seemed to set them at ease again.
They walked on quickly over the starry yellow flowers in the grass. The
bright day would have a golden ending; already there were amber lights
shining calmly on the river.
Giles, half asleep at the landing-stage, looked up as they approached,
and drew the back of his hand across his tired old eyes. Arnold seemed
to be moved by a sudden impulse.
"There's a white shawl left in the boat," he said. "Take it back to Mrs.
Verdon, Giles, at once. You'll find her somewhere under the beeches.
Now, Jamie, I'll pull across to the island myself. Step in, Miss
Kilner."
It did not occur to Elsie to disobey him. A minute after, when they were
floating out upon the water, she thought that she had been too
submissive. But he was pulling away with long, steady strokes, right
away into the middle of the golden light.
There was very little said just then. They glided on in a delicious
stillness; and presently the boat ran close to some old worn steps that
were half hidden by tall, coarse grass, and was made fast. Arnold had
determined to land on the island.
"Come," he said, almost imperiously.
"I didn't think of this," Elsie answered, her colour coming and going,
"and we shall be missed. It is time for Jamie to go home."
"No, it isn't," said Jamie gaily, as Arnold lifted him out upon the
decayed little pier.
A path led from the pier through a thicket of wild foliage, and then
they came to a clear space and a little thatched hut shaped like a
bee-hive. There was nothing in it save an old pair of oars and a broken
basket, but the place had been kept in pretty good repair.
Right in front of the hut the underwood had been cleared away, and the
ground sloped gently down to the water. The slow, full, golden river was
flowing on, and they stood silently watching the tide.
"We are out of the world here," Arnold said at last. "One could fancy
that Father Time sometimes comes to this forgotten island and sits down
to rest. Nothing has changed here since I was a boy; the trees have
grown thicker and taller, that is all."
"Somebody said that you were going to improve the island," Elsie
remarked. "I hardly see how that can be done."
"I merely thought of making it more habitable," he replied. "It would be
possible to establish Giles and his wife very comfortably here. They are
living now in a disreputable old cottage which ought to have been pulled
down years ago."
"Then you think of building a nice little house instead of that bee-hive
hut?"
"Yes; the house can be made as picturesque as the hut, you know. One can
look forward to pleasant parties here--children's picnics, and that kind
of thing."
Elsie thought she knew what he was thinking of at that moment. He was
going to settle down at the Court with Katherine, and she would play the
part of Lady Bountiful to perfection; children's picnics were quite in
her line, and perhaps she had already suggested that the island was the
very spot for such gatherings. It was all right, of course; every one
would say that he had chosen wisely. But, as he had chosen, why was he
standing here with another woman by his side?
"Let us go now," she said suddenly, conscious of an unnatural tone in
her voice. "The light is fading; it is time to join the others."
He looked at her, but she was still watching the flow of the river, and
did not meet his eyes.
"Is there any need for such haste?" he asked. "I haven't said many words
to you to-day. Old friends have been crowding round me, and----"
"Naturally," she broke in coldly; "but you can talk as well anywhere
else. And Jamie must be sent to bed."
She turned sharply away towards the path by which they had come to the
clearing. Then all at once she spoke in another tone--
"What has become of the child?"
"He was standing close to you a moment ago," Arnold answered quickly.
"Jamie, where are you? Jamie!" he called, in a loud, ringing voice.
Elsie went flying along the path with the speed of some hunted wild
creature. All else was forgotten in her intense anxiety. She had been
absorbed in her own foolish feelings, she thought bitterly, and had left
the boy to his own devices. How wrong it was to have lost sight of him
for an instant in such a perilous spot! Oh that she had never brought
him here!
She seemed to have suffered hours of misery in those few seconds of
suspense. The path turned abruptly, opening out upon the little pier,
and just at the turn she was confronted by Jamie himself. He met her
with a very red face.
"I done it," he began confusedly. "No, I never done it exactly, but it's
gone. It come untied. I gived it one tug, and I nearly tumbled in."
"Oh, you naughty boy, to go close to the edge of the water!" sobbed
Elsie, catching him in her arms and kissing him. "I won't let you leave
me for an instant till I put you into nurse's hands. My own dear,
troublesome darling! If anything had happened to you I should have
died!" She was not conscious of Arnold's presence just then. Words
poured fast from her lips as she held the boy to her heart in an ecstasy
of relief. She was still on her knees upon the path, still trembling
like a leaf, when Mr. Wayne's voice fell upon her ear.
"Well, of all the young rascals I ever met, he's the biggest! Why, you
scamp, what made you do such a thing?"
"I never done it exactly. I--I--just gived it one tug. I--I----" Jamie's
quivering lips failed to complete the sentence. His face worked like a
queer gutta-percha visage for a moment, and then he burst into a hearty
roar which must have startled every living thing on the island.
Arnold muttered something which was luckily drowned by Jamie's noise.
The boat was gone; the burning glory of sunset was slowly dying out, and
across the river came the first faint breath of the night. He was here
on a desolate island, with a woman who did not care for him, and he had
cared for her so much that his love was the very crown of his life. Her
indifference would not make any outward change in him. He was not the
kind of man to believe that his heart was broken, but he knew that he
should feel the want of her as long as he lived; he felt that he might
have risen to a higher level if she had put her hand in his and walked
by his side. At first he had not for a moment doubted that she could be
won. He had believed that she was meant for him; he had triumphed in
anticipation, but some nameless barrier had risen between them and
baffled him, and now it was all over. If the boat had not got loose and
drifted away, he would have rowed her back in a sullen silence which
would never have been broken again.
But there was no boat, and Elsie, still crooning over Jamie, did not yet
understand what had happened. When the boy had ceased bellowing for very
weariness, she suggested that they should all go home as quickly as they
could. The child had been over-excited and over-tired with his long day.
"It is not wise to kneel on the damp earth," said Arnold, with cold
tranquillity. "Let me advise you to get up and take Jamie into the hut.
The dew is beginning to fall."
"Into the hut?" repeated Elsie, rising from her knees and turning her
pale face towards him.
"Yes. The boat is gone."
"Gone! Then how shall we go back? What can we do?"
"I must think." His voice was still very quiet. "You had better take him
into the hut."
She obeyed in silence, half stupefied and bewildered after the agitation
she had undergone. The boy had sobbed himself into a drowsy state, and
staggered along the path supported by her arm. When they entered the hut
she laid him on the seat, and made a pillow of the old basket, covered
with her handkerchief. In a moment he was fast asleep.
When she came out of the little building Arnold was standing in the
clearing, looking out across the water. The last of the sunset had
vanished, and the river and its banks looked like a picture in delicate
grey tints. A light suddenly twinkled on the opposite shore, where one
could just discern the outlines of a farm-house, fading fast into the
mist of twilight.
"Can we not make a signal?" Elsie asked.
"We can gather sticks and light a fire," he answered gravely. "There's
nothing else to be done."
"There's plenty of wood," she said, "and you have some matches, I
suppose? I'll help you to collect the boughs and twigs." She made a
movement towards the underwood, but he stopped her, and their hands
touched.
"You are cold," he said, "and you had a great fright. I wish I could
have prevented all this."
"I think," she replied, "that it is quite as unpleasant for you as for
me."
"Not half as unpleasant," he returned abruptly. "You must hate me for
bringing you here. You do hate me, don't you?"
He was holding the little cold hand in his and chafing it gently.
"No," she answered, pulling her hand away; "but we are wasting time.
Mrs. Lennard will be anxious about me, and----"
"And what?"
She faltered; her voice fell and broke. Then she looked up proudly, and
her eyes met his with a defiant glance.
"And Mrs. Verdon will be inconsolable without you."
When she had spoken she turned from him and began breaking off the
boughs which hung low enough for her to reach. He looked down at her
slender, graceful figure, and a great tremor passed over him. The next
instant she felt him close at her side.
"You must not do that," he said. "Elsie, listen! Some one has been
telling falsehoods. Mrs. Verdon is nothing more to me than a pleasant
acquaintance. I am grateful to her for taking care of Jamie; but you
know I always feel that Waring meant to leave the boy to me. Perhaps I
was wrong to bring you here; I wanted a few quiet words--I wanted to get
you all to myself for five minutes."
She did not speak, and her head was drooping. The bough that she had
held was released, and sprang back, rustling its foliage. The stillness,
the grey light, the heavy shadows of the trees, gave a strange unreality
to the moment. She felt as if she were part of some bewildering dream.
"I have thought of you every hour of the day," he went on. "I have been
thinking of you ever since I saw you first. When we talked together in
your London room, I hoped that you were beginning to be interested in
me."
She stirred a little, and then lifted her face. She looked as he
remembered her looking when he had first known her, only that she was
very pale now.
"I was--interested," she said.
All the ordinary conventional barriers had fallen away between them. He
found himself face to face with the beloved woman he had fancied lost
for ever.
"Elsie," he whispered, "Elsie, won't you try to care for me? Won't you
come to me and help me to live my life in the right way? I want a wife's
help and a wife's love. Elsie, come!"
She made a slight movement towards him. His arms were round her in an
instant, his warm lips pressed to hers; and in the supreme felicity of
that moment, time, place, circumstances, were all forgotten. They had
passed together into that earthly paradise whose gates are still opened
to some favoured mortals in this vale of tears.
"Hilloo! Hilloo!"
It was old Giles's voice, hoarse as a raven's; and although it startled
them rudely, it was a welcome sound. Elsie went into the hut to rouse
Jamie as gently as she could, and Arnold listened to Giles's explanation
of his arrival.
He had been at the landing-stage waiting for his master's return, when a
couple of lads came rowing in with the empty boat. They were fishing on
the river, and had found it adrift and captured it. So Giles, guessing
what had happened, had pulled off to the island without a moment's
delay.
Jamie, a little cross and very sleepy, was taken home to his bed at The
Cedars in a half-awake condition; and afterwards Elsie and Arnold
strolled along Miss Ryan's garden in the gloaming, the happiest pair of
lovers that ever saw the moon rise over Rushbrook in silent peace.
"Something told me that the day would have a good ending," said Mrs.
Lennard, as she wished Elsie good-night.