During the second day at sea, chance arranged the introduction which
Katrine had coveted with the consumptive artist, Vernon Keith. The
breeze had freshened, and wrapped in a light cloak she was sitting on
her chair in a sheltered corner, when a sudden gust lifted her scarf and
magazine, and blew them along the deck. Involuntarily she groped in
pursuit, and in so doing overbalanced and alighted in a heap, the chair,
after the manner of its kind, doubling up, and following suit. It all
happened with such startling unexpectedness, that for a moment Katrine
sat panting and breathless, making no effort to rise. Flushed,
bare-headed, white-robed, she made a charming picture, and more than one
of the surrounding men dashed forward to her help, but before any one
could reach her side, Vernon Keith had seized the chair, twisted it
deftly into position, and held out a helping hand.
"I hope you are not hurt!"
"I--I really don't know," Katrine sat down, laid her head against the
back of the chair, and smiled in vague, strained fashion. She stretched
herself cautiously, and gradually regained composure. "No! I'm sure I
am not. But it was startling..." She blushed a little beneath the
watching eyes. "I--I had a book!"
"It is here," he said, and placed it on her knee. "Is there anything I
can get for you? I am sure you have had a shock. Some wine?"
"Oh, no." The suggestion brought back the remembrance of Mrs
Mannering's hint, and awoke a determination to take advantage of the
present opportunity. "I shall be quite all right, if I talk about
something else, and forget myself!"
The invitation was obvious, the diffidence of the accompanying smile
delightfully naive and girl-like. Vernon Keith seated himself with
obvious alacrity. Seen close at hand he looked older, more worn; there
were lines about his mouth with which country-bred Katrine was
unfamiliar, the irises of his eyes were faintly bloodshot. For all her
inexperience she recognised that these symptoms were not the result of
ill-health alone.
They talked for an hour, a pleasant, inconsequent talk, flitting from
one subject to another; books, pictures, theatres, travel, and when they
parted at the sound of the luncheon gong, he stood before her, gaunt and
tall, and said gravely:
"Thank you for the first happy hour I have spent for months!"
"I hope we shall have many more," Katrine had answered, confused and
startled, but as she took her way to her cabin she could have found it
in her heart to regret the words. "He is clever, he is interesting, he
is cultivated,--but I _don't_ like him! There's something in his
face.--I am glad it is not _he_ who is to look after me!" During the
luncheon hour, however, her ruminations carried her to a different
plane. "It doesn't matter whether I like him or not. He is ill and
lonely, and he--_drinks_! because he has nothing better to do. I'll be
kind to him. I'll get Captain Bedford to be kind. Perhaps between us
we can keep him straight..."
Poor Katrine! She felt a glow of satisfaction when again that evening
Vernon Keith spent an hour by her side. She paced the deck with him,
acutely conscious of looks of disapproval from several elderly quarters,
feeling a childish sense of elation every time that the entrance to the
smoke-room was passed in safety, exerting herself to start fresh
subjects of interest each time the conversation flagged, but in spite of
all her efforts, by half-past nine her companion grew restless, answered
at random, and finally excused himself, pleading fatigue, a letter to be
begun--
Well! Katrine consoled herself, at least he had had an hour in the
fresh air, and could feel that _some one_ was interested, and that he
was no longer ostracised... She found her cabin companion, and sat
demurely by her side until after eleven o'clock, the beauty of the night
making her unwilling to retire to the stuffy cabin. When at last they
rose and turned towards the companion-way, Katrine felt pleasantly
tired, and confident of a good night's rest, but the most exciting
incident of the day was still to come. Mrs Mannering led the way a few
paces ahead, and Katrine, following in the rear, found her way suddenly
blocked by a tall form with flushed face, and dulled eyes, from whose
garments floated the unmistakable fumes of whisky.
It was Vernon Keith, and for a moment they stood motionless, face to
face, her eyes cold and stern, his lightening into recognition, then
flinching with a pathetic shame.
"I--thought--you--had gone," he stammered thickly. "Getting late--for
you. Ver'--late." He was turning back in the direction of the
smoke-room, when with a sudden impulse, Katrine laid her hand on his
arm.
"Mr Keith! Will you do me a favour? You are not well, and it is bad
for you to sit up late... Won't you say good-night now, and go straight
to bed?"
He straightened himself, and drew a deep breath. As if a veil had been
drawn from his face, the blank look vanished, and the soul of the man
looked at her through the bloodshot eyes. For the moment he was
startled into sobriety.
"If--if you ask it. Of course. At--at once!" he said, and turning
followed in her wake.
Had Mrs Mannering seen, or had she not? Katrine could not decide. She
was thankful at least that she was treated to no remarks, but could
hurry into bed and lie quietly in the darkness, thinking over the
situation. One thing was certain--the incident had at a stride carried
Vernon Keith and herself beyond the stage of conventional acquaintance.
It seemed impossible that they could meet again without reference to
that short, pregnant meeting. What would be said? Would he be shamed,
resentful, defiant? Katrine could not guess; hardly knew for which mood
to wish. Curiously enough the success of her appeal had roused a
nervous mistrust, so that she regretted her own audacity, and wished
helplessly that she had waited for Captain Bedford's help. "Will he
think it was bold of me?" she questioned of her own heart. "Will they
tell him in the smoke-room that I walked about with a man to whom no
other girl will speak? Will he think I am bold and fast, and tell
_Jim_?" Quick as a dart came the answering assurance. "_Jim will
understand_!" and at the comfort of it she laughed softly aloud.
A sleepy murmur from the opposite bunk reminded her of the existence of
her room-mate. She blushed and stammered in the dark:
"I--I beg your pardon. What did you say?"
"_Bless you_!" repeated the voice distinctly. "But don't do it again.--
He'll keep, my dear--he'll keep!"
The next morning, to Katrine's relief, there was no sign of Vernon Keith
at breakfast. She drew her chair into a quiet corner and sat with her
back to the passing stream, affecting to be engrossed in her book, but
shortly before noon a shadow loomed, and with a fluttering of heart she
divined that the dreaded encounter was at hand. He placed his chair by
her side, and fixed her with haggard eyes, but he spoke no word, not
even the conventional greeting; it was left to her to open the
conversation.
"Oh, Mr Keith--good-morning! I was reading.--Isn't it a nice day?"
"Is it?" he queried listlessly. "I was not thinking of to-day. I was
thinking of last night." His eyes pierced her through, he bent nearer,
speaking with a horrible deliberation. "Are--you--accustomed--to--
drunken--men?"
Katrine cowered; repulsed and frightened.
"Never--never!--I have never so much as spoken to one--be--"
"Before!" he concluded calmly. "Well! I am drunk, more or less, every
night of my life, and shall be to the end. It's a habit which it is
difficult to break! You thought it would be satisfying for a man to
walk round the deck with a beautiful girl for his companion, feeling the
fresh breeze, watching the sea and the sky; more tempting than a foul
room with the fumes of smoke and whisky.--It _is_ better! For an hour I
was grateful and content. After that--" he hissed the words in her ear,
"after that--sooner than have stayed with you, sooner than exchange your
company for the bottle and the glass, do you know what I would have
done?--I would have lifted you in my arms, and tossed you into that
sea!"
Katrine shrunk from him, aghast. For the first time in her life she
faced the despair of a self-wrecked life, and realised the impotence of
human help. The chains which the years had forged bound this man in his
prison, and she had essayed to free him in a few light hours. If he had
shown signs of excitement or emotion, the moment would have been more
bearable. It was his dreadful composure which rent her heart.
Her lip quivered; she shook her head in helpless distress.
"Why do you tell me this? I didn't ask--I don't want to know. We can
be friends..."
"Can we?" he smiled bitterly. "Are you so brave? That's fine of you,
but it's too late. I am a drunkard, and it has come to this--I don't
even wish to be cured! Drink is my only comfort; the thing that helps
me to forget. The good people among whom you have lived (you have met
only good people, I think. That shows in your face!) they have told you
that it is drunkenness which causes most of the misery in the world. In
future will you try sometimes to reverse the statement, and acknowledge
that it is often misery which causes drink? It caused it with me,--
heart-break and treachery, failure and struggle, and then, at the first
promise of success, _this_!" he tapped his bent chest, "this demon
choking my life. I have nearly a whole lung left. Would you think it?
Down in that cabin, gasping for breath, it is difficult to realise that
there's so much. And they sent me this voyage, the people at home...
What for? My sake, or their own? To get rid of me--to be spared the
end?"
"No, no!" Katrine protested, "don't say it. It isn't true, it can only
do you harm to think it. No one could be so wicked."
His lips twisted in a sneer.
"Would it be wicked? When the sheep is so black, when he refuses to be
washed, and brings disgrace on innocent heads? There is no hope for me,
Miss Beverley; a month more, or a month less, that's the only question
that remains. Sea air is supposed to be good, and sitting at home
people think _only_ of the air, and forget the other incidents of life
on shipboard, which are _not_ conducive to the welfare of a man
suffering from my--complaints! I am worse than when we sailed. Shall
grow worse every day. Doubly infected, you see! A leper to be
shunned."
He stared at her keenly, his mouth twisted by the bitter mockery of a
smile. There was no sign of softening on his face, rather did he appear
to sneer at the puny efforts which had been made on his behalf. He had
spoken of her as a "beautiful girl," but in a manner so impersonal as to
rob the words of flattery. Katrine turned her head aside, unable to
meet that gaze, and sat silent, gazing out to sea. For a long quarter
of an hour neither spoke a word, but the silence was charged. Each felt
the influence of the other's thoughts, divined the other's sentiments.
At a certain moment they turned simultaneously to look into each other's
eyes, and in this last look was kindness and comprehension.
"Miss Beverley," said the man, "you are a good woman. You have done me
good, though not in the way you intended. I shall drink as much as
ever, understand that! but you've done me good. If you are brave enough
to defy convention by giving a little of your time to a prodigal, I'll
take what I can get, and for the rest--keep out of your way! But you
have only to say a word--"
Katrine held out her hand.
"I don't want to say it. It is nothing to me what people think. Come
and talk to me whenever you feel inclined. I have no friends on board,
but at Port Said a man is joining the ship who is in the same regiment
as my host, and he is supposed to look after me for the rest of the
voyage. I hope we shall _both_ like him! We could sit together and
have more interesting talks. Men get tired of womaney subjects."
"Ah," he said flatly, "that's good! I'm glad you will have some one.
You are beautiful, you know. You oughtn't to be alone."
Again the impersonal tone minimised the words. Katrine realised that as
a woman she had no personality for the man; she was merely a shape--a
picture; even his gratitude was a lifeless thing; the man's power of
feeling, of resistance, was exhausted. It was indeed, as he had said,
"too late."