"Fine night, master, but gashly dark," said a gruff voice, as Vine was
nearly at the bottom of the slope.
"Ah, Perrow! Yes, very dark," said Vine quietly. "Not out with your
boat to-night?"
"No, Master Vine, not to-night. Sea brimes. Why, if we cast a net
to-night every mash would look as if it was a-fire. Best at home night
like this. Going down town?"
"Yes, Perrow."
"Ah, you'll be going to see Master Van Heldre. You don't know, sir, how
glad my mates are as he's better. Good-night, sir. You'll ketch up to
Master Leslie if you look sharp. He come up as far as here and went
back."
"Thank you. Good-night," said Vine, and he walked on, but slackened his
pace, for he felt that he could not meet Leslie then. The poor fellow
would be suffering from his rebuff, and Vine shrank from listening to
any appeal.
But he was fated to meet Leslie all the same, for at a turn of the steep
path he encountered the young mine-owner coming towards him, and he
appeared startled on finding who it was.
"Going out, Mr Vine?" he stammered. "I was coming up to the house,
but--er--never mind; I can call some other time."
"I would turn back with you, only I promised to go down to Mr Van
Heldre's to-night."
"Ah, yes, to Van Heldre's," said Leslie confusedly. "I'll walk with you
if you will not mind."
"I shall be glad of your company," said Vine quietly; and they continued
down to the town, Leslie very thoughtful, and Vine disinclined to
converse.
"No, I am not going in, Mr Vine. Will you let me come and say a few
words to you to-morrow?"
"Yes," replied Vine gently.
He had meant to speak firmly and decisively, but a feeling of pity and
sympathy for the young man, whose heart he seemed to read, changed his
tone. It had been in his heart, too, to say, "It will be better if you
do not come," but he found it impossible, and they parted.
Leslie hesitated as soon as he was alone. What should he do? Go home?
Home was a horrible desert to him now; and in his present frame of mind,
the best thing he could do was to go right off for a long walk. By
fatiguing the body he would make the brain ask for rest, instead of
keeping up that whirl of anxious thought.
He felt that he must act. That was the only way to find oblivion and
repose from the incessant thought which troubled him. He started off
with the intention of wearying his muscles, so as to lie down that night
and win the sleep to which he was often now a stranger.
His first intent was to go right up by the cliff-path, by Uncle Luke's,
and over the hill by his own place, but if he went that way there was
the possibility of finding Uncle Luke leaning over the wall, gazing out
at the starlit sea, and probably he would stop and question him.
That night his one thought was of being alone, and he took the opposite
direction, went down to the ferry, hunted out the man from the inn hard
by, and had himself rowed across the harbour, so as to walk along the
cliff eastwards, and then strike in north and round by the head of the
estuary, where he could recross by the old stone bridge, and reach
home--a walk of a dozen miles.
At the end of a couple of miles along the rugged pathway, where in
places the greatest care was needed to avoid going over some precipitous
spot to the shore below, Leslie stopped short to listen to the hollow
moaning sound of the waves, and he seated himself close to the cliff
edge, in a dark nook, which formed one of the sheltered look-outs used
by the coastguard in bad weather.
The sea glittered as if the surface were of polished jet, strewn with
diamonds, and, impressed by the similarity of the scene to that of the
night on which the search had been carried on after Harry Vine, Leslie's
thoughts went back to the various scenes which repeated themselves
before his mental gaze from the beginning to that terrible finale when
the remains lay stark and disfigured in the inn shed, and the saturated
cards proclaimed who the dead man was.
"Poor girl!" he said half aloud, "and with all that trouble fresh upon
her, and the feeling that she and her family are disgraced for ever, I
go to her to press forward my selfish, egotistical love. God forgive
me! What weak creatures we men are!"
He sat thinking, taking off his hat for the cool, moist sea air to fan
his feverish temples, when the solemn silence of the starry night seemed
to bring to him rest and repose such as he had not enjoyed since the
hour when Aunt Marguerite planted that sharp, poisoned barb in his
breast.
"It is not that," he said to himself, with a sigh full of satisfaction.
"She never felt the full force of love yet for any man, but if ever her
gentle young nature turned towards any one, it was towards me. And,
knowing this, I, in my impatience and want of consideration, contrived
my own downfall. No, not my downfall; there is hope yet, and a few
words rightly spoken will remove the past."
The feverish sensation was passing away swiftly. The calm serenity of
the night beneath the glorious dome of stars was bringing with it
restfulness, and hope rose strongly, as, far away in the east, he saw a
glittering point of light rise above the sea slowly higher and higher, a
veritable star of hope to him.
"What's that?" he said to himself, as above the boom of the waves which
struck below and then filled some hollow and fell back with an angry
hiss, he fancied he heard a sob.
There was no mistake; a woman was talking in a low, moaning way, and
then there came another sob.
He rose quickly.
"Is anything the matter?" he said sharply.
"Ah! Why, how you frightened me! Is that you, Master Leslie?"
"Yes. Who is it? Poll Perrow?"
"Yes, Master Leslie, it's me."
"Why, what are you doing here?" said Leslie, as cynical old Uncle Luke's
hints about the smuggling flashed across his mind.
"Nothing to do with smuggling," she said, as if divining his thoughts.
"Indeed, old lady! Well, it looks very suspicious."
"No, it don't, sir. D'you think if I wanted to carry any landed goods I
should take 'em along the coastguard path?"
"A man would not," said Leslie, "but I should say it's just what a
cunning old woman's brain would suggest, as being the surest way to
throw the revenue men off the scent."
"Dessay you're right, Master Leslie, but you may search me if you like.
I've got nothing to-night."
"I'm not going to search you, old lady. I'll leave that to the revenue
men. But what's the matter?"
"Matter, Master Leslie?"
"Yes; I heard you sobbing. Are you in trouble?"
"Of course I am, sir. Aren't I a lone widow?"
"So you have been these fifteen years."
"Fourteen and three-quarters, sir."
"Ah, well, I was near enough. But what is it, old lady? Want a little
money?"
"No, no, no, Master Leslie, sir; and that's very kind of you, sir; and
if I don't bring you up half-a-dozen of the finest mack'rel that come in
these next days, my name aren't Perrow."
"Thank you. There, I don't want to be inquisitive, but it seems strange
for a woman like you to be crying away here on the cliff two miles from
home on a dark night."
"And it seems strange for a young gen'leman like you to be up here all
alone and three miles from home. You was watching me, Master Leslie."
"You'll take my word, Poll Perrow," said Leslie quietly. "I did not
know you were here."
"Yes, I'll believe you, Master Leslie, sir. But you was watching some
one else?"
"No, I came for a walk, my good woman, that's all."
"Then I won't stop you, sir. Good-night, sir."
"Good-night," said Leslie; and feeling more content, he took out his
cigar-case, and after selecting one by feeling, he went back into the
coastguards' station and struck a match.
He looked along the cliff-path as the match flashed, and caught sight
faintly of the old woman.
"Watching me anyhow," he said to himself, as he lit his cigar. "Now
what can that old girl be doing here? She's fifty-five if she's a day,
but if she is not courting and had a quarrel with her youthful lover,
I'm what that old lady says that Van Heldre is--a Dutchman."
He turned back along the path feeling comparatively light-hearted and
restful. The long, dark, weary walk to tire himself was forgotten, and
he went slowly back along the coastguard path, turning a little from
time to time to gaze over his left shoulder at the brilliant planet
which rose higher and higher over the glistening sea.
"Hope!" he said half aloud. "What a glorious word that is, and what a
weary world this would be if there were none! Yes, I will hope."
He walked slowly on, wondering whether Poll Perrow was watching and
following him. Then he forgot all about her, for his thoughts were
fixed upon the granite house across the estuary, and the sweet sad face
of Louise half in shadow, half lit by the soft glow of the shaded lamp.
"Mr Vine will be back by now," he said. "I might call in and ask how
Van Heldre is to-night. It would be sociable, and I should see her, and
let my manner show my sorrow for having grieved her and given her pain;
and, is it possible to let her see that I am full of patient, abiding
hope, that some day she will speak differently to the way in which she
spoke to-day? Yes, a woman would read all that, and I will be patient
and guarded now."
It was astonishing how eager Duncan Leslie felt now to see what news
George Vine, had brought from Van Heldre's; and with the beautiful
absurdity of young men in his position, he never allowed himself to
think that when he crossed the ferry he would be within a stone's throw
of the merchant's house, and that all he need do was to knock and ask
old Crampton or Mrs Van Heldre for the latest bulletin, which would be
gladly given.
It was so much easier to go by the house, make for the path which led up
the steep slope, and go right to the home on the shelf of the cliff, and
ask there.
Meanwhile, Louise Vine had seated herself by the dining-room table with
the light of the shaded lamp falling athwart her glossy hair, and half
throwing up her sweet pale face, just as Leslie had pictured it far away
upon the cliff. Now and then her needle glittered, but only at rare
intervals, for she was deep in thought.
At times her eyes closed, and as she sat there bending forward, it
seemed as if she slept; but her lips moved, and a piteous sigh escaped
her overladen breast.
The night seemed hot and oppressive, and she rose after a time and
unhasped the casement window, beneath the old painted glass
coat-of-arms; and, as she approached it, dimly seen by the light cast
from behind her, she shuddered, for it struck her there was a black
stain across the painting, and a shadowy dark mark obliterated the proud
words of the old family motto.
As she threw back the casement she stood leaning her head against the
window, gazing out into the starlit space, and listening to the faint
whisper of the coming tide.
While she listened it seemed to her that the faint boom and rush of the
water obliterated every other sound as she tried in vain to detect her
father's step slowly ascending the steep path.
"Too soon--too soon," she said softly, and she returned to her seat to
try and continue her work, but the attempt was vain. The light fell
upon her motionless hands holding a piece of some black material, the
thread was invisible, and only at times a keen thin gleam of light
betrayed the whereabouts of the needle. Her sad eyes were fixed on the
dark opening of the window through which she could see a scarcely
defined patch of starry sky, while the soft night air gave her a feeling
of rest, such as had come to the man who had told her that he loved.
"Never more," she sighed at last; "that is all past. A foolish dream."
Making an effort over herself, she resumed her work, drawing the needle
through quickly for a few minutes, and trying hard to dismiss Duncan
Leslie from her thoughts. As she worked, she pictured her father seated
by Van Heldre's side; and a feeling of thankfulness came over her as she
thought of the warm friendship between her elders, and of how firm and
staunch Van Heldre seemed to be. Then she thought of the home troubles
with her Aunt Marguerite, and her father's patient forbearance under
circumstances which were a heavy trial to his patience.
"Poor Aunt Marguerite!" she sighed, as her hands dropped with her work,
and she sat gazing across the table straight out at the starry heavens.
"How she loved poor Harry in her way; and yet how soon he seems to have
passed out of her mind!"
She sighed as the past came back with her brother's wilfulness and
folly; but, throwing these weaknesses into the shade, there were all his
frank, good qualities, his tenderness to her before the troubles seemed
to wrench them apart; the happy hours they had passed with Madelaine as
boy and girls together; all happy days--gone for ever, but which seemed
to stand out now as parts of Harry's life which were to be remembered to
the exclusion of all that was terrible and black.
"My brother!" she breathed, as she gazed straight out seaward, and a
faint smile passed her lips; "he loved me, and I could always win him
over to my side."
The thought seemed frozen in her brain, her half-closed eyes opened
widely, the pupils dilated, and her lips parted more and more, as she
sat there fixed to her seat, the chilly drops gathering on her white
brow, and a thrill of horror coursing through her veins.
For as she looked she seemed to have conjured up the countenance of her
brother, to gaze in there by the open casement--the face as she had seen
it last--when he escaped from her bedroom, but not flushed and excited;
it was now pale, the eyes hollow, and his hair clinging unkempt about
his brow.
Was she awake, or was this some evolution of her imagination, or were
those old stories true that at certain times the forms of those we loved
did return to visit the scenes where they had passed their lives? This
then was such a vision of the form of the brother whom she loved; and
she gazed wildly, with her eyes starting, excited more than fearing, in
the strange exaltation which she felt.
Then she sank back in her chair with the chill of dread now emphasised,
as she gazed fixedly at the ghastly face, for she saw the lips part as
if to speak, and she uttered a low, gasping sound, for from the open
window came in a quick hoarse whisper,
"Louie, why don't you speak? Are you alone?"