"Yes! What is it? Aunt Marguerite ill?" Harry Vine started up,
listening. "Did any one call?"
There was no reply, and he sat there listening, still with the
impression strong upon him that he had heard some one knock at his
bedroom door and call him by name.
Then a curious sense of confusion came over him as he tried to make out
what it meant. His head was hot, but his hands were cold, and he felt
that he ought to know something which constantly eluded his mental
grasp.
Land--rock--water running, gurgling, and splashing, and utter darkness.
Where was he? What did it all mean?
For a long time the past was a blank. Then, as he sat with his hands
pressed to his head, staring wildly before him, it all came back like a
flash--his trouble, the escape, the long swim, and his taking refuge in
this cave.
Then he must have slept all day, and it was now night, or else the tide
had risen above the mouth of the entrance, and the water was slowly
rising to strangle him, and, Heaven have mercy upon him, there was no
escape!
He began to creep down slowly toward the water, determined to swim with
the next retiring wave, and try to reach the shore. Even if he drowned
in the effort it would be better than sitting there in that horrible
cave, waiting for a certain death.
But he found that comparatively he had to descend some distance before
he could feel the water, and as he touched it with his extended hand, he
fancied that he could detect a gleam of light.
For a long time he could not convince himself that it was not fancy, but
at last he was sure that there was a faint reflection as from a star
whose light struck obliquely in. Then the mouth of the cave was open
still, and he could swim out if he wished. But did he wish?
He felt about, and in a short time could distinguish by the sense of
touch how high the tide had risen, and that it had not been within a
couple of feet of where he had lain, where the sand was quite warm
still. He too was dry, and therefore it must be night, and he had been
plunged in a state of stupor for many hours. Suddenly a thought struck
him.
He had a match-box in his pocket, a little tight-fitting, silver
match-box, which held a few cigar-lights. That match-box was inside his
cigar-case, and both fitted so tightly that the water might have been
kept out. A light, if only for a few moments, would convince him of his
position, and then there were his cigars. He was ravenously hungry now,
and if he smoked that would perhaps dull the sensation.
He drew out his cigar-case and opened it, and took out a cigar. This
was dry comparatively; and as with trembling fingers he felt the little
silver case, he wondered whether it closed tightly enough to keep out
the water.
He took out a match. It felt dry, and the box was quite warm, but when
he gave the match one rub on the sand-faced end, he obtained nothing but
a faint line of light.
He tried again and again, but in vain; and hesitated about testing
another match till some hours had passed.
He could not resist the temptation, and taking another of the frail
waxen tapers, he struck it sharply, and to his great delight it emitted
a sharp, crackling sound. Another stroke and it flashed out, and there
beamed steadily a tiny, clear flame which lit up the place, revealing
that it was just such a zorn as his touch and imagination had painted,
while the water was about a couple of feet below where he knelt on the
sand, and--
The young man uttered a wild cry of horror, the nearly extinct match
fell from his fingers, and burned out sputtering on the wet sands at his
feet.
His first effort was to crawl right away as high up as possible, and
there, shuddering and confused, he sat, or rather crouched, gazing down
beyond where the match had fallen.
At times he could see a tiny, wandering point of light in the water,
which gradually faded out, and after this seemed to reappear farther
away, but otherwise all was black and horrible once more. More than
once he was tempted to walk down into the water and swim out, but in his
half-delirious, fevered state he shrank from doing this, and waited
there in the darkness, suffering agonies till, after what seemed to be
an interminable time, there was a faint, pearly light in the place,
which gradually grew and grew till it became opalescent, then glowing,
and he knew that the sun had risen over the sea.
Half frantic with horror, a sudden resolve came upon him. There was so
strong a light now in the cavern that he could dimly see the object
which had caused him so much dread, an object which he had touched when
he first waded in, and imagined to be a seal.
Trembling with excitement, he crept down to the water's edge, waded in
to his knees, and in haste, forcing himself now to act, he drew from
where it lay entangled among the rocks the body of a drowned man, the
remains of one of the brave fellows who had been lost at the wreck of
Van Heldre's vessel. The body was but slightly wedged in, just as it
had been floated in by a higher tide than usual, and left on the far
side of some pieces of rock when the water fell, but had not since risen
high enough to float it out.
The horrifying object yielded easily enough as he drew it away along the
surface, and he was about to wade and swim with it to the mouth, when he
stopped short, for a sudden thought occurred to him.
It was a horrible thought, but in his excitement he did not think of
that, for in the dim light he could see enough to show him that it was
the body of a young man of about his own physique, still clothed and
wearing a rough pea-jacket.
Disguise--a means of evading justice--the opportunity for commencing
anew and existing till his crime had been forgotten, and then some day
making himself known to those who thought him dead.
"They think me dead now," he muttered, excitedly. "They must. They
shall."
Without pausing for further thought, and without feeling now the
loathsome nature of the task, he quickly stripped the pea-jacket and
rough vest from the dead form, and trembling with excitement now in
place of fear, tore off his own upper garments, pausing for a few
moments to take out pocket-book and case and cigars, but only to empty
out the latter, thrust the book and case back, and at the end of a few
minutes he was standing in shirt and trousers, the rough jacket and vest
lying on the sands, and the form of the drowned sailor tightly buttoned
in the dry garments just put on.
Harry stood trembling for a few minutes, shrinking from achieving his
task. Then with the full knowledge that the body if borne out of the
cave would be swept here and there by the current, perhaps for days, and
finally cast ashore not many miles away, he softly waded into the water,
drew the waif of the sea along after him, right away to the mouth of the
cave, where he cautiously peered out, and made well sure that no
fishermen were in sight before swimming with his ghastly burden along
the zigzag channel, out beyond the rocks, where, after a final thrust,
he saw the current bear it slowly away before he returned shuddering
into the cave, and then landed on the dry sand to crawl up and crouch
there.
"They think me dead," he said in a husky whisper; "let them find that,
and be sure."
He was silent for a time, and then as the thoughts of the past flooded
his soul, he burst into a wild fit of sobbing.
"Home--sister--Madelaine," he moaned, "gone, gone for ever! Better that
I had died; better that I was dead!"
But the horror was no longer there, and in a short time he roused up
from his prostrate condition half wild and faint with hunger.
After a few minutes' search he found a couple of his cigars lying where
he had thrown them on the sand, and lighting one, he tried to dull the
agony of famine by smoking hard.
The effect was little, and he rose from where he was seated and began to
feel about the shelves of the rock for limpets, a few of which he
scraped from their conical shells and ate with disgust; but they did
something towards alleviating his hunger, and seemed to drive away the
strange, half-delirious feeling which came over him from time to time,
making him look wildly round and wonder whether this was all some
dreadful dream.
About mid-day he heard voices and the beating of oars, when, wading
towards the opening, he stood listening, and was not long in convincing
himself that the party was in search of him, while a word or two that he
heard spoken made him think that the party must have picked up the body
of the drowned sailor.
The voices and the sound of the oars died away, and in the midst of the
deep silence he crept nearer and peered out to be aware that a couple of
boats were passing about a quarter of a mile out, while from their
hailing some one, it seemed that a third boat, invisible to the
fugitive, was coming along nearer in.
He crept back into the semi-darkness and listened with his ear close to
the water till, after a time, as he began to conclude that this last
boat must have gone back, and he wondered again and again whether the
drifting body had been found, he heard voices once more, every word
coming now with marvellous clearness.
"No, sir, only a bit of a crevice."
"Does it go far in?"
"Far in, Mr Leslie, sir? Oh, no. Should waste time by going up there.
You can see right up to the mouth, and there's nothing."
"But the current sets in there."
"Yes, sir, and comes out round that big rock yonder. Deal more likely
place for him to ha' been washed up farther on."
"Leslie, and in search of me," said Harry to himself as the boat passed
by. "Yes; they do believe I'm dead."
That day dragged wearily on with the occupant of the cave, tossed by
indecision from side to side till the shadow began to deepen, when,
unable to bear his sufferings longer, he crept out of the opening with
the full intent of climbing the cliff, and throwing himself on the mercy
of one of the cottagers, if he could find no other means of getting
food.
The tide was low, and he was standing hesitating as to which way to go,
when he turned cold with horror, for all at once he became aware of the
fact that not fifty yards away there was a figure stooping down with a
hand resting on the rock, peering into an opening as if in search of
him.
His first instinct was to dart back into the cavern, but in the dread
that the slightest movement or sound would attract attention, he
remained fixed to the spot, while the figure waded knee-deep to another
place, and seemed to be searching there, for an arm was plunged deeply
into the water, a rope raised, and after a good deal of hauling, a
dripping basket was drawn out and a door opened at the side, and
flapping its tail loudly, a good-sized lobster was brought out and
deposited in the basket the figure bore upon her back.
"Mother Perrow!" exclaimed Harry beneath his breath, and then an excited
mental debate took place. Dare he trust her, or would she betray him?
Fear was mastering famine, when Poll Perrow, after rebaiting her lobster
pot, was about to throw it back into deep water, but dropped it with a
splash, and stood staring hard at the shivering man.
"Master Harry!" she exclaimed, and, basket on back, she came through
water and over rock toward him with wonderful agility for a woman of her
age. "Why, my dear lad," she cried, in a voice full of sympathy, "is it
you?"
"Yes, Poll," he said tremulously, "it is I."
"And here have I been trying to find you among the rocks while I looked
at my crab pots. For I said to myself, `If Master Harry's washed up
anywhere along the coast, there's nobody more like to find him than me.'
And you're not dead after all."
"No, Poll Perrow," he said agitatedly, "I'm not dead."
"Come on back home," she cried. "I am glad I found you. Master Vine
and Miss Louise, oh, they will be glad!"
"Hush, woman!" he gasped, "not a word. No one must know you have seen
me."
"Lor', and I forgot all about that," she said in a whisper. "More I
mustn't. There's the police and Master Leslie and everybody been out in
boats trying to find you washed up, you know."
"And now you've found me, and will go and get the reward," he said
bitterly.
"I don't know nothing about no reward," said the woman, staring hard at
him. "Why, where's your jacket and weskut? Aren't you cold?"
"Cold? I'm starving," he cried.
"You look it. Here, what shall I do? Go and get you something to eat?"
"Yes--no!" he cried bitterly. "You'll go and tell the police."
"Well, I am ashamed o' you, Master Harry, that I am."
"But it was all a misfortune, Poll Perrow, an accident. I am not
guilty. I'm not indeed."
"I warn't talking about that," said the woman surlily, "but 'bout you
saying I should tell the police. It's likely, arn't it?"
"Then you will not tell--you will not betray me?"
"Yah! are it likely, Master Harry? Did I tell the pleece 'bout Mark
Nackley when he was in trouble over the smuggling and hid away?"
"But I am innocent; I am indeed."
"All right, my lad, all right, Master Harry. If you says so, that's
'nough for me. Here, I'll go and tell Master Vine I've found you."
"No, no; he thinks I'm dead."
"Well, everybody does; and I said it was a pity such a nice, handsome
young lad should be drowned like that. I told my Liza so."
"My father must not know."
"Miss Louie, then?"
"No, no. You must keep it a secret from everybody, unless you want to
see me put in prison."
"Now is that likely, my lad? Here, I've got it. I'll go and tell
Master Luke Vine."
"Worst of all. No; not a word to a soul."
"All right, Master Harry; I can keep my mouth shut when I try. But what
are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet. I'm hiding yonder."
"What! in the little seal zorn?"
"Yes. Don't betray me, woman, pray!"
"Betray you, Master Harry? You know I won't."
"You will not tell a soul?"
"You tell me not to tell nobody, and I won't say a word even to my Liza.
But they're seeking for you everywhere--dead. Oh! my dear lad, shake
hands. I am glad you warn't drowned."
The warm grasp of the rough woman's coarse hand and the genuine sympathy
in her eyes were too much for Harry Vine. Weak from mental trouble--
more weak from hunger--manhood, self-respect, everything passed from him
as he sank upon one of the hard pieces of weedy rock; and as the woman
bent over him and laid her hands upon his shoulder, he flung his arms
about her, let his head sink upon her breast, and cried like a child.
"Why, my poor, poor boy!" she said tenderly, with her hard wooden stay
busk creaking in front, and her maund basket creaking behind, "don't--
don't cry like that, or--or--or--there, I knew I should," she sobbed, as
her tears came fast, and her voice sounded broken and hoarse. "There,
what an old fool I am! Now, look here; you want to hide for a bit, just
as if it was brandy, or a bit o' lace."
"Yes, Poll; yes."
"Then wait till it's dark, and then come on to my cottage."
"No, no," he groaned; "I dare not."
"And you that cold and hungry?"
"I've tasted nothing but the limpets since that night."
"Limpets!" she cried, with a tone of contempt in her voice, "why, they
ain't even good for bait. And there are no mussels here. Look here, my
dear lad, I've got a lobster. No, no; it's raw. Look here; you go back
to where you hide, and I'll go and get you something to eat, and be back
as soon as I can."
"You will?" he said pitifully. "Course I will."
"And you'll keep my secret?"
"Now don't you say that again, my lad, because it aggravates me. There,
you go back and wait, and if I don't come again this side of ten
o'clock, Poll Perrow's dead!"
She bent down, kissed his cold forehead, and hurried back among the
rocks, splashing and climbing, till he saw her begin to ascend the
narrow rift in the cliff; and in a few minutes the square basket, which
looked like some strange crustacean of monstrous size creeping out of
the sea and up the rocks, disappeared in the gathering gloom; and Harry
Vine, half-delirious from hunger, crept slowly back into the cave, half
wondering whether it was not all a dream.
Volume 3, Chapter IV.