"We ought to have gone over to-day," said Eustace Gordon, looking out
to where the low sandy line of Eilean-a-fa-ash lay like a golden clasp
between the two headlands. The northern one bold, rocky, heathery; the
southern, a mere spit of bent-covered shingle, curving hornlike from
the great sweep of the Grada Sands beyond. It was sunset,--a cloudless
sunset. Sky, and sea, and sand, bathed in a golden flood of light;
only the shallow stretches of water left behind by the retreating tide
glowing iridescent here and there like jewels. Far away, almost beyond
sight, an edge of foam keeping time to a whispering cadence told where
the Atlantic was hushing the shore to sleep.
"Yes!" he went on lazily. "We ought, but we didn't. That fellow Weeks
is always on the slay."
They were seated, a party of five,--for the professor still lingered
in the grip of cold,--on the base of the northern headland. There,
amongst the rocks and heather, Lady Maud and Cynthia Strong had been
making tea for the shooters. A brace of setters lay panting beside the
game-bags; a faint whiff of smoke from behind a boulder told that the
ghillies were enjoying themselves on their master's tobacco--sure sign
of a good day's sport.
"Gorgeous weather," continued the same contented voice, "a whole week
of it; simply idyllic."
"Ever since Mr. Wilson and the others left," assented Rick Halmar.
"Pity they went, isn't it?"
"Mr. Wilson had to go," put in Lady Maud. "The telegram from the works
was urgent, and then the Collinghams' yacht happening to come in the
same day made it so convenient. Quite a coincidence; one of those
things no one could have foreseen." She spoke impatiently, almost in
an aggrieved tone; and Eustace, as he lay on his back staring up into
the sky, smiled to himself.
"It is very curious how such things happen," remarked Cynthia Strong;
"but that they are comparatively common is indubitable. The very
proverbs in our language prove it." In the professor's absence she was
apt to assume the mantle of his manner in order to annihilate poor
Captain Weeks, in which object she generally succeeded. On this
occasion, however, emboldened by a recent reception of some golden
plovers' wings, for which her new tweed hat had been waiting, he
ventured to put in his oar. "The wish is father to the thought, for
instance."
"Nothing of the kind--" began Miss Strong scornfully; but Lady Maud
rose hastily and, standing a little apart, looked at Eilean-a-fa-ash,
her hand shading her eyes.
"Let us settle to go there to-morrow without fail," she said as if to
change the subject.
"Not to-morrow, please," broke in Rick eagerly. "To-morrow is Fast
Day, and none of the ghillies will do a hand's turn. Besides, I have
to drive Aunt Will to the preaching, as uncle won't. Put it off till
the next day, Lady Maud. To begin with, it's my birthday, and then the
tides are full spring. So we could come back by the sea ford. It is
worth doing; nearly two miles with quicksands on either side,
especially to the south."
"Very well, the day after to-morrow; that is, Friday certain; or some
other coincidence will be carrying off the rest of my party." Still
with her hand shading her eyes, she remained looking seawards, much in
the same attitude as she had stood at the window a month before. This
time her slight figure showed against the gold of sea and sky.
"What is that," she asked, "like a mast--yonder and from the
headland?"
Rick, busy as usual with his knife, did not pause to look. "It _is_ a
mast, Lady Maud. There is a wreck just to the south. Went ashore ever
so long ago, but it is useful still as a sign-post. Up to that spar
the sand is pretty safe--most times. Beyond that--by George! you
should see it when the tide is coming in."
"Oh! I don't mean the spar close in--yonder, far away."
He came and stood by her. "A yacht, I think, making, I should say, for
Carbost. Come to carry some of us away, maybe."
"If it's for me," remarked Eustace, joining them, "I don't intend to
go. This is too good a time to be cut short. I haven't had such a good
one since those old days at Lynmouth, Maud! And you too! Why, you are
looking twice as well as you did--a week ago." There was meaning in
his words; more in his eyes.
"Fine weather always agrees with me," she replied hastily. "Come,
Rick, let us pick up the tea things and start home."
Yet in her heart of hearts she knew that Eustace was right. That past
week had been a paradise of relief, and now it came perilously near to
the time when the problem of her life must be faced. She had driven
round it so far, had turned back deliberately when she found it
barring the road, had claimed time to understand the position. What
had she done towards a decision? Nothing! Nothing save bask in the
immediate freedom; rejoice like any child in the fine weather, in
Rick's open adoration, in her cousin's constant companionship.
As she and the boy walked homewards together, these thoughts came
again and again, whilst her nervous fingers busied themselves
mechanically with the silver ring which he had made for her; a growing
habit of which she was not aware.
"Does it hurt you?" he asked tenderly. "I can easily alter it, if it
does."
She shook her head with a faint smile.
"But I have seen you do that so often lately," he persisted; "perhaps
the inside is not quite smooth. Give it me, please, and I will set it
right by Friday."
"Don't trouble. If it hurts, I can always take it off; can't I, dear?"
There was a sudden passion in her tone, a kind of pitiful reproach in
her eyes. Rick looked at her, perturbed.
"But if it hurts--" he began.
She put out her pretty hand and laid it on his, almost with a
protecting gesture. "Nothing you could do would hurt me, Rick. You
said so the first time we met, and it is true. If it hurts, it is my
own fault."
"That doesn't make any difference," he replied stoutly. "Let me have
it, please."
"Not to-day--on Friday, perhaps; _if it hurts_."
They were standing where the cross-path branched to Eval, waiting for
the others to come up; for Rick's way lay across the moor and she
would be left alone.
"I believe it does hurt now," he said, still dissatisfied, "and I know
I could set it right. Do let me try."
"How serious you are!" she cried with a sudden change of mood. "See! I
promise to give it back on Friday if it hurts. It shall be my birthday
present. There!"
"All right. I'll keep it for yours; then we shall be quits," he said,
laughing.
When he had left them, Eustace took his place, and Cynthia Strong and
Captain Weeks were certainly the happier for the change. Lady Maud,
likewise, to judge by her light laughter.
Fast Day rose brilliantly. The clear, crisp sunshine poured in through
the dining-room windows, when, coming down to breakfast, she found her
cousin there, alone.
"Another lovely day," she said gaily.
"The last for me," he replied. "That was the yacht yesterday. It has
anchored below the sands, and the captain has strict orders from
Louisa to bring me off dead or alive to-night." He laughed, but there
was a bitter look on his face as he tossed a crumpled letter towards
her. "Catch! that's my warrant of execution."
Not a very nice letter, but a reasonable one in its way. The weather
was to blame, of course; still, she had asked him to join her many
times and he had not joined her. He had been a month and more at
Roederay and now the equinoctial gales were over, she meant to be off
southwards. If he could not make use of the yacht, he must send it
round to Cowes and make his own arrangements. For her part, she
intended to start for the Mediterranean in ten days. Not the sort of
letter to be disregarded by a husband dependent on the writer for all
save a very moderate settlement.
"I've told them to have the boat ready at the Grada point at five this
afternoon to take me on board. Perhaps it is better so. This sort of
thing couldn't have gone on much longer."
She was silent, and the professor, bursting in, ended the tete-a-tete.
"What a land, or perhaps I should say sea, of surprises this is, to be
sure!" he exclaimed. "The _Clansman_, I am informed by the factor,
whom I met on his way to preaching, will anticipate her time by three
whole days, owing to this Fast and some local market. She takes
Carbost on the out instead of the in trip, and is due to-night, some
time between seven and two in the morning. So I am afraid, my dear
lady, that my delightful visit must come to a somewhat abrupt
conclusion. I propose, therefore, going over--"
"To Eval House," suggested Eustace.
"No-o. To the hotel at dusk, so as to be on the spot."
Lady Maud paled visibly. "And Cynthia! of course she and Captain Weeks
will go too. Ah! what a sudden breakup of our pleasant party!"
"You had better come with us, dear lady, and so reduce our regrets to
a minimum," cried the professor gallantly.
But the compliment fell flat. That was the fate of most remarks during
breakfast, so that conversation dwindled to excerpts from Bradshaw's
guide. Captain Weeks, who was generally a stand-by of placid good
nature, was peculiarly low. He had made up his mind, come what might,
to try his fate with Cynthia Strong before leaving, and now, though
still determined, he felt hustled. She, in her turn, knew she had
shilly-shallied in a way unworthy of a Girton girl until her
opportunities of bringing the professor to book had dwindled to three
days; two of them to be spent at sea, where she could not be sure of
herself or him. As for Eustace and Maud, their role in the comedy of
Life had been touched with tragedy for some time past. They felt dimly
that the crisis had come.
"We have never been to Eilean-a-fa-ash, after all," said Cynthia,
pausing at the window on her way to pack, and looking regretfully to
where the island lay out in the blue sea.
"I thought we shouldn't," murmured Lady Maud in a low voice; "the
Island of Rest is not for us."
"It has been within reach all the time. It is so still," replied
Eustace in the same tone.
"We might have gone this morning if it hadn't been Fast Day,"
continued Cynthia, aggrieved. "Couldn't we bribe somebody? I want to
go awfully, and so does the professor."
"My failure to do so will be the only regret which can possibly mingle
with my memories of Roederay."
"Can't think why you all want to see it," remarked the captain,
frowning at the professor's complimentary bows. "I went over one
day--yes, I did, Miss Strong--to shoot seals. Didn't get any--worse
luck! But it wasn't a bit pretty. Sand and bones and a stone coffin or
two. The ghillie told me, too, that sometimes, after a north wind, it
was awfully grim. The sand blows off, don't you know, and leaves
skeletons and things. Not at all the place for ladies, don't you
know."
"I'm sorry to be obliged to differ," retorted Cynthia sharply. "In my
opinion, there are no places where a woman should not be."
"Nihil continget quod non ornavit," paraphrased the professor.
The captain's head held itself very high. "Perhaps I am wrong, but I
don't think so. However, as you wish to see it, Miss Strong, I shall
be delighted to row you over in the small boat. Only we must start at
slack tide; that is, about three in the afternoon."
"Too late, I'm afraid," replied the young lady disconsolately. "We
ought to be starting for the hotel before six; oughtn't we, Maud?"
"Oh, we could manage it," he went on, seeing in this plan the chance
of the tete-a-tete on which his mind was set. "If the wagonette were
to pick us up at the cross-roads, we should have heaps of time. It
would only be starting two hours earlier,--before the others, I mean."
"What do you say, professor?" asked Cynthia sweetly.
Arthur Weeks ground his teeth, and turned away with a murmur about the
boat being heavy.
"But the professor will row, of course. Every one rows at Oxford.
Indeed, I, for one, think the Oxford style is the best in the world."
"Then perhaps you will not require my aid. I only learnt off the coast
of Cornwall."
Cynthia looked at her usually docile adorer in amaze; she did not
understand that the big man had for once thought it worth while to
make up his mind. "But we couldn't go without you," she pleaded quite
meekly. "You see, you have been there before. Ah, no! we couldn't go
without you."
"If I can be of any use--" said the captain magnificently, and the
sight of his aggrieved but courteous dignity gave Cynthia quite a
pang.
So it was arranged that, about slack tide, he and the professor should
row to Eilean-a-fa-ash from the boat-house on the north headland, and
afterwards, taking advantage of the full tide and southerly current,
slip down the coast across the sands to meet the wagonette. Eustace
and Maud proposed to start about the same time for Eval House, so that
he might say good-bye to Miss Willina before joining the yacht's boat
at Grada point, whence the carriage, on its return journey, would take
Lady Maud back to Roederay.
A sombre silence had lain between these two all day, and even when
they were left alone on the terrace watching the others disappear
shorewards, they said nothing for a time. A great stillness seemed to
be in the very air. Not a breath on the water, not a sound on the
moor, not a cloud on the sky. The very house seemed asleep; most of
the servants away for edification or amusement at the preaching, miles
to the south, amongst the peat bogs and heather, singing psalms and
eating peppermint drops, praising the Creator and flirting with the
creature.
The silence must have reminded Eustace of this fact, for at last he
turned to his companion hastily. "They won't be at Eval, so there is
no use going. Come, Maud! It is the last time we shall be together, I
suppose. Come."
It was not much to grant, she thought, when she might never see him
again. So they went out together over the moors, down by the little
pools where the water showed their shadows, blended one into the
other, upon the cairns where they sate together, looking out over the
sea. Together, always together, Eustace and she, as it had been at the
beginning. And this was the end, the very end.
Meanwhile the trio in the boat set forth gaily; the professor very
straight in the back, and with no little style giving the stroke,
whilst Arthur Weeks, gloomily polite, paddled in the bows, debarred
from even a fair sight of his beloved. The full flood-tide lapped at
the furthermost scallop of seaweed on the shingly shore, and touched
the sea-pinks cresting the rocks.
"Couldn't you pull a leetle harder?" suggested the captain drily, when
the professor paused in a long sentence to take breath. "I don't want
to hustle anybody, but we have only just got time to manage it. We are
making a good deal of leeway, and the channel north is a bit
dangerous."
Cynthia glanced nervously towards the Pole. "Oh, yes! please, Mr.
Endorwick, pull harder. We can talk when we get to the island."
Easier said than done. The perspiration poured down the professor's
face, and bow kept her head straight as a die; yet still the boat
failed to respond.
As they crept along slowly, the channel between the headlands and the
island began to open up, showing the still, oily water which tells of
swift current.
"We are too far north," said the captain, resting on his oar a moment.
"The tide can't have been quite slack when we started. However, it
doesn't matter; for the current here will take us south in no time."
The professor pausing too, they drifted idly.
"That's the landing-place, Miss Strong," went on the speaker. "Yonder,
where the bents almost touch the water, and that square thing behind
is a stone cof--" he paused abruptly. "Why, what the devil! we're
drifting north--due north. By George, we are, though."
In good sooth they were--drifting north like a feather.
"North! impossible--the current runs south at flood. Stay--by Heaven,
I remember--Ronald said something about a change at the equinox.
Quick, man alive. Pull, pull hard! Once she gets beyond those rocks,
we will have the dickens and all to keep her out of the eddy. It runs
like a race--higher up--amongst sunken--rocks."
The last words came in jerks as he set all his strength to the oar.
The boat spun round with the point of the professor's oar as axis;
spun round, drifting as it span.
"Damn it all!" shouted the man of war busy on the rowlocks. "I beg
your pardon, Miss Strong. Here, man, quick, give me the oar--go
forward--lie down in the bows and keep her keel stiff. Now then,
Cynthia, don't scream, there's a good girl--there's no danger as yet.
Lie down too--then you won't see anything."
She did lie down ignominiously. Right down at his feet, feeling
that she would be content to enter Paradise clinging to this man's
coat-tails if only that entry was not premature. The whole world, to
her, lay in the strength of those arms, and when, meeting her piteous
eyes, his face relaxed to something like a smile, and he gasped, "All
right--getting along--nicely," she felt once, and for all, that she
loved his little finger better than the whole of that abject figure in
the bows.
So she crouched, lost in a sort of terrified reliance on him, till
with a queer little sound, half sob, half laugh, he slackened, and
without a pause proceeded to retransfer a pair of rowlocks to the
bows.
"Now then--professor--if you please--sorry to have--been so
abrupt--but--one manages better sculling--when there's no rudder." The
breaks were caused by his being out of breath. Otherwise he was full
of dignity, and Cynthia Strong broke down suddenly into subdued tears.
"You had better lie still," he said. "See--here's my coat." He fumbled
it into a pillow with his left hand, as he went on rowing with his
right. "Raise your head, please, so;" and, as he bent over her, he
whispered, "Don't cry, dear, it's all over now."
What Cynthia Strong did to the hand so near her lips is a dead secret
between those two. The captain's fine flush was doubtless due to his
previous exertions, but why a pillow should have caused a rush of
blood to Cynthia's terror-blanched face, remains a mystery.
"Don't work so hard, professor!" cried the former gaily. "You
are pulling me round, and we have to get our head towards home.
Eilean-a-fa-ash is out of the question; besides, Miss Strong will be
all the better for a cup of tea. This sort of thing isn't fit for
women."
And nobody denied it.