I
They were to be married before the open fire, in the big living-room of
the old house on the hill. Upstairs, Bess Holt was helping Faith dress.
Faith sat before the old, veneered dressing table with its little mirror
tilting on the curved standards, and submitted quietly and happily to
Bess's ministrations. Bess was a chatterbox, and her tongue flew as
nimbly as the deft fingers that arranged Faith's veil. Faith was
content; her soft eyes resting on her own image in the little mirror
were like the eyes of one who dreams dreams and sees visions. She scarce
heard Bess at all....
Only once she turned and looked slowly about this low-ceiled old room
that had been her home: the high, soft bed, with its canopy resting on
the four tall posts; the frame of that canopy was split in one place;
she had wound it with wire to strengthen it. How many mornings, waking
pleasantly as day stole in the little windows, she had seen that twist
of wire first of all as her eyes opened. She used to look at it, and
dream a little, before she rose.... One window, with its white hangings,
was just at the foot of the bed. The cool, salt-laden winds from the sea
used to whisper in there and soothe her sleep. She had always loved the
sea. Would she always love it so, when there was nothing else but the
sea on every hand?... When she should have sailed away with big Noll
Wing....
The high chest of drawers, the little dressing table, the delicate
chairs.... These were all old and familiar friends--whom she was leaving
behind her. And she loved them, loved the ugly paper on the wall, loved
the old daguerreotypes above the chest of drawers, loved the crooked
sampler by the never-used fireplace. Loved them....
She smiled happily and confidently. She loved them ... but she loved big
Noll Wing better. She would not regret....
Below stairs, her father, Jem Kilcup, talked with Dr. Brant, the
minister. They spoke of wind and weather, as men do whose lives lie near
the sea. They spoke of oil, of ships, of tedious cruises when the seas
were bare of whales.... The minister marked the old harpoon that stood
in the corner by the fire, and Jem told how with that battered iron he
had struck his last whale, a dozen years before.... A good tale. The
whale fought hard, left Jem with a crushed chest that drove him from the
sea. Their talk wandered everywhere save where their thoughts were; they
did not speak of Faith, nor of Noll Wing. Jem could not bear to speak of
his girl who was going from his arms to another's; the minister
understood, and joined with him in a conspiracy of silence. Only, when
Bess came whispering down to say that Faith was ready, old Jem gripped
Dr. Brant's arm and whispered harshly into the minister's ear: "Marry
them tight, and marry them hard, and true, Doctor. By God...."