"She will know it was not your fault."
"She will try to keep me from knowing it. You may be sure it will be
long before I hear the last of it, from her or from--others."
"From others?"
Anne looked straight in his face.
"Mr Wareham, I imagined you to be a man of the world. If you are, you
must know as well as I that people will chatter."
"The world is not always absurd," he retorted, with heat.
"When was it not a gossip? Now I will ask a question which I have
avoided before. When shall we get to Balholm?"
"About two or three in the morning."
"And you flatter yourself that will not give a handle for talk!"
Wareham had been surprised that she had said nothing of the sort before;
he was conscious at the same time that if it had been Millie, the fear
would not have struck her.
"When they know the facts, they will see there was nothing else for us
to do."
"They won't know facts. One fact will be sufficient for them, and to
that they will hold on as a dog to a bone. Never mind. I have gone
through as much before."
"When?" Wareham asked jealously.
"Oh, not with this sort of experience. This is new to me. But I have
served as a bone so often that I am used to the worrying. Don't let us
talk of it now. I want to drink in my new enjoyment, to develop my new
sense. Look at the drifting shadow on that hill, and the splendour of
the snow. But it is the water, the water that fascinates me. I am
going to watch it."
He accepted this as a hint that he was not to speak, and the turmoil in
him was not sorry for silence which left time for many voices to have
their say. This hint of Anne's that the world would make her suffer for
what his carelessness had brought upon her, carried with it an almost
unendurable sting. Under other circumstances he would have said to her,
if not that hour, to-morrow, "I love you. Be my wife." But his duty to
Hugh? Doubly bound, as he was, by the promise of his letter to abstain
from any step until the answer had come, could he fling it to the winds,
and forswear himself? The letter to which he looked for deliverance was
but tightening his bonds. He was swayed this way and that, now swung
low by such fretting thoughts, now conscious of mounting to heights of
bliss in the warm fresh air, with the mountains and the water around,
and Anne sitting close to--touching him. She said presently--
"We are the only thinking creatures in sight, and the world looks very
big. Does it make you feel small or great?"
"It dwarfs one, doesn't it?"
"It seems to me as if I had seen it all before, and I have been trying
to think where. I believe now that it was when I was a child, and sat
solitary, reading Sinbad the Sailor. Perhaps there was some old
picture, for certainly this takes me back to that."
"Were you solitary?"
"Very," Anne said, smiling. "I brought myself up, and very badly. Look
behind. The mountains are closing; now that they have let us out, they
shut their portals."
She was silent again, and Wareham, quick to read her moods, humoured
her. The boat moved slowly along, slowly it seemed, when the great
surroundings filled the eye. The heavens were blue, but here and there
a white cloud drifted lazily, or caught the mountain snow-beds, and
curled round them, like a vaporous reminder of their fate. The lovely
vivid green of the young summer crept up and down the mighty hills,
softening the rude scars of centuries until they looked no more than
delicate and shadowy indentations; the stern granite blossomed into
tender rose and grey, and the water-world below gave back all this and
more. Every now and then the men who were rowing exchanged a word: they
had grave steadfast faces.
"Talk to them," Anne said suddenly at last. "Ask them about their
lives." Wareham struggled obediently.
"My questions are obliged to be simple," he said. "And I am even more
anxious the answers should be. A universal language. Is it a dream?"
"We are pleased to infer that it is our own which will serve the
purpose, but by the time the idea has developed into fact it may be
Japanese."
"To become a ruling nation they will have been forced to adopt ours."
"Oh, British arrogance! However, I do not wish it. Uniformity is
always dull, and I would rather suffer shame from my own ignorance than
have all the world patted down to one dead level. There is dignity in
the unknown. When I hear these men talk, I can't help imagining that
what they say would be worth hearing, if I could only understand, though
probably it is about nothing more valuable than as to how many gulden
they may get for their hay, if, indeed, any of them ever sell anything.
Do ask them that."
"I can't," Wareham confessed. "My conversation is chiefly made up of
nouns and notes of interrogation."
"Well, what have you extracted?"
"Both are married. One has four children, who walk five kilometres to
school every day of their lives. The other has a son, of course in
America. He is a wood-carver, and hopes by the sale of his work to lay
by enough to take him to Chicago."
Anne's eyes sparkled.
"Tell him I will buy a great deal. As soon as I meet my money again,"
she added, laughing. "Am I not to be allowed to assist?"
"I have nothing to do with your purchases," Anne said quietly. "I dare
say you want something for your friends at home. Have you a great
many?"
Wareham blurted out--"I have no greater friend than Hugh Forbes." Why
he said it he could not tell. He had been forcing himself ever since
they started to keep Hugh's image in mind, and his name leapt suddenly
to his lips. Anne did not look discomposed.
"He is a very good fellow," she said, after a momentary hesitation.
"Yet you would not marry him?"
"It has puzzled you? It puzzled no one else. Blanche Martyn will tell
you she knew how it must be from the first."
"Why?" asked Wareham, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, and
staring at the bottom of the boat.
"You should ask her, not me. The accused is not bound to criminate
herself."
"The accused! Good heavens, do you suppose!" he began passionately,
then by a great effort stopped. Anne was looking at him through
half-closed eyes.
"However," she went on, as if he had not spoken, "I will let you hear
her explanation. She thinks I am a flirt."
"She is a detestable woman."
"Oh, no; and I believe her to be right. I told you just now that I had
no sense of colour; well, I have a worse confession to make. I have no
heart."
"One is as true as the other," Wareham protested stoutly. She shook her
head.
"Possibly it may come. But as yet I am without it."
"You forget. You gave me another reason."
"That I did not care for him sufficiently. It surprised you. It might
be a proof that what I tell you is no more than the truth. For it would
be difficult to conceive any one more lovable."
Wareham's own heart agreed, but refused to accept the conclusion.
"Really," she said, "it was this charm of his which opened my eyes to my
own want. I meant to marry, and so long as I did not dislike the man,
would not trouble myself to think I need give him more. Suddenly I
discovered I liked him too much to let him find himself in that
position, and released him. It was the best act in my life, and it has
alienated the friends who were most worth keeping."
Wareham's hopes met this dash of ice-cold water with a gallant effort
for his friend. He turned pale, but muttered--
"You do not know yourself. You may love him yet."
"Never. All that I felt was that I could not feel."
She spoke with conviction, and the conviction roused traitors in his own
heart, who repeated the sweet assurance again and again. As for her
saying that she could not feel, he laughed the notion to scorn. Had he
but the chance, he would teach her to feel, batter at her heart till it
awoke with an ache to find itself captured. The danger was that before
this happened his honour might have to hang its head, disgraced, for the
frank confidence she showed seemed to bring her nearer and nearer, and
made waiting harder. He hoped he had strength to be silent, for he
dared not attempt to argue with her. With an abrupt movement he
motioned to one of the men to cease rowing, and took his place. The
strong regular play of the muscles came like a relief, but the other
man, forced to a quicker stroke, presently remonstrated. Wareham asked
whether it were impossible to sail, quicker movement seeming imperative.
He knew what the answer must be when he put the question, for not a
breath of wind stirred the glass of the fjord. After he had rowed for
one man some time he relieved the other; if it had been possible he
would have liked to have had it all on his shoulders. Anne said to him
at last--
"You are putting such energy into your work that it tires me to look at
you. Does half-an-hour more or less really mean so much?"
He laid down the oars, and came across the boat to her side.
"It means nothing, except that I felt the need of a spurt. We are close
to Utne, where we should find a decent inn. Had you not better stop
there and rest? You want food by this time."
"I would rather not stop. I have been eating biscuits, and you might as
well follow my example."
"Suppose Mrs Martyn has waited?"
Anne meditated.
"Let us row near the shore. If any one belonging to us is there, they
will see and make signs. But there will be no one."
There was not. Wareham would gladly have hailed Mrs Martyn, yet was
conscious of a throb of delight when the pretty little village lay
behind them. They were by this time in more open water, and the
depression which had fastened on him fled away.
"What are your commands about your picnic?" he asked, smiling.
"Find out from the men if there is any place where we can land and boil
some water." This took some time and a little guessing. Finally--
"I believe they say there is an island," said Wareham.
"I am sure there is."
"We should reach it in an hour."
He spent the hour in blissful dreams which, having been once routed, now
trooped merrily back. Anne was generally silent, but when she spoke it
was with the same friendly ease she had shown throughout the day, and
she made no complaints of fatigue. Indeed, he classed her as a heroine
when he reflected that she had uttered nothing in the shape of a
grumble. Would not most women have indulged in something of the sort?
Wareham liked to believe that they would, and exalted her accordingly
for her forbearance. It was evening by the hours, and they were well in
the Sogne fjord, when Anne pointed out the island towards which the boat
was directed.
"Do you see?"
"I see a rock."
"And what else would you have in mid-water? If we can but find
something to burn!"
"I believe there is a hut," said Wareham, curving his hands into a
telescope.
"A solitary! Only this was wanted." Anne's face was radiant.
"He may drive us away."
"A man? Oh, no!" she laughed serenely.
Her confidence proved well-founded, for the Sogne fisherman, who leaped
down the rocks to give the boat a helping hand, gave them a grave
welcome. He was a wild figure with his scarlet jacket, brown breeches,
and light hair under a broad hat. Anne looked at him appreciatively.
"I could not have dressed him better myself--for the piece," she said.
"How odious I am to say so! It is one of the snares of
over-civilisation that, instead of the theatre suggesting nature, nature
suggests the theatre. This is all so natural that I feel we ought to be
applauding."
She was stiff with sitting. Wareham gave her his hand to help her from
the boat, and the light touch of her fingers thrilled him.
The island was no more than a rock, with scant herbage; a few goats and
a dog shared it with the man; a boat was drawn up at one shelving point,
and the low hut was formed of heaped pieces of rock and roofed with
waving grass. There was no chimney; a hole in the roof sufficed for the
smoke to pass through. Anne was as excited as a child. She unpacked
her _tine_, and spread their meal on a rock. Wareham had to act as
interpreter, and ask that a peat or two might be set ablaze to provide
them with hot water; the man's good-will did not reach the point of
making him hurry, but he watched Anne's quick deft movements with
amusement. When all was ready they sat down together. Anne had brought
a little tea-pot and two cups, Wareham a bottle of wine, which the men
drank out of a rough mug; he could not give up the pleasure of letting
Anne pour out tea for himself. It was a very frugal meal, added to,
though it was, by dried fish; and when it was finished, she dispensed
tobacco to the three men. It seemed she detested the smell; Wareham
suggested their walking round the island until the pipes had been
smoked. She hesitated, finally agreed.
They scrambled round to the western side, a filmy glory spread over the
heavens, interrupted only by the swoop of a grey vapourish cloud. As it
had been all along, what the waters saw they gave back again, so that
the golden suffusion reached to their very feet. The near reflections
were now dark.
"To live here alone! Can you conceive it?" Anne exclaimed.
"Not for one of us; but with so thin a population, solitude probably is
second nature."
"Solitude would require thought, and thought culture."
"Work might take its place. Work here must be incessant. Relax it, and
you die."
"Why not? What makes it worth while to live? Would any one miss him?"
"Depend upon it, he has a world of his own, but, why--"
He stopped suddenly. Anne looked at him in surprise.
"Why?" she repeated.
He had caught himself on the point of rushing into more personal speech,
and the jerk with which he pulled himself up made him awkward.
"Why should we not ask him? For one thing, I imagine he does not stay
in winter. He is only here for the fishing."
"Oh, winter! The very idea is terrible. Yet I should like to see this
country in its own snow and ice. Warmly wrapped, I can fancy it
bearable, even enjoyable."
"Yes. Cold is the rich man's luxury." He answered her mechanically,
his thoughts flying impatiently to Hugh, picturing him receiving the
letter, answering it. Anne looked at him in surprise, reading trouble
in his face.
"Never a luxury to me," she said. "And it is growing cold now. Don't
you think we may start?"
The red-coated fisherman put aside all thought of payment. Wareham had
difficulty in making him accept a very trifling sum. He stood watching
them, and, for a time, as long as they looked back, they saw him blackly
silhouetted against the clear sky. Anne had wrapped herself in her
furs; the great open fjord gradually paled, the sound of the oars seemed
to grow louder; it was like a dream to Wareham, with something of the
bondage, the confusion, and the fret of a dream, yet with its strange
delight as well. Once or twice he and Anne exchanged words, once or
twice he took the oars again; outlines grew vague, it was not dark
overhead, but they felt as though they were rowing on into the night.
Suddenly Anne looked up.
"The bottom of the boat is wet. Is that right?"
Wareham bent down and uttered an exclamation, for water was certainly
oozing in, and under cover of the dusk had been unnoticed, until Anne
moved her foot and touched it. He called one of the men, who made an
examination.
"Is it a leak?" she asked presently.
Wareham spoke quietly.
"There is a cork acting as a plug, and it appears to be rotten. But you
need not be alarmed."
"I am not alarmed. What shall you do? Try to land?"
There was a consultation.
"The men say we should gain very little. It is twelve o'clock, and
Balholm is as near as any other place, so that they advise our going on.
Of course one of us will keep close watch, and bale out what water
comes in; also have something ready to serve as a plug. But I am afraid
it adds to your discomfort."
"Oh no, I shall be admiring your resources. Don't leave me useless.
Would you like me to act like the boy at the Dutch dyke?"
"I am sure you would," said Wareham, in a low voice which silenced her.
It was not very easy to find materials for the plug. Anne handed him
her gloves, and he abstracted one, but was afraid of discovery if he
kept the other. A felt hat belonging to one of the men was rolled as
tightly as possible, and held ready; at the same time the men insisted
that the cork should not be removed until absolutely necessary, and one
was told off to bale and watch.
"All the sensations I imagined are going to be provided for us in
miniature," said Anne, with a laugh. "A desert island, and a leaky boat
in mid-ocean. Mr Wareham, you are a conjuror!"
"May the conjuring land you finally and safely at Balholm!"
"After which!" She laughed again.
Silence fell on them once more. One man was scooping up the water in
the tin mug; it gurgled under his hand, and the splash of throwing it
over followed. The fjord, in the clear semi-darkness, stretched into
infinite distances, a wisp of cloud sailed slowly overhead, a pettish
breeze blew chilly against Anne's cheek. She called across to
Wareham--"There is a little wind. Can't we sail?"
"These fjords are treacherous. I dare not. You are not cold?"
She was, but she would not let him know it. It seemed to her that the
quantity of water in the boat increased, but they laughed at her offer
to assist in the baling. At the end of half-an-hour Wareham changed
places with the man who was dipping. The change threw him again close
to Anne, and facing her; it struck him that she looked alarmingly white.
"You are exhausted?" he asked anxiously. "You don't know how strong I
am."
"I can't get them to quicken stroke. They are steady, but slow."
"Patience, patience!" He saw that she was smiling at him.
"You need not preach patience to me," he said, in a low voice. "So far
as I am concerned, I should be very well pleased to go on like this for
ever."
"There might be worse things," said Anne dreamily, and his head swam.
He was silent because he dared not speak; his thoughts leapt forward to
the time when he might call her his own; meanwhile surely this was the
very bliss of misery! It was she who spoke next. "It is lighter," she
said. "I verily believe the day is breaking."
Wareham consulted his watch.
"Yes, and in an hour we reach Balholm."
"Cork and all?"
"I think so."
"Tell me. Have we been in danger?"
"Not since you found it out, and we have had something ready. If it had
suddenly given way, matters might have been different; but as it is, we
have nothing to fear beyond the discomfort of a wet boat."
"And I suppose there will be some one about. Mr Grey calls this the
Land of the Always-up."
"I suppose so. At any rate, we will get them up at Kviknaes'. Perhaps
Mrs Martyn will have thought of you sufficiently to order a room to be
kept for you. You ought to see Balholm now."
"There is too much mist."
Gradually this light mist melted, light laughed out, a wind swept the
mountains and left them clear; everything was bathed in silvery
radiance, the colours were delicate, the air vigorous and keen. Anne
shivered.
"It is like one's lost youth," she said.
Her lost youth! Wareham lifted a look of reproach, but circumstances
had come to the aid of his faltering resolution, since scooping water
from the bottom of a boat is fatal to the sentimental view. Anne at
last began to laugh at him.
"I am sure your back aches," she said.
"You may be sure. There is lost youth if you like," he answered,
straightening himself, and stretching.
She advised him to change with a rower, but he would not. It was
something to be near her, though he suffered for it twice over. And the
strong heart of the morning showed his hopes in stouter aspect. Hugh
would see that his cause was desperate, and generosity would not suffer
him to wreck another life with his own. Before he left, Wareham had
treated his friend's crushed heart with severity or lightness as need
arose, now he allowed it to have been serious enough, but as serious as
his--never! Nevertheless, he could not indulge undisturbed in the wild
dreams of happiness which flitted through his head, for with them Hugh's
face intruded itself.
And--the letter!
They were near the landing-place at Balholm, and fronted by the mountain
with the strange cleft in its snowy summit. Mountain, field, the few
red-roofed houses, the outstanding pier, were bathed in the glory of the
sun, now hastening upwards. One or two figures stood looking at the
oncoming boat.
Wareham flung a glance over his shoulder.
"They are expecting us," he said, "you see."
A shout came to them across the water--another. A thought startled him,
he looked eagerly at Anne. She had her eyes fixed on the shore, some
agitation had crept into them, and for a minute she did not speak.
"Who is it?" asked Wareham hoarsely, without turning round.
"It is Mr Forbes."
"Impossible!"
"See for yourself."