The day had passed with little to mark it to Wareham, to whom events
meant a word from Anne. They met at early dinner as they had met at
breakfast, and again he had to content himself with indirect speeches.
In the afternoon the _Ceylon_ came in and anchored; Wareham went off and
secured three berths. He felt himself a model friend, but this did not
prevent his looking forward eagerly to the evening. Colonel Martyn was
the next to arrive.
At six o'clock came the Gudvangen steamer, which was to take them to
Fjaerland. Anne and Colonel Martyn were the last to come on board, Hugh
fuming impatiently until they appeared. He surrounded her with
solicitude.
"I almost gave you up. I thought you had changed your mind."
"If I had?"
She tossed the words at him as she passed.
"We might have taken a boat and repeated yesterday," said Hugh daringly.
"I hate repetitions."
Wareham heard and chuckled. But where is your woman's consistency? The
next moment she had given her young lover a smile which put the other
man's blood into a fever. Hugh looked round at him radiantly. Mrs
Martyn eyed him with an experienced glance expressive to Wareham of "You
see!" He walked away.
When he came back the group had been enlarged by several of the other
people from the inn, who were making the same little voyage. An elderly
man, with a keen clever face, held forth to Mrs Martyn, and Wareham was
not ill-pleased to note that the lady showed signs of discomfiture. He
interrogated her closely, would have chapter and verse with her
statements, and ruthlessly fastened on the futility of certain vague
expressions in which she took refuge. Wareham stood for a minute
receiving broken sentences from the group, except when Anne spoke, upon
which the other voices faded into indistinctness.
"Nothing in Norway to compare with Scotland."
"Well, I don't know. There's good--"
"Didn't you hear? She is expected to-morrow, and great preparations--"
"Horrible food!"
Then a voice like a bell.
"I half wish we were going home in her, she looks so big and so roomy."
Only the foolishness of love could make music out of this every-day
remark, but to his ear it sounded in sweet relief to the clatter of the
others. So sad is the eclipse of friendship before the greater light,
that he was conscious of a wish to swing Hugh out of his place by her
side, and stand there himself. Had not he had his chance and failed?
To be swaggering round, and playing dog in the manger, was an unworthy
solace. To be compelled to hover near with a heart full of yesterday,
was to munch ashes. For let philosophers say what they will, the past
is at best unsatisfying food, but a past which has no more substance
than hope unfulfilled, chokes you with its dusty remembrances. Wareham
went restlessly about the vessel, talking to the red-faced burly captain
of the _Kommodoren_, to any one: wherever he went he saw Hugh's spirited
figure, Anne's pale clear-cut profile, and these two only. At last, as
he was speaking to an elderly lady with a sweet kind face, he surprised
her by quitting her suddenly. Opportunity had come, and he flew to
Anne's side.
"At last!" he cried, and had to check his exultation. "I thought I
should never be allowed to speak to you alone!"
"After yesterday you could scarcely complain of that difficulty." Anne
was smiling, her eyes were half-shut.
"Yesterday!" He made an impatient gesture.
She asked whether it was so long ago?
"Half a lifetime," he answered boldly, and had a wild fancy that a
tremulous colour just crept into her cheek. But she hastened to inquire
whether he did not find the scenery very fine?
"I have not seen it."
"Where have your eyes been?"
"On my heart," would have been a true answer. He pressed it back and
muttered, "I have been wanting to say a word, but Hugh monopolised you."
"Your friend. You should have been satisfied. But tell me what you
wanted so much to say?"
"You heard his greeting. Did you imagine that I had told him to come
out?"
"It surprised me."
"Pray let me hear that you thought better of me than to believe it."
"Better? Do you not present yourself as a symbol of friendship? And
friendship is held to condone blunders." She spoke teasingly.
"No, no. I telegraphed--" Suddenly he found it hard to explain why he
had telegraphed. "He had a right to an explanation." The words came
out apologetically.
"And you were the _deus ex machina_. I told you you were a symbol of
friendship."
Coldness was in her voice, and Wareham, reader of hearts, believed he
understood why she was dissatisfied.
"I have offended you. I read it in your eyes when you saw Hugh," he
said dismally.
"Oh, Hugh, Hugh!" She made the exclamation with impatience, and
frowned.
He would have given worlds to ask why, if she were displeased, she did
not dismiss her young lover, but dared not. Then she slowly let drop
four words which set his blood leaping in wild bounds. "You might help
me."
Heavens, what did the words, the look she turned on him, mean?
Reproach, encouragement, were both there. He stood stupidly, stunned by
the delicious shock; conscience faltered, passion rushed to the attack.
This appealing to him, this, as it were, holding out her hand--bliss!--
ecstasy! Conscience panted out desperately, "And Honour?" and, once
having thrust in her word, stood firm.
Wareham felt as if in that minute he had lived a year. When he spoke
his voice was hoarse, his face white.
"I cannot," he said. "It rests with yourself."
She was looking at him, and her face did not change, nor did she speak.
They stood silent, fronting the mountains, and presently Hugh's voice
sounded cheerfully behind them.
"I can't find your parasol, Miss Dalrymple. Mrs Martyn thinks you must
have left it behind."
"Ask her whether it is not her umbrella she wants," had been Mrs
Martyn's exact words, for neither sun nor rain was likely to trouble
them. These he did not repeat. He was sharp enough to guess that he
had been disposed of for a motive, but hugged the thought that it was
merely caprice which had served this purpose. For caprice he was
prepared, resolved that it should not put him out of countenance. An
indefinite presentiment kept Wareham on the watch. It was a nothing,
yet it had fallen on a crucial moment. How would she behave to Hugh?
The next moment, Anne turned, smiling carelessly.
"I am ashamed to have troubled you, and for what seemed an absurdity.
Who wants a parasol at such an hour? It is that I am a baby, and like
something in my hand." Hugh was for starting off again. "No, no, no
more errands. You may sit here and tell me about the Standishs'. When
did you see them? Have they gone abroad? Mary wrote a line to me
before we left England, but she told me nothing of their plans."
"And they knew nothing of yours," stammered Hugh the happy, afraid of
uttering anything which carried the ghost of a reproach. Mary Standish
was to have been their bridesmaid.
Wareham would hear no more. He wheeled round and departed, with not a
word of thanks to cast at conscience, though she had saved him from a
scrape. Going forward, he stood moodily watching the pallor creep over
the vast snowfield which runs along the western side of the fjord, and
from which glaciers like pale ghosts crawl down to the water. At
Fjaerland itself there was a short stoppage, people came on board who
had tramped to the Suphelle glacier, and were enthusiastic over its
beauties to those who had not seen it.
And now, in going back, the glories of the sunset touched each opening
fjord with strange variety of effect and contrast. One had wild and
menacing clouds sweeping on with threat of storm; in another the
mountains lay in indescribable calm against a clear daffodil sky; a
third again was radiant with light, and crowned with floating rosy
clouds. Voices hushed themselves, the ripple of the water grew more
insistent, lovely reflections trembled downwards. By and by a green
promontory was passed, and Balholm stood hospitably alight.
"Nine o'clock," sighed Colonel Martyn, with disconsolate acceptance of
his fate, the high tea which he hated. Meantime the professor had asked
Mrs Martyn--who piqued herself upon her facts--if she knew the number
of square miles covered by the snow-area at which they had been gazing.
She had an impression it was five hundred.
"An impression!" He was scornful. Women's knowledge invariably
consisted of impressions. Mrs Martyn, who liked to be rude herself,
was always crushed by retaliation in the same coin. She escaped, and
clung to Mrs Ravenhill.
"My dear, protect me! That man is a bear. He can never have been used
to any society at all. Everything that I say to him he contradicts
flatly, and comes out with the most disagreeable speeches! I daren't
say a word. He frightens me. And why does he choose me--poor,
inoffensive me?"
Anne, as she walked up from the landing-place, got hold of Millie.
"You are really going to break away to-morrow? I envy you."
"I am sorry," Millie said simply. "There is so much more which I want
to see."