Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (47 page)

 
          
“So
did I, but I promised to watch over her, and I must. Which way did they go?”
demanded Rose, wrapping the white mantle about her, and running her eye over
the little boats moored below.

 
          
“You
will follow her?”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“I’ll
be your guide then. They went toward the lighthouse; it is too far to row; I am
at your service. Oh, say yes,” cried
Done
, leaping
into his own skiff and offering his hand persuasively.

 
          
She
hesitated
an instant and looked at him. He was always
pale, and the moonlight seemed to increase this pallor, but his hat brim hid
his eyes, and his voice was very quiet. A loud peal of laughter floated over
the water, and as if the sound decided her, she gave him her hand and entered
the boat.
Done smiled triumphantly as he shook out the sail,
which caught the freshening wind, and sent the boat dancing along a path of
light.

 
          
How
lovely it was! All the indescribable allurements of a perfect summer night
surrounded them: balmy airs, enchanting moonlight, distant music, and, close at
hand, the delicious atmosphere of love, which made itself felt in the eloquent
silences that fell between them. Rose seemed to yield to the subtle charm, and
leaned back on the cushioned seat with her beautiful head uncovered, her face
full of dreamy softness, and her hands lying loosely clasped before her. She
seldom spoke, showed no further anxiety for Belle, and soon seemed to forget
the object of her search, so absorbed was she in some delicious thought which
wrapped her in its peace.

 
          
Done
sat opposite, flushed now, restless, and excited, for his eyes glittered; the
hand on the rudder shook, and his voice sounded intense and passionate, even in
the utterance of the simplest words. He talked continually and with unusual
brilliancy, for, though a man of many accomplishments, he was too indolent or
too fastidious to exert himself, except among his peers. Rose seemed to look
without seeing, to listen without hearing, and though she smiled blissfully,
the smiles were evidently not for him.

 
          
On
they sailed, scarcely heeding the bank of black cloud piled up in the horizon,
the rising wind, or the silence which proved their solitude. Rose moved once or
twice, and lifted her hand as if to speak, but sank back mutely, and the hand
fell again as if it had not energy enough to enforce her wish. A cloud sweeping
over the moon, a distant growl of thunder, and the slight gust that struck the
sail seemed to rouse her. Done was singing now like one inspired, his hat at
his feet, hair in disorder, and a strangely rapturous expression in his eyes,
which were fixed on her. She started, shivered, and seemed to recover herself
with an effort.

 
          
“Where
are they?” she asked, looking vainly for the island heights and the other boat.

 
          
“They
have gone to the beach, I fancy, but we will follow.” As
Done
leaned forward to speak, she saw his face and shrank back with a sudden flush,
for in it she read clearly what she had felt, yet doubted until now. He saw the
telltale blush and gesture, and said impetuously, “You know it now; you cannot
deceive me longer, or daunt me with your pride! Rose, I love you, and dare tell
you so tonight!”

 
          
“Not
now—not here—I will not listen. Turn back, and be silent, I entreat you, Mr.
Done,” she said hurriedly.

 
          
He
laughed a defiant laugh and took her hand in his, which was burning and
throbbing with the rapid heat of his pulse.

 
          
“No,
I will have my answer here, and
now,
and never turn
back till you give it; you have been a thorny Rose, and given me many wounds. I'll
be paid for my heartache with sweet words, tender looks, and frank confessions
of love, for proud as you are,
you
do love me, and
dare not deny it.”

 
          
Something
in his tone terrified her; she snatched her hand away and drew beyond his
reach, trying to speak calmly, and to meet coldly the ardent glances of the
eyes which were strangely darkened and dilated with uncontrollable emotion.

 
          
“You
forget yourself. I shall give no answer to an avowal made in such terms. Take
me home instantly,” she said in a tone of command.

 
          
“Confess
you love me, Rose.”

 
          
“Never!”

 
          
“Ah!
I'll have a kinder answer, or—” Done half rose and put out his hand to grasp
and draw her to him, but the cry she uttered seemed to arrest him with a sort
of shock. He dropped into his seat, passed his hand over his eyes, and shivered
nervously as he muttered in an altered tone, “I meant nothing; it’s the
moonlight; sit down, I'll control myself— upon my soul I will!”

 
          
“If
you do not, I shall go overboard. Are you mad, sir?” cried Rose, trembling with
indignation.

 
          
“Then
I shall follow you, for I am mad, Rose, with love—hashish!”

 
          
His
voice sank to a whisper, but the last word thrilled along her nerves, as no
sound of fear had ever done before. An instant she regarded him with a look
which took in every sign of unnatural excitement,
then
she clasped her hands with an imploring gesture, saying, in a tone of despair,
“Why did I come! How will it end? Oh, Mark, take me home before it is too
late!”

 
          
“Hush!
Be calm; don’t thwart me, or I may get wild again. My thoughts are not clear,
but I understand you. There, take my knife, and if I forget myself, kill me.
Don’t go overboard; you are too beautiful to die, my Rose!”

 
          
He
threw her the slender hunting knife he wore, looked at her a moment with a
far-off look, and trimmed the sail like one moving in a dream. Rose took the
weapon, wrapped her cloak closely about her, and crouching as far away as
possible, kept her eye on him, with a face in which watchful terror contended
with some secret trouble and bewilderment more powerful than her fear.

 
          
The
boat moved round and began to beat up against wind and tide; spray flew from
her bow; the sail bent and strained in the gusts that struck it with perilous
fitfulness. The moon was nearly hidden by scudding clouds, and one-half the sky
was black with the gathering storm. Rose looked from threatening heavens to
treacherous sea, and tried to be ready for any danger, but her calm had been
sadly broken, and she could not recover it. Done sat motionless, uttering no
word of encouragement, though the frequent flaws almost tore the rope from his
hand, and the water often dashed over him.

 
          
“Are
we in any danger?” asked Rose at last, unable to bear the silence, for he
looked like a ghostly helmsman seen by the fitful light, pale now, wild-eyed,
and speechless.

 
          
“Yes,
great danger.”

 
          
“I
thought you were a skillful boatman.”

 
          
“I
am when I am myself; now I am rapidly losing the control of my will, and the
strange quiet is coming over me. If I had been alone I should have given up
sooner, but for your sake I’ve kept on.”

 
          
“Can’t
you work the boat?” asked Rose, terror-struck by the changed tone of his voice,
the slow, uncertain movements of his hands.

 
          
“No.
I see everything through a thick cloud; your voice sounds far away, and my one
desire is to lay my head down and sleep.”

 
          
“Let
me steer—I can, I must!” she cried, springing toward him and laying her hand on
the rudder.

 
          
He
smiled and kissed the little hand, saying dreamily, “You could not hold it a
minute; sit by me, love; let us turn the boat again, and drift away
together—anywhere, anywhere out of the world.”

 
          
“Oh,
heaven, what will become of us!” and Rose wrung her hands in real despair. “Mr.
Done—Mark—dear Mark, rouse
yourself
and listen to me.
Turn, as you say, for it is certain death to go on so. Turn, and let us drift
down to the lighthouse; they will hear and help us. Quick, take down the sail,
get out the oars, and let us try to reach there before the storm breaks.”

 
          
As
Rose spoke, he obeyed her like a dumb animal; love for her was stronger even
than the instinct of self-preservation, and for her sake he fought against the
treacherous lethargy which was swiftly overpowering him. The sail was lowered,
the boat brought round, and with little help from the ill-pulled oars it
drifted rapidly out to sea with the ebbing tide.

 
          
As
she caught her breath after this dangerous maneuver was accomplished, Rose
asked, in a quiet tone she vainly tried to render natural, “How much hashish
did you take?”

 
          
“
All that
Meredith threw me. Too much; but I was possessed to
do it, so I hid the roll and tried it,” he answered, peering at her with a
weird laugh.

 
          
“Let
us talk; our safety lies in keeping awake, and I dare not let you sleep,”
continued Rose, dashing water on her own hot forehead with a sort of
desperation.

 
          
“Say
you love me; that would wake me from my lost sleep, I think. I have hoped and
feared, waited and suffered so long. Be pitiful, and answer, Rose.”

 
          
“I
do; but I should not own it now”

 
          
So
low was the soft reply he scarcely heard it, but he felt it and made a strong
effort to break from the hateful spell that bound him. Leaning forward, he
tried to read her face in a ray of moonlight breaking through the clouds; he
saw a new and tender warmth in it, for all the pride was gone, and no fear
marred the eloquence of those soft, Southern eyes.

 
          
“Kiss
me, Rose,
then
I shall believe it. I feel lost in a
dream, and you, so changed, so
kind,
may be only a
fair phantom. Kiss me, love, and make it real.”

 
          
As
if swayed by a power more potent than her will, Rose bent to meet his lips. But
the ardent pressure seemed to startle her from a momentary oblivion of
everything but love. She covered up her face and sank down, as if overwhelmed
with shame, sobbing through passionate tears, “Oh, what am I doing? I am mad,
for
I
, too, have taken hashish.”

 
          
What
he answered she never heard, for a rattling peal of thunder drowned his voice,
and then the storm broke loose. Rain fell in torrents, the wind blew fiercely,
sky and sea were black as ink, and the boat tossed from wave to wave almost at
their mercy. Giving herself up for
lost,
Rose crept to
her lover’s side and clung there, conscious only that they would bide together
through the perils their own folly brought them. Done’s excitement was quite
gone now; he sat like a statue, shielding the frail creature whom he loved with
a smile on his face, which looked awfully emotionless when the lightning gave
her glimpses of its white immobility. Drenched, exhausted, and half senseless
with danger, fear, and exposure, Rose saw at last a welcome glimmer through the
gloom, and roused herself to cry for help.

 
          
“Mark,
wake and help me! Shout, for God’s sake—shout and call them, for we are lost if
we drift by!” she cried, lifting his head from his breast, and forcing him to
see the brilliant beacons streaming far across the troubled water.

 
          
He
understood her, and springing up, uttered shout after shout like one demented.
Fortunately, the storm had lulled a little; the lighthouse keeper heard and
answered. Rose seized the helm,
Done
the oars, and
with one frantic effort guided the boat into quieter waters, where it was met
by the keeper, who towed it to the rocky nook which served as harbor.

 
          
The
moment a strong, steady face met her eyes, and a gruff, cheery voice hailed
her, Rose gave way, and was carried up to the house, looking more like a
beautiful drowned Ophelia than a living woman.