Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (25 page)

 
          
“Did
you invent this hanging garden and make this wilderness blossom?” asked
Southesk.
trying
the while to understand the lights
and shadows that made her face as changeful as an April sky.

 
          
“Yes;
1
did it, and spend half my time here, lor here I escape seeing people
on the beach, and so forget them.”

 
          
A
little sigh followed, and her eyes turned wistfully to the dark rift, that gave
her but a glimpse of the outer world.

 
          
“You
can scarcely see the beach, much less the people on it, I should think,” said
Southesk, wondering what she meant.

 
          
“I
can see well with the telescope from the tower, and often watch the people on
the shore — they look so gay and pretty.

 
          
“Then,
w hy wish to forget them?”

 
          
“Because
since they came it is
more lonely
than before.”

           
“Do you never visit the mainland?
Have you no friends or companions to enliven your solitude?”

 
          
“No.”

 
          
Something
in the tone in which the monosyllable was uttered checked further inquiries,
and prompted him to say smilingly:

 
          
“Now
it is your turn; ask what you will.”

 
          
But
Ariel drew back, answering with an air of demure propriety that surprised him
more than her self-possession or her rebuke.

 
          
“No,
thank you, it is ill-bred to question strangers.”

 
          
Southesk
colored at the satirical glance she gave him, and rising, he made his most
courtly bow, saying, with a pleasant mixture of candor and contrition:

 
          
“Again
I beg pardon for my rudeness. Coming so suddenly upon a spirit singing to
itself between sea and sky, I forgot myself, and fancied the world’s ways out
of place. Now I see my mistake, and though it spoils the romance, I will call
you Miss March, and respectfully take my leave.”

 
          
The
silvery laugh broke in on the last sentence, and in her simplest manner Ariel
replied:

 
          
“No,
don’t call me that nor go away, unless you are quite out of pain. I like your
rudeness better than your politeness, for it made you seem like a pleasant boy,
and now you are nothing but a fine gentleman.”

 
          
Both
amused and relieved by her reply, he answered, half in jest, half in earnest,

 
          
“Then,
I’ll be a boy again, and tell you who I am, as you are too well bred to ask,
and it is but proper to introduce myself. Philip Southesk by name, gentleman by
birth, poet by profession; but I don’t deserve the title, though certain
friendly persons do me the honor to praise a few verses I once wrote. Stay, I
forgot two things that ladies usually take an interest in.
Fortune
ample — age four- and-twenty.”

 
          
“You
did not ask me either of these two questions,” said Ariel, with a flicker of
merriment in her eves, as she glanced up rather shyly at the would-be boy, who
now stood straight and tall before her.

           
“No; even in the midst of my delusion
I remembered that one never ventures to put the last of those questions to a
woman — the first I cared nothing about.”

 
          
“I
like that,” said the girl in her quick way, adding frankly, “I am poor, and
seventeen.”

 
          
She
half rose as she spoke, but hastily sat down again, recollecting her bare feet.
The change of color, and an anxious look toward a pair of little shoes that lay
near by, suggested to Southesk a speedy withdrawal, and, turning toward the
half-hidden ladder, he said, lingering in the act of going:

 
          
“Good-by;
may I come again, if I come properly, and do not stay too long? Poets are
privileged persons, you know, and this is a
poets
paradise.”

 
          
She
looked pleased, yet troubled, and answered reluctantlv:

 
          
“You
are very kind to say so, but I cannot ask vou to come again, for father would
be displeased, and it is best for me to go on as before.”

 
          
“But
why hide yourself here? Whv not enjoy the pleasures fitting for your age,
instead of watching them afar off, and vainly longing for them?” exclaimed
Southesk, impetuously, for the eloquent eves betrayed what the tongue would not
confess.

 
          
“I
cannot tell you.”

 
          
As
she spoke her head was bowed upon her hands, her abundant hair veiled her face,
and as it fell the little chaplet of shells dropped at Southesk’s feet.

 
          
“Forgive
me; I have no right to question you, and will not disturb your solitude again,
unless your father is willing. But give me some token to prove that I have
really visited an enchanted island, and heard Ariel sing. I returned the
comb,
may I have this in exchange?”

 
          
He
spoke playfully, hoping to win a smile of pardon for his last trespass. She
looked up quite calm again, and freely gave him the chain of shells for which
he asked. Then he sprang up the precipitous path, and went his way, but his
parting glance showed him the fair face still wistfully watching him from the
green gloom of Ariel’s nest.

 
          
In
the lower room of the lighthouse sat three persons, each apparently busy w ith
his own
thoughts, vet each covertly watching the others.
Ralph March, a stern, dark-browed, melancholylooking man, leaned back in his
chair, with one hand above his eyes, which were fixed on Ariel, who sat near
the narrow window cut in the thick wall, often gazing out upon the sea, glowing
with the gold and purple of a sunset sky, but oftener stealing a glance toward
her father, as if she longed to speak vet dared not. The third occupant of the
room was a rough, sturdy-looking man, whose age it was hard to discover, for an
unsightly hump disfigured his broad shoulders, and a massive head w
^r
as
set upon a stunted body. Shaggy-haired, tawny-bearded and bronzed by wind and
weather he was a striking, not a pitiful figure, for his herculean strength was
visible at a glance, and a somewhat defiant expression seemed to repel
compassion and command respect. Sitting in the doorway, he appeared to be
intent on mending a torn net, but his keen eve went stealthily from father to
daughter, as if trying to read their faces. The long silence that had filled the
room was broken by March’s deep voice, saying suddenly, as he dropped his hand
and turned to Ariel:

 
          
“Are
you sick or sad,
child, that
you sigh so heavily?”

 
          
“I’m
lonely, father.”

 
          
Something
in the plaintive tone and drooping figure touched March’s heart, and, drawing
the girl to his knee, he looked into her face with a tender anxiety that
softened and beautified his owm.

 
          
“What
can I do for you, dear? Where shall I take you to make you forget your
loneliness? — or whom shall I bring here to enliven you?”

 
          
Her
eyes woke and her lips parted eagerlv, as if a wish was readv, but some fear
restrained its utterance, and, half averting her face, she answered meeklv:

 
          
“I
ought to be contented with you, and I try to be, but sometimes I long to do as
others do, and enjoy my youth while it lasts. If you liked to mingle with
people I should love to try it; as you do not, I’ll endeavor to be happy where
I am.”

 
          
“Poor
child, it is but natural, and
I
am selfish to make a recluse of you, because I hate the world. Shall we leave
the island and begin our wandering life again?”

 
          
“Oh,
no; I like the island now, and could be quite contented if I had a young
companion. I never have had, and did not know how pleasant it was until two
days ago.”

 
          
Her
eyes turned toward the open door, through which the Gull’s Perch was visible,
with the chasm yawning near it, and again she sighed. March saw where she
looked; a frown began to gather, but some gentler emotion checked his anger,
and with a sudden smile he said, stroking her smooth cheek:

 
          
“Now
I know the wish you would not tell, the cause of your daily w atch from the
tower, and the secret of these frequent sighs. Silly child, you want young
Southesk to return, yet dare not ask me to permit it.”

 
          
Ariel
turned her face freely to his, and leaning confidingly upon his shoulder,
answered with the frankness he had taught her.

 
          
“I
do wish he’d come again, and I think I deserve some reward for telling vou all
that happened, for bidding him go away, and for being so careful what I said.”

 
          
“Hard
tasks, I know, especially the last, for such an open creature is my girl. Well,
you shall be rewarded, and if he come again you iav see him, and so will I.”

           
“Oh, thank vou,
father,
that
is so kind. Hut you look as if you thought he would not come.”

 
          
“I
am afraid he has already forgotten all about the lonely island and the little
bare-footed maiden he saw on it. Young men’s memories are treacherous things,
and curiosity once gratified, soon dies.”

 
          
But
Ariel shook her head, as if refusing to accept the ungracious thought, and
surprised her father by the knowledge of human nature which she seemed to have
learned
bv
instinct, for she answered gravely, yet
hopefully:

 
          
“I
think he
will
come, simply because I forbade it. 1 le is a poet, and
cares for things that have no charm for other men. He liked my nest, he liked
to hear me sing, and his curiosity was not gratified, because I only told
enough to make him eager for more. I
have a
feeling
that he will come again, to find that the island is not always lonely, nor the
girl always barefooted.”

 
          
Her
old blithe laugh broke out again as she glanced from the little mirror that
reflected the glossy waves of her hair, bound with a band of rosy coral, to the
well-shod feet that peeped from below the white hem of her gown. Her father
watched her fondly, as she swept him a stately curtsey, looking so gav and
lovely that he could not but smile and hope her wish might be granted.

 
          
“Little
vanity,” he said, “who taught you to make yourself so bonny, and where did you
learn these airs and graces? Not from Stern or me, I fancy.”

 
          
“Ah,
1
have not looked through the telescope and watched the fine ladies in
vain, it seems, since you observe the change. I study fashion and manners at a
disadvantage, but I am an apt scholar, I find. Now I’m going up to watch and
wait for my reward.”

 
          
As
she ran up the winding-stairs that led to the great lantern, and the circular
balcony that hung outside, Stern said, with the freedom of one privileged to
speak his mind:

 
          
“The
girl is right; the boy will come again, and mischief will grow out of it.”

 
          
“What
mischief?” demanded
March.

 
          
“Do
you suppose he can see her often and not love her?” returned Stern, almost
angrily.

 
          
“Let
him love her.”

 
          
“Do
you mean it? After hiding her so carcfullv, will you let her be won by this
romantic boy, if his fancy last? You are making a false step, and you’ll repent
of it.”

 
          
“I
have alreadv made a false step, and I do repent of it; but it’s not this one. I
have tried to keep Ariel a child, and she was happy until she became a woman.
Now the old simple life is not enough for her, and her heart craves its right.
I live only for her, and if her happiness demands the sacrifice of the
seclusion I love, I shall make it — shall welcome anyone w ho can give her
pleasure, and promote any scheme that spares her from the melancholy that
curses me.”

 
          
“Then
you are resolved to let this young man come if he choose, and allow her to love
him, as she most assuredly will?”

 
          
“Yes,
chance brought him here at first, and if inclination brings him again let it be
so. I have made inquiries concerning him, and am satisfied. He is Ariel’s equal
in birth, is fitted to make her happy, and has already wakened an unusual
interest in her mind. Sooner or later I must leave her; she is alone in the
world, and to whom can I confide her
so
safely as to a
husband.”

 
          
A
dark flush had passed over Sterns face as he listened, and more than once
impetuous words seemed to have risen to his lips, to be restrained by set teeth
and an emotion of despair.

 
          
March
saw this, and it seemed to confirm his purpose, though he made no comment on
it, and abruptly closed the conversation; for, as Stern began —

 
          
“I
warn you, sir — ” he interrupted him, saying with decision: “No more of this; I
have had other warnings than yours, and must listen to them, for the time is
not far distant w hen 1 must leave the child alone, unless
1
give her a
guardian soon. Wild as my plan may seem, it is far safer than to take her into
the world, for here l can observe this young man, and shape her future as I
will. You mean kindly, Stern, but you cannot judge for me nor understand my
girl as I do. Now, leave me, I must go and rest.”

 
          
Stern’s
black eves glowed with an ireful spark, and he clenched his strong hands as if
to force himself to silence, as he went without a word, while March passed into
an inner room, with the melancholy expression deeper than ever on his face.

 
          
For
a few moments the deserted room was silent and solitary, but presently a long
shadow fell athwart the sunny floor, and Southesk stood in the open doorway, w
ith a portfolio and a carefully folded parcel underneath his arm. Pausing to
look about him for someone to address, the sound of Ariel’s voice reached his
ear, and, as if no other welcome were needed, he followed it as eagerh as
before. Stealing up the steep stairs, he came into the many- windowed tower,
and on the balcony saw Ariel straining her eyes through a telescope, which was
pointed toward the beach he had left an hour ago. As he lingered, uncertain how
to accost her, she dropped the glass, exclaiming with a sigh of weariness and
disappointment:

 
          
“No,
he is not there!” In the act she turned, saw him, and uttered a little cry of
delight, while her face brightened beautifully as she sprang forward, offering
her hand with a gesture as graceful as impulsive, saying joyfully —

 
          
“I
knew you would come again!”

 
          
Well
pleased at such a cordial welcome, he took the hand, and still holding it,
asked in that persuasive voice of his —

 
          
“For
whom were you looking, Ariel?”

 
          
She
colored, and turned her traitorous eyes away, yet answered with an expression
of merry mischief that was very charming —

 
          
“I
looked for Ferdinand!”

 
          
“And
here he is,” replied Southesk, laughing at her girlish evasion. “Though you
forbade my return, I was obliged to break my promise, because I unconsciously
incurred a debt which I wish to discharge. When I asked you for those pretty
shells I did not observe that they were strung on a little gold chain, and
afterward it troubled me to think I had taken a gift of value. Much as I want
to keep it, I shall not like to do so unless you will let me make some return
for that, and for the hospitality you showed me. May I offer you this, with
many thanks?”

 
          
While
speaking rapidly, he had undone the parcel, and put into her hands a beautiful
volume of Shakespeare, daintily bound, richly illustrated, and bearing on the
fly-leaf a graceful little poem to herself.
So touched and
delighted was she that she stood silent, reading the musical lines, glancing at
the pictured pages, and trying to summon words expressive enough to convey her
thanks.
None came that suited her, but her eyes filled, and she
exclaimed with
a grateful
warmth that well repaid the
giver.

 
          
“It
is too beautiful for me, and you are too kind! How did you know I wanted a new
book, and would have chosen one like this?”

 
          
“I
am glad I guessed so well, and now consider the mermaid’s rosary my own. But
tell me, did you ask if I might come again, or did you leave it to me?”

 
          
“I
tell my father everything, and when 1 spoke of you again today, much to my
surprise, he said you might come if you chose. Hut he added that you’d probably
forgotten all about the island
bv
this time.”

 
          
“And
you knew I had not — thank you for that. No; so far from forgetting, I’ve
dreamed about it ever since, and should have returned before had not my arm
been too lame for rowing, and I would not bring any intruder but myself. I want
to sketch your nest, for some day it will get into verse, and I wish to keep it
fresh before me. May I?”