Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (29 page)

 
          
“She
has gone into the cave for the weeds and shells you used to like. I’ll wait for
you; there is no need of me now.”

 
          
Again
Southesk listened; again he heard the voice, and followed it without a thought
of fear; while Stern, seating himself on one of the fragments of rock cleared
from the nest, leaned his head despondently upon his hand, as if his work was
done.

 
          
The
cave, worn by the ceaseless action of the waves at high tide, wound tortuously
through the cliff to a lesser opening on the other side. Glancing rapidly into the
damp nooks on either hand, Southesk hurried through this winding passage, which
grew lower, narrower and darker toward the end, yet Ariel did not appear, and,
standing still, he called her. Echo after echo caught up the word, and sent it
whispering to and fro, but no human voice replied, though still the song came
fitfully on the wind that blew coldly through the cave.

 
          
“She
has ventured on to watch the waves boil in the Kelpie’s Cauldron. Imprudent
child, I’ll punish her with a kiss,” thought Southesk, smiling to
himself
, as he bent his tall head and groped his way toward
the opening. He reached it, and looked down upon a mass of jagged rocks, over
and among which the great billows dashed turbulent and dark with the
approaching storm.
Still no Ariel; and as he stood, more
clearly than ever sounded her voice, above him now.

 
          
“She
has not been here, but has climbed the Gull’s Perch to watch the sky as we used
to do. I have wasted all this time. Curse Stern’s stupidity!”

 
          
In
a fever of impatience he retraced his steps, stopping suddenly as his feet
encountered a pool which had not been there when he came.

 
          
“Ah!
the
tide is nearer in than I thought. Thank heaven, my
darling is not here!” he said, and hurried round a sharp corner, expecting to
see the entrance before him. It was not there! A ponderous stone had been
rolled against it, effectually closing it, and permitting only a faint ray of
light to penetrate this living tomb. At first he stood panic-stricken at the
horrible death that confronted him; then he thought of Stern, and in a paroxysm
of wrath dashed himself against the rock, hoping to force it outward. But
Stern’s immense strength had served him well; and while his victim struggled
vainly, wave after wave broke against the stone, wedging it more firmly still,
yet leaving crevices enough for the bitter waters to flow in, bringing sure
death to the doomed man, unless help came speedily from without. Not till the
rapidly advancing tide drove him back did Southesk desist; then drenched,
breathless and bruised he retreated to the lesser opening, with a faint hope of
escape that way. Leaning over the Cauldron, he saw that the cliff sunk sheer
down, and well he knew that a leap there would be fatal. As far up as he could
see, the face of the cliff offered foothold for nothing but a bird. He shouted
till the cave rang, but no answer came, though Ariel’s song began again, for
the same wind that brought her voice to him bore his away from her. There was
no hope unless Stern relented, and being human, he might have, had he seen the
dumb despair that seized his rival as
he
lav waiting
for death, while far above him the woman he loved unconsciously chanted a song
he had taught her, little dreaming it would be his dirge.

 
          
Left
alone, Helen entered the lighthouse, and looked about her with renewed
interest. The room was empty, but through a halfopen door she saw a man sitting
at a table covered with papers. 1 le seemed to have been writing, but the pen
had dropped from his hand, and leaning back in his deep chair he appeared to be
asleep. His face was turned from her; yet when she advanced, he did not hear
her, and when she spoke, he neither stirred nor answered. Something in the
attitude and silence of the unknown man alarmed her; involuntarily she stepped
forward and laid her hand on his. It was icy cold, and the face she saw had no
life in it. Tranquil and reposeful, as if death had brought neither pain nor
fear, he lay there with his dead hand on the paper, which some irresistible
impulse had prompted him to write. Helen’s eye fell on it, and despite the
shock of this discovery, a single name made her seize the letter and devour its
contents, though she trembled at the act and the solemn witness of it.

 
          
“To
Philip Southesk:

 
          
“Feeling
that mv end is verv near, and haunted by a presentiment that it will be sudden
— perhaps solitary — I am prompted to write what 1 hope to sav to you if time
is given me to reach you. I hirty years ago your father was mv dearest friend,
but we loved the same beautiful woman and he won her, unfairly 1 believed and
in the passionate disappointment of the moment 1 swore und\ ing hatred to him
and his. We parted and never met again, for the next tidings I received were of
his death. I left the country and was an alien for years; thus I heard no rumor
of your birth and never dreamed that you were Richard Marston’s son till I
learned it through Ariel. Her mother, like yours, died at her birth. I reared
her with jealous care, for she was my all, and I loved her with the intensity
of a lonely heart; you came; I found that you could make her happy. I knew that
my life was drawing to a close; I trusted you and I gave her up. Then I learned
your name, and at the cost of breaking my child’s heart I kept my sinful oath.
For a year you have followed me with unwearied patience; for a year Ariel’s
fading youth has pleaded silently, and for a year I have been struggling to
harden myself against both. But love has conquered hate, and standing in the
shadow of death I see the sin and folly of the past. I repent and retract my
oath,

 
          
I
absolve Ariel from the promise I exacted, I freely give her to the man she
loves, and
may
God deal with him as he deals with her.

RALPH MARCH, JUNE
----- ”

 
          
There
the pen had fallen, blotting the date; but Helen saw only the last two lines
and her hand closed tighter on the paper as if she felt that it would be
impossible to give it up. Forgetting everything but that she held her rivals
fate in her grasp, she yielded to the terrible temptation, and thrusting the
paper into her bosom glided away like a guilty creature to find Southesk and
prevent him from discovering that the girl lived, if it was not too late. He
was nowhere to be seen, and crossing the rude bridge that spanned the chasm she
ventured to call him as she passed, round the base of the tall rock named the
Gull’s Perch. A soft voice answered her, and turning a sharp angle she came
upon a woman who sat alone looking down into the Kelpie’s Cauldron that foamed
far below. She had half risen with a startled look at the sound of a familiar
name, and as Helen paused to recover herself, Ariel asked half imploringly,
half imperiously,

 
          
“Why
do you call Philip? Tell me, is he here?” But for the paper in her breast Helen
would have answered no, and trusted all to chance; now, feeling sure that the
girl would keep her promise more faithfully than her father had kept his oath,
unless he absolved her from it, she answered:

 
          
“Yes,
but I implore you to shun him. I Ie
thinks
you dead;
he has learned to love me, and is happy. Do not destroy my hope, and rob me of
my hard-won prize, for you cannot reward him unless you break the solemn
promise you have given.”

 
          
Ariel
covered up her face, as if confessing the hard truth, but love clamored to be
heard, and, stretching her hands to Helen, she cried:

 
          
“I
will not come between you; I will keep my word; but let me see him once, and I
will ask no more. Where is he? I can steal a look at him unseen; then you may
take him away for ever, if it must be so.”

 
          
Trying
to silence the upbraidings of her conscience, and thinking only of her purpose,
Helen could not refuse this passionate prayer, and, pointing toward the chasm,
she said anxiously:

 
          
“He
went to the place you made so dear to him, but I do not see him now, nor does
he answer w hen I call. Can he have fallen down that precipice?”

 
          
Ariel
did not answer, for she was at the chasm’s brink, looking into its gloom with
eyes that no darkness could deceive. No one w as
there,
and no sound answered the soft call that broke from her lips, but the dash of w
ater far below. Glancing tow ard the basin, with a sudden recollection of the
precious book left there, she saw, with wonder, that the stone w here she had
sat
was
gone, and that the cavern’s mouth was closed. Stern’s hat lav
near her, and as her eve fell on it, a sudden horror shook her, for he had left
her, meaning to return, yet had not come, and was now here to be seen.

 
          
“Have
you seen Stern?” she asked, grasping Helen’s arm, with a face of pale dismay.

 
          
“I
saw him climbing the ladder, as if he was going to bind up his hands, which
were bleeding. He looked wet and wild, and, as he did not see me, I did not
speak. Why do you ask?”

 
          
“Because
I fear he has shut Philip in the cave, where the rising tide will drown him. It
is too horrible to believe; I must be sure.”

 
          
Back
she flew to the seat she had left, and flinging herself
dow
n on the edge of the sloping cliff, she called his name till she was hoarse and
trembling with the effort. Once a faint noise seemed to answ er, but the wind
swept the sound away, and I lelen vainly strained her ear to eatch some
syllable of the reply. Suddenly Ariel sprung up, with a cry:

 
          
“He
is there! I see the flutter of his handkerchief! Help me, and we will save
him.”

 
          
She
was gone as she spoke, and before Helen could divine her purpose or steady her
own nerves, Ariel was back again, dragging the rope ladder, which she threw
down, and began to tear up the plaid on which she had been sitting.

 
          
“It
is too short, and even these strips will not make it long enough. What can I
give to help?” cried Helen, glancing at the frail silks and muslins which
composed her dress.

 
          
“You
can give nothing, and there is not time to go for help. I shall lengthen it in
this way.”

 
          
Tying
back the hair that blew about her face, and gathering the rope on her arm,
Ariel slid over the edge of the cliff, and unstartled by Helen’s cry of alarm,
climbed with wary feet along a perilous path, where one mis-step would be her
last. Half way down a ledge appeared where a tree had once grown; the pine was
blasted and shattered now, but the roots held fast, and to these Ariel hung the
ladder, with a stone fastened to the lower end to keep the wind from blowing it
beyond the opening. Straight as a plummet it fell, and for a moment neither woman
breathed; then a cry broke from both, for the ropes tightened, as if a hand
tried the strength of that frail road. Another pause of terrible suspense, and
out from the dark cave below came a man, who climbed swiftly upward, regardless
of the gale that nearly tore the ladder from his hold, the hungry sea that wet
him with its spray, the yielding roots that hardly bore his weight, or the
wounded hands that marked his way with blood, for his eyes were fixed on Ariel,
and on his face, white with the approach of a cruel death, shone an expression
brighter than a smile, as he neared the brave girl who lent all her strength to
save him, with one arm about the tree, the other clutching the ladder as if she
defied all danger to herself.

 
          
Kneeling
on the cliff above, Helen saw all this, and when Southesk stood upon the ledge,
with Ariel gathered to the shelter of his arms, her heart turned traitor to her
will, remorse made justice possible, love longed to ennoble itself by
sacrifice, and all that was true and tender in her nature pleaded for the rival
who had earned happiness at such a cost. One sharp pang, one moment of utter
despair, followed by utter self-forgetfulness, and Helen’s temptation became a
triumph that atoned for an hour’s suffering and sin.

 
          
What
went on below her she never knew, but when the lovers came to her, spent yet
smiling, she gave the paper to Southesk, and laid her hand on Ariel’s head with
a gesture soft and solemn, as she said, wearing an expression that made her
fine face strangely beautiful: