“And wilt thou leave me thus
That hath given thee my heart?-Say
nay! Say nay!”-Sir T. Wyatt.
What in heaven’s name was he to do now?
Touch her he would not; let her know
that he had seen her in all her unhidden beauty he
could not; yet the gurgling and rustling and whispering
between the water and the stones told him that the
tide was racing in, and that what he intended to do
he must do right quickly.
All he wanted to do was to gather
her up in his strong arms, and wakening her with kisses
carry her to safety.
Safety from the sea, safety from the
unknown spell which had been laid upon her, safety
from the horrible future; a safety he felt which could
only be found within the circumference of his arms
folded about her in love.
But instead he looked round for the
garments she must have left somewhere, and seeing
them, stepped quietly across the widening pools and
gathered up the soft, sweet-smelling heap of dainty
raiment; clenching his hands tight upon them to prevent
himself from burying his face in the perfumed delicate
things which he had not the right even to touch.
A little knot of pale pink bébé
ribbon came away in his hand, and he twisted it around
the seaweed ring she had twined about his finger,
then untwisted them both and slipped them into his
pocket, and stooped to pick up something which had
slipped from the garments and tinkled on the rocks.
“Oh, you beauty!” he said
as he held the jewel out in his open hand, and “Oh,
you brute!” he said again is the cat’s-eye
winked cunningly at him with the knowledge of all
ages in its lustrous depths.
Then he went back, crushing his flimsy
burden to his heart; and placing it upon a rock near
the sleeping girl, strode off to the opening of the
little connecting cove, where he stood in the shadows
and called;
“Leonie! Are you there, Leonie?”
Leonie stirred, settled down again
to sleep, and stirred each time the voice rang insistently.
Who knows if love would have brought
her back to consciousness and the immediate necessity
to rise and clothe herself, and flee for safety?
Anyway, the tide decided and sent
a little wave that thoroughly drenched her and brought
her to her knees shivering and bewildered.
“Tide in!”
She glanced round hurriedly and drew her hand across
her eyes.
“Funny!” she said as she
retreated before a wave which surged over the rocks
and swirled up behind her. “But-why-I’ve
nothing on! And my arm!-why, I’m
simply cut to bits. And-and oh!
I’ve been dreaming-and how dark it
is; there must be a storm coming!”
As she spoke she hurriedly flung herself
into her clothes, biting her lips as the lace and
ribbons caught in the horrible gash in her arm, and
was standing waiting for the water to recede before
she jumped, just as a voice as from heaven itself
called.
“Leonie! where are you? Leonie, the tide
is coming in!”
She did not wait, she jumped clear,
stumbling and falling on the other side, ripping her
feet until they bled.
Then she got up and ran blindly, impelled
by terror pursued by the fear of something far more
terrible than death.
“Jan! Jan! help me!”
Without a word he caught her and lifted her, holding
her closely.
Never a word he said as they raced
through from one cove to the other, neither when the
waters buffeted him nor when weeds twined about his
feet, and rocks impeded him.
Swiftly he carried her up the slight
incline and laid her on the grass, took off his coat,
ripped out his shirt sleeve, and tearing it into strips,
bound up the bleeding arm.
Then sitting down beside her he leant
over sideways and picked her up bodily, clear from
the ground into his arms; no mean feat with a toilet
jug full of water, let alone with a hefty maiden weighted
with grief.
He held her in that heavenly, comforting
clasp known and practised by stout old nurses and
some mothers, within which you feel that you can defy
anything, even to the onslaughts of peevish Fortune.
His left arm was under and round her
shoulders, his left hand gently pressed her head against
his breast, his right arm was round her just above
the knees, and he rocked her gently.
Oh! the heavenly, comforting bliss!
History was repeating itself, for
Leonie, with great dry sobs shaking her from head
to feet, was snuffling into Jan Cuxson’s collar
as she had snuffled into his father’s years
ago.
“Beloved!”
Sobs.
Beloved! there is nothing to cry about-nothing! As I am
holding you now, so shall I always hold you, and no
harm can come to you from ocean, tempest or life.
Nothing can hurt you because I love you!”
Sobs.
“Leonie!”
She lay absolutely still, unconsciously
counting the beats of his heart which was thudding
heavily against her right shoulder, and waiting for
the moment when she would find the strength at last
to turn down her “empty glass.”
“Leonie! you’ve got to
listen to me now, and I am not going to ask you to
decide because Fate has decided for you. And
oh! beloved, beloved, thank heaven that there is still
time, that you are still free, that heaven instead
of hell is waiting for you. Yes! dear heart.
Fate has decided!”
He stroked her hair as he looked down
into the little face crushed against his shoulder,
and shifted her a wee bit that she might rest more
comfortably. Leonie closed her eyes and trembled
from head to foot as Fate pinched the decision between
claw-like thumb and finger so that it was stillborn.
“Dear,” continued Jan
Cuxson as he gently patted her shoulder with his left
hand, “dear, oh! my dear, just as I hold you
now, so I shall always hold you. I am going
to keep you, marry you, and take you right away to
India next week; I’ll telegraph that my things
are not to be put on board to-morrow. You must
have a nervous breakdown to-day, you darling,
just to think of that,” and his laugh
rang out against the sullen stillness of the dawn,
“then we will slip away, and get married, and-oh!
Leonie, I love you.”
Leonie said no word, but from her
head to her feet swept a thrill which the man felt
from his feet to his head.
He laughed again, laughed as a god
might laugh with the world in his hand, and crushed
her fiercely to him.
“Beloved! I love you!
love you! love you! And you? Tell me you
love me! Why, you dare not look me in the face
and say no! You love me, dear! You are
part of me; you are bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh!
Sorrow shall not touch you when you are all mine, your
joys shall be my joys! And-beloved,
my children shall be your children!”
With a sudden movement Leonie wrenched
herself from his arms and on to her feet, whilst a
driving cloud surrounded them, and a growl of thunder
came over from Lundy Island way.
“Love you!” cried the
girl. “Yes! I love you, if that is
the right word to describe what it is I have in my
heart for you. No! don’t touch me!
Listen, I would live for you, die for you in
love. Pain through you would be joy, joy through
you would be heaven.”
She clasped her hands to her breast,
then threw them out towards him, palm uppermost, in
a wonderful gesture of passionate surrender, but her
face was terrible to see, with eyes like burned out
fires, and great smears of blood across her mouth
and cheek.
“All that I have for you and
more oh! much more but I
cannot marry you!”
The glass went down with a little
clatter upon the coldest of life’s cold marble
slabs as Jan Cuxson, grasping the girl’s arms,
pulled her roughly towards him.
That he had caught the arm right on
the lacerated wound he had no idea as he stood looking
down into the eyes which were on a level with the
top button, of his coat.
“Beloved! beloved! You
are tired, distraught! You don’t know what
you are saying! You are to go straight home
and sleep, for hours, then come out refreshed
and gloriously happy to meet me where and when you
like! And we will fix everything down to the
very smallest detail, oh! dear heart, think of it!
and this day week we will sail for India!”