AN UNQUIET, ADVENTUROUS MORNING IN THE SHELL-CAVE
“I think,” said Jeff Benson
one fine morning, as he got up and stretched himself,
“that I feel well enough to-day to get down to
the shore without assistance. You know, auntie,
I shall never be able to walk alone if I give way
to laziness, and lean so much on others. I’m
like the babies now, and must be encouraged to try
it on my own hook.”
He looked at Miss Millet with a half-pitiful
smile, for there was something woefully true in his
words, and his good little nurse found it necessary
to go in search of the household keys for a minute
or so before answering.
“Well, Jeff, perhaps you are
right and the day is splendid sunny, calm,
and warm so you won’t be likely to
catch cold. Only don’t go far, for you
might become tired out. So, promise that you
won’t go far, and then I will let you go.”
Jeff promised; but of course he did
not do exactly as his nurse wished, for, in such circumstances,
the word “far” has a wonderfully varied
significance. At first, leaning on his stick
and pausing frequently to recover strength, he made
his way to the shore; but when there, the invigorating
air and the exhilarating sound of ripples on the sand,
and a rest on the rocks, made him feel so much better,
that he thought he might walk the length of the shell-cave
without breaking his promise.
He tried, and succeeded, but was so
fatigued, when at length he threw himself on the soft
sand at the cave’s mouth, that he felt uneasy
about getting home again.
The shell-cave was a favourite nook
in a lonely part of the cliffs, which Jeff had been
wont to frequent in his coastguard days, especially
at that particular time when he seemed to expect the
revival of the smuggling traffic near Miss Millet’s
cottage. He had frequently spoken of it to Rose
as a beautiful spot where innumerable sea-shells were
to be found, and had once taken her to see it.
It was, as we have said, a lonely
spot, far removed from the fishing town, and was sought
out by Jeff because he did not yet feel strong enough
to hold much intercourse with his friends and former
mates none of whom had seen him since his
illness began. But the poor invalid was doomed
to several interruptions that day.
The first comer was his comrade Wilson,
of the coastguard, whose place he had taken on the
eventful night of the wreck. On rounding the
point of rock, and coming suddenly on our hero, that
worthy was struck dumb and motionless for at least
a minute, while his eyes gradually opened wide with
surprise, and his mouth partially followed suit.
“Not Jeff Benson!” said
Wilson at last, in quite a solemn tone.
“What’s left of him,” answered Jeff,
with a faint smile.
“An’ it ain’t much!”
returned Wilson, with a kind of gasp, as he approached
softly.
“Not much more than the bones
an’ clothes,” said Jeff, with a laugh at
his friend’s expression; “also,”
he added more seriously, “a good deal of the
spirit, thank God. How are all the lads, Wilson?”
The man tried to answer, but could
not. The sight of his old stalwart chum so reduced
was too much for him. He could only go down on
one knee, and take the thin large hand in his.
Seeing this, Jeff returned his squeeze, and relieved
him by saying
“You can beat me now, Wilson,
but I could squeeze till I made you howl once, and
mayhap I’ll do it again who knows?
But you must not think me unkind if I ask you to
leave me, Wilson. The Doctor is always insisting
that I must keep quiet; so, good-day to you, my boy,
an’ remember me kindly to my comrades.”
The next visitor, who appeared half
an hour later, was the terrier dog of the station.
Bounce belonged, of right, to David Bowers, but, being
amiable, it acknowledged the part-ownership of all
the men. On suddenly beholding Jeff, it rushed
at him with a mingled bark and squeal of joy, and
thereafter, for full two minutes, danced round him,
a mass of wriggling hair from tip of tail to snout,
in uncontrollable ecstasy. Mingled misery and
surprise at Jeff’s sudden and unaccountable
disappearance, prolonged agonies of disappointed expectation,
the sickness of heart resulting from hope long deferred,
all were forgotten in that supreme moment of joy at
reunion with his long-lost human friend!
Jeff had to rise and sit down on a
shelf of rock to escape some of Bounce’s overwhelming
affection. Presently Bounce’s owner appeared,
and went through something of a similar performance humanised,
however, and with more of dignity.
“I can’t tell ’ee
how glad I am to see you again, Jeff,” said Bowers,
sitting down beside him, and grasping his hand.
“But oh, man, how thin ”
The huge coastguardsman choked at
this point, as Wilson had done before him; but, being
more ready of resource, he turned it into a cough,
and declared, sternly, that night-work must have given
him a cold, or “suthin’ o’ that
sort.” After which he made a great demonstration
of clearing his throat and blowing his nose.
“But you’ll soon be yours at
least, somethin’ like your old self, before
long, Jeff. The doctor told us that, the last
time he was at the station.”
“If God wills,” returned
Jeff, softly; “I am in His hands, and willing
to be what He chooses. You remember, David, the
talk we once had about Miss Millet’s argument,
that God brings good out of evil. I didn’t
believe it then; I believe it now. I’ve
bin to school since I last saw you, David, and I’ve
learned a good lesson, for I can say from my heart
it has been good for me that I was afflicted.”
Bowers did not reply, but looked at
his friend with an expression of puzzled surprise.
“Yes,” continued Jeff,
with rising enthusiasm; “I have lost my health
the doctor thinks permanently. I’ve lost
the strength that I used to be so proud of, and with
it the hope of being able to make a living in any
active line of life; and I’ve lost much more
besides. But what I have found in my Saviour
far more than makes up for it all.”
In the “much more besides,”
poor Jeff mentally referred to his loss of all hope
of ever gaining the hand of Rose Millet; for if his
chance seemed small before, how immeasurably was it
reduced now that his health was shattered, and his
power even of supporting himself gone. No; he
felt that that door was closed that he must
avoid the girl as much as possible in future; and,
above all, be particularly careful not to fall in
love with her. Of course, it was only a passing
fancy as yet, and, like fruit, would never ripen unless
the sun shone. He would avoid the sunshine!
Meanwhile, of all these rapidly fleeting thoughts,
he said never a word to his friend David Bowers, but
after a little more conversation, begged him also
to go away and let him rest.
All very good, friend Jeff; but what
if the sun should shine in spite of you?
Just about that time, in the course
of his eager and somewhat erratic wanderings among
solicitors and other men of business, Captain Millet
made a sudden pause, and, by way of taking breath,
rushed down to Folkestone, brought Rose up to Cranby,
hired a dog-cart, and drove along the sands at low
tide, in the direction of his sister’s cottage.
“I think it probable that you
may see him today, Rosebud,” he said, “though
I’m not quite sure, for the doctor is afraid
of a relapse, and friends are not yet allowed to visit
him. To be sure bein’ only a little girl,
you probably wouldn’t disturb him at all ’specially
if you didn’t speak. Anyhow, you’ll
see auntie, which will be more to the purpose.”
“Father,” said Rose, whose
name seemed remarkably appropriate at that moment,
“I should like to get down here, and walk the
rest of the way. By the time I arrive, you’ll
have had a little talk with poor Jeff and auntie.
Besides, there is a pretty cave that I used to gather
shells in when I was last here. I would like
so much to pay it a visit in passing.”
Of course the captain had no objection,
and thus it came to pass that Jeff’s fourth
visitor on that unquiet morning was the Rosebud!
How feeble are written words to convey
ideas at times! If you could have obtained one
glance of Rose and Jeff at that moment, reader, words
would not be required. No peony ever blushed
like that Rose to say nothing of the blank
amazement in those wide blue eyes. Jeff, still
seated on the rock, became petrified.
Recovering first, as women always
do, Rose hurried forward with “I’m
so glad, Mr –,” but
there she stopped abruptly, for the unexpected sight
of that stalwart coastguardsman, reduced to a big skeleton
with pale face, hollow cheeks, cavernous eyes, and
an old-man stoop, was too much for her. She
covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
What could Jeff do? He forgot
his prudent resolves. He forgot his weakness
because his strength seemed to have suddenly returned.
He sprang up, intending to comfort the poor girl
in a brotherly sort of way. Somehow he
never could clearly remember how he had
her seated on the rock beside him, with his arm round
her waist and her head on his shoulder.
A few moments later he
never could tell how many the wickedness
of his conduct came down upon Jeff like a thunderbolt.
He removed his arm, drew away from her about three
inches, and looked in her surprised face with a solemn,
self-condemned expression.
“Forgive me, Rose,” he
said, in the deep, hollow voice which had become natural
to him since his illness began; “my love for
you proved too strong to be restrained just now:
but believe me, I had fully made up my mind never
to open my lips to you on the subject; for what right
have I, a helpless, and, I fear, hopeless, invalid,
to dare to aspire ”
There must have been something peculiar
in the very slight, almost pathetic, smile which overspread
the tearful face of Rose at that moment: for
the arm was suddenly replaced, the three inches were
reduced to nothing, the fair head again rested on
the once stalwart shoulder, and thus they remained
until the cavern was filled with the sounds:
“Hi! Ho! Hallo!
Rose Rosebud ahoy! That girl would
worry any man to death! Where are you?
Hi! Ship ahoy! Hallo-o-o!”
We need scarcely remark that Rose
did not wait for the last stentorian halloo!
Bounding from her lover’s side, she ran to meet
her father red at first and then pale exclaiming,
“Oh! father I’ve found him!”
“Found who, child?”
“Jeff I mean Mister ”
“Not dead?” exclaimed the Captain, interrupting
with awful solemnity.
He was answered by the invalid himself
coming out of the cavern, and wishing him good-morning
with a confused and guilty air.
“Well now,” said Captain
Millet after a moment’s pause, while he glanced
from the one to the other, “this beats the polar
regions all to sticks and stivers. Rose, my
dear, you go round the p’int, an’ wait
by the dog-cart till I come to ’ee.”
“So, young man,” he said,
turning sternly to Jeff, “you’ve bin cruisin’
after my little girl without leave.”
“I am guilty, Captain Millet,”
said Jeff humbly, “but not intentionally so.
Long ago, when I learned that there was no hope of
recovering my old strength, I had determined to give
up all thoughts of dear Rose; but I was taken by surprise
this morning was off my guard and,
I confess, wickedly took advantage of my opportunity
to tell her how dearly I loved her. Yet it was
done under a sudden, irresistible impulse. I
do not excuse myself. I would give worlds to
undo the evil I may have done. But after all
it may be undone. Rose may have mistaken
her extreme sympathy and pity for love. If so,
she will not suffer much, or long. Indeed, now
I think of it, she won’t suffer at all, except
regret at having been led to raise false hopes in
my breast.”
The mere thought of this was so depressing,
that Jeff, who was already almost worn out with excitement,
leaned heavily on his stick for support.
“Jeff,” returned the captain
severely, “how could you do it?”
“I hardly know,” rejoined
Jeff, feeling something of the old Adam rising in
his breast; “but my intentions were honourable,
whatever my conduct may have been under impulse and
strong temptation. Perhaps I might appeal to
your own experience. Have you never done that
which you did not mean to under the power of impulse?”
“You’ve hit me there,
boy, below the water-line,” said the captain,
relaxing a little: “for I not only put the
question to my old woman without leave, but carried
her off with flyin’ colours against orders;
but it came all right at last, though I didn’t
deserve it. However, Jeff, you’ve no need
to look so blue. My little girl has raised no
false hopes in your breast. Moreover, let me
tell you, for your comfort, that I saw the doctor
this morning, and he says that your constitution is
so strong that you’re in a fair way to pull through
in spite of him, and that you’ll be fit for
good service yet though not exactly what
you were before. So, keep up your heart, Jeff!
Never say die, and you shall wed my Rosebud yet,
as sure as my name’s Dick Millet.”
There was need for these words of
comfort, for the poor youth was obliged to sit down
on the sand for a few minutes to recover strength.
“I’ve had a pretty stiff
morning altogether, captain,” he said apologetically;
“but I’m thankful very thankful for
the succession of events that have brought me to this
happy hour.”
“And yet, Jeff,” said
the captain, sitting down beside him, “you and
I thought these events the wreck, and the
loss of employment, and the overturning o’ the
lifeboat, and the thump on the ribs, and the long
illness nothing but misfortunes and full
of evil at first. There,
I’m not goin’ to draw no moral. I
never was good at that. Come, now, if you’ve
rested enough, we’ll up anchor and away.
I’ve got a dog-cart beatin’ off an’
on round the p’int there, an’ my Rosebud
will be gettin’ impatient.”
This was true Rose was
becoming not only impatient but anxious. When,
however, she saw her father and lover approach, all
her anxieties vanished.