Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (23 page)

 
          
“Paul,
be merciful; that was our only hope, and the guilt is mine alone!”

 
          
But
I started from her, exclaiming with mingled incredulity and horror —

 
          
“Was
this the tragedv you meant? What devil devised and helped you execute a crime
like this?”

 
          
“Hear
me! I did not plan, it, yet I longed to kill him, and all day the thought would
haunt me. I have borne so much, I could bear no more, and he drove me to it.
To-night the thought still clung to me, till I was half mad. I went to find
you, hoping to escape it; you were gone, but on your table lay the dagger. As I
took it in my hand I heard his voice, and forgot every thing except my wrongs
and the great happiness one blow could bring us. I followed then, meaning to
stab him in the dark; but when I saw him leaning where a safer stroke would
destroy him, I gave it, and we are safe.”

 
          
“Safe!”
I echoed. “Do you know you left my dagger behind you? Keen found it; he
suspects me, for I was near; and
St. John
has told him something of the cause I have
to wish you free.”

 
          
She
sprung up, and seemed about to rush away to proclaim her guilt, but I
restrained her desperate purpose, saying sternly —

           
“Control yourself and be cautious. I
may be mistaken; but if either must suffer, let it be me. I can bear it best,
even if it comes to the worst, for my life is worthless now.”

 
          
“And
I have made it so? Oh, Paul, can you never forgive me and forget my sin?”

 
          
“Never,
Clotilde; it is too horrible.”

 
          
I
broke from her trembling hold, and covered up mv face, for suddenlv the woman
whom I once loved had grown abhorrent to me. For many minutes neither spoke or
stirred; my heart seemed dead within me, and w hat went on in that stormv soul
I shall never know'. Suddenly
I
was called, and as I turned to leave her, she seized both my hands in a despairing
grasp, covered them with tender kisses, wet them with repentant tears, and
clung to them in a paroxysm of love, remorse, and grief, till I was forced to
go, leaving her alone with the memory of her sin.

 
          
That
night I was like one in a terrible dream; every thing looked unreal, and like
an automaton I plaved my part, for ahvavs before me I seemed to see that
shattered body and to hear again that beloved voice confessing a black crime.
Rumors of the accident had crept out, and damped the spirits of the audience,
yet it was as w ell, perhaps, for it made them lenient to the short-comings of
the actors, and lent another shadow' to the mimic tragedy that slowly darkened
to its close. Clotilde’s unnatural composure would have been a marvel to me had
I not been past surprise at any demonstration on her part. A wide gulf now lay
between us, and it seemed impossible for me to cross it. The generous, tender w
oman
w hom I first loved, was still as beautiful
and dear to me as ever, but as much lost as if death had parted us. The
desperate, despairing creature I had learned to know w ithin an
hour,
seemed like an embodiment of the murderous spirit w
hich had haunted me that day, and though by heaven’s mercy it had not conquered
me, yet I now hated it with remorseful intensity. So strangely were the two
images blended in my troubled mind that I could not separate them, and they
exerted a mysterious influence over
me.
When with
Clotilde she seemed all she had ever been, and I enacted the lover w ith a
power I had never known before, feeling the while that it might be for the last
time. When away from her the darker impression returned, and the wildest of the
poet’s words were not too strong to embody my own sorrow and despair. They told
me long afterwards that never had the tragedy been better played, and I could
believe it, for the hapless Italian lovers never found better representatives than
in us that night.

 
          
Worn
out with suffering and excitement, I longed for solitude and silence with a
desperate longing, and when Romeo murmured, “With a kiss I die,” I fell beside
the bier, wishing that I too was done with life. Lying there, I watched Clotilde,
through the little that remained, and so truly, tenderly, did she render the
pathetic scene that my heart softened; all the early love returned strong, and
warm as ever, and I felt that I
could
forgive. As she knelt to draw my
dagger, I whispered, warningly,

 
          
“Be
careful, dear, it is very sharp.”

 
          
“I
know it,” she answered with a shudder, then cried aloud,

 
          
“Oh happy dagger!
this
is thy
sheath; there rust, and let me die.”

 
          
Again
I saw the white arm
raised,
the flash of steel as
Juliet struck the blow that was to free her, and sinking down beside her lover,
seemed to breathe her life away.

 
          
“I
thank God it’s over,” I ejaculated, a few minutes later, as the curtain slowly
fell. Clotilde did not answer, and feeling how cold the cheek that touched my
own had grown, I thought she had given way at last.

 
          
“She
has fainted; lift her, Denon, and let me rise,” I cried, as Count Paris sprang
up with a joke.

 
          
“Good
God, she has hurt herself with that cursed dagger!” he exclaimed, as raising
her he saw a red stain on the white draperies she wore.

 
          
I
staggered to my feet, and laid her on the bier she had just left, but no mortal
skill could heal that hurt, and Juliet’s grave-clothes were her own. Deaf to
the enthusiastic clamor that demanded our re-appearance, blind to the confusion
and dismay about me, I leaned over her passionately, conjuring her to give me
one word of pardon and farewell. As if my voice had power to detain her, even
when death called, the dark eyes, full of remorseful love, met mine again, and
feebly drawing from her breast a paper, she motioned Keen to take it, murmuring
in a tone that changed from solemn affirmation to the tenderest penitence,

 
          
“Lamar
is innocent — I did it. This will prove it. Paul, I have tried to atone — oh,
forgive me, and remember me for my love’s sake.”

 
          
I
did forgive her; and she died, smiling on my breast. I did remember her through
a long, lonely life, and never played again since the night of that DOUBLE
TRAGEDY.

           
“GOOD MORNING, Mr. Southesk. Aren’t
you for the sea, to-day?”

           
“Good morning, Miss Lawrence.
I
am only waiting for my boat to be
off.”

 
          
As
he answered her blithe greeting, the voting man looked up from the rock w here
he was lounging, and a most charming object rewarded him for the exertion of
lifting his dreamy eves. Some women have the skill to make even a bathing
costume graceful and picturesque; and Miss Lawrence knew that she looked well
in her blue suit, with loosened hair blowing about her handsome face, glimpses
of white ankles through the net-work of her bathing- sandals, and a general
breeziness of aspect that became her better than the most elaborate toilet she
could make. A shade of disappointment w'as visible on receiving the answer to
her question, and her voice was slightly imperious, for all its sweetness, as
she said, pausing beside the indolent figure that lay basking in the sunshine.

 
          
“I
meant bathing, not boating, w hen I spoke of the sea. Will you not join our
party and give us another exhibition of your skill in aquatic gymnastics?”

 
          
“No,
thank you; the beach is too tame for me; I prefer deep water, heavy surf and a
spice of danger, to give zest to my pastime.”

 
          
The
languid voice was curiously at variance with the words; and Miss Lawrence
almost involuntarily exclaimed —

 
          
“You
are the strangest mixture of indolence and energy I ever knew! To see you now,
one would find it difficult to believe the stories told of your feats by land
and sea; yet I know that you deserve your soubriquet of ‘Bayard,’ as well as
the other they give you of
‘Dolce far niente
.’ You are as changeable as
the ocean which you love so well; but we never see the moon that rules your ebb
and flow.”

 
          
Ignoring
the first part of her speech, Southesk replied to the last sentence with sudden
animation.

 
          
“I
am
fond of the sea, and well I may be, for I was born on it, both my
parents lie buried in it, and out of it my fate is yet to come.”

 
          
“Your
fate?” echoed Miss Lawrence, full of the keenest interest, for he seldom spoke
of himself, and seemed anxious to forget the past in the successful present,
and the promising future. Some passing mood made him unusually frank, for he
answered, as his fine eyes roved far across the glittering expanse before them
—

 
          
“Yes,
I once had my fortune told by a famous wizard, and it has haunted me ever
since. I am not superstitious, but I cannot help attaching some importance to
her prediction:

 
          
‘Watch by the sea-shore early and
late,

           
For
out of its depths will
rise
your fate,

           
Both
love and life will be darkly crossed,

           
And
a single hour see all won or lost.’

 
          
“That
was the prophecy; and though I have little faith in it, yet I am irresistibly
drawn towards the sea, and continually find myself watching and waiting for the
fate it is to bring me.”

 
          
“May
it be a happy
one.
”

 
          
All
the imperiousness was gone from the woman’s voice, and her eyes turned as
wistfully as her companion’s, to the mysterious ocean which had already brought
her
fate. Neither spoke for a moment. Southesk, busied with some fancy
of his own, continued to scan the blue waves that rolled to meet the horizon,
and Helen scanned his face with an expression which many men would have given
much to have awakened, for the world said that Miss Lawrence was as proud and
cold as she was beautiful. Love and longing met and mingled in the glance she
fixed on that unconscious countenance; and once, with an involuntary impulse,
her small hand was raised to smooth away the wind-tossed hair that streaked his
forehead, as he sat with uncovered head, smiling to himself — forgetful of her
presence. She caught back her hand in time and turned away to hide the sudden
color that dyed her cheeks at the momentary impulse which would have betrayed her
to a less absorbed companion. Before she could break the silence, there came a
call from a group gathered on the smoother beach beyond, and, glad of another
chance to gain her wish, she said, in a tone that would have won compliance
from any man except Southesk:

 
          
“They
are waiting for us; can I not tempt vou to join the mermaids yonder, and let
the boat wait till
it’s
cooler?”

 
          
But
he shook his head with a wilful little gesture, and looked about him for his
hat, as if eager to escape, vet answered smiling — “I’ve a prior engagement
with the mermaid of the island, and, as a gallant man, must keep it, or expect
shipwreck on mv next voyage. Are you ready, Jack?” he added, as Miss Lawrence
moved away, and he strolled towards an old boatman, busy with his wherry.

 
          
“In a jiffy, sir.
So you’ve seen her, have you?” said the
man, pausing in his work.

 
          
“Seen
whom?”

 
          
“The mermaid at the island.”

 
          
“No;
I only fabricated that excuse to rid myself of the amiable young ladies w ho
bore me to death. You look as if you had a yarn to spin; so spin away while you
work, for 1 want to be oft.”

 
          
“Well,
sir, I jest thought vou’d like to know that there
is
a mar- maid down
there, as you’re fond of odd and pretty things. No one has seen
her but me
, or I should a heard of it, and I've told no one
but ray wife, being afraid of Rough Ralph, as we call the light house-keeper.
He
don’t
like folks cornin’ round his place; and if I
said a word about the marmaid, every one would go swarmin’ to the island to
hunt up the pretty creeter, and drive Ralph into a rage.”

 
          
“Never
mind Ralph; tell me how and where you saw the mermaid; asleep in your boat, I
fancy.”

 
          
“No, sir; wide awake and sober.
I had a notion one dav to
row round the island, and take a look at the chasm, as they call a great split
in the rock that stands up most as high as the lighthouse. It goes from top to
bottom of the Gull’s Perch, and the sea flows through it, foamin’ and ragin’
like mad, when the tide rises. The waves have worn holes in the rocks on both
sides of the chasm, and in one of these basins I see the marmaid, as plain as I
see vou.”

 
          
“What
was she doing, Jack?”

 
          
“Singin’
and combin’ her hair; so I knew she was gennywine.”

 
          
“Her
hair was green or blue, of course,” said Southesk, with such visible incredulity
that old Jack was nettled and answered gruffly.

 
          
“It
was darker and curlier than the lady’s that’s jest gone; so was her face
handsomer, her voice sw eeter, and her arms whiter; believe it or not as you
please.”

 
          
“How about the fins and scales, Jack?”

 
          
“Not
a sign of ’em, sir. She w
⁷
as half in the w ater, and had on some
sort of white gown, so I couldn’t see w hether there w'ere feet or a tail. But
I’ll sw
⁷
ear I saw
⁷
her; and I’ve got her comb to prove
it.”

 
          
“Her comb!
let
me see it, and I
shall find it easier to believe the story,” said the young man, with a lazy
sort of curiosity.

 
          
Old
Jack produced a dainty little comb, apparently made of a pearly shell, cut and
carved w ith much skill, and bearing tw
⁷
o letters on its back.

 
          
“Faith!
it
is
a pretty
thing, and none but a mermaid could have owned it. How did you get it?” asked
Southesk, carefully examining the delicate lines and letters, and washing that
the tale could be true, tor the vision of the fair-faced mermaiden pleased his
romantic fancy.

 
          
“It
was this way, sir,” replied Jack. “I was so
took
aback
that I sung out before I’d had a good look at her. She
see
me, give a little screech, and dived out of sight. I waited to see her come up,
but she didn’t; so I rowed as nigh as I dared, and got the comb she’d dropped;
then I went home and told mv wife. She advised me to hold my tongue and not go
agin, as I wanted to; so I give it up; but I’m dreadful eager to have another
look at the little thing, and I guess you’d find it worth w hile to try for a
sight of her.”

 
          
“I
can see women bathing without that long row, and don’t believe Ralph’s daughter
would care to be disturbed again.”

 
          
“He
ain’t got any, sir — neither w
ife
nor child; and no one on the island but him
and his mate — a gruff chap that never comes ashore, and don’t care for nothin’
but keepin’ the lantern tidy.” Southesk stood a moment measuring the distance
between the main land and the island, with his eye, for Jack’s last speech gave
an air of mvsterv to what before had seemed a very simple matter.

           
“You say Ralph is not fond of having
visitors, and rarely leaves the lighthouse; what else do you know about him?”
he asked.

 
          
“Nothing,
sir, only he’s a sober, brave, faithful man that does his duty well, and seems
to like that bleak, lonesome lighthouse more than most folks would. He’s seen
better days, I guess, for there’s something of the gentleman about him in spite
of his rough wavs. Now she’s ready, sir, and you’re just in time to find the
little marmaid doin’ up her hair.”

 
          
“I
want to visit the light-house, and am fond of adventures, so I think I’ll
follow' your advice. What will you take for this comb, Jack?” asked Southesk,
as the old man left his work, and the wherry danced invitingly upon the water.

 
          
“Nothing
from you, sir; you’re welcome to it, for my w
ife
’s fretted ever since I had it, and I’m glad
to be rid of it. It ain't every one I give it to, or tell about what I saw; but
you’ve done me more’n one good turn, and I’m eager to give you a bit of
pleasure to pay for ’em. On the further side of the island you’ll find the
chasm. It’s a dangerous place, but you’re a reg’lar fish; so I’ll risk you.
Good luck, and let me know how you get on.”

 
          
“What
do you suppose the letters stand for?” asked Southesk, as he put the comb in
his pocket, and trimmed his boat.

 
          
“Why,
A. M. stands for a Mermaid; don’t it?” answered Jack, soberly.

 
          
“I’ll
find another meaning for them before I come back. Keep your secret, and I’ll do
the same, for I want the mermaid all to myself.”

 
          
With
a laugh the young man skimmed away, deaf to the voices of the fashionable
syrens, who vainly endeavored to detain him, and blind to the wistful glances
following the energetic figure that bent to the oars with a strength and skill
which soon left the beach and its gay groups far behind.

 
          
The
light-house was built on the tallest cliff of the island, and the only safe
landing place appeared to be at the foot of the rock, whence a precipitous path
and an iron ladder led to the main entrance of the tower. Barren and forbidding
it looked, even in the glow of the summer sun, and remembering Ralph’s dislike
of visitors, Southesk resolved to explore the chasm alone, and ask leave of no
one. Rowing along the craggy shore he came to the enormous rift that cleft the
rocks from top to bottom. Bold and skillful as he was he dared not venture very
near, for the tide was coming in, and each advancing billow threatened to sweep
the boat into the chasm, where angry waves chafed and foamed, filling the dark
hollow with a cloud of spray and reverberating echoes that made a mellow din.