Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (28 page)

 
          
“How
can I thank you for this? Let me atone for mv past insincerity by confessing
the cause of it; you have found a part of my secret, let me add the rest. I
need a confidant, will you be mine?”

 
          
“Gladly, if it will help or comfort you.”

 
          
So,
sitting side by side under the passion flowers, he told his story, and she listened
with an interest that insensibly drew him on to further confidences than he had
intended.

 
          
When
he had described the parting, briefly vet very eloquently, for voice, eye, and
gesture lent their magic, he added, in an altered tone, and with an expression
of pathetic patience:

 
          
“There
is no need to tell you how I searched for them, how often I thought myself upon
their track, how often they eluded me, and how each disappointment strengthened
my purpose to look till I succeeded, though I gave years to the task. A month
ago I received this, and knew that my long search was ended.”

 
          
He
put a worn letter into her hand, and with a beating heart Helen read:

 
 
          
“Ariel
is dead. Let her rest in peaee, and do not pursue me any longer, unless you
would drive me into my grave as vou have driven her.

RALPH MARCH.”

 
          
A
little paper, more worn and stained than the other, dropped from the letter as
Helen unfolded it, and seeing a woman’s writing, she asked no permission, but
read it eagerly, while Southesk sat with hidden face, unaware that he had given
her that sacred farewell.

 
          
“Good-by,
good-by,” it said, in hastily-written letters, blurred by tears that had fallen
long ago. “I have obeyed my father to the last, but my heart is yours for ever.
Believe this, and pray, as I do, that vou may meet again your Ariel.”

 
          
A
long silence followed, for the simple little note had touched I Ielen deeply,
and while she could not but rejoice in the hope which this discovery gave her,
she was too womanly a woman not to pity the poor child who had loved and lost
the heart she coveted. As she gently laid the letter back in Southesk’s hand,
she asked, turning her full eves on his,

 
          
“Are
you sure that this is true?”

 
          
“1
cannot doubt it, for I recognise the writing of both, and I know that neither
would lend themselves to a fraud like this. No; I must accept the hard truth,
and bear it as I can. My own heart confirms it, for every hope dies when I try
to revive it, and the sad belief remains unshaken” was the spiritless reply.

 
          
Helen
turned her face away, to hide the passionate joy that glowed in it; then,
veiling her emotion with the tenderest sympathy, she gave herself up to the
sweet task of comforting the bereaved lover. So well did she perform her part,
so soothing did he find her friendly
society, that
he
came often and lingered long, for with her, and her alone, he could talk of
Ariel. She never checked him, but listened to the distasteful theme with
unwearied patience, till, by insensible degrees and unperceived allurements, she
weaned him from these mournful reminiscences, and woke a healthier interest in
the present. With feminine skill she concealed her steadily- increasing love
under an affectionate friendliness, which seemed a mute assurance that she
cherished no hopes for
herself
, but knew that his
heart was still Ariel’s. This gave him confidence in her, while the new and
gentle womanliness which now replaced her former
pride,
made her more attractive and more dangerous. Of course, the gossips gave them
to one another, and Southesk felt aggrieved, fearing that he must relinquish
the chief comfort of his solitary life. But Helen showed such supreme
indifference to the clack of idle tongues, and met him with such unchanged
composure, that he was reassured, and by remaining lost another point in this
game of hearts.

 
          
With
the summer came an unconquerable longing to revisit the island. Helen detected
this wish before he uttered it, and, feeling that it would be vain to oppose
it, quietly made her preparations for the sea-side, though otherwise she would
have shunned it, fearing the old charm would revive and undo her work. Such
visible satisfaction appeared in Southesks face when she bade him good- by for
a time, that she departed, sure that he would follow her to that summer haunt
as to no other. He did follow, and resolving to have the trial over at once,
during their first stroll upon the beach Helen said, in the tone of tranquil
regard which she always used with him:

 
          
“I
know you are longing to see your enchanted island again, yet, perhaps, dread to
go alone. If it is so, let me go with you, for, much as I desire to see it, I
shall never dare to trespass a second time.”

 
          
Her
voice
trembled
a little as she spoke — the first sign
of emotion she had betrayed for a long time. Remembering that he had deceived
her once, and recalling all he owed her since, Southesk felt that she had been
very generous, very kind, and gratitude warmed his manner as he answered,
turning toward the boats, which he had been eyeing wistfully:

 
          
“How
well you understand me, Helen. Thank you for giving me courage to revisit the
ruins of my little paradise. Come with me, for you are the only one who knows
how much I have loved and lost. Shall we go now?”

 
          
“Blind
and selfish, like a true man,” thought Helen, with a pang, as she saw his eye
kindle and the old elasticity return to his step as he went on before her. But
she smiled and followed, as if glad to serve him, and a keen observer might
have added, “
patient
and passionate, like a true
woman.”

 
          
Little
was said between them as thev made the breezy voyage. Once Southesk woke out of
a long reverie, to sav, pausing on his oars:

 
          
“A
year to-day since I first saw Ariel.”

 
          
“A
year to-day since you told me that vour fate was to come to you out of the
sea,” and Helen sighed involuntarily as she contrasted the man before her with
the happy dreamer who smiled up at her that day.

 
          
“Yes,
and it has come even to the hour when all was to be won or lost,” he answered,
little dreaming that the next hour was to verify the prophecy more perfectly
than any in the past.

 
          
As
they landed, he said, beseechingly:

 
          
“Wait
for me at the lighthouse; I must visit the chasm alone, and I have no desire to
encounter Stern, if I can help it.”

 
          
“Why
not?” asked Helen, wondering at his tone.

 
          
“Because
he loved her, and could not forgive me that I was more beloved than he.”

 
          
“I
can pity him,” she said, below her breath, adding, with unusual tenderness of
manner —“Go, Philip; I know how to wait.”

 
          
“And
I thank you for it.”

 
          
The
look he gave her made her heart leap, for he had never bent such a one on her
before, yet she feared that the memory of his lost love stirred and warmed him,
not a dawning passion for herself, and would have wrung her hands in despair
could she have known how' utterly she was forgotten, as Southesk strode across
the cliffs, almost as eagerly as if he knew' that Ariel waited for him in her
nest. It w as empty; but something of its former beauty had been restored to
it, for the stones were gone, green things were struggling up again, and the
ladder was replaced.

 
          
“Poor
Stern, he has repented of his frantic act, and tried to make the nest beautiful
again as a memorial of her," thought Southesk; and descending, he threw
himself down upon the newly-piled moss to dream his happy dream again, and
fancy Ariel was there.

 
          
Well
for him that he did not see the wrathful face that presently peered over the
chasm’s edge, as Stern watched him with the air of a man driven to desperation.
The old hatred seemed to possess him with redoubled violence, and some new
cause for detestation appeared to goad him with a hidden fear. More than once
he sprang up and glanced anxiously behind him, as if he was not alone; more
than once he laid his sinewy hands on a ponderous stone near by, as if tempted
to hurl it down the chasm; and more than once he ground his teeth, like some
savage creature who sees a stronger enemy approaching to deprive him of his
prey.

 
          
The
tide was coming in, the sky was over-cast, and a gale was rising; but though Southesk
saw, heard and heeded nothing about him, Stern found hope in the gathering
storm; for some evil spirit seemed to have been born of the tempest that raged
within him, and to teach him how to make the elements his friends.

 
          
“Mr.
Southesk.”

 
          
Philip
leaped to his feet as if a pistol had been fired at his ear, and saw Stern
standing beside him with an air of sad humility, that surprised him more than
the sight of his grey hair and haggard face. Pity banished resentment, and
offering his hand, he said, with a generous oblivion of their parting words —

 
          
“Thank
you for the change you have wrought here, and forgive me that I come back to
see it once before I go away for ever. We both loved her; let us comfort one
another.”

 
          
A
sudden color passed over Stern’s swarthy face, he drew a long breath as he
listened, and clenched one hand behind him as he put the other into Southesk’s,
answering in the same suppressed tone and with averted eyes — “You know it,
then, and try to submit as I do?”

 
          
Philip’s
lips were parted to reply, but no words followed, for a faint, far-off sound
was heard, a woman’s voice singing —

 
          
“Oh, come unto the yellow sands!”

 
          
Southesk
turned pale, believing for an instant that Ariel’s spirit came to welcome him;
but the change in Stern’s face, and the look of baffled rage and despair that
played up in his eyes, betrayed him. Clutching his arm, the young man cried
out, trembling with a sudden conviction —

           
“You have lied to me; she is not
dead!”

 
          
What
passed in Sterns heart during the second in which the two stood face to face,
it would be impossible to tell, but with an effort that shook his strong body,
he wrenched himself away and controlled his desperate desire to send his rival
down the
gulf.
Some thought seemed to flash across
him, calming the turbulence of his nature like a spell; and assuming the air of
one defeated, he said slowly —

 
          
“I
have lost, and I confess, I did lie to you, for March never sent the letter. I
forged it, knowing that you would believe it if I added the note Ariel left for
you a year ago. I could not give it to you then, but kept it with half the lock
of hair. You followed them, but I followed you, and more than once thwarted you
when you had nearly found them. As time passed, your persistence and her
suffering began to soften March; I saw this, and tried to check you by the
story of her death.”

 
          
“Thank
God I
came,
else I should never have recovered her.
Give her up, Stern; she is mine, and
1
claim
her.”

 
          
Southesk
turned to spring up the ladder, with no thought now but to reach Ariel; Stern
arrested him, by saying with grim reluctance —

 
          
“You’ll
not find her, for she will not come here any more, but sit below by the basin
where you saw her first. You can reach her by climbing down the steps I have
made. Nay, if you doubt me, listen.”

 
          
He
did listen, and as the wind swept over the chasm, clearer and sweeter came the
sound of that beloved voice. Southesk hesitated no longer, but swung himself
recklessly downward, followed by Stern, whose black eyes glittered with a
baleful light as they watched the agile figure going on before him. When they
reached the basin, full to overflowing with the rising tide, they found the
book her lover gave her and the little comb he knew so well, but no Ariel.