For some time the girl remained where he had left her, looking out past the islet and over the bright sea. Then with a start, as one who throws off preoccupation and puts energy again upon its mettle, she broke into a rapid and decisive walk. She also was much incensed by what had passed. She had forgotten where she was. And I beheld her walk straight into the borders of the quicksand where it is most abrupt and dangerous. Two or three steps farther and her life would have been in serious jeopardy, when I slid down the face of the sand-hill, which is there precipitous, and, running half-way forward, called to her to stop.
She did so, and turned round. There was not a tremor of fear in her behaviour, and she marched directly up to me like a queen. I was barefoot, and clad like a common sailor, save for an Egyptian scarf round my waist; and she probably took me at first for some one from the fisher village, straying after bait. As for her, when I thus saw her face to face, her eyes set steadily and imperiously upon mine, I was filled with admiration and astonishment, and thought her even more beautiful than I had looked to find her. Nor could I think enough of one who, acting with so much boldness, yet preserved a maidenly air that was both quaint and engaging; for my wife kept an old-fashioned precision of manner through all her admirable life – an excellent thing in woman, since it sets another value on her sweet familiarities.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“You were walking,” I told her, “directly into Graden Floe.”
“You do not belong to these parts,” she said again. “You speak like an educated man.”
“I believe I have right to that name,” said I, “although in this disguise.”
But her woman’s eye had already detected the sash. “Oh!” she said; “your sash betrays you.”
“You have said the word BETRAY,” I resumed. “May I ask you not to betray me? I was obliged to disclose myself in your interest; but if Northmour learned my presence it might be worse than disagreeable for me.”
“Do you know,” she asked, “to whom you are speaking?”
“Not to Mr. Northmour’s wife?” I asked, by way of answer.
She shook her head. All this while she was studying my face with an embarrassing intentness. Then she broke out –
“You have an honest face. Be honest like your face, sir, and tell me what you want and what you are afraid of. Do you think I could hurt you? I believe you have far more power to injure me! And yet you do not look unkind. What do you mean – you, a gentleman – by skulking like a spy about this desolate place? Tell me,” she said, “who is it you hate?”
“I hate no one,” I answered; “and I fear no one face to face. My name is Cassilis – Frank Cassilis. I lead the life of a vagabond for my own good pleasure. I am one of Northmour’s oldest friends; and three nights ago, when I addressed him on these links, he stabbed me in the shoulder with a knife.”
“It was you!” she said.
“Why he did so,” I continued, disregarding the interruption, “is more than I can guess, and more than I care to know. I have not many friends, nor am I very susceptible to friendship; but no man shall drive me from a place by terror. I had camped in Graden Sea-Wood ere he came; I camp in it still. If you think I mean harm to you or yours, madam, the remedy is in your hand. Tell him that my camp is in the Hemlock Den, and to-night he can stab me in safety while I sleep.”
With this I doffed my cap to her, and scrambled up once more among the sand-hills. I do not know why, but I felt a prodigious sense of injustice, and felt like a hero and a martyr; while, as a matter of fact, I had not a word to say in my defence, nor so much as one plausible reason to offer for my conduct. I had stayed at Graden out of a curiosity natural enough, but undignified; and though there was another motive growing in along with the first, it was not one which, at that period, I could have properly explained to the lady of my heart.
Certainly, that night, I thought of no one else; and, though her whole conduct and position seemed suspicious, I could not find it in my heart to entertain a doubt of her integrity. I could have staked my life that she was clear of blame, and, though all was dark at the present, that the explanation of the mystery would show her part in these events to be both right and needful. It was true, let me cudgel my imagination as I pleased, that I could invent no theory of her relations to Northmour; but I felt none the less sure of my conclusion because it was founded on instinct in place of reason, and, as I may say, went to sleep that night with the thought of her under my pillow.
Next day she came out about the same hour alone, and, as soon as the sand-hills concealed her from the pavilion, drew nearer to the edge, and called me by name in guarded tones. I was astonished to observe that she was deadly pale, and seemingly under the influence of strong emotion.
“Mr. Cassilis!” she cried; “Mr. Cassilis!”
I appeared at once, and leaped down upon the beach. A remarkable air of relief overspread her countenance as soon as she saw me.
“Oh!” she cried, with a hoarse sound, like one whose bosom has been lightened of a weight. And then, “Thank God you are still safe!” she added; “I knew, if you were, you would be here.” (Was not this strange? So swiftly and wisely does Nature prepare our hearts for these great life-long intimacies, that both my wife and I had been given a presentiment on this the second day of our acquaintance. I had even then hoped that she would seek me; she had felt sure that she would find me.) “Do not,” she went, on swiftly, “do not stay in this place. Promise me that you will sleep no longer in that wood. You do not know how I suffer; all last night I could not sleep for thinking of your peril.”
“Peril?” I repeated. “Peril from whom? From Northmour?”
“Not so,” she said. “Did you think I would tell him after what you said?”
“Not from Northmour?” I repeated. “Then how? From whom? I see none to be afraid of.”
“You must not ask me,” was her reply, “for I am not free to tell you. Only believe me, and go hence – believe me, and go away quickly, quickly, for your life!”
An appeal to his alarm is never a good plan to rid oneself of a spirited young man. My obstinacy was but increased by what she said, and I made it a point of honour to remain. And her solicitude for my safety still more confirmed me in the resolve.
“You must not think me inquisitive, madam,” I replied; “but, if Graden is so dangerous a place, you yourself perhaps remain here at some risk.”
She only looked at me reproachfully.
“You and your father – ” I resumed; but she interrupted me almost with a gasp.
“My father! How do you know that?” she cried.
“I saw you together when you landed,” was my answer; and I do not know why, but it seemed satisfactory to both of us, as indeed it was the truth. “But,” I continued, “you need have no fear from me. I see you have some reason to be secret, and, you may believe me, your secret is as safe with me as if I were in Graden Floe. I have scarce spoken to any one for years; my horse is my only companion, and even he, poor beast, is not beside me. You see, then, you may count on me for silence. So tell me the truth, my dear young lady, are you not in danger?”
“Mr. Northmour says you are an honourable man,” she returned, “and I believe it when I see you. I will tell you so much; you are right; we are in dreadful, dreadful danger, and you share it by remaining where you are.”
“Ah!” said I; “you have heard of me from Northmour? And he gives me a good character?”
“I asked him about you last night,” was her reply. “I pretended,” she hesitated, “I pretended to have met you long ago, and spoken to you of him. It was not true; but I could not help myself without betraying you, and you had put me in a difficulty. He praised you highly.”