Foul Play [138]
with mother-of-pearl set in cement, and close as mosaic.
Every day he passed an hour in paradise; for his living crutch made him take a little walk with her; her hand held his; her arm supported his shoulder; her sweet face was near his, full of tender solicitude; they seemed to be one; and spoke in whispers to each other, like thinking aloud. The causes of happiness were ever present; the causes of unhappiness were out of sight, and showed no signs of approach.
And, of the two, Helen was the happiest. Before a creature so pure as this marries and has children, the great maternal instinct is still there, but feeds on what it can get--first a doll, and then some helpless creature or other. Too often she wastes her heart's milk on something grown up, but as selfish as a child. Helen was more fortunate; her child was her hero, now so lame that he must lean on her to walk. The days passed by, and the island was fast becoming the world to those two, and as bright a world as ever shone on two mortal creatures.
It was a happy dream.
What a pity that dreams dissolve so soon! This had lasted for nearly two months, and Hazel was getting better, though still not well enough, or not fool enough, to dismiss his live crutch, when one afternoon Helen, who had been up on the heights, observed a dark cloud in the blue sky toward the west. There was not another cloud visible, and the air marvelously clear; time, about three quarters of an hour before sunset. She told Hazel about this solitary cloud, and asked him, with some anxiety, if it portended another storm. He told her to be under no alarm--there were no tempests in that latitude except at the coming and going out of the rains--but he should like to go round the Point and look at her cloud.
She lent him her arm, and they went round the Point; and there they saw a cloud entirely different from anything they had ever seen since they were on the island. It was like an enormous dark ribbon stretched along the sky, at some little height above the horizon. Notwithstanding its prodigious length. it got larger before their very eyes.
Hazel started.
Helen felt him start, and asked him, with some surprise, what was the matter.
"Cloud!" said he; "that is no cloud. That is smoke."
"Smoke!" echoed Helen, becoming agitated in her turn.
"Yes; the breeze is northerly, and carries the smoke nearer to us; it is the smoke of a steamboat."
CHAPTER XLV.
BOTH were greatly moved; and after one swift glance Helen stole at him, neither looked at the other. They spoke in flurried whispers.
"Can they see the island?"
"I don't know; it depends on how far the boat is to windward of her smoke."
"How shall we know?"
"If she sees the island she will make for it that moment."
"Why? do ships never pass an unknown island?"
"Yes. But that steamer will not pass us."
"But why?"
At this question Hazel hung his head, and his lip quivered. He answered her at last. "Because she is looking for you."
Helen was struck dumb at this.
He gave his reasons. "Steamers never visit these waters. Love has brought that steamer out; love that will not go unrewarded. Arthur Wardlaw is on board that ship."
"Have they seen us yet?"
Hazel forced on a kind of dogged fortitude. He said, "When the smoke ceases to elongate, you will know they have changed their course, and they will change their course the moment the man at the mast-head sees us."
"Oh! But how do you know they have a man at the mast-head?"
"I know by myself. I should have a man at the mast-head night and day."
And now the situation was beyond words. They both watched, and watched, to see the line of smoke cease.
It continued to increase, and spread eastward; and that proved the steamer was continuing her course.
The sun drew close to the horizon.
"They don't see us," said Helen, faintly.
"No," said Hazel; "not yet."
"And the sun is just setting. It is all over." She put her handkerchief to her eyes a moment, and then, after a sob or two, she said almost cheerfully, "Well, dear friend,
Every day he passed an hour in paradise; for his living crutch made him take a little walk with her; her hand held his; her arm supported his shoulder; her sweet face was near his, full of tender solicitude; they seemed to be one; and spoke in whispers to each other, like thinking aloud. The causes of happiness were ever present; the causes of unhappiness were out of sight, and showed no signs of approach.
And, of the two, Helen was the happiest. Before a creature so pure as this marries and has children, the great maternal instinct is still there, but feeds on what it can get--first a doll, and then some helpless creature or other. Too often she wastes her heart's milk on something grown up, but as selfish as a child. Helen was more fortunate; her child was her hero, now so lame that he must lean on her to walk. The days passed by, and the island was fast becoming the world to those two, and as bright a world as ever shone on two mortal creatures.
It was a happy dream.
What a pity that dreams dissolve so soon! This had lasted for nearly two months, and Hazel was getting better, though still not well enough, or not fool enough, to dismiss his live crutch, when one afternoon Helen, who had been up on the heights, observed a dark cloud in the blue sky toward the west. There was not another cloud visible, and the air marvelously clear; time, about three quarters of an hour before sunset. She told Hazel about this solitary cloud, and asked him, with some anxiety, if it portended another storm. He told her to be under no alarm--there were no tempests in that latitude except at the coming and going out of the rains--but he should like to go round the Point and look at her cloud.
She lent him her arm, and they went round the Point; and there they saw a cloud entirely different from anything they had ever seen since they were on the island. It was like an enormous dark ribbon stretched along the sky, at some little height above the horizon. Notwithstanding its prodigious length. it got larger before their very eyes.
Hazel started.
Helen felt him start, and asked him, with some surprise, what was the matter.
"Cloud!" said he; "that is no cloud. That is smoke."
"Smoke!" echoed Helen, becoming agitated in her turn.
"Yes; the breeze is northerly, and carries the smoke nearer to us; it is the smoke of a steamboat."
CHAPTER XLV.
BOTH were greatly moved; and after one swift glance Helen stole at him, neither looked at the other. They spoke in flurried whispers.
"Can they see the island?"
"I don't know; it depends on how far the boat is to windward of her smoke."
"How shall we know?"
"If she sees the island she will make for it that moment."
"Why? do ships never pass an unknown island?"
"Yes. But that steamer will not pass us."
"But why?"
At this question Hazel hung his head, and his lip quivered. He answered her at last. "Because she is looking for you."
Helen was struck dumb at this.
He gave his reasons. "Steamers never visit these waters. Love has brought that steamer out; love that will not go unrewarded. Arthur Wardlaw is on board that ship."
"Have they seen us yet?"
Hazel forced on a kind of dogged fortitude. He said, "When the smoke ceases to elongate, you will know they have changed their course, and they will change their course the moment the man at the mast-head sees us."
"Oh! But how do you know they have a man at the mast-head?"
"I know by myself. I should have a man at the mast-head night and day."
And now the situation was beyond words. They both watched, and watched, to see the line of smoke cease.
It continued to increase, and spread eastward; and that proved the steamer was continuing her course.
The sun drew close to the horizon.
"They don't see us," said Helen, faintly.
"No," said Hazel; "not yet."
"And the sun is just setting. It is all over." She put her handkerchief to her eyes a moment, and then, after a sob or two, she said almost cheerfully, "Well, dear friend,