A Soldier of the Legion

by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

  CHAPTER V

  THE NIGHT OF STORMS

  A Woman! But how was it possible that there should be a woman in hiscabin? There must have been some unthinkable mistake, and he feltconfident that it was not he who had made it. He had looked carefully atthe number over the door, comparing it with the number on his ticket.But, after all, what did it matter? It was too late now to apportionblame. She was there. And what hair she had! When she stood up it mustfall far below her knees.

  "What shall I do?" thought Max. "Shall I lie still until she goes tosleep again, and then sneak out into the _salle_? If she doesn't see mysuitcase she need never know I've been in the room."

  And, after all, it came back to that, whether he had mistaken the cabin,or she. If he had left his suitcase in plain sight, marked "LieutenantMax Doran, --th Cavalry, Fort Ellsworth," the woman would have rung fora steward, and the error would somehow have been adjusted.

  Four or five minutes passed, and silence reigned in the berth overhead.Max sat up cautiously, lest his bunk should squeak, and had begun stillmore cautiously to emerge from it, when there came a sudden viciouslurch of the ship. He was flung out, but seized the berth-curtain, asthe _General Morel_ awkwardly wallowed, and staggered to his feet, justin time to save the occupant of the upper berth from flying across theroom. With a cry, she fell on to his shoulder, and he held her up withone hand, still grasping the curtain with the other. The long plait ofhair and a smooth bare arm were round his neck. A face was close to his,and he could feel warm, quick breaths on his cheek.

  "Don't be frightened," he heard himself soothe her with deceitful calm."It'll be all right in a minute. I won't let you fall."

  Even as he spoke, it occurred to Max that possibly she didn't understandEnglish. The thought had hardly time to pass through his mind, however,when she answered him in English in a shocked whisper, trying vainly todraw away:

  "But--it's a man!--in my cabin!"

  "I'm awfully sorry," said Max. "There's been some mistake. Better let mehold you a few seconds more, till the ship's steadier. Then I'll liftyou down to the lower berth. You see, I thought it was my cabin."

  "Oh," she exclaimed; and he felt a quiver run through the bare arm. Herhair, which showered over his face and twined intricately round hisneck, had a faint, flowery perfume. "As soon as I get you down, and makeyou comfortable, I'll go," he hurried on. "There, now, I think thingsare quieting for the moment. We must have had two waves following oneanother quicker than the rest. Let go your hold on the berth, and I'lltake you out."

  He felt her relax obediently; and slipping one arm under her shoulder,the other under her knees, he lifted a burden which proved to be light,from the upper berth, to bestow it in safety, far back against the wallin the bunk underneath.

  "Oh, thank you," was breathed out with a sigh of relief. "You're verykind--and so strong! But I feel dreadfully ill. I hope I'm not going tofaint."

  "I'll get you some brandy," said Max, bethinking himself of a certainsilver flask in his suitcase, a prize as it happened, won as an amateurof _la boxe_.

  To his horror she made no answer.

  "Jove!" he muttered. "She's gone off--and no wonder. It's awful!"

  He began to be flurried, for his own head was not too clear. "She may beflung to the floor while I'm groping around for that suitcase of mine,if she's fainted, and can't save herself when the next wave comes," hethought. "That won't do. I'll have to light up, and wall her in with thebedding from the top bunk, so she can't easily be pitched out."

  Hesitating a little, not quite sure about the propriety of the necessaryrevelation, he nevertheless switched on the electricity. After the duskwhich had turned everything shadow-gray, the little stateroom appearedto be brilliantly illuminated. In his berth lay the girl he had seen ondeck and at dinner.

  Max was not completely taken by surprise, as he would have been had heseen the vision before hearing her voice. As she clung round his neck,she had spoken only brokenly and in a whisper, but from the first wordshe had felt instinctively sure of his companion's identity.

  If she had been delicately pale before, now she was deathly white, sowhite that Max, who had never before seen a woman faint, felt a stab offear. What if she had a weak heart? What if she were dead?

  She wore a dressing-gown of a white woollen material, inexpensiveperhaps, but classic in its soft foldings around the slender body; andthe thought flitted through Max's head that she was like a slim Greekstatue, come alive; or perhaps Galatea, disappointed with the world,turning back to marble.

  All the while he, with unsteady hands, unlocked and opened his bag,fumbling among its contents for the flask, she lay still, without aquiver of the eyelids. She did not even seem to breathe. But perhapsgirls were like that when they fainted! Max didn't know. He wanted tolisten for the beating of her heart, but dared not. He would try thebrandy, and if that did not bring her to herself, he would ring and askfor the ship's doctor. But--could he do that? How could he explain toany one their being together in this cabin?

  Hastily he poured a little brandy from the flask into the tiny cup whichscrewed on like a cover. The pitching and tossing made it hard not tospill the fluid over the upturned face--that would have beensacrilege!--but with an adroitness born of desperation he contrived topour a few drops between the parted lips. Apparently they produced noeffect; but another cautious experiment was rewarded by a gasp and aslight quivering of the white throat. On one knee by the side of theberth, Max slipped an arm under the pillow, thus lifting the girl's heada little, that she might not choke. As he did this she swallowedconvulsively, and opening her eyes wide, looked straight into his.

  "Thank heaven!" exclaimed Max. "You frightened me."

  She smiled at him, their faces not far apart, her wonderful hairtrailing past his breast. Yet in his anxiety and relief Max had lost allsense of strangeness in the situation. Drawing long, slow breaths, sheseemed purposefully to be gaining strength to speak. "It's nothing--tofaint," she murmured. "I used to, often. And I feel so ill."

  "Have you any one on board whom I could call?" Max asked.

  "Nobody," she sighed. "I'm all alone. I--surely this cabin is 65?"

  "I think it's 63. But no matter," Max answered hurriedly. "Don't botherabout that now. I----"

  "When I came in first this morning, I rang for a stewardess to ask ifthere was to be any one with me," the girl went on, a faint colourbeginning to paint her white cheeks and lips with the palest rose. "Butnobody answered the bell. There was no luggage here, and I thought Imust be by myself. But afterward a stewardess or some one put my bag offthis bed on to the upper one so I dared not take the lower berth. I putthe door on the hook, to get air; but when I heard somebody come in, Inever dreamed it might be a man."

  "Of course not," Max agreed. "And I--when I saw a form in the dim light,lying up there--I never thought of its being a woman. I can't tell youhow sorry I am to have seemed such a brute. But----"

  "After all, it's a fortunate thing for me you were here," the girlcomforted him. "If you hadn't been, I should have fallen out of the topberth and perhaps killed myself. I should hate to die now. I want somuch to see my father in Africa, and--and--somebody else. I think youmust have saved my life."

  "I should be so happy to think that," Max answered warmly. "I haven't aspleasant an errand in Africa as you have. But whatever happens, I shallbe thankful that I came, and on this ship. I was wondering to-day if Iwere glad or sorry to have been born. But if I was born to save a girlfrom harm, it was worth while, of course, just for that and nothingelse. Now, if you're feeling pretty well again, I'd better go." Gentlyhe drew his arm out from under the pillow, thus laying down the head hehad supported.

  The girl turned, resting her cheek on her hand--a frail little hand,soft-looking as that of a child--and gazed at Max wistfully.

  "I suppose you'll think it's dreadful of me," she faltered, "but--I wishyou _needn't_ go. I've never been on the real sea before since I was ababy: only getting from England to Ireland the shortes
t way, and on theChannel. This is the first storm I've seen. I never thought I was acoward. I don't like even women to be cowards. I adore bravery in men,and that's why I--but no matter! I don't know if I'm afraid exactly, butit's a dreadful feeling to be alone, without any one to care whether youdrown or not, at night on a horrible old ship, in the raging waves. Thesea's like some fierce, hungry animal, waiting its chance to eat us up."

  "It won't get the chance," Max returned cheerfully. He was standingnow, and she was looking up at him from the hard little pillow latelypressed by his own head. "I shouldn't wonder if the old tub has gonethrough lots of worse gales than this."

  "It's comforting to hear you say so, and to have a human being to talkto, in the stormy night," sighed the girl. "I feel better. But if yougo--and--where _will_ you go?"

  "There are plenty of places," Max answered her with vague optimism.

  Just then the _General Morel_ gave a leap, poised on the top of somewall of water, quivered, hesitated, and jumped from the height into agulf. Max held the girl firmly in the berth, or she would have beenpitched on to the floor. Involuntarily she grasped his arm, and let itgo only when the wallowing ship subsided.

  "That was awful!" she whispered. "It makes one feel as if one weredying. I can't be alone! Don't leave me!"

  "Not unless you wish me to go," Max said with great gentleness.

  "Oh, I don't--I can't! Except that you must be so miserablyuncomfortable."

  "I'm not; and it's the finest compliment and the greatest honour I'veever had in my life," Max stammered, "that you should ask me to--that itshould be a comfort to you, my staying."

  "But you are the kind of man women know they can trust," the girlapologized for herself. "You see, one can _tell_. Besides, from the wayyou speak, I think you must be an American. I've heard they're alwaysgood to women. I saw you on deck, and afterward at dinner. I thoughtthen there was something that rang _true_ about you. I said 'That man isone of the few unselfish ones. He would sacrifice himself utterly forothers.' A look you have about the eyes told me that."

  "I'm not being unselfish now," Max broke out impulsively; then, fearinghe had said an indiscreet thing, he hurried on to something lesspersonal. "How would it be," he suggested in a studiously commonplacetone, "if I should make myself comfortable sitting on my suitcase, justnear enough to your berth to keep you from falling out in case anotherof those monsters hit the ship? You could go to sleep, and know you weresafe, because I'd be watching."

  "How good you are!" said the girl. "But I don't want to sleep, thankyou. I don't feel faint now. I believe you've given me some of yourstrength."

  "That's the brandy," said Max, very matter of fact. "Have a few dropsmore? You can't have swallowed half a teaspoonful----"

  "Do you think, if I took a little, it would make me warm? I'm so icycold."

  "Yes, it ought to send a glow through your body." He poured anotherteaspoonful into the miniature silver cup, and supported the pillowagain, that she need not lift her head. Then he took the two blanketsoff the upper berth, and wrapped them round the girl, tucking themcozily in at the side of the bed and under her feet.

  "If you were my brother," she said, "you couldn't be kinder to me. Haveyou ever had a woman to take care of--a mother, or a sister, perhaps?"

  "I never had a sister," Max answered. "But when I was a boy I loved tolook after my mother."

  "And now, is she dead?"

  "Now she's dead."

  "My mother," the girl volunteered, "died when I was born. That made myfather hate the thought of me, because he worshipped her, and it musthave seemed my fault that she was lost to him. I haven't seen my fathersince I was a little girl. But I'm going to him now. I've practicallyrun away from the aunts he put me to live with; and I'd hardly anymoney, so I was obliged to travel all the way second-class."

  "That's exactly what I thought!" ejaculated Max.

  "Did you think about _me_, too?" she asked, interest in their talkhelping her to forget the rolling of the ship.

  "Yes, I thought about you--of course."

  "That I'd run away?"

  "Well, you were so different from the rest, it was queer to see you inthe second-class."

  "But so are you--different from the rest. Yet you're in thesecond-class."

  "I'm hard up," exclaimed Max, smiling.

  "You, too! How strange that we, of all the others, should come togetherlike this. It is as if it were somehow meant to be, isn't it? As if wewere intended to do something for each other in future. I wish I _could_do something for you, to pay you for to-night."

  "I don't need pay." Max smiled again, almost happily. "It's you who arebeing good to me. I was feeling horribly down on my luck."

  "I'm sorry. But it's helped you to help me. I understand that. Do youknow, I believe you are one whose greatest pleasure is in doing thingsfor those not as strong as yourself."

  "I never noticed that in my character," laughed Max.

  "Yet there's something which tells me I'm right. I think you would, forthat reason, make a good soldier. My father is a soldier. He's stationedat a place called Sidi-bel-Abbes."

  "But that's where the Foreign Legion is, isn't it?" The words slippedout.

  "He's colonel of the First Regiment. Oh, I believe it's half dread ofwhat he'll say to me, that makes me so ill and nervous to-night. Theonly two men in the world I love are so strong, so--so almost terrible,that I'm like a little wreath of spray dashed against the rocks of theirnature. They don't even know I'm there!"

  Suddenly Max seemed to see the two framed photographs in the open bag:an officer in French uniform, and Richard Stanton, the explorer, the manof fire and steel said to be without mercy for himself or others. Maxfelt ashamed, as if inadvertently he had stumbled upon a secret. "Strongmen should be the tenderest to women," he reminded her.

  "Yes, on principle. But when they want to live their own lives, andwomen interfere? What then? Could one expect them to be kind andgentle?"

  "A man worth his salt couldn't be harsh to a woman he loved."

  "But if he didn't love her? I'm thinking of two men I know. And justnow, more of my father than--than the other. I've got no one to adviseme. I wonder if you would, a little? You're a man, and--and I can'thelp wondering if you're not a soldier. Don't think I ask fromcuriosity. And don't tell me if you'd rather not. But you see, if you_are_ one, it would help, because you could understand better how asoldier would feel about things."

  "I have been a soldier," Max said. There was no reason why he shouldkeep back the truth from this little girl for whom he was playingwatchdog: the little girl who thought him as kind as a brother! "But I'mafraid I don't know much about women."

  "The soldier I'm thinking about--my father--doesn't want to haveanything to do with women. My mother spoiled him for others. I believetheir love story must be the saddest in the whole world. But tell me, ifyou were old, as _he_ is, nearly fifty, and you had a daughter youdidn't love--though you'd been kind about money and all that--what wouldyou say if she suddenly appeared from another country, and said she'dcome to live with you?"

  "By Jove!" exclaimed Max. "Is that what you're going to do?"

  "Yes. You think my father will have a right to be angry with me, andperhaps send me back?"

  "I don't know about the right," said Max, "but soldiers get used todiscipline, you see. And a colonel of a regiment is always obeyed. Hemight find it inconvenient if a girl suddenly turned up."

  "But that's my only hope!" she pleaded. "Surprising my father. Anyhow, Isimply _can't_ go back to my aunts. I have some in Dublin--they were mymother's aunts, too: and some in Paris--aunts of my father. That makesthem my great-aunts, doesn't it? Perhaps they're harder for young peopleto live with than _plain_ aunts, who aren't great. I shall be twenty-onein a few weeks and free to choose my own life if my father won't haveme. I'm not brave, but I'm always trying to be brave! I can engage as agoverness or something, in Algeria, if the worst comes to the worst."

  "I don't believe your father would le
t you do that. _I_ wouldn't in hisplace."

  "After all, you're very young to judge what he would do, even though you_are_ a soldier!" exclaimed the girl, determined not to be thwarted. "Imust take my chance with him. I shall go to Sidi-bel-Abbes. If there's atrain, I'll start to-morrow night. And you, what are you going to do?Shall you stop long in Algiers?"

  "That depends," answered Max, "on my finding a woman I've come to searchfor."

  The girl was gazing at him with the deepest interest. "You have come toAlgiers to find a woman," she murmured, "and I, to find a man. Doyou--oh, don't think me impertinent--do you _love_ the woman?"

  "No," said Max. "I've never seen her." And then, the power of the stormand the night, and their strange, dreamlike intimacy, made him add: "Ilove a woman whom I may never see again."

  "And I," said the girl, "love a man I haven't seen since I was a child.Let's wish each other happiness."

  "I wish you happiness," echoed Max.

  "And I you. I shall often think of you, even if we never meet afterto-morrow. But I hope we shall! I believe we shall." She shut her eyessuddenly, and lay still for so long that Max was afraid she might havefainted again.

  "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, bending toward her from his lowseat on the suitcase.

  She opened her eyes with a slight start, as if she had waked, halfdazed, from some unfinished dream.

  "Oh, yes," she said. "I was making a picture, in a way I have. I waswondering what would happen to us, in our different paths, and trying tosee. One of my aunts says it is 'Celtic' to do that. I saw you in agreat waste-place, like a desert. And then--_I_ was there, too. We weretogether--all alone. Perhaps, although I didn't know it, I'd reallyfallen asleep."

  "Perhaps," agreed Max, and a vague thrill ran through him. He, too, haddreamed of desert as he lay in the lower berth, and she, overhead, haddreamed a desert dream, each unknown to the other. "Try to go to sleepagain."

  She closed her eyes, and presently he thought that she slept. Once ortwice she waked with the heave and jolt of a great wave, always to findher watchdog at hand.

  But at last, when with the dawn the storm lulled, Max noiselesslyswitched off the light and went out.