CHAPTER XX
INTO THE INFINITE
The midnight hour drew near, and, above deck, tranquillity reigned. Itwas, however, the comparative quiet that follows a storm. A threateningday had culminated in a fierce tropical downpour--a cloud-burst--whenthe very heavens had seemed to open. The _Nevski_, steaming forward athalf speed, had come almost to a stop; struck by the masses of water,she had fairly staggered beneath the impact. Now she lay motionless,while every shroud and line dripped; the darkness had become inky. Onlythe light from cabin windows which lay on the wet deck like shafts ofsilver relieved that Cimmerian effect. The sea moaned from the lashingit had received--a faint undertone, however, that became suddenlydrowned by loud and harsh clangor, the hammering on metal somewherebelow. Possibly something had gone wrong with a hatch or ironcompartment door inadvertently left open, or one of the ventilators mayhave got jammed and needed adjusting. The captain, as he hastened down acompanionway, muttered angrily beneath his breath about water in thestoke room. The decks, in the vicinity of the cabins, seemed nowdeserted, when from the shadows, a figure that had merged in the generalgloom, stepped out and passed swiftly through one of the trails oflight. Gliding stealthily toward the stern, this person drew near therail, and, peering cautiously over, looked down on one of the smallboats swung out in readiness for the landing party at dawn.
"Mademoiselle," he breathed low.
"Is that you, Francois?" came up softly from the boat.
He murmured something. "Is all in readiness?"
"Quite! Make haste."
The person above, about to swing himself over the rail, paused; a cabindoor, near by, had been thrown open and a stream of light shot near him.Some one came out; moreover, she--for the some one was a woman--did notclose the door. The youth crouched back, trying to draw himself fromsight but the woman saw him, and coming quickly forward spoke. Shethought him, no doubt, one of the sailors. He did not answer, perhapswas too frightened to do so, and his silence caused her to draw nearer.More sharply she started to address him in her own native Russian butthe words abruptly ceased; a sudden exclamation fell from her lips. He,as if made desperate by what the woman, now at the rail, saw or divined,seemed imbued with extraordinary strength. The success or failure of theenterprise hung on how he met this unexpected emergency. Heroic, ifneeds be, brutal measures were demanded. Her outcry was stifled butSonia Turgeinov was strong and resisted like a tigress. Perhaps shethought he meant to kill her, and in an excess of fear she managed tocall out once. Fortunately for the youth, the hammering belowcontinued, but whether she had made herself heard or not was uncertain.Confronted by a dire possibility, he exerted himself to the utmost tostill that warning voice. In frenzied haste he seized the heavy scarfshe had thrown around her shoulders upon leaving the cabin and wound itabout her face and head. The sinuous body seemed to grow limp in hisarms. His was not a pleasant task but a necessary one. This woman haddelivered the girl to the prince in the first place; would now attemptto frustrate her escape. Any moment some one else might come on deck anddiscover them.
"Quick! Why don't you come?" Betty Dalrymple's anxious voice ascendedfrom the darkness.
The youth knew well that no time must be lost, but what to do? He couldnot leave the woman. She might be only feigning unconsciousness. Andanyway they would soon find her and learn the truth. That would meantheir quick recapture. Already he thought he heard a footstep descendingfrom the bridge--approaching--With extraordinary strength for one ofFrancois' slender build, he swung the figure of the woman over the side,dropped her into the boat and followed himself. A breathless moment ofsuspense ensued; he listened. The approaching footsteps came on; thenpaused, and turned the other way. The youth waited no longer. The littleboat at the side was lowered softly; it touched the water and floatedaway from the _Nevski_ like a leaf. Then the darkness swallowed it.
"How far are we from the yacht now, Francois?"
"Only a few miles, Mademoiselle."
"Do you think we'll be far enough away at daybreak so they can't seeus?"
"Have no fear, Mademoiselle." The voice of Francois in the stern,thrilled. "There's a fair sailing wind."
"Isn't it strange"--Betty Dalrymple, speaking half to herself, regardedthe motionless form in the bottom of the boat--"that she, of allpersons, and I, should be thus thrust together, in such a tiny craft,on such an enormous sea?"
"I really couldn't help it, Mademoiselle"--apologetically--"bringing herwith us. There was no alternative."
"Oh, I'm not criticizing you, who did so splendidly." The girl's eyesagain fell. "She is unconscious a long time, Francois."
The youth's reply was lost amid the sound of the waters. Only the seatalked now, wildly, moodily; flying feathers of foam flecked the night.The boat took the waves laboriously and came down with shrill seething.She seemed ludicrously minute amid that vast unrest. The youth steeredsteadily; to Betty Dalrymple he seemed just going on anyhow, dashingtoward a black blanket with nothing beyond. It was all very wonderfuland awe-inspiring as well as somewhat fearsome. The waves had a cruelsound if one listened to them closely. A question floating in her mindfound, after a long time, hesitating but audible expression:
"Do you think there's any doubt about our being able to make one of theislands, Francois?"
"None whatever!" came back the confident, almost eager reply. "Not theslightest doubt in the world, Mademoiselle. The islands are very nearand we can't help seeing one of them at daybreak."
"Daybreak?" she said. "I wish it were here now."
Swish! swish! went the sea with more menacing sound. For the momentFrancois steered wildly, and the boat careened; he brought her upsharply. The girl spoke no more. Perhaps the motion of the little craftgradually became more soothing as she accustomed herself to it, for,before long, her head drooped. It was dry in the bow; a blanketprotected her from the wind, and, weary with the events of the last fewdays, she seemed to rest as securely on this wave-rocked couch as achild in its cradle. The youth, uncertain whether she slept or not,forbore to disturb her. Hours went by.
As the night wore on a few stars came out in a discouraged kind of way.Heretofore he had been steering by the wind; now, that scantyperipatetic band, adrift on celestial highways, assisted him in keepinghis course. When one sleepy-eyed planet went in, another, not far away(from the human scope of survey) came out, and Francois, with theperspicacity of a follower of the sea, seemed to have learned how togage direction by a visual game of hide-and-seek with the pin-points ofinfinitude. Between watching the stars, the sea and the sail, he foundabsorbing occupation for mind and muscle. Sometimes, in the water'sdepressions, a lull would catch them, then when the wind boomed againover the tops of the crests, slapping fiercely the canvas, a briefperiod of hazard had to be met. The boat, like a delicate live creature,needed a fine as well as a firm hand.
His faculties thus concentrated, Francois had remained oblivious to thedark form in the center of the boat, although long ago Sonia Turgeinovhad first moved and looked up. If she made any sound, he whose glancepassed steadily over her had not heard it. She raised herself slightly;sat a long time motionless, an arm thrown over a seat, her eyesalternating in direction, from the seas near the downward gunwale, tothe almost indistinguishable figure of him in the stern, the while herfingers played with a scarf--the one that had been wound around herhead. Once she leaned back, her cheek against the sharp thwart, her gazeheavenward. She remained thus a long while, with body motionless, thoughher fingers continued to toy with the bit of heavy silk, as if keepingpace with some mercurial rush of thoughts.
A wastrel, she had been in many strange places, but never before had shefound herself in a situation so extraordinary. To her startled outlook,the boat might well have seemed a chip tossed on the mad foam of chaos.This figure, almost indistinguishable, yet so steadfastly present at thestern of the little craft, appeared grim and ghostlike. But that he wasno ghost--His grip had been real; certainly that. He had been, too,perforce, a master of action. She leaned
her head on her elbow.Strangely, she felt no resentment.
The tired stars, as by a community of interest and commonunderstanding, slowly faded altogether. The woman bent her glancebow-ward. The day--what would it reveal? She understood a good deal, yetmuch still puzzled her. As through a dream, she had seemed to hear thename, "Francois"--to listen to a crystalline voice, fresh as thetinkling bells in some temple at the dawn. The darkness of the sky fusedinto a murky gray, and as that somber tone began, in turn, to bereplaced by a lighter neutral tint, she made out dimly the figure of thegirl. As by a species of fascination, she continued to look at her whilethe morn unfolded slowly. From behind a dark promontory of vapor,Aurora's warm hand now tossed out a few careless ribbons. They lightenedthe chilly-looking sea; they touched a golden tress--just one, thatstole out from under the gray blanket. The girl's face could not beseen; the heavy covering concealed the lines of the lithe young form.
As she continued to sleep--undisturbed by the first manifestations ofthe dawn--the woman's glance swept backward to him at the helm. Theshafts of light showed now his face, worn and set, yet strangelytransfigured. He did not seem to notice her; beneath heavy lids hisquick glances shot this way and that to where wisps of mist on thesurface of the sea partly obscured the outlook. Sonia Turgeinov divinedhis purpose; he was looking for the _Nevski_. But although he continuedto search in the direction of the yacht, he did not catch sight of her.Only the winding and twining diaphanous veils played where he feared shemight have been visible. An expression of great satisfaction passed overhis features.
Then he swayed from sheer weariness; he could have dropped gladly to thebottom of the boat. Brain as well as sinew has its limitations and thenight had been long and trying. He had done work that called fortenseness and mental concentration every moment. He had outlasted diversand many periods when catastrophe might have overwhelmed them, and nowthat the blackness which had shrouded a thousand unseen risks and perilshad been swept aside, an almost overpowering reaction claimed him. Thisnatural lassitude became the more marked after he had scanned thehorizon in vain for the prince's pleasure-yacht.
His task, however, was far from over, and he straightened. To SoniaTurgeinov, his gaze and his expression were almost somnambulistic. Hecontinued steering, guiding their destinies as by force of habit.Luckily the breeze had waned and the boat danced more gaily thandangerously. It threw little rainbows of spray in the air; he blinked atthem, his eyes half closed. In the bow the old dun-colored blanketstirred but he did not see it. A glorious sun swept up, and began to lapthirstily the wavering mists from the surface of the sea.
Sonia Turgeinov spoke now softly to the steersman. What she said he didnot know; his lack-luster gaze met hers. All dislike and disapprovalseemed to have vanished from it; he saw her only as one sees a face in adaguerreotype of long ago, or looks at features limned by a soullessetcher.
"Do you see it?" he asked.
"What?"
"Trees? Aren't those trees?"
"I see nothing."
"You do. You must. They are there." He spoke almost roughly, as if sheirritated him.
"Oh, yes. I think I do see something," she said, and started. "Like aspeck?--a film?--a bird's wing, perhaps?"
In the bow the blanket again stirred. Then, as from the dull chrysalisemerge brightness and beauty, so from those dun folds sprang into themorning light a red-lipped, lovely vision.
"Trees," repeated the steersman to Sonia Turgeinov. "I am positive--" hewent on, but lost interest in his own words. Fatigue seemed to fall fromhim in an instant; he stared.
From beneath her golden hair Betty Dalrymple's eyes flashed full uponhim.
"You!" she said.
Mr. Heatherbloom appeared to relapse; his expression--that smile--vague,indefinite--again partook of the somnambulistic.
A Man and His Money Page 20
