As the pine waved to and fro, Southesk saw that the unknown sat in a thoughtful attitude, looking out through the wide rift into the sunny blue beyond. He saw, too, that a pair of small, bare feet shone white against the dark bottom of a rocky basin, full of newly fallen rain; that a plain grey gown defined the lithe outlines of a girlish figure, and that the damp dark rings of hair were fastened back with a pretty band of shells.
So intent on looking was he that he leaned nearer and nearer, till a sudden gesture caused the comb to slip from his pocket and fall into the basin with a splash that roused the girl from her reverie. She started, seized it eagerly, and looking upward exclaimed with a joyful accent,
“Why, Stern, where did you find my comb?”
There was no answer to her question, and the smile died on her lips, for instead of Stern’s rough, brown countenance she saw, framed in green leaves, a young and comely face.
Blonde and blue-eyed, flushed and eager, the pleasant apparition smiled down upon her with an aspect which brought no fear, but woke wonder and won confidence by the magic of a look. Only a moment did she see it; then the pine boughs came between them. The girl sprang up, and Southesk, forgetting safety in curiosity, leaped down.
He had not measured the distance; his foot slipped and he fell, striking his head with a force that stunned him for a moment. The cool drip of water on his forehead roused him, and he soon collected himself, although somewhat shaken by his fall. Half-opening his eyes he looked into a dark yet brilliant face, of such peculiar beauty that it struck and charmed him at a single glance. Pity, anxiety and alarm were visible in it, and glad of a pretext for prolonging the episode, he resolved to feign the suffering he did not feel. With a sigh he closed his eyes again, and for a moment lay enjoying the soft touch of hands about his head, the sound of a quickly-beating heart near him, and the pleasant consciousness that he was an object of interest to this sweet-voiced unknown. Too generous to keep her long in suspense, he soon raised his head and looked about him, asking faintly,
“Where am I?”
“In the chasm, but quite safe with me,” replied a fresh young voice.
“Who is this gentle ‘me whom I mistook for a mermaid, and whose pardon I ask for this rude intrusion?”
“I’m Ariel, and I forgive you willingly.”
“Pretty name — is it really yours?” asked Southesk, feeling that his simplest manner was the surest to win her confidence, for the girl spoke with the innocent freedom of a child.
“I have no other, except March, and that is not pretty.”
“Then, ‘A. M.’ on the comb docs not mean ‘A mermaid,’ as old Jack thought when he gave it to me?”
A silvery laugh followed his involuntary smile, as, still kneeling by him, Ariel regarded him with much interest, and a very frank expression of admiration in her beautiful eyes.
“Did vou come to bring it back to me?” she asked, turning the recovered treasure in her hand.
“Yes; Jack told me about the prettv water-sprite he saw, so I came to find her, and am not vet sure that you’re not a Lorelei, for you nearly wrecked me, and vanished in a most unearthly manner.” “Ah!” she said, with the blithe laugh again, “I lead the life of a mermaid though I’m not one, and when I’m disturbed I play pranks, for I know every cranny of the rocks, and learned swimming and diving from the gulls.”
“Flying also, I should think, by the speed with which you reached this nook, for I made all haste, and nearly killed myself, as you see.”
As he spoke, Southesk tried to rise, but a sharp twinge in his arm made him pause, with an exclamation of pain.
“Are you much hurt? Can I do anything more for you?” and the voice was womanly pitiful, as the girl watched him.
“I’ve cut my arm, I think, and lamed my foot; but a little rest w ill set them right. May I wait here a few minutes, and enjoy your lovely nest; though it’s no place for a clumsy mortal like me?”
“Oh, yes; stay as long as you please, and let me bind up your wound. See how it bleeds.”
“You are not afraid of me then?”
“No; why should I be?” and the dark eyes looked fearlessly into his as Ariel bent to examine the cut. It was a deep one, and he fancied she would cry out or turn pale; but she did neither, and having skilfully bound a wet handkerchief about it, she glanced from the strong arm and shapely hand to their owner’s face, and said, naively,
“What a pity there will be a scar.”
Southesk laughed outright, in spite of the smart, and, leaning on the uninjured arm, prepared to enjoy himself, for the lame foot was a fiction.
“Never mind the scar. Men consider them no blemish, and I shall be prouder of this than half a dozen others I have, because by means of it I get a glimpse into fairy land. Do you live here on foam and sunshine, Ariel?”
“No; the lighthouse is my home now.”
There was evident reluctance in her manner. She seemed to weigh her words, yet longed to speak out, and it was plain to see that the newcomer was very welcome to her solitude. With all his boldness, Southesk unconsciously tempered his manner with respect, and neither by look nor tone caused any touch of fear to disturb the innocent creature whose retreat he had discovered.
“Then you are Ralph’s daughter, as I fancied?” he went on, putting his questions with an engaging air that was hard to resist.
“Yes.”
Again she hesitated, and again seemed eager to confide even in a stranger, but controlled the impulse, and gave brief replies to all home questions.
“No one knows you are here, and you seem to lead a hidden life like some enchanted princess. It only needs a Miranda to make a modern version of the Tempest.” He spoke half aloud, as if to himself, but the girl answered readily —
“Perhaps I am to lead you to her as the real Ariel led Ferdinand to Miranda, if you’ve not already found her.”
“Why, what do you know of Shakespeare? and how came you by your pretty name?” asked Southesk, wondering at the look and tone which suddenly gave the girl’s face an expression of elfish intelligence.
“I know and love Shakespeare better than any of my other books, and can sing every song he wrote. I low beautiful they are! See, I have worn out mv dear book with much reading.”
As she spoke, from a dry nook in the rock she drew a dilapidated volume, and turned its pages with a loving hand, while all the innocent sweetness returned to her voting face, lending it new beauty.
“What a charming little sprite it is,” thought Southesk, adding aloud, with an irresistible curiosit that banished politeness,
“And the name, how came that?”
“Father gave it to me.” There she paused, adding hastily, “He loves Shakespeare as well as I do, and taught me to understand him.”
“Here’s a romantic pair, and a mystery of some sort, which I’ll amuse myself bv unraveling, if possible,” he thought, and put another question — “Have vou been here long?”
“No; I only spend the hot hours here.”
“Another evasion. I shall certainly be driven into asking her, point blank, who and what she is,” said Southesk to himself, and, to avoid temptation, returned to the comb which Ariel still held.
“Who carved that so daintily? I should like to bespeak one tor myself it is so pretty.”
“I carved it, and was very happv at my work. It’s hard to find amusement on this barren island, so I invent all sorts ot things to while away the time.”
“Did you invent this hanging garden and make this wilderness blossom?” asked Southesk. trying the while to understand the lights and shadows that made her face as changeful as an April sky.
“Yes; 1 did it, and spend half my time here, lor here I escape seeing people on the beach, and so forget them.”
A little sigh followed, and her eyes turned wistfully to the dark rift, that gave her but a glimpse of the outer world.
“You can scarcely see the beach, much less the people on it, I should think,” said South
esk, wondering what she meant.
“I can see well with the telescope from the tower, and often watch the people on the shore — they look so gay and pretty.
“Then, w hy wish to forget them?”
“Because since they came it is more lonely than before.”
“Do you never visit the mainland? Have you no friends or companions to enliven your solitude?”
“No.”
Something in the tone in which the monosyllable was uttered checked further inquiries, and prompted him to say smilingly:
“Now it is your turn; ask what you will.”
But Ariel drew back, answering with an air of demure propriety that surprised him more than her self-possession or her rebuke.
“No, thank you, it is ill-bred to question strangers.”
Southesk colored at the satirical glance she gave him, and rising, he made his most courtly bow, saying, with a pleasant mixture of candor and contrition:
“Again I beg pardon for my rudeness. Coming so suddenly upon a spirit singing to itself between sea and sky, I forgot myself, and fancied the world’s ways out of place. Now I see my mistake, and though it spoils the romance, I will call you Miss March, and respectfully take my leave.”
The silvery laugh broke in on the last sentence, and in her simplest manner Ariel replied:
“No, don’t call me that nor go away, unless you are quite out of pain. I like your rudeness better than your politeness, for it made you seem like a pleasant boy, and now you are nothing but a fine gentleman.”
Both amused and relieved by her reply, he answered, half in jest, half in earnest,
“Then, I’ll be a boy again, and tell you who I am, as you are too well bred to ask, and it is but proper to introduce myself. Philip Southesk by name, gentleman by birth, poet by profession; but I don’t deserve the title, though certain friendly persons do me the honor to praise a few verses I once wrote. Stay, I forgot two things that ladies usually take an interest in. Fortune ample — age four- and-twenty.”
“You did not ask me either of these two questions,” said Ariel, with a flicker of merriment in her eves, as she glanced up rather shyly at the would-be boy, who now stood straight and tall before her.
“No; even in the midst of my delusion I remembered that one never ventures to put the last of those questions to a woman — the first I cared nothing about.”
“I like that,” said the girl in her quick way, adding frankly, “I am poor, and seventeen.”
She half rose as she spoke, but hastily sat down again, recollecting her bare feet. The change of color, and an anxious look toward a pair of little shoes that lay near by, suggested to Southesk a speedy withdrawal, and, turning toward the half-hidden ladder, he said, lingering in the act of going:
“Good-by; may I come again, if I come properly, and do not stay too long? Poets are privileged persons, you know, and this is a poets paradise.”
She looked pleased, yet troubled, and answered reluctantlv:
“You are very kind to say so, but I cannot ask vou to come again, for father would be displeased, and it is best for me to go on as before.”
“But why hide yourself here? Whv not enjoy the pleasures fitting for your age, instead of watching them afar off, and vainly longing for them?” exclaimed Southesk, impetuously, for the eloquent eves betrayed what the tongue would not confess.
“I cannot tell you.”
As she spoke her head was bowed upon her hands, her abundant hair veiled her face, and as it fell the little chaplet of shells dropped at Southesk’s feet.
“Forgive me; I have no right to question you, and will not disturb your solitude again, unless your father is willing. But give me some token to prove that I have really visited an enchanted island, and heard Ariel sing. I returned the comb, may I have this in exchange?”
He spoke playfully, hoping to win a smile of pardon for his last trespass. She looked up quite calm again, and freely gave him the chain of shells for which he asked. Then he sprang up the precipitous path, and went his way, but his parting glance showed him the fair face still wistfully watching him from the green gloom of Ariel’s nest.
PART II
In the lower room of the lighthouse sat three persons, each apparently busy w ith his own thoughts, vet each covertly watching the others. Ralph March, a stern, dark-browed, melancholylooking man, leaned back in his chair, with one hand above his eyes, which were fixed on Ariel, who sat near the narrow window cut in the thick wall, often gazing out upon the sea, glowing with the gold and purple of a sunset sky, but oftener stealing a glance toward her father, as if she longed to speak vet dared not. The third occupant of the room was a rough, sturdy-looking man, whose age it was hard to discover, for an unsightly hump disfigured his broad shoulders, and a massive head wras set upon a stunted body. Shaggy-haired, tawny-bearded and bronzed by wind and weather he was a striking, not a pitiful figure, for his herculean strength was visible at a glance, and a somewhat defiant expression seemed to repel compassion and command respect. Sitting in the doorway, he appeared to be intent on mending a torn net, but his keen eve went stealthily from father to daughter, as if trying to read their faces. The long silence that had filled the room was broken by March’s deep voice, saying suddenly, as he dropped his hand and turned to Ariel:
“Are you sick or sad, child, that you sigh so heavily?”
“I’m lonely, father.”
Something in the plaintive tone and drooping figure touched March’s heart, and, drawing the girl to his knee, he looked into her face with a tender anxiety that softened and beautified his owm.
“What can I do for you, dear? Where shall I take you to make you forget your loneliness? — or whom shall I bring here to enliven you?”
Her eyes woke and her lips parted eagerlv, as if a wish was readv, but some fear restrained its utterance, and, half averting her face, she answered meeklv:
“I ought to be contented with you, and I try to be, but sometimes I long to do as others do, and enjoy my youth while it lasts. If you liked to mingle with people I should love to try it; as you do not, I’ll endeavor to be happy where I am.”
“Poor child, it is but natural, and I am selfish to make a recluse of you, because I hate the world. Shall we leave the island and begin our wandering life again?”
“Oh, no; I like the island now, and could be quite contented if I had a young companion. I never have had, and did not know how pleasant it was until two days ago.”
Her eyes turned toward the open door, through which the Gull’s Perch was visible, with the chasm yawning near it, and again she sighed. March saw where she looked; a frown began to gather, but some gentler emotion checked his anger, and with a sudden smile he said, stroking her smooth cheek:
“Now I know the wish you would not tell, the cause of your daily w atch from the tower, and the secret of these frequent sighs. Silly child, you want young Southesk to return, yet dare not ask me to permit it.”
Ariel turned her face freely to his, and leaning confidingly upon his shoulder, answered with the frankness he had taught her.
“I do wish he’d come again, and I think I deserve some reward for telling vou all that happened, for bidding him go away, and for being so careful what I said.”
“Hard tasks, I know, especially the last, for such an open creature is my girl. Well, you shall be rewarded, and if he come again you iav see him, and so will I.”
“Oh, thank vou, father, that is so kind. Hut you look as if you thought he would not come.”
“I am afraid he has already forgotten all about the lonely island and the little bare-footed maiden he saw on it. Young men’s memories are treacherous things, and curiosity once gratified, soon dies.”
But Ariel shook her head, as if refusing to accept the ungracious thought, and surprised her father by the knowledge of human nature which she seemed to have learned bv instinct, for she answered gravely, yet hopefully:
“I think he will come, simply because I forbade it. 1 le is a
poet, and cares for things that have no charm for other men. He liked my nest, he liked to hear me sing, and his curiosity was not gratified, because I only told enough to make him eager for more. I have a feeling that he will come again, to find that the island is not always lonely, nor the girl always barefooted.”
Her old blithe laugh broke out again as she glanced from the little mirror that reflected the glossy waves of her hair, bound with a band of rosy coral, to the well-shod feet that peeped from below the white hem of her gown. Her father watched her fondly, as she swept him a stately curtsey, looking so gav and lovely that he could not but smile and hope her wish might be granted.
“Little vanity,” he said, “who taught you to make yourself so bonny, and where did you learn these airs and graces? Not from Stern or me, I fancy.”
“Ah, 1 have not looked through the telescope and watched the fine ladies in vain, it seems, since you observe the change. I study fashion and manners at a disadvantage, but I am an apt scholar, I find. Now I’m going up to watch and wait for my reward.”
As she ran up the winding-stairs that led to the great lantern, and the circular balcony that hung outside, Stern said, with the freedom of one privileged to speak his mind:
“The girl is right; the boy will come again, and mischief will grow out of it.”
“What mischief?” demanded March.
“Do you suppose he can see her often and not love her?” returned Stern, almost angrily.
“Let him love her.”
“Do you mean it? After hiding her so carcfullv, will you let her be won by this romantic boy, if his fancy last? You are making a false step, and you’ll repent of it.”
“I have alreadv made a false step, and I do repent of it; but it’s not this one. I have tried to keep Ariel a child, and she was happy until she became a woman. Now the old simple life is not enough for her, and her heart craves its right. I live only for her, and if her happiness demands the sacrifice of the seclusion I love, I shall make it — shall welcome anyone w ho can give her pleasure, and promote any scheme that spares her from the melancholy that curses me.”
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