Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20

by A Double Life (v1. 1)

  “Then you are resolved to let this young man come if he choose, and allow her to love him, as she most assuredly will?”

  “Yes, chance brought him here at first, and if inclination brings him again let it be so. I have made inquiries concerning him, and am satisfied. He is Ariel’s equal in birth, is fitted to make her happy, and has already wakened an unusual interest in her mind. Sooner or later I must leave her; she is alone in the world, and to whom can I confide her so safely as to a husband.”

  A dark flush had passed over Sterns face as he listened, and more than once impetuous words seemed to have risen to his lips, to be restrained by set teeth and an emotion of despair.

  March saw this, and it seemed to confirm his purpose, though he made no comment on it, and abruptly closed the conversation; for, as Stern began —

  “I warn you, sir — ” he interrupted him, saying with decision: “No more of this; I have had other warnings than yours, and must listen to them, for the time is not far distant w hen 1 must leave the child alone, unless 1 give her a guardian soon. Wild as my plan may seem, it is far safer than to take her into the world, for here l can observe this young man, and shape her future as I will. You mean kindly, Stern, but you cannot judge for me nor understand my girl as I do. Now, leave me, I must go and rest.”

  Stern’s black eves glowed with an ireful spark, and he clenched his strong hands as if to force himself to silence, as he went without a word, while March passed into an inner room, with the melancholy expression deeper than ever on his face.

  For a few moments the deserted room was silent and solitary, but presently a long shadow fell athwart the sunny floor, and Southesk stood in the open doorway, w ith a portfolio and a carefully folded parcel underneath his arm. Pausing to look about him for someone to address, the sound of Ariel’s voice reached his ear, and, as if no other welcome were needed, he followed it as eagerh as before. Stealing up the steep stairs, he came into the many- windowed tower, and on the balcony saw Ariel straining her eyes through a telescope, which was pointed toward the beach he had left an hour ago. As he lingered, uncertain how to accost her, she dropped the glass, exclaiming with a sigh of weariness and disappointment:

  “No, he is not there!” In the act she turned, saw him, and uttered a little cry of delight, while her face brightened beautifully as she sprang forward, offering her hand with a gesture as graceful as impulsive, saying joyfully —

  “I knew you would come again!”

  Well pleased at such a cordial welcome, he took the hand, and still holding it, asked in that persuasive voice of his —

  “For whom were you looking, Ariel?”

  She colored, and turned her traitorous eyes away, yet answered with an expression of merry mischief that was very charming —

  “I looked for Ferdinand!”

  “And here he is,” replied Southesk, laughing at her girlish evasion. “Though you forbade my return, I was obliged to break my promise, because I unconsciously incurred a debt which I wish to discharge. When I asked you for those pretty shells I did not observe that they were strung on a little gold chain, and afterward it troubled me to think I had taken a gift of value. Much as I want to keep it, I shall not like to do so unless you will let me make some return for that, and for the hospitality you showed me. May I offer you this, with many thanks?”

  While speaking rapidly, he had undone the parcel, and put into her hands a beautiful volume of Shakespeare, daintily bound, richly illustrated, and bearing on the fly-leaf a graceful little poem to herself. So touched and delighted was she that she stood silent, reading the musical lines, glancing at the pictured pages, and trying to summon words expressive enough to convey her thanks. None came that suited her, but her eyes filled, and she exclaimed with a grateful warmth that well repaid the giver.

  “It is too beautiful for me, and you are too kind! How did you know I wanted a new book, and would have chosen one like this?”

  “I am glad I guessed so well, and now consider the mermaid’s rosary my own. But tell me, did you ask if I might come again, or did you leave it to me?”

  “I tell my father everything, and when 1 spoke of you again today, much to my surprise, he said you might come if you chose. Hut he added that you’d probably forgotten all about the island bv this time.”

  “And you knew I had not — thank you for that. No; so far from forgetting, I’ve dreamed about it ever since, and should have returned before had not my arm been too lame for rowing, and I would not bring any intruder but myself. I want to sketch your nest, for some day it will get into verse, and I wish to keep it fresh before me. May I?”

  “I shall be very proud to see it drawn, and to read the poem if it is as sweet as this. I think I like your songs better than Shakespeare’s.”

  “What a compliment! It is I who am proud now. How beautiful it is up here; one feels like a bird on this airy perch. Tell me what those places are that look so like celestial cities in this magical light?”

  Willingly she obeyed, and standing at her side he listened, feeling the old enchantment creep over him as he watched the girl, who seemed to glow and brighten like a flower at the coming of the sun. Nor did the charm lie in her beauty alone; language, mien, and manner betrayed the native refinement which comes from birth and breeding, and, despite her simple dress, her frank wavs, and the mystery that surrounded her, Southesk felt that this lighthouse-keeper’s daughter was a gentlewoman, and every moment grew more interested in her.

  Presently he professed a desire to sketch a picturesque promontory not far distant; and, seated on the step of the narrow door, he drew' industriously, glancing up now and then at Ariel, who leaned on the balustrade turning the pages of her book with her loveliest expression, as she read a line here and there, sung snatches ot the airs she loved so well, and paused to talk, for her companion wasted little time in silence. Place, hour, and society suited him to a charm, and he luxuriated in the romance and the freedom, both being much enhanced by the strong contrast between this hour and those he had been spending among the frivolous crowds at the great hotel. He took no thought for the future but heartily enjoyed the present, and was in his gayest, most engaging mood as he feasted his eyes on the beauty all about him while endeavoring to copy the graceful figure and spirited face before him.

  Quite unconscious of his purpose she pored over the book, and presently exclaimed, as she opened on a fine illustration of the Tempest —

  “Here we all are! Prospero is not unlike my father, but Ferdinand is much plainer than you. Here’s Ariel swinging in a vine, as I’ve often done, and Caliban watching her as Stern watches me. He is horrible here, however, and my Caliban has a fine face, if one can get a sight of it when he is in good humor.”

  “You mean the deformed man who glowered at me as I landed? I want much to know who he is, but I dare not ask, lest I get another lesson in good manners,” said Southesk, with an air of timidity belied by his bold, bright eyes.

  “I’ll tell you without asking. He is the lighthouse-keeper, for my father only helps him a little, because he likes the wild life. People call him the master, as he goes to the mainland for all we need instead of Stern, who hates to be seen, poor soul.”

  “Thank you,” returned Southesk, longing to ask more questions, and on the alert for any hint that might enlighten him regarding this peculiar pair.

  Ariel went back to her book, smiling to herself, as she said, after a long look at one figure in the pictured group —

  “This Miranda is very charming, but not so queenlv as yours.”

  “Mine!” ejaculated Southesk, with as much amusement as surprise. “How do you know I have one?”

  “She came here to look for you,” stealing a glance at him from under her long lashes.

  “The deuce, she did! When — how? Fell me about it, for, upon my honor, I don’t know who you mean,” and Southesk put down his pencil to listen.

  “Yesterday a boatman rowed a lady down here, and though the steep path and the
ladder rather daunted her at first, she climbed up, and asked to see the lighthouse. Stern showed it, but she was not soon satisfied, and peered about as if bent on searching every corner. She asked many questions, and examined the book for visitors’ names, which hangs below. Yours was not there, but she seemed to suspect that you had been here, and Stern told her that it was so. It was not like him, but he was unusually gracious, though he said nothing about father and myself, and when she had roamed up and dow n for a long time, the lady went away.”

  “Was she tall and dark, w ith fine eves and a proud air?” asked Southesk, with a frown.

  “Yes; but I thought she could be very sweet and gentle when she chose, she changed so as she spoke of you.”

  “Did she see you, Ariel?”

  “No; I ran away and hid, as I always do when strangers come; but I saw her, and longed to know her name, for she would not give it, so I called her your Miranda.”

  “Not she! Her name is Helen Lawrence, and I wish she was — ” He checked himself, looking much annoyed, yet ashamed of his petulant tone, and added, with a somewhat disdainful smile — “less inquisitive. She must have come while I was in the city searching for your book, but she never breathed a word of it to me. I shall feel like a fly in a cobweb if she keeps such close watch over me.”

  “Why did she think you had been here? Did you tell her?” asked Ariel, looking as if she quite understood Miss Lawrence’s motive in coming, and rather enjoyed her disappointment.

  “That puppy, Dr. Have, who dressed my arm, and found your handkerchief on it, made a story out of nothing, and set the gossips chattering. The w omen over yonder have nothing else to do, so a fine romance w as built up, founded on the wounded arm, the little handkerchief, and the pretty chain, of which Have caught a glimpse. Miss Lawrence must have bribed old Jack to tell her where I’d been, for I told no one, and stole off to-day so carefully that I defy them to track me here.”

  “Thank you for remembering that w e did not wish to be disturbed; but 1 am sorry that you have been annoyed, and hope this handsome Helen will not come again. ou think her handsome, don’t you?” asked the girl, in the demure tone that she sometimes used with much effect.

  “Yes; but she is not to my taste. I like spirit, character, and variety of expression in a face more than mere beauty of coloring or outline. One doesn’t see faces like hers in one’s dreams, or imagine it at one’s fireside; it is a fine picture — not the image of the woman one would live and die for.”

  A soft color had risen to Ariel’s cheek as she listened, wondering why those few words sounded so sweet to her. Southesk caught the fleeting emotion, and made the likeness perfect with a happy stroke or two. Pausing to survey his work with pleasure, he said low to himself —

  “What more does it need?”

  “Nothing — it is excellent.”

  The paper fluttered from his hand as a man’s voice answered, and turning quickly, he saw March standing behind him. He knew who it was at once, for several times he had passed on the beach this roughly-dressed, stern-faced man, who came and went as if blind to the gaiety all about him. Now, the change in him would have greatly surprised his guest had not his interviews with Ariel prepared him for the discovery, and when March greeted him with the air and manner of a gentleman, he betrayed no astonishment, but, giving his name, repeated his desire to sketch the beauties of the island, and asked permission to do so. A satirical smile passed over March’s grave face, as he glanced from the paper he had picked up to the bare cliffs below, but his tone was very courteous as he replied —

  “I have no right to forbid any one to visit the island, though its solitude was the attraction that brought me here. But poets and painters are privileged; so come freely, and if your pen and pencil make it too famous for us we can emigrate to a more secluded spot, for we are only birds of passage.”

  “There shall be no need of that, I assure you, sir. Its solitude is as attractive to me as to yourself, and no word or act of mine shall destroy the charm.” Southesk spoke eagerly, adding, with a longing glance at the paper which March still held: “I ventured to begin with the island’s mistress, and, with your permission, I will finish it as you pronounce it good.”

  “It is excellent, and I shall be glad to bespeak a copy, for I’ve often tried to sketch my will-o’-the-wisp, but never succeeded. What magic did you use to keep her still so long?”

  “This, father,” and Ariel showed her gift, as she came to look over his shoulder, and smile and blush to see herself so carefully portrayed.

  Southesk explained, and the conversation turning upon poetry, glided smoothly on till the deepening twilight warned the guest to go, and more than ever charmed and interested, he floated homeward to find Miss Lawrence waiting for him on the beach, and to pass her with his coolest salutation.

  From that day he led a double life — one gav and frivolous for all the world to see, the other sweet and secret as a lovers first romance. Hiring a room at a fishermans cottage that stood in a lonely nook, and giving out that he was seized with a fit of inspiration, he secluded himself whenever he chose, without exciting comment or curiosity. Having purchased the old couples silence regarding his movements, he came and went with perfect freedom, and passers-by surveyed with respectful interest the drawn curtains behind which the young poet was believed to be intent on songs and sonnets, while, in reality, he was living a sweeter poem than any he could write far away on the lighthouse tower, or hidden in the shadowy depths of Ariel’s nest. Even Helen was deceived, for, knowing that hers were the keenest eves upon him, he effectually blinded them for the time by slowly changing his former indifference to the gallant devotion which may mean much or little, yet which is always flattering to a woman, and doubly so to one who loves and waits for a return. Her society was more agreeable to him than that of the giddy girls and blase men about him, and believing that the belle of several seasons could easily guard the heart that many had besieged, he freely enjoyed the intercourse which their summer sojourn facilitated, all unconscious of the hopes and fears that made those days the most eventful of her life.

  Stern was right; the young man could not see Ariel w ithout loving her. For years, he had roamed about the world, heart-free; but his time came at last, and he surrendered without a struggle. For a few weeks he lived in an enchanted world, too happy to weigh consequences or dread disappointment. There was no cause for doubt or fear — no need to plead for love — because the artless girl gave him her heart as freely as a little child, and reading the language of his eyes, answered eloquently with her own. It was a poet’s wooing; summer, romance, beauty, innocence and youth — all lent their charms, and nothing marred its delight. March watched and waited hopefully, well pleased at the success of his desire; and seeing in the young man the future guardian of his child, soon learned to love him for his own sake as well as hers. Stern was the only cloud in all this sunshine; he preserved a grim silence, and seemed to take no heed of what went on about him; but, could the cliffs have spoken, they might have told pathetic secrets of the lonely man who haunted them by night, like a despairing ghost; and the sea might have betrayed how many tears, bitter as its own billows, had been wrung from a strong heart that loved, yet knew that the passion never could be returned.

  The mystery that seemed at first to surround them no longer troubled him, for a few words from March satisfied him that sorrow and misfortune made them seek solitude, and shun the scenes where they had suffered most. A prudent man would have asked more, but Southesk cared nothing for wealth or rank, and with the delicacy of a generous nature, feared to wound by questioning too closely. Ariel loved him; he had enough for all, and the present was too blissful to permit any doubt of the past — any fears for the future.

  So the summer days rolled on, sunny and serene, as if tempests were unknown, and brought, at last, the hour when Southesk longed to claim Ariel for his own, and show the world the treasure he had found.

  Full of this purpose, he went to hi
s tryst one golden August afternoon, intent on seeing March First, that he might go to Ariel armed with her father’s consent. But March was out upon the sea, where he often floated aimlessly for hours, and Southesk found no one but Stern, busily burnishing the great reflectors until they shone again.

  “Where is Ariel?” was the young man’s second question, though usually it was the First.

  “Why ask me, when you know better than I where to find her,” Stern answered harshly, as he frow ned over the bright mirror that reflected both his own and the happy lovers face; and too lighthearted to resent a rude speech, Southesk went smiling awav to find the girl, waiting for him in the chasm.

  “What pretty piece of work is in hand, to-day, busy creature?” he said, as he threw himself down beside her w ith an air of supreme content.

  “I’m stringing these for you, because you carrv the others so constantly they will soon be worn out,” she answered, busying herself with a redoubled assiduity, for something in his manner made her heart beat fast and her color vary. He saw it, and fearing to agitate her by abruptly uttering the ardent words that trembled on his lips, he said nothing for a moment, but leaning on his arm, looked at her with lovers eyes, till Ariel, finding silence more dangerous than speech, said hastilv, as she glanced at a ring on the hand that was idly playing w ith the many-colored shells that strewed her lap: “This is a curious old jewel; are those your initials on it?”

  “No, my fathers;” and he held it up for her to see.

  “R. M., where is the S. for Southesk?” she asked, examining it with girlish curiositv.

  “I shall have to tell vou a little story all about myself in order to explain that. Do you care to hear it?”

  “Yes, your stories are always pleasant; tell it, please.”

  “Then, you must know that I was born on the long voyage to India, and nearly died immediately after. The ship was wrecked, and my father and mother were lost; but, by some miracle, my faithful nurse and I were saved. Having no near relatives in the world, an old friend of my father’s adopted me, reared me tenderly, and dying, left me his name and fortune.”