“How well you understand me, Helen. Thank you for giving me courage to revisit the ruins of my little paradise. Come with me, for you are the only one who knows how much I have loved and lost. Shall we go now?”
“Blind and selfish, like a true man,” thought Helen, with a pang, as she saw his eye kindle and the old elasticity return to his step as he went on before her. But she smiled and followed, as if glad to serve him, and a keen observer might have added, “patient and passionate, like a true woman.”
Little was said between them as thev made the breezy voyage. Once Southesk woke out of a long reverie, to sav, pausing on his oars:
“A year to-day since I first saw Ariel.”
“A year to-day since you told me that vour fate was to come to you out of the sea,” and Helen sighed involuntarily as she contrasted the man before her with the happy dreamer who smiled up at her that day.
“Yes, and it has come even to the hour when all was to be won or lost,” he answered, little dreaming that the next hour was to verify the prophecy more perfectly than any in the past.
As they landed, he said, beseechingly:
“Wait for me at the lighthouse; I must visit the chasm alone, and I have no desire to encounter Stern, if I can help it.”
“Why not?” asked Helen, wondering at his tone.
“Because he loved her, and could not forgive me that I was more beloved than he.”
“I can pity him,” she said, below her breath, adding, with unusual tenderness of manner —“Go, Philip; I know how to wait.”
“And I thank you for it.”
The look he gave her made her heart leap, for he had never bent such a one on her before, yet she feared that the memory of his lost love stirred and warmed him, not a dawning passion for herself, and would have wrung her hands in despair could she have known how' utterly she was forgotten, as Southesk strode across the cliffs, almost as eagerly as if he knew' that Ariel waited for him in her nest. It w as empty; but something of its former beauty had been restored to it, for the stones were gone, green things were struggling up again, and the ladder was replaced.
“Poor Stern, he has repented of his frantic act, and tried to make the nest beautiful again as a memorial of her," thought Southesk; and descending, he threw himself down upon the newly-piled moss to dream his happy dream again, and fancy Ariel was there.
Well for him that he did not see the wrathful face that presently peered over the chasm’s edge, as Stern watched him with the air of a man driven to desperation. The old hatred seemed to possess him with redoubled violence, and some new cause for detestation appeared to goad him with a hidden fear. More than once he sprang up and glanced anxiously behind him, as if he was not alone; more than once he laid his sinewy hands on a ponderous stone near by, as if tempted to hurl it down the chasm; and more than once he ground his teeth, like some savage creature who sees a stronger enemy approaching to deprive him of his prey.
The tide was coming in, the sky was over-cast, and a gale was rising; but though Southesk saw, heard and heeded nothing about him, Stern found hope in the gathering storm; for some evil spirit seemed to have been born of the tempest that raged within him, and to teach him how to make the elements his friends.
“Mr. Southesk.”
Philip leaped to his feet as if a pistol had been fired at his ear, and saw Stern standing beside him with an air of sad humility, that surprised him more than the sight of his grey hair and haggard face. Pity banished resentment, and offering his hand, he said, with a generous oblivion of their parting words —
“Thank you for the change you have wrought here, and forgive me that I come back to see it once before I go away for ever. We both loved her; let us comfort one another.”
A sudden color passed over Stern’s swarthy face, he drew a long breath as he listened, and clenched one hand behind him as he put the other into Southesk’s, answering in the same suppressed tone and with averted eyes — “You know it, then, and try to submit as I do?”
Philip’s lips were parted to reply, but no words followed, for a faint, far-off sound was heard, a woman’s voice singing —
“Oh, come unto the yellow sands!”
Southesk turned pale, believing for an instant that Ariel’s spirit came to welcome him; but the change in Stern’s face, and the look of baffled rage and despair that played up in his eyes, betrayed him. Clutching his arm, the young man cried out, trembling with a sudden conviction —
“You have lied to me; she is not dead!”
What passed in Sterns heart during the second in which the two stood face to face, it would be impossible to tell, but with an effort that shook his strong body, he wrenched himself away and controlled his desperate desire to send his rival down the gulf. Some thought seemed to flash across him, calming the turbulence of his nature like a spell; and assuming the air of one defeated, he said slowly —
“I have lost, and I confess, I did lie to you, for March never sent the letter. I forged it, knowing that you would believe it if I added the note Ariel left for you a year ago. I could not give it to you then, but kept it with half the lock of hair. You followed them, but I followed you, and more than once thwarted you when you had nearly found them. As time passed, your persistence and her suffering began to soften March; I saw this, and tried to check you by the story of her death.”
“Thank God I came, else I should never have recovered her. Give her up, Stern; she is mine, and 1 claim her.”
Southesk turned to spring up the ladder, with no thought now but to reach Ariel; Stern arrested him, by saying with grim reluctance —
“You’ll not find her, for she will not come here any more, but sit below by the basin where you saw her first. You can reach her by climbing down the steps I have made. Nay, if you doubt me, listen.”
He did listen, and as the wind swept over the chasm, clearer and sweeter came the sound of that beloved voice. Southesk hesitated no longer, but swung himself recklessly downward, followed by Stern, whose black eyes glittered with a baleful light as they watched the agile figure going on before him. When they reached the basin, full to overflowing with the rising tide, they found the book her lover gave her and the little comb he knew so well, but no Ariel.
“She has gone into the cave for the weeds and shells you used to like. I’ll wait for you; there is no need of me now.”
Again Southesk listened; again he heard the voice, and followed it without a thought of fear; while Stern, seating himself on one of the fragments of rock cleared from the nest, leaned his head despondently upon his hand, as if his work was done.
The cave, worn by the ceaseless action of the waves at high tide, wound tortuously through the cliff to a lesser opening on the other side. Glancing rapidly into the damp nooks on either hand, Southesk hurried through this winding passage, which grew lower, narrower and darker toward the end, yet Ariel did not appear, and, standing still, he called her. Echo after echo caught up the word, and sent it whispering to and fro, but no human voice replied, though still the song came fitfully on the wind that blew coldly through the cave.
“She has ventured on to watch the waves boil in the Kelpie’s Cauldron. Imprudent child, I’ll punish her with a kiss,” thought Southesk, smiling to himself, as he bent his tall head and groped his way toward the opening. He reached it, and looked down upon a mass of jagged rocks, over and among which the great billows dashed turbulent and dark with the approaching storm. Still no Ariel; and as he stood, more clearly than ever sounded her voice, above him now.
“She has not been here, but has climbed the Gull’s Perch to watch the sky as we used to do. I have wasted all this time. Curse Stern’s stupidity!”
In a fever of impatience he retraced his steps, stopping suddenly as his feet encountered a pool which had not been there when he came.
“Ah! the tide is nearer in than I thought. Thank heaven, my darling is not here!” he said, and hurried round a sharp corner, expecting to see the entrance before him. It was not there
! A ponderous stone had been rolled against it, effectually closing it, and permitting only a faint ray of light to penetrate this living tomb. At first he stood panic-stricken at the horrible death that confronted him; then he thought of Stern, and in a paroxysm of wrath dashed himself against the rock, hoping to force it outward. But Stern’s immense strength had served him well; and while his victim struggled vainly, wave after wave broke against the stone, wedging it more firmly still, yet leaving crevices enough for the bitter waters to flow in, bringing sure death to the doomed man, unless help came speedily from without. Not till the rapidly advancing tide drove him back did Southesk desist; then drenched, breathless and bruised he retreated to the lesser opening, with a faint hope of escape that way. Leaning over the Cauldron, he saw that the cliff sunk sheer down, and well he knew that a leap there would be fatal. As far up as he could see, the face of the cliff offered foothold for nothing but a bird. He shouted till the cave rang, but no answer came, though Ariel’s song began again, for the same wind that brought her voice to him bore his away from her. There was no hope unless Stern relented, and being human, he might have, had he seen the dumb despair that seized his rival as he lav waiting for death, while far above him the woman he loved unconsciously chanted a song he had taught her, little dreaming it would be his dirge.
Left alone, Helen entered the lighthouse, and looked about her with renewed interest. The room was empty, but through a halfopen door she saw a man sitting at a table covered with papers. 1 le seemed to have been writing, but the pen had dropped from his hand, and leaning back in his deep chair he appeared to be asleep. His face was turned from her; yet when she advanced, he did not hear her, and when she spoke, he neither stirred nor answered. Something in the attitude and silence of the unknown man alarmed her; involuntarily she stepped forward and laid her hand on his. It was icy cold, and the face she saw had no life in it. Tranquil and reposeful, as if death had brought neither pain nor fear, he lay there with his dead hand on the paper, which some irresistible impulse had prompted him to write. Helen’s eye fell on it, and despite the shock of this discovery, a single name made her seize the letter and devour its contents, though she trembled at the act and the solemn witness of it.
“To Philip Southesk:
“Feeling that mv end is verv near, and haunted by a presentiment that it will be sudden — perhaps solitary — I am prompted to write what 1 hope to sav to you if time is given me to reach you. I hirty years ago your father was mv dearest friend, but we loved the same beautiful woman and he won her, unfairly 1 believed and in the passionate disappointment of the moment 1 swore und ing hatred to him and his. We parted and never met again, for the next tidings I received were of his death. I left the country and was an alien for years; thus I heard no rumor of your birth and never dreamed that you were Richard Marston’s son till I learned it through Ariel. Her mother, like yours, died at her birth. I reared her with jealous care, for she was my all, and I loved her with the intensity of a lonely heart; you came; I found that you could make her happy. I knew that my life was drawing to a close; I trusted you and I gave her up. Then I learned your name, and at the cost of breaking my child’s heart I kept my sinful oath. For a year you have followed me with unwearied patience; for a year Ariel’s fading youth has pleaded silently, and for a year I have been struggling to harden myself against both. But love has conquered hate, and standing in the shadow of death I see the sin and folly of the past. I repent and retract my oath,
I absolve Ariel from the promise I exacted, I freely give her to the man she loves, and may God deal with him as he deals with her.
RALPH MARCH, JUNE----- ”
There the pen had fallen, blotting the date; but Helen saw only the last two lines and her hand closed tighter on the paper as if she felt that it would be impossible to give it up. Forgetting everything but that she held her rivals fate in her grasp, she yielded to the terrible temptation, and thrusting the paper into her bosom glided away like a guilty creature to find Southesk and prevent him from discovering that the girl lived, if it was not too late. He was nowhere to be seen, and crossing the rude bridge that spanned the chasm she ventured to call him as she passed, round the base of the tall rock named the Gull’s Perch. A soft voice answered her, and turning a sharp angle she came upon a woman who sat alone looking down into the Kelpie’s Cauldron that foamed far below. She had half risen with a startled look at the sound of a familiar name, and as Helen paused to recover herself, Ariel asked half imploringly, half imperiously,
“Why do you call Philip? Tell me, is he here?” But for the paper in her breast Helen would have answered no, and trusted all to chance; now, feeling sure that the girl would keep her promise more faithfully than her father had kept his oath, unless he absolved her from it, she answered:
“Yes, but I implore you to shun him. I Ie thinks you dead; he has learned to love me, and is happy. Do not destroy my hope, and rob me of my hard-won prize, for you cannot reward him unless you break the solemn promise you have given.”
Ariel covered up her face, as if confessing the hard truth, but love clamored to be heard, and, stretching her hands to Helen, she cried:
“I will not come between you; I will keep my word; but let me see him once, and I will ask no more. Where is he? I can steal a look at him unseen; then you may take him away for ever, if it must be so.”
Trying to silence the upbraidings of her conscience, and thinking only of her purpose, Helen could not refuse this passionate prayer, and, pointing toward the chasm, she said anxiously:
“He went to the place you made so dear to him, but I do not see him now, nor does he answer w hen I call. Can he have fallen down that precipice?”
Ariel did not answer, for she was at the chasm’s brink, looking into its gloom with eyes that no darkness could deceive. No one w as there, and no sound answered the soft call that broke from her lips, but the dash of w ater far below. Glancing tow ard the basin, with a sudden recollection of the precious book left there, she saw, with wonder, that the stone w here she had sat was gone, and that the cavern’s mouth was closed. Stern’s hat lav near her, and as her eve fell on it, a sudden horror shook her, for he had left her, meaning to return, yet had not come, and was now here to be seen.
“Have you seen Stern?” she asked, grasping Helen’s arm, with a face of pale dismay.
“I saw him climbing the ladder, as if he was going to bind up his hands, which were bleeding. He looked wet and wild, and, as he did not see me, I did not speak. Why do you ask?”
“Because I fear he has shut Philip in the cave, where the rising tide will drown him. It is too horrible to believe; I must be sure.”
Back she flew to the seat she had left, and flinging herself dow n on the edge of the sloping cliff, she called his name till she was hoarse and trembling with the effort. Once a faint noise seemed to answ er, but the wind swept the sound away, and I lelen vainly strained her ear to eatch some syllable of the reply. Suddenly Ariel sprung up, with a cry:
“He is there! I see the flutter of his handkerchief! Help me, and we will save him.”
She was gone as she spoke, and before Helen could divine her purpose or steady her own nerves, Ariel was back again, dragging the rope ladder, which she threw down, and began to tear up the plaid on which she had been sitting.
“It is too short, and even these strips will not make it long enough. What can I give to help?” cried Helen, glancing at the frail silks and muslins which composed her dress.
“You can give nothing, and there is not time to go for help. I shall lengthen it in this way.”
Tying back the hair that blew about her face, and gathering the rope on her arm, Ariel slid over the edge of the cliff, and unstartled by Helen’s cry of alarm, climbed with wary feet along a perilous path, where one mis-step would be her last. Half way down a ledge appeared where a tree had once grown; the pine was blasted and shattered now, but the roots held fast, and to these Ariel hung the ladder, with a stone fastened to the lower en
d to keep the wind from blowing it beyond the opening. Straight as a plummet it fell, and for a moment neither woman breathed; then a cry broke from both, for the ropes tightened, as if a hand tried the strength of that frail road. Another pause of terrible suspense, and out from the dark cave below came a man, who climbed swiftly upward, regardless of the gale that nearly tore the ladder from his hold, the hungry sea that wet him with its spray, the yielding roots that hardly bore his weight, or the wounded hands that marked his way with blood, for his eyes were fixed on Ariel, and on his face, white with the approach of a cruel death, shone an expression brighter than a smile, as he neared the brave girl who lent all her strength to save him, with one arm about the tree, the other clutching the ladder as if she defied all danger to herself.
Kneeling on the cliff above, Helen saw all this, and when Southesk stood upon the ledge, with Ariel gathered to the shelter of his arms, her heart turned traitor to her will, remorse made justice possible, love longed to ennoble itself by sacrifice, and all that was true and tender in her nature pleaded for the rival who had earned happiness at such a cost. One sharp pang, one moment of utter despair, followed by utter self-forgetfulness, and Helen’s temptation became a triumph that atoned for an hour’s suffering and sin.
What went on below her she never knew, but when the lovers came to her, spent yet smiling, she gave the paper to Southesk, and laid her hand on Ariel’s head with a gesture soft and solemn, as she said, wearing an expression that made her fine face strangely beautiful:
“You have won him and you deserve him; for you are nobler than I. Forgive me, Philip; and when you are happiest, remember that, though sorely tempted, I resisted, hoping to grow worthier to become your friend.”
Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 Page 20
