At his touch the girl gave a little terrified scream and started back like a frightened animal. When she saw who it was, however, she gave a little sigh of relief and a smile crept into her face, while her heart beat faster.
Hal was going to make friends with her at last, she thought, and as she smiled up at him she felt that here was the solution of her difficulties.
Hal on his side felt a glow of pleasure at her obvious friendliness and a warm impulse to take her in his arms. However, he remembered Joe’s advice, and the smile died on his lips as he said sharply:
“Where have you been, Ann Farran? and why come you in so quickly by the back way?”
The eager, happy light died out of the girl’s eyes in a moment, and a flush of anger spread over her cheeks.
“And what will that matter to you, Master Hal Grame?” she said pertly, tossing her head.
Hal’s young face grew hard and he laid a hand on her arm.
“Indeed, it has a great deal to do with me, Ann Farran. What duty am I paying to Master Gilbot if I let his serving wenches go flying about the Island at all hours of the day, and besides, Anny, don’t forget that you—you——” his voice had grown much softer and even trembled a little, but Anny was too angry to notice it.
“Indeed, I think you take too much on your shoulders, master—master tapster,” she burst out.
Hal gasped, and then as his anger rose his grip on her arm tightened and he shook her violently.
“Take care, Anny, take care,” he said between his teeth, “don’t forget that you were to wed me?”
Anny tried to wrench her hand away.
“Were? Ay, you’re right, Hal Grame,” she said proudly. “Marry! I would not wed you now if you and I were the last to be on earth.”
Hal blinked and let go his grip on her arm; then a smile broke over his boyish features, and he said, half-laughing:
“Lord, you’re daft, Anny, you know you love me. Come, say I lie, you can’t!”
Anny’s black brows came down on her white forehead until they made one straight line across her brow and her big green eyes blazed.
“I say you lie, Hal Grame,” she said very quietly and distinctly. “I say you lie and that you are an overweening puppy and think yourself too fine.”
Hal was stung into replying sharply:
“Lord preserve you, silly wench! Who do you think would marry you, a little serving slut, without a portion, or even a father, for that matter?”
Anny tossed her head and looked at him disdainfully.
“I could be wed to-morrow to a finer man than you,” she said, forgetting prudence in her irritation.
Hal laughed savagely.
“Oh you fool, you fool, Anny,” he said bitterly. “Do you think your little sea-rat will wed you?”
Anny looked at him with child-like surprise.
“I do not think at all,” she said, and added under her breath, “I know.”
Hal looked at her hopelessly. He felt that Joe’s advice had not been altogether helpful, and as she stood there, a wild, free-looking little creature in the dim light, he could not help feeling that if he had coaxed her instead of attempting to drive her into his arms things might have gone better with him, and Anny, as she stood looking at him, felt a pang in her heart when she thought of the old Hal, the Hal whom she had loved, who had been so different from this new Hal who seemed to be deliberately trying to make her hate him.
For two seconds they stood looking at one another, each hoping against hope that all would yet come right; yet neither of them spoke. At last Anny turned away and went slowly into the house, her mind made up about her marriage, and her thoughts on Blackkerchief Dick.
Hal watched her go and then sat down again, his head on his hands. Presently he put his hand into his pocket and brought out the two groats, and looked at them as they lay shining in his palm, and then made a gesture as though to fling them from him away into the bushes, but thought better of it and repocketed them.
“The lass may love me still,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll get the present for her. Lasses are slippery catches. I would I knew the way of them.”
Then thrusting his hands deep into his pockets he got up heavily and strolled slowly up the path, kicking savagely at the loose gravel as he went.
Chapter XXI
“Ho, there, you mange-struck dogs, broach a keg and drink to your Captain’s lady!”
Blackkerchief Dick, his eyes flashing, and his face showing bright and triumphant in the flickering lantern light, shouted the words over the side of Ben’s boat, to a little knot of picked men of the Anny’s crew, who were ranged on the sand below.
They were present to witness their Captain’s marriage to Anny Farran, and incidentally to carry the rum which was the price of his bride.
The worn deck of the Pet had been cleaned and partially cleared for the occasion. Dick had insisted on this, and, in spite of the protestations of the two old people, Ben and Pet, the work had been done and the place presented a fairly tidy aspect.
The empty kegs were ranged in neat rows round the gunwale, the clothes’ line had been removed, and the rest of the litter swept down the hatchway.
It was almost dark, and the cloudless sky was a pale blue, shading off to rose and green in the west, where the first two or three stars shone faintly.
On deck a big ship’s lantern stood on the stump of the main-mast, while two smaller ones hung on each side of it; they showed sick and yellow in the half-light.
Standing before this improvised altar stood a man dressed as a priest. He held a book in his hand and was mumbling to himself nervously in a foreign tongue. On either side of him were Blueneck and Noah Goody; their knives were drawn and their faces set like wooden masks.
Before them, in a gorgeous ill-fitting gown of yellow Lyons silk which Dick had brought and insisted on her wearing, stood Anny. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dancing with excitement. Round her neck hung a great silver pendant studded with garnets, and every now and then her hand would stray up to this and her fingers caress it lovingly, half-wonderingly. On the little brown hand shone a ring; it was an extraordinary jewel, consisting of a little gold hoop supporting a large flower, each petal of which was a different kind of stone, diamond, ruby, emerald, onyx, pearl, and sapphire, with a little piece of amber for the centre.
Dick had told her that it was very old when he had put it on her finger, and she looked at it with something very like awe.
Behind her stood Ben and Pet; the old man swayed to and fro drunkenly, taking little or no interest in the proceedings, but the old woman watched eagerly, half-enviously, her bleared eyes following Anny’s every movement and each gleam of the jewels, her quick ears catching every word that was spoken. Nothing escaped her, and she noticed that the priest’s garments were made for a much larger man, and that his book was upside down, but she said nothing and merely smiled wickedly to herself as the ceremony went on.
The men on the beach below were not long in obeying their Captain’s order, and in a minute the toast was given.
“Health and good fortune to the Captain’s lady!” Everybody drank heartily, the priest more than anyone, and Dick, his brocaded coat and soft lace ruffles shining in the dim light, and his black curls showing a little more than usual from under his black kerchief, raised his glass above his head and taking Anny by the hand threw back his head and laughed joyously. He had once again got his own way in spite of difficulties. He drained off his liquor, and throwing the empty cup over his head, began to sing:
“Fair as the Island, and proud as the sea,
As naught in the world is sweet Anny to me.”
The rich musical voice echoed round the old boat and floated out over the marshes.
Anny caught her breath and her grip on the Spaniard’s pulsing white hand tightened. She was carried out of herself by the excitement of the moment, the wonderful frock, the jewels, and above all the singing.
Dick felt her emotion and his
arm slid round her waist much like a snake slips round a tree-stem, and, as her pretty head fell back on his shoulder, the song grew louder, sweeter, and a triumphant note crept into it:
“So gentle, so tender, so wise without guile,
Oh, where is another like Ann of the Isle?”
Anny sighed deliriously and she shivered with pure excitement; the Spaniard’s full red lips brushed her hair, before the wonderful voice rang out again, in the chorus:
“Ann! oh! Ann of the Island,
Where is another like Ann of the Isle?”
The crew took up the strain, and Dick and Anny stood together in a circle of singing men each with his rumkin held high above his head and his foot keeping time to the rhythm.
Old Pet spat on the deck and an envious light came into her evil old face. All her life she had longed to be the centre of a scene like this, the magnet of an admiring crowd of hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard-loving men. All her youth had been spent in dreams of a night like this. Now in her age it was bitter to see it come to another woman.
As for Anny, she was intoxicated with it all; any sense of prudence had left her. She was supremely happy. Now and again a faint regret that she could not marry Hal rose in her mind, but she dismissed it promptly.
The future had no being for her, and the past was a dream; the thing that counted was the present, the laughing, pulsing, living present.
And as the Anny’s crew roared out their Captain’s own love-song, and Dick, his Spanish blood on fire with love triumphant, kissed her hair, her eyes, her mouth, she laughed as freely and as joyously as he had done.
The shadows were deepening by this time and the deep blue sky was studded with stars, and Anny, looking up from the Captain’s shoulder, said suddenly:
“It is late, sir; I must go back to the Ship now.”
Dick looked at her in astonishment for a moment, and a contemptuous crackling laugh broke from between Pet Salt’s thin, blackened lips.
At the sound of it Anny shuddered involuntarily and drew a little closer to the Spaniard, who noting her agitation turned on the old woman angrily, his eyes suddenly losing their dreamy love-heaviness, and becoming hard and bright.
“Peace, hag!” he rapped out, “get thee down thy rat-hole, and take thy sodden man with thee, or nothing shall you see of me or my cargoes from this night on.”
Pet began to mumble and curse under her breath, but nevertheless she obediently hobbled across the deck towards the hatchway, half-carrying, half-dragging the drunken Ben along with her. The company watched them in silence and Anny, as with fascinated eyes she followed them to the dark hole, down which they disappeared, could not help being reminded of one big muddy crab dragging its prey after it into its noisome hole there to feast.
Dick, too, watched them and shrugged his shoulders.
“So may all evil creatures drag themselves out of thy path, my Ann of the Island,” he said, and then as-though a new idea had struck him, “Thou art right, dear heart, get thee back to the Ship. That will be the best way, and then I will come for thee. Until then say nothing of this.”
Anny smiled happily and ran to the hatchway to change her frock again, and as she laid by the soft silk she felt in her childish, happy-go-lucky way that she had laid by the whole evening’s business with it.
She had been half afraid that Dick would not let her go back to the Ship. Now it seemed that he wanted her to. She had some sort of vague idea that she was to be his wife on the Island only, when she would see him in the ordinary way at the Ship.
She sighed relievedly; the matter did not seem to be as important as she had imagined.
When she came on the deck again dressed in her usual kirtle and bodice, the crew were rolling several unopened kegs on to the deck, and the priest was helping them, but Anny did not notice this for Dick was waiting for her.
“I will go with thee along the way,” he said gallantly, his soft eyes seeking hers, and his slim, white hand closing on her little brown one.
Anny smiled at him as he helped her down the rope-ladder and on to the beach. Once again his silk-sleeved arm slid round her, and she laid her head on his shoulder. They walked on in silence.
Suddenly the Spaniard stopped and his other arm encircled her, pulling back her head and raising her little white face to his.
Anny could see him earnest and grave in the moonlight.
“You are my first love, Ann of the Island, though there be many others I have sported with,” he said in a strangely quiet even voice, “and I am a strange man; take care how you use me.”
Anny looked at him with frank, innocent eyes; he was very handsome she thought.
“I pray you kiss me, sir,” she said softly.
They did not move for a second or so, and the wind rose over the sea, whistled through the long grass at the sides of the path, and rustled the seaweed at their feet. Suddenly they became aware that someone was coming towards them.
Anny grew suddenly rigid; it was a step she knew.
Dick looked up quickly, and they began to walk on.
The figure came nearer and nearer. Dick strained his eyes to see who it was, but the man was in the shadow, and he passed without speaking.
When they had gone on a little way Dick paused.
“Didst see who ’twas passed us, Ann?” he asked.
Anny swallowed, and then said as carelessly as she could:
“Oh! ’twas no one of any account; ’twas the tapster from the Ship.”
Chapter XXII
“Nan, are you within? I’ve come to beg a thing of ye, mother.”
Anny stood outside Nan Swayle’s little cabin and knocked at the door. It was early afternoon and the hot sun poured down on the grey purplish saltings, but in spite of the heat the hut was shut up.
Anny began to be afraid that the old woman had gone away, and a sudden feeling of terrible loneliness seized her; she knocked again frantically.
There was silence for a moment or so and then Nan’s great booming voice came out to the waiting girl like a welcome peal of thunder after a lightning flash.
“Good swine, peace to ye, whoever you are. What do you want wi’ old Mother Swayle?”
“’Tis I, mother—Anny Farran, and in great need,” the girl spoke eagerly and her voice shook unsteadily.
There was the sound of someone moving hastily across the hut; the door flung open and Nan’s great gaunt form appeared in the opening.
“Come in, child, in,” she said kindly, her shrewd, keen eyes taking in the girl’s white haggard face and miserable expression.
Anny looked up at her for a moment, and then her mouth twitched convulsively at the corners, her eyes filled with tears, and she flung herself in the old woman’s arms sobbing hysterically.
Nan led her into the little dark hut and sat on an empty keg, gently pulling the girl down beside her. Then she began to rock herself gently to and fro. She said nothing for some minutes, during which Anny’s sobs grew less and less violent.
“Now what’s the matter, my daughter?” said Nan, after the girl’s grief had somewhat abated.
Anny began to cry afresh.
“Oh, Nan, what will I do?” she sobbed, “what will I do?”
The older woman put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and held her firm.
“Cry till ye can cry no more, lass, and then tell your story; ’tis the best way; crying eases the heart. The Lord gave women tears that their hearts might not break every day,” she said, her great kindly voice echoing round and about the little shanty.
Anny lifted up her tear-stained face from the old woman’s knee, and carefully avoiding her piercing brown eyes, began to speak in a half-whisper, stopping here and there to wipe her eyes.
“When I came home from the wedding wi’ Master Dick,” she began—Nan started at her words and carefully suppressed an exclamation of horrified surprise—“we passed—Hal—on the way—and, when I got to the Ship, no one was in the kitchen, so I sat down on the long seat an
d thought on the Captain, and after a while Hal comes in, and——” she paused.
Nan said nothing but sat staring in front of her.
Anny looked up quickly.
“You knew that we had quarrelled, mother?” she said.
Nan nodded.
The girl paused and when she spoke again her voice had sunk into a murmur.
“He did not see me at first for the kitchen was dark and I in the corner. I watched him, Nan, I watched him come in, sit down before the counting-table, and take down the slate, and I saw him push it away, and then draw it to him again, and I saw him put his hand through his hair, and I heard him breathe loudly and slowly, and as though somewhat hurt him, and I—oh, mother—I heard him call me; ‘Anny, Anny, Anny,’ he said as though he was speaking from a long way off; then he laid his head on his arms there on the counting-table and I heard him breathing again, loud and fast.”
Her voice died away and there was no sound in the coolness of the little hut; then she began to cry again.
Suddenly Nan spoke and her voice sounded sharp after Anny’s impassioned murmuring.
“And you were married to the Spanish Captain?” she asked.
Anny sat up, her beautiful green eyes brimming with tears.
“Yes,” she said pitifully, “and I love him.”
“Who? Blackkerchief Dick?”
“Nay, oh nay, mother; nay; Hal, Hal Grame—my love!” A sob rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down and continued almost eagerly, “And as he sat there, and I watching, I knew ’twas he I loved, for all his foolings, and I wondered would I creep behind and put my arms about his neck, and put my face to his hair, but I minded I was married to the Spaniard, and I knew I could not wed with Hal, and I wondered what would I do, and then, as I was watching him, he looked up and saw me. His face was very pale; I have never seen anyone but the dead so pale. I thought he would have cried out, for his mouth opened and his lips moved, but he said naught; then he stood up and came towards me, slowly, as though I had been a spirit, and his eyes were so dark and full of something, I know not what—that I put up my hands to hide my face.”
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