Story 1--Chapter IV.
The Diver at Home.
The next morning Rasp was sent off to act as superintendent, for Mr Parkley decided that Dutch must stay and help him in his plans for carrying out the Cuban’s wishes, if he took the affair up, and previously to discuss the matter.
Dutch announced to Rasp then that he would have to set off at once.
“It’s always the way,” grumbled the old fellow. “Board that schooner, too. Yah!”
“Never mind, Rasp; you like work. You’ll be like the busy bee, improving each shining hour,” said Dutch, smiling.
“Yes; and my helmets, and tubes, and pumps getting not fit to be seen, and made hat-pegs of. Busy bee, indeed! I’m tired of improving the shining hours. I’ve been all my life a-polishing of ’em up for some one else.”
He set off growling, and vowing vengeance on the men if they did not work; and Dutch returned to find Mr Parkley with a map of the West Indies spread upon the desk.
“Look here,” he said, “here’s the place,” and he pointed to the Caribbean Sea.
“Do you think seriously of this matter, then?” said Dutch.
“Very. Why not? I believe it is genuine. Don’t you?”
“I can’t say,” replied Dutch. “It may be.”
“I think it is,” said the other, sharply; “and it seems to me a chance.”
“If it proved as this Cuban says, of course it would be.”
“And why should it not?” said Mr Parkley. “You see he has nothing to gain by getting me to fit out an expedition, unless we are successful.”
“But it may be visionary.”
“Those ingots were solid visions,” said Mr Parkley. “No, my lad; the thing’s genuine. I’ve thought it out all right, and decided to go in for it at once—that is, as soon as we can arrange matters.”
“Indeed, sir!” said Dutch, startled at the suddenness of the decision.
“Yes, my lad, I have faith in it. We could go in the schooner. Take a couple of those divers, and some of our newest appliances. I look upon the whole affair as a godsend. Hum! Here he is. Don’t seem too eager, but follow my lead.”
A clerk announced the previous night’s visitor; and Dutch recalled for the moment the previous day’s meeting, and the annoyance he had felt on seeing the stranger’s admiring gaze. But this was all forgotten in a few moments, the Cuban being certainly all that could be desired in gentlemanly courtesy, and his manners were winning in the extreme.
“And now that you have had a night for consideration, Señor Parkley, what do you think of my project?” he said, glancing at the map.
“I want to know more,” said Mr Parkley.
“I have told you that vessels were sunk—ships laden with gold and silver, Señor Parkley, and I say join me. Find all that is wanted—a ship—divers—and make an agreement to give me half the treasure recovered, and I will take your ship to the spots. Where these are is my secret.”
“You said I was slow and cold, Mr Lorry, yesterday,” said Mr Parkley. “You shan’t say so to-day. When I make up my mind I strike while the iron is hot. My mind is made up.”
“Then you refuse,” said the Cuban, frowning.
“No, sir, I agree. Here’s my hand upon it.”
He held out his hand, which the Cuban caught and pressed hastily.
“Viva!” he exclaimed, his face flushing with pleasure.
“You will both be rich as princes. Our friend here goes too?”
“Yes, I shall take him with us,” said Mr Parkley.
Dutch started in wonder at what seemed so rash a proceeding.
“And he must share, too,” said the Cuban, warmly.
“Yes; he will be my partner,” said Mr Parkley.
“And when do we start—to-morrow?”
“To-morrow!” laughed Mr Parkley. “No, sir; it will take us a month to fit out our expedition.”
“A month?”
“At least. We must go well prepared, and not fail for want of means.”
“Yes, yes, that is good.”
“And all this takes time. Trust me, sir, I shall not let the grass grow under my feet.”
“I do not understand the grass grow,” said the Cuban.
“I mean I shall hurry on the preparations,” said Mr Parkley.
The Cuban nodded his satisfaction; when the rest of the morning was spent in discussing the matter; and, though the visitor was extremely careful not to say a word that might give a hint as to the locality of the treasure, it became more and more evident that he was no empty enthusiast, but one who had spent years in the search, and had had his quest browned with success.
Several days passed in this way, during which great success attended the raising of the copper, and a proper deed of agreement had been drawn up and duly signed between the parties to the proposed expedition, at which, however, Dutch had said but little at his own home, lest he should cause his wife, who had been delicate since their marriage, any uneasiness.
The strange fancies that had troubled him had been almost forgotten, and in spite of himself he had become somewhat tinged by the Cuban’s enthusiasm, and often found himself dwelling on the pleasure of being possessed of riches such as were described.
“It would make her a lady,” he argued; “and if anything happened to me she would be above want.”
He was musing in this way one morning, when Mr Parkley came to him, they having dined together with the Cuban on the previous evening at his hotel.
“Well, Pugh,” he said, “I’m getting more faith every day. Lorry’s a gentleman.”
“Yes,” said Dutch, “he is most polished in his ways, and I must say I begin to feel a great deal of faith in him myself.”
“That’s well,” said Mr Parkley, rubbing his hands. “You’ll have to go with us.”
“I’m afraid, sir, you must—”
“Excuse you? No, I don’t think I can. Besides, Pugh, you would go with me as my partner, for I shall have all that settled.”
“You are very, very kind, sir,” said Dutch, flushing with pleasure.
“Nonsense, man,” cried Mr Parkley; “all selfishness. You and I can do so much together. See how useful you are to me, partner.”
“Not your partner yet, sir.”
“Yes, you are, Pugh,” said the other, slapping him on the shoulder; “and now we’ll go in for calculations and arrangements for the expedition. I was thinking the schooner would do, but I find it would be too small, so I shall set Captain Studwick to look out for a good brig or a small barque, and take him into our confidence to some extent.”
“Not wholly?”
“No; and yet, perhaps, it would be as well. And now, Pugh, I’ve got a favour to ask of you.”
“Anything, sir, that I can do I will do with all my heart,” replied Pugh, enthusiastically.
“I knew you would,” replied Mr Parkley. “You see, this is a big thing, my lad, and will be the making of us both, and Lorry is a very decent fellow.”
“Decidedly,” said Pugh, wondering at what was coming.
“Well, I must be as civil to him as I can, and so will you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“He’s taken a great fancy to you, by-the-way, and praises you sky-high.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; and look here, Pugh, he has got to be tired of this hotel where he is, and wants society. I can’t ask him to my shabby place, so I want you to oblige me by playing the host.”
Pugh started as if he had been stung.
“Nothing could be better,” continued Mr Parkley, who did not notice the other’s emotion. “Ask him to come and stay at your little place. Mrs Pugh has things about her in so nice and refined a way that you can make him quite at home. You will gain his confidence, too, and we shall work better for not being on mere hard business terms.”
Dutch felt his brain begin to swim.
“I’ll come as often as I can, and we shall be making him one of us. The time will pass more pleasantly for him, and there’ll be no fear of somebody else getting hold of him to make better terms.”
“Yes—exactly—I see,” faltered Pugh, whose mind was wandering towards home, and who recalled the Cuban’s openly expressed admiration for his wife.
“The dear little woman,” continued Mr Parkley, “could take him out for a drive while you are busy, and you can have music and chess in the evenings. You’ll have to live better, perhaps; but mind, my dear fellow, we are not going to let you suffer for that, and you must let me send you some wine, and a box or two of cigars. We must do the thing handsomely for him.”
“Yes, of course,” said Dutch vaguely.
“Quite a stranger here, you know, and by making him a friend, all will go on so much more smoothly afterwards.”
“Exactly,” said Dutch again.
“But how dreamy you are? What are you thinking about?”
Dutch started, for in spite of his love and trust he was thinking of the handsome Cuban being installed at his home, and always in company with his innocent young wife, while he was away busy over his daily avocations.
“I beg pardon; did I seem thinking?”
“That you did. But never mind; you’ll do this for me, Pugh?”
“Certainly, if you wish it,” said Dutch, making an effort; while the figure of the Cuban seemed to be coming like a dark shadow across his life.
“Well, yes, I do wish it, Pugh, and I am very much obliged. By-the-way, though, what will she say to your going out on the expedition?”
Dutch shook his head.
“By Jove, I never thought of that,” said Mr Parkley. “Poor little woman, it will be too bad. I tell you what, I was going to get old Norton to mind the business. I will not. You shall stay at home.”
“I should like to go,” said Pugh, quietly; “but situated as I am, I should be glad if I could stay.”
“So you shall, Pugh—so you shall,” said Mr Parkley. And nodding his head over and over again, he left Dutch to his thoughts.
He left for home that night with the cloud seeming to darken round him. He felt that under the circumstances he was bound to accede to his partner’s wishes, and yet he was about to take this man, a stranger, to his own sacred hearth, and he shuddered again and again at the ideas that forced themselves upon his brain.
“I’ve said I’ll receive him,” he said at last, half aloud; “but it is not yet too late. Hester shall decide, and if she says ‘No,’ why there’s an end of it all.”
A short run by the rail took him to his pleasant little home—a small house, almost a cottage, with its tolerably large grounds and well-kept lawn. The little dining and drawing-rooms were shaded by a broad green verandah, over which the bedroom of the young couple looked down, in summer, upon a perfect nest of trailing roses.
Dutch gave a sigh of satisfaction as he saw the bright, sunny look of pleasure that greeted him, and for the next hour he had forgotten the dark shadow as he related to his young wife the great advance in their future prospects.
“I do love that dear old Mr Parkley so,” she cried, enthusiastically. “And now, Dutch, dear, tell me all about why this foreign gentleman is taking up so much of your time. Why, darling, is anything the matter?”
Dutch sighed again, but it was with satisfaction, as with a mingling of tender love and anxiety the little woman rose, and, throwing one arm round his neck, laid her soft little cheek to his.
“Matter! No, dear. Why?” he said, trying to smile.
“You looked so dull and ill all at once, as if in some pain.”
“Did I? Oh, it was nothing, only I was a little bothered.”
“May I know what about?”
“Well, yes, dear,” he said, playing with her soft hair, as he drew her down upon his knee. “The fact is that Mr Parkley is anxious for some attention to be paid to this Cuban gentleman—this Mr Lauré.”
“And he wants us to ask him here,” said Hester, gravely; and for a moment a look of pain crossed her face.
“Yes. How did you know?” he cried, startled at her words.
“I can’t tell,” she replied, smiling again directly. “I seemed to know what you were going to say by instinct.”
“But we cannot have him here, can we?” said Dutch, eagerly. “It would inconvenience you so.”
She remained silent for a moment, and a warm flush appeared upon her face as he gazed at her searchingly; for it was evident that a struggle was going on within her breast, and she was debating as to what she should say. Then, to his great annoyance, she replied—
“I don’t think that we ought to refuse Mr Parkley this request, dear. I hardly liked the idea at first, and this Mr Lauré did not impress me favourably when we met.”
Dutch’s face brightened.
“But,” she continued, “I have no doubt I shall like him very much, and we will do all we can to make his stay a pleasant one.”
Dutch remained silent, and a frown gathered on his brow for a few moments; but the next moment he looked up, smiling on the sweet ingenuous countenance before him, feeling ashamed of the doubts and fancies that had intruded.
“You are right, dear,” he said, cheerfully. “It is a nuisance, for I don’t like any one coming between us and spoiling our evenings; but it will not be for long, and he has come about an enterprise that may bring us a considerable sum.”
“I’ll do all I can, dear,” she cried, cheerfully.
And then, going to the piano, the tones of her voice fell upon the ears of Dutch Pugh even as the melodies of David on the troubled spirit of Saul of old, for as the young husband lay back in his chair, and listened to his favourite songs—sung, it seemed to him, more sweetly than ever—the tears gathered in his eyes, and he closed them, feeling that the evil spirit that assailed his breast had been exorcised, and that the cruel doubts and fears were bitter sins against a pure, sweet woman, who loved him with all her soul; and he cursed his folly as he vowed that he never again would suffer such fancies to gain an entrance to his breast.
For quite an hour they sat thus, she singing in her soft, low voice ballad after ballad that she knew he loved; and he lying back there, dreamily drinking in the happiness that was his, and thanking Heaven for his lot. For the shadow was beaten back, and true joy once more reigned supreme.
He was roused from his delicious reverie by the touch of two soft, warm lips on his forehead.
“Asleep, darling?” whispered Hester.
“Asleep? No,” he cried, in a low, deep voice, as he drew her to his heart. “Awake, darling—wide awake to the fact that I am the happiest of men in owning all your tender, true, womanly love.”
As he spoke his lips sought hers, and with a sigh of content, and a sweet smile lighting up her gentle face, Hester’s arms clasped his neck, and she nestled closer to his breast.
Story 1--Chapter V.
A Waking Dream.
The next day, after a long and busy discussion, in which Lauré took eager interest, and during which plans were made as to stores, arms for protection against the Indians of the coast they were to visit, lifting and diving apparatus, and the like, the Cuban was installed at the cottage, and that first night Dutch saw again upon his face that intense admiration the dark, warm-blooded Southerner felt for the fair young English girl. For girl she still was, with a girl’s ways, prettily mingled with her attempts to play the part of mistress of her own house. The young husband felt a pang of jealous misery await him as he sat back in the shade of his prettily-furnished drawing-room, seeing their visitor hover about the piano while Hester sang, paying endless attentions with the polish and courtesy of a foreigner, various little refined acts—such as would never have occurred to the bluff young Englishman.
“I’m a jealous fool—that’s what I am,” said Dutch to himself; “and if I go on like this I shall be wretched all the time he is here. I won’t have it—I won’t believe it. She is beautiful—God bless her! and no man could see her without admiring her. I ought to be proud of his admiration instead of letting it annoy me; for, of course, it’s his foreign way of showing it. An Englishman would be very different; but what right have I to fancy for a moment that this foreign gentleman, my guest, would harbour a thought that was not honourable to me? There, it’s all gone.”
He brightened up directly; and as, with a pleasant smile, Lauré came to him soon afterwards and challenged him to a game of chess, the evening passed pleasantly away.
The days glided on rapidly enough, with Dutch Pugh always repeating to himself the stern reproof that he was unjust to his guest and to his young wife to allow a single thought of ill to enter his heart; and to keep these fancies away he worked harder than ever at the preparations for the voyage, being fain, though, to confess that one thing that urged him on was the desire to be rid of his guest.
“I don’t think much of these furren fellows,” said Rasp, one day, when, after a shorter stay than usual at the offices, Lauré had effusively pressed Dutch’s hand and gone back to the cottage. “How does Mrs Pug like him?”
Dutch started, but said, quietly—
“Suppose we get on with the packing of that air-pump, Rasp. You had better get in a couple of the men.”
“All right,” grumbled the old fellow; “I wasn’t going to leave it undone; but if I was a married man with a ’ansum wife, ’ang me if I should care about having a smooth-tongued, dark-eyed, scented foreign monkey of a chap like that at my house.”
“You insolent old scoundrel!” cried Dutch, flashing into a rage; and he caught the old fellow by the throat, but loosened him again with an impatient “Pish!”
Rasp seized the poker and sent the red-hot cinders flying as he stoked away at the fire.
“I desire that you never speak to me again like that. How dare you!”
“Oh, all right, Mr Pug, I won’t speak again,” said Rasp. “I didn’t mean no offence. I only said what I thought, and that was as I didn’t like to see that furren chap always a-hanging after going back to your house, when he ought to be here, helping to see to the things getting ready.”
“Rasp!” said Dutch angrily.
“Well, so he ought to, instead of being away. Nobody wants him to take off his yaller kid gloves and work, but he might look on. He’s going to be a niste one, he is, when he gets out in the place where we’re a-going. He’ll have a hammock slung and a hawning over it when he gets out in the hot sunshine, that’s about what he’ll do, and lie on his back and smoke cigarettes while one works. Say, Mr Pug, I wish you was going with us!”
He went and had another stoke at the fire, and glanced at Dutch’s back, for he was writing, and made no response. “Sulky, and won’t speak,” muttered Rasp; and, going out, banged the door after him.
“The fancies of a vulgar mind,” said Dutch to himself, as soon as he was alone. “The coarse belief of one who cannot understand the purity of feeling and thought of a true woman; and I actually let such ideas have a place in my breast. Bah! It’s disgraceful!”
He glanced round the office, and then angrily devoted himself once more to his work, for it seemed as if the great goggle-eyed diving-helmets were once more bending forward and laughing at him derisively.
“I will not have this office made so hot,” he muttered impatiently; and he worked on for some time, but only to fall dreaming again, as he said, “A little more than a fortnight and we shall be ready. Good luck to the expedition. I wish it were gone.”
Then, in spite of himself, he began thinking about the conduct of Lauré at his house, and wishing earnestly that he had never agreed to his reception as a guest.
“But, there, he is a perfect gentleman,” he argued; “and his conduct to me is almost too effusive. Little Hester must find him all that could be desired, or she would complain. Hallo, who is this?”
“Company to see you,” said Rasp, roughly; and, as Dutch left his stool, it was to meet Captain Studwick’s invalid son and his sister, who came in, accompanied by a quiet, gentlemanly-looking young man, whom he introduced as Mr Meldon.
“The medical gentleman who attends me now,” said John Studwick, smiling; “not that I want much, do I, Mr Meldon?”
“Well, no, we will not call you an invalid, Mr Studwick,” said the stranger.
“Fact is,” said John Studwick, “I’ve set up a medical man of my own. Mr Meldon is going with us on the voyage.”
“What voyage?” said Dutch, eagerly.
“Oh, you don’t know, of course,” said John Studwick, laughing. “My father thinks a sea voyage will set me right, and I am going in the Sea King. Bessy’s going too.”
“Indeed,” said Dutch, looking from one to the other, while Bessy coloured slightly, and turned away.
“Yes, it’s just settled this morning. Mr Parkley is willing, so we shall have a sea voyage and adventure too. I say, Mr Pugh, you asked me to come to your house.”
“Yes, and I shall be very glad,” said Dutch, smiling.
“Well, can we fix a day when we may be introduced to this Spanish Cuban gentleman? I’m curious to know my fellow-passenger. Sick man’s fancy.”
“Thursday week, then,” said Dutch, eagerly. “Mr Meldon, perhaps, will join us.”
“I shall be very happy,” replied that individual.
And he glanced at Bessy, who coloured again slightly; and then, after a few words about the voyage, in which John Studwick expressed his regret that Dutch was not going on the expedition, the little party went away.
“If I’m not mistaken,” said Dutch to himself, as he climbed to his stool, “there’s somebody there to heal the sore place in poor Bessy’s heart. Poor girl! If I was not coxcombical to say so, I should think she really was fond of me. There, come forth, little loadstone,” he said, with a look of intense love lighting up his countenance, and raising the lid of his desk he took from a drawer a photographic carte of his wife, and set it before him, to gaze at it fondly.
“I don’t think I could have cared for Bessy Studwick, darling, even if there had been no Hester in the world.”
As he gazed tenderly at the little miniature of his wife’s features, there seemed to come a peculiar look in the eyes—the expression on the face became one of pain.
He knew it was fancy, but he gazed on at the picture till his imagination took a wider leap, and as if it were quite real, so real that in his disturbed state he could not have declared it untrue, he saw Hester seated in their own room, with every object around clearly defined, her head bent forward, and the Cuban kneeling at her feet, and pressing her hands to his lips.
So real was the scene that he started away from the desk with a loud cry, oversetting his stool, and letting the heavy desk lid fall with a crash.
In a moment Rasp ran into the office, armed with a heavy diver’s axe, and then stood staring in amazement.
“Is any one gone mad?” he growled.
“It was nothing, Rasp,” said Dutch, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
“I never heard nothing make such a row as that afore,” growled Rasp.
And then, putting the axe down, he made for the poker, had a good stoke at the fire, and went out muttering.
Dutch opened the desk on the instant, but the scene was gone, and hastily closing the lid again he began to pace the room.
For a moment his intention was to rush off home, but he restrained himself for the time, and tried to recall the past; but his brain was in a whirl. At last he grew more calm, and took out his watch.
“Only five o’clock,” and he had said that he should get some dinner where he was, stop late at work, and not be home till after nine.
He was to stay there and work for another three or four hours—to make calculations that required all his thought, when he had seen or conjured up that dreadful sight. No: he could not bear it. His nerves tingled, his brain was throbbing, and incipient madness seemed to threaten his reason as he prepared to obey the influence that urged him to go home.
“The villain!” he groaned. “It must be a warning. Heaven help me, I will know the worst.”
Story 1--Chapter VI.
A Pleasant Evening.
Dutch Pugh seized his hat and coat, and was about to dash into the street, when the remembrance of that evening before the coming of the Cuban came upon him, and he replaced them.
“Stop a moment,” he said hoarsely, as he began to walk up and down once more. “Let me think—let me take matters coolly, or I shall go mad. There, there, this will not do; I’m going up and down here like a wild beast in his cage.”
He made an effort, and forced himself to sit down. “Now,” he said, “let’s see. What does this mean? Here am I, a strong, full-blooded, sane man, and what have I been doing?”
He paused for a moment before answering his question.
“Letting my mind dwell on thoughts that are a disgrace to me, till I imagine—yes, imagine—so vividly that it seems real, all that nonsense. I picture the scene. I magnify a simple piece of cardboard, and make it fit my own vile imaginations till I see what could never have taken place; and on the strength of that, what am I going to do? Why rush off home as jealous and mad as an Othello, ready to distort everything I see, believe what does not exist, and generally play such a part as I should repent to my last day. Poor girl, has it come to this, that I cannot trust you, and am going to play the spy upon your actions?”
“No, hang me if I do. Now, look here, Dutch, this is not manly,” he continued, catechising himself. “You are foolishly jealous of that man, are you not?”
“Yes,” he said, answering his own question. “Now then, why are you jealous? Has your wife ever given you the slightest cause?”
“Never, so help me Heaven.”
“There, then, does not that satisfy you? Why, man, if everyone who has a handsome wife were to act like this, what a world we should have. So much, then, for your wife. Now, then, about this man—what of him? He is polished and refined, and pays your wife attentions. Well, so would any foreigner under the circumstances. Shame, man, shame; he is your guest, the guest, too, of a woman whose truth you know—whose whole life is beyond suspicion. You leave her every day to go here or there, and does she ask you where you have been—what you have done? Does she suspect you? Why, Dutch Pugh, you wretched maniac, if she saw you talking to a score of pretty women how would she act? I’ll tell you. She’d open those sweet, candid eyes of hers, and beam upon you, and no more doubt your truth than that of Heaven.”
“And I’ll not doubt yours, darling,” he muttered, going to the desk, taking out the photograph, kissing it before putting it back; and then, tightening his lips, he took his seat, fixed his attention upon his work, and grew so intent that the next time he looked at his watch it was close upon nine, when, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, he walked all the way home.
In spite of his determination, he could not help seeing that Hester looked pale and troubled when he entered the little drawing-room, and that her manner was strange and constrained. She met his gaze in a timid way, and without doubt her hand trembled.
He would not notice her, though, but began chatting to them, Lauré being in the highest of spirits and relating anecdotes of his travels till Dutch felt in the best of spirits, and it was near midnight when they all rose for bed, Hester looking very pallid though—so much so that Dutch noticed it.
“Are you quite well, dear?” he asked.
She raised her eyes, and was about to speak when she caught Lauré’s eyes fixed upon her in a strange manner, and she replied hastily—
“Oh, yes, dear, quite, quite well?”
“You don’t feel any of your old symptoms?”
“Oh, no,” she replied, smiling. “You are so anxious about me.”
“No wonder,” said Lauré, “with such a pearl of a wife. Well, I must to bed. Good-night, dear host and hostess.”
He advanced to Hester Pugh and kissed her hand, turning directly to Dutch and pressing his so affectionately that the young Englishman returned the grip with such interest that the Cuban winced, and then smiled as he saw in Dutch’s eyes how honest and true was the intent.
“I was sorry to be detained to-night,” continued Dutch frankly; “it must be very dull here. Look here, Hester, I’ve asked John Studwick and his sister and Mr Meldon, a doctor, to dinner on Thursday. Send a letter to Miss Studwick yourself and ask Mr Parkley as well, so as to have a pleasant evening.”
Hester Pugh brightened up directly, and began to talk of the arrangements for the dinner, while the Cuban went off with a peculiar smile upon his face.
“But I don’t know what to say about this, Dutch,” said Hester, playfully, as she made an effort to be gay and shake off the lassitude that seemed to oppress her. “Report says, sir, that Miss Bessy Studwick was very fond of a certain gentleman we know.”
“Poor Bessy!” said Dutch, thoughtfully.
“Poor Bessy, sir. Then it is all true?”
“What—about Bessy Studwick, darling? Well, I think it was. It sounds conceited of me to say so, but I believe it was the case. But,” he added, drawing her to him, “this certain gentleman only had one heart, and a certain lady took possession of it all. Hester, my darling, I never in my life had loving thought about more than one woman, and her I love more dearly every day.”
She closed her eyes, and the tears gathered beneath her lids as he pressed her to his heart and sighed gently.
Miss Studwick’s name was mentioned no more that night.
The time passed quickly, away, and the Thursday came. Dutch had been so fully occupied, and so determined not to listen to the promptings of his fancy, as he called it, that he refused to take any notice of the way in which the Cuban had settled down in his house. From being all eager now to get the expedition fitted out, and ready to be pettish and impatient with Mr Parkley and Dutch for their careful, deliberate preparations, he seemed now quite careless, pleading indisposition, and spending the greater part of his time at the cottage.
The dinner passed off most pleasantly, and the table was made bright by the magnificent flowers the Cuban had purchased as his offering to the feast, and by the rich fruit Mr Parkley had added in his rough pleasant way, coming down to the cottage with a heavy basket on his arm, and smiling all round as he dabbed his lace and head, hot with the exertion.
To the great delight of Dutch, he saw that quite a liking had sprung up between his wife and Bessy Studwick, both evidently trying hard to let him see that they indulged in no thoughts of the past; while the Cuban ceased his attentions to Hester, and taking Bessy down to dinner, heaped his foreign, nameless little results of polish upon the tall, Juno-like maiden.
The only person in the party who looked grave was John Studwick, who watched all this with uneasy glances, though it must be said that he seemed just as much annoyed when Mr Meldon, the young doctor, was speaking to his sister. He lacked no attentions, though, himself, for, compassionating the state of the invalid’s health, both Dutch and Hester tried hard to make the meeting pleasant to him.
“The little wife looks ill, Pugh,” said Mr Parkley, as they went in to dinner. “You ask Mr Meldon his opinion about her by-and-by. Our coming worries her.”
“I’ll ask her if she’s poorly or worried,” said Dutch smiling. “Hester!”
She came up to him looking pale and startled, but he did not notice it.
“Mr Parkley thinks you wish all the visitors anywhere,” said Dutch playfully.
“He does not,” said Hester, placing her hand on Mr Parkley’s arm. “He knows he is always so very welcome here.”
She went in with him to dinner, and evidently exerted herself greatly to chase away the cloud that shadowed her, devoting herself to her guests, but in spite of her efforts her eyes were more than once directed partially to where Lauré was chatting volubly with Bessy Studwick, and, meeting his, remained for a few moments as if fascinated or fixed by his gaze.
Later on in the evening, when they were all in the drawing-room, Hester seemed quite excited, and full of forced gaiety, while Lauré was brimming with anecdote, chatting more volubly than ever. Before long he was asked to sing, and Hester sat down to the piano.
While he was singing in a low, passionate voice some Spanish love song, and those near were listening as if enthralled, Dutch felt his arm touched, and John Studwick motioned him to follow into the back drawing-room, and then, seeing it was impossible to speak there, Dutch led the way into the little dining-room, where, with the rich tones of the Cuban’s voice penetrating to where they stood, the invalid, who seemed greatly excited, caught his host by the arm.
“Dutch Pugh,” he said, “I like you because you’re so frank and manly, and that’s why I speak. I shan’t go out with this expedition if that half Spanish fellow is going too. I hate him. Look how he has been pestering Bessy all the evening. I don’t like it. Why did you ask him here?”
“My dear fellow,” exclaimed Dutch, “be reasonable. You expressed a wish to meet him.”
“So I did. Yes, so I did, but I don’t like him now. I don’t like his ways. Pugh, if I was a married man, I would not have that fellow in my house for worlds.”
“My dear John Studwick,” said Dutch, uneasily, “this is foolish. He is a foreigner, and it is his way.”
“I don’t like his way,” cried the young man, whose cheeks were flushed and eyes unnaturally bright. “If he won Bessy from me, I should kill him. I was afraid of you once, but that’s passed now.”
“But, my dear boy,” said Dutch, laying his hand on his shoulder, “you must expect your sister to form an attachment some day.”
“Yes, some day,” said the young man. “Some day; but let her wait till I’m gone. I couldn’t bear to have her taken from me now. She is everything to me.”
“My dear Studwick, don’t talk like that.”
“Why not?” he replied with a strange look. “Do you think I don’t know? I shall only live about six months: nothing will save me.”
“Nonsense, man! That sea trip will set you right again. Come, let’s get back into the drawing-room.”
He led the way back, and, seeking his opportunity, whispered to Bessy Studwick that her brother was low-spirited, and taking her from the Cuban’s side, he made John Studwick happy by bringing her to him.
The Cuban’s eyes flashed, and he arose and crossed the room, so that when Dutch looked in that direction it was to see that he whispered something to Hester, who glanced across at him where he was standing by Bessy.
The next minute he was seized by Mr Parkley, who backed him up into a corner, where he seized one particular button on the young man’s breast—a habit he had, going to the same particular button as a small pig seeks the same single spot when in search of nutriment.
“Dutch,” said Mr Parkley, as soon as they were alone, and while he was busily trying with his left hand to screw the button off, “Dutch, shake hands.”
The young man did so wonderingly.
“That’s right: no one’s looking. That chap’s going to sing another song, and little Hester’s getting ready the music. See here, Dutch, you won’t be offended at what I say?”
“Offended? Absurd!”
“Old, tried, staunch friend, you know. Wouldn’t say a word to hurt you, and I love that little girl of yours like a father—just as if she was my own flesh and blood.”
“And I’m sure Hester loves and respects you, Mr Parkley.”
“Yes, yes, of course; and that’s what makes me so wild about it.”
“I don’t understand you, Mr Parkley,” said Dutch, uneasily.
“There, that’s what I was afraid of when I spoke. But I must say it now, Pugh. I’m afraid I made a mistake in asking you to invite that Cuban hero. I’ll tell him to come and stay with me.”
“Indeed, I beg you will do no such thing, Mr Parkley,” said Dutch hotly, as his face burned with mortification. “I understand what you mean, sir, and can assure you that your suspicions are unjust.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say so, Pugh, I am indeed,” said Mr Parkley earnestly. “Don’t be angry with me, my dear boy. I’m getting old—stupid, I suppose. There, don’t take any more notice of what I said.”
Under these circumstances it was hard work for Dutch Pugh to preserve an unclouded face before his guests, but he strove hard—the harder that he was annoyed at people for having the same fancies as those he had tried so hard to banish. It was, then, with no small feeling of pleasure that he welcomed the time when his guests departed, but even then he was not to be spared a fresh wound, for on taking Bessy Studwick down to the fly she said to him in a low voice:
“Dutch, I have been trying so hard to-night to love your wife. I do so hope you will be very happy.”
“Thank you, Bessy, thank you,” he said warmly. “I’m sure you wish me well.”
“I do, I do, indeed,” she whispered earnestly, “and therefore I say I do not like your new friend, that foreign gentleman. He is treacherous: I am sure he is. Good-night.”
“Good-night!” said Dutch to himself as he stood on the gravel path with the gate in his hand listening to the departed wheels; and then in spite of his determination the flood of evil fancies came rolling back, sweeping all before it.
“They all see it, and think me blind,” he groaned as he literally reeled against the gate. “Those thoughts, then, were a warning—one I would not heed. Hester—Hester—my love,” he moaned as he pressed his hands to his forehead. “Oh, my God, that it should come to this!”
He stood leaning against the gate post for a few minutes in a stunned, dazed way, but recovering himself he clenched his hands and exclaimed through his teeth:
“I will not believe it. She could not be no false.”
He strode in, apparently quite calm, to find Hester standing by the fire-place, looking very scared and pale, while Lauré, who had thrown himself back upon the couch, began to laugh in a peculiar way.
“Ah, you English husbands,” he said, banteringly, “how you do forsake your beautiful wives. But there, the fair visitor was very sweet and gracious. I almost fell in love myself.”
Dutch Pugh’s eyes flashed for a moment, but he said nothing, only glanced at his wife, who met his look in a troubled way, and then let her eyes fall to the carpet, while Lauré went on talking in a playful, bantering manner.
Story 1--Chapter VII.
More Shadows.
From that night a complete change seemed to have come upon the home of Dutch Pugh. He had more than once determined upon putting an end to the Cuban’s stay, feeling at the same time as if he would like to end his life; but reason told him that his were, after all, but suspicions, and that perhaps they were unjust. Under the circumstances, he sought for relief in work, and strove night and day to perfect the arrangements which now fast approached completion. Captain Studwick was to be in command of the large yacht-like schooner that had been secured, and was being carefully fitted with the necessaries in stores and machinery. Two of the divers engaged in raising the copper had volunteered to go, and a capital crew had been selected. The cabins were comfortably furnished, there being plenty of space, and places were set apart for the captain’s son and daughter, while a gentleman friend—a naturalist—had, on learning from Captain Studwick the part of the world to which the ship was to sail, petitioned hard, and obtained permission to go.
This last gentleman said his object was to collect specimens of the wonderful birds of Central America; but the probabilities are that if he had not been aware that Bessy Studwick was to be of the party, he, being a very bad sailor, would have stayed at home.
By degrees everything necessary was put on board the handsome vessel, and though the ship’s destination was kept a secret, and the real object of her mission confided to few, she formed the general topic of conversation in the port, and plenty of exaggerations flew about.
The energetic way in which Dutch worked served to lull to a certain extent the sense of pain that he endured; but he suffered bitterly; and at last it had come to this: that he spent as little of his time at home as possible, returning there, however, at night faint and weary, but with a heart sickness that drove away the needful sleep.
It afforded him some gratification, though, to find that Miss Studwick often called at his home; and when, on more than one occasion, she came with her brother to the office, he read in her eyes the deep sympathy that she felt for him, and asked himself why he had not made this woman his wife.
He sat often quite late in the office, long after Rasp had grumblingly gone off with a final stoke at the fire, which afterwards sank and died out; and at such times, in the semi-darkness, with the goggle-eyed helmets seeming to stare at him and rejoice in his sufferings, he asked himself what he should do? Whether he should leave home for ever? Whether he should put her away from him, and wait till some time in the far-off distance of life when she might, perhaps, come to him, and ask his pardon for the wrong she had done.
“No!” he would exclaim, “I will not believe such evil of her. She is dazzled by this polished scoundrel, and poor, rough, I compare badly with him, for she cannot see our hearts.”
Should he end the matter at once?
No, he felt that he could not, for he had nothing but his bare, cruel suspicions to go upon, the greatest of which was that before long Hester would flee with this man, and his home would be wretched.
Wretched? If not wretched already, for all was wretched at home: Hester was low-spirited; for his own part, he rarely spoke; and the Cuban avoided him.
So far, Dutch had indulged in the hope that he might, after all, be deceiving himself, when one evening, on entering the little drawing-room suddenly, Hester started up, looking confused, and left the room, while the Cuban turned away with a short nod, and walked to the window.
From that hour every spare moment was devoted to watching: for the suspicion grew stronger now that before long, if he did not stay it, his home would be left desolate.
This lasted for some days, when the idea was checked by Lauré himself, who, as the time approached for the departure of the expedition, suddenly began to display great interest in the proceedings, so that Dutch felt compelled to own that his ideas of flight must be wrong; in fact, it was as if Lauré had divined his thoughts just as he was about to speak to Mr Parkley, and tell him his suspicions that the Cuban evidently meant to give up the expedition, and, much as it would tear his heart to speak, give the reasons for his belief.
Hardly, though, had he come to the conclusion that he was wrong, when a trifle set him off back in his former way of thinking, for his mind was now a chaos of wildering fancies, and the slightest thing set his jealous feelings in a blaze.
He would not speak to Hester; he would not take an open, manly way of seeing whether his suspicions were just; but, submitting his better parts to his distorted reason, he nursed his anguish, and so it fell out that one night he found himself watching his own house, in the full belief that his wife’s illness in the morning before he left for the office was a subterfuge, and that the time had come for her to take some step fatal to her future.
“But I will stop it,” muttered Dutch to himself, as with throbbing pulse and beating temples he avoided the gate, so as not to have his footsteps heard on the gravel, and, climbing the fence, entered his own garden like a thief.
He had hardly reached the little lawn when he heard the sound of wheels, and stepping behind a clump of laurels he stopped, listening with beating heart, for here was food for his suspicions.
As he expected, the fly stopped at the gate; a man in a cloak got out, went hastily up the path, knocked softly at the door, and was admitted on the instant.
Dutch paused, hesitating as to what he should do. Should he follow and enter? No, he decided that he would stay there, and stop them as they came out, for the fly was waiting.
Where would Hester be now? he asked himself, with the dimly-seen house seeming to swim before him; and the answer came as if hissed into his ear by some mocking fiend—
“In her bedroom, getting something for her flight.”
Half-a-dozen steps over the soft grass took him where he could see the window, and of course there was a light there, and then—
The blood seemed to rush to his brain, a horrible sense of choking came upon him, and he groaned as he staggered back, for there, plainly enough seen, was the figure of Hester, her hair hanging loose as she lay back over the arm of a man, who was half-leading, half-carrying her towards the door.
All this in shadow was sharply cost upon the blind, and with a groan of mingled rage and misery Dutch rushed towards the house, but only to totter and fall heavily, for it was as though a sharp blow had been dealt him, and for some time he lay there passive and ignorant of what passed around.
He recovered at length, and lay trying to think—to call to mind what this meant. Why was he lying there on the wet grass, with this strange deathly feeling of sickness upon him?
Then all came back with a rush, and he rose to his feet to see that the light was still in the bedroom, but the shadows were gone.
With a cry of horror he ran to the gate, but the carriage was not there, and he stood listening.
Yes, there was the sound of wheels dying away. No, they had stopped, and he was about to rush off in pursuit when a hasty step coming in his direction stayed him, for he knew it well, and, drawing back, he let the Cuban pass him, then followed him softly as he stole round the house, going on tiptoe towards the dining-room window, where Dutch caught him by the shoulder.
“Ah,” he said, laughing, “so our gallant Englishman is on the watch, is he? Does the jealous trembler think I would steal his wife?”
“Dog!” hissed Dutch, catching him by the throat, “what are you doing here?”
“What is that to you, fool!” exclaimed the Cuban, flashing into rage. “Loose me, you madman, or you shall repent it. Curse you, you are strong.”
Blind to everything but his maddening passion, kept back now for so many days, and absorbed by the feeling that he could now wreak his vengeance upon the man who had wrecked his home, Dutch savagely tightened his hold upon his adversary, who, though a strong man, bent like a reed before him. It was no time for reason to suggest that he might be wrong; the idea had possession of the young man’s soul that he was stopping an intended flight, and he drove the Cuban backwards, and had nearly forced him across a garden seat when Lauré, writhing like an eel, got partly free.
“Curse your English brute strength!” he muttered, and getting his arm from his cloak, he struck Dutch full on the temple with some weapon, and the young man fell once more prone on the grass.