Quick Action

by Robert W. Chambers

  V

  Through the golden forest light of afternoon, they moved from shrub toshrub; and he taught her to be on the watch for any possible foes of theneat and busy little caterpillars, warning her to watch for birds,spiders, beetles, ichneumon flies, possibly squirrels or even hornets.She nodded her comprehension; he went one way, she the other. For nearlyten minutes they remained separated, and it seemed ages to one of themanyway.

  But the caterpillars appeared to be immune. Nothing whatever interferedwith them; wandering beetles left them unmolested; no birds even noticedthem; no gauzy-winged and parasitic flies investigated them.

  "Mr. Jones!" she called.

  He was at her side in an instant.

  "I only wanted to know where you were," she said happily.

  The sun hung red over the lagoon when they sauntered back to camp. Shewent into her tent with a cheerful nod to him, which said:

  "I've had a splendid time, and I'll rejoin you in a few moments."

  When she emerged in fresh white flannels, she found him writing in ablank-book.

  "I wonder if I might see?" she said. "If it's scientific, I mean."

  "It is, entirely."

  So she seated herself on the ground beside him, and read over hisshoulder the entries he was making in his field book concerning theday's doings. When he had finished his entry, she said:

  "You have not mentioned my coming to you, and how we looked forichneumon flies together."

  "I----" He was silent.

  She added timidly: "I know I count for absolutely nothing in theimportant experiences of a naturalist, but--I did look very hard forichneumon flies. Couldn't you write in your field book that I tried veryhard to help you?"

  He wrote gravely:

  "Miss Cassillis most generously volunteered her invaluable aid, andspared no effort to discover any possible foe that might prove to beparasitic upon these larvae. But so far without success."

  "Thank you," she said, in a very low voice. And after a short silence:"It was not mere vanity, Mr. Jones. Do you understand?"

  "I know it was not vanity, even if I do not entirely understand."

  "Shall I tell you?"

  "Please."

  "It was the first thing that I have ever been permitted to do all bymyself. It meant so much to me.... And I wished to have a little recordof it--even if you think it is of no scientific importance."

  "It is of more importance than----" But he managed to stop himself,slightly startled. She had lifted her head from the pages of the fieldbook to look at him. When his voice failed, and while the red burnedbrilliantly in his ears, she resumed her perusal of his journal,gravely. After a while, though she turned the pages as if she werereally reading, he concluded that her mind was elsewhere. It was.

  Presently he rose, mended the fire, filled the kettle, and unhooked thebrace of wild ducks from the eaves where they swung, and marched offwith them toward the water.

  When he returned, the ducks were plucked and split for broiling. Hefound her seated as he had left her, dreaming awake, idle hands foldedon the pages of his open field book.

  For dinner they had broiled mallard, coffee, ash-cakes, and bon-bons.After it she smoked a cigarette with him.

  Later she informed him that it was her first, and that she liked it, andrequested another.

  "Don't," he said, smiling.

  "Why?"

  "It spoils a girl's voice, ultimately."

  "But it's very agreeable."

  "Will you promise not to?" he asked, lightly.

  Suddenly her blue eyes became serious.

  "Yes," she said, "if you wish."

  The woods grew darker. Far across the lagoon a tiger-owl woke up andbegan to yelp like a half-strangled hobgoblin.

  She sat silent for a little while, then very quietly and frankly put herhand on Jones's. It was shaking.

  "I am afraid of that sound," she said calmly.

  "It is only a big owl," he reassured her, retaining her hand.

  "Is that what it is? How _very_ dark the woods are! I had no idea thatthere could be such utter darkness. I am not sure that I care for it."

  "There is nothing to harm you in these woods."

  "No bears and wolves and panthers?"

  "There are a few--and all very anxious to keep away from anythinghuman."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Do you mind if I leave my hand where it is?"

  It appeared that he had no insurmountable objections.

  After the seventh tiger-owl had awakened and the inky blackness quiveredwith the witch-like shouting and hellish tumult, he felt her shoulderpressing against his. And bending to look into her face saw that all thecolour in it had fled.

  "You mustn't be frightened," he said earnestly.

  "But I am. I'm sorry.... I'll try to accustom myself to it.... Thedarkness is a--a trifle terrifying--isn't it?"

  "It's beautiful, too," he said, looking up at the firelit foliageoverhead. She looked up also, her slender throat glimmering rosy in theembers' glare. After a moment she nodded:

  "It _is_ wonderful.... If I only had a little time to accustom myself toit I am sure I should love it.... Oh! What was that very loud splashout there in the dark?"

  "A big fish playing in the lagoon; or perhaps wild ducks feeding."

  After a few minutes he felt her soft hand tighten within his.

  "It sounds as though some great creature were prowling around our fire,"she whispered. "Do you hear its stealthy tread?"

  "Noises in the forest are exaggerated," he said carelessly. "It may be asquirrel or some little furry creature out hunting for his supper.Please don't be afraid."

  "Then it _isn't_ a bear?"

  "No, dear," he said, so naturally and unthinkingly that for a fullsecond neither realised the awful break of Delancy Jones.

  When they did they said nothing about it. But it was some time beforespeech was resumed. She was the first to recover. Perhaps thedemoralisation was largely his. It usually is that way.

  She said: "This has been the most perfect day of my entire life. I'meven glad I am a little scared. It is delicious to be a trifle afraid.But I'm not, now--very much.... Is there any established hour forbedtime in the woods?"

  "Inclination sounds the hour."

  "Isn't that wonderful!" she sighed, her eyes on the fire. "Inclinationrules in the forest.... And here I am."

  The firelight on her copper-tinted hair masked her lovely eyes in a softshadow. Her shoulder stirred rhythmically as she breathed.

  "And here you live all alone," she mused, half to herself.... "I oncesaw you pitch a game against Yale.... And the next time I saw youwalking very busily down Fifth Avenue.... And now--you are--here....That is wonderful.... Everything seems to be wonderful in this place....Wh-what _is_ that flapping noise, please?"

  "Two herons fighting in the sedge."

  "You know everything.... That is the most wonderful of all. And yet yousay you are not famous?"

  "Nobody ever heard of me outside the Smithsonian."

  "But--you _must_ become famous. To-morrow I shall look very hard for anichneumon fly for you----"

  "But your discovery will make _you_ famous, Miss Cassillis----"

  "Why--why, it's for _you_ that I am going to search so hard! Did yousuppose I would dream of claiming any of the glory!"

  He said, striving to speak coolly:

  "It is very generous and sweet of you.... And, after all, I hardlysuppose that you need any added lustre or any additional happiness in alife which must be so full, so complete, and so care-free."

  She was silent for a while, then:

  "Is _your_ life then so full of care, Mr. Jones?"

  "Oh, no," he said; "I get on somehow."

  "Tell me," she insisted.

  "What am I to tell you?"

  "Why it is that your life is care-ridden."

  "But it isn't----"

  "Tell me!"

  He said, gaily enough: "To labour for others i
s sometimes a littleirksome.... I am not discontented.... Only, if I had means--if I hadbarely sufficient--there are so many fascinating and exciting lines ofindependent research to follow--to make a name in----" He broke off witha light laugh, leaned forward and laid another log on the fire.

  "You can not afford it?" she asked, in a low voice; and for the momentastonishment ruled her to discover that this very perfect specimen ofintelligent and gifted manhood was struggling under such an amazinglytrifling disadvantage. Only from reading and from hearsay had she beeneven vaguely acquainted with the existence of poverty.

  "No," he said pleasantly, "I can not yet afford myself the happiness ofindependent research."

  "When will you be able to afford it?"

  Neither were embarrassed; he looked thoughtfully into the fire; and fora while she watched him in his brown study.

  "Will it be soon?" she asked, under her breath.

  "No, dear."

  That time a full minute intervened before either realised how he hadanswered. And both remained exceedingly still until she said calmly:

  "I thought you were the very ideal embodiment of personal liberty. Andnow I find that wretched and petty and ignoble circumstances fetter evensuch a man as you are. It--it is--is heartbreaking."

  "It won't last forever," he said, controlling his voice.

  "But the years are going--the best years, Mr. Jones. And your life'swork beckons you. And you are equipped for it, and you can not take it!"

  "Some day----" But he could say no more then, with her hand tighteningin his.

  "To--to rise superior to circumstances--that is god-like, isn't it?" shesaid.

  "Yes." He laughed. "But on six hundred dollars a year a man can't risevery high above circumstances."

  The shock left her silent. Any gown of hers cost more than that. Thenthe awfulness of it all rose before her in its true and hideousproportions. And there was nothing for her to do about it, nothing,absolutely nothing, except to endure the degradation of her wealth andremember that the merest tithe of it could have made this man beside herimmortally famous--if, perhaps, no more wonderful than he already was inher eyes.

  Was there no way to aid him? She could look for ichneumon flies in themorning. And on the morning after that. And the next morning she wouldsay good-bye and go away forever--out of this enchanted forest, out ofhis life, back to the _Chihuahua_, and to her guests who ate often anddigested all day long--back to her father, her mother--back toStirrups----

  He felt her hand close on his convulsively, and turned to encounter herflushed and determined face.

  "You like me, don't you?" she said.

  "Yes." After a moment he said: "Yes--absolutely."

  "Do you like me enough to--to let me help you in your research work--tobe patient enough to teach me a little until I catch up with you?... Sowe can go on together?... I know I am presumptuous--perhapsimportunate--but I thought--somehow--if you did like me well enough--itwould be--very agreeable----"

  "It would be!... And I--like you enough for--anything. But you could notremain here----"

  "I don't mean here."

  "Where, then?"

  "Where?" She looked vaguely about her in the firelight. "Why,everywhere. Wherever you go to make your researches."

  "Dear, I would go to Ceylon if I could."

  "I also," she said.

  He turned a little pale, looking at her in silence. She said calmly:"What would you do in Ceylon?"

  "Study the unknown life-histories of the rarer Ornithoptera."

  She knew no more than a kitten what he meant. But she wanted to know,and, moreover, was perfectly capable of comprehending.

  "Whatever you desire to study," she said, "would prove delightful tome.... If you want me. Do you?"

  "Want you!" Then he bit his lip.

  "Don't you? Tell me frankly if you don't. But I think, somehow, youwould not make a mistake if you did want me. I really am intelligent. Ididn't know it until I talked with you. Now, I know it. But I have neverbeen able to give expression to it or cultivate it.... And, somehow, Iknow I would not be a drag on you--if you would teach me a little in thebeginning."

  He said: "What can I teach _you_, Cecil? Not the heavenly frankness thatyou already use so sweetly. Not the smiling and serene nobility whichcarries your head so daintily and so fearlessly. Not the calm purity ofthought, nor the serene goodness of mind that has graciously included apoor devil like me in your broad and generous sympathies----"

  "Please!" she faltered, flushing. "I am not what you say--though to hearyou say such things is a great happiness--a pleasure--very intense--andwonderful--and new. But I am nothing, _nothing_--unless I should becomeuseful to you. I _could_ amount to something--with--you----" She checkedherself; looked at him as though a trifle frightened. "Unless," sheadded with an effort, "you are in love with somebody else. I didn'tthink of that. _Are_ you?"

  "No," he said. "Are you?"

  "No.... I have never been in love.... This is the nearest I have come toit."

  "And I."

  She smiled faintly.

  "If we----"

  "Oh, yes," he said, calmly, "if we are to pass the balance of ourexistence in combined research, it would be rather necessary for us tomarry."

  "Do you mind?"

  "On the contrary. Do you?"

  "Not in the least. Do you really mean it? It wouldn't be disagreeable,would it? You are above marrying for mere sentiment, aren't you?Because, somehow, I seem to know you like me.... And it would be deathfor me--a mental death--to go back now to--to Stirrups----"

  "Where?"

  "To--why do you ask? Couldn't you take me on faith?"

  He said, unsteadily: "If you rose up out of the silvery lagoon, justborn from the starlight and the mist, I would take you."

  "You--you are a poet, too," she faltered. "You seem to be abouteverything desirable."

  "I'm only a man very, very deep in--love."

  "In love!... I thought----"

  "Ah, but you need think no more. You _know_ now, Cecil."

  She remained silent, thinking for a long while. Then, very quietly:

  "Yes, I know.... It is that way with me also. For I no sooner find myliberty than I lose it--in the same moment--to you. We must never againbe separated.... Do you feel as I do?"

  "Absolutely.... But it must be so."

  "Why?" she asked, troubled.

  "For one thing, I shall have to work harder now."

  "Why?"

  "Don't you know we can not marry on what I have?"

  "Oh! Is _that_ the reason?" She laughed, sprang lightly to her feet,stood looking down at him. He got up, slowly.

  "I bring you," she said, "six hundred dollars a year. And a _little_more. Which sweeps away that obstacle. Doesn't it?"

  "I could not ask you to live on that----"

  "I can live on what you live on! I should wish to. It would make meutterly and supremely happy."

  Her flushed, young face confronted his as she took a short, eager steptoward him.

  "I am not making love to you," she said, "--at least, I don't think Iam. All I desire is to help--to give you myself--my youth, energy,ambition, intelligence--and what I have--which is of no use to me unlessit is useful to you. Won't you take these things from me?"

  "Do you give me your heart, too, Cecil?"

  She smiled faintly, knowing now that she had already given it. She didnot answer, but her under lip trembled, and she caught it between herteeth as he took her hands and kissed them in silence.