CHAPTER VII.
The daily reading proceeded as usual after Barker's departure, butneither Margaret nor Claudius mentioned the subject of the voyage.Margaret was friendly, and sometimes seemed on the point of relapsinginto her old manner, but she always checked herself. What the precisechange was it would be hard to say. Claudius knew it was very easy tofeel the difference, but impossible to define it. As the days passed, heknew also that his life had ceased to be his own; and, with thechivalrous wholeness of purpose that was his nature, he took his souland laid it at her feet, for better for worse, to do with as she would.But he knew the hour was not come yet wherein he should speak; and so heserved her in silence, content to feel the tree of life growing withinhim, which should one day overshadow them both with its shelteringbranches. His service was none the less whole and devoted because it hadnot yet been accepted.
One evening, nearly a week after they had been left to themselves,Claudius was sitting over his solitary dinner in the casino restaurantwhen a note was brought to him, a large square envelope of rough paper,and he knew the handwriting. He hesitated to open it, and, glancinground the brilliantly-lighted restaurant, involuntarily wondered if anyman at all those tables were that moment in such suspense as he. Hethought it was probably an intimation that she was going away, and thathe was wanted no longer. Then, for the first time in many days, hethought of his money. "And if she does," he said half aloud, "shall Inot follow? Shall not gold command everything save her heart, and can Inot win that for myself?" And he took courage and quietly opened thenote.
"MY DEAR DR. CLAUDIUS--As the time is approaching, will you not do me a favour? I want you to make a list of books to read on the voyage--that is, if I may count on your kindness as an expounder. If not, please tell me of some good novels.
"Sincerely yours,"
and her full name signed at the end. The hot blood turned his whiteforehead red as Claudius finished reading. He could not believe hiseyes, and the room swam for a moment; for he was very much in love, thisbig Swede. Then he grew pale again and quite calm, and read the noteover. Novels indeed! What did he know about novels? He would ask herplainly if she wanted his company on the yacht or no. He would say,"Shall I come? or shall I stay behind?" Claudius had much to learn fromMr. Barker before he was competent to deal with women. But then Claudiuswould have scorned the very expression "to deal" with them; theirs tocommand, his to obey--there was to be no question of dealing. Only inhis simple heart he would like to know in so many words what thecommands were; and that is sometimes a little hard, for women like to behalf understood before they speak, and the grosser intellect of manseldom more than half understands them after they have spoken.
A note requires an answer, and Claudius made the usual number offailures. When one has a great deal more to say than one has any rightto say, and when at the same time one is expected to say particularlylittle, it is very hard to write a good note. All sorts of ideas creepin and express themselves automatically. A misplaced plural for asingular, a superlative adjective where the vaguer comparative belongs;the vast and immeasurable waste of weary years that may lie between"dear" and "dearest," the gulf placed between "sincerely yours, JohnSmith," and "yours, J.S.," and "your J.," until the blessed state isreached wherein the signature is omitted altogether, and every wordbears the sign-manual of the one woman or one man who really exists foryou. What a registering thermometer of intimacy exists in notes, fromthe icy zero of first acquaintance to the raging throb of boilingblood-heat! So Claudius, after many trials, arrived at the requisitepitch of absolute severity, and began his note, "My dear CountessMargaret," and signed it, "very obediently yours," which said just whatwas literally true; and he stated that he would immediately proceed tocarry out the Countess's commands, and make a list in which nothingshould be wanting that could contribute to her amusement.
When he went to see her on the following day he was a little surprisedat her manner, which inclined more to the severe coldness of thatmemorable day of difficulties than to the unbending he had expected fromher note. Of course he had no reason to be disappointed, and he showedhis inexperience. She was compensating her conscience for the concessionshe had made in intimating that he might go. It was indeed a concession,but to what superior power she had yielded it behoves not inquisitiveman to ask. Perhaps she thought Claudius would enjoy the trip very much,and said to herself she had no right to make him give it up.
They read together for some time, and at last Claudius asked her, inconnection with a point which arose, whether she would like to read aGerman book that he thought good.
"Very much," said she. "By the by, I am glad you have been able toarrange to go with us. I thought your engagements were going to preventyou."
Claudius looked at her, trying to read her thoughts, in which he failed.He might have been satisfied, but he was not. There was a short silence,and then he closed the book over his hand and spoke.
"Countess, do you wish me to go or not?"
Margaret raised her dark eyebrows. He had never seen her do that before.But then he had never said anything so clumsy before in his whole life,and he knew it the moment the words were out of his mouth, and his facewas white in sunshine. She looked at him suddenly, a slight smile on herlips, and her eyes just the least contracted, as if she were going tosay something sarcastic. But his face was so pitifully pale. She saw howhis hand trembled. A great wave of womanly compassion welled up in hersoul, and the smile faded and softened away as she said one word.
"Yes." It came from the heart, and she could not help it if it soundedkindly.
"Then I will go," said Claudius, hardly knowing what he said, for theblood came quickly back to his face.
"Of course you will, I could have told you that ever so long ago,"chirped a little bullfinch in the tree overhead.
A couple of weeks or more after the events last chronicled, the steamyacht _Streak_ was two days out on the Atlantic, with a goodly party onboard. There were three ladies--the Duke's sister, the Countess, andMiss Skeat, the latter looking very nautical in blue serge, which sattightly over her, like the canvas cover sewn round a bicycle when it issent by rail. Of men there were also three--to wit, the owner of theyacht, Mr. Barker, and Dr. Claudius.
The sea has many kinds of fish. Some swim on their sides, some swimstraight, some come up to take a sniff of air, and some stay below. Itis just the same with people who go to sea. Take half a dozenindividuals who are all more or less used to the water, and they willbehave in half a dozen different ways. One will become encrusted to thedeck like a barnacle, another will sit in the cabin playing cards; athird will spend his time spinning yarns with the ship's company, and afourth will rush madly up and down the deck from morning till night inthe pursuit of an appetite which shall leave no feat of marine digestionuntried or unaccomplished. Are they not all stamped on the memory ofthem that go down to the sea in yachts? The little card-box and thescoring-book of the players, the deck chair and rugs of the inveteratereader, the hurried tread and irascible eye of the carnivorouspassenger, and the everlasting pipe of the ocean talker, who feels timebefore him and the world at his feet wherein to spin yarns--has any onenot seen them?
Now, the elements on board of the _Streak_ were sufficiently diverse toform a successful party, and by the time they were two days out on thelong swell, with a gentle breeze just filling the trysails, andeverything stowed, they had each fallen into the groove of sea life thatwas natural to him or to her. There were Barker and the Duke in thepretty smoking-room forward with the windows open and a pack of cardsbetween them. Every now and then they stopped to chat a little, or theDuke would go out and look at the course, and make his rounds to seethat every one was all right and nobody sea-sick. But Barker rarelymoved, save to turn his chair and cross one leg over the other, wherebyhe might the more easily contemplate his little patent leather shoes andstroke his bony hands over his silk-clad ankles; for Mr. Barkerconsidered sea-dressing, as he called it, a piece of affectation, and
arrayed himself on board ship precisely as he did on land. The Duke, onthe other hand, like most Englishmen when they get a chance, revelled inwhat he considered ease; that is to say, no two of his garments matchedor appeared to have been made in the same century; he wore a flannelshirt, and was inclined to go about barefoot when the ladies were not ondeck, and he adorned his ducal forehead with a red worsted cap, priceone shilling.
Margaret, as was to be expected, was the deck member, with hercuriously-wrought chair and her furs and her portable bookcase; whileMiss Skeat, who looked tall and finny, and sported a labyrinthinetartan, was generally to be seen entangled in the weather-shrouds nearby. As for the Duke's sister, Lady Victoria, she was plain, but healthy,and made regular circuits of the steamer, stopping every now and then towatch the green swirl of the foam by the side, and to take long draughtsof salt air into her robust lungs. But of all the party there was notone on whom the change from the dry land to the leaping water producedmore palpable results than on Claudius. He affected nothing nautical indress or speech, but when the Duke saw him come on deck the firstmorning out, there was something about his appearance that made theyachtsman say to Barker--
"That man has been to sea, I am positive. I am glad I asked him."
"All those Swedes are amphibious," replied Barker; "they take to thewater like ducks. But I don't believe he has smelled salt water for adozen years."
"They are the best sailors, at all events," said the Duke. "I have lotsof them among the men. Captain a Swede too. Let me introduce you." Theywere standing on the bridge. "Captain Sturleson, my friend Mr. Barker."And so in turn the captain was made known to every one on board; for hewas an institution with the Duke, and had sailed his Grace's yachts eversince there had been any to sail, which meant for about twenty years. Totell the truth, if it were not for those beastly logarithms, the Dukewas no mean sailing-master himself, and he knew a seaman when he sawone; hence his remark about Claudius. The Doctor knew every inch of theyacht and every face in the ship's company by the second day, and itamused the Countess to hear his occasional snatches of the clean-cutNorthern tongue that sounded like English, but was yet so different.
Obedient to her instructions, he had provided books of all sorts for thevoyage, and they began to read together, foolishly imagining that, withthe whole day at their disposal, they would do as much work as when theyonly met for an hour or two daily to accomplish a set purpose. Theresult of their unbounded freedom was that conversation took the placeof reading. Hitherto Margaret had confined Claudius closely to thematter in hand, some instinct warning her that such an intimacy as hadexisted during his daily visits could only continue on the footing ofsevere industry she had established from the first. But the sight of theopen deck, the other people constantly moving to and fro, the properaspect of the lady-companion, just out of earshot, and altogether theappearance of publicity which the sea-life lent to their _tete-a-tete_hours, brought, as a necessary consequence, a certain unbending. Italways seemed such an easy matter to call some third party into theconversation if it should grow too confidential. And so, insensibly,Claudius and Margaret wandered into discussions about the feelings,about love, hate, and friendship, and went deep into those topics whichso often end in practical experiment. Claudius had lived little andthought much; Margaret had seen a great deal of the world, and beinggifted with fine intuitions and tact, she had reasoned very little aboutwhat she saw, understanding, as she did, the why and wherefore of mostactions by the pure light of feminine genius. The Doctor theorised, andit interested his companion to find facts she remembered suddenlybrought directly under a neat generalisation; and before long she foundherself trying to remember facts to fit his theories, a mode of going indouble harness which is apt to lead to remarkable but fallaciousresults. In the intervals of theorising Claudius indulged in smallexperiments. But Barker and the Duke played poker.
Of course the three men saw a good deal of each other--in the earlymorning before the ladies came on deck, and late at night when they sattogether in the smoking-room. In these daily meetings the Duke andClaudius had become better acquainted, and the latter, who was reticent,but perfectly simple, in speaking of himself, had more than once alludedto his peculiar position and to the unexpected change of fortune thathad befallen him. One evening they were grouped as usual around thesquare table in the brightly-lighted little room that Barker and theDuke affected most. The fourfold beat of the screw crushed the waterquickly and sent its peculiar vibration through the vessel as she spedalong in the quiet night. The Duke was extended on a transom, andClaudius on the one opposite, while Barker tipped himself about on hischair at the end of the table. The Duke was talkative, in a disjointed,monosyllabic fashion.
"Yes. I know. No end of a queer sensation, lots of money. Same thinghappened to me when I came of age."
"Not exactly the same thing," said Claudius; "you knew you were going tohave it."
"No," put in Barker. "Having money and being likely to have it are aboutthe same as far as spending it goes. Particularly in England."
"I believe the whole thing is a fraud," said the Duke in a tone ofprofound reflection. "Never had a cent before I came of age. Seems to meI never had any since."
"Spent it all in water-melon and fire-crackers, celebrating yourtwenty-first birthday, I suppose," suggested Barker.
"Spent it some way, at all events," replied the Duke. "Now, here," hecontinued, addressing Barker, "is a man who actually has it, who neverexpected to have it, who has got it in hard cash, and in the only wayin which it is worth having--by somebody else's work. Query--what willClaudius do with his millions?" Exhausted by this effort of speech, theDuke puffed his tobacco in silence, waiting for an answer. Claudiuslaughed, but said nothing.
"I know of one thing he will do with his money. He will get married,"said Barker.
"For God's sake, Claudius," said the Duke, looking serious, "don't dothat."
"I don't think I will," said Claudius.
"I know better," retorted Barker, "I am quite sure I shall do it myselfsome day, and so will you. Do you think if I am caught, you are going toescape?"
The Duke thought that if Barker knew the Duchess, he might yet savehimself.
"You are no chicken, Barker, and perhaps you are right. If they catchyou they can catch anybody," he said aloud.
"Well, I used to say the mamma was not born who could secure me. But Iam getting old, and my nerves are shaken, and a secret presentimenttells me I shall be bagged before long, and delivered over to thetormentors."
"I pity you if you are," said the Duke. "No more poker, and very littletobacco then."
"Not as bad as that. You are as much married as most men, but it doesnot interfere with the innocent delights of your leisure hours, that Ican see."
"Ah, well--you see--I am pretty lucky. The Duchess is a domestic type ofangel. Likes children and bric-a-brac and poultry, and all those things.Takes no end of trouble about the place."
"Why should not I marry the angelic domestic--the domestic angel, Imean?"
"You won't, though. Doesn't grow in America. I know the sort of womanyou will get for your money."
"Give me an idea." Barker leaned back in his chair till it touched thedoor of the cabin, and rolled his cigar in his mouth.
"Of course she will be the rage for the time. Eighteen or nineteensummers of earthly growth, and eighteen or nineteen hundred years ofexperience and calculation in a former state."
"Thanks, that sounds promising. Claudius, this is intended for yourinstruction."
"You will see her first at a ball, with a cartload of nosegays slung onher arms, and generally all over her. That will be your firstacquaintance; you will never see the last of her."
"No--I know that," said Barker gloomily.
"She will marry you out of hand after a three months' engagement. Shewill be married by Worth, and you will be married by Poole. It will bevery effective, you know. No end of wedding presents, and acres offlowers. And then you will start away on your tour
, and be miserableever after."
"I am glad you have done," was Barker's comment.
"As for me," said Claudius, "I am of course not acquainted with thepeculiarities of American life, but I fancy the Duke is rather severe inhis judgment."
It was a mild protest against a wholesale condemnation of Americanmarriages; but Barker and the Duke only laughed as if they understoodeach other, and Claudius had nothing more to say. He mentally comparedthe utterances of these men, doubtless grounded on experience, with theformulas he had made for himself about women, and which were undeniablythe outcome of pure theory. He found himself face to face with the olddifficulty, the apparent discord between the universal law and theindividual fact. But, on the other hand, he could not help comparinghimself with his two companions. It was not in his nature to thinkslightingly of other men, but he felt that they were of a totallydifferent mould, besides belonging to a different race. He knew thathowever much he might enjoy their society, they had nothing in commonwith him, and that it was only his own strange fortune that had suddenlytransported him into the very midst of a sphere where such characterswere the rule and not the exception.
The conversation languished, and Claudius left the Duke and Barker, andwent towards his quarters. It was a warm night for the Atlantic, andthough there was no moon, the stars shone out brightly, their reflectionmoving slowly up and down the slopes of the long ocean swell. Claudiuswalked aft, and was going to sit down for a few minutes before turningin, when he was suddenly aware of a muffled female figure leaningagainst the taffrail only a couple of paces from where he was. In spiteof the starlight he could not distinguish the person. She was wrappedclosely in a cloak and veil, as if fearing the cold. As it must be oneof the three ladies who constituted the party, Claudius naturally raisedhis cap, but fearing lest he had chanced on the Duke's sister, or stillworse, on Miss Skeat, he did not speak. Before long, however, as heleaned against the side, watching the wake, the unknown remarked that itwas a delightful night. It was Margaret's voice, and the deep musicaltones trembled on the rise and fall of the waves, as if the soundsthemselves had a distinct life and beating in them. Did the dark womanknow what magic lay in her most trivial words? Claudius did not care arush whether the night were beautiful or otherwise, but when she said itwas a fine evening, it sounded as if she had said she loved him.
"I could not stay downstairs," she said, "and so when the others went tobed I wrapped myself up and came here. Is it not too wonderful?"
Claudius moved nearer to her.
"I have been pent up in the Duke's _tabagie_ for at least two hours," hesaid, "and I am perfectly suffocated."
"How can you sit in that atmosphere? Why don't you come and smoke ondeck?"
"Oh! it was not only the tobacco that suffocated me to-night, it was theideas."
"What ideas?" asked Margaret.
"You have known the Duke a long time," said he, "and of course you canjudge. Or rather, you know. But to hear those two men talk is enough tomake one think there is neither heaven above nor hell beneath." He wasrather incoherent.
"Have they been attacking your favourite theories," Margaret asked, andshe smiled behind her veil; but he could not see that, and her voicesounded somewhat indifferent.
"Oh! I don't know," he said, as if not wanting to continue the subject;and he turned round so as to rest his elbows on the taffrail. So hestood, bent over and looking away astern at the dancing starlight on thewater. There was a moment's silence.
"Tell me," said Margaret at last.
"What shall I tell you, Countess?" asked Claudius.
"Tell me what it was you did not like about their talk."
"It is hard to say, exactly. They were talking about women, and Americanmarriages; and I did not like it, that is all." Claudius straightenedhimself again and turned towards his companion. The screw below themrushed round, worming its angry way through the long quiet waves.
"Barker," said Claudius, "was saying that he supposed he would bemarried some day--delivered up to torture, as he expressed it--and theDuke undertook to prophesy and draw a picture of Barker's future spouse.The picture was not attractive."
"Did Mr. Barker think so too?"
"Yes. He seemed to regard the prospects of matrimony from a resigned andmelancholy point of view. I suppose he might marry any one he chose inhis own country, might he not?"
"In the usual sense, yes," answered Margaret.
"What is the 'usual sense'?" asked the Doctor.
"He might marry beauty, wealth, and position. That is the usual meaningof marrying whom you please."
"Oh! then it does not mean any individual he pleases?"
"Certainly not. It means that out of half a dozen beautiful, rich, andaccomplished girls it is morally certain that one, at least, would takehim for his money, his manners, and his accomplishments."
"Then he would go from one to the other until he was accepted? Acharming way of doing things, upon my word!" And Claudius sniffed thenight air discontentedly.
"Oh no," said Margaret. "He will be thrown into the society of all six,and one of them will marry him, that will be the way of it."
"I cannot say I discover great beauty in that social arrangement either,except that it gives the woman the choice."
"Of course," she answered, "the system does not pretend to thebeautiful, it only aspires to the practical. If the woman is satisfiedwith her choice, domestic peace is assured." She laughed.
"Why cannot each satisfy himself or herself of the other? Why cannot thechoice be mutual?"
"It would take too long," said she; and laughed again.
"Very long?" asked Claudius, trying not to let his voice change. But itchanged nevertheless.
"Generally very long," she answered in a matter-of-fact way.
"Why should it?"
"Because neither women nor men are so easily understood as a chapter ofphilosophy," said she.
"Is it not the highest pleasure in life, that constant, loving study ofthe one person one loves? Is not every anticipated thought and wish atriumph more worth living for than everything else in the wide world?"He moved close to her side. "Do you not think so too?" She said nothing.
"I think so," he said. "There is no pleasure like the pleasure of tryingto understand what a woman wants; there is no sorrow like the sorrow offailing to do that; and there is no glory like the glory of success. Itis a divine task for any man, and the greatest have thought it worthy ofthem." Still she was silent; and so was he for a little while, lookingat her side face, for she had thrown back the veil and her delicateprofile showed clearly against the sea foam.
"Countess," he said at last; and his voice came and went fitfully withthe breeze--"I would give my whole life's strength and study for thegladness of foreseeing one little thing that you might wish, and ofdoing it for you." His hand stole along the taffrail till it touchedhers, but he did not lift his fingers from the polished wood.
"Dr. Claudius, you would give too much," she said; for the magic of thehour and place was upon her, and the Doctor's earnest tones admitted ofno laughing retort. She ought to have checked him then, and the instantshe had spoken she knew it; but before she could speak again he hadtaken the hand he was already touching between both of his, and waslooking straight in her face.
"Margaret, I love you with all my soul and heart and strength." Her handtrembled in his, but she could not take it away. Before she had answeredhe had dropped to his knee and was pressing the gloved fingers to hislips.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated, and his strength wasas the strength of ten in that moment.
"Dr. Claudius," said she at last, in a broken and agitated way, "youought not to have said this. It was not right of you." She tried toloose her hand, but he rose to his feet still clasping it.
"Forgive me," he said, "forgive me!" His face was almost luminouslypale. "All the ages cannot take from me this--that I have told you."
Margaret said never a word, but covered her head with her veil a
ndglided noiselessly away, leaving Claudius with his white face andstaring eyes to the contemplation of what he had done. And she wentbelow and sat in her stateroom and tried to think it all over. She wasangry, she felt sure. She was angry at Claudius and half angry atherself--at least she thought so. She was disappointed, she said, in theman, and she did not mean to forgive him. Besides, in a yacht, with aparty of six people, where there was absolutely no escape possible, itwas unpardonable. He really ought not to have done it. Did he think--didhe flatter himself--that if she had expected he was going to act justlike all the rest of them she would have treated him as she had? Did hefancy his well-planned declaration would flatter _her_? Could he not seethat she wanted to consider him always as a friend, that she thought shehad found at last what she had so often dreamed of--a friendship proofagainst passion? It was so common, so commonplace. It was worse, for itwas taking a cruel advantage of the narrow limits within which they wereboth confined. Besides, he had taken advantage of her kindness to plan ascene which he knew would surprise her out of herself. She ought to havespoken strongly and sharply and made him suffer for his sin while he wasyet red-handed. And instead, what had she done? She had merely said verymeekly that "it was not right," and had sought safety in a hastyretreat.
She sighed wearily, and began to shake out the masses of her black hair,that was as the thickness of night spun fine. And as she drew out thethick tortoise-shell pins that bore it up, it rolled down heavily in asoft dark flood and covered her as with a garment. Then she leaned backand sighed again, and her eyes fell on a book that lay at the corner ofher dressing-table, where she had left it before dinner. It was the bookthey had been reading, and the mark was a bit of fine white cord thatClaudius had cunningly twisted and braided, sailor fashion, to keep theplace. Margaret rose to her feet, and taking the book in her hand,looked at it a moment without opening it. Then she hid it out of sightand sat down again. The action had been almost unconscious, but now shethought about it, and she did not like what she had done. Angry with himand with herself, she was yet calm enough to ask why she could not bearthe sight of the volume on the table. Was it possible she had caredenough about her friendship for the Doctor to be seriously distressed atits sudden termination? She hardly knew--perhaps so. So many men hadmade love to her, none had ever before seemed to be a friend.
The weary and hard-worked little sentiment that we call conscience spokeup. Was she just to him? No. If she had cared even as much as thataction showed, had he no right to care also? He had the right, yes; buthe had been wanting in tact. He should have waited till they wereashore. Poor fellow! he looked so white, and his hands were so cold. Washe there still, looking out at the ship's wake? Margaret, are you quitesure you never thought of him save as a friendly professor who taughtyou philosophy? And there was a little something that would not besilenced, and that would say--Yes, you are playing tricks with yourfeelings, you care for him, you almost love him. And for a moment therewas a fierce struggle in the brave heart of that strong woman as sheshook out her black hair and turned pale to the lips. She rose again,and went and got the book she had hidden, and laid it just where it hadlain before. Then she knew, and she bowed her head till her whiteforehead touched the table before her, and her hands were wet as theypressed her eyelids.
"I am very weak," she said aloud, and proceeded with her toilet.
"But you will be kind to him, Margaret," said the little voice in herheart, as she laid her head on the pillow.
"But it is my duty to be cold. I do not love him," she argued, as thewatch struck eight bells.
Poor Saint Duty! what a mess you make of human kindness!
Claudius was still on deck, and a wretched man he was, as his chilledhands clung to the side. He knew well enough that she was angry, thoughshe had reproached herself with not having made it clear to him. He saidto himself he ought not to have spoken, and then he laughed bitterly,for he knew that all his strength could not have kept back the words,because they were true, and because the truth must be spoken sooner orlater. He was hopeless now for a time, but he did not deceive himself.
"I am not weak. I am strong. And if my love is stronger than I what doesthat prove? I am glad it is, and I would not have it otherwise. It isdone now and can never be undone. I am sorry I spoke to-night. I wouldhave waited if I could. But I could not, and I should despise myself ifI could. Love that is not strong enough to make a man move in spite ofhimself is not worth calling love. I wonder if I flattered myself sheloved me? No, I am quite sure I did not. I never thought anything aboutit. It is enough for me that I love her, and live, and have told her so;and I can bear all the misery now, for she knows. I suppose it willbegin at once. She will not speak to me. No, not that, but she will notexpect me to speak to her. I will keep out of her way; it is the least Ican do. And I will try and not make her life on board disagreeable. Ah,my beloved, I will never hurt you again or make you angry."
He said these things over and over to himself, and perhaps theycomforted him a little. At eight bells the Swedish captain turned out,and Claudius saw him ascend the bridge, but soon he came down again andwalked aft.
"God afton, Captain," said Claudius.
"It is rather late to say good evening, Doctor," replied the sailor.
"Why, what time is it?"
"Midnight."
"Well, I shall turn in."
"If you will take my advice," said the captain, "you won't leave anyodds and ends lying about to-night. We shall have a dance beforemorning."
"Think so?" said Claudius indifferently.
"Why, Doctor, where are your eyes? You are a right Svensk sailor whenyou are awake. You have smelled the foam in Skager Rak as well as I."
"Many a time," replied the other, and looked to windward. It was true;the wind had backed to the north-east, and there was an angry littlecross sea beginning to run over the long ocean swell. There was astraight black belt below the stars, and a short, quick splashing,dashing, and breaking of white crests through the night, while therising breeze sang in the weather rigging.
Claudius turned away and went below. He took the captain's advice, andsecured his traps and went to bed. But he could not sleep, and he saidover and over to himself that he loved her, that he was glad he had toldher so, and that he would stand by the result of his night's work,through all time,--ay, and beyond time.
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