Woven with the Ship: A Novel of 1865

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

  CHAPTER XII

  BROKEN RESOLUTIONS

  For the preliminary stages in the making of love there is scarcelyanything that is so delightful and convenient as a small boat justlarge enough for two.

  For the preliminary stages in the making of love thereis scarcely anything that is so delightful ... as a boat just largeenough for two]

  Emily sat aft in the seat of honor, holding the yoke-lines andsteering the skiff. In front of, and facing, her was Revere, with theoars, which, impelled by his powerful arms, afforded the motive powerthat speeded the boat on her way. He had been well trained, of course,and he rowed with the skill of a practised oarsman, a long, steadyman-o'-war stroke, quick on the recover, delicate in the feather, deepand strong in the pull, which sent the boat flying over the water.

  It was a sunny, delightful morning. The breeze blew soft over theharbor, and the water, rippling, bubbling, and lipping around theprow, made music suited indeed to words of love and beating hearts.Yet what they said was commonplace enough, after all. They did not sayanything, in fact, for a few moments after they had pushed off fromthe little wharf. Revere was quite content to drink in the exquisitebeauty of the young girl reclining in the stern-sheets before him.

  He marked the freshness and sweetness of her face, the graceful curvesof her vigorous, yet lissome, young body, and her dainty feet--theadmiral was too thorough an aristocrat not to see his granddaughterwell booted--peeping out from beneath the hem of her cool, flowingmuslin skirt before him. From under her quaint, old-fashionedbonnet--a species of poke in vogue a year or two before--her blue eyesfearlessly and happily returned the ardent and admiring glances of hisown. Lest the silence should prove embarrassing to her, however, andnoticing, at last, that she dropped her eyes before him, he said,--

  "I'd give a penny for your thoughts, Miss Emily, if I thought the coinwould prove the open sesame to your mind."

  "I was only thinking how beautifully you row, and wondering----"

  "Yes, wondering?"

  "How soon you had recovered from your accident, and how much betterand stronger you seem than when I had to help you up the hillyesterday morning."

  He laughed at this clever thrust, rather shamefacedly, it must beadmitted, and flushed at the same time, while he answered her.

  "I am afraid you will think me a great hypocrite," he admitted,contritely, realizing that he could lose nothing by frankness;"certainly, I am feeling very delightful--I mean, well andcomfortable, now."

  "Yet you are rowing in the hot sun! Now, I do not see how you can becomfortable at all, and I do not believe, since you feel so well now,that you needed any assistance whatever in getting up the hill. Youdeceived me. Neither my grandfather nor Captain Barry ever do that,"she continued, gravely, at the same time looking reprovingly at him.She leaned back in the boat, as if the matter was decided. "I wantedto speak to you about it before, but there was always some onearound."

  "Miss Emily, let me explain," he exclaimed, filled with shame,surprised, yet pleased, to think she should take so trifling a matterso seriously. "You see," he added, half in jest and half in earnest,"after saving my life so gallantly the other night, I had rather afeeling of--er--dependence upon you, you know, the next morning, andit seemed natural and appropriate to ask you to help me up the hill. Icould have gone up myself I--I suppose----"

  "I am glad you are honest now, at any rate. I must say you seemed toacquire the feeling very lightly."

  "Of honesty? Thank you!"

  "I mean of dependence."

  "I didn't. I never had it before. You see, it's dangerous to save alife. The one who is saved always feels that he belongs to the one whosaves. Now, I----"

  "How do you know so much about it?" she broke in, with instinctivepromptness. She would like to have him complete his sentence, and yet,like all women, she tried to put it off; hence her interruption. "Didyou ever save any one's life?"

  "Yes, once," he replied, rather reluctantly, inwardly perturbed at theturn the conversation was taking.

  "Oh, how was it?" she questioned, interestedly, dropping her tone ofbanter instantly. "Was it a fellow-officer?"

  "No."

  "A sailor, then?" anxiously.

  "No; a young lady," desperately.

  "Oh, a young lady!" she exclaimed in dismay, with a note ofdisappointment in her voice that she endeavored in vain to suppress,and which he was very glad indeed to recognize.

  "Yes; one summer at Cape May. She got beyond her depth in the surf,and I swam out and brought her ashore without any great difficulty.Not a very romantic story, is it? Not half as much as--I mean, not atall----"

  "Oh, I think it very romantic indeed," answered this child of nature,whose notions of romance and love and other things were drawn from theantique novels of her grandfather's library; "if I had saved any one'slife I should----"

  She stopped and blushed furiously as the natural answer to herimpetuous remark sprang into her mind.

  "I will finish for you," interrupted Revere, eagerly, his resolutionof reticence recorded in his determination of the previous nightgrowing decidedly faint in the face of the fascination she exercisedover him. "I----"

  He would have gone on, but something in her glance stopped him. Withthe quickness of love and intense sympathy he divined that the hourwas not yet. There was an unspoken appeal in her eyes, in her burningcheek, her trembling hand, her heaving breast, which he could notdisregard. He had been on the brink of an avowal. Thank heaven, he hadstopped in time! For her sake and for his own he would be on hisguard. He would not transgress again. He vowed it in his soul.

  "I am deeply grateful," he went on, after a pause which somehow, inspite of him, expressed all he wished her to understand, "both to youand the sailor, and I hope to evidence my devotion and gratitude insome tangible way. By the way, what a strange character he seems! Heappears to have taken a dislike to me. He said this morning he wishedhe had not saved me."

  "How dared he speak so?" cried the girl, sitting up in the boat, herface flushed this time with indignation. "Not save your life? Why--butthere," she went on, swiftly recovering herself, "he is a strangecreature, as you say, and moody at times. He lives alone on the ship,and sees no one but grandfather and me. He is devoted to me. He woulddo anything for me."

  "Those queer things in your room,--the harpoon, the shark's tooth, themodel of the ship?"

  "He put them there. They are odd things for a girl's room, are theynot? but when you realize that they express the affection of anhonest, faithful heart, they become quite fitting for any woman. Yes,I am fond of him, and I love those things for his sake. He is devotedto the admiral and to the ship, too."

  Mr. Richard Revere was too profoundly conscious of the vast differencebetween Emily Sanford and any common sailor to feel the slightestjealousy at her ungrudging praise; indeed, he liked it.

  "So I discovered," he assented, appreciatively. "Miss Emily, you godown to that ship sometimes; often, I suppose. Please do not go anymore."

  "Why not?" curiously.

  "It is very insecure. I do not see how it can last much longer. Someday it will collapse into shapeless ruin; soon, I think. And if youwere there----" He hesitated and looked at her. "Please do not go," hecontinued.

  "But it will break Captain Barry's heart to have me refuse. I'vealways gone."

  She spoke doubtfully, as if seeking a further reason.

  "Better break his heart than throw away your life. Believe me, I havemade a thorough inspection of the ship. It's unsafe. It's almost gone.I marvel that it stands now."

  "Poor old ship!"

  "Yes, 'tis sad indeed. But you won't go, will you?"

  "Not--not--if you do not wish me,--I mean, not if it is unsafe," sheanswered, softly, looking down.

  He had shot the boat in toward the shore of a little island in theharbor, and there, under the deep shadow of some overhanging trees, hestopped rowing, as he said, to rest a moment, just keeping the boatunder control with the oars.

  "Poor old ship
!" continued the girl, mournfully, as she dabbled hersunburnt but shapely hand in the water; "when it goes, grandfatherwill go, Captain Barry will go, and I will be left--alone."

  "No, no!" he exclaimed, softly, all his resolution gone in the face ofthe powerful yet innocent appeal. "Not alone, for I----"

  "That girl?" she interrupted, meaningly.

  "What girl?" impatiently.

  "The one you saved. Is she beautiful?"

  "Some people consider her so, I believe."

  "What is she like?" breathlessly.

  "She is tall and rather large. She has brown hair and brown eyes. Shehas been beautifully educated, and she is exquisitely bred."

  "She sings, too, I suppose?"

  "Yes; her voice has been very highly cultivated."

  "And you have sung to her, with her?" sadly.

  "Sometimes."

  "That song we sang together last night?"

  "Oh, no; she only sings classical music. I think she would disdain asimple ballad."

  "Oh!" said the girl, with much disappointment, and humiliation aswell; "I suppose they are simple, after all."

  "I prefer them myself," answered Revere, tenderly.

  The conversation was getting dangerous. She changed the subject atonce.

  "Have you made many cruises?"

  "Only one. As soon as I was graduated I was ordered to the _Hartford_;but I was abroad when a lad, before I entered the Naval Academy."

  "I suppose you have seen a great many beautiful and high-bred ladiesin Boston and elsewhere?"

  "Yes, a great many, indeed."

  "Are they all very beautiful and charming?"

  "Some of them are," he answered.

  "I suppose," she said at last, desperately, "there are none of themlike me?"

  "No!" he replied, decisively.

  "Is it so?" sadly. "Am I so different?"

  "As different as day from night," joyously.

  "Oh," softly, and with deep disappointment; "I have never beenanywhere but just here. I have never seen any great ladies at all. Ihave never met any gentlemen except grandfather and--you. I do notknow anything about the world beyond the horizon; but I have tried toread and learn, and I have dreamed about it, too. But I suppose onehas to go and see before one can know of the people you speak of. Youmust think me so----"

  "Emily," he said, his voice quivering with his feelings, "I have knownyou but two days, but I think you are the loveliest, the sweetest----"

  She waved her hand in deprecation; but he would not be stopped thistime. Truly he had forgotten all but his love for her.

  "You do not know what the others know; I love you for that," he wenton, impetuously. "You do not do what others do; I love you for that.You are not what the others are; I love you for that. There, it is outnow. I did not mean to tell you just yet. I do not suppose that youcan love me; at least, not yet. There is nothing in me that would wina woman's heart in two days, I know. But there is everything in you towin a man's heart in one glance; and I swear mine went out to you whenI saw you holding the boat on the edge of the whirlpool, with yourgolden hair blown back in the wind and your blue eyes shining withencouragement and invitation."

  It was heavenly to hear him, she thought. This was better than herdreams. She sat silent and still, her eyes persistently averted,quaffing deep draughts from a cup eternal, besides which even thenepenthe of the gods is evanescent.

  "I won't ask you to answer me now; but will you not give me a trial?"he continued, hurriedly, fearing lest her silence might presage arefusal. "Let me have a chance to win your love, if I can. Let me seeif I cannot make you love me. Won't you let me try? Emily, you are noteven looking at me."

  He was quite beside himself with anxiety now. She had been still solong. What could he do or say further? A small boat has itsdisadvantages for the ending of a love affair. In all his impatiencehe had to sit just where he was. He could come no nearer to her.

  "If I could, Emily dear," he said, humbly beseeching her, "I would getdown on my knees before you; but I can't in this little boat. Won'tyou please look at me? But perhaps you can more easily give me somehope if you don't look at me. Don't look. I'm not a very attractivefellow, I know."

  This was an adroit move on his part, and his self-depreciation won areply instantly.

  "I--I like you very much," she said at last and very frankly. "I thinkI liked you when Captain Barry carried you up the hill,--even before,when you stood on the wreck. I wanted to help him. I don't knowwhether I--love you, but--what you have said has not been displeasingto me--on the contrary----"

  "And you will try, you will wait? May I----?"

  He waited breathless for her answer.

  "Yes," she said at last, "you may."

  "Oh, Emily!" he cried; "you have made me the happiest fellow on earth;and if I succeed in winning your love----"

  "Do not despair," she whispered, softly, flashing a glance at him, herlips smiling, her eyes ashine with tears. "I think it has come,"laying her hand on her heart with a sweet, unconscious movement. "Ihave dreamed ever since I was a woman that the prince would come someday from over the sea."

  She stopped again. He stared at her in adoring silence. Her lipstrembled, while her heart almost ceased to beat with the joy of itall. And her eyes were looking far away--over the sea, perhaps.

  "We must not stay here longer," she said at last; "they will wonderwhat has become of us."

  "You are the captain," he answered, laughing buoyantly in hishappiness; "give your crew the order."

  "Get under way, then," she replied, meeting his mood.

  The little love scene had put strength into his arms. It seemed as ifthe power of his passion, failing other vent, had worked itself intothe oar-blades, for the boat skimmed over the water like a bird, andin a few moments he unshipped his oars at the boat-landing. Swingingthe skiff about so that the stern would be nearest the landing-placefor her convenience, he stepped ashore, fastened the painter, and gaveher his hand. Her own small palm met his great one frankly, and thetwo hands clung together in a clasp,--on his part of joy unspeakable,on hers of happy foreshadowings of the future.

  Neither said anything as he helped her gravely up the steps. To kissher then, even had they been alone, would have seemed to himsacrilege; there was something so holy, so innocent, so pure about theyoung girl, he thought, that he would like to throw himself upon hisknees before her and kiss the steps her feet had trodden, so rapturouswas his mood. Yet again, when he broke the silence, his words werecommonplace. The noblest word would be ordinary when matched againsthis feelings then!

  "What a sleepy, dull, dead little town this seems!" he remarked,looking curiously about him; "if it were a little handsomer, andovergrown with flowers and vines, it might be the town of the SleepingBeauty; but the Beauty----"

  "Is wide awake," she interrupted, a charming color irradiating hercheek, which made him sorry he had been so timid. "And awake withoutthe prince's kiss, too!" she added, smiling archly, in that she was avery woman.

  Perhaps, he thought, ruefully, she might not have resented that kiss,after all.

  Well, the next time would see!