andrising far out, after nearly touching the sands, to ascend to the deckof a large smack aground on the bank. That rope was one mass of lambentlight, a huge chain of pallid gold that glowed all round; and as ClaireDenville gazed there was a rift in the clouds overhead, and from farabove the rays from a cluster of stars were reflected like a patch ofdiamonds in the sea, and she turned shudderingly away to gaze down oncemore at the transparent darkness, where the moving specks seemed to havea peculiar fascination.
How the softly flowing and ebbing waves whispered below there amid thepiles and down under the platform where her brother used to fish! Howsoothing and restful it all was to her aching head! The troubles thathad been maddening her seemed to float away, and everything was calm andcool. As she stood thinking there a dreamy sensation came over her,such as comes to those who have awakened after the crisis of a fever.Hers had been a fever of the brain, a mental fever; and now all seemedso calm and still that she heaved a sigh, half sob, and the troublesdied away in the past.
The transparent water into which she gazed, with its flashes of luminoussplendour, seemed to grow more and more mysterious and strange. It wasso like oblivion that it began to tempt her to trust herself to it andrest: for she was so weary! Trouble after trouble--the long series ofcares--had been so terrible a strain that she felt that she could bearno more, and that the sea offered her forgetfulness and rest.
She did not know why she came there: it was not against her will--it wasnot with her will. Her mind seemed to be stunned, and it was as if herwearied body had drawn her there.
She leaned over the rail, with the cool, soft, refreshing air bathingher burning forehead, and watched one brilliant point of light--soft andlambent--that was near the surface, and then moved slowly down lower andlower into the dark depths that seemed beyond fathoming; and, as shewatched it, the fancy came upon her that these points of light might belives like hers, wearied out and now resting and gliding here and therein the soft transparent darkness at her feet.
Father--brother--sister--Richard Linnell--her past cares--all appeareddistant and strange, and she had no more control over herself than hasone in a dream. There was that weariness of spirit--of a spirit thathad been whipped and spurred until jaded beyond endurance--thatweariness that asked for rest--rest at whatever cost; and whispered thatrest could only come in the great sleep--the last.
It did not seem like death, to step from the end of the pier into thedark water. There was nothing horrible therein. On the contrary, itwooed and beckoned her to its breast, offering utter oblivion when, inher more lucid moments, she felt she must go mad.
As if guided by instinct more than her own will, she turned at last fromthe rail and took a few steps in the darkness towards the side where thedamp salt-soaked flight of steps led to the platform below--the roughlanding-stage beneath where she had been standing.
Here, as she stood close to the edge with the black piles looming uparound, she fancied they were the whisperers as the water heaved andplashed, and rippled and fell. There was no rail here between her andthe rest that seemed to ask her to sink down into its arms, now that shewas so weary, and unconsciously she was standing where her brother hadstood and listened many months ago at the footsteps overhead, as heenjoyed his stolen pleasure in the middle of the night.
But there was no heavy step now--no voice to break the curious spellthat was upon her, drawing her away from life, and bidding her sleep.
She was not afraid; she was not excited. Everything seemed to her dulland dreamy and restful, as she stood on the very verge of the openplatform, with the water now only a few inches from her feet, leaningmore and more over, till the slightest further movement would haveoverbalanced her, and she would have fallen in, to sink without a cry.
She hardly started as a firm hand gripped her arm, and she was drawnsharply back, to be held tightly by him who had followed her below,watching her every action and standing close behind her in the darknesswith outstretched hands.
"Miss Denville--Claire--for heaven's sake, what does this mean?"
She did not struggle, but turned round slowly, and looked in the dimlyseen face.
"Richard Linnell!" she said, as if wondering at his presence.
"Yes, Richard Linnell," he cried, panting with emotion. "Claire, mylove, has it come to this?"
She did not shrink from him as he drew her closely to his side, and hisarm clasped her waist, but gazed up at him in the same half-wonderingway.
"Why are you here?" he said hoarsely. "Surely you were not thinking--oh, it is impossible."
Still she did not answer, but in a slow, dull way extricated herselffrom his grasp, and pressed her hands over her face, covering her eyesfor a few moments till she felt his touch as he laid his hand upon herarm.
"Claire," he whispered, "you do not speak to me. Why do you not saysomething to drive away these horrible thoughts. You here--at thishour--alone? Is it my fate to be always misunderstanding you?"
She shuddered slightly, as if his words were reviving memories of othermeetings, and now she spoke.
"I don't know why I am here," she said in a dazed, helpless way. "Ihave had so much trouble. I was tired!"
"Trouble!" he whispered. "Claire dearest, if you only knew how I lovedyou. Let me share the trouble--help you through everything."
"Hush! Don't speak to me like that, Richard Linnell," she said slowly,as if she had to think deeply before she uttered a word. "I cannot talkto you now. My head!"
She paused and gazed at him helplessly, laying her hand upon her brow.
"You ought not to have been alone," he said, earnestly. "But tell me--you were not thinking of that--"
He pointed with a shudder to the sea that whispered and hissed belowwhere they stood.
"I don't know," she sighed, still in the same dazed way. "I came, andit seemed to draw me towards it. I am so weary--so tired out."
He caught her in his arms, and held her head down upon his shoulder, ashe whispered in a voice deep with emotion:
"Weary, my poor girl, weary indeed. Now rest there, and, heaven helpingme, half your trouble shall pass away. For I love you, Claire, love youwith all my heart, and I too have suffered more than I can tell."
She made no resistance to his embrace, but sighed deeply, as if he wasgiving her the support she needed in her time of weakness; but his heartsank within him as he felt how helpless and dazed she was. She yieldedto him, but it was not the yielding of one who loved, neither was therea suggestion of caress in her words. He knew that she was halfdistraught with the suffering that had fallen to her lot; and holdingher more tightly for a moment, he pressed his lips once reverently onher forehead, and then drew her arm through his.
"I will take you back," he said.
She looked up at him, and a pang shot through his breast as he realisedhow weak she had become.
"Yes," she said at last, "you will take me back."
"And, Claire, are the clouds between us to pass away for ever now?" hewhispered, as he held her hand.
"Clouds?" she said, as she seemed to comprehend him now. "No: they cannever pass away. Mr Linnell, I am ill. I hardly know what I say."
"Then trust me," he said. "I will take you back."
"Yes--if you will," she said vacantly. "I have been so ill. I hardlyknow--why I am here."
"But you understand me, Claire?" he said softly.
"Yes: I think I understand you."
"Then remember this," he said. "You have shrunk from me, and there hasbeen a terrible estrangement through all your troubles; but, mark this,Claire Denville, I love you. Let me say those simple words again, andlet their simplicity and truth bear them home to your heart. I loveyou, as I always have loved and always shall. You will turn to me,dearest, now."
"It is impossible," she said gravely, and she seemed moment by moment tobe growing clearer.
"But I love you," he pleaded.
"And they ask for my love and help," she said, with a sudden flash backinto th
e full power of her intellect. "My poor suffering father--mysister--my wounded brother. Can you not see that there is a social gulfbetween us too?"
"No," he said, drawing her to him, and once more kissing her brow. "Ionly see the sweet, true woman who has been a martyr--I only see mylove."
She did not speak for a few moments: and then the vacant manner returnedsomewhat, as she said to him, laying her hand upon his arm:
"I seemed drawn here. I could not help it. That would be too horrible.Take me back."
He drew her arm once more through his, and led her up the steps and backto the Barclays' house, where he paused upon the steps.
"Always yours, Claire. I am going to work again in your service. I amyours, and yours alone."
She
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