He understood her, and springing up, uttered shout after shout like one demented. Fortunately, the storm had lulled a little; the lighthouse keeper heard and answered. Rose seized the helm, Done the oars, and with one frantic effort guided the boat into quieter waters, where it was met by the keeper, who towed it to the rocky nook which served as harbor.
The moment a strong, steady face met her eyes, and a gruff, cheery voice hailed her, Rose gave way, and was carried up to the house, looking more like a beautiful drowned Ophelia than a living woman.
“Here, Sally, see to the poor thing; shes had a rough time on’t. I’ll take care of her sweetheart—and a nice job I’ll have, I reckon, for if he ain’t mad or drunk, he’s had a stroke of lightnin’, and looks as if he wouldn’t get his hearin’ in a hurry,” said the old man as he housed his unexpected guests and stood staring at Done, who looked about him like one dazed. “You jest turn in yonder and sleep it off, mate. We’ll see to the lady, and right up your boat in the morning,” the old man added.
“Be kind to Rose. I frightened her. I’ll not forget you. Yes, let me sleep and get over this cursed folly as soon as possible,” muttered this strange visitor.
Done threw himself down on the rough couch and tried to sleep, but every nerve was overstrained, every pulse beating like a trip-hammer, and everything about him was intensified and exaggerated with awful power. The thundershower seemed a wild hurricane, the quaint room a wilderness peopled with tormenting phantoms, and all the events of his life passed before him in an endless procession, which nearly maddened him. The old man looked weird and gigantic, his own voice sounded shrill and discordant, and the ceaseless murmur of Rose’s incoherent wanderings haunted him like parts of a grotesque but dreadful dream.
All night he lay motionless, with staring eyes, feverish lips, and a mind on the rack, for the delicate machinery which had been tampered with revenged the wrong by torturing the foolish experimenter. All night Rose wept and sang, talked and cried for help in a piteous state of nervous excitement, for with her the trance came first, and the afteragitation was increased by the events of the evening. She slept at last, lulled by the old woman’s motherly care, and Done was spared one tormenting fear, for he dreaded the consequences of this folly on her, more than upon himself.
As day dawned he rose, haggard and faint, and staggered out. At the door he met the keeper, who stopped him to report that the boat was in order, and a fair day coming. Seeing doubt and perplexity in the old man’s eye, Done told him the truth, and added that he was going to the beach for a plunge, hoping by that simple tonic to restore his unstrung nerves.
He came back feeling like himself again, except for a dull headache, and a heavy sense of remorse weighing on his spirits, for he distinctly recollected all the events of the night. The old woman made him eat and drink, and in an hour he felt ready for the homeward trip.
Rose slept late, and when she woke soon recovered herself, for her dose had been a small one. When she had breakfasted and made a hasty toilet, she professed herself anxious to return at once. She dreaded yet longed to see Done, and when the time came armed herself with pride, feeling all a woman’s shame at what had passed, and resolving to feign forgetfulness of the incidents of the previous night. Pale and cold as a statue she met him, but the moment he began to say humbly, “Forgive me, Rose,” she silenced him with an imperious gesture and the command “Don’t speak of it; I only remember that it was very horrible, and wish to forget it all as soon as possible.”
“All, Rose?” he asked, significantly.
“Yes, all. No one would care to recall the follies of a hashish dream,” she answered, turning hastily to hide the scarlet flush that would rise, and the eyes that would fall before his own.
“I never can forget, but I will be silent if you bid me.”
“I do. Let us go. What will they think at the island? Mr. Done, give me your promise to tell no one, now or ever, that I tried that dangerous experiment. I will guard your secret also.” She spoke eagerly and looked up imploringly.
“I promise,” and he gave her his hand, holding her own with a wistful glance, till she drew it away and begged him to take her home.
Leaving hearty thanks and a generous token of their gratitude, they sailed away with a fair wind, finding in the freshness of the morning a speedy cure for tired bodies and excited minds. They said little, but it was impossible for Rose to preserve her coldness. The memory of the past night broke down her pride, and Done’s tender glances touched her heart. She half hid her face behind her hand, and tried to compose herself for the scene to come, for as she approached the island, she saw Belle and her party waiting for them on the shore.
“Oh, Mr. Done, screen me from their eyes and questions as much as you can! I’m so worn out and nervous, I shall betray myself. You will help me?” And she turned to him with a confiding look, strangely at variance with her usual calm self-possession.
“I’ll shield you with my life, if you will tell me why you took the hashish,” he said, bent on knowing his fate.
“I hoped it would make me soft and lovable, like other women. I’m tired of being a lonely statue,” she faltered, as if the truth was wrung from her by a power stronger than her will.
“And I took it to gain courage to tell my love. Rose, we have been near death together; let us share life together, and neither of us be any more lonely or afraid?”
He stretched his hand to her with his heart in his face, and she gave him hers with a look of tender submission, as he said ardently, “Heaven bless hashish, if its dreams end like this!”
Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 Page 36