The Two Destinies

by Wilkie Collins

boat. I noticeda change in the appearance of the harbor since I had seen it last.Some fishing-boats had come in during my absence. They moored, someimmediately astern and some immediately ahead of my own vessel. I lookedanxiously to see if any of the fishermen were on board and stirring. Nota living being appeared anywhere. The men were on shore with their wivesand their families.

  Elfie held out her arms to be lifted on board my boat. Mrs. Van Brandtstepped between us as I stooped to take her up.

  "We will wait here," she said, "while you go into the cabin and get themoney."

  Those words placed it beyond all doubt that she had her suspicions ofme--suspicions, probably, which led her to fear not for her life, butfor her freedom. She might dread being kept a prisoner in the boat, andbeing carried away by me against her will. More than this she could notthus far possibly apprehend. The child saved me the trouble of makingany remonstrance. She was determined to go with me. "I must see thecabin," she cried, holding up the key. "I must open the door myself."

  She twisted herself out of her mother's hands, and ran round to theother side of me. I lifted her over the gunwale of the boat in aninstant. Before I could turn round, her mother had followed her, and wasstanding on the deck.

  The cabin door, in the position which she now occupied, was on her lefthand. The child was close behind her. I was on her right. Before uswas the open deck, and the low gunwale of the boat overlooking the deepwater. In a moment we might step across; in a moment we might take thefatal plunge. The bare thought of it brought the mad wickedness in me toits climax. I became suddenly incapable of restraining myself. I threwmy arm round her waist with a loud laugh. "Come," I said, trying to dragher across the deck--"come and look at the water."

  She released herself by a sudden effort of strength that astonished me.With a faint cry of horror, she turned to take the child by the hand andget back to the quay. I placed myself between her and the sides of theboat, and cut off her retreat in that way. Still laughing, I asked herwhat she was frightened about. She drew back, and snatched the key ofthe cabin door out of the child's hand. The cabin was the one place ofrefuge now left, to which she could escape from the deck of the boat.In the terror of the moment, she never hesitated. She unlocked the door,and hurried down the two or three steps which led into the cabin, takingthe child with her. I followed them, conscious that I had betrayedmyself, yet still obstinately, stupidly, madly bent on carrying out mypurpose. "I have only to behave quietly," I thought to myself, "and Ishall persuade her to go on deck again."

  My lamp was burning as I had left it; my traveling-bag was on the table.Still holding the child, she stood, pale as death, waiting for me.Elfie's wondering eyes rested inquiringly on my face as I approachedthem. She looked half inclined to cry; the suddenness of the mother'saction had frightened the child. I did my best to compose Elfie beforeI spoke to her mother. I pointed out the different objects which werelikely to interest her in the cabin. "Go and look at them," I said, "goand amuse yourself."

  The child still hesitated. "Are you angry with me?" she asked.

  "No, no!"

  "Are you angry with mamma?"

  "Certainly not." I turned to Mrs. Van Brandt. "Tell Elfie if I am angrywith you," I said.

  She was perfectly aware, in her critical position, of the necessity ofhumoring me. Between us, we succeeded in composing the child. She turnedaway to examine, in high delight, the new and strange objects whichsurrounded her. Meanwhile her mother and I stood together, looking ateach other by the light of the lamp, with an assumed composure which hidour true faces like a mask. In that horrible situation, the grotesqueand the terrible, always together in this strange life of ours, cametogether now. On either side of us, the one sound that broke thesinister and threatening silence was the lumpish snoring of the sleepingcaptain and crew.

  She was the first to speak.

  "If you wish to give me the money," she said, trying to propitiate me inthat way, "I am ready to take it now."

  I unlocked my traveling-bag. As I looked into it for the leather casewhich held my money, my overpowering desire to get her on deck again,my mad impatience to commit the fatal act, became too strong to becontrolled.

  "We shall be cooler on deck," I said. "Let us take the bag up there."

  She showed wonderful courage. I could almost see the cry for help risingto her lips. She repressed it; she had still presence of mind enough toforesee what might happen before she could rouse the sleeping men.

  "We have a light here to count the money by," she answered. "I don'tfeel at all too warm in the cabin. Let us stay here a little longer. Seehow Elfie is amusing herself!"

  Her eyes rested on me as she spoke. Something in the expression of themquieted me for the time. I was able to pause and think. I might takeher on deck by force before the men could interfere. But her cries wouldrouse them; they would hear the splash in the water, and they might bequick enough to rescue us. It would be wiser, perhaps, to wait a littleand trust to my cunning to delude her into leaving the cabin of her ownaccord. I put the bag back on the table, and began to search for theleather money-case. My hands were strangely clumsy and helpless. I couldonly find the case after scattering half the contents of the bag on thetable. The child was near me at the time, and noticed what I was doing.

  "Oh, how awkward you are!" she burst out, in her frankly fearless way."Let me put your bag tidy. Do, please!"

  I granted the request impatiently. Elfie's restless desire to be alwaysdoing something, instead of amusing me, as usual, irritated me now. Theinterest that I had once felt in the charming little creature was allgone. An innocent love was a feeling that was stifled in the poisonedatmosphere of my mind that night.

  The money I had with me was mostly composed of notes of the Bank ofEngland. Carefully keeping up appearances, I set aside the sum thatwould probably be required to take a traveler back to London; and I putall that remained into the hands of Mrs. Van Brandt. Could she suspectme of a design on her life now?

  "That will do for the present," I said. "I can communicate with you inthe future through Messrs. Van Brandt, of Amsterdam."

  She took the money mechanically. Her hand trembled; her eyes met minewith a look of piteous entreaty. She tried to revive my old tendernessfor her; she made a last appeal to my forbearance and consideration.

  "We may part friends," she said, in low, trembling tones. "And asfriends we may meet again, when time has taught you to think forgivinglyof what has passed between us, to-night."

  She offered me her hand. I looked at her without taking it. I penetratedher motive in appealing to my old regard for her. Still suspecting me,she had tried her last chance of getting safely on shore.

  "The less we say of the past, the better," I answered, with ironicalpoliteness. "It is getting late. And you will agree with me that Elfieought to be in her bed." I looked round at the child. "Be quick, Elfie,"I said; "your mamma is going away." I opened the cabin door, and offeredmy arm to Mrs. Van Brandt. "This boat is my house for the time being,"I resumed. "When ladies take leave of me after a visit, I escort them tothe dock. Pray take my arm."

  She started back. For the second time she was on the point of crying forhelp, and for the second time she kept that last desperate alternativein reserve.

  "I haven't seen your cabin yet," she said, her eyes wild with fear, aforced smile on her lips, as she spoke. "There are several little thingshere that interest me. Give me another minute or two to look at them."

  She turned away to get nearer to the child, under pretense of lookinground the cabin. I stood on guard before the open door, watching her.She made a second pretense: she noisily overthrew a chair as if byaccident, and then waited to discover whether her trick had succeeded inwaking the men.

  The heavy snoring went on; not a sound of a person moving was audible oneither side of us.

  "My men are heavy sleepers," I said, smiling significantly. "Don't bealarmed; you have not disturbed them. Nothing wakes these Dutch sailorswhen they are once safe in port."
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br />   She made no reply. My patience was exhausted. I left the door andadvanced toward her. She retreated in speechless terror, passing behindthe table to the other end of the cabin. I followed her until she hadreached the extremity of the room and could get no further. She met thelook I fixed on her; she shrunk into a corner, and called for help. Inthe deadly terror that possessed her, she lost the use of her voice. Alow moaning, hardly louder than a whisper, was all that passed her lips.Already, in imagination, I stood with her on the gunwale, already I feltthe cold contact of the water--when I was startled by a cry behind me.I turned round. The cry had come from Elfie. She had apparently justdiscovered some new object in the bag, and she was holding it up