Читать книгу The Remittance Man - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 8

Table of Contents

When Marion reappeared Jack was studying his watch, his lips set in a contemptuous grin.

"Now you need not be nasty," she hastened to protest; "I haven't been a minute."

"You haven't, indeed," agreed the boy; "you have been fifteen. That's no rig for a boat," he added suddenly, looking her up and down. "Heu! you might be going to a garden party! You'll get it spoiled in half an hour, every stitch of it!"

"It's only a common washing muslin!" said Marion.

"Come on, then," he cried, "we've wasted enough time already."

During the next few minutes Jack glanced keenly and frequently at his sister, but without speaking. He seemed to be reflecting.

Marion did not heed him at once; she was lost in pleasant wonder at the glory of the sunshine and the brilliant beauty of the scene before them. As they approached the shore of the bay, flocks of gulls arose and wheeled about high above their heads, chattering, and screaming their displeasure at having been disturbed. The beach was alive with myriads of blue backed crabs, which moved slowly in crowded armies splashing the white sands with broad gleams of vivid color. The sea was glass still beyond the narrow fringe of surf, save for the distant bank of foam that marked the tireless swell of the ocean beating on the bar. A sandy islet half a mile from shore was covered with seabirds, who squatted with outstretched pinions basking in the sun; gannets, hosts of molly hawks, a few stately black swans, and a score of fat ungainly pelicans.

"It's just heavenly," sighed Marion at last, and needing sympathy in her delight she turned to her brother. "Oh, Jack, isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed.

"Heu!" grunted the boy.

"What is the matter now?" she demanded.

"I know why you are dolled out so pretty," he muttered surlily. "You know Jan Digby is poor and tattered, and you want to crush him!"

"Crush him—I! what do you mean?"

"Play the fine lady and patronise him, and all that sort of thing."

Marion's face turned pink. "You horrid boy!" she cried. "How dare you accuse me of such meanness. This is the very oldest, plainest and cheapest dress I own, and it is for that very reason I am wearing it!"

Jack was discomfited, but he stuck to his guns. "Anyway, don't you try to patronise Jan," he warned her, "or you and me won't play chaineys."

Marion halted. "If you say another word I shall return home!" she declared.

Jack surrendered at discretion. "You always stick up for your friends," he grumbled. "You wouldn't let me say a single word against Lena Best, and yet you turn on me when I want to stick up for Jan Digby."

"Have I said a word against him?"

"No—but you are prejudiced."

"You are mistaken," replied, Marion. "I never allow what people say of their neighbors to influence me, one way or another; I prefer to judge for myself."

"Then you are bound to like Jan," cried Jack, with deep conviction. "Come on, sis, let's hurry, we are late; are you game to race me round that point?"

"If you give me a start," said Marion.

"Right oh! you can have to that tree," he pointed to a solitary mangrove about a hundred yards off.

Marion nodded, and gathering up her skirts she tripped over the hard smooth sand until she had reached the tree.

"Ready?" shouted Jack.

"Yes," she cried.

"Then, go!"

The point was a full quarter mile away, but Marion was sound in wind and limb, and the distance did not trouble her. Agile as a fawn, she sped along the beach with never a backward glance, and though Jack gained on her all the way she reached the goal an easy winner. Flushed and triumphant, and still full of energy, she determined to push on. But as she turned the corner she looked back, and next instant she collided violently with a man who stood near the water's edge beside a boat, rapt in contemplation.

This man, although startled and almost overset by the impact, was the first to recover his wits. Springing forward, he saved her from falling in the very nick of time.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir!" gasped Marion, stepping back, her face the color of a peony. "I—I was running—and I looked around as I turned the corner. That is why I did not see you."

The man lifted his hat. "It is I who should apologise," he answered courteously. "I was dreaming, and I did not hear you."

"I hope I did not hurt you," panted the girl. The man smiled, and though Marion was a little dazed and more than a little out of breath, she knew that she liked his smile—it was so grave and kindly, and she felt also that the man was a gentleman.

"Be sure of that," he said. "But yourself, madam, are you hurt?"

"Not at all," she replied. "I am only out of breath. I—I was racing my brother. Ah! there he is."

The man followed her glance and beheld Jack standing at the corner a dozen feet away, curiously regarding them.

"Lena would call you a forward minx, sis. By gum she would if she could see you," drawled the boy, leisurely advancing as he spoke. "Morning, Jan," he added, addressing the man.

"Good morning, Jack," said Digby. "The boat is ready; are you?"

"My sister is coming with us, Jan; do you mind?"

"Perhaps you will be good enough to present me to Miss Reay," replied Digby.

"Oh certainly," grinned Jack; "I apologise, I'm sure, but I didn't think an introduction was necessary." He waved his hand. "Mr. Digby—Miss Reay."

Digby bowed gravely, but Marion bit her lip in bitter indignation.

"You are a rude, insolent boy," she muttered in her brother's ear. "Be careful, or I shall not forgive you."

"I'm a worm," retorted Jack; "but tread on me, and I'll turn! Come along, chaps!" he cried aloud. "Be quick, or we'll lose the tide."

Digby unfastened the painter from a rock and approached the boat. "Allow me to assist you aboard, Miss Reay," he said.

Marion moved towards him without reply, her eyes downcast. She was extremely embarrassed, nor was her distress relieved when she felt herself suddenly lifted up and lightly deposited within the boat.

"Be good enough to sit in the stern sheets," said Digby. "Jack, kindly get a cushion from the locker for your sister."

How Marion arrived at the indicated seat she did not know. Her face was burning, and she dared not look up, for tears of mortification were in her eyes. She had never dreamed it possible that she could dislike her brother, but she came dangerously near detesting him at that moment. Presently the boat rocked and swayed, and she knew that the others had got aboard. The wind blew a loose strand of hair about her face, and she knew that they were off. There followed a long silence, during which she gradually recovered her self-possession, but it was a great while before she lost her sense of shame; and even then the silence continued unbroken. She had been staring at the tips of her shoes so long that when she was quite restored to good humor, the habit still shackled her will. It required a pronounced effort to break the spell. Proceeding inch by inch, her glances stole along the bottom of the boat until they encountered a footboard. Growing bolder, they surmounted this obstacle, but were halted, shocked and irresolute by the sight of a pair of bare muscle-laden shins and two lean strenuous feet that gripped the footboard with brown prehensile toes.

Marion gasped for breath and closed her eyes, feeling ridiculously conscious that she had been guilty of some indiscretion.

"Jack might have warned me!" was her indignant reflection; but a little later struck by the absurdity of her ideas, she smiled. She decided then to steal a glance at Mr. Digby, but with this reservation—if he offended her, she resolved to dislike him. She felt sure that he must be regarding her and wondering at her silence. The idea made her defiant. "How dare he stare at me like that?" she cried out in her thoughts.

Of a sudden she raised her eyes and looked him full in the face. Jan Digby did not heed. He was gazing steadily beyond her at the rapidly retreating shore, rowing the while with the long, sweeping strokes like a machine. Behind him in the bows, Jack lay stretched at full length staring up into the azure sky, and luxuriously puffing at a cigar.

Marion heaved a deep sigh of relief. It was good to be reconciled to her dignity again, and she felt grateful to Mr. Digby because his courteous abstraction had served her in her need.

"Jack was right," she reflected. "He is a gentleman."

His continued absorption in his occupation afforded her an opportunity to observe him, of which she was not slow to take advantage. But although she studied him attentively for some time, she failed to arrive at any definite conclusion. His face in repose, as then, was mask-like and bafflingly expressionless. The chin square and strong, suggested energy and resolution, the broad and massive brow a no means despicable intellect.

So far, she was satisfied with her judgment, but further she could not fathom. The sealed and silent mouth, like that of a graven image, defied her powers of penetration, the long straight nose conveyed to her no meaning; while the steady, shoreward gaze of his serene grey eyes might have been equally attributable to courteous affectation and indifference. Despairing to read the mind of so grave a sphinx, she fell to watching him at work, with increasing wonder at the great and seemingly tireless strength with which he drove the heavy boat along. The regular unceasing swing backward and forward of his body, and the long play of his strokes, were managed with such facile precision, and his breathing was so tranquil and unlabored that no effort in the exercise was betrayed, except by the boat's resultant progress. His smooth brown arms, bare beyond the elbows, fascinated Marion by the rolling, flowing motion of the muscles.

A sudden string of spluttering exclamations issued from the bows. "Hi-ah! yow! confound it! B-f-f-f! Phew!" shouted Jack, scrambling erect, and hideously grimacing.

"What is the matter?" cried Marion, alarmed. Digby stopped rowing, and glanced over his shoulder.

"I was h-h-half asleep—and I put the business end of the cigar in my mouth!" exclaimed the boy. "Phew! my tongue is raw. Phew. Phew!"

"Rinse your mouth with water," suggested Marion.

Jan Digby glanced about him for a moment, then, shipping the sculls, arose to his feet. "There is breeze enough for the sail," he remarked; "kindly see to the fin, Jack, while I step the pole."

"Can't do a thing till my mouth is better," declared Jack, who was now engaged in following his sister's advice.

"You should be in the nursery," commented Digby. Stooping down he seized the mast and raised it on high; a second later it shot into its socket with a snap.

Jack looked up at him admiringly. "I've tried to do that often!" he observed.

Digby slightly shrugged his shoulders, and bent to fix the iron centreboard. A moment later he slipped forward, treading like a cat, and Marion watched him set the jib. Returning, he unspliced the boom from the mast and allowed the wind to belly out the sail and carry the spar at a wide angle from the boat. He approached her then, the line in one hand his hat in the other.

"We are moving," cried Marion.

"Will you take the sheet?" he asked, "the tiller is behind you."

"Haven't you been steering, sis?" demanded Jack.

"No," said Marion; "I never thought to."

Jack burst into laughing. "Girls!" he sneered. "Girls!"

Marion, with pink cheeks, looked up at Mr. Digby. "What do you wish me to do?" she asked.

"Will you sail the boat?"

"I don't think I can, Mr. Digby."

"I should say not, indeed," cried Jack. "Why, I wouldn't dare to—over the bar, myself; you take the tiller Jan."

"Yes—do," urged Marion, meeting Digby's eyes for the first time as she spoke. He looked down at her with a half apologetic smile.

"In that case, I am afraid I must displace you," he said slowly, still standing bareheaded before her; "but no doubt Jack will make you comfortable in the bows."

"Nonsense!" shouted Jack, "there is plenty of room there for two—you are bound to get wet if you come up here, Marion."

"May I not remain?" asked Marion. "See—I can make room," she slipped aside as she spoke, and invited him with a gesture to be seated.

Digby sat down beside her and replaced his hat. Drawing in the sheet he put the helm hard down and the boat careened to port. The water flushed the lower gunwale, and Marion felt affrighted and inclined to scream, but biting her lips, she restrained the impulse, and a moment later they were racing seawards like a bird on even pinion.

Marion soon wished to converse, but a covert glance at her companion showed her a profile cold and hard as chiselled marble. Ten minutes afterwards his attitude remaining unchanged, the girl began to feel chilled. "Why does he not speak to me?" she asked herself.

"Is it because he thinks I am like the other Ballina girls, who have treated him so uncivilly? Or is it that he despises all women?"

With an effort she withdrew all her thoughts and presently forgot them in a mood of dreams. Ten minutes passed on, but of a sudden, the boat swerved from its course and revealed a sight which the sail had hitherto concealed. Straight ahead a few hundred paces distant, ran a long low-lying line of reef over which the ocean breakers surged continuously with an intermittent thunderous roar.

Marion had for some time listened to the music of the bar with its undertone of moaning, and she had half consciously linked her fancies into the tune with its sorrowful but loud-voiced lamentation.

She was sad, she scarcely knew why, also, she began to feel afraid. The boat rushed so swiftly towards the breakers, that the bar loomed increasingly hideous and menacing. She saw sharp needles of rock rise and glimmer through the foam disappear, then grin out again, like teeth set between a monster's frothing lips.

"There is no danger," said a voice in her ear, and only then did Marion realise how great had been her fear.

"Jibe oh!" shouted Digby, "stoop, Miss Reay, stoop."

The boat swung round and paused for a quivering moment in a spumy pool half a dozen fathoms from the reef. The boom crossed their heads with a creaking swish. The breeze filled the sail on instant, and the race recommenced on another tack.

"How pale you are," said Digby. "Had I guessed you were so nervous, I would not have gone so near the reef."

"I have no nerve at all," she muttered tremulously. "I was terribly afraid."

"Please forgive me," he said softly. "It was thoughtless in me—very thoughtless."

Marion looked up, and meeting his eyes, she marvelled at their kindness.

"There is nothing to forgive," she said. "I was foolish, that is all. Have we crossed the bar?"

"We are in the very act. If you will look over the side, you may see how shallow the channel is."

Marion shook her head. "I shall take it for granted," she smiled. "I am still a little shaky. Is it not stupid of me?"

"There is your home!" he said, pointing.

"We seem to be going back," she cried. "Just now it was behind us."

"The channel twists," he explained.

"How well you know it!"

"I helped the pilot to locate it the last time it changed its course. It is constantly shifting, but may I ask you to stoop again, Miss Reay—we must go about."

Marion bent low, and rising a moment later, she saw before her nought but the broad bosom of the ocean.

"We are truly now at sea!" she cried, her mood changed swiftly to elation.

He nodded gravely.

"How far are we going?"

"To the fishing grounds, about six miles away. We shall anchor off that headland," he pointed to a distant rocky promontory.

"Are you alright, Jack?" called out Marion.

The boy vouchsafed no answer, and Marion repeated her question, but again without response. She was beginning to feel alarmed, when Digby reassured her.

"He is asleep," he explained. "Jack always does that until we are ready to fish. He is rather a Nabob in his habits."

"How disgustingly lazy!" said Marion. "I wonder you put up with him, Mr. Digby!"

"We are boon companions," he replied with a smile.

"But surely," she objected, "there can be little companionship between you if he sleeps all the time."

"Sleep," said Digby, "is almost an equivalent for that precious gift of silence, which the philosophers are agreed in declaring is the foundation stone of all congenial human intimacy."

Marion looked thoughtful. "Do you prefer silence to speech?" she asked at last.

"Not at all times, Miss Reay."

"Now, for instance?" She looked at him defiantly.

He regarded her with a sort of judicial seriousness.

"Must we discuss my preferences?" he asked. "I need scarcely tell you that I am entirely at your service."

Marion felt nettled. "I asked you a question," she said coldly.

"I am unable to answer it," he returned.

"Why?"

"Because I know nothing of you——"

Marion's lip curled. "I see," she muttered.

Digby smiled. "I wonder if you do," he said reflectively.

"I feel inclined to lay aside the conventions," said Marion, "and—and accept that challenge."

"It would be quite safe," said Digby. "We are at sea, and practically alone. Moreover, being a woman, you carry the conventions like a citadel upon your shoulders, as does a snail his shell. Into that you may always retire at will for the purpose of defence or chastisement, and I, being a man, am forbidden to assail you there."

"You assume a great deal."

"Too much?"

"Yes."

"Then I ask your pardon, Miss Reay, and beg you to fix my penance."

"Listen, then," said Marion very coldly. "You mistook my question for a brazen attempt to extort a compliment, and you punished me accordingly."'

Digby shook his head. "I did not make that mistake."

"Then you are one of those men who make rigid attention to truth an affectation."

"That may be," he answered softly.

"I detest a certain form of candor!" said Marion with warmth.

"So do I," replied Digby. "And that is why I prefer silence usually to speech."

Marion bit her lips. She was irritated. She tried to be silent, but could not.

"You mean," she began, "that while most people occasionally use speech in order to conceal their thoughts, you are silent for the same reason."

"That is what I mean."

"Which course is the more dishonest?" she flashed out with an air of triumph.

Digby smiled. "Is one obliged to take another into his confidence?" he asked.

"No, but——" Marion paused—confounded.

"If that be so," pursued Digby, "then neither is one obliged to deceive another by expressing his thoughts dishonestly."

"A distinction without a difference," contended Marion.

Digby bowed, as though accepting her conclusion.

"You agree?" asked the girl, after a moment's silence.

"No," he answered.

"Then why did you not say so?"

"I acted on my principle, Miss Reay, as you did on yours. You are convinced that I am right, and yet you were not honest enough either to be silent or admit it."

"Sir——" she exclaimed indignantly,

He held up his hand, but it was scarcely necessary for she stopped short on meeting his eyes. "Be a generous foe," he pleaded, "you have retired within your citadel. I have not even an entrenchment to fall back upon."

"What of your silence?" she flashed.

"I am at your mercy," he returned.

"Then," said Marion, casting down her eyes, "I—I surrender."

"You mean that?"

"Yes," she looked up suddenly, her cheeks a little flushed, and impulsively extended her hand.

"That in token," she said frankly.

He touched the tips of her fingers with his own. "Thanks!" he murmured.

"I won't use my citadel again to-day," said Marion, with a smile. "Tell me something of yourself, will you please, Mr. Digby?"

He shook his head. "I would prefer not, if you don't mind," he answered. "The revelation would disappoint you if you expect to be interested—and it would weary me. I have so little else to think about," he added smiling, "that I hate the subject."

"You hate yourself?"

"Almost," he smiled. "You have just returned from England, Miss Reay; by any chance did you visit Devon?"

"I spent a month at Torquay."

"Indeed, I know it well. Did any of your excursions lead you as far as Newton Abbot?"

"Oh yes—I spent two days there with friends who live at Mount Pleasant."

Digby started and glanced up quickly, but Marion did not see.

"The Dacres," she went on, "they have a lovely old house, and such charming grounds. It was a delightful visit."

Digby gazed steadily to sea; all expression smoothed out of his face.

"I met them on the boat as I was going to England," continued Marion. "They came aboard at Colombo, and we became great friends. Mrs. Dacre is a sweet woman, but perhaps you know her——"

Digby bent to arrange the matting at his feet. "The name is familiar to me," he replied as he resumed his former attitude. "It is probable that I have met the Dacres. Do you remember the name of their house?"

"Headingely," said Marion.

"Is Mrs. Dacre fair and rather tall, with a slight stoop and a constant smile?"

"You have described her exactly," cried Marion excitedly. "Isn't it lovely to think you know?"

"I liked her very well," replied Digby.

"I must tell her of this when I write, and all about you," cried Marion. "Isn't it extraordinary that we should have a common acquaintance in England, and we such absolute strangers until this morning?"

"Unexpected is the word that I would use," said Digby quietly. "But if you will permit me to advise you, Miss Reay, you will not mention my name to Mrs. Dacre. I left England under circumstances that have induced my friends to obliterate it from their memories."

Marion stared at him in frank astonishment.

"I beg your pardon!" she stammered.

"Disgraceful circumstances," said Digby, perfectly unmoved.

Marion was too surprised to speak at once, and yet her instincts rose in rapid protest at his words. On consideration she was obliged to admit that she knew very little of the man seated so quietly beside her, but nevertheless she could not bring herself to imagine him guilty of anything disgraceful. His personality had impressed her with a conviction of forces powerful for good, and it seemed treason to her own judgment to suspect him of evil, although he had invited her to do so.

She stole a glance at him. His attitude was one of expectation, though his gaze was fixed before him.

"It is a cruel thing to be unjustly condemned," she murmured.

He turned and looked full into her eyes. "Why should you assume that I have been unjustly condemned?" he demanded, speaking slowly, as though considering each word.

She returned his glance with equal honesty. "I cannot explain," she replied; "women reach most vital conclusions rather by instinct than by ways of reason."

"So," he said, "you are a woman——"

She smiled in puzzled fashion. "What do you mean?"

"You are so young," he answered. "I thought you—only a girl!"

"I am twenty-two," she returned with dignity.

He bowed gravely. "Forgive me!" he said. "I am glad."

"Why are you glad?"

"Because my mistakes frequently recoil upon myself. A selfish motive, you see. The fact is, Miss Reay, I nearly always judge people on first acquaintance more kindly than they deserve. I prefer to do so, although I often suffer thereby—but occasionally, as in this instance, I am rewarded beyond my merit."

Marion smiled. "You are not a very thoroughgoing cynic," she remarked.

"Heaven forbid," he answered earnestly. "There is no mental attitude I regard more pitifully. It argues either an outlook narrow and deplorable mean, or an affectation indefensible by any legitimate excuse."

"To know all is to forgive all," quoted Marion. "Do you know, Mr. Digby, I begin to suspect you of being wise."

"A fair appreciation of my own shortcomings," replied Digby smiling, "is the only wisdom I lay claim to. But it suffices to prevent me from abusing the shortcomings of other folk—and that is my only charity."

"Apropos of wisdom," said Marion, "may I know why you informed me that you left England under painful circumstances? I am still wondering if it was wise in you."

"Disgraceful, was my expression," he returned. "I made use of it advisedly. But to answer your question, I mentioned the fact in order to provide you with a fair excuse to cut me should we by any chance pass each other in the street. The other ladies of Ballina were satisfied to know that I am penniless, but I felt that you would require a more substantial motive."

"You have gone within measurable distance of paying me a compliment," laughed Marion.

He nodded, looking into her eyes.

"Were you accused of something very dreadful?" she asked softly.

"I wonder if you would believe me if I told you that I was not in any way to blame!"

"Yes," said Marion.

He smiled and of a sudden standing up, he allowed the boom to run out at a wide angle from the boat. "Jack!" he shouted. "Jack!"

"What's up?" replied a drowsy voice from the bows.

"We have arrived," said Digby. "Drop that kellick, Jack, please; and look sharp about it like a good follow!"

"Right oh!" cried Jack. A sullen splash followed, and a moment later the boat swung at her moorings, rising and falling with a somewhat giddy motion at the instance of the swell.