The Woman Who Dared Part 12

"Rachel! Stop, Rachel! Fie, you forward girl!

Don't think of it: come back! back, back, I say!"

But Rachel did not hear, or would not heed, Straight to the boat she ran, and, as the men Drew nigh and stopped,--to Linda's dire dismay She went up and accosted them, and pointed To Norman's Woe,--then back to her companion,-- And then, with gesture eloquent of thanks For some reply the younger man had made, She seemed to lead the way, and he to follow Along the foot-path to the granite bench Where Linda sat, abashed and wondering.

And, when they stood before her, Rachel said "Miss Percival, here's Mr. Lothian; He has a boat near by, and will be glad To give us seats and row us both across."

Charles Lothian bowed, and Linda, blus.h.i.+ng, said, "Against my orders did this little lady Accost you, sir, but I will not affect Regret at her success, if you're content."

"More than content, I'm very glad," said Charles; "My boat is amply large enough for four, And we are bound, it seems, all the same way.

My father and myself have taken rooms At Mistress Moore's, not far from where you live: So count your obligation very slight."

"An obligation not the first!" said Linda.

"So much the better!" said Charles Lothian: "Come, take my arm, and let me hold your basket.

What n.o.ble blackberries! I'll taste of one."

"Why not of two? As many as you will?"

"Thank you. You've been adventurous, it seems."

"Yes, Fortune favors the adventurous: See the old proverb verified to-day!"

"Praise a good day when ended. Here's my father: Father, Miss Percival!" The senior bowed, And said, "I used to know--" And then, as if Checked by a reminiscence that might be Unwelcome, he was silent, and they went All to the boat. "Please let me take an oar,"

Said Linda. "Can you row?" asked Charles. "A little!

My father taught me." Then old Lothian Looked at her with a scrutinizing glance.

The ocean billows melted into one, And that stretched level as a marble floor.

All winds were hushed, and only sunset tints From purple cloudlets, edged with fiery gold, And a bright crimson fleece the sun had left, Fell on the liquid plain incarnadined.

The very pulse of ocean now was mute; From the far-off profound, no throb, no swell!

Motionless on the coastwise s.h.i.+ps the sails Hung limp and white, their very shadows white.

The lighthouse windows drank the kindling red, And flashed and gleamed as if the lamps were lit.

"A heavenly eve!" sighed Linda, rapt in praise, As with poised oars the two looked oceanward.

Then, keeping time, they pulled out from the sh.o.r.e.

"But you row well!" cried Charles. "I might return The compliment," said Linda. "See that duck!

How near, how still he floats! He seems to know The holy time will keep him safe from harm."

"Had I a gun," said Charles--"You would not use it,"

Cried Linda, flus.h.i.+ng. "And why not?" quoth he.

"'n.o.bility obliges'; sympathy Now makes all nature one and intimate; And we'd respect, even in a duck, his share In this tranquillity, this perfect rest."

"I'm glad, then, that I'm gunless," Charles replied.

"Hear him!" the sire exclaimed; "he'd have you think He's a great sportsman. Be not duped, my dear!

He will not shoot nor fis.h.!.+ He got a wound At Gettysburg, I grant you,--what of that?

He would far rather face a battery Than kill a duck, or even hook a cunner."

"See now," said Charles, "the mischievous effect Of this exhilarating Cape Ann air!

'Tis the first taunt I've heard from lips of his Since my return from Europe. Look you, father, If I'm to be exposed before young ladies, Your rations shall be stopped, and your supply Of oxygen reduced,--with no more joking.

Don't eye those berries so feloniously.

Because you've now an appet.i.te,--because You've just begun to gain a little flesh,-- Must I be made the target of your jeers?"

Smiling, but with sad eyes, the father said: "Ah! Charlie, Charlie, when I think of it,-- Think how you've thrown, poor boy, your very life Into the breach of ruin made for me,-- Sacrificed all, to draw the lethal dart Out of my wounded honor--to restore--"

"Give us a song, Miss Percival, a song!"

Charles, interrupting, said. "The time, the place, Call for a song. Look! All the lighthouses Flash greeting to the night. There Eastern Point Flames out! Lo, little Ten Pound Island follows!

See Baker's Island kindling! Marblehead Ablaze! Egg Rock, too, off Nahant, on fire!

And Boston Light winking at Minot's Ledge!

Like the wise virgins, all, with ready lamps!

Now might I turn fire-wors.h.i.+pper, and bow In adoration at this solemn rite: I'll compromise, however, for a song."

"Lest you turn Pagan, then, I'll sing," quoth Linda.

And, while they rested on their oars, she sang.

LINDA'S SONG.

A little bird flew To the top of a tree: The sky it was blue, And the bird sang to me.

So tender and true was the strain The singer, I hoped, would remain; O little bird, stay and prolong The rapture the grief of that song!

A little thought came, Came out of my heart; It whispered a name That made me to start: And the rose-colored breath of my sigh Flushed the earth and the sea and the sky.

Delay, little thought! O, delay, And gladden my life with thy ray!

"Such singing lured Ulysses to the rocks!"

Old Lothian said, applauding. "Charles, look out, Or, ere we reck of it, this reckless siren Will have us all a wreck on Norman's Woe.

See to your oars!--Where are we drifting, man?"

"Who would not drift on such a night as this?"

Said Charles; "all's right." Then, heading for the Cove, Slowly and steadily the rowers pulled.

But, when the moon shone crescent in the west, And the faint outline of the part obscured Thread-like curved visible from horn to horn,-- And Jupiter, supreme among the orbs, And Mars, with rutilating beam, came forth, And the great concave opened like a flower, Unfolding firmaments and galaxies, Sparkling with separate stars, or snowy white With undistinguishable suns beyond,-- They paused and rested on their oars again, And looked around,--in adoration looked.

For, gazing on the inconceivable, They felt G.o.d is, though inconceivable;-- And, while they mutely wors.h.i.+pped, suddenly A change came over Linda's countenance, And her glazed mortal eyes were functionless; For there, before her in the boat, stood two Unbidden, not unwelcome pa.s.sengers, Her father and her mother....

"Why, Miss Linda, Wake! Are you sleeping? What has been the matter?

Here we've been waiting for you full five minutes.

And I have called, and Mr. Lothian He too has called, and yet you make no answer!"

"Rachel! What is it? There! Excuse me all, If I seemed impolite. Now, then, I'm ready.

A strong pull shall it be? So! Let her dart!"

And in ten minutes they were at the landing And on their homeward way; and, as they parted, The spoils were shared, and the old man accepted One of the baskets, and all cried, "Good night!"

The morning sea-fog like an incense rose Up to the sun and perished in his beam; The sky's blue promise brightened through the veil.

With her unopened sketch-book in her hand, Linda stood on the summit looking down On Norman's Woe, and felt upon her brow The cooling haze that foiled the August heat.

Near her knelt Rachel, hunting curiously For the fine purple algae of the clefts.

Good cause had Linda for a cheerful heart; For had she not that day received by mail A copy of "The Prospect of the Flowers,"-- Published in chromo, and these words from Diggin?

"Your future is a.s.sured: my bait is swallowed, Bait, hook, and sinker, all; now let our fish Have line enough and time enough for play, And we will land him safely by and by.

A good fat fish he is, and thinks he's cunning.

Enclosed you'll find a hundred-dollar bill; Please send me a receipt. Keep very quiet."

Yet Linda was not altogether happy.

Why was it that Charles Lothian had called Once, and once only, after their adventure?

Called just to ask her, How she found herself?

And, Did she overtask herself in rowing?

How happened it, in all her walks and rambles, They rarely met, or, if they met, a bow Formal and cold was all the interview?

While thus she mused, she started at a cry: "Ah! here's our siren, c.u.mbent on the rocks!

Where should a siren be, if not on rocks?"

Old Lothian's voice! He came with rod and line To try an angler's luck. Behind him stepped Charles, who stood still, as if arrested, when He noticed Linda.

Then, as if relenting In some resolve, he jumped from rock to rock To where she leaned; and, greeting her, inquired: "Have you been sketching?"--"No, for indolence Is now my occupation."--"Here's a book; May I not look at it?"--"You may."--"Is this An alb.u.m?"--"'Tis my sketch-book."--"Do you mean These are your sketches, and original?"

"Ay, truly, mine; from nature every one."

"But here we have high art! No amateur Could color flower like that."--"Ah! there you touch me; For I'm no amateur in painting flowers,-- I get my living by it."--"I could praise That sea-view also,--what a depth of sky!

That beach,--that schooner flying from a squall,-- If I'm a judge, here's something more than skill!"