The Marriage Of Esther Part 23

From across the road, in the dead silence that followed, Ellison could hear Merton singing. The song he had chosen was, "Come, live with me and be my love." Evidently Murkard was listening too.

"That voice!" he said slowly. "Now, where the devil have I heard that voice?"

"Lie down, old chap, and try and get some sleep. That'll do you more good than any singing."

Like a little child Murkard did as he was ordered, and in five minutes was fast asleep again. Ellison made everything safe in the hut, and then went quietly back to his own house. Merton had stopped singing, and was now holding a skein of wool for Esther to wind. There was a look on her face that Ellison could not quite understand. It troubled him, and yet he could not exactly tell why.

"Thanks for your music, Merton," he said, as he seated himself in a chair; "I could hear it across the way."

"How is your patient to-night?"

"Asleep now, but he's been very restless."

Merton removed one of his hands to disentangle the wool.

"I suppose you will get rid of the man when he's well enough to go? In my opinion it's hardly safe for Mrs. Ellison to have such a fellow about the place."

Ellison frowned. It was a curious speech for a stranger to make. But then, of course, the other was unaware of the position in which the two men stood to each other. He was about to reply in sharp terms, in spite of the look of fear in Esther's face, when Merton broke in again:

"Forgive me. I know it's like my impertinence to intrude on your affairs. I was only thinking of Mrs. Ellison's safety."

"You may be sure I will take good care of that. I can quite understand your feelings, but you see the trouble is that you don't know all about us. There is a tie between that man and myself that nothing can ever loose."

"I beg your pardon, then, for speaking about it at all."

Esther had risen, and now said "Good-night." She did not look at Merton, merely gave him her hand and then pa.s.sed from the room. A few moments later Merton wished his host good-night and in his turn departed.

Ellison lit his pipe at the lamp, and went into the veranda, preparatory to crossing to the hut, where he had been sleeping of late. Esther was waiting there to say good-night to him. She was leaning against the veranda rails gazing down on the star-lit sea. Ellison stationed himself beside her.

"I thought you had gone to bed, dearie."

"I intended to go, but the house is so hot. I thought I would come out and get cool first."

"I'm afraid you're not very well to-night, little woman?"

"What makes you think that? Yes, I am quite well, thank you. A little tired, perhaps, but quite well."

He pa.s.sed his arm round her waist. She started as if with surprise.

"Why, what's the matter?" he asked anxiously.

"I did not know what it was," she answered. "You frightened me."

"That makes me certain you're not very well. I must have the doctor over to see you to-morrow morning, if you don't feel better."

"I shall be all right in the morning. I think I am over-tired to-night."

"Perhaps Merton's music has given you a headache. I think he thumps a little hard for my taste."

This was scarcely the truth. He had never really thought so, but he wanted to find some reason for her downcast demeanour. She did not answer. Then suddenly, and without any apparent reason, she turned to him, and throwing her arms round his neck, sobbed upon his shoulder as if her heart were breaking.

"Why, Esther, my darling," he cried, this time in real alarm, "what on earth does this all mean? You frighten me, dearest. Try and tell me what is the matter with you." He led her to a chair, placed her in it, and seated himself beside her. "Come, try and tell me what it is, and let me help you. You frighten me dreadfully."

"It is nothing, nothing, nothing; Oh, Cuthbert, my husband, bear with me to-night. Don't be angry with me, I beseech you. You don't know how the memory of this night will always remain with me."

"You are very mysterious to-night. I can't think what you mean."

"Don't ask to be told. Indeed, I could not tell you. I don't know myself. I only know that I am more miserable to-night than I have ever been in my life before."

"And you can't tell me why? Esther, that puts us such a long way apart.

I thought we were to be everything to each other, in sorrow as well as happiness!"

"It is ungenerous of you to taunt me with that now, just because I will not gratify your curiosity."

She rose with an offended air, and made as if she would go to her room.

He caught her by the wrist and held her. She turned on him almost fiercely!

"You are hurting me! Let me go!"

"Esther, you are very cruel to me to-night. Do you know that?"

"Have you been so kind that you can bring that accusation against me?

But there, I won't quarrel with you, even though you seem to want to make me."

"I want to make you quarrel with me, Esther? You know that is not true.

You wrong me, on my soul, you do!"

She began to cry again, and fell back into the chair.

"I know I do, I know I do! I cannot do anything right to-night. I can't even think, my brain seems asleep. Oh, forgive me, forgive me!"

He smoothed back her hair and kissed her on the forehead.

"There is nothing to forgive, darling. It was altogether my fault. I wanted to sympathise with you, and I did it in my usual clumsy fas.h.i.+on.

It is you who must forgive me."

She still hung her head. Suddenly she raised it and looked him in the face.

"Some day you will hate and despise me, I know. You will curse my name.

But before G.o.d to-night I swear that--that--that----No, I can't say it.

It must go through eternity unsaid, one little word unspoken."

"Dear girl, do you know what you are saying? Don't you think you had better go to bed?"

Without another word she rose and went down the veranda to her room. He sat like a man dazed, turning and twisting her behaviour this way and that in an endeavour to pierce the cloud that seemed to be settling on him. What did she mean by her last speech? What was to be the upshot of all these vague allusions? What was it she had intended to say, and then thought better of? He racked his brains for a solution of the problem, but without success. He could hit on nothing feasible. In a state of perfect bewilderment he went across to the hut and spent a miserable night, only to find at breakfast next morning that she had quite recovered and was her old self once more.

After that night Murkard might be considered convalescent. Like a shadow of the man he used to be, he managed to creep out into the suns.h.i.+ne of the beach, to sit there for hours every day. The bout had been a severe one, and it would be some time before he could be himself again. All this time Ellison allowed no word of reproach to fall from his lips, nor did Murkard offer any apology. But there was a wistfulness in his eyes when they lighted on the other that told a tale of grat.i.tude and of devotion that was plainer than anything words could have uttered. On the third morning of his convalescence he was sitting in his usual spot just below the headland, looking across the blue straits dotted here and there with the sails of luggers, and at the white roofs of the towns.h.i.+p, when he heard steps approaching. The pedestrian, whoever he might be, was evidently in merry pin, for he was whistling a gay _chanson_, and seemed to be in the best conceit, not only with himself, but with all the world. Turning the corner, he came directly upon Murkard, who looked up full and fair into his face. It was Merton. If the latter seemed surprised, the effect upon Murkard was doubly so. His eyes almost started from his head, his mouth opened, and his jaw dropped, his colour became ashen in its pallor.

"You--you here!" he cried. "Oh, my G.o.d! Is this a horrible dream? I thought you were dead long since."