In the Roar of the Sea Part 58

"'Pon my word, I can't say; half and half----"

"I do not understand you."

"I will explain, later," said Mr. Menaida. "It's a perplexing question, and though I was brought up at the law, upon my word I can't say how the law would stand in the matter."

"But how about the false lights?"

"I am coming to that. When the Preventive men came on us, led by Scantlebray--and why he was with them, and what concern it was of his, I don't know--when the guard found us, it is true Judith had the lantern, but it was under her cloak."

"We, however, saw the light for some time."

"Yes, but neither she nor I showed it. We had not brought a light with us. We knew that it would be wrong to do so, but we came on someone driving an a.s.s with a lantern affixed to the head of the brute."

"Then say so."

"I cannot--that person was Judith's brother."

"But he is an idiot."

"He was sent out with the light."

"Well, then, that person who sent him will be punished and the silly boy will come off scot free."

"I cannot--he who sent the boy was Judith's husband."

"Judith's husband! Who is that?"

"Captain Coppinger."

"Well, what of that? The man is a double-dyed villain. He ought to be brought to justice. Consider the crimes of which he has been guilty.

Consider what he has done this past night. I cannot see, father, that merely because you esteem a young person, who may be very estimable, we should let a consummate scoundrel go free, solely because he is her husband. He has brought a fine s.h.i.+p to wreck, he has produced much wretchedness and alarm. Indeed, he has been the occasion of some lives being lost, for one or two of the sailors, thinking we were going to Davy Jones's locker, got drunk and were carried overboard. Then, consider, he robbed some of the unhappy, frightened women as they were escaping. Bless me!" Oliver sprang up and paced the room. "It makes my blood seethe. The fellow deserves no consideration. Give him up to justice; let him be hung or transported."

Mr. Menaida pa.s.sed his hand through his hair, and lit his pipe.

"'Pon my word," said he, "there's a good deal to be said on your side--and yet----"

"There is everything to be said on my side," urged Oliver, with vehemence. "The man is engaged on his nefarious traffic. Winter is setting in. He will wreck other vessels as well, and if you spare him now, then the guilt of causing the destruction of other vessels and the loss of more lives will rest in a measure on you."

"And yet," pleaded Menaida, senior, "I don't know--I don't like--you see----"

"You are moved by a little sentiment for Miss Judith Trevisa, or--I beg her pardon--Mrs. Cruel Coppinger. But it is a mistake, father. If you had had this sentimental regard for her, and value for her, you should not have suffered her to marry such a scoundrel, past redemption."

"I could not help it. I told her that the man was bad--that is to say--I believed he was a smuggler, and that he was generally credited with being a wrecker as well. But there were other influences--other forces at work--I could not help it."

"The sooner we can rid her of this villain the better," persisted Oliver. "I cannot share your scruples, father."

Then the door opened and Judith entered.

Oliver stood up. He had reseated himself on the opposite side of the fire to his father, after the ebullition of wrath that had made him pace the room.

He saw before him a delicate, girlish figure--a child in size and in innocence of face, but with a woman's force of character in the brow, clear eyes, and set mouth. She was ivory white; her golden hair was spread out about her face--blown by the wind, it was a veritable halo, such as is worn by an angel of La Fiesole in Cimabue. Her long, slender, white throat was bare; she had short sleeves, to the elbows, and bare arms. Her stockings were white, under the dark-blue gown.

Oliver Menaida had spent a good many years in Portugal, and had seen flat faces, sallow complexions, and dark hair--women without delicacy of bone and grace of figure--and, on his return to England, the first woman he saw was Judith--this little, pale, red-gold-headed creature, with eyes iridescent and full of a soul that made them sparkle and change color with every change of emotion in the heart and of thought in the busy brain.

Oliver was a fine man, tall, with a bright and honest face, fair hair, and blue eyes. He started back from his seat and looked at this child-bride who entered his father's cottage. He knew at once who she was, from the descriptions he had received of her from his father in letters from home.

He did not understand how she had become the wife of Cruel Coppinger.

He had not heard the story from his father, still less could he comprehend the enigmatical words of his father relative to her half-and-half marriage. As now he looked on this little figure, that breathed an atmosphere of perfect purity, of untouched innocence, and yet not mixed with that weakness which so often characterizes innocence--on the contrary blended with a strength and force beyond her years--Oliver's heart rose with a bound and smote against his ribs. He was overcome with a qualm of infinite pity for this poor, little, fragile being, whose life was linked with that of one so ruthless as Coppinger. Looking at that anxious face, at those l.u.s.trous eyes, set in lids that were reddened with weeping, he knew that the iron had entered into her soul, that she had suffered and was suffering then; nay, more, that the life opening before her would be one of almost unrelieved contrariety and sorrow.

At once he understood his father's hesitation when he urged him to increase the load of shame and trouble that lay on her. He could not withdraw his eyes from Judith. She was to him a vision so wonderful, so strange, so thrilling, so full of appeal to his admiration and to his chivalry.

"Here, Ju! here is my Oliver, of whom I have told you so much!" said Menaida, running up to Judith. "Oliver, boy! she has read your letters, and I believe they gave her almost as great pleasure as they did me. She was always interested in you. I mean ever since she came into my house, and we have talked together about you, and upon my word it really seemed as if you were to her as a brother."

A faint smile came on Judith's face; she held out her hand and said:

"Yes, I have come to love your dear father, who has been to me so kind, and to Jamie also; he has been full of thought--I mean kindness.

What has interested him has interested me. I call him uncle, so I will call you cousin. May it be so?"

He touched her hand; he did not dare to grasp the frail, slender white hand. But as he touched it, there boiled up in his heart a rage against Coppinger, that he--this man steeped in iniquity--should have obtained possession of a pearl set in ruddy gold--a pearl that he was, so thought Oliver, incapable of appreciating.

"How came you here?" asked Judith. "Your father has been expecting you some time, but not so soon."

"I am come off the wreck."

She started back and looked fixedly on him.

"What--you were wrecked?--in that s.h.i.+p last night?"

"Yes. After the fog lifted we were quite lost as to where we were, and ran aground."

"What led you astray?"

"Our own bewilderment and ignorance as to where we were."

"And you got ash.o.r.e?"

"Yes. I was put across by the Preventive men. I spent half the night on Doom Bar."

"Were any lives lost?"

"Only those lost their lives who threw them away. Some tipsy sailors, who got at the spirits, and drank themselves drunk."

"And--did any others--I mean did any wreckers come to your s.h.i.+p?"

"Salvors? Yes; salvors came to save what could be saved. That is always so."

Judith drew a long breath of relief; but she could not forget Jamie and the a.s.s.

"You were not led astray by false lights?"