Her only answer was to press the hand that rested on the veranda rail with her soft fingers. Her touch thrilled him through and through, and he went into the hut for lunch with a look in his face that had never been there before. He was beginning to understand his position more clearly now.
Towards the middle of the afternoon he was employing himself among the boats, when he saw her coming breathlessly towards him. He dropped the adze he held in his hand and went to meet her.
"He wants you to come to him," she managed to gasp. "Oh, I don"t know how to tell you the agony of fear I"m suffering. He seems so much weaker. Come at once."
She accompanied him into the house, and to the door of her father"s chamber. The change in the patient"s face staggered him. It was ghastly white and drawn; approaching dissolution was staring from the restless eyes.
"Mr. Ellison," he said faintly, "I have sent for you, and I must be quick with what I have to say, for the end is near. Though I only saw you for the first time this morning, I seem to know you thoroughly. My daughter has told me of the kindness you and your friend have shown to her. She has also informed me that you told her last night of your love for her. Is that true, on your oath to a dying man?"
"Yes. It is true! I know now that I do love her."
"With your whole heart and soul, so help you G.o.d!"
"With my whole heart and soul, so help me G.o.d!"
"Is there anything to prevent you making her your wife?"
"In a legal sense, nothing. In a moral--well, perhaps I have not led the sort of life I might have done; but if you will trust her to me I swear before G.o.d, as I hope for heaven, that I will do my duty to her all the days of my life. I will endeavour to make her life happy at any cost to myself."
"She will be poor, remember. There is nothing for me to leave her save a few hundred pounds, this station, and the boats. You will have to work hard to support her."
"I will work my hands to the bone."
"Then as you deal with my motherless and fatherless girl, so may G.o.d deal with you. He has sent you to take my place, in her hour of need. If you stand firm by her he will not desert you in yours. As a dying man I trust you; that is enough. Now send her to me."
Ellison went to the door and called the girl. She came in, and the dying man gave them his blessing. After which he told them he would rather sleep.
When the doctor reached the house half an hour later Ellison met him on the threshold.
"How is he now?"
"You have come too late, doctor. He is dead!"
CHAPTER V.
A WEDDING--A CONVERSATION--AND AN EPISODE.
Towards sundown the following afternoon the remains of Alexander McCartney were conveyed across the straits and interred in the little cemetery above the township of Port Kennedy. A week later his daughter became Cuthbert Ellison"s wife. It had been the dead man"s wish that there should be no delay in the marriage. He was anxious to have his daughter"s safety a.s.sured within as short a time of his demise as possible. Nor had either of them any objection to raise. The wedding took place in the little church on the hill-side, and Silas Murkard acted as his friend"s best man. After the ceremony they sailed quietly home in one of their own boats to receive the congratulations of Mrs.
Fenwick and the station, and to take up the old life once more.
As Ellison lifted his wife out of the boat on to the little jetty he looked into her eyes. There was only pure happiness and unutterable trust written there. He lowered his own before her gaze and heaved a heavy sigh.
When she had pa.s.sed into the house, proudly escorted by Mrs. Fenwick, Murkard came up to him and took his hand.
"Cuthbert, I have waited my chance to congratulate you. We are alone now, and from the bottom of my heart I wish you happiness."
"Thank you. You have been a good friend to me, Silas."
"There is no question of _friendship_ between us. It is more than that.
But there is one thing I want to say to you."
"Say on."
"You will not be offended with me?"
"Never. I don"t think it is in your power to do that, old friend."
"Very well, then I will say it. Cuthbert Ellison, you think you know the woman who has this day become your wife?"
Ellison nodded. He wondered what was coming.
"You would be surprised and perhaps angry if I told you that I know her a thousand times better than you do or ever will know her. I can read her nature as I can read yours. And for this reason I warn you. That woman has one of the purest and most beautiful minds ever given by G.o.d to any human being. Beware how you act towards her, beware of what you say! Remember, though you may mean nothing by what you say, she will never forget one single word. You have only to look into her eyes to see what she thinks of you _now_. She believes in you heart and soul, she worships the very ground you walk on; it remains with you to say whether she shall retain that trust or not. What you have said to her already cling to as a shipwrecked man clings to a spar; what you say in the future must be your own concern. I will help you if ever help be needed, but in the meantime watch yourself, and if there is a G.o.d watching over us may he bless and keep you both. I have spoken!"
Having said this he turned on his heel and walked quickly away in the direction of his own solitary hut. He entered and closed the door.
The evening meal finished, Ellison and Esther pa.s.sed out to the veranda together. The day had been fine, but the night was dark and stormy; thick clouds obscured the heavens, big waves broke on the beach with ominous grumblings, and now and again swift streaks of lightning flashed across the sky. Husband and wife sat side by side. The man was reviewing in his mind the events of the day, and wondering at the strange conversation he had had with Murkard that evening. In spite of his supreme happiness a vague feeling of sadness was upon him that would not be dispelled. Esther was all content. Woman-like she derived an intense pleasure from mere personal contact with the being she adored.
She could just see the outline of his face against the sky, and she wondered at its sadness. At last she spoke:
"Of what are you thinking, husband mine?"
He started as if she had stung him, and hastened to reply:
"Can"t you guess? I was thinking of you and of all you have done for me."
"Perhaps a little of me, but not altogether, I fear. Cuthbert, do you believe you will ever regret?"
"No, no! ten thousand times, no! Would a man ever regret having been given a chance of heaven?"
"You are begging the question! I mean, my husband,"--her voice dwelt with infinite tenderness upon the name,--"do you think you will ever have cause to wish you had never seen me, when you see what other cleverer and prettier women you might have married?"
"I should never have married any other. You are my destiny. I was born into the world to marry you, and no one else. How could it possibly have been otherwise?"
"You are very silly. I want to talk seriously."
"That _is_ talking seriously."
"It is nonsense. But listen, dear. You must forgive me for bringing up the subject on this night, of all others, but I cannot let it rest. I will never speak of it again if you wish it. But you must answer me truthfully for the last time."
He bit his lip to keep back the cry of fear that almost escaped him. He knew what was coming, and dreaded it like the cutting of a flashing knife.
"Go on!"
"Cuthbert, if you ever went back to your old world and saw women, as I say, cleverer and more beautiful than I am, you might wish you had never seen me. You would not tell me so, and you would not, if you could help it, let me guess it, but my woman"s instinct would warn me--and then what should I do? I should be chained to you, and you would be chained to me. I should be a drag upon you--a curse--instead of the help I wish to be. I should love you just the same, because I could never love anyone else; but think what the depth of my despair would be!"