A Singer from the Sea Part 10

I daresay Robert can get you a commission--at the right time, of course."

"Thanks! I do not think the army would agree with me; not, at any rate, until I had played my last card. And if I have to make a hero of myself, I shall certainly prefer the position of a full private. It is the privates that do the glory business. I would join the army as Private Smith; for though

"'Some talk of Alexander, And some of Hercules, And of many a great commander As glorious as these; If you want to know a hero Of genuine pluck and pith, It's perfectly clear that none come near The full British private Smith.'"

And he declaimed his mock heroics so delightfully that Elizabeth not only succ.u.mbed to his charm, but also wondered in her heart why everyone else did not.

"You see, sweet sister, that wealth is not exactly the same thing as shining virtue, or else Caroline would have been generous. I am sure I should be particularly grateful to any woman who made me rich."

"Why woman, Roland?"

"Well, because if a man puts any money in my way he expects me to work for it and with it; to invest it and double it; to give an account of it; to sacrifice myself body and soul for it. But a dear little darling woman would never ask me questions and never worry me about interest. She would take love and kisses as full value received--unless she was a girl like Caroline, an unwomanly, mercenary, practical, matter-of-money creature."

"Do not talk in that way of Caroline."

"I am talking of her money, and it is no impeachment of its value to say that it is mortal like herself. Still, I am ready to acknowledge

"'How pleasant it is to have money, heigho!

How pleasant it is to have money!'

and as much of it as possible, Elizabeth."

"We come to no definite results by talking in this way, Roland. When you get to singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of song I may as well be quiet. And yet I am so unhappy about you. O Roland! Roland! my dear, dear brother, what can I do for you?"

She covered her face with her hands, and Roland took them away with gentle force. "Elizabeth, do not cry for me. I am not worth a tear.

Darling, I will do anything you want me to do."

"If I get Robert to give you a desk in the bank?"

"Well, love, anything but that. I really cannot bear the confinement.

I should die of consumption; besides, I have a moral weakness, Elizabeth, that I am bound to consider--there are times, dear, when I get awfully mixed and cannot help

"'Confounding the difference 'twixt _meum_ and _tuum_ By kindly converting it all into _suum_.'"

"O Roland, I really do not know what you are fit for!"

"If I had been born three or four centuries ago I could have been a knight-errant or a troubadour. But alas! in these days the knight-errants go to the Stock Exchange and the troubadours write for the newspapers. I am not fitted to wrestle with the wild beasts of the money market; I would rather go to Spain and be a matador."

"Roland, here comes Robert. Do try and talk like a man of ordinary intelligence. Robert wants to like you--wants to help you if you will let him."

"Yes, in his way. I want to be helped in my own way. Good-evening, Robert! I am glad you were not caught in the rain."

The grave face brightened to the charm of the young man, and then for an hour Roland delighted his sister by his sensible consideration, by his patient attention to some uninteresting details, by his prudence in speaking of the future; so that Robert said confidentially to his wife that night:

"Roland is a delightful young man. There must be some niche he can fill with honour. I wonder that Caroline could resist his attentions.

Yet she told me to-day that she had refused him twice."

"Caroline is moved by her intellect, not by her heart. Also, she is very Vere-de-Vereish, and she has set her mark for a lord, at least."

"What can be done for Roland?"

"He talked of going into the army."

"Nonsense! Going into the army means, for Roland, going into every possible temptation and expense--that would not do. But he ought to be away from this little town. He will be making mischief if he cannot find it ready-made."

"I am very uneasy about that girl from the fishing village, the girl whom I used to have with me a great deal."

"Denas--the girl with the wonderful voice?"

"Yes. Did you think her voice wonderful?"

"Perhaps I should say haunting voice. She had certainly some unusual gift. I do not pretend to be able to define it. But I remember every line of the first measure I heard her sing. Many a time since I have thought my soul was singing it for its own pleasure, without caring whether I liked it or not; for when mentally reckoning up a transaction I have heard quite distinctly the rhythmical rolling cadence, like sea wave, to which the words were set. I hear it now."

"Upon my word, Robert, you are very complimentary to Denas. I shall be jealous, my dear."

"Not complimentary to Denas at all. I hardly remember what the girl looked like. And it is not worth while being jealous of a voice, for I can a.s.sure you, Elizabeth, a haunting song is a most unwelcome visitor when your brain is full of figures. And somehow it generally managed to come at a time when the bank and the street were both in a tumult with the sound of men's voices, the roll of wagons, and the tramp of horses' feet."

"A song of the sea in the roar of the city! How strange! I am curious to hear it: I have forgotten most of the songs Denas sang."

"The roar of the city appeared to provoke it. When it was loudest I usually heard most clearly the sweet thrilling echo, asking

"'What is the tale of the sea, mother?

What is the tale of the wide, wide sea?'

'Merry and sad are the tales, my darling, Merry and sad as tales may be.

Those ships that sail in the happy mornings, Full of the lives and souls of men, Some will never come back, my darling; Some will never come back again!'"

And as Elizabeth listened to her husband half singing the charmful words, she took a sudden dislike to Denas. But she said: "The song is a lovely song, and I must send for Denas to sing it again for us." In her heart she resolved never to send for Denas; "though if she does come"--and at this point Elizabeth held herself in pause for a minute ere she decided resolutely--"if she does come I will do what is right.

I will be kind to her. She cannot help her witching voice--only--only I must step between her and Roland--that is for the good of both;" and she fell asleep, planning for this emergency.

CHAPTER VI.

ELIZABETH AND DENAS.

"There is no hate in a woman which is not born of love."

"Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to slacken and decay, It uses an enforced ceremony: There are no tricks in plain and simple faith."

--JULIUS CaeSAR.

The rain was over on Wednesday morning, but the day was gray and chill and the crisping turf and the hardening road indicated a coming frost.

There was nothing, however, to prevent the contemplated visit to Burrell Court, and a painful momentary shadow flitted over John's face when Denas came to breakfast in her new ruby-coloured merino dress.

She was so pretty, so full of the importance of her trip, so affectionate, that he could not say a word to dash her spirits or warn her carelessness, and yet he had a quick spasm of terror about the danger she was going so gayly into. Of what use, alas! are our premonitions if they do not bring with them the inexorable moral courage necessary to enforce their warnings?

Denas had been accustomed to go to Elizabeth's very early in the morning, and it did not come into her mind to make any change in this respect because of Elizabeth's marriage. So after she had taken her breakfast she put on her hat and ulster and her warm wool gloves and took the cliff road. John, with his pipe in his mouth, leaned against the door lintel and watched her. Joan stood by his side for a moment, following with her eyes the graceful figure of her child, but she quickly went back to her work. John's work was over for the day; he had come in on the dawn tide with a good take. So he stood at the door, in spite of the frosty air, and watched his little maid climb the hilly road with the elastic step and untiring breath of happy youth.

It was then only eight o'clock. No one at her home had thought the hour too early. But when she reached Burrell Court Elizabeth had not come downstairs and breakfast was not yet served. She was much annoyed and embarra.s.sed by the att.i.tude of the servants. She had no visiting-card, and the footman declined to disturb Mrs. Burrell at her toilet. "Miss could wait," he said with an air of familiarity which greatly offended Denas. For she considered herself, as the child of a fisherman owning his own cottage and boat and lord of all the leagues of ocean where he chose to cast his nets, immeasurably the superior of any servant, no matter how fine his livery might be.