A Whisper In The Dark Part 28

"I can explain nothing till I have seen my father. Forgive me. This is harder for me to hear than it ever can be for you," she answered through her grief, and in her voice there was the tenderest regret, as well as the firmest resolution.

"You do not need your father to help you. Answer whether you love me, and that is all I ask. Speak, I conjure you." He took her hands and made her look at him. There was no room for doubt; one look a.s.sured him, for her heart spoke in her eyes before she answered, fervently as a woman, simply as a child: "I love you more than I can ever tell."

"Then, why this grief and terror? What have I said to trouble you? Tell me that, also, and I am content."

He had drawn her toward him as the sweet confession left her lips, and was already smiling with the happiness it gave him; but Ariel banished both smile and joy by breaking from his hold, pale and steady as if tears had calmed and strengthened her, saying, in a tone that made his heart sink with an ominous foreboding of some unknown ill: "I must not answer you without my father's permission. I have made a bitter mistake in loving you, and I must amend it if I can. Go now, and come again to-morrow; then I can speak and make all clear to you. No, do not tempt me with caresses; do not break my heart with reproaches, but obey me, and whatever comes between us, oh, remember that I shall love you while I live."

Vain were all his prayers and pleadings, questions and commands: some power more potent than love kept her firm through the suffering and sorrow of that hour. At last he yielded to her demand, and winning from her a promise to set his heart at rest early on the morrow, he tore himself away, distracted by a thousand vague doubts and dreads.

III.

A sleepless night, an hour or two of restless pacing to and fro upon the beach, then the impatient lover was away upon his fateful errand, careless of observation now, and rowing as he had never rowed before. The rosy flush of early day shone over the island, making the grim rocks beautiful, and Southesk saw in it a propitious omen; but when he reached the lighthouse a sudden fear dashed his sanguine hopes, for it was empty. The door stood open-no fire burned upon the hearth, no step sounded on the stairs, no voice answered when he called, and the dead silence daunted him.

Rapidly searching every chamber, shouting each name, and imploring a reply, he hurried up and down like one distraught, till but a single hope remained to comfort him. Ariel might be waiting at the chasm, though she had bid him see her father first. Bounding over the cliffs, he reached the dearest spot the earth held for him, and looking down saw only desolation. The ladder was gone, the vines torn from the walls, the little tree lay prostrate; every green and lovely thing was crushed under the enormous stones that some ruthless hand had hurled upon them, and all the beauty of the rock was utterly destroyed as if a hurricane had swept over it.

"Great heavens! who has done this?"

"I did."

Stern spoke, and standing on the opposite side of the chasm, regarded Southesk with an expression of mingled exultation, hatred and defiance, as if the emotions which had been so long restrained had found a vent at last.

"But why destroy what Ariel loved?" demanded the young man, involuntarily retreating a step from the fierce figure that confronted him.

"Because she has done with it, and no other shall enjoy what she has lost."

"Done with it," echoed Southesk, forgetting everything but the fear that oppressed him. "What do you mean? Where is she? For G.o.d's sake end this horrible suspense."

"She is gone, never to return," and as he answered, Stern smiled a smile of bitter satisfaction in the blow he was dealing the man he hated.

"Where is March?"

"Gone with her."

"Where are they gone?"

"I will never tell you."

"When did they go, and why? Oh! answer me!"

"At dawn, and to shun you."

"But why let me come for weeks and then fly me as if I brought a curse with me?"

"Because you are what you are."

Questions and answers had been too rapidly exchanged to leave time for anything but intense amazement and anxiety. Stern's last words arrested Southesk's impetuous inquiries and he stood a moment trying to comprehend that enigmatical reply. Suddenly he found a clue, for in recalling his last interview with Ariel, he remembered that for the first time he had told her his father's name. The mystery was there-that intelligence, and not the avowal of his love, was the cause of her strange agitation, and some unknown act of the father's was now darkening the son's life. These thoughts flashed through his mind in the drawing of a breath, and with them came the recollection of Ariel's promise to answer him.

Lifting the head that had sunk upon his breast, as if this stroke fell heavily, he stretched his hands imploringly to Stern, exclaiming: "Did she leave no explanation for me, no word of comfort, no farewell? Oh! be generous, and pity me; give me her message and I will go away, never to disturb you any more."

"She bade me tell you that she obeyed her father, but her heart was yours forever, and she left you this."

With a strong effort at self-control, Stern gave the message, and slowly drew from his breast a little parcel, which he flung across the chasm. It fell at Southesk's feet, and tearing it open a long, dark lock of hair coiled about his fingers with a soft caressing touch, reminding him so tenderly of his lost love, that for a moment he forgot his manhood, and covering up his face, cried in a broken voice: "Oh! Ariel, come back to me-come back to me!"

"She never will come back to you; so cast yourself down among the ruins yonder, and lament the ending of your love dream, like a romantic boy, as you are."

The taunting speech, and the scornful laugh that followed it calmed Southesk better than the gentlest pity. Dashing away the drops he turned on Stern with a look that showed it was fortunate the chasm parted the two men, and answered in a tone of indomitable resolve: "No, I shall not lament, but find and claim her as my own, even if I search the world till I am grey, and a thousand obstacles be between us. I leave the ruins and the tears to you, for I am rich in hope and Ariel's love."

Then they parted, Southesk full of the energy of youth, and a lover's faith in friendly fortune, sprang down the cliffs, and shot away across the glittering bay on his long search, but Stern, with despair for his sole companion, flung himself on the hard bosom of the rocks, struggling to accept the double desolation which came upon his life.

"An early row and an early ride without a moment's rest between. Why, Mr. Southesk, we shall not dare to call you dolce far niente any more," began Miss Lawrence, as she came rustling out upon the wide piazza, fresh from her morning toilette, to find Southesk preparing to mount his fleetest horse; but as he turned to bow silently the smile vanished from her lips, and a keen anxiety banished the gracious sweetness from her face.

"Good heavens, what has happened?" she cried, forgetting her self-betrayal in alarm at the haggard countenance she saw.

"I have lost a very precious treasure, and I am going to find it. Adieu;" and he was gone without another word.

Miss Lawrence was alone, for the gong had emptied halls and promenades of all but herself, and she had lingered to caress the handsome horse until its master came. Her eye followed the reckless rider until he vanished, and as it came back to the spot where she had caught that one glimpse of his altered face, it fell upon a little case of curiously-carved and scented Indian wood. She took it up, wondering that she had not seen it fall from his pocket as he mounted, for she knew it to be his, and opening it, found the key to his variable moods and frequent absences of late. The string of sh.e.l.ls appeared first, and examining it with a woman's scrutiny, she found letters carved on the inside of each. Ten rosy sh.e.l.ls-ten delicate letters, making the name Ariel March. A folded paper came next, evidently a design for a miniature to form a locket for the pretty chain, for in the small oval, drawn with all a lover's skill, was a young girl's face, and underneath, in Southesk's hand, as if written for his eye alone, the words, "My Ariel." A long, dark lock of hair and a little knot of dead flowers were all the case held beside.

"This is the mermaid old Jack told me of, this is the muse Southesk has been wooing, and this is the lost treasure he has gone to find."

As she spoke low to herself, Helen made a pa.s.sionate gesture as if she would tear and trample on the relics of this secret love, but some hope or purpose checked her, and concealing the case, she turned to hide her trouble in solitude, thinking as she went: "He will return for this; till then I must wait."

But Southesk did not return, for the lesser loss was forgotten in the greater, and he was wandering over land and sea, intent upon a fruitless quest. Summer pa.s.sed, and Helen returned to town still hoping and waiting with a woman's patience for some tidings of the absentee.

Rumor gossiped much about the young poet- the eccentricities of genius-and prophesied an immortal work as the fruit of such varied and incessant travel.

But Helen knew the secret of his restlessness, and while she pitied his perpetual disappointment she rejoiced over it, sustaining herself with the belief that a time would come when he would weary of this vain search, and let her comfort him. It did come; for, late in the season, when winter gaieties were nearly over, Southesk returned to his old haunts, so changed that curiosity went hand in hand with sympathy.

He gave no reason for it but past illness; yet it was plain to see the malady of his mind. Listless, taciturn, and cold, with no trace of his former energy except a curiously vigilant expression of the eye and a stern folding of the lips, as if he was perpetually looking for something and perpetually meeting with disappointment. This was the change which had befallen the once gay and debonair Philip Southesk.

Helen Lawrence was among the first to hear of his return, and to welcome him, for, much to her surprise, he came to see her on the second day, drawn by the tender recollections of a past with which she was a.s.sociated.

Full of the deepest joy at beholding him again, and the gentlest pity for his dejection, Helen had never been more charming than during that interview.

Eager to a.s.sure herself of the failure which his face betrayed, she soon inquired, with an air and accent of the friendliest interest: "Was your search successful, Mr. Southesk? You left so sud denly, and have been so long away I hoped the treasure had been found, and that you had been busy putting that happy summer into song for us."

The color rose to Southesk's forehead, and fading left him paler than before, as he answered with a vain attempt at calmness: "I shall never find the thing I lost, and never put that summer into song, for it was the saddest of my life;" then, as if anxious to change the direction of her thoughts, he said abruptly, "I am on another quest now, looking for a little case which I think I dropped the day I left you, but whether at the hotel or on the road I cannot tell. Did you hear anything of such a trifle being found?"

"No. Was it of much value to you?"

"Of infinite value now, for it contains the relics of a dear friend lately lost."

Helen had meant to keep what she had found, but his last words changed her purpose, for a thrill of hope shot through her heart, and, turning to a cabinet behind her, she put the case into his hand, saying in her softest tone: "I heard nothing of it because I found it, believed it to be yours, and kept it sacred until you came to claim it, for I did not know where to find you."

Then, with a woman's tact, she left him to examine his recovered treasure, and, gliding to an inner room, she busied herself among her flowers till he rejoined her.

Sooner than she had dared to hope he came, with signs of past emotion on his face, but much of his old impetuosity of manner, as he pressed her hand, saying warmly: "How can I thank you for this? Let me atone for my past insincerity by confessing the cause of it; you have found a part of my secret, let me add the rest. I need a confidant, will you be mine?"

"Gladly, if it will help or comfort you."

So, sitting side by side under the pa.s.sion flowers, he told his story, and she listened with an interest that insensibly drew him on to fuller confidences than he had intended.

When he had described the parting, briefly yet very eloquently, for voice, eye, and gesture lent their magic, he added, in an altered tone, and with an expression of pathetic patience: "There is no need to tell you how I searched for them, how often I thought myself upon their track, how often they eluded me, and how each disappointment strengthened my purpose to look till I succeeded, though I gave years to the task. A month ago I received this, and knew that my long search was ended."

He put a worn letter into her hand, and with a beating heart Helen read: Ariel is dead. Let her rest in peace, and do not pursue me any longer, unless you would drive me into my grave as you have driven her.

RALPH MARCH.

A little paper, more worn and stained than the other, dropped from the letter as Helen unfolded it, and seeing a woman's writing, she asked no permission, but read it eagerly, while Southesk sat with hidden face, unaware that he had given her that sacred farewell.

"Good-by, good-by," it said, in hastily-written letters, blurred by tears that had fallen long ago. "I have obeyed my father to the last, but my heart is yours for ever. Believe this, and pray, as I do, that you may meet again your Ariel."

A long silence followed, for the simple little note had touched Helen deeply, and while she could not but rejoice in the hope which this discovery gave her, she was too womanly a woman not to pity the poor child who had loved and lost the heart she coveted. As she gently laid the letter back in Southesk's hand, she asked, turning her full eyes on his: "Are you sure that this is true?"

"I cannot doubt it, for I recognise the writing of both, and I know that neither would lend themselves to a fraud like this. No; I must accept the hard truth, and bear it as I can. My own heart confirms it, for every hope dies when I try to revive it, and the sad belief remains unshaken" was the spiritless reply.

Helen turned her face away, to hide the pa.s.sionate joy that glowed in it; then, veiling her emotion with the tenderest sympathy, she gave herself up to the sweet task of comforting the bereaved lover. So well did she perform her part, so soothing did he find her friendly society, that he came often and lingered long, for with her, and her alone, he could talk of Ariel. She never checked him, but listened to the distasteful theme with unwearied patience, till, by insensible degrees and unperceived allurements, she weaned him from these mournful reminiscences, and woke a healthier interest in the present. With feminine skill she concealed her steadily-increasing love under an affectionate friendliness, which seemed a mute a.s.surance that she cherished no hopes for herself, but knew that his heart was still Ariel's. This gave him confidence in her, while the new and gentle womanliness which now replaced her former pride, made her more attractive and more dangerous. Of course, the gossips gave them to one another, and Southesk felt aggrieved, fearing that he must relinquish the chief comfort of his solitary life. But Helen showed such supreme indifference to the clack of idle tongues, and met him with such unchanged composure, that he was rea.s.sured, and by remaining lost another point in this game of hearts.

With the summer came an unconquerable longing to revisit the island. Helen detected this wish before he uttered it, and, feeling that it would be vain to oppose it, quietly made her preparations for the sea-side, though otherwise she would have shunned it, fearing the old charm would revive and undo her work. Such visible satisfaction appeared in Southesk's face when she bade him good-by for a time, that she departed, sure that he would follow her to that summer haunt as to no other. He did follow, and resolving to have the trial over at once, during their first stroll upon the beach Helen said, in the tone of tranquil regard which she always used with him: "I know you are longing to see your enchanted island again, yet, perhaps, dread to go alone. If it is so, let me go with you, for, much as I desire to see it, I shall never dare to trespa.s.s a second time."

Her voice trembled a little as she spoke-the first sign of emotion she had betrayed for a long time. Remembering that he had deceived her once, and recalling all he owed her since, Southesk felt that she had been very generous, very kind, and grat.i.tude warmed his manner as he answered, turning toward the boats, which he had been eyeing wistfully: "How well you understand me, Helen. Thank you for giving me courage to revisit the ruins of my little paradise. Come with me, for you are the only one who knows how much I have loved and lost. Shall we go now?"

"Blind and selfish, like a true man," thought Helen, with a pang, as she saw his eye kindle and the old elasticity return to his step as he went on before her. But she smiled and followed, as if glad to serve him, and a keen observer might have added, "patient and pa.s.sionate, like a true woman."

Little was said between them as they made the breezy voyage. Once Southesk woke out of a long reverie, to say, pausing on his oars: "A year to-day since I first saw Ariel."

"A year to-day since you told me that your fate was to come to you out of the sea," and Helen sighed involuntarily as she contrasted the man before her with the happy dreamer who smiled up at her that day.

"Yes, and it has come even to the hour when all was to be won or lost," he answered, little dreaming that the next hour was to verify the prophecy more perfectly than any in the past.

As they landed, he said, beseechingly: "Wait for me at the lighthouse; I must visit the chasm alone, and I have no desire to encounter Stern, if I can help it."

"Why not?" asked Helen, wondering at his tone.

"Because he loved her, and could not forgive me that I was more beloved than he."

"I can pity him," she said, below her breath, adding, with unusual tenderness of manner- "Go, Philip; I know how to wait."

"And I to thank you for it."

The look he gave her made her heart leap, for he had never bent such a one on her before, yet she feared that the memory of his lost love stirred and warmed him, not a dawning pa.s.sion for herself, and would have wrung her hands in despair could she have known how utterly she was forgotten, as Southesk strode across the cliffs, almost as eagerly as if he knew that Ariel waited for him in her nest. It was empty; but something of its former beauty had been restored to it, for the stones were gone, green things were struggling up again, and the ladder was replaced.

"Poor Stern, he has repented of his frantic act, and tried to make the nest beautiful again as a memorial of her," thought Southesk; and descending, he threw himself down upon the newly-piled moss to dream his happy dream again, and fancy Ariel was there.

Well for him that he did not see the wrathful face that presently peered over the chasm's edge, as Stern watched him with the air of a man driven to desperation. The old hatred seemed to possess him with redoubled violence, and some new cause for detestation appeared to goad him with a hidden fear. More than once he sprang up and glanced anxiously behind him, as if he was not alone; more than once he laid his sinewy hands on a ponderous stone near by, as if tempted to hurl it down the chasm; and more than once he ground his teeth, like some savage creature who sees a stronger enemy approaching to deprive him of his prey.

The tide was coming in, the sky was over-cast, and a gale was rising; but though Southesk saw, heard and heeded nothing about him, Stern found hope in the gathering storm; for some evil spirit seemed to have been born of the tempest that raged within him, and to teach him how to make the elements his friends.

"Mr. Southesk."

Philip leaped to his feet as if a pistol had been fired at his ear, and saw Stern standing beside him with an air of sad humility, that surprised him more than the sight of his grey hair and haggard face. Pity banished resentment, and offering his hand, he said, with a generous oblivion of their parting words- "Thank you for the change you have wrought here, and forgive me that I come back to see it once before I go away for ever. We both loved her; let us comfort one another."

A sudden color pa.s.sed over Stern's swarthy face, he drew a long breath as he listened, and clenched one hand behind him as he put the other into Southesk's, answering in the same suppressed tone and with averted eyes- "You know it, then, and try to submit as I do?"

Philip's lips were parted to reply, but no words followed, for a faint, far-off sound was heard, a woman's voice singing- "Oh, come unto the yellow sands!"

Southesk turned pale, believing for an instant that Ariel's spirit came to welcome him; but the change in Stern's face, and the look of baffled rage and despair that played up in his eyes, betrayed him. Clutching his arm, the young man cried out, trembling with a sudden conviction- "You have lied to me; she is not dead!"

What pa.s.sed in Stern's heart during the second in which the two stood face to face, it would be impossible to tell, but with an effort that shook his strong body, he wrenched himself away and controlled his desperate desire to send his rival down the gulf. Some thought seemed to flash across him, calming the turbulence of his nature like a spell; and a.s.suming the air of one defeated, he said slowly- "I have lost, and I confess, I did lie to you, for March never sent the letter. I forged it, knowing that you would believe it if I added the note Ariel left for you a year ago. I could not give it to you then, but kept it with half the lock of hair. You followed them, but I followed you, and more than once thwarted you when you had nearly found them. As time pa.s.sed, your persistence and her suffering began to soften March; I saw this, and tried to check you by the story of her death."

"Thank G.o.d I came, else I should never have recovered her. Give her up, Stern; she is mine, and I claim her."

Southesk turned to spring up the ladder, with no thought now but to reach Ariel; Stern arrested him, by saying with grim reluctance- "You'll not find her, for she will not come here any more, but sit below by the basin where you saw her first. You can reach her by climbing down the steps I have made. Nay, if you doubt me, listen."

He did listen, and as the wind swept over the chasm, clearer and sweeter came the sound of that beloved voice. Southesk hesitated no longer, but swung himself recklessly downward, followed by Stern, whose black eyes glittered with a baleful light as they watched the agile figure going on before him. When they reached the basin, full to overflowing with the rising tide, they found the book her lover gave her and the little comb he knew so well, but no Ariel.

"She has gone into the cave for the weeds and sh.e.l.ls you used to like. I'll wait for you; there is no need of me now."

Again Southesk listened; again he heard the voice, and followed it without a thought of fear; while Stern, seating himself on one of the fragments of rock cleared from the rest, leaned his head despondently upon his hand, as if his work was done.

The cave, worn by the ceaseless action of the waves at high tide, wound tortuously through the cliff to a lesser opening on the other side. Glancing rapidly into the damp nooks on either hand, Southesk hurried through this winding pa.s.sage, which grew lower, narrower and darker toward the end, yet Ariel did not appear, and, standing still, he called her. Echo after echo caught up the word, and sent it whispering to and fro, but no human voice replied, though still the song came fitfully on the wind that blew coldly through the cave.

"She has ventured on to watch the waves boil in the Kelpie's Cauldron. Imprudent child, I'll punish her with a kiss," thought Southesk, smiling to himself, as he bent his tall head and groped his way toward the opening. He reached it, and looked down upon a ma.s.s of jagged rocks, over and among which the great billows dashed turbulent and dark with the approaching storm. Still no Ariel; and as he stood, more clearly than ever sounded her voice, above him now.

"She has not been here, but has climbed the Gull's Perch to watch the sky as we used to do. I have wasted all this time. Curse Stern's stupidity!"

In a fever of impatience he retraced his steps, stopping suddenly as his feet encountered a pool which had not been there when he came.

"Ah! the tide is nearer in than I thought. Thank heaven, my darling is not here!" he said, and hurried round a sharp corner, expecting to see the entrance before him. It was not there! A ponderous stone had been rolled against it, effectually closing it, and permitting only a faint ray of light to penetrate this living tomb. At first he stood panic-stricken at the horrible death that confronted him; then he thought of Stern, and in a paroxysm of wrath dashed himself against the rock, hoping to force it outward. But Stern's immense strength had served him well; and while his victim struggled vainly, wave after wave broke against the stone, wedging it more firmly still, yet leaving crevices enough for the bitter waters to flow in, bringing sure death to the doomed man, unless help came speedily from without. Not till the rapidly advancing tide drove him back did Southesk desist; then drenched, breathless and bruised he retreated to the lesser opening, with a faint hope of escape that way. Leaning over the Cauldron, he saw that the cliff sunk sheer down, and well he knew that a leap there would be fatal. As far up as he could see, the face of the cliff offered foothold for nothing but a bird. He shouted till the cave rang, but no answer came, though Ariel's song began again, for the same wind that brought her voice to him bore his away from her. There was no hope unless Stern relented, and being human, he might have, had he seen the dumb despair that seized his rival as he lay waiting for death, while far above him the woman whom he loved unconsciously chanted a song he taught her, little dreaming it would be his dirge.

Left alone, Helen entered the lighthouse, and looked about her with renewed interest. The room was empty, but through a half-open door she saw a man sitting at a table covered with papers. He seemed to have been writing, but the pen had dropped from his hand, and leaning back in his deep chair he appeared to be asleep. His face was turned from her; yet when she advanced, he did not hear her, and when she spoke, he neither stirred nor answered. Something in the att.i.tude and silence of the unknown man alarmed her; involuntarily she stepped forward and laid her hand on his. It was icy cold, and the face she saw had no life in it. Tranquil and reposeful, as if death had brought neither pain nor fear, he lay there with his dead hand on the paper, which some irresistible impulse had prompted him to write. Helen's eye fell on it, and despite the shock of this discovery, a single name made her seize the letter and devour its contents, though she trembled at the act and the solemn witness of it.

"To Philip Southesk: "Feeling that my end is very near, and haunted by a presentiment that it will be sudden-perhaps solitary-I am prompted to write what I hope to say to you if time is given me to reach you. Thirty years ago your father was my dearest friend, but we loved the same beautiful woman and he won her, unfairly I believed and in the pa.s.sionate disappointment of the moment I swore undying hatred to him and his. We parted and never met again, for the next tidings I received were of his death. I left the country and was an alien for years; thus I heard no rumor of your birth and never dreamed that you were Richard Marston's son till I learned it through Ariel. Her mother, like yours, died at her birth. I reared her with jealous care, for she was my all, and I loved her with the intensity of a lonely heart, you came; I found that you could make her happy. I knew that my life was drawing to a close; I trusted you and I gave her up. Then I learned your name, and at the cost of breaking my child's heart I kept my sinful oath. For a year you have followed me with unwearied patience; for a year Ariel's fading youth has pleaded silently, and for a year I have been struggling to harden myself against both. But love has conquered hate, and standing in the shadow of death I see the sin and folly of the past. I repent and retract my oath, I absolve Ariel from the promise I exacted, I freely give her to the man she loves, and may G.o.d deal with him as he deals with her.RALPH MARCH, June"

There the pen had fallen, blotting the date; but Helen saw only the last two lines and her hand closed tighter on the paper as if she felt that it would be impossible to give it up. Forgetting everything but that she held her rival's fate in her grasp, she yielded to the terrible temptation, and thrusting the paper into her bosom glided away like a guilty creature to find Southesk and prevent him from discovering that the girl lived, if it was not too late. He was nowhere to be seen, and crossing the rude bridge that spanned the chasm she ventured to call him as she pa.s.sed round the base of the tall rock named the Gull's Perch. A soft voice answered her, and turning a sharp angle she came upon a woman who sat alone looking down into the Kelpie's Cauldron that foamed far below. She had half risen with a startled look at the sound of a familiar name, and as Helen paused to recover herself, Ariel asked half imploringly, half imperiously- "Why do you call Philip? Tell me, is he here?"

But for the paper in her breast Helen would have answered no, and trusted all to chance; now, feeling sure that the girl would keep her promise more faithfully than her father had kept his oath, unless he absolved her from it, she answered: "Yes, but I implore you to shun him. He thinks you dead; he has learned to love me, and is happy. Do not destroy my hope, and rob me of my hard-won prize, for you cannot reward him unless you break the solemn promise you have given."

Ariel covered up her face, as if confessing the hard truth, but love clamored to be heard, and, stretching her hands to Helen, she cried: "I will not come between you; I will keep my word; but let me see him once, and I will ask no more. Where is he? I can steal a look at him unseen; then you may take him away for ever, if it must be so."

Trying to silence the upbraidings of her conscience, and thinking only of her purpose, Helen could not refuse this pa.s.sionate prayer, and, pointing toward the chasm, she said anxiously: "He went to the place you made so dear to him, but I do not see him now, nor does he answer when I call. Can he have fallen down that precipice?"

Ariel did not answer, for she was at the chasm's brink, looking into its gloom with eyes that no darkness could deceive. No one was there, and no sound answered the soft call that broke from her lips, but the dash of water far below. Glancing toward the basin, with a sudden recollection of the precious book left there, she saw, with wonder, that the stone where she had sat was gone, and that the cavern's mouth was closed. Stern's hat lay near her, and as her eye fell on it, a sudden horror shook her, for he had left her, meaning to return, yet had not come, and was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you seen Stern?" she asked, grasping Helen's arm, with a face of pale dismay.

"I saw him climbing the ladder, as if he was going to bind up his hands, which were bleeding. He looked wet and wild, and, as he did not see me, I did not speak. Why do you ask?"