Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 35

"Damaris!" says I, falling on my knees beside her, and the word was a groan. And in that moment she raised her head and looked at me, and in her eyes methought to read wonder and a sudden, great joy:

"Martin!" she whispered, "O thank G.o.d!" And so hid her face again.

Now, being yet on my knees, I looked from her to the blue heaven and round about me like one that wakes upon a new world.

CHAPTER XXV

HOW I WAS HAUNTED OF BLACK BARTLEMY

"Are you hurt?" says I, at last.

"Indeed," she answered, "all over. Yet am I alive and there's the wonder. The wave cast me into the lagoon and I crept ash.o.r.e here.

Then methought you surely dead and I alone within these solitudes and so I swooned, Martin."

"Being afraid of the loneliness?"

"Yes, Martin."

"Even fellow as rough as I is better than loneliness?"

"Yes, Martin."

"Though your arms be bruised by my handling! For this I--I would crave your pardon--"

"'Tis all forgot!" says she, making shift to cover up her arm. "But your hand is bleeding--"

"A scratch!"

"Have you no other hurts?"

"A bruise or so."

"And did you come a-seeking me, Martin?"

"Yes."

"Are you glad to find me alive?"

"Yes."

"Even a Brandon is better than n.o.body, Martin?" But at this I arose, albeit stiffly, and turned away. "Whither would you go?" she questioned.

"To seek some shelter ere night catch us."

"Shall I not come with you?"

"Can you walk?"

Hereupon she made to rise, but getting to her knees, flinched and bit her lip:

"I'm so bruised, Martin!" says she.

"Why then, bide you here, yonder cleft i' the rock should serve for to-night. Howbeit I'll go look." So I limped across the beach to where showed a great fissure in the cliff hard beside a lofty tree; being come within this cleft I found it narrow suddenly, and at the end a small cave very dry and excellent suited to our purpose. Moreover, close at hand was a little rill that bubbled among mossy rocks, mighty pleasant to be heard. And hereabouts grew all manner of vines, sweet-smelling shrubs and fern; of these I gathered goodly quant.i.ty and strowing them within the cave therewith made a very pa.s.sable bed; which done, I went back where she lay a-drying her wet garments in the warm sun as well as she might.

"Martin," says she, mighty doleful, "I have lost my comb and all my hairpins."

"I will fashion you others."

"Aye, but the boat, Martin, our dear, brave boat!"

"To-morrow I will seek what remains of her."

"And our stores--all lost, Martin!"

"I can find more."

"Where?"

"Among the rocks and on the trees. There should be no lack of fruit and fish according to Adam."

"Nay but," sighed she, shaking woeful head, "even though we contrive to live thus, yet here must we 'bide far from our kind with small hopes of relief and dest.i.tute of all things to our comfort."

"Why look now," says I, "here in my pocket is a tinder box, the which is a very comfortable thing, here in my belt a good, stout, knife, which is another comfortable thing, and yonder is a cave, dry and airy, shall make you a goodly chamber; so take comfort to-night, at least."

And drawing my knife I betook me to whetting the blade on the sole of my damp shoe. Glancing up at last I found my companion regarding me with strange expression.

"Methinks you are greatly changed!" says she.

"How changed?"

"In the boat you did nought but cry out and rail 'gainst fortune, but now, Martin--"

"Now," says I, "the sun is low and night cometh apace in these lat.i.tudes, let me know you sheltered ere it be dark!" and sheathing my knife I rose. Then seeing what effort she made to come to her knees, I reached her my hand aiding her up to her feet. So she takes a step and, stifling a cry of pain, would have fallen but for my arm.

"O Martin," says she, with rueful shake of the head, "I fear I cannot walk."

"Lean on me--"

"'Tis vain," says she, catching her breath, "I cannot set this foot to ground."

"Have you any bones broke?"

"Nay, 'tis none so bad as that--"

"Where's your hurt?"

"My knee--my ankle! And I'm direly bruised, Martin."