Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 52

A rolling, wooded country of broad savannahs, of stately groves and mazy boskages, of dim woods and flashing streams; a blended harmony of greens be-splashed, here and there, with blossoming thickets or flowering trees, the whole shut in by towering, tree-girt cliffs and bounded by a limitless ocean, blue as any sapphire.

Viewing the island from this eminence I could see that Adam's map was true in all essentials as to shape and general trend of the country, and sitting beside my lady I fell to viewing the island more narrowly, especially this eminent place; and looking about me I called to mind how Adam (according to his story) had waged desperate fight with Tressady hereabouts--indeed I thought to recognise the very spot itself, viz., a narrow ledge of rock with, far below, a sea that ran deeply blue to break in foam against the base of these precipitous cliffs. Away over hill and dale I saw that greeny cliff with its silver thread of falling water that marked our refuge, and beyond this again, on my right hand, the white spume of the breakers on the reef.

And beholding the beauties thus spread out before my eyes, and knowing myself undisputed lord of it all, there grew within me a sense of joy unknown hitherto.

At last, moved by a sudden thought, I turned from the beauties of this our island to study the beauty of her who sat beside me; the proud carriage of her shapely head 'neath its silky ma.s.ses of hair, the level brows, the calm, deep serenity of her blue eyes, the delicate nose, full red lips and dimpled chin, the soft round column of her throat, deep bosom and slender waist--thus sat I staring upon her loveliness heedless of all else until she stirred uneasily, as if conscious of my regard, and looked at me. Then I saw that her eyes were serene no longer, whiles all at once throat and cheeks and brow were suffused with slow and painful colour, yet even as I gazed on her she met my look unflinching.

"What is it, Martin?" she questioned, a little breathless still.

"Suppose," says I slowly, "suppose we are never taken hence--suppose we are destined to end our days here?"

"Surely this is--an ill thought, Martin?"

"Indeed and is it, my lady? Can the world offer a home more fair?"

"Surely not, Martin."

"Then wherein lieth the ill--Damaris? Is it that you do yearn so mightily for England?"

"There lieth my home, Martin!"

"Is home then so dear to you?" Here, finding no answer, she grew troubled. "Or is it," says I, bending my staff across my knee and beginning to frown, "or is it that there waits some man yonder that you love?"

"No, Martin, have I not told you--"

"Why then," says I, "is it that you grow a-weary of my unlovely ways and would be quit of me?"

"No, Martin--only--only--" Here she fell silent and I saw her flush again.

"Or is it that you fear I might grow to love you--in time?"

"To--love me!" says she, very softly, and now I saw her red lips dimple to a smile as she stooped to cull a flower blooming hard by. "Nay!"

says she lightly, "Here were a wonder beyond thought, Martin!"

"And wherefore should this be so great wonder?" I demanded.

"Because I am Joan Brandon and you are a man vowed and sworn to vengeance, Martin."

"Vengeance?" says I and, with the word, the staff snapped in my hands.

"Is it not so, Martin?" she questioned, wistfully. "Given freedom from this island would you not go seeking your enemy's life? Dream you not of vengeance still?"

"Aye, true," says I, "true! How should it be otherwise? Come, let us begone!" And casting away my broken staff, I got to my feet. But she, sitting there, lifted her head to view me with look mighty strange.

"Poor Martin!" says she softly. "Poor Martin!"

Then she arose, albeit slow and wearily, and we went down the hill together. Now as we went thus, I in black humour (and never a word) I espied one of those great birds I have mentioned within easy range, and whipping off my bow I strung it, and setting arrow on cord let fly and brought down my quarry (as luck would have it) and running forward had very soon despatched it.

"Why must you kill the poor thing, Martin?"

"For supper."

"Supper waiteth us at home."

"Home?" says I.

"The cave, Martin."

"We shall not reach there this night. 'Twill be dark in another hour and there is no moon, so needs must we bide here."

"As you will, Martin."

Hard beside the river that wound a devious course through the green was a little grove, and sitting here I fell to plucking the bird.

"Shall I not do that, Martin?"

"I can do it well enough."

"As you wish, Martin."

"You are weary, doubtless."

"Why, 'tis no great labour to cook supper, Martin."

"Howbeit, I'll try my hand to-night."

"Very well," says she and away she goes to collect sticks for the fire whiles I sat feathering the bird and found the flesh of it very white and delicate. But all the while my anger swelled within me for the folly I had uttered to her, in a moment of impulse, concerning love.

Thus as she knelt to build the fire I spoke my thought.

"I said a vain and foolish thing to you a while since."

"Aye, Martin you did!" says she, bending over her pile of sticks. "But which do you mean?"

"I mean that folly regarding love."

"O, was that folly, Martin?" she questioned, busy laying the sticks in place.

"Arrant folly, for I could never love you--or any woman--"

"O, why not, Martin?"

"Because I have no gift for't--no leaning that way--nor ever shall--"

"Why indeed, you are no ordinary man, Martin. Shall I light the fire?"

"No, I will."

"Yes, Martin!" And down she sits with folded hands, watching me mighty solemn and demure and I very conscious of her scrutiny. Having plucked and drawn my bird, I fell to tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it with my knife, yet all the time feeling her gaze upon me, so that what with this and my anger I p.r.i.c.ked my thumb and cursed beneath my breath, whereupon she arose and left me.

Having thus prepared my bird for cooking I set it upon two sticks and, lighting the fire, sat down to watch it. But scarce had I done so when back comes my lady.