Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 55

"Yes--no! Nay, how should I know?" quoth I.

"Yet should love befall you upon a day, 'twould be love unworthy any good woman, Martin!"

"Why then," says I, "G.o.d keep me from the folly of love."

"Pray rather that Love, of its infinite wisdom, teach you the folly of hate, Martin!"

"'Tis a truth," says I bitterly, "a truth that hath become part of me!

It hath been my companion in solitude, my comfort in my shameful misery, my hope, my very life or I had died else! And now--now you bid me forget it--as 'twere some mere whimsy, some idle fancy--this thought that hath made me strong to endure such shames and tribulations as few have been forced to suffer!"

"Aye, I do, I do!" she cried. "For your own sake, Martin, and for mine."

"No!" quoth I, "A thousand times! This thought hath been life to me, and only with life may I forego it!"

At this, the busy fingers faltered in their pretty labour, and, bowing her head upon her hand, she sat, her face hid from me, until I, not doubting that she wept, grew uneasy and questioned her at last.

"Nay, my lady--since this must be so--wherefore grieve?"

"Grieve?" says she lifting her head, and I saw her eyes all radiant and her red lips up-curving in a smile. "Nay, Martin, I do marvel how eloquent you grow upon your wrongs, indeed 'tis as though you feared you might forget them. Thus do you spur up slothful memory, which giveth me sure hope that one day 'twill sleep to wake no more."

And now, or ever I might find answer, she rose and giving me "Good-night" was gone, singing, to her bed; and I full of bewilderment.

But suddenly as I sat thus, staring into the dying fire, she was back again.

"What now?" I questioned.

"Our goat, Martin! I may not sleep until I know her safe--come let us go look!" and speaking, she reached me her hand. So I arose, and thus with her soft, warm fingers in mine we went amid the shadows where I had tethered the goat to a tree hard beside the murmurous rill and found the animal lying secure and placidly enough, the kid beside her.

The which sight seemed to please my lady mightily.

"But 'tis shame the poor mother should go tied always thus. Could you not make a picket fence, Martin? And she should have some refuge against the storms," to the which I agreed. Thus as we went back we fell to making plans, one project begetting another, and we very blithe about it.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

HOW MY DEAR LADY WAS LOST TO ME

And now followed a season of much hard work, each day bringing its varied tasks and we right joyous in our labour, so that ofttimes I would hear her singing away in her sweet voice merry as any grig, or find myself whistling l.u.s.tily to the tap of my hammer. And now indeed my saw (and all rusty though it was) served me faithfully and well, and my carpentry went forward apace. During this time also we added four goats and six kids to our flock, so that we had good store of milk, and having with my lady's help made our net with strands of cord knotted crosswise, we caught therewith great plenty of fish.

Remembering my adventure with the Indian I furnished myself with a good stout pike and a couple of javelins; moreover I set up divers marks, like rovers, and every day I would shoot at these with my bow, so that I soon became so dexterous I could bring down a bird on the wing six times out of seven, though in teaching myself this proficiency I lost four of my Indian arrows beyond recovery.

Thus sped the time all too quickly, but with each day came a greater understanding and a deeper amity betwixt my lady and me.

Now much and very much might I set down here concerning this my sweet comrade, her many n.o.ble qualities, and how, as our fellowship lengthened, I (that was a man selfish beyond thought) finding her unselfish always and uncomplaining, seeing her so brave in the face of adversity, and indomitable to overcome all difficulty, yet ever and always a woman gracious and tender, I, by my very reverence for her sweet womanhood, became in some sense a better man.

I might tell how, when my black moods took me, the mere sight of her, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, nay her very nearness was enough to dispel them.

I might paint to your imagination the way her hair curled at her temples, the trick she had of biting her nether lip when at all put out, of the jut of her pretty chin when angered. Then the sweet, vibrant softness of her voice, her laughter, the wonder of her changing moods--all these I would dilate upon if I might, since 'tis joy to me, but lest I prove wearisome I will hasten on to the finding of Black Bartlemy's Treasure, of all that led up to it and all those evils that followed after it. And this bringeth me to a time whenas we sat, she and I, eating our breakfast and the world all radiant with a young sun.

"To-night," says she, "if my calculations be right, should be a new moon. And I am glad, for I do love the moon."

"Aye, but how should you judge this?" says I, wondering.

"Because I have kept a record, Martin. A stroke for each day and a cross for every Sunday."

"Excellent!" quoth I. "Then you will know how long we have lived here?"

"Two months and five days, Martin."

"So long a time?" says I amazed.

"Hath it seemed so very long?" she questioned.

"No indeed!" says I. "No, and there's the marvel!"

"'Tis no marvel, Martin, you have been too full of business to heed time. Let us reckon up what we have achieved thus far. First of all a three-legged stool for me--"

"Hairpins!" says I.

"A spoon, Martin, and shoes for me--"

"Lamps and candles!" quoth I.

"A table, Martin--"

"A fishing line and two hooks."

"Two armchairs, Martin, a cupboard and a press."

"A churn!" says I.

"You are forgetting our five pipkins, Martin."

"True," says I, "and clumsy things they are!"

"But very useful, sir! Next a fishing-net, and a bed for me. Here is fine achievement, Martin! Are you not proud to have wrought so much and with so little?"

"But there is much yet to do!" quoth I.

"So much the better!" says she. "Thus far I am well content."

"And happy?" I demanded.

"Aye, Martin--are you?"

Now at this I fell to profound reverie and she also, and this the subject of my musings, viz.,

In every man and woman born into this world (as it doth seem to me) G.o.d putteth some of His infinite self whereby all things are possible in degree greater or smaller; for to the G.o.d within us all things are possible, 'tis our very humanity that limits our potentialities.

Confidence in this power within us is a mighty aid to all endeavour whereby we, our coward flesh notwithstanding, may attempt great things, and though, being human, we ofttimes fail, yet this very effort strengthens and enn.o.bles us.