Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 62

"O foolish Martin!" she sighed. "How little you have seen, how little guessed--how little you know the real me! For I am a woman, Martin, as you are a man and joy in it. All these months I have watched you growing back to your n.o.bler self, I have seen you strive with yourself for my sake and gloried in your victories, though ... sometimes I have ... tempted you ... just a little, Martin. Nay, wait, dear Martin.

Oft-times at night I have known you steal forth, and hearkened to your step going to and fro out in the dark, and getting to my knees have thanked G.o.d for you, Martin."

"'Twas not all in vain, then!" says I, hoa.r.s.ely, bethinking me of the agony of those sleepless nights.

"Vain?" she cried, "Vain? 'Tis for this I do honour you--"

"Honour--me?" says I, wincing.

"Above all men, Martin. 'Tis for this I--"

"Wait!" says I, fronting her all shamefaced. "I do love you so greatly I would not have you dream me better than I am! So now must I tell you this ... I stole to you once ... at midnight ... you were asleep, the moonlight all about you and looked like an angel of G.o.d."

And now it was my turn to stare up at the moon whiles I waited miserably enough for her answer.

"And when you went away, Martin," says she at last, "when I heard you striding to and fro, out here beneath G.o.d's stars, I knew that yours was the greatest, n.o.blest love in all the world."

"You--saw me?"

"Yes, Martin!"

"Yet your eyes were fast shut."

"Yes, but not--not all the time. And, O Martin, dear, dear Martin, I saw your great, strong arms reach out to take me--but they didn't, they didn't because true love is ever greatly merciful! And your triumph was mine also, Martin! And so it is I love you--worship you, and needs must all my days."

And now we were on our feet, her hands in mine, eyes staring into eyes and never award to speak.

"Is it true?" says I at last, "G.o.d, Damaris--is it true?"

"Seems it so wonderful, dear Martin? Why, this love of mine reacheth back through the years to Sir Martin, my little knight-errant, and hath grown with the years till now it filleth me and the universe about me.

Have you forgot 'twas your picture hung opposite my bed at home, your sword I kept bright because it had been yours? And often, Martin, here on our dear island I have wept sometimes for love of you because it pained me so! Nay, wait, beloved, first let me speak, though I do yearn for your kisses! But this night is the greatest ever was or mayhap ever shall be, and we, alone here in the wild, do lie beyond all human laws soever save those of our great love--and, O Martin, you--you do love me?"

Now when I would have answered I could not, so I sank to my knees and stooping ere she knew, clasped and kissed the pretty feet of her.

"No, Martin--beloved, ah no!" cries she as it were pain to her, and kneeling before me, set her soft arms about my neck. "Martin," says she, "as we kneel thus in this wilderness alone with G.o.d, here and now, before your lips touch mine, before your dear strong hands take me to have and hold forever, so great and trusting is my love I ask of you no pledge but this: Swear now in G.o.d's sight to renounce and put away all thought of vengeance now and for ever, swear this, Martin!"

Now I, all bemused by words so unexpected, all dazzled as it were by the pleading, pa.s.sionate beauty of her, closed my eyes that I might think:

"Give me until to-morrow--" I groaned.

"'Twill be too late! Choose now, Martin."

"Let me think--"

"'Tis no time for thought! Choose, Martin! This hour shall never come again, so, Martin--speak now or--"

The words died on her lip, her eyes opened in sudden dreadful amaze, and thus we remained, kneeling rigid in one another's arms, for, away across Deliverance, deep and full and clear a voice was singing:

"There are two at the fore, At the main are three more, Dead men that swing all in a row; Here's fine dainty meat For the fishes to eat: Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!"

CHAPTER XLII

CONCERNING THE SONG OF A DEAD MAN

Long after the singing was died away I (like one dazed) could think of nought but this accursed song, these words the which had haunted my sick-bed and methought no more than the outcome of my own fevered imagination; thus my mind running on this and very full of troubled perplexity, I suffered my lady to bring me within our refuge, but with my ears on the stretch as expectant to hear again that strange, deep voice sing these words I had heard chanted by a dead man in my dreams.

Being come within our third cave (or kitchen) my lady shows me a small cord that dangled in certain shadowy corner, and pulling on this cord, down falls a rope-ladder and hangs suspended; and I knew this for Adam's "ladder of cords" whereby he had been wont to mount into his fourth (and secret) cavern, as mentioned in his chronicle.

"Here lieth safety, Martin," says my lady, "for as Master Penfeather writes in his journal 'one resolute man lying upon the hidden ledge'

(up yonder) 'may withstand a whole army so long as his shot last.' And you are very resolute and so am I!"

"True!" says I, "True!" Yet, even as I spake, stood all tense and rigid, straining my ears to catch again the words of this hateful song.

But now my dear lady catches my hand and, peering up at me in the dimness, presently draws me into the outer cave where the moon made a glory.

"O Martin!" says she, looking up at me with troubled eyes, "Dear Martin, what is it?"

"Aye--what?" quoth I, wiping sweat from me. "G.o.d knoweth. But you heard? That song? The words--"

"I heard a man singing, Martin. But what of it--we are safe here!

Ah--why are you so strange?"

"Damaris," says I, joying in the comfort of her soft, strong arms about me, "dear love of mine, here is thing beyond my understanding, for these were words I dreamed sung to me by a dead man--the man Humphrey--out beyond the reef--"

"Nay, but dear Martin, this was a real voice. 'Tis some shipwrecked mariner belike, some castaway--"

"Aye--but did you--mark these words, Damaris?"

"Nay--O my dear, how should I--at such a moment!"

"They were all--of Black Bartlemy! And what should this mean, think you?"

"Nay, dear love, never heed!" says she, clasping me the closer.

"Aye, but I must, Damaris, for--in a while this singing shall come again mayhap and--if it doth--I know what 'twill be!"

"O Martin--Martin, what do you mean?"

"I mean 'twill be about the poor Spanish lady," says I, and catching up my belt where it hung, I buckled it about me.

"Ah--what would you do, Martin?"

"I'm for Deliverance."

"Then will I come also."

"No!" says I, catching her in fierce arms, "No! You are mine henceforth and more precious than life to me. So must you bide here--I charge you by our love. For look now, 'tis in my mind Tressady and his pirates are upon us at last, those same rogues that dogged the 'Faithful Friend' over seas. Howbeit I must find out who or what is it is that sings this hateful--" I stopped, all at once, for the voice was come again, nearer, louder than before, and singing the very words I had been hearkening for and dreading to hear: