Commodore Junk Part 69

"Where are you, I say?" was repeated imperiously. "Are you ashamed to speak?"

"No! What do you want?"

The buccaneer started in surprise, and faced round.

"Are you there? Coward! Traitor! This explains all. This is the meaning of the haughty contempt--the miserable coldness. And for a woman like that--the mistress of the vilest slave among the men.

Humphrey Armstrong--you, the brave officer, to stoop to this! Shame upon you! Shame!"

"Woman, are you mad!"

"Yes! Mad!" cried the buccaneer, fiercely. "I scorn myself for my weak, pitiful fancy for so despicable a creature as you. So this is the brave captain, holding nightly meetings with a woman like that!"

"As I would with anyone who could help me to escape from this vile bondage," said Humphrey.

"Vile! Who has made it vile?"

"You," said Humphrey, sternly; "and as if I were not degraded low enough by your base pa.s.sion and declaration, you come here in the night to insult me by such an insinuation as that."

There was utter silence for a few moments, and then a quick step forward; and before Humphrey Armstrong could realise the fact, Mary Dell had cast herself down, thrown her arms around him, and laid her cheek against his feet.

"Trample on me and crush me, or kill me," she moaned. "I _am_, mad. I did not think it. Humphrey, have pity on me. You do not knew."

He trembled as she spoke, and clenched his fists tightly; but making an effort over himself, he said coldly--

"You have imprisoned the woman's lover, and she says he is to die. She came there, as she has come many times before, to plan escape with me and the man I persuaded to be the partner of my flight. For this he is to die."

"It is the men's will," groaned the prostrate woman.

"She has been praying to me to save her lover. I felt I could not ask you; but I do ask. Spare the poor fellow's life, and set him free."

"Do you wish it?"

"Yes."

"He shall be set free. You see, I can be merciful, while you alone are stern and cold. How long am I to suffer this?"

"How long will you keep me here a prisoner?"

"How long will you keep yourself a prisoner, you should say. It is for you to be master here; for me to be your slave. How can I humble myself--degrade myself--more?"

Humphrey drew his breath in an angry, impatient hiss.

"For Heaven's sake, rise!" he cried. "You lower yourself. You humble me. Come: let us talk sensibly. I do not want to be hard upon you. I will not say bitter things. Give me your hand."

He took the hand nearest to him as he bent down, and raised the prostrate woman.

"Be seated," he said, gravely. "Let me talk to you as I would to some one who can listen in an unprejudiced spirit."

There was no reply.

"In your character of the captain of these buccaneers you asked me, an English officer, to be your friend and companion--to share with you this command. Is that all?"

Still no reply.

"Let us tear away the veil," he continued; "for surely I am no egotist when I say to you that from the beginning it was more than this."

"No; I did not know then. I thought that you might be my friend; that I should keep up this disguise until the end," was faltered piteously.

"Impossible!" cried Humphrey, sternly. "Let me be plain with you. Let me tell you that I have sat here alone thinking, reading your character, pitying you for all that is past."

"Pity!" came in a deep, low voice.

"Yes," he said, gently, "pity. Let me try, too, and be grateful. For you spared my life at first; you saved it afterwards."

"Go on. You torture me."

"I must torture you, for I have words to speak that must be uttered."

He paused for a few moments; and then went on, speaking now quickly and agitatedly, as if the words he uttered gave him pain at the same time that they inflicted it upon another.

"When I was chosen to command this expedition, against one who had made the name of Commodore Junk a terror all round the gulf and amid the isles, I knew not what my fate might be. There were disease and death to combat, and I might never return."

He paused again. Then more hurriedly--

"There was one to whom--"

"Stop!" came in a quick, angry voice. "I know what you would say; but you do not love another. It is not true."

Humphrey Armstrong paused again, and then in a low, husky voice--

"I bade farewell to one whom I hoped on my return to make my wife. It pains me to say these words, but you force them from me."

"Have I not degraded myself enough? Have I not suffered till I am nearly mad that you tell me this?" came in piteous tones.

"Was I to blame!"

"You? No. It was our fate. What a triumph was mine, to find that I, the master who had lived so long with my secret known but to poor Bart, was now beaten, humbled--to find that day by day I was less powerful of will--that my men were beginning to lose confidence in me, and were ready to listen to the plots and plans of one whom I had spared, for him to become a more deadly enemy day by day. Humphrey Armstrong, have you no return to offer me for all I have suffered--all I have lost? Tell me this is false. You do not--you cannot--love this woman."

He was silent.

"Is she so beautiful? Is she so true? Will she give you wealth and power? Would she lay down her life for you? Would she degrade herself for you as I have done, and kneel before you, saying, 'Have pity on me-- I love you'?"

"Hush, woman!" cried Humphrey, hoa.r.s.ely; "and for pity's sake--the pity of which you speak--let us part and meet no more. I cannot, I will not listen to your words. Give me my liberty, and let me go."

"To denounce me and mine?"

"Am I such a coward, such a wretch, that I should do this?" he cried, pa.s.sionately.

"Then stay. Listen: I will give you love such as woman never gave man before. I loved your cousin as a weak, foolish girl loves the first man who whispers compliments and sings her praises. It is to her all new and strange, the realisation of something of which she had dreamed. But as the veil fell from my eyes, and I saw how cowardly and base he was, that love withered away, and I thought that love was dead. But when you came my heart leaped, and I trembled and wondered. I shrank from you, telling myself that it was a momentary fancy; and I lied, for it was the first strong love of a lonely woman, thirsting for the sympathy of one who could love her in return."