Dead Man's Rock Part 25

"I also am going to Streatley. Please let me row you: I will not speak if you wish it."

Over her face, now so beautifully agitated, swept the rarest of blushes. "Oh no, it is not that, but I can manage quite well"--her manner gave the lie to her brave words--"and I shall not mind the wet."

"If I have not offended you, let me row."

"No, no."

"Then I have offended."

"Please do not think so."

"I shall if you will not let me row."

Before my persistency she wavered and was conquered. "But my boat?"

she said.

"I will tow it behind"--and in the glad success of my hopes I allowed her no time for further parley, but ran off for my own boat, tied the two together, and gently helped her to her seat. Was ever moment so sweet? Did ever little palm rest in more eager hand than hers in mine during that one heavenly moment? Did ever heart beat so tumultuously as mine, as I pushed the boat from under the boughs and began to row?

Somehow, as we floated up the still river, a hush fell upon us.

She was idly trailing her hand in the stream and watching the ripple as it broke and sparkled through her fingers. Her long lashes drooped down upon her cheek and veiled her eyes, whilst I sat drinking in her beauty and afraid by a word to break the spell.

Presently she glanced up, met my burning eyes, and looked down abashed.

"Forgive me, I could not help it."

She tried to meet the meaning of that sentence with a steady look, but broke down, and as the warm blood surged across her face, bent her eyes to the water again. For myself, I knew of nothing to say in extenuation of my speech. My lips would have cried her mercy, but no words came. I fell to rowing harder, and the silence that fell upon us was unbroken. The sun sank and suddenly the earth grew cold and grey, the piping of the birds died wholly out, the water-flags shivered and whispered before the footsteps of night. Slowly, very slowly the twilight hung its curtains around us. Swiftly, too swiftly the quiet village drew near, but my thoughts were neither of the village nor the night. As I sat and pulled silently upwards, life was entirely changing for me. Old thoughts, old pa.s.sions, old aims and musings slipped from me and swept off my soul as the darkening river swept down into further night.

"Streatley! So soon! We are in time, then."

Humbly my heart thanked her for those words, "So soon." I gave her my hand to help her ash.o.r.e, and, as I did so, said--

"You will forgive me?"

"For getting wet in my service? What is there to forgive?"

Oh, cruelly kind! The moon was up now and threw its full radiance on her face as she turned to go. My eyes were speaking imploringly, but she persisted in ignoring their appeal.

"You often come here?"

"Oh, no! Sunday is my holiday; I am not so idle always. But mother loves to come here on Sundays. Ah, how I have neglected her to-day!"

There was a world of self-reproach in her speech, and again she would have withdrawn her hand and gone.

"One moment," said I, hoa.r.s.ely. "Will you--can you--tell me your name?"

There was a demure smile on her face as the moon kissed it, and--

"They call me Claire," she said.

"Claire," I murmured, half to myself.

"And yours?" she asked.

"Jasper--Jasper Trenoweth."

"Then good-bye, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth. Goodbye, and once more I thank you."

She was gone; and standing stupid and alone I watched her graceful figure fade into the shadow and take with it the light and joy of my life.

"Jasper," said Tom, as I lounged into our wretched garret, "have you ever known what it is to suffer from the responsibility of wealth?

I do not mean a few paltry sovereigns; but do you know what it is to live with, say, three thousand four hundred and sixty-five pounds thirteen and sixpence on your conscience?"

"No," I said; "I cannot say that I have. But why that extraordinary sum?"

"Because that is the sum which has been hanging all day around me as a mill-stone. Because that is the exact amount which at present makes me fear to look my fellow-man in the face."

I simply stared.

"Jasper, you are singularly dense, or much success has turned your brain. Say, Jasper, that success has not turned your brain."

"Not that I know of," I replied.

"Very well, then," said Tom, stepping to the bed and pulling back the counterpane with much mystery. "Oblige me by counting this sum, first the notes, then the gold, and finally the silver. Or, if that is too much trouble, reflect that on this modest couch recline bank-notes for three thousand one hundred and twenty pounds, gold sovereigns to the number of three hundred and forty-two, whence by an easy subtraction sum we obtain a remainder of silver, in value three pounds thirteen and sixpence."

"But, Tom, surely we never won all that?"

"We did though, and may for the rest of our days settle down as comparatively honest medical students. So that I propose we have supper, and drink--for I have provided drink--to the Luck of the Golden Clasp."

Stunned with the events of the last twenty-four hours, I sat down to table, but could scarcely touch my food. Tom's tongue went ceaselessly, now apologising for the fare, now entertaining imaginary guests, and always addressing me as a man of great wealth and property.

"Jasper," he remarked at length, "either you are ill, or you must have been eating to excess all day."

"Neither."

"Do I gather that you wish to leave the table, and pursue your mortal foe up and down Oxford Street?"

I shook my head.

"What! no revenge to-night? No thirst for blood?"

"Tom," I replied, solemnly, "neither to-night nor any other night.

My revenge is dead."

"Dear me! when did it take place? It must have been very sudden."

"It died to-day."

"Jasper," said Tom, laying his hand on my shoulder, "either wealth has turned your brain, or most remarkably given you sanity."