Doctor Claudius, A True Story Part 32

"And I thank you for the kind thought of help. It is very good of you."

He turned towards her, and leaned upon his hand as he sat. Still the fog rolled up, and the lifeless sea seemed overshed with an unctuous calm.

They were almost in the dark on their strip of beach, and the moisture was already clinging in great, thick drops to their clothes, and to the rocks where they sat. Still Claudius looked at Margaret, and Margaret looked at the narrow band of oily water still uncovered by the mist.

"When are you going?" she asked slowly, as if hating to meet the answer.

"To-night," said Claudius, still looking earnestly at her. The light was gone from her eyes, and the flush had long sunk away to the heart whence it had come.

"To-night?" she repeated, a little vaguely.

"Yes," he said, and waited; then after a moment, "Shall you mind when I am gone?" He leaned towards her, earnestly looking into her face.

"Yes," said Margaret, "I shall be sorry." Her voice was kind, and very gentle. Still she did not look at him. Claudius held out his right hand, palm upward, to meet hers.

"Shall you mind much?" he asked earnestly, with intent eyes. She met his hand and took it.

"Yes, I shall be very sorry." Claudius slipped from the rock where he was sitting, and fell upon one knee before her, kissing the hand she gave as though it had been the holy cross. He looked up, his face near hers, and at last he met her eyes, burning with a startled light under the black brows, contrasting with the white of her forehead, and face, and throat. He looked one moment.

"Shall you really mind very much?" he asked a third time, in a strange, lost voice. There was no answer, only the wet fog all around, and those two beautiful faces ashy pale in the mist, and very near together. One instant so--and then--ah, G.o.d! they have cast the die at last, for he has wound his mighty arms about her, and is pa.s.sionately kissing the marble of her cheek.

"My beloved, my beloved, I love you--with, all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my strength"--but she speaks no word, only her arms pa.s.s his and hang about his neck, and her dark head lies on his breast; and could you but see her eyes, you would see also the fair pearls that the little G.o.d has formed deep down in the ocean of love--the lashes thereof are wet with sudden weeping. And all around them the deep, deaf fog, thick and m.u.f.fled as darkness, and yet not dark.

"Ugh!" muttered the evil genius of the sea, "I hate lovers; an' they drown not, they shall have a wet wooing." And he came and touched them all over with the clamminess of his deathly hand, and breathed upon them the thick, cold breath of his damp old soul. But he could do nothing against such love as that, and the lovers burned him and laughed him to scorn.

She was very silent as she kissed him and laid her head on his breast.

And he could only repeat what was nearest, the credo of his love, and while his arms were about her they were strong, but when he tried to take them away, they were as tremulous as the veriest aspen.

The great tidal wave comes rolling in, once in every lifetime that deserves to be called a lifetime, and sweeps away every one of our landmarks, and changes all our coast-line. But though the waters do not subside, yet the crest of them falls rippling away into smoothness after the first mad rush, else should we all be but shipwrecked mariners in the sea of love. And so, after a time, Margaret drew away from Claudius gently, finding his hands with hers as she moved, and holding them.

"Come," said she, "let us go." They were her first words, and Claudius thought the deep voice had never sounded so musical before. But the words, the word "go," sounded like a knell on his heart. He had forgotten that he must sail on the morrow. He had forgotten that it was so soon over.

They went away, out of the drizzling fog and the mist, and the evil sea-breath, up to the cliff walk and so by the wet lanes homewards, two loving, sorrowing hearts, not realising what had come to them, nor knowing what should come hereafter, but only big with love fresh spoken, and hot with tears half shed.

"Beloved," said Claudius as they stood together for the last time in the desolation of the great, dreary, hotel drawing-room--for Claudius was going--"beloved, will you promise me something?"

Margaret looked down as she stood with her clasped hands on his arm.

"What is it I should promise you--Claudius?" she asked, half hesitating.

Claudius laid his hand tenderly--tenderly, as giants only can be tender, on the thick black hair, as hardly daring, yet loving, to let it linger there.

"Will you promise that if you doubt me when I am gone, you will ask of the Duke the 'other reason' of my going?"

"I shall not doubt you," answered Margaret, looking proudly up.

"G.o.d bless you, my beloved!"--and so he went to sea again.

CHAPTER XVI.

When Mr. Barker, who had followed the party to Newport, called on the Countess the following morning, she was not visible, so he was fain to content himself with scribbling a very pressing invitation to drive in the afternoon, which he sent up with some flowers, not waiting for an answer. The fact was that Margaret had sent for the Duke at an early hour--for her--and was talking with him on matters of importance at the time Barker called. Otherwise she would very likely not have refused to see the latter.

"I want you to explain to me what they are trying to do to make Dr.

Claudius give up his property," said Margaret, who looked pale and beautiful in a morning garment of nondescript shape and of white silken material. The Duke was sitting by the window, watching a couple of men preparing to get into a trim dogcart. To tell the truth, the dogcart and the horse were the objects of interest. His Grace was not aware that the young men were no less personages than young Mr. Hannibal Q. Sniggins and young Mr. Orlando Van Sueindell, both of New York, sons of the "great roads." Either of these young gentlemen could have bought out his Grace; either of them would have joyfully licked his boots; and either of them would have protested, within the sacred precincts of their gorgeous club in New York, that he was a conceited a.s.s of an Englishman.

But his Grace did not know this, or he would certainly have regarded them with more interest. He was profoundly indifferent to the character of the people with whom he had to do, whether they were catalogued in the "book of sn.o.bs" or not. It is generally people who are themselves sn.o.bs who call their intimates by that offensive epithet, attributing to them the sin they fall into themselves. The Duke distinguished between gentlemen and cads, when it was a question of dining at the same table, but in matters of business he believed the distinction of no importance.

He came to America for business purposes, and he took Americans as he found them. He thought they were very good men of business, and when it came to a.s.sociating with them on any other footing, he thought some of them were gentlemen and some were not--pretty much as it is everywhere else. So he watched the young men getting into their dogcart, and he thought the whole turn-out looked "very fit."

"Really," he began, in answer to the Countess's question, "--upon my word, I don't know much about it. At least, I suppose not."

"Oh, I thought you did," said Margaret, taking up a book and a paper-cutter. "I thought it must be something rather serious, or he would not have been obliged to go abroad to get papers about it."

"Well, you know, after all, he--aw--" the Duke reddened--"he--well yes, exactly so."

"Yes?" said Margaret interrogatively, expecting something more.

"Exactly," said the Duke, still red, but determined not to say anything.

He had not promised Claudius not to say he could have vouched for him, had the Doctor stayed; but he feared that in telling Margaret this, he might be risking the betrayal of Claudius's actual destination. It would not do, however.

"I really do not understand just what you said," said Margaret, looking at him.

"Ah! well, no. I daresay I did not express myself very clearly. What was your question, Countess?"

"I asked who it was who was making so much trouble for the Doctor;" said Margaret calmly.

"Oh, I was sure I could not have understood you. It's the executors and lawyer people, who are not satisfied about his ident.i.ty. It's all right, though."

"Of course. But could no one here save him the trouble of going all the way back to Germany?"

The Duke grew desperate. He was in a corner where he must either tell a lie of some sort or let the cat out of the bag. The Duke was a cynical and worldly man enough, perhaps, as the times go, but he did not tell lies. He plunged.

"My dear Countess," he said, facing towards her and stroking his whiskers, "I really know something about Dr. Claudius, and I will tell you all I am at liberty to tell; please do not ask me anything else.

Claudius is really gone to obtain papers from Heidelberg as well as for another purpose which I cannot divulge. The papers might have been dispensed with, for I could have sworn to him."

"Then the other object is the important one," said the Countess pensively. The Duke was silent. "I am greatly obliged to you," Margaret continued, "for what you have told me."

"I will tell you what I can do," said the Englishman after a pause, during which an unusual expression in his face seemed to betoken thought. "I am going to the West for a couple of months to look after things, and of course accidents may happen. Claudius may have difficulty in getting what he wants, and I am the only man here who knows all about him. He satisfied me of his ident.i.ty. I will, if you like, sign a statement vouching for him, and leave it in your hands in case of need.

It is all I can do."

"In my hands?" exclaimed Margaret, drawing herself up a little. "And why in _my_ hands, Duke?" The Duke got very red indeed this time, and hesitated. He had put his foot into it through sheer goodness of heart and a desire to help everybody.

"Aw--a--the--the fact is, Countess," he got out at last, "the fact is, you know, Claudius has not many friends here, and I thought you were one of them. My only desire is--a--to serve him."

Margaret had quickly grasped the advantage to Claudius, if such a voucher as the Duke offered were kept in pickle as a rod for his enemies.

"You are right," said she, "I am a good friend of Dr. Claudius, and I will keep the paper in case of need."

The Duke recovered his equanimity.