In the Roar of the Sea Part 53

"That was in the late spring, and now it is the early winter, besides, now you are a married lady--and was not the digging out and restoring of the church your father's strong desire?"

"Yes--but he would never have had a ball for such a purpose."

"The money must be raised somehow. So I promised for you. You could not well refuse--he was impatient to be off to Wadebridge and secure the a.s.sembly rooms."

"But--Captain Coppinger--"

"Captain Coppinger?"

Judith colored. "I beg your pardon--I forgot. And now--I do not recollect what I was going to say. It matters nothing. If you wish me to go I will go. If you wish me to wear diamond b.u.t.terflies I will wear them."

"I thank you." He held out his hands to her.

She drew back slightly and folded her palms as though praying. "I will do much to please you, but do not press me too greatly. I am strange in this house, strange in my new situation; give me time to breathe and look round and recover my confidence. Besides, we are only half-married so far."

"How so?"

"I have not signed the register."

"No, but that shall be done to-morrow."

"Yes, to-morrow--but that gives me breathing time. You will be patient and forbearing with me." She put forward her hands folded and he put his outside them and pressed them. The flicker of the fire lent a little color to her cheeks and surrounded her head with an aureole of spun gold.

"Judith, I will do anything you ask. I love you with all my soul, past speaking. I am your slave. But do not hold me too long in chains, do not tread me too ruthlessly under foot."

"Give me time," she pleaded.

"I will give you a little time," he answered.

Then she withdrew her hands from between his and sped up stairs, leaving him looking into the fire with troubled face.

When she returned to her room the candles were still burning, and the diamonds lay on the dressing-table where she had left them. She took the brooch and earrings to return them to their box, and then noticed for the first time that they were wrapped in paper, not in cotton-wool. She tapped at her aunt's door, and entering asked if she had any cotton-wool that she could spare her.

"No, I have not. What do you want it for?"

"For the jewelry. It cannot have come from a shop, as it was wrapped in paper only."

"It will take no hurt. Wrap it in paper again."

"I had rather not, auntie. Besides, I have some cotton-wool in my workbox."

"Then use it."

"But my workbox has not been brought here. It is at Mr. Menaida's."

"You can fetch it to-morrow."

"But I am lost without my needles and thread. Besides, I do not like to leave my workbox about. I will go for it. The walk will do me good."

"Nonsense, it is falling dark."

"I will get Uncle Zachie to walk back with me. I must have my workbox.

Besides, the fresh air will do me good, and the fog has lifted."

"As you will, then."

So Judith put on her cloak and drew a hood over her head and went back to Polzeath. She knew the way perfectly, there was no danger, night had not closed in. It would be a pleasure to her to see the old bird-stuffer's face again, and she wanted to find Jamie. She had not seen him nor heard his voice, and she supposed he must be at Polzeath.

On her arrival at the double cottage, the old fellow was delighted to see her, and to see that she had recovered from the distress and faintness of the morning sufficiently to be able to walk back to his house from her new home. Her first question was after Jamie. Uncle Zachie told her that Jamie had breakfasted at his table, but he had gone away in the afternoon and he had seen no more of him. The fire was lighted, and Uncle Zachie insisted on Judith sitting by it with him and talking over the events of the day, and on telling him that she was content with her position, reconciled to the change of her state.

She sat longer with him than she had intended, listening to his disconnected chatter, and then nothing would suffice him but she must sit at the piano and play through his favorite pieces.

"Remember, Judith, it is the last time I shall have you here to give me this pleasure."

She could not refuse him his request, especially as he was to walk back to Pentyre with her. Thus time pa.s.sed, and it was with alarm and self-reproach that she started up on hearing the clock strike the half-past, and learned that it was half-past nine, and not half-past eight, as she supposed.

As she now insisted on departing, Mr. Menaida put on his hat.

"Shall we take a light?" he asked, and then said: "No, we had better not. On such a night as this a moving light is dangerous."

"How can it be dangerous?" asked Judith.

"Not to us, my dear child, but to ships at sea. A stationary light might serve as a warning, but a moving light misleads. The captain of a vessel, if he has lost his bearings, as is like enough in the fog, as soon as the mist rises, would see a light gliding along and think it was that of a vessel at sea, and so make in the direction of the light in the belief that there was open water, and so run directly on his destruction."

"Oh, no, no, Uncle, we will not take a light."

Mr. Menaida and Judith went out together, she with her workbox under her arm, he with his stick, and her hand resting on his arm. The night was dark, very dark, but the way led for the most part over down, and there was just sufficient light in the sky for the road to be distinguishable. It would be in the lane, between the walls and where overhung by thorns, that the darkness would be most profound. The wind was blowing strongly and the sound of the breakers came on it now, for the cloud had lifted off land and sea, though still hanging low. Very dense overhead it could not be, or no light would have pierced the vaporous canopy.

Uncle Zachie and Judith walked on talking together, and she felt cheered by his presence, when all at once she stopped, pressed his arm, and said:

"Oh, do look, uncle! What is that light?"

In the direction of the cliffs a light was distinctly visible, now rising, now falling, observing an unevenly undulating motion.

"Oh, uncle? It is too dreadful. Some foolish person is on the downs going home with a lantern, and it may lead to a dreadful error, and a wreck."

"I hope to heaven it is only what you say."

"What do you mean?"

"That it is not done wilfully."

"Wilfully!"

"Yes, with the purpose to mislead. Look. The movement of the light is exactly that of a ship on a rolling sea."

"Uncle, let us go there at once and stop it."