Marmaduke Part 18

"Marrion, Marrion, my dear," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "ye're bringing wae into yure life! Oh, dinna draw away frae me, I'm not come to tell ye I love you; _that's_ sure! You know that, Marrion, if you know anything.

But listen! You cou'dna marry me. That's sure, too; d'ye think I can't feel that, too, Marrion? Right through to the very cauld core o' my heart, an' it's cauld, Marrion--it's deathly cauld!" He paused, and the girl in his pa.s.sionate hold shivered.

"It makes me cauld, too, Andry," she half-sobbed, "deathly cauld.

You're meybe worth more than he is, but--but I canna help myself."

Andrew's voice grew firmer.

"An' I canna help it either, my dear. But if ye canna marry me, why sou'd you not marry him?"

She shook her head. "I willna tie him down," she interrupted hoa.r.s.ely.

"I willna do him harm!"

"It's no harm!" he urged. "See you, la.s.sie; would ye rather hae a Lord Drummuir wi' a wife like yersel', or a Lord Drummuir like to the auld man at the Castle now? I'm no sayin', mind you, that he wad be just as his father, but--well, I hae lived wi' the major these eight years, and I ken fine he needs a guide--why, my dear, since ye cam here, he's away to his bed like a lad to sleep like a child; an' there's a play-actin' woman at the theaytre in Glasgi' that had laid hands on him and thocht she'd got him; but he's just escapit the snare like a bird from a fowler. Sae ye might do good, not harm." There was a pause.

"Ye mean well, Andry," she said softly, "but--but he hasn't really asked me to--to marry him."

Andrew turned aside wearily.

"Has he no?" he replied. "Weel, that may be your fault, la.s.sie; ye can keep a man at arm's length wi' a smilin' face, as I know tae my cost."

A sudden realisation of the man's self-sacrificing devotion came to her.

"An' ye've come to tell me this," she almost whispered, "to tell me to your cost! Oh, Andry, Andry, yere love is greater than mine!"

A sort of half sob came from the darkness.

"G.o.d bless ye for that, Marrion--G.o.d bless ye for that, my dear!"

The scalding tears were in her eyes as she raised them from her hiding hands to look for him; but he had gone. The shadows were empty.

The morning rose still and serene save for the puffing of the westerly wind that ruffled the blue sea with tiny white-crested waves. The Ayrshire coast stretching south lay green and yellow with ripe corn in little bays and promontories--far away like a faint cloud the cliffs of Ailsa Craig showed almost translucent.

An ideal day indeed for a sail!

Marrion, her mind still disturbed by her landlady's half-threatening remonstrances and by Andrew's pathetic appeal to the same conventional outlook, turned with relief to the prospect of her afternoon's holiday; probably the last one she would have, since she had made up her mind to leave for work next day.

It was a good deal past one when Marmaduke, in rather an evil temper, ran the pleasure-boat into the little pier where she was ready waiting. He looked less buoyant than usual and apologised for being late. All the fishing fleet were out, he said, and he had waited in vain to get a man.

"Not that that matters!" he added, recovering himself, as he helped her in. "You are as good as a man any day, Marmie."

And yet, when, after a three hours' sail before the wind, they reached the Craig, and, mooring the boat, climbed to the westering cliffs beneath which the waves set a frill of white lace, he fairly startled her by saying suddenly:

"Marmie, I've made up my mind; I am going to marry you. I've thought over everything from start to finish, and I'm certain it is the best thing for both of us. Now, my dear girl, let me have my say for once; you shall have yours by-and-by. I'm not going to talk of what you did for me with my father. I'm not sure yet, you see, whether I am vexed or grateful. A man doesn't like to be exactly--well--herded; but you did it; and that intolerable vixen Penelope--but I won't talk about her either. Then there's the hair business," he eyed her ruefully, though in truth, now that the ends began to curl, the shearing was no such dis-sight, "that also was my fault; and now"--he paused, and a red flush of anger rose to his brow--"the goody-goodies in Ayr apparently won't let you alone, and one of the youngsters this morning tried to cut a joke; but I won't talk of that either. The long and short of it is, Marmie, that you and I have got to get married.

And"--his voice changed to almost affection--"you know, dear, what you stand for with me--for everything that I know to be really worth having--everything that--well--I ought to be and am not. For it's the old story, Marmie, I'm Tristram Shandy and you are the Shorter Catechism, so--so come and help me, won't you?"

With his voice in her ears she sat for a moment looking out westwards.

A low bank of cloud had obscured the horizon, the sun just thinking of sinking behind it shone with unearthly brilliance over the sea, over him, over herself. Then she disengaged her hand from his gently, and, rising, stood on the extreme verge of the cliff, looking down into the dazzling, shifting green of the waves. Would it, after all, be so great a plunge downwards? She had often imagined the choice coming to her. Suddenly she spoke:

"There is no need for--for Tristram Shandy to be--to be bound up with the Shorter Catechism, is there? The two could help each other without the binding, couldn't they? And then"--her voice had the break of half-tears, half-laughter in it--"you see Tristram Shandy would be free--free to marry." She had been so intent on her own words, her eyes looking out far beyond that dark horizon that she had not realised he had risen to stand beside her; but now his arm about her waist, his face bent caressingly to hers, quite overset her self-control, she turned with a sob and buried her face on his breast.

"Oh, Duke, Duke!" she cried. "I mustn't, I daren't harm you!"

He held her to him and kissed her again and again.

"You won't harm me," he said exultantly. "Of course I shan't be able to noise our marriage abroad just now, so you will have plenty of time to prepare for your future position."

All the glamour, all the glitter seemed gone from the world; she drew herself away from him and smiled at him tenderly, feeling glad that he had failed apparently to realise the magnitude of her offer.

"You must give me time to think, Duke," she said.

He looked a little offended.

"Oh, take it, by all means; only if you won't marry me we must give up being friends, for I'm not such a cad as to let a girl like you lose her character over me--but I expect I shall go to the devil, all the same."

They were very silent when they set sail once more. They had intended to tack along the coast to a village where Andrew had been told to await them with the tilbury; but after one or two attempts to make way against a momentarily increasing wind, Marmaduke, with a rapid glance at that arc of black cloud which had by now overcast the zenith, remarked briefly:--

"We are in for it, I fear, and had better run for Girvan. Wait till I am ready, Marmie, then take her round sharp."

Even as he spoke the gust of a coming squall struck them, the boat heeled over, and but for skill both at tiller and sheet, might have overset.

"It's a mercy you can steer," he said, a minute or two later, as by a deft giving way the boat over-rode a following seventh wave; "but if you keep your head there's no harm done."

So they flew before the rapidly rising gale, which, as it rose, shifted from north-west to nor'-nor'-by-west and threatened to drive them down the coast.

"We shall have to tack to make Girvan," he said sharply, "and it's best to do it before the full fury of the storm touches us. It looks ugly out there."

Marmie nodded.

"I'll take my time from you," she replied, "but don't hurry; we shall get into a slacker bit in a minute or two."

"Now!" came his voice.

The helm went round with all her young strength, but the boat hung for a second, a following wave took her broadside on, there was a crash, and Marmaduke was overboard. For one dreadful second Marrion's heart stood still; the next she realised he had still the sheet-rope in his hand, and, bringing the boat up sideways to him, he had his hand on the gunwale and was clambering in.

"That was a narrow shave," he said, with a brilliant smile. "Now, Marmie, as the yard has gone, there's nothing for it but let the sail fill as it can or can't. It will steady us, anyhow. So I'll tie the sheet and take the tiller. You'd better sit at my feet--see, here's my coat--rubbish, put it on, I tell you! I don't think we shall make Girvan, but I--I think I can run her ash.o.r.e further down. If not----"

He stooped and kissed her.

That was all; but whether the next hour was a nightmare or a heavenly dream Marrion Paul in after years never could decide. The great waves rushing past the little boat, the half-dismasted sail bellying out over the uplifted bows, scarce seen in the gathering darkness, their figures in the stern, close--ah! so close together, she resting against his knees, with upturned face on his, one arm round his waist, the other, round his feet sheltering him as best she could with the coat he had insisted on her taking. And he? He seemed to her as the archangel Michael might have seemed, as he sat courageous, alert, bending down once or twice, after a stiffer struggle, to touch her hair with his lips, and almost laugh his confidence.

"Getting along nicely, Marmie. We may have to swim for it--but it has got to be done!"

At last there came a roar ahead of breakers on a beach.

"It's sand, I think, so off with your boots and everything else you can!" he called above the roar. "No, don't--ah, thank you, now I can kick them off! Be ready, child, and hold on to me. We sink or swim together!"

So she stood beside him for a minute or two, her skirts thrown aside, her bare arms ready for a forward drive. Then came a faint grating, a shock as the boat, heeled round by his strong arm, struck broadside on on the sand and pitched them forward nearer the land into the breakers. There was a terrific back draw, and Marrion felt as if her arms would be torn out of the sockets; but Marmaduke's grip upon her was as iron; then he was on his feet, then, with a cry--

"Run--run for all you're worth!" He half-dragged her beyond the whole awful onslaught of the sea. Another wild struggle, another forward run, and they were safe on the sandy sh.o.r.e, with low moorland around them. Then for the first time he began, manlike, to fuss over discomfort.