Opening a Chestnut Burr Part 59

"How can a man eat when there are hungry women aboard? It would choke me."

Instead of scolding him, she again buried her face in her pillow, and burst into tears.

He was a little perplexed, but said, gently, "Come, my dear little sister, I hope you are not worrying about me. I a.s.sure you there is no cause. I never felt better, and the worst that can happen is a famine in England when I reach. It grieves me to the heart to see you so pale and weak. The captain says I have a bad conscience, but it's only anxiety for you that makes me so restless."

"Do you stay upon deck all night this bitter weather?"

"Well, I want to be ready if anything should happen."

"O Walter, Walter! how I have wronged you!"

"No, beg your pardon, you have righted me. What was I when I first knew you, Annie Walton? There is some chance of my being a man now. But come, let me cheer you up. I have good news for you. If I had lost every dollar on that ship I should still be rich, for your little Bible (I shall always call it yours) remained safe in my overcoat pocket, and you brought it aboard. Now let me read you something that will comfort you. I find a place where it is written, 'Begin here.' Can you account for that?"

And he read that chapter, so old but inexhaustible, beginning, "Let not your heart be troubled."

Having finished it, he said, "I will leave my treasure with you, as you may wish to read some yourself. In regard to the subject of the 'scolding,' which, by the way, I have not yet received, if Miss Morton here can tell me that you are eating more, I will. Good-by."

Annie's appet.i.te improved from that hour. She seized upon the old Bible and turned its stained leaves with the tenderest interest. As she did so, her harsh note to Gregory, written when Hunting complained that he had been insulted, dropped out. How doubly harsh and unjust her words seemed now! Then she read his words, "Forgiven, my dear, deceived sister." She kissed them pa.s.sionately, then tore the note to fragments.

Miss Eulie watched her curiously, then stole away with another smile.

She liked the spell that was acting now, but knew Annie too well to say much. Miss Eulie was one of those rare women who could let a good work of this kind go on without meddling.

Annie did not read the Bible, but only laid it against her cheek. Then Hunting came back looking very discontented, for he had managed to catch glimpses of her interview with Gregory.

"Shall I read to you from that book?" he said.

She shook her head.

"You seemed to enjoy having Mr. Gregory read it to you," he said, meaningly.

Color came into her pale face, but she only said, "He did not stay long. I'm ill and tired."

"It's rather hard, Annie," he continued, with a deeply injured air, "to see another more welcome at your side than I am."

"What do you mean?" she asked, in a sudden pa.s.sion. "How much time has Mr. Gregory been with me since he saved both our lives? You heard my father say that I should be a sister to him; and yet I believe that you would like me to become a stranger. Have you forgotten that but for him you would have been at the bottom of the Atlantic? There, there, leave me now, I'm weak and ill--leave me till we both can get into better moods."

Pale with suppressed shame and anger, he went away, wishing in the depth of his soul that Gregory was at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Again she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed and moaned, "How can I marry that man! He makes my very flesh creep."

Then for the first time came the swift thought, "I could marry Gregory; I'm happy the moment I'm near him;" and her face burned as did the thought in her heart.

Then she turned pale with fear at herself. A sudden sense of guilt alarmed her, for she had the feeling that she belonged to Hunting. So solemn had been her engagement that the thought of loving another seemed almost like disloyalty to the marriage-tie. With a despairing sigh, she murmured, "Chained, chained."

Then strongly arose the womanly instinct of self-shielding, and the purpose to hide her secret. An hour before, Gregory could not come too often. He might have stooped down and as a brother kissed her lips, and she would not have thought it strange or unnatural. Now she dreaded to see him. And yet when would he be out of her thoughts? She hoped and half-believed that he was beginning to regard her as a sister, and still, deep in her soul, this thought had an added sting of pain.

Ah, Annie! you thought you loved before, but a master-spirit has now come who will stir depths in your nature of which neither you nor Hunting dreamed.

Hunting, seemingly, had no further cause to be jealous of Gregory during the rest of the voyage. With the whole strength of her proud, resolute nature, Annie guarded her secret. She sent kind messages to Gregory, and returned the Bible, but did not ask him to visit her again. Neither did she come on deck herself till they were entering the harbor of an English port.

When Gregory came eagerly toward her, though her face flushed deeply, she greeted him with a kind and gentle dignity, which, nevertheless, threw a chill upon his heart. All the earnest words he meant to say died upon his lips, and gave way to mere commonplaces. Drawing her heavy shawl about her, she sat down and looked back toward the sea as if regretting leaving it with all its horrors. He thought, "When have I seen such a look of patient sorrow on any human face? She saw the love I could not hide at our last interview. I did not deceive her by calling her 'sister.' Her great, generous heart is grieving because of my hopeless love, while in the most delicate manner she reminds me how vain it is. Now I know why she did not send for me again."

He walked away from the little group pale and faint, and she could not keep back the hot tears as she watched him. Miss Eulie was also observant, and saw how they misunderstood each other. But she acted as if blind, feeling that quickly coming events would right everything better than any words of hers.

Gregory went to another part of the vessel, and leaned over the railing. Annie noticed with an absorbing interest that he seemed as indifferent to the delight of the pa.s.sengers at the prospect of soon being on land, and the bustle on the wharf, as he had appeared at the commencement of the voyage. But she rightly guessed that there was tumult at his heart. There certainly was at hers. When the vessel dropped anchor and they would soon go ash.o.r.e, he turned with the resolve, "I will show her that I can bear my hard lot like a man," and again came toward them, a proud and courteous gentleman.

Annie saw and understood the change, and her heart was chilled by a sense of loneliness and isolation greater than if the stormy Atlantic had rolled between them. And yet his manner toward her was very gentle, very considerate.

He took charge of Miss Eulie, and soon they were at the best hotel in the place. The advent of the survivors caused great excitement in the city, and they were all overwhelmed with kindness and sympathy.

After a few hours Gregory returned to the hotel, dressed in quiet elegance, and he seemed to Annie the very ideal of manhood; while she, in her mourning robes, seemed to him the perfection of womankind. But their manner toward each other was very quiet, and only Miss Eulie guessed the subterranean fires that were burning in each heart.

"Are you sure that you will be perfectly comfortable here?" he asked.

"Entirely so," Annie replied. "Mr. Hunting has telegraphed to my uncle, and we will await him here. I do not feel quite strong enough to travel yet."

"Then I can leave you for a day or two with a quiet mind. I must go to Liverpool."

She turned a shade paler, but only said, "I am very sorry you must leave us so soon."

"I missed a note from your Bible," he said, in a low tone.

"Forgive me! I destroyed it," and she turned and walked to the window to hide her burning face.

Just then Hunting entered, and a few moments later Gregory bade them a quiet farewell.

"How wonderful is her constancy!" he sighed as he went away. "How can she love and cling to that man after what he has shown himself!"

He had utterly misunderstood her and believed that she had destroyed the note, not because of her own harsh words, but of his reflecting on Hunting.

Annie thought she knew what sorrow was, but confessed to herself in bitterness, after he had gone, that such had not been the case before.

If Hunting secretly exulted that Gregory was out of the way, and had been taught by Annie that he must keep his distance, as he would express it, he was also secretly uneasy at her manner toward him. She merely endured his lavish attentions, and seemed relieved when he was compelled to leave her for a time. "She will feel and act differently,"

he thought, "when she gets well and strong, and will be the same as before." Thus the hara.s.sing fears and jealousy that had tortured him at sea gave way to complacent confidence. But he was greatly provoked that he could scarcely ever see Annie without the embarra.s.sing presence of Miss Eulie.

He had a growing antipathy for that lady, while he felt sure that she did not like him. Annie was very grateful to her aunt for quietly shielding her from caresses that every hour grew more unendurable.

Gregory was detained for some time in Liverpool, and on his return to the city where he had left Annie and Miss Eulie he met Mr. Kemp, whom he had known well in New York, also seeking them. This gentleman greeted him most warmly, for he had read in the papers good accounts of Gregory's behavior. In a few moments they entered the hotel together.

Fortunately, as Gregory thought, but most unfortunately, has he learned afterward, Hunting was out at the time.

The warm color came into Annie's face as he greeted her, and she seemed so honestly and eagerly glad to see him that his sore heart was comforted.

Mr. Kemp's manner toward his niece and sister was affectionate in the extreme. Indeed, the good old man seemed quite overcome by his feelings, and Gregory was about to retire, but he said, "No, please stay, sir. Forgive my weakness, if it is such. You don't know how dear these people are to me, and when I think of all they have pa.s.sed through I can hardly control myself."

"We should not be here, uncle," said Annie, in a low, thrilling voice, "had it not been for Mr. Gregory."

Then the old gentleman came and gave Gregory's hand such a grasp that it ached for hours after. "I have been reading," he said, "warm tributes to his conduct in the papers, but I did not know that we were all under such deep personal obligations to him. Come, Annie, you must tell me all about it."