The Unknown Sea Part 20

'Let be that wine and speak out.'

'Drink you, Christian.'

He refused. Philip fetched breath for a plunge.

'Bear me out, Christian, when I say that one there is who can do what none other living can--and will.'

Christian waited with a face of stone.

'Who can carry us safe through the reefs. Christian--this--you promised--you must undertake this.

'Look you, we may never be driven to it; a far ship could not easily make us out against this broken background.

'Christian, not another soul knows or shall know. Sir, you can tell him that the League had not even a guess. I stood out for that.

'You asked nothing. Had you but cared to ask, I would have told you earlier. You may have guessed; you cannot deny you are able. Sir, he is; and when I asked his services, he promised--without reserve he promised.

'Christian, you never have failed of your word; all your life that has been your pride, and so have I relied on it--a man's life relies on it.'

Christian kept an averted face, and stared down into the water.

'You can--I know you can!'

'I can.'

'And you will--to your promise I trusted.'

'I promised, and I will.'

Philip grasped his hand in cordial grat.i.tude; Christian suffered it, but his face was sullen. The Adventurer saw sweat standing on the brow of each, so that he wondered at what were behind.

Philip turned with a brightened eye.

'Now, sir, you may see that our chances are not so desperate, since, from storm or chase, we can put to safe haven beyond the reefs, to wait or dodge; or at worst, to get ash.o.r.e and take to the hills--a put back, but to you a good exchange for four walls. Only I have a thing to ask of you, sir, come good or ill: that you will never breathe to a soul of this way of escape.'

The Adventurer eyed him with something of distrust still, while he fingered his beard thoughtfully and smiled, half sneering.

'I understand--you would preserve a monopoly, and continue a good trade.

But it looks to me that you have done some cheating by your mate, that might make him decline partnership and seek his own market.'

'By heavens! you are over ready with your imputations!' said Philip, angry. 'The Alien there is welcome to make what profit he can for me.

Never with my goodwill shall I be here again. For why I undertook it, I had my own good reasons, which concern you not at all. But I will tell you that I know not of another man who would dare partnership with the Alien--ay, ask him, and he will not deny it; or who would put body and soul in jeopardy in this place.'

The Adventurer turned to Christian, smiling, courting friendly intelligence.

'You, it appears, have put body and soul in jeopardy, and know the place; and body and soul are none the worse.'

Without any answer, Christian looked at him, and colour ebbed from his face. Philip touched for warning, and with lifted finger indicated the want, half guessed already by that fixed, blank gaze.

'Answer only at your pleasure, but for my soul's salvation I do desire to know what threats it here.'

For the moment Philip did not suspect derision. Discreetly he told of the fatal tradition, that the settled conviction of generations had brought men fatally to uphold and abet. So much of reason he had discovered for himself, and he desired that Christian should hear.

The work was taken out of his hands by a skilled master. The reverend superst.i.tion was subjected to all the disintegrating forces that human scepticism can range; and with cold reason, logic, and a.n.a.logy, went such charm of courteous tolerance, and wit, and wise and simple exposition, as tempered the mordant touch of lurking ridicule. He was but for pastime, trying his practised touch upon two young fools. Half scared, half fascinated and admiring, Philip responded; Christian stayed sullen and silent.

CHAPTER XIII

At its nearest lay the Isle Sinister under noon. The Adventurer sighed for the land as, cold and uneasy, he couched for needful sleep. Philip lay stretched beside him, Christian, according to his own preference, taking the first watch. Out of new bravado, Philip pa.s.sed on to Christian a muttered question: Could he now carry them in and land them on the very Isle?

Like a bolt came Christian's answer: 'Drowned and d.a.m.ned both shall you be before I will.'

Philip rose up, startled by the answer and the unexpected intimacy it acknowledged. But the voice had been of level quiet, and the Alien's face showed no anger. The Adventurer watched with a sardonic smile; and Philip, forcing a show of unconcern that he did not feel, muttered a word of madness and dropped back. For a while resurgent terrors thwarted sleep; but the quiet breathing of his neighbour, the quiet outlook of the Alien, told on his shaken nerves, and slumber overtook him. Christian stayed waking alone.

Ah! the relief. He stood up to take free, deep breath, and stretched his great limbs. Long, intently, with shaded eyes, he stared towards the Isle Sinister. Ah! nothing, and well nothing. Could she trust that he meditated no trespa.s.s? that he would allow none? Could she deem that he offered no insane resentment against her severity? A sea-gull flapped close past his head, but was mute.

He turned and looked down on the sleepers, and his face, illegible for many a day, showed bitter resentment and scorn. Shamefully had he been beguiled, trapped, bound by a promise; and wanton goading had not lacked, all but intolerable. Fools! their lives were in his hand; and he was awake. Awake, as for months he had not been; his pulses were leaping to full heart-beats, there was stir in his brain; and therewith, dislike and contempt exciting, the keen human pa.s.sion of hate lay torpid no longer; it moved, it threatened to run riot.

Who dare claim loyal service from him? Philip! One boat had been familiar with these reefs: somewhere in the past murder rested unavenged. Philip!

In the deep water that the boat shadowed a darkness slid, catching his eye. He peered, but it was gone. Before, and not once only, had an impression seized him, by deliberate sight not verified, that a sinister attendance lurked below. Now unconstrained he could watch.

Great dread possessed him. Storm and chase were light perils, not to be compared with her displeasure, her mere displeasure, irrespective of how she might exert it. With heavy grief had he borne late estrangement, and her severe chastis.e.m.e.nt of offence. Were his limbs but for his own service, lightly, so soon as they were able, had he risked them again to worship his love and seek grace. Alas! she could not know that loyal, and strong, and tender his devotion held; she would but see an insolent and base return, meriting final condemnation. Helpless rages of grief urged him to break from all bonds, and plunge headlong to engage her wrath or her mercy. He cast on the sleepers then a thought, with ugly mirth, mocking the control of his old enemy in his heart.

How would she take the forfeit! With her rocks and waves she had broken him once, and the surrender of all his bones to them in despair he had firmly contemplated; but human flesh and spirit shrank from horrors unknown, that she might summon for vengeance. Could he but see what lurked below.

Spite of the ripe mutiny in him he minded his watch, and swept the horizon momently with due attention. The day altered as the slow hours dragged: a thin film travelled up the clear sky; the sun took a faint double halo, while the sea darkened to a heavy purple. He knew the signs: small chance was there now of a stormless night. Not two hours of full daylight were left when below the sun rose a sail. His hopes and fears took little hold on it, for as yet it was but a speck; and he knew that before it could close darkness would be upon them, and belike storm also.

With a desperate remedy before his eyes a devil's word was in his ears: the League makes good all loss. Foul play? Nay, but had not the League by Philip played him foul first, with injury not to be made good. And those for whose sake he had owed regard for his wretched life would be bettered by his loss.

When Philip rose up from sleep a blackness stood upon the distant sea, threatening the sun; the chill wind had dropped, but a heavy, sullen swell insisted of a far-off tyranny advancing. To him no sail showed, but Christian flung him word of it, and his sinking heart caught at high hope.

Then, since their vigil was soon to pa.s.s, Philip dared greatly; for he bade Christian sleep, set hand himself to sail and tiller, glided in past the buoys, and rocked at trespa.s.s.

'It is safer so, should the haze part,' he said, but his voice shook.

The Alien said never a word; each looked the other hard in the eyes, paling.

'The League makes good all loss,' said Philip, low. 'And if so be that only some forgery of a loss can cover a fair claim, you may count on my--what you will--as you please.'

Christian refused hearing. Flung down for unattainable sleep he lay stretched, covering his head to inspect by the light of darkness his wrongs, and Philip's treason, that left to him nothing but a choice of transgression.

The blackness stood higher and crept on. The sun was captured, shorn, disgraced, and sent bald on his way; a narrow streak of red bleeding upon the waters died slowly; all else was slate-black. Above the gloom of the cliffs the sky showed blanched, clear and pale. Ghostly white the sea-birds rose and fell. The tide was rising, deepening the note of the surf; between the warders white columns leapt up with great gasps.

It was Rhoda's name that Philip whispered over, to strengthen his heart at the perilous outlook. The make of his love had a certain pride in overbearing such weak scruples as a tough conscience permitted. Half he feared that the Alien's poor wits had yet not recognised the only path left open by a skilful provision; for there he lay motionless, with the slow breath of untroubled sleep. He would not fear him; with Rhoda's name, with hope on the unseen sail, he fortified his heart.