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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unknown Sea, by Clemence Housman
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Unknown Sea
+
+Author: Clemence Housman
+
+Release Date: October 5, 2010 [EBook #33945]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNKNOWN SEA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, JoAnn Greenwood and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE UNKNOWN SEA
+
+BY
+
+CLEMENCE HOUSMAN
+
+[Decoration]
+
+LONDON _DUCKWORTH and CO._ 3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C. 1898
+
+
+_All rights reserved_
+
+Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
+
+
+
+
+THE UNKNOWN SEA
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+A solitary fisher ploughed the lively blue of a southern sea. Strength of
+limb, fair hair, and clear grey eyes told of a northern race, though his
+skin had been tanned to a red-brown, dark as the tint of the slender,
+dark-eyed, olive-skinned fishers born under these warm skies. In stature
+and might a man, he was scarcely more than a boy in years; beardless yet,
+and of an open, boyish countenance. As his boat raced eagerly forward he
+laughed for pride of heart, and praised her aloud after a fashion native
+to the south: she was his beloved, his bird, his blossom, his queen; and
+for his warrant well built she was, promising strength and speed in due
+degrees, and beautiful obedience to him. Her paint was bright, her ruddy
+canvas unstained, in contrast to a pile of tackle, black from age and
+use: the nets and the weighted cross-beams of coral fishing.
+
+White wings against the sky, and white crests upon the sea, broke the
+entire blue. Far away to eastward, faint and hazy, suave lines extended;
+but a coast that the boy neared lifted gaunt and desolate cliffs,
+overlooking a waste of roaring breakers. Midmost of these, sheer and
+black as the crags beyond, a dark mass rose dominant, like a sullen
+outcast from the land holding rule, whose mere aspect fitted well the
+name, Isle Sinister, without an evil implication that went therewith. The
+young fisher's memory was stored with dark tales, born long ago to night
+and fear, cherished by generations into fine growth, not by such as he to
+be utterly scouted. The sound of buoy-bells reached his ears for warning,
+but he eyed the intricate lines of breakers, he recalled ominous reports,
+only to estimate the nerve of body and mind needful to any mortal bent
+there upon a perilous trespass.
+
+For a tale went that kept every fisher well aloof, to shun a danger worse
+than shipwreck. Little gain was it held for any once driven within the
+buoy-bells to work clear again to open sea, since sorrow and disaster
+would dog thenceforward, nor cease till due forfeit were paid: the boat
+broken up and burnt, her very ashes delivered to the sea. Woe even to the
+man who dare take any least splinter to burn on his hearth, for sickness
+and death would desolate his home. Nay, if a shifting wind but carried
+the ashes landwards, blight or murrain would follow surely. So went
+tradition, and conviction attended it well, since not within memory had
+any hardy or unfortunate supplied a living test. Now truly this boy, who
+came coasting perilously, needed to have in his veins the blood of an
+alien race, over and above youth and great strength, to be traversing a
+superstition of such dark credit, in others bred deep and strong.
+
+Years ago he had been fascinated by the terrors and mystery of the place,
+and with a human desire after the unattainable, most strong and
+unregulated in youth, he had fearfully longed for a strength to do and a
+heart to dare more than all his world: to get footing where never man had
+stood: to face black luck and its befitters with a higher faith, defying
+a supremacy of evil. Very early, out of the extravagant vagaries of a
+child's brain, an audacious word had escaped, sped by a temper aflame,
+for which he had suffered--from youngsters a day's derision, from a
+strict elder a look that was worse disgrace. He deemed that might come to
+be recalled to his credit. Now that he was grown to a strength
+unmatched, with a heart proud and eager, impatient of any mastery not of
+love and reverence, a notion pleased him that like enough these tales had
+been magnified to recover the self-esteem of balked adventurers: a
+presumption not extreme in one whose superb strength had lowered old
+records, who found that none could withstand him to his full
+satisfaction. Here in the bright sunshine of high day, the year's eager
+spring quick in every vein, young virile audacity belittling all hazards,
+the lad's heart rode so high and sure that he could laugh outright in
+answer to the expostulation of the Sinister buoys. Yet he crossed himself
+more than once.
+
+'We will do it, Beloved, you and I.'
+
+To and fro he hovered awhile to consider the lie of the reefs and select
+his way. Then the sail clapped and swelled again, and the boat heeled, as
+boldly he turned her, and steered within the buoy-bells away for the
+breakers. Again he crossed himself as now were he and his boat committed
+on a challenge to fortune.
+
+Gracious to bold and dexterous handling the boat glided into the maze.
+The disposition of the outer channels was so favourable as to have gone
+far in beguiling the boy to his rash undertaking; but there were hedges
+of wicked breakers that thwarted him and turned him aside disappointed.
+Creeping along warily with only a corner of sail, steering with fine
+sleight through the narrows, and avoiding eddies, he carried his boat
+unscathed where never another man he knew could dare to follow. But ah!
+how meagre was that satisfaction, since far, yet too far from him the
+Isle Sinister held reserve. But at least he was able to scan the rocky
+mass to advantage. It towered up with straight, repellent walls towards
+the land; it sloped down steeply where he desired to win; but there to
+balk him, minatory in aspect, stood the Warders--five detached rocks--so
+lofty that the highest columns of surf spouting there fell short of their
+crowns. The ugliest threat he recognised bided there, close against
+success.
+
+'No fault is yours, Beloved, if we cannot do it: nor hardly mine either,
+I think. Were but one other with us we might be well-nigh confident. With
+Philip at the oars! None we wanted to share with us--and yet! Ah! no. Not
+he nor any would.'
+
+He was deeply involved. At least a mile of grim discouragement stretched
+on every hand. Then he came upon the sunken hulk of an old wreck.
+Fiercer eddies and narrower channels constrained him to drop sail and
+take to the oars. A hard, dangerous, disheartening struggle set him
+nearer by a poor measure, but lost him in hope on the way.
+
+'Fools and cowards all! Pleased would they be were I foiled, they
+knowing. How they would jeer; ay, with worse, too. It might go hard with
+me. But you, Beloved, never fear that I should fail you, if they
+tried--no, they would not,--not if they care for whole bones.
+
+'To think that if we win, not for months may I praise you by the tale,
+not till we both have disproved and outlived the following of bad luck.
+Defend us from one spying us here.'
+
+The boy glanced about with anxiety, giving special scrutiny to one high
+cliff opposite. There, scarcely distinguishable from the crags, stood up
+a grey tower, the bell-tower of an ancient devout institution, the House
+Monitory. His face grew rigid under a sudden apprehension. If he were
+sighted from above, what should stay those bells from knelling for him.
+He held his breath, and listened for them to break silence on the
+instant, realising one peril which he had not before considered. 'Hark!'
+would go the word, 'why does the House Monitory ring? in daylight, in
+fair weather? Who can be in peril off the Isle Sinister?' From cliffs to
+coves the word would drop, and start the swiftest sails out to
+investigate, for his exposure to ridicule or worse.
+
+In a past century three bells had been towered there: consecrated and
+named after three Saints, to knell for souls that passed, unconfessed,
+unhouseled, in that place of wrecks; to be potent against the dominion of
+powers darker than death, too regnant there. The best, the only, succour
+was this that human fellowship could accomplish for doomed lives. Now,
+though cultured intelligence smiled at the larger superstition, the
+simple held it at its old worth; and still, to the comfort of their
+souls, a pious community kept the custom, serving the bells; and for
+their more tangible welfare tended a beacon light.
+
+A little chill ran in the boy's veins as he anticipated the outbreak of
+those ominous bells; never yet had they rung for any, far involved as he,
+who had known escape. He betook himself more desperately to his
+endeavour. Necessity pressed him hard, for the tide ran, and suddenly
+declared that retreat to the open sea was cut off: where he had sailed
+free channels rocks grinned; reason withstood a fancy that they had lain
+in ambush, and risen actually to hem him in. Twice he risked with the
+narrowest of chances, and slid safe on the heave of a wave; on the third
+challenge a treacherous, swirling eddy caught the boat, swung it aslant,
+crashed it upon a lurking rock. A plank gave way splintered, and water
+spirted within.
+
+The boy rowed desperate, straining by quick strokes and few, after
+deliverance from the narrows. Yet when he dared to lay aside the oars for
+an instant to check the leak, the boat was pitching with threats close in
+on every side. He could spare only a moment to catch up his coat, plug
+with it hastily, and drag atop the heavy cross-beams of his tackle; quick
+upon the oars again he needed to be, desperate of baling. Still the water
+oozed and trickled in, to lie up to his ankles and slowly to rise. There
+was no making out to sea; from the Isle Sinister he owned himself cut off
+by thick-set barriers; only the shore remained not absolutely
+unattainable though furthest it was.
+
+Patiently and cautiously the boy felt his way. From stroke to stroke he
+held on safely, steady, quick-eyed, but told by the gradual water
+against his shins that his boat must shortly founder. Conscience smote
+him hard; the near sure prospect of swimming for bare life among the
+breakers opened his eyes. He had held as his very own to risk at will his
+boat and his life; now, with pangs of remorse, he recognised the superior
+claim of a grey-haired couple, who had been parents to him, who bereft of
+him would go down to the grave in grief and poverty. Of life, and the
+means of living, but little right had he to dispose, considering their
+due and their need.
+
+The gunwale sank low, lower, till a lurch might displace the cross-beams,
+for they lost in weight as the water within the boat deepened. Yet point
+by point success attended, and released the foolhardy lad and his boat
+from dire extremity. They have chance of clean deliverance; they are past
+the last girdle of breakers, hardly a furlong from the shore; they are
+upon sleek water, with the tide against them but lazily.
+
+The boy rowed on with long, smooth strokes; the mere sway of his body was
+as much as the boat could carry, so little above the water was the
+gunwale. He had halved the distance, when down she went beneath him; and
+he swam, waded, stood ashore, the first man who had ever won there
+living by way of the sea.
+
+But little elate could he be. He could glean drifting oars and
+stretchers, his boat might be recovered from the out tide, but the Isle
+Sinister lay remote as ever. And his heart had fallen.
+
+Ugly necessity gave no choice but to face the breakers again in retrace
+of his perilous way; for an alternative he could not entertain that would
+entail certain evils more to be dreaded than any risk.
+
+Straying aimlessly along the desolate shore, the boy pondered, nervous
+now of many risks he had braved hardily. He stopped once at sight of a
+grey patch of calcined rock. There it must have been that, not so long
+ago, wreckage had been gathered and burned scrupulously, and with it the
+bodies of two drowned men, according to the custom of the coast.
+Instinctively he crossed himself, with a brief prayer for the souls of
+those two, cut off from life in that evil place, where no help had
+reached but the heavy knell, pitiful.
+
+Greatly desiring the silence of the bells, if he were to escape with
+life, the boy turned his eyes aloft, inclining to bespeak it. A lively
+suspicion of hunger impelled decision; and up the cliff he went, his
+abashed vigour fain of any new output. An uncertain path promised fairly
+till half way, where a recent lapse turned him aside on to untried slopes
+and ledges: a perilous ascent to any not bold and sure and practised. The
+spice of danger kindled the boy's blood; he won to the top with some loss
+of breath, but his head was high, and his heart was high, and ultimate
+failure envisaged him no longer.
+
+He stood among graves.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The lonely community had laid its bones to rest in a barren acre. No
+flower could bloom there ever, only close, dun turf grew. Below, the
+broken, unquiet sea dirged ceaselessly. The spot was in perfect keeping
+with the sovereign peace of the grave; that blank, unadorned environment
+of nature had the very beauty that can touch human sense with the concord
+of death. The young fisher stood motionless, as if his presence were
+outrage to the spirit of the silent dwellers below, so eager was he for
+life, so brim with passion and play and hearty thirst for strong years of
+sunshine and rain. 'Yet how so,' said his heart, 'for I too shall come to
+die?'
+
+Softly and soberly he took his way past the ranks of low mounds, and
+considered his approach to the House Monitory, whose living dwellers
+might be less tolerant of his trespass. For he realised that he had come
+within their outer precincts unallowed. On the one hand lay a low wall
+to indicate reserve; on the other he approached the base of the
+bell-tower itself, and the flanks of the House Monitory. He looked up at
+the walls, fully expecting to be spied and brought to rebuke; but all was
+blank and quiet as among the dead outside. The tower rose sheer into the
+air; for the rest, a tier of the cliff had been fashioned for habitation
+by the help of masonry and some shaping and hollowing of the crude rock.
+The window lights were high and rare. Except from the tower, hardly could
+a glimpse below the sky-line be offered to any within.
+
+He came upon a door, low and narrow as the entrance of a tomb. It looked
+so obdurate he never thought to knock there. Then the sound of low,
+monotonous chanting, by women's voices, poor and few, told him that he
+stood without their chapel; and he understood that the low door giving
+upon the place of graves had not been fashioned for the living. Truly he
+was alien and incongruous, although that day he had surely been many
+degrees nearer death than any dweller there.
+
+He made for the boundary wall, overleaped it, and then by legitimate
+pathways came before the entrance door. There he stood long, not finally
+determined what he had come to say. It was repugnant to him to ask of any
+mortal cover for his doings, the more when they were somewhat amiss.
+
+While he stood, casting about for decision, he was a-stare heedlessly on
+a rocky spur near by that bore the moulding of three figures. High upon
+its face they stood, where a natural suggestion had been abetted by man,
+a rough pediment shaped above, a rough base below, and the names hewn
+large: St. Mary, St. Margaret, St. Faith. Of life size they were, and
+looked towards the sea.
+
+Ashamed of his own indecision, the boy lifted his hand and knocked at the
+wicket, so to force a resolution within the limit of seconds left. The
+stone figures clapped back an echo. His heart sprang an invocation in
+response, and straightway he relinquished thought of asking an irksome
+favour of lower agents. So when the wicket opened, this was all he had to
+say: 'Of your charity give food to a hungry body.'
+
+To the pale, spare Monitress, half shrouded in the gloom, the ruddy young
+giant, glowing in the sunshine, said this: 'Of your charity give food to
+a hungry body.' She paused and looked at the boy, for his great stature,
+his fair hair, and grey eyes made him very singular.
+
+The questioning he half feared and expected did not come. The Monitress
+withdrew silently, and presently returning handed a portion of bread. She
+said, 'Not food for the body, but prayer for the soul is chiefly asked of
+our charity.'
+
+The boy's face flamed, understanding how he was rebuked. Thanks stumbled
+on his tongue, and no word to excuse could come; so the wicket closed
+upon his silence.
+
+Not so closely but that the Monitress could look again, to sigh over that
+creature of gross wants with angel-bright hair. Surprised, she saw that
+he was instantly away, and mounted high by the three stone saints. She
+saw that he touched their feet reverently, that he knelt down, crossed
+himself and prayed, in a very seemly fashion. She went away, of her
+charity in prayer for his soul.
+
+He stood there still, after his prayer was finished, and his bread, and
+looked over the sea long and earnestly; for from that high ledge he saw
+away to the Isle Sinister, encompassed with its network of reefs; the
+tide running low showed them in black lines, outspread like a map below.
+
+An audacious design he revolved, no less than to achieve the Isle
+Sinister yet. The long lines of reefs forbade his boat, but him they
+fairly invited, if strong swimming and deft footing could pass him on,
+from rock to wave, and from wave to rock, out to the far front of the
+great mass where the Warders stood.
+
+He argued with his conscience, that it was no such risk as that he was
+bound to encounter for regaining the open sea, since this attempt need
+never commit him past retreat.
+
+Sighting his boat uncovered, without delay he went down. He got it
+emptied, the leak plugged quite sufficiently for the time, the anchor set
+out against the return of the tide; then he raced, plunged, and swam for
+the Isle Sinister.
+
+The first stretch went fairly; he met the rough handling of the waves as
+a sturdy game, and opposed with an even heart. Before long he had to
+recognise grim earnest, and do battle with all his might, so hard were
+the elements against him and so cruel. The waves hustled and buffeted and
+hurled; and though he prevailed by slow degrees, the rocks connived for
+his detriment. Again and again he won to a resting-place, so battered,
+breathless, and spent, that to nourish fortitude, he needed to consider
+the steady ascent of the vast rock up from the horizon against his
+nearing. A moment of elation it was, when, looking back to compare, he
+noted that the shore cliffs were dwarfed by the nearer proportions of the
+Isle.
+
+But his stout heart made too little allowance for the strain upon loyal
+members, so that at last he bungled, fell short at a leap disastrously,
+and was swept away, hardly escaping, gashed and stunned. His memory
+afterwards could but indistinctly record how he fared thenceforward with
+rock and wave. A nightmare remained of swirling waters mad for his life,
+and of dark crags swinging down upon him; coming nearer, swinging lower;
+with a great shock they smote him. So he came to the Isle Sinister.
+
+He clung precariously, lashed by the waves into an effort after a higher
+ledge. As he drew himself up to safety, his brain was clearing and his
+breath extending, nor was it long before his faculties were in order for
+wonder, gratulation, exultation. Then he shouted aloud. Against the roar
+of the surf his voice struck out wild and weak. The ledge was so narrow,
+that while his back rested against the rock his feet dangled; he was
+nearly naked; he was bleeding; soon for return he must face peril again.
+Looking down at the waters below, leaping and snarling, and over the wild
+expanse he had passed, to the shore half a league away, counting the cost
+in wounds and bruises, still his young heart mounted above pain and
+doubt, to glory in indomitable strength. He flung back his wet head to
+laugh and shout again and again, startling sea-birds to flight and
+bringing out echoes hearty enough to his ears.
+
+Surely that rock answering so was the first Warder.
+
+Spite of weariness and unsteadiness of head, he got on his feet, and
+passed from that difficult ledge of rock round to the front, where by
+steep grades the Isle showed some slight condescension to the sea. As he
+advanced he tried for ascent, unsatisfied still.
+
+The five Warders stood in full parade; their rank hemmed him round;
+against his level the shadow of the Isle rested above their knees,
+between each and each a narrow vertical strip of sea and heaven struck
+blindingly sweet and blue. Sea-birds wheeled and clamoured, misliking
+this invasion of their precincts. To his conceit the tremendous noise of
+the breakers below sounded an unavailing protest against his escape.
+
+He came upon a sight that displaced his immediate desire to scale the
+heights above: from the base below the tide had withdrawn, and there lay
+a stretch of boulders and quiet rock pools within a fringe of magnificent
+surf. Down he sped straightway to hold footing debatable with the jealous
+sea. Close against the line of surf, at a half-way point between the
+solid wall of the Isle and the broken wall of the Warders, he looked up
+at either height north and south. Equal towards the zenith they rose,
+here based upon sombre quiet, there upon fierce white tumult, that sent
+up splendid high columns, whose spray swept over the interspace of
+tumbling sea and touched the shine of the pools with frore grey. He
+sighed towards those unattainable Warders.
+
+The air was charged with brine; its damp stayed on his skin, its salt on
+his lips. Thirsting, he went about with an eye for a water-spring, and
+made straight for a likely cleft. Darkest among the many scars of the
+rock it showed; deep it went, and wound deeper at his nearing. He entered
+the gape over boulders, and a way still there was wide before him; he
+took nine paces with gloom confronting, a tenth--aslant came a dazzling
+gleam of white. Amazed he faced to it, held stone-still an instant, sped
+on and out; he stood in full sunlight, and winked bewildered at the
+incredible open of fair sands before him.
+
+The wonder dawned into comprehension. Though far eyes were deluded by a
+perfect semblance of solidity, the half of the Isle was hollow as a
+shell. Over against him rose the remaining moiety; high walls of rock
+swept round on either side, hindered from complete enclosure by the cleft
+of his entrance. He turned and looked back through the gorge, and again
+over the sunlit open; it was hard to believe he was out of dreamland, so
+Eden-bright and perfect was this contrast to the grand sombre chasm he
+had left. White and smooth, the sands extended up to the base of the dark
+rocks. There rich drapery of weed indicated the tide-mark; strips of
+captured water gleamed; great boulders lay strewn; coves and alcoves
+deeply indented the lines of the enclosing walls. To the boy's eyes it
+looked the fairest spot of earth the sea could ever find to visit. Its
+aspect of lovely austere virginity, candid, serene, strictly girt,
+touched very finely on the fibres of sense and soul.
+
+He stepped out on firm blanch sand ribbed slightly by the reluctant ebb.
+Trails of exquisite weed, with their perfect display of every slender
+line and leaf betokened a gracious and gentle outgoing of the sea. In
+creamy pink, ivory, citron, and ranges of tender colour that evade the
+fact of a name, these delicate cullings lay strewn, and fragile shells of
+manifold beauty and design. There, among weed and shell, he spied a
+branch of coral, and habit and calling drew him to it instantly. He had
+never fetched up its like, for the colour was rare, and for its thickness
+and quality he wondered. Suddenly the coral drops from his hand; he
+utters an inarticulate cry and stands amazed. His eye has fallen on a
+mark in the sand; it is of a human footstep.
+
+Blank disappointment at this sign of forestalling struck him first, but
+startled wonder followed hard, and took due prominence as he looked
+around on his solitude encompassed by steep black heights, and heard the
+muffled thunder outside that would not be shut off by them. He stooped to
+examine the naked footprint, and was staggered by the evidence it gave;
+for this impression, firm and light, had an outward trend, a size, a
+slightness, most like a woman's. It was set seaward towards the gorge. He
+looked right and left for footprints of return--none were there! A lone
+track he saw that led hardly further, growing faint and indistinct, for
+the feet had trodden there when the wash of the ebb was recent.
+
+He turned, and following reversely at a run, came to the far wall, where
+every sign failed among pools and weedy boulders; circled with all speed,
+snatching a sight of every cove and cleft, and then sprang back through
+the gorge.
+
+The gloom and the fierce tumult of that outside ravine smote with a shock
+upon masculine wits that now had conceived of the presence of a woman
+there. Compassion cried, Poor soul! poor soul! without reservation, and
+aloud he called hearty reassurance, full-lunged, high-pitched. Though but
+a feeble addition to the great noises there, the sea-birds grew restless:
+only the sea-birds, no other living thing moved in response.
+
+He made sure of a soon discovery, but he leapt along from boulder to
+boulder, hunting into every shadow, and never a one developed a cave; but
+he called in vain. The sea limited him to a spare face of the Isle; when
+that was explicit, he was left to reckon with his senses, because they
+went so against reason.
+
+The irreconcilable void sent him back to the first tangible proof, and
+again he stood beside the footprints pondering uneasily. Had he scared a
+woman unclothed, who now in the shame and fear of sex crouched perdue?
+But no, his search outside had been too thorough, and the firm, light,
+even pace was a contradiction.
+
+Up and down he went in close search, but no other sign of human presence
+could he find, not a shred of clothing, not a fragment of food. That
+single line of naked footprints, crossing the level sands from
+inscrutable rock to obliterate sea, gave a positive indication
+circumstantially denied on every hand. The bewildered boy reckoned he
+would have been better satisfied to have lighted on some uncanny slot of
+finned heels and splay web-toes, imperfectly human; the shapely print
+excited a contrast image of delicate, stately, perfect womanhood, quite
+intolerable to intellect and emotion of manly composition.
+
+The steeps all round denied the possibility of ascent by tender feminine
+feet; for they thwarted his stout endeavour to scale up to the main rock
+above, that from the high wall receded and ascended in not extreme grades
+to the topmost pitch, where the sun was hanging well on the ponent slope.
+
+His strict investigation took him round each wide scallop of the
+enclosure, a course that was long to conclude by reason of exquisite
+distractions that beset every hollow of the way. For the clear rock pools
+he found in these reserves held splendours of the sea's living blossoms:
+glowing beds of anemones full blown, with purples of iris and orchis,
+clover red, rose red, sorrel red, hues of primrose and saffron, broad
+spread like great chrysanthemums' bosses. And above the wavy fringes,
+never quite motionless, dark wet buds hung waiting for the tide; and the
+crystal integrity mirroring these was stirred by flashes of silver-green
+light, the to-and-fro play of lovely minute rock-fish.
+
+He had circled two-thirds and more when to his vigilant perceptions a
+hint came. Some ribbons of glossy weed hanging from shoulder height
+stirred a trifle overmuch in their shelter to the touch of wind.
+Instantly the wary boy thrust a hand through and encountered, not rock,
+but a void behind; he parted the thick fall of weed, and a narrow cleft
+was uncurtained, with blackness beyond, that to his peering dissolved
+into a cool, dim sea-cave, floored with water semilucent, roofed with
+darkness. Eagerly he pressed through, and dropped knee-deep into the
+still, dark water. Involuntarily his motions were subdued; silently,
+gently, he advanced into the midst of encompassing water and rock and
+darkness.
+
+Such slight intrusion of daylight as the heavy kelp drapery allowed
+slanted into the glooms in slender, steady threads; from his wading hosts
+of wan lights broke and ran for the walls, casting up against them paler
+repeats; when he halted, faint sound from them wapped and sobbed,
+dominant items in a silence hardly discomposed by the note of far-off
+surf, so modulated by deflecting angles as to reach the ear faint and low
+as the murmur that haunts the curves of a shell.
+
+For a long minute he stood in the midst motionless, while the chill of
+the water told on his blood, and the quiet darkness on his spirit.
+Mystery stepped here with an intimate touch, absent when under the open
+sky the sands presented their enigma. His heart did not fail; only
+resolution ordered it now, not impulse.
+
+He spoke again to presumable ears. Only his own words he heard multiply
+in fading whispers through the hovering darkness. Silence came brooding
+back as he stood to hearken.
+
+As his eyes dilated to better discernment, he suspected that an aisle
+withdrew, from a faint pallor, narrowing as it tended towards his height,
+explicable if water receded there, gathering vague translucence from some
+unseen source of light. To verify, he was advancing when a considerate
+notion turned him about. He left the dim cavern, returned in the blinding
+sunshine to the footprints, knelt by the last, and set his fingers in the
+sand for inscription. For a long moment he considered, for no words
+seemed effectual to deliver his complexed mind. When he wrote it was a
+sentence of singular construction, truly indicative of how vague awe and
+dread had uprisen to take large standing beside simple humane solicitude.
+He traced three large crosses, and then three words. Simple construing
+would read thus: 'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost
+at your service.' Moderately content with that rendering, he transcribed
+it thrice on the rocks, graving with the branch of coral. At either end
+of the entrance gorge he set it, and again large and fair above the
+hidden mouth of the cave.
+
+Back into darkness he dived to take up research, and wading towards the
+tremor of light, entered a long recess that led under low arches of rock,
+till light grew more definite, and the water-way ended, closed in by a
+breastwork of rock. But, this surmounted, the boy saw water again, of
+absolute green, dark as any stone of royal malachite. The level was lower
+by several feet, perhaps the true tide-level, perhaps yet another limited
+reservoir that the sea replenished daily. He slid down the scarp and went
+on, heartened by the increase of light.
+
+The depth of the water varied, and the boy swam more often than he waded.
+The colour of the water varied; now it strengthened into a lucent green,
+now darkness threatened it, and he swam warily till it altered again,
+unaccountably. As his passing troubled the placid water, and ripples of
+colourless light, circling away from him, sent wavering lines of dim
+light rippling in response upon the sides of the passage, he caught
+vague, uncertain glimpses of dark rich colour mantling the rocks.
+
+Suddenly, when light and colour were strongest, his way was barred, a
+wall of rock closing it abruptly. Baffled and perplexed, the boy swam to
+and fro in vain quest of an outlet, till his wits leapt on a fair surmise
+that inlets for light there must be submerged. Down he dived, groped,
+found justification in the arching rock, emerald flooded, struck boldly
+through it, and rose to the surface beyond.
+
+A glory of light and colour dazzled him, momentarily repulsing his
+faculties from possession of a grand cavern, spacious, lofty, wonderful,
+worthy to be the temple of a sea-god.
+
+He found recovery, he found footing, then straightway lost himself in
+wonder, for such splendours he had never dreamed could be.
+
+Fathoms overhead the great vault hung unpropped. Sunlight shot in high up
+in rays and bars through piercings and lancet clefts, and one large rent
+that yet afforded no glimpse of the blue. The boy's eyes wavered and sank
+for solace to the liquid paving below, flawless and perfect as the jasper
+sea of heaven. There pure emerald melted and changed in subtle gradations
+to jade green and beryl green; from pale chrysoprase to dark malachite
+no stone of price could deny its name to colourings else matchless. And
+there reflection struck down a rich inlay that sard could not excel: not
+sard, agate, essonite, chalcedony, in master work of lapidaries; for the
+sombre rocks were dressed with the deep crimson of sea-moss, velvet fine.
+Amid the sober richness of weeds hung the amber of sponge-growths, blonds
+to enhance intense tertiaries. He saw that nature's structure showed
+certain gracious resemblances to human architecture: sheer rocks rose up
+from the water like the shattered plinths of columns; there were apses;
+there were aisles receding into far gloom; rayed lights overhead made a
+portion raftered, and slanting down a way hinted gothic sheaves and
+clerestory ruins. Temple and palace both it was to the eyes of the
+intruder. He could not conceive of any mortal, though noble and exalted
+among men, entering, possessing, presiding adequately in this wonderful
+sea sanctuary that nature had fashioned so gloriously, and hidden away so
+cunningly, with a covering of frowning crag, and fencing of reef and
+wave. He amended the thought to except the noblest dead. Supreme in
+dignity, excellent even here, high death crowning high life might be
+worshipped duly by such sepulture. A slab of rock like an altar tomb in
+the midst touched his perceptions to this issue.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Importunate above measure grew the question, barely displaced in the full
+flood of discovery: Was the unseen habitant familiar here? present here
+by some secret, easier ingress? He drew himself up from the water on the
+first rock, and, quiet as a watching otter, leant prone, till his
+faculties, abroad with wonder and awe, returned to level service. Not a
+sound, not a ripple came to disprove his utter solitude.
+
+He slipped back into the water to examine further; a sense of
+profanation, not to be shaken off, subdued his spirit, and constrained
+him to diffident movement through the exceeding beauty of those jewelled
+aisles. Wherever he went play of light and colour encircled him: luminous
+weavings that strayed into shadowy angles, investing and adorning with
+delicate favours. Slender isles crept away into gloom, extending into
+mystery the actual dimensions of the great cavern: these he must enter,
+every one, for his thorough satisfaction. More than once the marbling
+and stains of the rocks deluded him, so like were they to frescoes--of
+battle array in confusion under a fierce winged sunset, of sea-beasts
+crouched and huddled, prone and supine, and again of sea-beasts locked
+together in strife. He came upon the likeness of a skull, an ill omen
+that dealt him a sudden thrill of superstitious fear. It needed close
+scrutiny in the vague light to decide that no hand of man had shaped all
+these. Once light broke in from above, and he saw overhead a narrow strip
+of intense blue, and a white flash from the wing of a passing sea-mew. He
+tried to scale the cleft, so to reach the heights of the main island; but
+the steep rocks gave no sufficient foothold, and he dropped back into the
+water bruised and discomfited. Tunnels and archways there were, too low
+and strait to let him pass. Attempting an arch, submerged like the way of
+his entrance, his broad shoulders got wedged, and he struggled back,
+strangling, spent, and warned against needless hazards.
+
+He never noticed that in the great cavern one after another the rays of
+sunlight overhead shifted and withdrew, till twilight, advancing below,
+surprised him. His reckoning of time had been lost utterly, charmed out
+of him in the vast of beauty and mystery. In a moment he also realised
+that the lowest tiers of rocks had vanished below the water. The tide was
+rising. Hurriedly he shot away for return, and groped along the dim
+passage. The water had risen half-way towards the upper level, so that he
+mounted there with no difficulty, and made his way on, through the
+entrance cave, through the kelp-curtained cleft, and out again upon the
+smooth white sands.
+
+Too late! That he knew by the sound of heavy waves booming from the outer
+ravine before his eyes could certify how the tide had made hours'
+advance, and was coming in with a strong, resistless swell that would
+make short work with the best swimmer alive. He scrambled up to a
+shoulder to get a sight of the reefs that had helped him on his way; the
+nearest was already gone, and a tumbling whirlpool marked its place.
+Except in the slack of the ebb it were madness to make the attempt.
+Sunlight still touched the heights, but the quick southern twilight makes
+short stand against night. Without question, till daybreak came with
+another ebb, on the Isle Sinister must he abide.
+
+To make the best of his case, he sought while daylight lasted after
+shell-fish to stay his growing hunger. Then in the dusk he gathered dry
+weed and spread it for his couch on a ledge as high above the tide-mark
+as he could reach. It was a lateral cleft, as good for his purpose as any
+there. But he selected it not wholly with regard to comfort of body; its
+high remove above the mysterious footprints lent it best recommendation.
+For with growing darkness came a dread upon him; in an access of arrant
+superstition he conceived of some unimaginable thing stealing near upon
+woman's feet. Reason stood up for a mild human presence if any, but on
+ground no better than a quicksand, very lacking in substantial elements.
+Whence had those feet come? whither had they gone? He could not imagine a
+hiding too fine for his best vigilance, not in the open at least, in
+directions that the footprints positively indicated.
+
+As darkness fell, all the tales that had made the place sinister in name
+and reputation came thronging his mind, assuming an aspect more grim than
+they ever before had worn. The resolution, the firm reason he had relied
+on for defence, began to quail before dread odds. What wonder? That day
+such an assault against reason had been made, such a breach lay wide and
+unrepaired, as left self-possession hard bestead. Then was he faithful to
+right worship; he prayed, and mortal terror invested him no longer.
+
+Though faulty, ignorant, superstitious, the young fisher was, a rare
+sincerity ruled his spirit, an essential quality if prayer be to any
+purpose, even great in efficacy by its own intrinsic value.
+
+As, crossing himself, he lay down and turned to sleep, plainly above the
+surf the Warders returned him the sound of a far-off bell--of three bells
+tolling together. He knew the voice of the House Monitory. Most
+comfortable was it, an expression of human commiseration extended to him,
+of special virtue also, he believed, to succour souls against leaguers of
+darkness. All night he knew, aloft on the cliff in the desolate bell
+tower, a monitress would serve each bell, and two would wait on a
+beacon-light, and the prayers of the five would not cease for souls of
+the living and souls of the dead, victims to fell powers of the sea. Ah,
+blessed bells! And ah, dear saints whose names they bear!--St. Mary, St.
+Margaret, St. Faith! The House Monitory prays to the dear saints; but the
+simple, the ignorant, who go most in peril of that dangerous coast, when
+they bless three names--St. Mary's, St. Margaret's, St. Faith's--do not
+discriminate consciously between the saints whose influence lives in
+heaven, and the bells that ring in evidence of how that influence lives
+on earth. He fell asleep.
+
+The tide came in, crept up the sand, blotted out footprints and weeds,
+covered anemone pools and boulders, reached the full, turned and ebbed
+back again. The moon rose, and as she mounted the dark clear-cut shadows
+of the rocks shrank. The lad slept the dreamless sleep of healthful
+weariness, till midnight was long past, and a wide stretch of sand lay
+bare again. Then in her course the moon put back the shadows that had
+covered his face; his breathing grew shorter; he stirred uneasily, and
+woke.
+
+Looking down, he saw the sand bared of the sea, white and glistening in
+the moonlight. Quite distinct came the even stroke of the bells. The
+night wind had chilled him, half naked as he was, so he crept from his
+niche and dropped to the sands below, to pace away numbness. Only a few
+steps he took; then he stood, and not from cold he trembled. A line of
+footprints crossed the sand, clear and firm, and so light, that the
+dainty sand-wrinkles were scarcely crushed out beneath them. And now the
+mark of the heel is nearest the sea.
+
+He knelt down to peer closer, stretched a hand, and touched one
+footprint. Very fact it was, unless he dreamed. Kneeling still, he
+scanned the broken lights and shadows that clung round the margin of
+rock-girt sand. Ha! there in the shadow moves something white; it is
+gliding half hidden by boulders. A human figure goes there at ease,
+rising, stooping, bending to a pool. Long it bends, then with a natural
+gesture of arms flung up, and hands locked upon the nape, steps out into
+the full moonlight, clear to view.
+
+The kneeling boy thrills to the heart at the beautiful terror. Whiter
+than the sands are the bare, smooth limbs, and the dark, massed hair is
+black as are the night-shadows. Oh! she comes. Does she see? does she
+care? The light, swift feet bring her nearer, straight on, without a
+falter. Her shadow falls upon him, and she stays and stands before him,
+beautiful, naked, and unabashed as a goddess.
+
+Could she be one of God's creatures? No! Yet because she was shaped like
+a woman, youthful pudicity, strong in the boy, bent his head, lowered his
+eyes to the ground. He felt a shame she could not know, for her shadow
+moved, her white feet came within the range of his lowly vision. Perfect
+ankles, perfect feet, foam-white, wonderfully set! When the Evil One
+wrought in human shapes, surely his work was ever flawed as to feet!
+
+Still kneeling, he lifted his head, encountered her gaze, and made the
+sign of the cross. She met his eyes with a merciless smile, but before
+the sign stepped back uneasily; yet her beauty remained unblighted. Then
+must it be that a sea-witch could be young and fair, of loveliness
+innate, not spell-wrought to ensnare him. He dreaded her none the less,
+afraid as never he had been in his life before.
+
+And yet, because his eyes were steady to meet hers, she read such
+defiance as she would not suffer. She clapped her hands together, and
+laughed in cruel triumph till echoes sprang.
+
+'You are a dead man. Do you know?'
+
+He stood and fronted her boldly now, recovering faith, most needful for
+the encounter. By what he could see of her face it was cruel and cold as
+death itself, and the gleam of her eyes was like the keen, sharp glitter
+of a treacherous sea. For he had not seen, when his eyes had been on the
+ground, on her feet, a flash of wonder and pity, for one instant
+softening. Wonder at his large-limbed youth remained covert; but his
+defiant eyes, his gesture, had routed pity.
+
+'Your bones shall lie apart,' she cried. 'I will choose a fair nook for
+you in the great sea sepulchre. All the bones of other wretches who have
+perished among these rocks lie piled in a common heap--piled high! But
+you alone of many a score having set foot alive in this my garden--by
+strength, or courage, or cunning--no matter how, your momentary success
+shall receive some recognition. Maybe, if I remember, when your skull is
+white and bare, I will crown it with sea-blossom now and then; and
+whenever I pass by, cast you a tribute of coral, till the hollows of your
+ribs are overfilled.'
+
+He felt that she had the power to make good her taunting words.
+
+'I have faced death before now,' he answered simply.
+
+She was angered, and hated him, because he stood upright before her, with
+eyes that did not waver, and words like proud disdain. She longed to
+abase him before she compassed his death.
+
+'How shall I take the forfeit? Shall I bid sea-serpents crawl from the
+ooze of the deep to crush out your life in scaly folds; or set a watch of
+sharks about my garden to tear your live limbs piecemeal when you venture
+hence; or make the waves my agents to toss you and wrestle with you, to
+batter out all comeliness of form, and break your bones as reeds beneath
+the gale?'
+
+Look, tone, gesture, drove home the full horror of her words. Brave as
+the boy was, the blood forsook his cheek, a momentary tremor passed, and
+involuntarily his eyes turned to the eastern sky, whereunder lay a
+well-known shore, and his home, and the grey-haired couple, who, bereft
+of him, would go to the grave sorrowing. They faced each other in
+silence, as two wrestlers mark each the other's strength. A strangely
+unequal pair! The tall lad, long-limbed, muscular, broad-chested, the
+weight of whose finger was stronger, than her full-handed might, knew he
+was powerless, knew at least that no physical strength could prevail
+against the young witch; she, slender, smooth-limbed, threatened him with
+torture and death, strong in witch-might and witch-malice.
+
+Keen-eyed, she had seen that he quailed, and softening, was half minded
+to forgive his trespass.
+
+'Kneel again and pray for your life; perchance I yet may grant it you.'
+
+Should his christened body grovel to her, a witch? A ring of scorn was in
+his answer.
+
+'Not to you,' he said; 'I kneel and pray only when I love and fear.'
+
+She hated him again: he meant that her he hated and despised.
+
+'Fool!' she cried, raging, 'you defy me? Do you not know that you are
+wholly in my power?'
+
+'Not wholly--no. Though, because I have done amiss, my life be given into
+your hands, my soul is in God's.'
+
+She put her hands to her brow suddenly, as though she had received a
+blow. She stood quite silent. Then she looked about her as though she
+sought vaguely for something she could not find. Anger had passed away.
+
+'Your soul!' she said, on a note of wonder. 'Your soul!' she repeated,
+and broke into a scornful laugh. 'Ay, I remember something: I had a soul
+once; but it is gone--dead. I gave it in exchange for sea-life,
+sea-power, sea-beauty. I drank of the nepenthe cup, and in it my past was
+washed out and my soul was drowned.'
+
+'Wretched creature!' he cried, 'better for you had it been your
+death-draught.'
+
+She read in his face horror, pity, loathing, and longed with her whole
+being to abase him lower than she was in his eyes. Better than to slay
+outright would it be to break down the self-respect that would not stoop
+before her even to escape death. Oh, but she would try for very perfect
+revenge; not by quick death, cheap and insufficient; not by captivity and
+slow death--no, not yet. He should live, yes--and go free, and then she
+would conquer him body and soul; biding her time, plotting, waiting in
+patience, she would so make her triumph full, complete, absolute, at
+last.
+
+Involuntarily she had drawn away into the shadow of the rocks, leaving
+the lad standing alone in the moonlight. She saw that his lips moved. He
+was praying silently, unmindful of her. With her dark brows drawn
+together and a smile of scorn she wove cunning plans for his ruin.
+Swiftly she chose her line: for a witch confident, audacious, subtle, it
+was a game easy and pleasant to play.
+
+Again the boy saw her stand before him. Her face was mild, her voice low
+and gentle.
+
+'Tell me your name.'
+
+'Christian.'
+
+She threw back her head with an uneasy movement, but recovering
+instantly, resumed her part.
+
+'How came you here? and why?' Though not to be lightly reassured, he told
+her frankly. Her dark eyes were intent upon his face; then they dropped,
+and then she sighed, again and again. Her breast was heaving with a storm
+of sighs.
+
+'Oh!' she broke out, with a voice of passionate grief. 'Oh, shame! you,
+who have the wide world whereon you may range, you will not leave me this
+one poor shred of land. A greedy breed it is dwelling ashore, that must
+daily be rifling the sea of its silver lives, of its ruddy thickets, and
+will yield no inch in return. And you have outpassed your fellows in
+greed--you have owned it--you have boasted. Ah! I grant your courage and
+strength excellent, taken by the measure of the land; but, oh, the
+monstrous rapacity!'
+
+Her voice broke with indignation. She turned aside and surveyed the
+moon-white level. Soon she resumed in a quick, low whisper.
+
+'How can I let him go? How can I? Oh dear, fair garden-close, mine, mine,
+all mine alone till now--if your shining pools never mirror me again, if
+your sands take the print of my foot never again--oh no--I
+cannot--no--no--'
+
+Swift pity responded as her lament sank away to a moan.
+
+'Never think so! One brief trespass made in ignorance is all you have to
+resent--is all you shall have: not a soul shall have word by me of your
+favoured haunt. Moreover,' he added and smiled, 'I know no man who could
+win here, were he minded to more strongly than I.'
+
+She smiled back. 'Then go in peace.' She passed him by to follow the sea.
+
+This sudden grace struck him dumb. All too briefly glanced and worded was
+it for his satisfaction. So fair at heart she was too. A first young
+flicker of male worship kindled in the boy's eyes as he turned to look
+after her going.
+
+She halted, facing, and lifting her hand to him.
+
+'Your boat was broken, you say,' she said as he came. 'I tell you, your
+peril will be more extreme when you try the reefs again for an outlet,
+except you have a pilot of me.'
+
+'You!' he said.
+
+'Not I,' she laughed. 'The guide that I shall send will be a gull pure
+white, whose flight you shall follow. I have trusted you; do you trust
+me?'
+
+'I will, I will.'
+
+'A strict promise! Though you seem to be going upon certain death, you
+will trust and follow?'
+
+'I will trust and follow, on my word, strictly kept as the oaths of the
+many.'
+
+'Your pilot you will know by his call. Listen: "Diadyomene! Diadyomene!"'
+she shrilled like a sea-bird. 'It is my name--Diadyomene--of a good
+signification for you. I hold your promise; when you hear "Diadyomene"
+you are pledged to follow.'
+
+She waited for no answer; with a gesture of farewell was away for the
+sea, from the moon-white sand springing into the shadows over the harsh
+interval of boulders. The vista let a vague moving shape show, lessening
+as she sped across the desolate chasm without. One strip of moonlight lay
+half-way, at the edge of the retreating sea. There a swift silver-white
+figure leapt clear, with dark hair flying an ineffectual veil, with arms
+rising wide in responsive balance to the quick free footing. It was
+gone--gone utterly--a plunge beyond restored her to her sea.
+
+Christian stood motionless long after she had disappeared, so long that
+the moon paled, that dawn quickened in the east, that day spread wide.
+Responding to the daylight, broad awake rose reason to rebuke his senses
+for accepting fair words and a fair shape as warranty for fair dealing.
+And till midday reason domineered; while he abode the slack, while he
+battled for shore, while he mended and launched, while the cry
+'Diadyomene! Diadyomene!' swept down on white wings, went before,
+shifted, wheeled; while, so guided, reefs and breakers threatened close
+on every hand, fell behind and left him scatheless.
+
+Oh, safe upon the waveless blue reason fell prostrate, abashed; and the
+heart of Christian, enfranchised, leapt high in exultation, so that with
+laughter, and glad praise, and proud and happy calls of farewell, he set
+sail for home and was carried away from the Isle Sinister.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Though day was high, Lois, the mother adoptive of Christian the Alien,
+sat in shadow, for her small lattice was nearly blinded by the spread of
+vivid fig-leaves jealous for the sun. Flawless order reigned in the
+simple habitation. No sign of want was there, but comforts were few, and
+of touch or tint for mere pleasure there was none. Over an opened Bible
+bent a face worn more by care than time. Never a page was turned; the
+hands held the edges, quiet, but a little tense. For an hour deliberate
+calm held.
+
+Then the soft, quick pat of bare feet running caused a slight grip and
+quiver. The door swung wide, not ungently, before Christian flushed and
+breathless, and a flash of broad day framed with him. He peered within
+with eager, anxious eyes, yet a diffident conscience made him falter.
+
+'What have I done? Oh, mother!'
+
+So frail she seemed to his large embrace. In his hand hers he felt ever
+so slightly tremble. He knelt beside her, love and reverence big in his
+heart.
+
+'Why should you trouble so?' he said.
+
+She laid her hands on his head for pardon. 'Christian,' she said, 'were
+you in peril last night?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+She waited for more to follow, vainly.
+
+'What was it? Where have you been? What have you done?'
+
+'Mother, you were praying for me!'
+
+'Answer, Christian.'
+
+'I gave a promise. I thought I owed it--yes, I think so,' he said,
+perturbed, and looked in her eyes for exoneration. There he read
+intelligence on a wrong tack that his honesty would not suffer.
+
+'No, mother, it was not on a venture--I have come back empty-handed. I
+mean not such a venture as you think,' he corrected, for among the
+fishers the word had a special significance, as will show hereafter.
+
+'Say at least,' said Lois, 'you have done nothing amiss--nothing you
+would be ashamed to tell me.'
+
+'But I have,' he confessed, reddening, 'done amiss--without being greatly
+ashamed--before.'
+
+His heart sank through a pause, and still lower at his mother's question,
+spoken very low.
+
+'Then I am to know that though I should question, you would refuse an
+answer to me?'
+
+He could not bear to utter the word till she insisted.
+
+Her face twitched painfully; she put him back, rose, and went pacing to
+and fro. Helplessly he stood and watched her strange distress, till she
+turned to him again.
+
+'My boy--no--you can be a boy no more; this day I must see you are a man.
+Listen, Christian: I knew this day must come--though it seems oversoon to
+me--and I was resolved that so soon as you should refuse any confession
+to me, I--I--must make confession to you.'
+
+She silenced his pained protest, and went on.
+
+'When my child was born, eighteen years ago come Christmas Eve, our
+priest was no worthy man as now; little good was known of him, and there
+was bad guessed at. But there was this that none here guessed--I only.
+And you must know--it is part of my confession.'
+
+She spoke painfully, sentence by sentence. After eighteen years her voice
+yet vibrated with hot, live passion.
+
+'My sister--my young sister--came to make her home with us; she would,
+and then she would not, for no cause--and went away. She died--she died
+on the night my child was born--and hers. Then I vowed that neither I nor
+my child should receive sacrament of God from that man's hands. He dared
+no word when I passed by with my unbaptized child in my arms; he met my
+eyes once--never after. We were two living rebukes, that he but no other
+could read plain enough. 'Twas in those days that my man Giles went
+seafaring, so the blame was the more all mine. He indeed, knowing all
+from me, would have had the child away to be baptized of other hands. But
+in those days the nearest were far, and I put him off with this plea and
+that; and come a day, and gone in a day, and months away, was the way
+with him then. For this thwart course, begun out of fierce resentment, so
+long as that did not abate, I found I had no will to leave. Yet all along
+I never meant to hold it over a week more, or a week more, or at most a
+month more. So two years went, and a third drew on, and that wolf of the
+fold was dead.
+
+'On the day he was laid underground God took my child from me.
+
+'I knew--the first word of missing--I knew what I had done. Conscience
+struck away all hope. From the print of children's feet we traced how
+the smallest went straying, how little hands shell filled went grasping
+for more. I gleaned and keep. They said it was hours before, at the ebb.
+Then the tide stopped us, and that was all.
+
+'In my bitter grief I said at the first that God was just but not
+merciful; since He took the dear body from me and hid it in the sea that
+I, who had not wrapped it for christening, should never wrap it meetly
+for the grave. Most just, most merciful! afterwards He sent you to me by
+the very sea. I knew and claimed you as you lay on the shore, a living
+child, among twoscore dead men, and none withstood me.
+
+'In ignorant haste, eager to atone, I was loath to believe what the cross
+at your neck told, with its three crosses inscribed, and your sole name
+"Christian," and on the reverse a date. Like a rebuff to me then it was,
+not realising that I was to work out an atonement more full and complete.
+I have tried. O Christian, it will not be in vain!
+
+'All these years your conscience has been in my keeping; you have freely
+rendered to me account of thoughts and deeds, good and ill; you have
+shared no secret, no promise apart from me. To-day you tell me that your
+conduct, your conscience, you will have in your own sole charge.
+
+'My boy, you do no wrong; this is no reproach, though I cannot but grieve
+and fear. But know you must now, that in you I present to God my great
+contrition; in you I dare look for His favourable grace made manifest; a
+human soul seeks in you to see on earth salvation.'
+
+Christian shrank before the passionate claim. His sense of raw, faulty
+youth was a painful shame, confronted by the bared remorse of this
+austere woman, whom his heart held as mother and saint. 'O God, help us,'
+he said, and his eyes were full of tears.
+
+'Ay, Christian,' she said, 'so I prayed last night.'
+
+'Mother,' he said, awed, 'what did you know? how did you know?'
+
+'Nothing, nothing, only great fear for you, and that sprung of a dream.
+Often the wind and the waves have crept into my sleep and stolen you from
+me. Last night I dreamed you lay dead, and not alone; by you lay my
+little one, a small, white, naked shape crouched dead at your side. I
+woke in great fear for you; it would not pass, though the night was
+still; it grew rather, for it was a fear of worse than death for you.
+Yes, I prayed.'
+
+Through his brain swept a vision, moonlighted, of the fair witch's haunt,
+and her nude shape dominant as she condemned him. The omniscience of God
+had been faint sustenance then compared with this feeble finite shadow of
+the same that shot thrilling through the spirit of the boy. So are we
+made.
+
+Outside a heavy step sounded, and a voice hailed Christian. 'Here, boy,
+lend a hand.'
+
+He swung out into the clear world. There Giles, empty-handed, made for
+the rear linhay, and faced round with a puckered brow.
+
+'What the devil have you been up to?'
+
+'Trying her paces,' said Christian.
+
+'Who's to blame then--you or she?'
+
+'Oh, not she!' said Christian hastily, jealous for the credit of his new
+possession.
+
+'Well, well, that ever such a duffer should be bred up by me,' grumbled
+Giles. 'Out with it all, boy. How came it?'
+
+Christian shut his mouth and shook his head.
+
+'What's this? Don't play the fool. As it is, you've set the quay buzzing
+more than enough.'
+
+'Who cares?'
+
+'And you've broken Philip's head within two minutes of touching, I
+believe.'
+
+''Twas done out of no ill-will,' protested Christian. 'A dozen swarmed
+over, for all the world as if she were just carrion for them to rummage
+like crabs. So I hitched one out again--the biggest by preference,--and
+he slipped as you called to speed me off here. If he took it ill, 'tis no
+great matter to square.'
+
+'I would for this once he or any were big enough to break your head for
+you as well as you deserve,' said Giles savagely.
+
+'We're of a mind there,' said Christian, meekly and soberly.
+
+Giles perversely took this as a scoff, and fumed.
+
+'Here has the wife been in a taking along of you; never saying a word,
+going about like a stiff statue, with a face to turn a body against his
+victuals; and I saying where was the sense? had you never before been
+gone over a four-and-twenty hours? And now to fix her, clean without a
+cause, you bring back a hole to have let in Judgment-day. Now will come
+moils to drive a man daft.
+
+'And to round off, by what I hear down yonder, never a civil answer but a
+broken head is all you'll give. "Look you there now," says Philip, and I
+heard him, and he has a hand clapped to his crown, and he points at your
+other piece of work, and he says, says Philip: "Look you there now, _he_
+was never born to drown," and he laughs in his way. Well, I thought he
+was not far out, take it either way, when I see how you have brought the
+poor thing in mishandled. It passes me how you kept her afloat and
+brought her through. Let's hear.'
+
+Though Giles might rate, there was never a rub. Years before the old man
+and the boy had come to a footing strangely fraternal, set there by a
+common despair of satisfying the strict code of Lois.
+
+Again Christian shook his head. Giles reached up a kindly hand to his
+shoulder.
+
+'What's amiss, boy? It's new for you to show a cross grain. A poor spirit
+it is that can't take blame that is due.'
+
+Christian laughed, angry and sore.
+
+'O Dad!' he said, 'I must blame myself most of all. Have your say. Give
+me a taste of the sort of stuff I may have to swallow. But ask nothing.'
+
+Giles rubbed his grey locks in perplexity, and stared at the perverse
+boy.
+
+'It can't be a venture--no,' he thought aloud. 'Nor none hinted that.
+
+'Well, then; you've been and taken her between the Tortoises, and bungled
+in the narrows.'
+
+Christian opened his mouth to shout derision at the charge, gasped, and
+kept silence.
+
+'There's one pretty guess to go abroad. Here's another: You've gone for
+the Land's End, sheared within the Sinister buoys, and got right payment.
+That you can't let pass.'
+
+'Why not that?' Christian said, hoping his countenance showed no guilt.
+
+'Trouble will come if you don't turn that off.'
+
+'Trouble! Let them prate at will.'
+
+'Well,' complained Giles, 'I won't say I am past work, but I will own
+that for a while gone I had counted on the near days when I might lie by
+for a bit.'
+
+'But, Dad, that's so, all agreed, so soon as I should have earned a boat
+of my own, you should have earned holiday for good.'
+
+'Then, you fool, speak clear, and fend off word of the Sinister buoys, or
+not a soul but me will you get aboard for love or money.'
+
+Eager pride wanted to speak. Giles would not let it.
+
+'You think a mere breath would drive none so far. Ay, but you are not one
+of us, and that can't be forgot with your outlandish hair and eyes. Then
+your strength outdoes every man's; then you came by the sea, whence none
+know, speaking an unknown tongue; and then----' Giles paused.
+
+The heart of the alien swelled and shrank. He said very low: 'So I have
+no friends!'
+
+'Well,' Giles admitted, 'you would be better liked but for a way you have
+sometimes of holding your head and shutting your mouth.'
+
+He mimicked till Christian went red.
+
+'Do I so? Well,' he said, with a vexed laugh, 'here's a penance ready
+against conceit. The Tortoises! I indeed! and I must go humble and dumb.'
+
+'Such tomfoolery!' cried Giles, exasperated. 'And why? why? There's
+something behind; you've let out as much. I don't ask--there, keep your
+mystery if you will; but set yourself right on one point--you will--for
+my sake you will.'
+
+Christian looked at the old man, bent, shrunken, halt, and smiled out of
+bland confidence.
+
+'The burden shall not light on you, Dad. And has no one told you what I
+have done single-handed? just for display of her excellent parts, worked
+the boat and the nets too, and hauled abreast of any. Not a boat that
+watched but cheered the pair of us.'
+
+'I heard, I heard,' said Giles ungraciously. 'A show off for an hour or
+two. What's that to work week in, week out?'
+
+Christian was looking aside. He saw the head of Lois leaning out,
+attentive to all.
+
+He took a heavy heart out of her sight. 'She does not trust me,' he said
+of her face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Scattered far and wide over the fishing-grounds lay the coral fleet.
+There, a solitary, went Christian to a far station. Yet not as an
+outcast. He had tried his strength against his world, and the victory
+inclined to him. For a week he had been baited hard and cut off, as Giles
+had forewarned; and through it all he had kept his own counsel, and his
+temper, and his place with the fleet, defiant, confident, independent.
+And luck attended his nets. Therefore another week saw unsubstantial
+suspicion waning; scoffs had their day and died of inanition; and the
+boy's high-hearted flouting of a hard imposition annulled its rigour. Not
+a few now would be fain to take their chance with him. For Giles's
+consolation he had not rejected all advances, yet as often as not he
+still went alone, declining another hand. Thrift and honest glorying in
+his strength so inclined him, though a perverse parade may not be
+disclaimed. Yet none of these accounted for a distinct gladness for
+solitude that grew unawares.
+
+What colour were her eyes? The moonlight had withheld certainty, and he
+had not given his mind to it then. Dark, he knew, to match her hair: rare
+eyes, like pansies dewy in shade?
+
+Down swung with their swags of netting the leaded cross-beams from his
+hands into the shadowed water, and its dark, lucid green was faced with
+eddies. Down, deeper than the fathoming of his eyes, plunged his spirit,
+and walked the sea's mysteries in vain imaginings. Mechanically he set
+the boat crawling while he handled the guys. A trail of weed swam dim
+below; it entangled. His wits said weed, nothing but weed, but his pulse
+leapt. Day after day, not to be schooled, it had quickened so to
+half-expectancy of a glimpse at some unguessed secret of the deeps. He
+was glad to be alone.
+
+Body and mind he bent to the draught, till the cross-beams rose, came out
+dripping up to the gunwale, and neatly to rest. A ruddy tangle hung among
+the meshes. He paused before out-sorting to resolve an importunate doubt:
+was this more than mere luck to his nets? It was not the first time he
+had had occasion to debate an unanswerable question. The blank westward
+seas, near or far, returned no intelligence to his eager survey, nothing
+to signify he was not quit of obligation.
+
+A witch she was, of an evil breed, one to be avoided, pitied, and
+abhorred. No conscious impulse moved Christian to seek her again, though
+her beauty was a wonder not to be forgotten, and she had dealt with him
+so kindly. Yet of the contrary elements of that strange encounter the
+foul stood unchanged, but the fair had suffered blight, because from the
+small return demanded of him his mother's heart had taken hurt. A full
+confession would indeed but change the current of distrust. He sighed,
+yet smiled a little; he would have to own that a wish persisted to know
+the colour of those eyes.
+
+From the sweat and ache of toil he paused a moment to see where he lay.
+Under a faint breath from the south he had been drifting; the fleet also
+had drifted to leeward.
+
+Within a grand enclosure, satisfying coolness and peace, and splendid
+shade reigned, for no man's solace and reward.
+
+The sun rode high, and the west breathed in turn, bringing a film of
+haze. A delicate blue veil, that no eye could distinguish from the
+melting blue of sea and heaven, an evanescent illusion of distance, hung,
+displacing the real.
+
+Above the boy's head a seagull dipped and sailed. It swooped low with a
+wild note, 'Diadyomene, Diadyomene,' and flew west.
+
+Christian upturned a startled face. The drifting fleet had vanished; he
+was alone with the gracious elements.
+
+Too loyal of heart to dream of excuse, he rendered instant obedience to
+the unwelcome summons, headed round, hoisted every stitch, and slanted
+away after the white wings. Yet he chafed, angry and indignant against so
+unwarrantable an imposition on his good faith. Go he must, but for a fair
+understanding, but to end an intolerable assumption that to a witch
+creature he owed payment indefinitely deferred at her pleasure.
+
+He owed her his life; no less than that she might exact.
+
+He found he was smiling despite a loath mind and anxious. Now he would
+see of what colour were her eyes.
+
+The young witch Diadyomene leaned forward from a rock, and smiled at the
+white body's beauty lying in the pool below. She was happy, quivering to
+the finger-tips with live malice; and the image at her feet, of all
+things under heaven, gave her dearest encouragement. Her boulder shelved
+into a hollow good for enthronement, draped and cushioned with a shag of
+weed. There she leant sunning in the ardent rays; there she drew coolness
+about her, with the yet wet dark ribbons of seaweed from throat to ankle
+tempering her flesh anew. No man could have spied her then.
+
+By a flight of startled sea-birds, he nears. She casts off that drapery.
+Through the gorge comes Christian, dripping, and stands at gaze.
+
+With half-shut eyes, with mirth at heart, she lay motionless for him to
+discern and approach. She noted afresh, well pleased, his stature and
+comely proportions; and as he neared, his ruddy tan, his singular fair
+hair and eyes, she marked with no distaste. The finer the make of this
+creature, the finer her triumph in its ruin.
+
+He came straight opposite, till only the breadth of water at her feet was
+between.
+
+'Why has "Diadyomene, Diadyomene" summoned me?' he said.
+
+Against the dark setting of olive weed her moist skin glistened
+marvellously white in the sun. A gaze grave and direct meeting his could
+not reconcile him to the sight of such beauty bare and unshrinking. He
+dropped self-conscious eyes; they fell upon the same nude limbs mirrored
+in the water below. There he saw her lips making answer.
+
+'I sent you no summons.'
+
+Christian looked up astonished, and an 'Oh' of unmistakable satisfaction
+escaped him that surprised and stung the young witch. He stood at fault
+and stammered, discountenanced, an intruder requiring excuse.
+
+'A seagull cried your name, and winged me through the reefs to shore, and
+led me here.'
+
+'I sent you no summons,' she repeated.
+
+A black surmise flashed that the white bird was her familiar, doing her
+bidding once, this time compassing independent mischief. Then his face
+burned as the sense of the reiteration reached his wits: she meant to
+tell him that he lied. Confounded, he knew not how to justify himself to
+her. There, below his downcast eyes, her reflected face waited, quite
+emotionless. Suddenly her eyes met his: she had looked by way of his
+reflection to encounter them. Down to the mirror she dipped one foot, and
+sent ripples to blot out her image from his inspection. It was a mordant
+touch of rebuke.
+
+'Because I pardoned one trespass, you presume on another.'
+
+'I presume nothing. I came, unhappily, only as I believed at your
+expressed desire.'
+
+'How? I desire you?' She added: 'You would say now you were loath to
+come.'
+
+'I was,' he admitted, ashamed for his lack of gratitude.
+
+'Go--go!' she said, with a show of proud indifference, 'and see if the
+gull that guided you here without my consent will guide you hence
+_without my consent_.'
+
+Insult and threat he recognised, and answered to the former first.
+
+'Whatever you lay to my charge, I may hardly say a word in defence
+without earning further disgrace for bare truth.'
+
+'You did not of yourself return here? For far from you was any desire
+ever to set eyes on me again?'
+
+So well did she mask her mortal resentment, that the faint vibration in
+her voice conveyed to him suspicion of laughter.
+
+'On you--I think I had none--but for one thing,' he said, with honest
+exactitude.
+
+'And that?'
+
+Reluctantly he gave the truth in naked simplicity.
+
+'I did desire to see the colour of your eyes.'
+
+She hid them, and broke into charming, genuine laughter.
+
+'Do you know yet?' she said.
+
+'No, for they are set overdeep for a woman, and the lashes shadow so.'
+
+'Come nearer, then, and look.'
+
+He stepped straight into the pool knee-deep and deeper, and with three
+strides stood below. She bent her head towards him with her arms upon her
+knee, propping it that a hand might cover irrepressible smiles. Her
+beautiful eyes she opened wide for the frank grey eyes to consider. Many
+a breath rose and fell, and neither offered to relinquish the intimate
+close.
+
+Beautiful eyes indeed! with that dark, indescribable vert iris that has
+the transparent depth of shadowed sea-water. They were bright with happy
+mirth; they were sweetly serious; they were intent on a deep inquiry into
+his; they were brimming wells not to be fathomed; oh, what more? what
+haunted their vague, sad, gracious mystery?
+
+'Are you satisfied yet of their colour?' she asked quietly, bringing him
+to a sense of the licence he indulged.
+
+'Of their colour--yes.'
+
+'How, then, are you not satisfied?'
+
+'I do not know.'
+
+'Bare truth!'
+
+'What thoughts, then, lay behind while you looked down so?'
+
+She kept her mouth concealed, and after a pause said low as a whisper:
+'Looking at your eyes, I wondered if they would alter greatly when your
+time came--to die.'
+
+'Ah, no, no,' he said, startled; 'how could you!' His mind only caught
+the suggestion to reflect upon her transparent eyes stricken with the
+tragedy of death. From so gentle a tone he could not gather a sinister
+hint; moreover, she smiled to effect a blind.
+
+'Now that your quest is over, I in turn desire certain knowledge. Gratify
+me, and so shall your rash footing here to-day stand redeemed.'
+
+She signed for him to follow, and led the way by rock and pool to the
+entrance of the cave. There upon a boulder she leaned, and pointed him up
+to the rock above, where the rough inscription he had set there remained
+unimpaired.
+
+'That is your handiwork?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'What does it mean?'
+
+His heart thumped. To her he had addressed that legend, not knowing what
+she was.
+
+'I do not know that you are fit to hear.'
+
+Her just indignation refrained from him, and his heart smote him.
+
+'Ah! I should not judge. Hear then!' and he read.
+
+For an instant her face fell, troubled, and she moved restlessly.
+
+'And who are They? Who is the Father?'
+
+'God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.'
+
+'He did not make me.'
+
+'But He did.'
+
+'Say that He made you if so you please: I speak for myself. Pass on now.
+Who is the Son?'
+
+'Jesus Christ His Son, our Lord, who suffered and died to save us from
+our sins.'
+
+'Suffered and died!' she exclaimed, and then added, 'I have no sins.'
+
+'Ah, you have!' said Christian, aghast.
+
+'You may have, may be, but not I. Pass on. Who is the other one?'
+
+'The Holy Ghost the Comforter.'
+
+'Whose comforter? Theirs? yours? not mine--I need no comfort.'
+
+When he said, 'O poor, lost soul, God have mercy!' she rose to passion.
+
+'You shall not say so; I will not endure it. And why should you look at
+me so? and why should you speak it low? Am I to be pitied--and pitied of
+you, who but for my pity would by now be a shredded and decayed patch
+sunk deep?'
+
+'My body.'
+
+Diadyomene recovered herself instantly, recalled to the larger conquest
+she designed.
+
+'Yet pass on again: there is more--"At your service!" Whose?'
+
+'Yours.'
+
+'Mine! That is not possible,' she said coldly; 'nor of the whole can I
+make sense.'
+
+'It means that I offered to serve her whose footprints I had
+seen--yours,--and pledged myself by the sacred names that she should have
+no fears.'
+
+'Fears!'
+
+Christian flushed painfully. It was not possible to intimate to her how
+he had considered that a woman unclothed would surely shrink from a man's
+presence.
+
+'You make for a simple end by strange means!'
+
+'How is it,' she resumed, 'that since quite freely you pledged yourself
+so sacredly to my service, you came most unwillingly when you thought I
+had need of you?'
+
+Before her penetrating gaze shame entered.
+
+'For your need I would have come gladly; yes--I think so--in spite of
+incurring worse; but for your pleasure----'
+
+'Not, for instance, had I wished to see the colour of your eyes?'
+
+It was but poor sport to put him out of countenance. Quite kindly she
+asked, 'What now have you incurred that worse should be to dread?'
+
+He began of the name 'Sinister,' and of all it implied. She laughed,
+asking him why he should expound that. He went on to the definite ills
+that had beset him, because the injury to his boat betrayed him to
+inquisition.
+
+'But how?' she asked; 'you admitted nothing, else you failed in your
+promise to me.'
+
+'No, but challenged, I could not deny I had dared here.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+'It would not have been true,' he said, puzzled.
+
+Diadyomene opened her eyes wide and laughed.
+
+'And do you use your powers of speech only to say what is true?'
+
+'Yes,' he said, indignant. 'How else?'
+
+'Now I,' she said, 'use speech to disguise truth, with foul or with fair,
+or sometimes to slay and bury it out of sight.'
+
+'Then, when you declared you had not summoned me, was that untrue?'
+
+'If I now answered "Yes" or "No," you could be no nearer satisfaction;
+for you have not the wit to weigh my word with mood, disposition,
+circumstance, to strike a balance for truth.'
+
+Christian pondered, perplexed and amazed at that perverse argument.
+
+'I would another were here to unreeve this tangle you are in. There is
+one, wise, tender, a saint.'
+
+Diadyomene levelled her brows.
+
+'A woman! And you love her!' she said, and astonished the inexperienced
+boy.
+
+'Above all! She is mother to me.'
+
+He said timidly: 'Of all evils incurred by my presumption here, the worst
+is that between her and me your secret stands a bar to perfect
+confidence. I did not guess it would gall her so. I may not tell you
+how.'
+
+'Yes, tell me.'
+
+'I cannot.'
+
+'A secret.'
+
+'Not strictly; some day I might, but not now.'
+
+She shot a keen glance, suspicious by that heedless reservation that,
+after all, he was shrewdly playing his own game. He went on.
+
+'With her your secret would be absolutely safe; and if her you would but
+include----'
+
+'But I will not,' she said peremptorily, 'nor shall you take counsel with
+her, nor come back well charged for convincing me of what you may be
+pleased to call sin; for presently we part for ever--for ever, alive or
+dead.'
+
+That struck silence for a minute. Then Christian straightened and said:
+
+'I have then much to say first. I have a message to you.'
+
+'To me--a message!'
+
+'The message of the Gospel. In the name of the Father, and of the Son,
+and of the Holy Ghost.'
+
+'Ah yes,' she said; 'we were to return to that. "Suffered and died," you
+said of one--the Son.'
+
+The young gospeller took up his task void of all vain conceit; but
+humility, simplicity, and honesty alone could not prevail over the
+quick-witted witch when she was bent on entangling him. A long hour he
+laboured with the story of the Redemption, she questioning to his
+bewilderment, involving him in contradiction, worsting him again and
+again, though he would not know it; till, weary of harassing, she heard
+him in silence, with an unmoved attention that was worse discouragement.
+
+His own incompetence he had known, but he had not thought himself so
+unstable that the pressure of patient eyes could weigh down his clear
+sense; that the lifting of night-black hair in the light wind, the curve
+of a neck, the slow play of idle hands, could distract him. He knew he
+had failed utterly, that he did not deserve to succeed before ever her
+comment began.
+
+'O the folly of it!' she said with wonder and scorn. 'Truly I am well
+quit of a soul if it bring intelligent creatures of flesh and blood to
+worship, as highest excellence conceivable, a joyless life, a degraded
+death. For others? The more foolish. And you would have me repent and be
+converted to that? I--I repent, who have gained this?'
+
+She rose to her feet, flung up head and arms; her bosom heaved with a
+breath of ecstasy, her lips parted, her eyes shone; the glory, power,
+magic, of the deep flashed into visible embodiment in her. The perfect
+woman, possessed by the spirit of the sea, unawares took worship of the
+boy's heart. To seal her supremacy, a wave leaping in the gorge broke to
+him the unnoted advance of the tide. He thrilled as though the sea had
+actually responded to her passion.
+
+To a new, wonderful note of power and sweetness she began, with a face
+and gesture that alone were eloquent:
+
+'O poor mortal! the deeps to you are abysses of death, while the
+storm-winds, ravening, hunt you. Oh, 'tis pitiful! Deep, deep in the
+heart of the sea dwells eternal peace, and fear is dead to all who dwell
+there. Starry sea-blossoms grow stilly, by the winnowing of broad fins
+stirred only. When stormy terrors fall with black night on you above,
+with me below is a brooding blank of light and sound, and a darkness that
+can be felt lulls every sense. From that deep calm I float, I rise, to
+feel the upper pulses of the sea; to meet strong currents that in the
+very hair wake vigour; to leave silence far underfoot; to taste of the
+glorious battle of wind and wave. Strong, foam-headed bearers take me,
+whirl me as I will. There is madness, rout, and drunken frenzy of the
+elements for honour of my presence. O the roar! O the rains! O the
+lightning!
+
+'Deep, deep in the heart of the sea the broad glare of this full sunlight
+is softened into a mystery of amber twilight, clear and cool; and
+quivering cloud-shadows dim it to pearl, and sunset throbs into it a
+flush. There the light of the white moon is a just perceptible presence
+of grey silver to tell me a night is cloudless. She draws me--she draws
+me--to her I yearn. My heart, my love, my life, rise large and buoyant in
+worship of her. To her fair face you have never looked up as I, at poise,
+with earth far below and the air fathoms above. Ah, so large and near and
+gracious she lies! In the faint swell of a calm she shrinks and expands,
+as though she breathed with me--with the sea; a ripple of wind will comb
+her into quivering lines of silver; and the heave of a wave shatter her
+to fragments that vainly slide and dance to close back into the perfect
+disk. Involuntarily your hands would snatch at the near splinters of
+living silver. I rise through them to rarer air, and lo! my moon has fled
+up immeasurably, and shines remote, concentrated, placid.
+
+'Deep, deep in the heart of the sea, within unhewn walls, are splendid
+courts, where marbles discover their shy translucence, and drink mellow
+life from widespread floors of sand, golden, perfect, unwrinkled and
+unstained from age to age; and drink milky fire that hangs where nebulous
+sea-stars cluster that night may never prevail. Inmost wait vacant
+shrines to gratify worship of sleep and dreams--pure amber one, great
+crystals one, and rainbow spars. One there is of moony mother-of-pearl,
+meetest covert of rest, when life grows a little weary of conquest and
+play, and greatly enamoured of dreams. Ah, dreams! You with a soul--can
+you dream? Nay--but I will not know.
+
+'Deep, deep in the heart of the sea hide brine-bred monsters; living
+there, dying there; never touching the thin, vacant air, never facing the
+broad eye of heaven. Quick death by the grip of huge jaws meets the
+drowning there. Your might--yours--is puny: you never could cope with the
+fierce sea-wolves. And your limbs are heavy and slow: you could not play
+with the dolphin and mock at the shark. To me come all by love or fear.
+The frailest shape afloat, that fears a shadow, into my palms drops from
+the waves; and uncouth herds leave browsing to hustle their finned heads
+under my hands. And the terrible breeds, the restive, I catch by the mane
+and school, against their resistance driving sharp ivory hard between the
+joints of their mail. How they wrestle and course, as pride of their
+strength is mine, and joy of their speed is mine--ah! most supremely
+when they most dispute it. Your eyes declare wonder, since your broad
+limbs could match the banded strength of a score of my slight mould. I
+grant it here, where the touch of the earth and the touch of the air are
+dull, faint, weak, to flesh and blood nourished of the deeps; but life
+and vigour and strength transcendent evolve from the embrace of the salt,
+cold sea, from deep indraughts of keen brine.
+
+'Down in the deepest lies sleeping the oldest of living creatures, placid
+in a valley of the sea. His vast green coil spreads out for leagues;
+where his great heart beats slow the waters boil; he lifts an eyelid, and
+the waves far, far above are lit with phosphor light. Runs a tremor
+because of his dreams, I sink to the weedy ears and chant peace,
+unaffrighted, sure that no fret can withstand my song. Shall he once roar
+and lash with all his spines, your coasts will crumble and be not.
+
+'What, you--you with a soul, get quickened breath and eager eyes from a
+few empty words, as though even in you woke the sting of a splendid
+desire for entering the reserves of the sea, with intimacy and dominion
+like mine. No--no--stand off! content you with the earth and air.
+Never--never shall you lay your hand upon my breast, nor set your lips to
+mine, nor gain the essential word, for you count your soul as priceless,
+and never will let it go.'
+
+She ceased. Christian suddenly crossed himself, turned his back, and went
+from her and her magic. The forward tide checked his feet; its crisp
+murmur and great undertones uttered a voluble, soft chorus on that
+strange monologue. He came to himself to know that he offered outrageous
+offence to virgin pride, unwarrantable, and far from his mind. Her free,
+bold words were too coldly proud for any thought of disrespect. He turned
+again hastily. She was gone.
+
+He sprang to the brimming cave. 'Diadyomene,' he called; 'Diadyomene,'
+and followed up the moving water; but he had no definite sight of her,
+and got no answer till he came to the great cavern. No witch she looked
+beside the jasper mirror, but just a slender, solitary maiden. She did
+not lift her pensive head, nor move nor look at him as he drew to her.
+
+'Diadyomene,' he supplicated, 'have out on me all that is in your mind.
+Call me dumb-squint, beetle-head in mind and manners.'
+
+With a quite impassive countenance she answered gently:
+
+'It is in my mind that the sun is low and the tide high. It is in my mind
+to put you in a way where both may yet serve for your safe homing.'
+
+Out came a sovereign smile of humour, sweet raillery, and condonation
+blended, instant on her investigation of his eyes. Humbled and exalted at
+one fine touch, Christian's judgment surrendered to her. She hindered a
+word of it.
+
+'I can show you an outlet that will take you to a sheltered reach behind
+the landward walls of this Isle. So will you evade the worst races of the
+tide. Furthermore, from the mainland to the open you will need aid.'
+
+He answered unsuspiciously that of her grace he had learned the reefs
+fairly.
+
+'Ah yes, and conned through but once,' she said smoothly, and eyed him.
+
+'Conned twice--once either way.'
+
+'I sent you no summons,' she expostulated quietly.
+
+'Do you think that I have lied to you?'
+
+She did not answer.
+
+With indignant emphasis he repeated, 'Do you think I have lied?'
+
+'Do you think _I_ have?'
+
+Not a quiver crossed her front with the mendacious alternative; not even
+for laughter, when the face of Christian lent ample occasion; for, as a
+fish with a barb in the gullet not to be spewed out, was he impotent and
+spun.
+
+While still he gasped, Diadyomene slid forward into the deep and bade
+haste for daylight. Fine swimmer he was, but his strokes compared ill
+with an effortless ease like a wing-wide bird's. Refraction gave her
+limbs a lovely distortion, and pearly soft they were through the beryl
+wash. Behind her merged head the level just rocked and quivered; cleft by
+his chin it rebelled in broad ripples. She turned her head, curious of
+his clumsy method; she could not forbear a smile; she reverted hastily
+beyond the blind of her floating hair.
+
+But he could not follow where she offered to lead, for she dropped her
+feet, and sank, and walked the under-floor of rock, entering a deep
+gallery. He dived, entered after, then breath gave out, and he shot back
+to gasp.
+
+She presented a face of grieved surprise. 'There is another way to the
+same end,' was all she said on his deficiency.
+
+He mounted after her then, by shelf and ridge, an intricate, retiring
+way, till she showed him a dark gulf at their feet.
+
+'Leap!' she said, 'no hurt lies there.'
+
+Utter blackness lay below, repugnant to his nerves; yet not therefore he
+stayed.
+
+'Diadyomene,' he said, with desperate temerity, 'you do not forbid me
+ever to see you again.'
+
+Daylight struggled feebly in there. Her answer was not direct, and it
+laboured.
+
+'I have no--desire--ever to see you again.'
+
+Quick for once: 'Have you a desire never to see me again?' he said, and
+held his breath.
+
+He saw her step to the verge, lift her arms, and poise. She delivered an
+ingenious masterstroke to wound.
+
+'Be under no such apprehension. I will convince you: for your assurance I
+will go first.'
+
+'Hold back!' with a savage sob cried Christian; leapt, and dropped with
+straightened feet perpendicular in the gulf.
+
+With a thin sigh and a vigorous kiss two elements received his descent.
+Diadyomene leaned over the dark, and called 'Farewell.' The word was
+echoed back by him hoarsely; and again from further distance it came,
+ringing sound.
+
+Beneath her breath she said, 'Some day I will have grey eyes weeping
+before my face.' Then laughter possessed her, and away she sprang, to
+revel in the release of peals of wicked delight.
+
+Very cold-hearted the sea-bred are, and their malice is very keen.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Lois drew forward a young creature, whose dark head did not fully uplift.
+
+'Christian,' she said, 'this is your cousin Rhoda.'
+
+He blurted out 'Cousin!' in astonishment. Two faces stiffened; the girl's
+eyes declined.
+
+'My niece,' said Lois briefly, 'and so cousin by adoption.'
+
+Giles kicked his heel, so he guarded his tongue duly.
+
+Considerate of embarrassing the girl with open observation, he took note
+discreetly how kin was just legible on the two faces. The eyes of both
+were set overdeep for womankind; they were alike in the moulding of the
+bones; but the face of Rhoda gave promise of a richer beauty than could
+ever have been the portion of Lois. For a minute it bloomed in a vivid
+blush, for their eyes met as she, too, by stealth was observing him for
+his great height and breadth and alien complexion.
+
+When afterwards his mother said, 'You know whose child she is?' he
+answered, 'Yes.'
+
+'Christian, I thank God for my good man.'
+
+Her sense he could not adjust till long afterwards, when a fuller account
+of Rhoda's past was given to him. Now Giles told but little.
+
+'No, she had never set eyes on her before. I? Oh yes, I had--the pretty
+little piece! But when I bring her in, and have said no more than one
+cough, the wife goes clean past me, and has the girl in her arms, and
+calls her by her sister's name, and sobs hard and dry like a man. It
+turned me silly and rotten, it did. I knew for a minute she didn't fairly
+know it was not somehow her sister; no older than Rhoda she was, poor
+thing, when she last stood under our roof; and their last parting had not
+been over tender. Well, I had messed the business--I knew I should,--for
+there was the wife going on, saying things, and there was Rhoda getting
+scared and white, and putting out a hand to me. And then I go one worse,
+for I get hold of her, and say, "She takes you for your mother, child,"
+that the wife may get the hang of it; and at that down she sits sudden,
+all of a shake. But the poor wench says, "My _mother_!" for--well, I
+suppose I had lied sometime--she thought she was the truly begotten
+orphan of an estranged brother. Nothing would come handy but the
+truth--the wife being there; so I even told it all. Yes, I did, though it
+did seem cruel hard for a young wench to have that story from a beard.
+But it worked well; for when the poor child knew not how to bestow her
+eyes, nor to bear the red of shame, up stands the wife to her, just woman
+by woman, and looks fierce at me, and to her Rhoda closes all a-quiver,
+and in a moment the wife has kissed her, blight and all, and Rhoda is
+crying enough for both. That was over an hour before you came in on us,
+when out jumped "cousin" and "niece" to clinch the business. I knew she
+would never go back on them. To think that all these years--well--well.'
+
+'Well, Dad--all these years?' said Christian, incited by Lois's words to
+be curious of Giles's conduct; for he was a comrade of easy imperfection,
+not insistent of the highest rectitudes, nor often a consistent exemplar
+of Lois's strict precepts. Giles drew in.
+
+'A grape has grown from a thorn, that's all,' he said.
+
+'But how came you----'
+
+'And a pumpkin has overgrown too. Here--clear out, you've left a moderate
+body no room to turn.'
+
+So Christian understood he was to be excluded from full confidence. Loyal
+every inch of him, he respected Giles's reserve and never questioned
+Rhoda herself. He did but listen.
+
+Clear, colourless years, regulated under convent control, was all the
+past she knew; serene, not unhappy, till the lot of a portionless orphan
+lay provided for her in a sordid marriage, that her young instinct knew
+to be prostitution, though the Church and the world sanctioned it as a
+holy estate. To her this blessed transplantation into a very home gave a
+new, warm atmosphere that kindled fresh life. The blanch bud expanded and
+glowed, fresh, dewy, excellent as the bloom of her name. And very sweet
+incense her shy gratitude distilled.
+
+It was to Giles she gave her best affection, to Lois most reverence and
+devotion. But to Christian went a subtle tribute, spontaneous even in an
+innocent convent-girl, to an admirable make of manhood; some quick
+shivers of relief that a certain widower with yellow teeth did not
+possess her. And in Christian thrilled an equivalent response; though he
+knew not how Rhoda's maiden charm, her winning grace, her shadow even,
+her passing breath, evoked unaware, with a keen, blissful sting at heart,
+vivid remembrance of the sea-witch Diadyomene.
+
+'She likes the old hunks best of the lot,' said Giles with complaisance.
+'My bright little bird! There's never a one of you young fellows stands
+to cut me out.'
+
+He cocked an eye at Christian.
+
+'Now Philip comes along, and will have her for seeing the caught
+frigate-bird. And off she is flying, when back she skims and will have me
+too. Oh! but he looked less than sweet, and he's a fine figure too for a
+maid's eye, and a lad of taste--he is.'
+
+'He! May be, for his fancies are ever on the brew, hot or cold,' said
+Christian in scorn.
+
+'She's a rare pretty wench, and a good,' said Giles, with a meditative
+eye.
+
+'She is: too rare and good for any of Philip's make; an even blend of
+conceit and laziness is he.'
+
+'That's so, that's so,' returned Giles coolly to this heat, 'but I don't
+say he would make a bad pair for just so much as the boundary walk.'
+
+'How!' said Christian 'but she will walk with me--she's my cousin.'
+
+'Have you asked her?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Well, I think she's worth an asking. She's shy, and she's nice, and
+she's got a spirit too, and more than one, I wager, won't be backward.
+Rhoda! Rhoda! why, what's this grave face you are bringing us, my
+pretty?'
+
+The girl's eyes addressed Christian's with childlike candour and wonder.
+'Why is it,' she said, 'that the mother of that tall Philip doubles her
+thumb when you pass by?'
+
+He flushed with knit brows, but laughed and jested: 'I guess because she
+does not like the colour of my hair.' But Rhoda had noted a pause, and a
+quick turn of the eye upon Giles.
+
+'When the boundary is walked, Rhoda, will you pair with me?'
+
+'Oh!' she said, 'Philip wanted to bespeak me, and I said him no, till my
+uncle should have had the refusal of me first.'
+
+She curtsied before the old man in bright solicitation.
+
+'Ah! my maid, here's a lame leg that can't manage the steep. You must
+take my proxy, Christian here.'
+
+'But that's another matter,' she said; 'I doubt if I be free.'
+
+Christian's face clouded, but he had no notion of pressing her to
+exchange obligation for inclination. When he was away, Rhoda asked,
+troubled and timid:
+
+'I have vexed him. Is it for this? or that I was curious----'
+
+'About that doubled thumb? Not that. He'll clear that to you himself if I
+know him. Well, then, I will, to spare it him.'
+
+He set forth Christian's position and the ordeal not yet quite suspended.
+
+Rhoda went straight after Christian. She presented both hands to him.
+With a glowing cheek and brave eyes, 'I will walk with you!' she said.
+
+'I am proud, cousin! But so? What of Philip?'
+
+With a saucy sparkle she said, 'Do not flounces become a girl's wear,
+then? You shall see. Or do you expect a broken head of him?'
+
+There was more of childish mischief than of coquetry in her face.
+
+'Stay, Rhoda, I have to tell you something.'
+
+'No need--no need. Can you think I have not heard?' and she left him to
+slow enlightenment.
+
+Thereafter brotherly solicitude and responsibility developed in
+Christian, and his liking for the bright young creature grew warm, in
+natural degree to match the shy preference and grateful glow that
+answered for her appreciation.
+
+Soon, so soon, his jealousy, his honest, blameless jealousy, came to be
+piercingly sweet to the girl's heart. How else, when day by day Giles
+instructed her of his worth with tales of his champion feats, and of all
+his boyhood, its pranks and temerities, its promise by tender honour and
+fortitude of the finest quality of man; when her own observation told her
+that in the ranks of youth he was peerless, in strength, in outward
+fashion, in character, in conduct; generous, gentle, upright; of a
+sensitive conscience that urged extremes of pride and humility; and
+brave. And to her this worshipful youth condescended; nay, but it was
+even with deference that he honoured her and attended. One touch of
+saintliness that had rarefied him was dispelled to her naughty content.
+
+'Rhoda, my child,' said Lois, 'where is the Book? Bring it.' And away the
+girl went.
+
+Lois had found that the Bible, formerly left mostly to her sole use, had,
+since Rhoda's coming, made unseen departures and returns. Well pleased
+with the girl's recluse piety, she was awhile patient of its want.
+
+'Do you leave the Book outside, child? When it is out of hand, you should
+lay it back here.'
+
+'It was in the linhay,' said Rhoda, 'and not out of hand. And do you
+think 'tis I who take it? 'Tis Christian.'
+
+'Christian!' said Lois, in a voice of such surprise that Rhoda was
+disillusioned. 'Then do you never study the Book alone?'
+
+'No,' confessed Rhoda, 'I but listen to your reading and the Church's.'
+
+Lois was disquieted. She had ever secretly deplored the infirm masculine
+constitution of Giles and Christian, who accepted from her a spiritual
+ration with never a sign of genuine, eager hunger of soul. Yet this
+departure was little to her liking. Though fain would she have recognised
+the working of the Spirit, she dreaded rather that this was no healthy
+symptom in Christian's raw development. A cruel stroke to her was this
+second reserve of independence, invading the fastest hold of a mother's
+influence. Back came the earlier conviction that her boy's withdrawal
+from her must be for wrong-going, and the strain of watchful scrutiny
+and prayer returned. It had slackened when her God had shown such favour
+as to take out of her soul that iron that for years had corroded there,
+that she had vainly striven to expel.
+
+She approached Christian with a diffidence that was painful to him to
+perceive; she recommended counsel in any difficulty--not her own, she
+said sincerely, though with a touch of bitterness. He was embarrassed by
+her close, tender surveillance.
+
+'I have already taken counsel,' he admitted, 'and I think I have got
+understanding--at least I have got certain information by heart.'
+
+'Of his Reverence?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Christian, you are not of the doubters?'
+
+'No, mother, of the ignorant.'
+
+Her piercing eyes examined his.
+
+'Who has told you so? You did not know it of yourself. What evil
+communication corrupts you?'
+
+There was no answer but the sufficient one of the boy's conscious face.
+There was that in the fire of it that inspired Lois to groan in her
+heart: 'My boy has met a daughter of perdition.'
+
+She did not miss her Bible again.
+
+Lois's divination of the truth preceded Christian's, though again into
+the presence of Diadyomene had he made his way. There he went
+high-hearted on a service that sanctioned all risks--the recovery to the
+fair witch of her lost soul, fair too he was sure.
+
+When he summoned her to baptism with the first breath, she laughed him
+off. No, no, she would have none of it. Let him tell her first that of
+the nature of a secret, as he said he would some day. And Christian,
+seeing it was indeed germane, delivered the story of the child cut off
+unbaptized, to the mother's undying remorse. She rewarded him.
+
+'And she would have cared for the little dead body to kiss! Ah, poor
+mother!' she said softly and regretfully, so that his eyes grew moist.
+
+'Diadyomene, if I die of the sea, would you be so far pitiful as to
+render to her my body again?'
+
+'No,' she mocked; 'I myself would keep it. Did I not promise as much at
+the first?' Then she derided the poor limitation that would die of the
+sea through foolish preference of a soul.
+
+He took up his mission with all his best powers well ordered; but to no
+purpose he persisted--she fenced too well for him. She began by denying
+any value to her soul; before they ended she challenged him to prove his
+own existence; and, to his amazement, he found that he could not against
+her, and rude demonstration he did not dare.
+
+He brought off with unsuccess, great joy by her least favour, sharp
+stings by her least resentment, yet no suspicion that the sea-witch had
+him in the toils.
+
+Giles mending Rhoda's shoes clacked fondly: 'A pretty little foot she
+has. Such a pit-a-pat little pair I never did see.'
+
+Away to sacred white sands flew Christian's thoughts: he wondered if
+slender footmarks lay there, and which way set. A little folly came into
+his mind: to plant his bare feet over those dints pace by pace--delicate
+near paces; for the soles of his feet to walk intimate with the mould of
+hers. The little folly in his mind extended, set also his palm to the
+sand, his cheek, his brow. He came to himself from foot to face tingling,
+and amazed.
+
+'A sweet, pretty wench!' was Giles's refrain. 'Eh?'
+
+Christian assented.
+
+'One more to my taste does not tread shoe-leather. Eh?'
+
+With a singular expression Christian gave a 'No' of sufficient emphasis.
+He looked at Rhoda and grew red.
+
+Rhoda and Christian went amidst the fig-tree and trained it up to the
+eaves. Lois and Giles looked on from the porch; when they spoke, it was
+low as the rustle of the boughs. 'Young Adam and Eve' slid to Christian's
+ears. He looked at Giles; saw the fond, complacent smile and the shrewd
+eye; saw his mother's face, grave, concerned, tender; glanced down at
+Rhoda, and met her shy, happy eyes. He understood, and like lightning
+shot the revelation that with body and soul he loved Diadyomene.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+He found her curved in a nest of sleep full in the sun. Her breath was
+gentle as childhood's, and as guileless her face. Her head was regal, for
+the hair dried crowned it in a dark coil wound and bound with wisps of
+splendid pearls.
+
+The young lover's passion resolved itself into prayer. As never before in
+his life, with concentration and fervour he importuned his God for the
+redemption of her lost soul. The shadow of his crest edged her shoulder;
+a movement brought to the line of her cheek the shadow of his. At that,
+prayer failed for an amorous instant; eclipse dipped across her brow;
+sleep parted; she was looking at him.
+
+'Ah, Grey Eyes!' she said, and smiled.
+
+'Be gracious by one little word, Diadyomene. Why never yet will you call
+me by my name?'
+
+'Your name? No, 'tis an ill-made name. Put it away and bear another that
+I will choose.'
+
+'I could not. Yet what would you choose?'
+
+'Diadyomenos, may be!' she said softly, smiling.
+
+The honour of the consort name caught his breath.
+
+'But I could not; not even for that could I lay aside the name I had in
+baptism.'
+
+'Baptism ever!' she frowned. 'Inadvertently did I utter Diadyomenos.
+Asleep, I had dreamed--of you--enfranchised.'
+
+From scorn to regret she modulated, and his blood sang to the dominant
+close.
+
+She strained to dislocate sleep, on her back-thrown head planting both
+hands. Her fingers, with careless grip, encountered the pearls; they
+sprang scattering, and her dark hair drifted down. With languid
+indifference she loosened and fingered the length of soft splendours;
+another lustrous morsel flew and skipped to the boy's feet. Covetous
+longing fastened upon it, not for its rare beauty, its immense value. A
+thing that had passed through her hands and lain in her hair was to him
+beyond price; and yet he forbore sternly to seek after possession,
+because an honest scruple would not allow that an orient pearl could
+come to his hands but by magic purveyance.
+
+'If a name were to seek for me?' she was pleased to inquire, on the watch
+for colour which sprang when her words were gracious.
+
+'I know,' he said, 'what most fitly would express you--oh! too well, for
+it is over a defect that secretions of the sea have constructed a shape
+of perfect beauty; the name of a pearl only--Margaret. If you--when you
+shall come to be baptized----'
+
+'You dare!' she said, and froze him with her look.
+
+'It has come into my mind that you may be a traitor.'
+
+'No!'
+
+'Hear now! Look me in the eyes and deny it if you can. It is for the sake
+of another that you seek after me; that persuading, beguiling, if you can
+coercing me--me--who spared you, tolerated you, inclined to you, you
+would extract from the sea an equivalent for her loss, and proclaim that
+her reproach is taken away.'
+
+There was such venom in look and tone, that his face grew strained and
+lost colour.
+
+'For your sake first and foremost.'
+
+'By no means for your own?'
+
+'Diadyomene, I would lay down my life for you!' he breathed passionately.
+
+'But not give up your soul--for me?'
+
+Ever so gently she said this. The boy quivered and panted against
+suspecting the words of their full worth. She directed her eyes away, to
+leave him to his own interpretation. The sunlight turned them to gems of
+emerald; the wind swept her hair about her clear throat; one hand clasped
+the curve of her knee. Never yet had he touched her, never felt so much
+as a thread of blown hair against his skin. One hand lay so near,
+straitly down-pressed on the rough rock, fragile, perfect; shell-pink
+were the finger-tips. He said 'No' painfully, while forth went his hand,
+broad, sunburnt, massive, and in silent entreaty gently he laid it over
+hers.
+
+Cold, cold, cold, vivid, not numbing, thrills every nerve with intense
+vitality, possesses the brain like the fumes of wine. The magic of the
+sea is upon him.
+
+Rocks, level sands, sky, sun, fade away; a misty whirl of the sea
+embraces him, shot with the jewelled lightnings of swift living
+creatures, with trains of resplendent shapes imperfectly glimpsed, with
+rampant bulks veiled in the foam of their strength. A roar is in his
+ears, in all his veins; acclaim and a great welcome of his presence
+swells from the deep, all life there promising to him dominion.
+Intangible and inarticulate the vision spins; and through it all he
+knows, he feels, that beneath his palm lies the cold white hand of the
+fairest of the sea-brood; he perceives dimly a motionless figure seated,
+and the hand not in his clasps her knee, and the eyes look away, and the
+hair drifts wide. Then to his ears through the great murmurs comes her
+voice, soft and low and very clear, but as though it has come from a
+great way off: 'Lay your hand upon my breast--set your lips to mine--give
+up your soul.'
+
+'Christ! Christ! ah, Lord Christ!'
+
+Diadyomene's hand lay free. Christian stared at his palm to find that it
+had not come away bleeding. His lips were grey as ashes; he shook like a
+reed. With haggard eyes he regarded the serene visage where a smile
+dreamed, where absent eyes did not acknowledge that she had verily
+spoken. Virtue was so gone from him that he was afraid, of her, of the
+sun. He dropped to his knees for escape.
+
+When he lifted his head, it was to solitude and long shadows. Her feet
+bruised his heart as he tracked the signs of her going; for they had
+approached him, and then retired; they had gone toward the sea, and
+half-way altered back by two paces; they had finished their course to the
+gorge and again turned; there they had worked the sand. A little folly!
+Enacted it was a large frenzy.
+
+Yet he took not a single pearl away.
+
+Heavily drove the night, heavily drove the day over Christian,
+comfortless, downcast, blank. Was her going with anger and scorn divided
+by pity? or with stately diffidence? adorable, rendering him most
+condemnable.
+
+The dredge rose and swung in to great sighs of labour. Black coral!
+
+In choice branches hard from the core, all rarity was there; delicate
+pink and cream, scarce green, and the incomparable black. Precious--oh!
+too precious for the mart--this draught was no luck, he knew, but a gift
+direct from Diadyomene; a goodwill token of her generous excuse sent for
+his solace. Fair shone love in the sky, and the taste of the day grew
+sweet. No scruple could hold out against this happy fortune.
+
+When the black coral was sighted by Giles from the quay, he raised such a
+shout as gathered an eager knot. In a moment one flung up a hand, palm
+outwards, to display the doubled thumb. Every hand copied. Christian saw
+and went hot with anger, too plainly expressed in his dangerous eyes. Yet
+would he have little liked to see his treasures go from hand to hand.
+
+'Not for present trade, I reckon?' asked Giles.
+
+'No,' said Christian, 'my price can bide,' and he carried his prize away
+with him home.
+
+Not even Rhoda could admire and handle that coral void of offence; Lois
+and Giles only. One little branch, shell-pink, took the girl's fancy; she
+turned it over, frankly covetous. Christian saw by her shy eyes and
+pretty, conscious smile she made sure he would presently say, 'Keep it,
+cousin.' He could not. A gift, fresh from the cold white hands of the
+sea-maid he loved, he could not give straightway into the ardent hold of
+one who offered, he feared, to him her young love.
+
+So sweet and dear had Rhoda grown as cousin, as sister, he hated the
+suspicion that she could care for him more than he desired or deserved;
+he hated himself when, loving her most, for her sake he was cold and
+ungracious. Rhoda, wounded, resented the change with a touch of malice;
+she allowed the advance of the handsome idler Philip, no friend of
+Christian's liking, she knew, though to her his faults were not patent.
+That gift withheld, on the morrow began Philip's benefit. Giles and Lois
+looked on, and neither wholly condemned the girl's feminine practice.
+Then what could Christian do, harassed and miserable, but return to
+brotherly guardianship to keep a dear heart safe from the tampering of an
+arrant trifler.
+
+Too fatally easy was it to win her away, to keep her away. She came like
+a bird to the lure, with her quick, warm response, making Christian
+wretched; he gladdened a little only when he encountered Philip's scowl.
+
+Compared with this sore trouble, but a little evil to him seemed the
+sharp return of the public ban for comment on Diadyomene's gift. He was
+ready to flout it as before, not heeding more ominous warnings plain in
+bent thumbs, in black looks, in silences that greeted him, and in
+mutterings that followed. A day came when hootings startled him out of
+his obstinate indifference, when from ambush stones flew, one with bloody
+effect; a later day, when a second time he had brought in too invidious
+a taking.
+
+'I sent no gift!' had declared Diadyomene, with wide, steady eyes, but
+that time Christian did not believe her, though hardly with blame of the
+untruth. On the morrow her second gift rose. When the boy sought her
+again she disclaimed once more; and curious of his perplexity and of his
+gashed face, drew from him something of his plight. Her eyes were
+threatening when she said, 'Fling away, then, what you fear to take.' To
+her face then he laughed for pride and joy that she should prove him.
+When that same hour came round, he drew up her third gift.
+
+He cared too little that in the interim a mischance had fallen against
+him; he had at last been descried fairly within the Sinister buoys, and
+chased by an unknown sail far west, escaping only under dark to circle
+for home beneath midnight stars.
+
+'O damnation!' was Giles's exclamation on the third prize. 'This won't
+do--'tis too like devil's luck. Ah, lad!' He faltered, caught at
+Christian, and peered in his face: 'You have not--you have not--got
+fee-penny of them below!'
+
+Christian reeled. 'Dad, O dad!' he gasped.
+
+'Steady, lad, steady! Here come spies as usual. There's no stowing a
+scrap unseen. Ah, they gape! Here, clear off home with this confounded
+stuff. I'll see to the nets.'
+
+Rhoda's eyes shone like stars, her cheeks were like angry dawn. She
+hovered about Christian with open devotion, at once tender and fierce,
+playing the child for some cover to that bold demonstration. Christian's
+heart shrank, for he could not understand her nor appreciate her. But
+Giles had a tale to unfold that brought light. Rhoda had come in flaming
+from a stormy passage with Philip. He had gained her ear to hint a
+warning against Christian, justifying it against her passion with a
+definite charge and instance that he had the evil eye. She, loyal in
+defence, carried away into attack, had rashly invaded with exasperating
+strokes.
+
+'She's made bad blood, I doubt--the little hawk!' said Giles. 'He's
+mortal savage now, and there's mischief enough brewing without.'
+
+'What do you know?'
+
+'A sight more than I like, now I've gone to pry it out. It looks as if
+not a beast has gone and died by nature or mischance, not a bone gets out
+or broken, but there's a try to fix it on you with your evil eye. We've
+been in the dark overlong--though an inkling I must own to.'
+
+'I too, by token of doubled thumbs.'
+
+'Christian,' said the old man with authority, 'never again bring in the
+black or the green or any rarity; you can't afford it again.'
+
+Christian's head rose defiantly.
+
+'Drop your airs, you young fool! Why, your inches are enough against you
+as it is. If you weren't so uppish at times, there would now be less of a
+set against you.'
+
+'On my word,' protested Christian, 'I have borne much and been silent. I
+know the young cur I owe for this scar, and have I laid a finger on him?
+To turn the other cheek is beyond me, I own,' he added, with some honest
+regret.
+
+It so fell out that on the very morrow that same toleration witnessed
+against him fatally. From the snap of a rabid dog a child died, under
+circumstances of horror that excited a frenzy against Christian, who had
+been seen handling the beast after the night of stoning, when the
+victim's brother it was who had marked him for life. So his iniquities
+crowned the brim, to seethe over with a final ingredient when mooting
+came along the coast of a trespasser off the Isle Sinister, by timing,
+incontestably, the alien.
+
+When the fleet lay spread dredging, Christian, obedient to direction from
+Giles, stationed his boat in the midst; but one by one his neighbours
+edged away, till he lay isolated deliberately. This manifestation of
+mislike was not unexpected, but it galled that weary day when the burdens
+of his life were weighing heavy.
+
+Exceeding the gross of more solid apprehensions, Rhoda's face haunted him
+to disquiet. By an unjust transfer, shame possessed him, even as when
+Diadyomene had advanced naked and unabashed before his diffident eyes.
+Indefinite reproach clamoured all day at his conscience, What have I
+done? what have I done? And a further unanswerable question, What can I
+do? beset him to no purpose.
+
+Before his mind hung a vision of prompt, delicious escape, which he did
+not banish, only because he did not think it could seriously attempt his
+will. But the hours told so on the aching boy, that for once he abandoned
+his own strict standard of fortitude, and his distress cried aloud to
+solitude, 'Diadyomene! O my love, Diadyomene, Diadyomene!'
+
+First, a silver shoal close beneath his eye leapt into air and slid
+again; then his stare discerned a trail of weed upfloating tranquilly:
+no weed, two dim hands part it to the showing of a moony countenance
+graciously inquisitive, and pearly shoulders brightening as they rose,
+till glistening white to the air Diadyomene lay afloat cradled by happy
+waves.
+
+'Diadyomenos!' she said softly, and her eyes invented dreams.
+
+For an instant, so mad was Christian rendered by this consummate favour,
+that he clutched the gunwale on an impulse to over-leap it finally. Like
+hounds straining on the leash, natural passions tried the control of the
+human soul. He dared not speak.
+
+Diadyomene drifted gently lower with never a word more, and lower yet
+imperceptibly, till her upturned face began to dim. She poised. Ah,
+beautiful reluctance! Unaffronted? O heart that aches, that breaks to
+give worthy response! He saw her lips moving; he knew what speech they
+framed as certainly as though he could hear: your hand upon my
+breast--your lips to mine--demanded of him.
+
+Christian fell back, and crouched, and lay sobbing dry-eyed until
+twilight drew.
+
+Home he came. By the way none greeted him of all he met, and a many they
+were for the hour; and none hooted after him, but shrilling whistles at
+his back made him turn to wonder what was afoot. Quick figures dodged
+past him and sped.
+
+Apprehension dawned when he crossed the threshold to find two scared
+women, and Giles ghastly and bandaged.
+
+'Who did this?'
+
+'An accident, an accident,' muttered the old man, seeing the boy ablaze
+with wrath and pity before ever he heard a word.
+
+Out came a tale of outrage: while the house was empty, Lois and Rhoda
+away bleaching, the linhay had been forced, and the coral laid there,
+Christian's store of precious, sacred coral, looted entire. Giles, coming
+on the scene, had been tripped up and left for stunned by one unaware how
+an unhappy blade had gashed his fall.
+
+'And who did it?' said Christian, hoarse with his passion.
+
+'Don't say!' ordered Giles, and the women were mute.
+
+'I will know,' he cried, stamped out ungovernable, and beat away.
+
+The three looked at each other, pale and fearful. Then Giles staggered to
+his feet. 'Help me after him, wife.'
+
+'Rhoda,' said Lois, 'go quick for his Reverence--if he be abroad, follow
+him quick.'
+
+Seething with just indignation, Christian sped reckless after vengeance.
+Alarm of his coming sprang up and flew before him along the shore. Thence
+struck the ring of axes, thence shone the flare of torches, showing a
+black, busy swarm. Like a wounded beast he yelled out once: the Beloved,
+his boat, lay there under torture and dismemberment. Then he hurled upon
+the throng, raging to kill.
+
+Two went down instantly, damaged for life under his bare hands, but the
+rest by sheer weight of numbers overbore him. Axes rose imminent, but
+there was no room for a sure stroke in the close, desperate wrestle.
+Thrice Christian gained his feet again; then had he no need to strike any
+man but once; those he gripped in the downfall had broken bones of him.
+Cries and curses thickened, he only fought mute. Foul strokes on him were
+fair enough: they struck him together, they struck from behind, they
+caught him by the knees and toppled him down, they fell on him prostrate,
+they trampled and kicked. He was on his feet again, breathed and fain,
+when one from behind got in a stroke at his head with a spar; then he
+flung up his hands and dropped among them.
+
+When Christian came to himself he was made fast hand and foot. Torches
+and dark figures flashed and swayed before his giddy sight; all round
+they hemmed him in. He wanted sense, remembrance, and settled vision.
+What meant this savage, cruel hate looking out of every face? these
+yells, curses, and accusations dinning at his ears? He was bound upright
+in the midst--where? no, where! One came and wrenched off remnants of his
+shirt; another stood by making ready. The wretched boy understood, and
+strained and struggled desperately for freedom.
+
+Such a scene was not unprecedented among the fishers. According to a
+rough, unwritten law, the punishment of thieves they took into their own
+hands, and enforced confession and restitution. Scrupulous to a fault,
+honourable, proud, Christian maddened at the intolerable degradation
+threatening. A thief's portion dealt out to him! the shame of it he could
+not bear.
+
+The circle of pitiless, excited eyes watched the swell of splendid
+strength expended to exhaustion against stock and cord. He could not
+escape from bonds; he could not escape from life; with bleeding wrists,
+panting, trembling, sane, impotence confronted him with his inevitable
+award.
+
+The shame of it he had to bear. And he could not even effectually hide
+his face.
+
+He heard the common formula when confession was demanded concerning
+unlawful takings. Truly his eyes looked wicked then, and his teeth showed
+in a vicious grin. He heard more, charges so monstrous, that he deemed
+them sprung of mere insolent mockery, or else of delirium. Dead silence
+fell, that he might answer. He would not. Oh, frenzy was returning,
+revolting him against meet despair.
+
+The pain that he had to bear broke upon his body.
+
+Of all the watching throng, none pitied him, none questioned the just
+rigour of any penal extreme upon him. To the long distrust and the later
+developed abhorrence, the day had brought forth a new fierce lust after
+vengeance, exasperated now the might of his hands, superhuman, had done
+such terrible work. None but with pulse of satisfaction must keep time to
+the stroke of the subjugated boy's long torture; none but would reckon
+long fortitude to his last discredit.
+
+How long? How long? As, motionless and bleeding, he gave no sign of
+failing endurance, resentment kindled against his indomitable obstinacy,
+and silence for his benefit no longer held. A mutter ran: 'The devil has
+cared for his own--he cannot feel.' And to make sure that he had not
+passed from consciousness, a torch was shifted to show his face. It was
+pale as death, and beaded with great sweat; but his eyes were wide and
+steady, so they cursed and went on.
+
+The long-suffering northern spirit, the hardy carcass that did not give
+out, excelling the make of the south, outstayed the patience of
+animosity. High upon a clamour swelling anew one cried, 'Try fire!'
+snatched a torch, and tested the substance of an arm. It was Philip. When
+Christian's eyes struck at his he defied them with his thumb.
+
+Yelled a confused chorus: 'There, see there! proof enough. Make an end of
+the creature! Send him back to the devil by the way he came!' The note of
+death was recognised of the victim; he blessed it, for his agony was
+great.
+
+But a little way on was the stretch of sand where, fourteen years before,
+the sea had cast up a bright alien child. Thither was drawn the
+half-killed boy; and there, made fast to a mooring-post, with his face
+set to the sea, knee-deep in the tide, he was left to die. Along the
+shore pickets were formed to preclude a miscarriage to justice; and
+there, while the sea trod forward, the flame of mob violence died down to
+its underglow of settled vengeance, and torches were douted and silence
+fell as the eyes of men began to shirk their fellows', and their ears to
+prickle at a word.
+
+Christian lifted his head to comprehend immense clear spaces of sea and
+night, and a black triumph. Not death was before him now, but a new life.
+Hopeless patience departed before passions during long torture
+suppressed, and infernal laughter rolled in his heart at the prospect of
+a consummate vengeance when the powers of the sea should work with his
+will. He knew she would come. Undoubting the extent of her knowledge, her
+power, her gracious surveillance, he knew she would come, to offer a
+splendid exchange for death. O excellent compensation! The touch of her
+hand, the touch of her lips, the opening world of vast delight, and
+therewith power to satiate all his hates.
+
+With every breath torment heaved over him still; raging thirst was there
+for fierce affliction, the cruel sting of brine touched his wrists,
+appalling in its promise of intolerable exasperation to raw wounds. Would
+she come, as before, with sweet despatch if he could call 'Diadyomene'?
+But he would not; because of other ears he would not utter her name; nor
+ever because of other eyes entreat her from the cover of the wave. Ah
+God, he prayed, give me heart to endure!
+
+His sight was unsteady, so that the whirling of the stars and the
+exaggerated swell of the slow waves vexed his failing brain. But he dared
+not close his eyes, lest, ignoring her advent, he should lose her and
+die.
+
+The disworship of an earlier hour, the comfortless void days, the bitter,
+hard reserves, drew form from delirium; they stood in rank, hateful
+presences, deriding the outcast: but to pass, he knew, as a sleeper can
+know of a dream--to pass when the magic of the sea should flow through
+his veins. My past washed out and my soul drowned.
+
+Ah God, he prayed, grant that I remember! Ah God, he prayed, grant
+that I forget! Strong hate and strong affection rose dominant in
+turn. Stronger rose affection: through waves of delirium the dear
+home faces came and looked at him; the reproach of their eyes
+pierced deep. What have I done--what can I do? he challenged. God
+keep you all, dears! Oh, shut your eyes, there is no other way. And
+still they looked--Lois--Giles--Rhoda--sorrow of condemnation,
+sorrow of pity, sorrow of amazement; till before their regard he
+shrank and shuddered, for they delivered to his conscience a hard
+sentence--his God, their God, willed that he should die.
+
+The tide was up to his belt before ever the human soul staggered up to
+wrestle. Too swiftly now it rose; too short was the span of life left. He
+was not fit to die: evil impulses, passions black as murder, were so live
+and strong in him. He could not die--he could not. To be enforced from
+mere life were bitter; to choose noble death were bitter; but to choose
+such a death as this, pitiful, obscure, infamous, to eschew such a life
+as that, glorious, superlative,--too hard, too cruel a trial was this for
+human endurance--he could not do it.
+
+Yet he prayed voiceless: Diadyomene, Diadyomene, haste to deliver me; for
+the will of God roars against me, and will devour.
+
+For pity, dear faces, keep off, or she may not come. She would quit me of
+this anguish--who could will to bear this gnawing fire? They, too, shall
+have torment, and die with horrors. The waves shall batter and break,
+and sharks shall tear their live limbs piece-meal, and down in the ooze
+coils of serpents shall crush them out. Ah God! ah God! I love her so.
+Would hell be undesirable if you were there, or heaven perfect if you
+were not? O poor soul, poor soul! who will have mercy? Kiss her, mother,
+dear; upon her breast lay your hand when she comes. O poor mother, who
+had not a little dead body to kiss! Go, go--I cannot bear your eyes. I
+want----Ah, ah, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
+
+He surrendered, and the tide was breast high.
+
+Solitude drifted back, and cleared vision without and within. The
+despotism of torture succeeded on the exclusion of throes more virulent.
+He prayed for swift death, yet shrank humanly as promise swung hard at
+his face. He prayed against Diadyomene, and yet strove with wide eyes to
+prevent the darkness, quailing, pulsing at gleam of wave and sweep of
+weed. He would give up his soul if it were possible, not for carnal
+exchange, but that hers might revive.
+
+Would she of the cold sea nature care greatly for his death? Would she
+remember where the outcast body lay, and fulfil her word uttered in scorn
+to lay sea-blossoms about the skull? Dead, void of pain, unresponsive to
+her touch could he be! O fair, calm life of the sea! O fair, calm
+sea-queen! No, no, not for him--death, only death, for him. God's
+merciful death.
+
+The enfeebled brain fails again; sense and will flicker out into misty
+delirium; from helpless memory a reek distils, and the magic of the sea
+is upon him.
+
+Through waves heaving gigantically to isolate him from the world, the
+flash and spin of eager life beckoned the blood left in him; great
+strengths loomed, his on the loosening of knots of anguish; a roar ran in
+his veins, noise and tremor beating through him, fluid to it but for his
+bones. Came trampling and singing and clapping, promising welcome to
+ineffable glories, ravishing the heart in its anguish to conceive of a
+regnant presence in the midst. Coming, coming, with ready hands and lips.
+Came a drench, bitter-sweet, enabling speech: like a moan it broke weak,
+though at his full expense, 'Diadyomene.' Came she.
+
+Delirium flashes away. Face to face they hang, shattered life and lost
+soul. He shudders hard. 'Deliver us from evil,' he mutters, and bows his
+head for a fatal breath and escape.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+'Too late. Wait till the tide go down. What was there?'
+
+Hearts quailed at the sound that drove in, for it was not the last voice
+of a spent mortal, but shrill, but fierce, but like the first voice of
+his indignant ghost. Four only did not recoil; the rest, half-hearted
+brought to the rescue, urged again: 'Wait till the tide go down,' pulling
+back the two women from insane wading. But Giles was forward, staggering
+in the tide, floundering impotent against it; and his Reverence turned
+upon them as intolerable a countenance as when through his black flock he
+drove, threatening the curse of Heaven. Therefore two, though loath, swam
+out to fetch in the boy's body. They cut the ropes from him, and lifted
+him along with the waves to hard land.
+
+Rhoda shrieked at sight of the deathly inertness and the rent flesh, and
+hopeless, fell to an anguish of weeping; but Giles and Lois, tearless,
+mute, with hand and ear over his heart, sought and sought for sign of
+life, finding none. Pitiless aid brought a torch, and held it to dispel
+all hope of a flicker of life. Could any look on the sad, serene face and
+still pronounce him worthy of death, worthy the burial of a dog? They
+did, even those whom kindness to the parents had constrained far, for
+among themselves they said: 'Persuade them away, and his Reverence. Best
+to serve the body with its grave quick and meet, in the sea, lest they
+want it laid in holy ground.' But Lois, who would not believe her son yet
+dead, and Giles, who could not believe him still alive, would have and
+hold him, living or dead, and none with heart of flesh could withstand
+them. So the limp, lifeless burden was taken up along the weary shore,
+past the doors of the street, close shut every one, and delivered to the
+weak shelter of home for the nonce.
+
+Against life and decent burial had Christian's last desire been: these to
+impose was all the service great love for him could conceive, though the
+broken body, dreadful to see, dreadful to handle, made silent appeal
+against a common valuation of life. Through tireless effort to provoke
+breath despair hovered, hour-long, till response came in a faintest
+flutter of life at lips and heart; and chafed with cordials and wrapped
+about with warmth, the shadow of pain drew over his face and weak spasms
+flexed his hands as tyrannous vitality haled back the reluctant spirit
+into bondage. His eyes opened upon them with sense and recognition, a
+feeble effort to move fetched a groan, and again he relapsed deathlike.
+So and again all through the long night watches the desperate debate of
+life and death lasted.
+
+Through close window and door the sigh of the night and the moan of the
+far sea spoke continually, and covered to dull and finite ears the sound
+of the sunrise coming over the distant hills.
+
+Not dead, and not dead, and yet again not dead! With that recurrent
+stroke of sense was welded again the mortal unit half gone to
+dissolution. Day came filtering in on wan faces brightened to fearful
+hope, for Christian assuredly lived and would live: consciousness held,
+and his eyes waked and asked. The four knelt together, and thanked their
+God aloud for his life, tears running free; he turned his head away in
+great despair, knowing that he was condemned.
+
+Whose prayers should prevail, theirs or his? He must die: he would die.
+But every hour brought firmer denial to his pitiful desire for death.
+What had he done, his anguish cried up to heaven, that his God should
+withhold an honest due? For death and its blessed ease and safety had he
+renounced the glorious sea-life, not for this intolerable infliction of a
+life miserable, degraded, branded for ever with memory of one disgraceful
+hour.
+
+Fever declared that always still he stood within a circle of fire; his
+skin was hot with the heat of men's eyes; the stroke of his blood was
+pain and shame that he had to bear; always, always so it would be.
+
+Healing came to close the wounds of his body, but the incurable wounds of
+a proud spirit gaped and bled hot and fresh, and even under the pitying
+eyes of love quivered and shrank. A sound from the outer world, of
+footstep or voice, crushed him intolerably under fresh weights of
+degradation.
+
+The sound of footstep and voice would start hasty barring of shutter and
+door, hinting to him that his doom of life was yet remittant.
+
+With infinite caution, and despite his great weakness and pain, he got
+his knife into his own secret keeping. Out of sight it lay bare for a
+fond hand to kiss its sweet keen line: life held some blisses it could
+promise him yet.
+
+Indefinite revenge was not enough: the thought of actual elaborate murder
+grew so dear, he would not for any price forgo it. Himself would be
+satisfied, his hands, his eyes, his ears, with the circumstances of a
+bloody despatch from life of him, and him, and him, each witness of his
+torture and shame, beneath whose remembered eye his spirit now shrieked
+and writhed. Let him so doing perish body and soul. So low in the dust
+lay he, the dear hope of Lois, because the heart of his pride was broken.
+
+Imperfectly he heard a young voice passionately urging for vengeance,
+retribution, redress, asking after the law of the land against a brutal
+custom carried to unaccustomed extreme.
+
+Redress! His eyes he shut when his lips bade the girl believe that he had
+no desire to invoke any earthly powers to avenge his wrongs. On his hand
+her tears fell like rain; she bowed her head at his knees, with wonder
+within at the christian saint of so perfect a heart. Back to bare steel
+crept his hand, tear-wet.
+
+But his fierce hate betrayed him. A gust of fever and madness lifted him
+up, enraged at the body unready, the burnt right arm unready; his left
+hand and the devil in him snatched out the knife, and drove it at the
+planks on his level in one instant of exuberant capacity. In and out
+again it went; he sobbed a great laugh for the cost and its sufficiency,
+and with spent force fell back a-sweat. Swift in trod Lois, and he was
+still, with the blade out of sight, not knowing that clean through the
+inches of wood the bright blade had looked in a line of sunlight straight
+to his mother's eye.
+
+She was not gentle then, nor cared for his hurts; with quick mastery of
+him while he cowered and winced in nerveless collapse, she discovered and
+plucked away his naked paramour. Dumb-struck she stood in accomplished
+dismay. Into the impotent wretch defiance entered; with insolent
+assertion his eyes affronted hers; unmasked, from his face looked the
+very truth of hatred and lust of blood, shameless at exposure.
+
+Mother and son drew breath for battle.
+
+'What name shall I call you by?' she cried. 'You have borne that name of
+Christ all your life, and now do renounce His cross.'
+
+'Diadyomenos' sang to him out of the past.
+
+'Your face is the face of Cain already, not the face of my son, my dear
+son given me by the mercy of God. It is like the curse of God!'
+
+She fell on her knees and grasped him hard. Her prayers came upon him
+like terrible strokes; heaviest to reach him were prayers to her God. He
+would not answer nor say amen; his own one passionate prayer had been
+unregarded, and he hardened his heart.
+
+'I took you from the death of the sea, and loved you and cared for you as
+more to me than the child of my body. And when with manhood and freewill
+came trial by sorrow and pain--hard, oh! hard indeed--then I saw my
+blessing in you and touched reward. My son, my son, the son that never
+was, was brave and patient and long-suffering and meek, because he lay at
+the feet of the Lord Christ a faithful follower and servant; he never
+complained, nor cherished an evil hate; he forgave, and asked that none
+should avenge him. Who then, among mothers, could rejoice as I, and so
+glory in her son? Ah! ah! like a serpent tongue it flickered in the
+sunlight! Christian, the wretchedest of mothers asks you to have mercy
+upon her. Ah, you will--must. I will not rise from my knees, nor take my
+hands from you, except you promise to put vengeance out of your heart.
+Your hate blasts me, me first before all others. Your blade threatens my
+heart, will pierce it through if it strike for another's.' She was
+moaning for woe of that hurt. He turned his face away, obdurate still,
+though the reproach of undeserved esteem had gone deep as any of
+undeserved shame.
+
+The moaning fell into low prayer. The guilty soul heard that it was not
+for him she prayed; the old weary penitence for an unredeemed
+transgression was all her burden now: a sign she asked, one little sign
+that her poor effort at atonement was not rejected of Heaven. He would
+not give it; no, he could not. Yet he dreaded that her strenuous
+supplication must win response, in his great ignorance half believing
+that some power from above would, against his will, force him to
+concession.
+
+He looked again at the dear grey head abased in his unworthy presence out
+of endless remorse for one error. Her God did not answer. Himself was
+weary of her importunity, weary of the pain of her hands: and he loved
+her so! And her God did not answer: and he loved her so!
+
+Silently he laid his hand upon hers. His eyes were full of tears, as he
+said, 'Kiss me, mother.' She had conquered: he promised.
+
+'Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God!' she said; and he repeated,
+'Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God.'
+
+'Mother, mother, pray that I may die!' and then he broke down utterly and
+wept like a child, and was not even ashamed.
+
+Ah, poor mother! Soon she came to know that when her son gave up his will
+to her he shut up his heart the faster. His misery never spoke, but
+silent tears would flow unchecked and unconcealed, and she could give him
+no comfort.
+
+Helpless need like his is a shadow of the Almighty by which men believe;
+but he could not with a right heart pray because, though he had renounced
+vengeance, forgiveness was a thing apart and impossible.
+
+How to bear the world and its eyes was the prospect that filled his sky.
+All his waking hours his heart gazed and gazed thereat, and stayed
+unacquainted, still, and appalled.
+
+Now that in sleep blood was out of his dreams a vision cruelly sweet
+came in place, and he was in the presence of Diadyomene, following her,
+reaching to her, close to her, yet never quite winning the perfect
+pressure of her lips, nor her gracious surrender to the worship of his
+hand; and waking was to unrighteous regret that he had turned from that
+splendid offer and lost it.
+
+Too swift and few ran the suns, and the inevitable time was at hand for
+bearing the world and its eyes under the hard bond of his promise. The
+youth and vigour of his body set him on his feet oversoon, while all the
+soundness his spirit had gained was trembling for its weakness, fear for
+its cowardice, shame for its shame.
+
+'Where shall he go?'
+
+'Christian,' said Lois, 'where will you go?'
+
+He wondered what she said. Open talk had passed over him unregarded; he
+had lost the knack of understanding except he tried hard.
+
+Giles sighed. 'Far, indeed, far; for where is our boy not known, the best
+fisher for his years, the best at sail and oar, the strongest proved in
+the pick of the coast. Far, indeed, for him not to be known.'
+
+That Christian understood, for he broke silence hoarsely.
+
+'Say out: far indeed for him not to be known as beaten for a thief,
+drowned like a dog.'
+
+Rhoda's hand slipped to his, unseen; she drew it softly against her lips.
+He did not heed.
+
+'My boy,' said Lois, 'what will you do?'
+
+'Mother, do you bid me go?'
+
+His hot brain knew of a grand enclosure where satisfying coolness and
+peace and splendid shade reigned, for no man's solace and award.
+
+'You bid me go?'
+
+'Dare you stay?' she said, 'dare I bid you?'
+
+His voice shook. 'What sort--of killing?' he asked, daunted now.
+
+Giles swore softly after the manner of his kind, under danger of tears.
+
+'Where are your senses, lad? Great storms can't last. This is over, his
+Reverence will tell you that. Not twice in a lifetime, I guess, can the
+devil brew the like.'
+
+'You bid me go?'
+
+'Not now, not yet,' said Lois tremulously; 'but sin and shame were to
+keep you to a trial beyond your strength.'
+
+He said quite brokenly: 'You are looking for a broken promise.'
+
+'Not that. Only--only, we know that 'twould be easier for you to face
+stranger folk, and hard though it be to let you go, far harder were it
+for you to stay, and we cannot ask it.'
+
+Christian's head sank: they all knew that he had not strength nor courage
+to stand upright under a disgraced life; he need but acquiesce for the
+last spark of self-respect to be extinct.
+
+It was long before he lifted his head; Rhoda only was there. He asked
+after Lois. She had gone with his Reverence up towards the church. He
+asked after Giles. He had gone down to the quay to his work of refitting
+the old boat.
+
+Tears stung his brain for the wicked destruction of his own boat, that
+like a living creature he had loved, and had not saved, and could not
+avenge.
+
+Rhoda left him but for a moment; passing out to the linhay, the door she
+left ajar.
+
+Christian stood up, touched his brow once or twice with uncertain
+fingers, drew sharp breath, crossed himself, and stept out into the
+world.
+
+He reeled in the sunlight. Its enmity struck at him, and he put up his
+hands against an unknown trouble, for in through his eyes into his brain
+flew strange little white birds and nested there and were not still.
+
+He alone stood upright in the midst of a rocking world; under his feet
+walked the path, the road, the street, bringing up an ambush of eyes, and
+grey birds and fire.
+
+In the street his coming started a scare. Only yesterday said he was long
+a-dying, so that now women fell back afraid of a ghost, for with every
+trace of sunburn gone his face was of a whiteness astonishing in the
+south. But some harder men cursed at the stubborn devil in the boy, that
+kept him alive out of all reckoning, and unsubdued. Face to face none met
+him till the corner where the street beached and the quay branched. There
+stood an idle group that suddenly gave before a reeling, haggard
+embodiment of hatred.
+
+These very eyes he knew again, and the one memory within them legible;
+hot, red-hot, they burned him. Red birds and black flew in and sounded
+shrill, and beak and claw tore at a little nook where a promise lay
+shrunk and small. Again he crossed himself, and passed on, till none
+stood between him and the sea.
+
+Hot, smooth sand stretched curving round the bay with the hard, grey quay
+lying callous upon it; tall masts peered, windows gleamed and glared, and
+behind him lay a lifetime of steep street. But strong salt gusts spoke
+to him from the blessed, lonely sea. The tide was leaping in fast and
+white; short waves crested and glittered over the expanse of moving blue.
+
+Rhoda caught his sleeve and stood beside him panting and trembling,
+amazed at his strength and temerity.
+
+Just set afloat by the tide, the old boat rocked against the quay; but
+Giles was pottering afar, and did not see, and could not hear. The weak
+pair made forward with one consent, till at the boat Christian halted and
+stept down.
+
+Along the quay came lounging hateful curiosity; Philip was there, with
+half a score more. Rhoda faced round bravely; her fear was overborne by
+intense indignation; she was half a child still, loyal, reckless, and
+wild to parade before one and all her high regard for the victim of their
+brutal outrage: her esteem, her honour, her love. From the quay above she
+called to Christian, knelt, reached across, took him by the neck, and
+kissed him there for all the world to see. Afterwards she knew that all
+the child in her died on the kiss and left her full woman.
+
+She kissed him first, and then she saw into his eyes: Christian was mad.
+
+In terror she sprang up, looking for help vainly and too late. Giles was
+far off, slow of hearing, slow of foot; and the madman was casting off,
+and the boat began to rock away. In desperation she leapt across the
+widening interspace, and fell headlong and bruised beside him. The boat
+slanted off and went rollicking over the tumbled waves. All his mad mind
+and his gathered strength were given to hoist the sail.
+
+Far back had the quay floated when the desperate girl rose. Giles was
+discernable making vehement gestures of recall. She stood up and answered
+with imploring hands, and with useless cries too. Christian never heeded.
+Then she even tried her strength against him, but at that the mad eyes
+turned so fierce and dangerous that she shrank away as though he had
+struck her.
+
+None of the coral fleet was out on the rising wind and sea, and stray
+sails were standing in; yet Christian, frantically blind, was making for
+his old station on the fishing shoals. The old boat went eagerly over the
+waves under a large allowance of sail; the swift furrow of her keel
+vanished under charging crests. Low sank the shore, the dark verdure of
+it faded, the white houses of it dimmed. The strong, terrible sea was
+feeling his strength as a god when his pulses stir him to play.
+
+Overhead a sea-gull dipped and sailed; it swooped low with a wild note.
+Christian looked up and laughed aloud. In an instant the boat lay for the
+west, and leaped and quivered with new speed.
+
+Scudding for harbourage, under a corner of sail, two stout luggers
+passed; and the men, watching their mad course, waved to warn, and
+shouted unheard. Then Rhoda stood up and signalled and screamed for help.
+She thought that the wind carried her cry, for both boats put about and
+headed towards them. Hope rose: two well-manned boats were in pursuit.
+Terror rose: in an instant Christian, to a perilous measure of sail added
+more, and the boat, like a maddened, desperate thing, went hurling,
+bucking, smashing, over the waves, against the waves, through the waves.
+
+Rhoda shut her eyes and tried to pray, that when the quivering, groaning
+planks should part or sink, and drop her out of life, her soul should
+stand at its seemliest in her Maker's sight. But the horrible lurches
+abating, again she looked. Pursuit was abandoned, soon proved vain to men
+who had lives of value and a cargo of weight: they had fallen back and
+were standing away.
+
+The sun blazed on his downward stoop, with a muster of clouds rolling to
+overtake him before he could touch the edge of the world. In due time
+full storm would come as surely as would the night.
+
+Christian over the gunwale stared down. He muttered to himself; whenever
+a white sea-bird swooped near he looked up and laughed again. Wild and
+eager, his glance turned ever to the westward sea, and never looked he to
+the sky above with its threat of storm, and naught cared he for the peril
+of death sweeping up with every wave.
+
+A dark coast-line came forward, that Rhoda knew for the ominous place
+that had overshadowed Christian's life. The Isle Sinister rose up, a blot
+in the midst of lines of steady black and leaping white.
+
+Over to the low sun the clouds reached, and half the sky grew splendid
+with ranges of burnished copper, and under it the waves leaped into
+furious gold. Rhoda's courage broke for the going down of her last sun;
+she wept and prayed in miserable despair for the life, fresh and young,
+and good to live, that Christian was wantonly casting away with his own.
+No hope dare live with night and storm joining hands, and madness driving
+on the cruelest coast known.
+
+On they drove abreast of the Isle Sinister.
+
+He clung swaying to the tiller, with groaning breath, gaping with a wide
+smile and ravenous looks fixed intently. A terror of worse than death
+swept upon Rhoda. She fell on her knees and prayed, shrieking: 'Good Lord
+deliver us!'
+
+Christian looked at her; for the only time with definite regard, he
+turned a strange dazed look to her.
+
+A violent shock flung her forward; the dash of a wave took her breath;
+the boat lurched aslant, belaboured by wave on wave, too suddenly headed
+for the open sea. The tiller broke from his nerveless hands, and like a
+log he fell.
+
+Rhoda's memory held after no record of what her body did then, till she
+had Christian's head on her knee. Had she mastered the great peril of the
+sail? had she fastened the rudder for drifting, and baled? she whose
+knowledge and strength were so scanty? Her hands assured her of what her
+mind could not: they were chafed by their frantic hurry over cordage.
+
+She felt that Christian lived; yet nothing could she do for him, but
+hold him in her arms, giving her body for a pillow, till so they should
+presently go down together, and both be safely dead.
+
+The buoy-bells jangled to windward, to leeward. Then spoke the blessed
+voices of the three Saints, and a light showed, a single murky star in a
+great cave of blackness, that leaned across the zenith to close round the
+pallid west. Ah, not here, not here in the evil place! She had rather
+they drown in the open.
+
+The weak, desolate girl was yet clinging desperately to the barest chance
+of life. She laid her burden down; with awkward, aching hands she
+ventured to get out a corner of sail; and she tried to steer, but it was
+only by mercy of a flaw of wind that she held off and went blindly
+reeling away from the fatal surf. As night came on fully the light and
+the voice of the House Monitory passed away, and the buoy-bells, and the
+roar of breakers, and the heavy black of the coast. Past the Land's End
+in the free currents of open sea, she let the boat drive.
+
+Crouching down again, she took up the dear weight to give what shelter
+she could, and to gain for herself some, for great blasts drove hard,
+and furious gusts of rain came scourging. Through the great loneliness of
+the dark they went, helpless, driving on to the heart of the night, the
+strength of the waves still mounting, and the fierceness of the wind; the
+long gathering storm, still half restrained, to outleap in full hurricane
+about the time of midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+All night Lois and Giles were praying in anguish of grief for their
+children of adoption, even when hope was beaten out by the heavy-handed
+storm. For three days and nights the seas were sailless, though the hulks
+of two wrecks were spied drifting; and after, still they ran so high,
+that a fifth day dawned before a lugger beat in aside her course on a
+kindly errand. Then up the street leapt news to the desolate pair: how
+Rhoda and Christian lived; how their boat had been run down in the night,
+and themselves snatched gallantly from death; how they had been put
+ashore at the first port a mastless ship could win, and there received by
+the pity of strangers; and how all the while Christian lay raving and
+dying, and by now must be dead.
+
+But to hope reborn this last was unbelievable. Lois said she should find
+him alive and to live, since Heaven had twice willed him to escape the
+jaws of death. And her heart of confidence she kept for more than two
+weary days of difficulty and delay. But when she reached his bed her hope
+wavered; she saw a shorn head, and a face blanched and bloodless like
+bone, fallen out of a shape she knew into strange hollows, with eyes
+showing but a glassy strip, and grey, breathless lips. 'To-night,' said
+Rhoda.
+
+Breathless also through the night they watched till came the first shiver
+of dawn. Then his eyelids rose; he looked with recognition at Lois, and
+moved a hand towards hers; and with a quiet sigh his eyes closed, not for
+death, but for blessed, feverless, breathing sleep.
+
+The one who wept then was Lois, and Rhoda clasped her in a passionate
+embrace of comfort, and herself shed no tear.
+
+The child had deserted Rhoda for ever, as the boy Christian. She knew it:
+she had kissed her childhood dead on his lips, and now past any recall it
+had been buried, and lay deep under such a weight of sorrow as fate can
+hew only for a woman full. No tear she shed, no word she said, and she
+ordered her face to be serene.
+
+She had a word for Lois not at first to be understood. 'God has been good
+to heal,' she would say; but the whole truth did not declare till Lois,
+regarding the future again, had sighed: 'Where shall he go?' 'Home,' said
+Rhoda. Lois shook her head sadly: 'He could not bear it.' The girl, with
+arms round her neck and a hid face, whispered again: 'God has been good
+to heal--I think so--do you not know it yet?'
+
+So a day came when a wasted shadow of the old Christian was borne along
+the quay and up the street, while men and women stept out to observe.
+Their eyes he met with placid recognition, clear of any disquiet.
+
+The devil had gone out of the fellow at last, they said, when he could
+not lift a hand for injury, nor gloom a resentful look. And so hard
+doings were justified; and none intolerant could begrudge him the life he
+had brought away, even before a guess began that he had not brought away
+his full wits.
+
+Out in the porch he would come to bask in the sun for hours with animal
+content. Out to the gate he would come, going weakly to and fro as he was
+bid. But Giles was surly to men, and to women Lois was iron cold, and
+Rhoda had deft ways of insult to repulse unwelcome intrusion; and so for
+a little while those three guarded him and kept close the secret of his
+ruin.
+
+Then one at an unguarded moment won in, and spied, and carried her report
+of his mild, his brute-mild gaze, and his slow labour of speech: it was
+the mother of Philip. Rhoda found a token of her left beside Christian, a
+well-intended, small peace-offering, in a cheese of her sole make.
+
+'Who brought this?' she asked; and he told.
+
+'She offered it--to you?'
+
+'To us,' he returned quietly.
+
+'And you took it--thanked her and took it?'
+
+He looked up and studied her face for enlightenment.
+
+'The mother was not here.'
+
+Rhoda's passion surged over. 'How dared she, how dared she!' she stormed,
+and seized on the poor gift, cast it down, stamped it into the sandy
+path, and spurned it over the sweet herbs into the sluggy kail beyond.
+
+Like a child, chidden for some uncomprehended fault, he looked at her,
+distressed at her condemnation, anxious to atone, wondering if his senses
+told him true. Her anger failing under an agony of pity and remorse, from
+the unendurable pain of his look she fled to hide her passionate weeping.
+When Lois came out to Christian he was deeply asleep.
+
+Soon he carried into the street his brute-mild gaze, and his slow labour
+of speech. And no thumb turned against him. For all who chose to peer in
+on his blank mind found how shame and rancour could take no root in a
+void of memory. He met every face with an even countenance, showing no
+recall of a debt to any.
+
+In a very literal sense it was now said that the devil had gone out of
+him. Willing belief held that he had been actually possessed, and
+delivered only when a right instinct of severity had spoiled him for
+habitation. Some compunction showed over the mooted point whether the
+pitiful lasting flaw had not rather come of the last spite of an evicted
+devil, than of the drastic measures of exasperated men.
+
+In nowise did Christian's reason now work amiss, though it was slow and
+heavy; nor had his memory lost all its store, nor quite its power to
+store. Of earlier days his remembrance was clear and complete though a
+little unready, but of passing hours some only did not float clean out of
+mind to be forgotten. This was a deficiency that mended by degrees, and
+in time bid fair to pass. Where the break began, none who loved him
+ventured to discover. Once when, as shall be told, Giles incautiously
+touched, Christian turned a dazed, painful face, and grew white and
+whiter, and presently laid his head down on his arms and slept deeply. In
+those days frequent slumbers fell, and for the most part memory was
+blurred behind them.
+
+Lois in her heart sometimes had a secret doubt that oblivion had not
+entirely satisfied him. His reason seemed too serviceable to lie down
+without an effort; and it was hard to imagine how it could account for
+certain scars that his body would carry to the grave; or account for the
+loss of two boats--the old drudge and his own murdered Beloved. Yet when
+in his presence they held anxious debate on the means to a new boat, he
+listened and made no comment.
+
+The poor wronged household was hardly set. Restitution was unlooked for,
+and not to be enforced, for woe betide any who against the tyranny of the
+fishers' law invoked higher powers and another code. Though now the alien
+was tolerated under a milder estimate, an outcast he remained, and none
+were so hardy as to offer fellowship with him and his. The cost of a boat
+was more than Giles could contrive on his own poor securities, and none
+could he find to share for profit or risk in any concern that Christian
+would be handling. It was only on his Reverence offering surety for
+instalments that the dread of ruin and exile for one and all passed them
+by, and means to a livelihood were obtained.
+
+Together, as in the long past days when Christian was yet a child, and
+Giles was still hale, the old man and the young returned to daily toil on
+the coral shoals. Giles was the better man of the two at the first, for
+necessity had admitted of no delay; but as the younger gained in strength
+the elder lost; by the month's end his feeble stock of strength,
+overdrawn, failed suddenly, not enough remaining for him to potter about
+the quay as before. In months succeeding, his goings came to be
+straitened, first to the garden, then to the house, then to one seat, one
+bed. Before the year's end it was to be to the straitest lodging of
+all--green turfed.
+
+Alone, quite alone again, with sea and sky whispering together round him,
+and no sail near, well might those who loved Christian pray for him
+hourly.
+
+His first return was so late that terrors beset all three. The two women
+were on the quay when his boat glided in under dusk, and up he stept with
+a load. The hearts of both were beating thick for dread of a rich load
+that would blast him afresh, for thus in old days had he glided in at
+dusk.
+
+But what he bore was only his nets, which he dropped before them. He
+stood silent and downcast. They saw that one of the cross-beams was
+broken; they saw that the meshes were torn incredibly.
+
+They saw that he was waiting in dumb distress to be told by them if he
+were to blame. Ah, dear aching hearts! not a word, not a look was there
+to weigh on him in his disappointment. Rhoda stripped off the netting and
+carried it home, with a gay boast of proving her proficiency, for she had
+learned net-making from Christian in his idle days of weakness. Half the
+next day she sat mending, and was proud of her finished task, expecting
+some reward of praise. But it never came. The fresh netting he had taken
+he brought back torn hideously, so that dismay fell.
+
+Christian and Giles together had met only poor luck, but here came a
+stroke of so deliberate an aim that the word misfortune seemed
+indifferent to describe it.
+
+And this was but the beginning of a long course; again and again
+Christian returned with spoiled nets; and, even on better days, few there
+were when his takings were not conspicuously poor in amount and quality.
+Such loss was the graver since an instalment was due at the season's
+close, and except the dawning autumn brought fair success, sore straits
+would come with the winter.
+
+Rhoda proved good for bread-winning. Before, she had practised
+lace-making, taught her at the convent school, and now she turned to it
+with all her energy. Early and late found her bending over her pillow. No
+more net-mending for her: for the sake of unroughened hands she had to
+leave that to Christian and the elders. Yet her work was but poorly paid,
+and the sale uncertain.
+
+As autumn came in, Christian still gained in physical strength up to near
+his old level; but Giles declined slowly, Lois grew thin and worn, and
+Rhoda was losing something of her bloom.
+
+The heart of the old man yearned over the girl, and he knew that his time
+was but brief. For hours he would sit and watch, fondly and sadly, her
+dear bent head and her hands playing over her pillow in a patch of light
+under the pinned-back blind. At last he told Christian his heart, even
+Christian.
+
+'Take care of my little maid, lad.'
+
+He answered 'Ay,' stupidly.
+
+'For I reckon I may not be here long to care for her myself.'
+
+That was all he said at first, but that he would say often for some days,
+till he was sure that Christian had taken the sense in full, and had
+failed to quite disbelieve his foreboding.
+
+'Before I lie down in the dark, I would like main to hear you take oath
+on it, lad.'
+
+'I take oaths never,' said Christian mechanically.
+
+'Right, right! save in this wise: before God's altar with ring and
+blessing.'
+
+Christian examined his face long to be sure of understanding; then he
+said, 'No.'
+
+Giles was disappointed, but spite of the absolute tone he would not take
+a negative.
+
+'When I am gone to lie yonder east and west, and when some day the wife
+shall come too to bed with me, how will you take care of my little maid?
+her and her good name?'
+
+'Oh, God help us!'
+
+'Look you to it, for I doubt she, dear heart, cares for you--now--more
+than for her mere good name.'
+
+'How can she!' he muttered.
+
+Said Giles hazardously: 'Once I knew of a girl such as Rhoda; as shy and
+proud and upright; and a lad she liked,--a lad, say, such as you,
+Christian, that she liked in her heart more than he guessed. Until he got
+shamefully mistook, miscalled, mishandled, when she up and kissed him at
+open noon in the face of all. And then, I mind, at need she followed him
+over seas, and nought did her good heart think on ill tongues. There is
+Rhoda all over.'
+
+He watched askance to see what the flawed wits could do, and repented of
+his venture; for it was then Christian so paled and presently so slept.
+
+But Giles tried again.
+
+'Do you mind you of the day of Rhoda's coming? Well, what think you had I
+at heart then? You never had a guess? You guess now.'
+
+Christian said, 'I will not.'
+
+'Ah! lad, you do. And to me it looked so right and fit and just. That the
+wife might gainsay, I allowed; but not you. No; and you will not when I
+tell you all.
+
+'Christian, I do not feel that I have left in me another spring, so while
+I have the voice I must speak out, and I may not let you be.
+
+'You know of Rhoda's birth: born she was on the same night as our child.
+As for me, I could not look upon the one innocent but thought on the
+other would rise, and on the pitiful difference there was. Somehow, the
+wife regarded it as the child of its father only, I think always, till
+Rhoda stood before her, the very image of her mother. And with me 'twas
+just the other way about; and I was main fond of the poor young mother; a
+sweet, gentle creature she was--a quiet dove, not a brave hawk like
+little Rhoda. I wished the little thing could have shared with ours heart
+and home; but that the wife could not have abided, the man being amongst
+us too. But I went and managed so that none can cast up on Rhoda as a
+pauper foundling.
+
+'Lad, as I would like you to think well of me when I am gone, God knows I
+can ill afford to have more than is due stand against me; so look you,
+lad, I was not such a wastrel as you had cause for thinking. I don't deny
+what may have been in old days before, but for a good seventeen year when
+I have gone off for a fling now and then, Rhoda has been the better for
+it, not I the worse. It has been hard on the wife, and I own I have done
+a deal of cheating by her and by you too, and have stinted you unfairly.
+There, there, hold your tongue, and let me start fair again.
+
+'After our child was taken from us, and the poor wife took on so for our
+blame, it was borne in on me that the rightest amending was not far to
+seek; and I put it to her at last. But I spoke too soon, when her hurts
+were quick and raw, and she could not bear it. She was crazy-like then,
+and I put my notion by for a bit. You see, it was like this: I reckoned
+the fatal misdoing was unchristian rancour against the father, and care
+for his deserted child should best express contrition. But the wife
+couldn't look that way--and she got from the Book awful things to say
+against the wicked man and his children; and all she repented on was her
+wrong ways, in neglect of right worship to affront the man; and I think
+in her heart she cursed him more bitter than ever. A penance it would
+have been to her to do violence to her griefs and indignations by taking
+up the child; but it would have righted her as nothing else could, and
+that I knew, and I looked to bring her to it yet. For me, well, I was on
+other ground before then, and more than once Rhoda's baby hand had closed
+upon my finger, ay, upon my heart, though then she was not like my own.
+And that in a way made me slack to drive against the grain, when with me
+the point ran smooth and sweet.
+
+'Now, Christian, what came next?'
+
+The old man had been very slow with his tale, watching his listener
+intently all the while to be sure he heeded and understood. Christian
+shook his head, but there was very sensible apprehension on his face as
+he looked to Giles.
+
+'You came, Christian.
+
+'You took the place in heart and home that might have come to be little
+Rhoda's, as I hoped.
+
+'You came from the sea that had taken our own, and so the wife said it
+was the hand of God. I thought the hand of God pointed otherwise.
+Christian, what say you?'
+
+He could answer nothing: Giles waited, but he could not.
+
+'You will take care of my little maid as I want?'
+
+'I cannot! ah, I cannot!'
+
+'All these years Rhoda has wanted a home as I think because of you; and
+because of you I could not hope for the wife's heart to open to her.'
+
+'She should hate me! you should!' said Christian. His face was scared.
+
+'You can make ample amends--oh! ample; and Rhoda will count the wants of
+her youth blessed that shall lay the rest of her days to your keeping.
+She will--Christian, are you so blind?--she will.
+
+'Ah, dear lad! I got so well contented that the wife had had her way and
+had taken you, when I saw what the just outcome should be; and saw her
+shaping in the dark towards the happy lot of the sweet little slip she
+ignored. Long back it began, when you were but a little chap. Years
+before you set eyes on her, Rhoda had heard of you.
+
+'In the end I could fit out no plan for you to light on her; and a grubby
+suitor was bargaining for her, so I had to make a risky cast. She was to
+enter as a passing stranger I had asked to rest. The wife fell on her
+neck, before a word. Well, well, what poor fools we had both been!
+
+'Christian, why do you say No?'
+
+'I wish her better.'
+
+'But she loves you! I swear she loves you! And I, O good Lord! I have
+done my best to set her affections on you. How shall I lie still in the
+grave while her dear heart is moaning for its hurt, and 'tis I that have
+wrought it.'
+
+To a scrupulous nature the words of Giles brought cruel distress.
+Christian's eyes took to following Rhoda, though never a word of wooing
+went to her. In the end he spoke.
+
+'Dear Rhoda,' he said, and stopped; but instantly she looked up startled.
+His eyes were on the ground.
+
+'Rhoda, I love you dearly. Will you be my wife?'
+
+She grew white as death, and stayed stone-still, breathless. Then he
+looked at her, stood up, and repeated resolutely: 'Rhoda, dearest, will
+you be my wife?'
+
+She rose to confront him, and brought out her answer:
+
+'No.'
+
+He stared at her a moment in stupid bewilderment.
+
+'You will not be my wife?' he said.
+
+She put out all her strength to make the word clear and absolute, and
+repeated: 'No.'
+
+His face grew radiant; he caught her in his arms suddenly and kissed her,
+once, twice.
+
+'O my sister!' he cried, 'my dear sister!'
+
+She did not blush under his kisses: she shut her eyes and held her breath
+when his eager embrace caught her out of resistance. But when it
+slackened she thrust him back with all her might, broke free, and with a
+low cry fled away to find solitude, where she might sob and sob, and
+wrestle out her agony, and tear her heart with a name--that strange
+name, that woman's name, 'Diadyomene.'
+
+She had his secret, she only, though it was nought but a name and some
+love titles and passionate entreaties that his ravings had given into her
+safe keeping.
+
+On the morrow Christian's boat lay idle by the quay. Before dawn moved he
+had gone.
+
+'I think--I think you need not fear for him,' said Rhoda, when the day
+closed without him. 'I think he may be back to-morrow.'
+
+'You know what he is about--where he has gone, child?'
+
+First she said 'Yes,' and then she said 'No.'
+
+In the dusk she crept up to Giles. Against his breast she broke into
+pitiful weeping.
+
+'Forgive me! forgive me! I said "No" to him.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+With its splendour and peace unalterable, the great sanctuary enclosed
+them.
+
+Face to face they stood, shattered life and lost soul. Diadyomene tried
+to smile, but her lips trembled; she tried to greet him with the old name
+Diadyomenos, but it fell imperfect. And his grey eyes addressed her too
+forcibly to be named. What was in them and his face to make her afraid?
+eyes and face of a lover foredoing speech.
+
+The eager, happy trouble of the boy she had beguiled flushed out no more;
+nay, but he paled; earnest, sad, indomitable, the man demanded of her
+answering integrity. Uncomprehended, the mystery of pain in embodied
+power stood confronting the magic of the sea, and she quailed.
+
+'Agonistes, Agonistes!' she panted, 'now I find your name: it is
+Agonistes!'
+
+But while he did not answer, her old light came to her for reading the
+tense inquiry of his eyes. Did they demand acknowledgment of her defeat
+and his supremacy? No, she would not own that; he should not know.
+
+'And have you feared to keep what you got of the sea? And have you flung
+it away, as I counselled when last you beheld me?'
+
+The strong, haggard face never altered for contest. He asked slowly:
+
+'Was it a vision of Diadyomene that rose up to the waves through the
+shadow of a fisher's boat?'
+
+With an effort she set her eyes at his defiantly.
+
+'It was not I. I? For what cause?'
+
+'He called you.'
+
+'I come for no man's call.'
+
+Against her will her eyes fell.
+
+'Look at me, Diadyomene; for an evil dream haunts me, and your eyes have
+got it hid.'
+
+'An evil dream!'
+
+She laughed, but her breath came quick as again their looks encountered.
+
+What she met in the steadfast grey eyes brought terror gathering to her
+own. She shuddered and covered her face.
+
+'An evil dream haunts _me_, and _your_ eyes have got it hid.'
+
+He watched, dazed, and muttered: 'You--you.'
+
+'What is it?--what is it?' she cried. 'Why have you brought it with you
+out of season? It is like an air that I cannot breathe. Take it away!'
+
+Never before had she shown so human a weakness, nor had she ever shown so
+womanly fair. Her clear eyes dilated, her whole face quivered, and for an
+instant a shadow of vague wistfulness crossed her fear. Her lover's heart
+beat free of dreams, for a passion of tenderness responded to her need.
+
+'Ah, Diadyomene, no! Can you so dream it, when, to keep all evil from
+you, I would, God willing, enter hell?'
+
+'May be,' she whispered, 'it is what you call hell I enter, every year
+once, when my dream comes.'
+
+Appalled he heard. 'You shall not, Diadyomene, you shall not! Come to me,
+call me, and what heart of man can brave, by my soul I will, and keep you
+safe.'
+
+She found his eyes again, within them only love, and she rallied.
+
+'It is only a dream,' she said. 'And yet to escape it I would give up
+many choice moments of glorious sea life.'
+
+She eyed him hard, and clenched her hands. 'I would give up,' she said,
+'the strongest desire my heart now holds; ay, in the dear moment of its
+fulfilment, I would give up even that, if so a certain night of the year
+might pass ever dreamless and untroubled.'
+
+'So would not I! though I think my dream cannot be less terrible than
+yours; though I know my desire cannot be less dear. Diadyomene, what is
+the desire of your heart?'
+
+She would not say; and she meant with her downcast, shy eyes to mislead
+him. But in vain: too humble was he to presume.
+
+'Diadyomene, what is your dream?'
+
+'I cannot tell,' she said, 'for it passes so that my brain holds but an
+echo of it, and my heart dread. And what remains of it cannot be told,
+for words are too poor and feeble to express it.'
+
+He saw her thinking, sighing, and shuddering.
+
+'How near is its coming?' he asked, and but half heeding she told,
+counting by the terms of the moon.
+
+'Agonistes, how I know not, my deep, strong love of the sea grows
+somewhat faint when the hour draws near to dream; and the land, the poor,
+hard, unsatisfying land, grows some degrees dearer. Ah! but I loathe it
+after, when my life again beats strong and true with the pulse of the
+deep. Keep you far from me then, lest I hate you--yes, even you--hate you
+to death.'
+
+'Rather bid me here, to watch out the night with you.'
+
+'I forbid it!' she said, suddenly fierce and wary. 'Take heed! Wilful,
+deliberate trespass against my express will shall find no pity, no
+pardon.'
+
+Quick she saw that, intemperate, she had startled her prey; therefore she
+amended, smiling sadly.
+
+'See you how those diverse tides sway me even now. Agonistes, were you
+not of the land--did you share the sea--then may be--ah, ah----
+
+'I will try to tell you. An awful sense of desolation falls, for I feel
+dry earth underfoot, and thin air, and I hear the sea moaning for me, but
+turn where I will I cannot see nor reach it: it lies beyond a lost path,
+and the glories, blisses, and strengths it gives me wither and die. And
+then horrors of the land close round me.
+
+'What are they? I know not; they whirl past me so that their speed
+conceals them; yet, as streaks, are they hideous and ghastly. And I hear
+fearful sounds of speech, but not one distinct, articulate word. And in
+my dream I know that if any one stays, stands, confronts me, to be seen
+fully in the eyes and heard out clear from the din, all my joy of the sea
+would lie dead for ever, and the very way back would vanish.'
+
+Christian had his own incomparable vision of the magic of the sea to
+oppose and ponder.
+
+'Ah! you cannot comprehend, for I tell of it by way of the senses, and
+they are without, but this is within: in my veins, my breath, my fibres
+of life. It is I--me.'
+
+'I can, ah! I can.'
+
+'Yet the dear heart of the sea holds me fast through all; with imperious
+kindness it seizes my will when my love grows slackest, and draws me out
+of the shallows; and down, and down I drift, like weed.'
+
+'Diadyomene, have you never defied your fear, and kept from sleep, and
+kept from the sea?'
+
+Her voice sank. 'If I did--my dream might--come true.
+
+'Agonistes, what I saw in your eyes was--I doubted--my dream--coming
+true.
+
+'No; I will not look again.'
+
+Christian's voice was as low and shaken as hers. 'What was there?' he
+said.
+
+Again and again she gathered her breath for speech, yet at last was
+scarce audible.
+
+'A horror--a living human body--tortured with fire and scourge--flayed.'
+
+She lifted one glance and took the imprint of a strange tranced face,
+bloodless as death, void of speculation. Prone she sank to the edge of
+the altar rock, for such passions leapt up and grappled in desperate
+conflict as dissolved her strength under exquisite throes.
+
+She never raised her head, till, after long wrestle, malice--strong,
+full-grown malice--recovered and stood up triumphant over all. And not
+one word all that while had come from her lover.
+
+There lay he, his bright head low within reach of her hand. His tranquil
+ease, his quiet breath, flouted her before she saw that his eyes were
+closed in real sleep. His eyes were closed.
+
+She sprang up, stung, willing to kill; her wicked heart laughed,
+gratified then with the doings of men.
+
+How grand the creature lay!
+
+She stood to feast her eyes on the doomed body. The placid composure of
+the sleeper, of serene countenance, of slack limbs, touched her as
+excellent comedy. But it exasperated her also to the verge of a shrieking
+finish.
+
+She ached with a savage thirst in all her members; feet and hands and
+lips parched in imperious desires to trample, to smite, to bite her
+resentful hatred into the piece of flesh that mocked her control. The
+quiet sway of life within his ribs provoked her, with each slow breath he
+drew, to rend it from him.
+
+She turned away hastily from temptation to so meagre a revenge; for his
+spirit must first be crushed and broken and rent, justly to compensate
+for insolent offence. 'He cannot escape, for his heart is in my hand
+already,' she said.
+
+Ripples of jasper and beryl closed over her swift descent and shimmered
+to smooth. Lone in these splendid fittings for sepulture lay recumbent a
+make of earth meet to accomplish its void destiny.
+
+Ripples of jasper and beryl broke from her slow ascent as a reflex
+current swept her back.
+
+The mask of sleep lay over his face; though she peered intent, it would
+yield nothing, nothing. A want and a dread that struggled together for
+birth troubled the cold sea nature. Strong they thrust towards the light,
+as her mind recalled the intolerable speech of his eyes and his altered
+face. So near she bent that the warmth of his breath reached her lips.
+She shrank back, quivering, and crouched, rocked with passionate sighs.
+
+'But I hate, I hate!' she moaned; for a contrary impulse bade her lay
+upon his breast her hand, and on his lips hers, and dare all her asking
+from his eyes. A disloyal hand went out and hovered over his heart. She
+plucked it back, aware of a desperate peril, vague, awful, alluring to
+destruction, like a precipice yawning under night.
+
+His hair was yellow-brown, matching the mellow sands of the under-sea; it
+ran into crisp waves, and over the brow curved up to crest like a breaker
+that stayed unbroken. No such hair did the sea grow--no hair, no head,
+that often her hand had so wanted to handle; ay, graciously--at first--to
+hold the crispness, to break the crest; and ever because she dared not
+did fierceness for tearing arise. So slight an inclination, ungratified,
+extended to vast dimensions, and possessed her entire. And she called it
+hate. How long, how long, she complained, shall I bear with this thirst?
+Yet if long, as long shall the quenching be. He shall but abandon his
+soul, and no doubt shall restrain me from touching as I will.
+
+She covered her face from the light of day, for she contemplated an
+amazement to nature: deadly hate enfolded in the arms of strong love.
+
+When the tide brimmed up and kissed him awake, Diadyomene was away.
+
+Another manner of Diadyomene vexed her lover's next coming: she was
+mockery incarnate, and unkind; for she would not condescend to his
+limitations, nor forsake a golden spongy nest two fathoms and more below
+breath. Yet her laughter and her eyes summoned him down, and he, poor
+fool, displayed before her derision his deficiency, slow to learn that
+untiring submission to humiliation would win no gracious reward at last.
+And the young witch was as slow to learn that no exasperation she could
+contrive would sting him into amorous close for mastery.
+
+Christian was no tempered saint. Diadyomene gained a barren, bitter
+victory, for he fled.
+
+At sundown a monitress, mounting the night tower, by a loophole of the
+stair looking down on the great rock saints, spied a figure kneeling
+devoutly. When the moon rose late the same kept vigil still. In the wan
+of dawn the same, overtaken by sleep, lay low against the feet of St.
+Margaret.
+
+Though Christian slept, he heard the deep bell voices of the three.
+Articulate they grew, and entered the human soul with reproof and
+exhortation and promise. He woke, and intrepid rose to face the unruly
+clamours of nature, for the sake of the cast soul of that most beautiful
+body, Diadyomene.
+
+Vain was the encounter and the passionate spiritual wooing. Diadyomene
+would not hear, at heart fiercely jealous because no such ardent entreaty
+had all her beauty and charms ever evoked. She was angered when he would
+not take dismissal.
+
+'Never, never,' she said, 'has any creature of the sea thwarted me so and
+lived; and you, you dare! Hear now. There, and there, and there, stand
+yet your silly inscriptions. Cancel them, for earnest that never again
+shall mention of those monstrous impossible three trouble my ear.'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Hear yet. Cancel them, and here, perpetual and irrevocable, shall right
+of freedom be yours, and welcome. Leave them intact, and I swear you
+shall not get hence scatheless.'
+
+'Can you mean this, Diadyomene?'
+
+'Ah, so! because I relented once, you presume. See, and if those three
+can deliver you whole, them will I worship with you.'
+
+And it came to pass that Christian carried home the best member that he
+possessed broken, for fulfilment of Diadyomene's promise.
+
+He doubted she had divined a profane desire, and covertly rewarded it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+One there was who watched Christian with curious intentness, who, when
+the plight of the Alien staled on general interest, was singular by
+persistent advances: his old rival, Philip. Elder by two years, the
+tyrant of Christian's early day had he been; between them drawn battle
+raged while the one had yet advantage by a head, soon to alter when the
+other came stepping up from the ranks of boyhood to match with men, and
+to win final supremacy at every point. Latent challenge had not worn out
+of meeting glances even before Rhoda's coming accentuated an antagonism
+based primarily on temperament and type. When the world turned upon
+Christian, Philip's forwardness was accountable enough; when the world
+veered, his position might fairly have been backward.
+
+And truly slowest he was to get conviction of the perfect cure that had
+befallen the alien. Though for proof he drew near, venturous to tempt a
+sparkle out of the quenched firebrand, his closest approach could
+discover none; nay, all lively mislike and jealousy seemed gone with the
+missing core; old remembered heats kept but indifferent life, and every
+trace of arrogance had vanished quite. To such an one Philip could be
+generous at no great cost were it not for Rhoda's preference.
+
+In a character of but poor stuff some strands of good quality ran hid,
+and a love-liking for the shy, fierce, young girl was strengthening into
+better worth under reverses. That Christian stood first in her regard he
+knew well, for she made it abundantly clear, with a courage and frankness
+that brought comment. 'Not maidenly!' retorted Philip to his mother,
+'then is maidendom the sorrier.' He came to respect even the innocent
+vice in her that woke ever to affront him. That his passion could survive
+rages of vanity, often and deep wounded, proved its vitality and worth.
+
+Slowly also and fitfully Philip came to think that Christian was no rival
+lover; that he never did, that now he never would, regard Rhoda as more
+than a sister. For his own gain he might be generous; yet among meaner
+motives stood an honest endeavour to deserve well of the girl who loved
+Christian, overbearing old antipathies; nor should it be to his demerit
+that he was unconstrained by any touch of compunction: an amended version
+of Christian, harmless, luckless, well-disposed, forbade any such
+disrespect to past measures.
+
+While many wondered that he should be so considerate of the alien, Rhoda
+hardened her heart. Even greater than unquenchable resentment was her
+distress of grief and shame because Christian was tamed. Unwittingly,
+Philip himself afforded demonstration. No wonder his aim miscarried, and
+he had ground to complain bitterly of signal injustice.
+
+Once, at twilight, as Rhoda turned towards the quay, looking for
+Christian and his rent nets, Philip stayed her, refusing rebuff, and
+sought to turn her home again with an awkward lie. She caught him out and
+stared. Then sudden terror started her past him, and winged her along the
+shore towards men clustering thick. But Philip was speedy, overtook her,
+and in desperation held her by main force.
+
+'Rhoda,' he entreated, 'you must not go. It is not Christian, I say. It
+is not Christian.'
+
+She was struggling with all her might, beating at him, biting at his
+hands.
+
+'I will go, I will! Christian, Christian! Let me go! Ah, coward!'
+
+'It is not Christian,' and he named another to pacify her. 'Not
+Christian.'
+
+She did not believe him; as he had caught her she had heard a cry that
+maddened her so that her brain could take hold of no reason. She was sure
+that Christian was being done to death after some horrible fashion.
+
+No; thank God, no. She saw him suddenly safe and free; and she fell to
+sobbing and trembling pitifully, so that Philip without offence for a
+moment held her in his arms. She saw him coming, one high, fair head
+conspicuous above the rest; she saw him looking aside, turning aside,
+when instinctively she knew that what he beheld was a thief bound and
+beaten according to the custom and law of the fishers. As he halted,
+overlooking the circle, she read by nods exchange of question and answer.
+And then on he came again. One or two turned and looked after him: that
+she noted.
+
+She was moaning and rocking for pain, though she did not know it; she was
+white and cold, for fear so held her heart's blood that not even the
+agony of shame she felt for Christian could urge any to her face. She
+tried to go forward, but only got free from Philip to find she could
+barely stand, and must hold by the sea-wall. So Christian's face came
+near to be read, and lo! it was utterly blank: no anger, no pain, no
+shame, altered it by a line; but the lips were grey, and as he set eyes
+on Philip quickly he crossed himself. Then he saw Rhoda, and oh! the
+comfort to her of his strong, quiet grasp, and his eyes, and his voice.
+
+Throbbing yet from Rhoda's warm weight, struck with vivid misdoubt and
+fear of the alien, Philip forgot control, and the natural man looked out
+for one moment with glance of hot challenge at his born rival. He met no
+response: Christian regarded him with resolute mild eyes, without
+jealousy, or resentment, or any perplexity, till he grew confounded and a
+little ashamed.
+
+'Take me home,' entreated Rhoda; and Christian, without a question or a
+comment, took her hand to lead. For one dreadful moment, breathless to
+Rhoda, he looked back and stood. Against his palm hers lay listening: it
+was mute, to her nerved apprehension telling nothing. Then home.
+
+What could the loon mean with his signing? thought Philip, shaken by a
+doubt. Nothing, nothing--blank madness. Nevertheless, his sudden,
+shameful fear of the Alien did not soon lie down to sleep again.
+
+A further proving awaited Christian and Philip. To Giles came Rhoda.
+
+'He says--Philip,' she began, choking, 'that except he--he--shall excel
+in the contests to-day, Christian will be wanted for saving to our fleet
+its lead on the coast. Oh, he must not!--he shall not! And he said, with
+his hateful airs, that he would do his best--to spare Christian. And he
+said, if he failed at that, he could yet promise that none should offend
+Christian with impunity while he stood by--he--he.' There a wretched
+laugh sobbed and strangled her.
+
+'I said our Christian would not--no--not for love, nor fear, nor profit,
+for he hinted that. I said: with what face dare such asking approach?
+what part has he with the fleet? Never goes he aboard any boat, and never
+a soul comes aboard his, neither do any dredge alongside him and his
+ill-luck. The Alien they call him ever. Him--him their best, their very
+best, having used worse than the lowest outcast, they desire as their
+champion at need. Are devils so vile and shameless? Oh! he must not.
+Forbid it you, and he will not disobey.'
+
+The old man shook his head.
+
+'He is no child--even now. He will look at me with those eyes of his,
+and ask why--and then am I done.'
+
+Later, Rhoda ventured down to Christian, mending his dredge on the quay,
+and persuaded him away. In vain; for some waylaid him, and there in her
+hearing got his promise, in swimming and rowing to do his best for the
+credit of the fleet. Rhoda dared only press his hand and look entreaty
+while his answer hung. A dazed look came and passed. Afterwards, his face
+of mild inquiry daunted remonstrance, as Giles foretold.
+
+Philip fetched him away eventually, but had not even the favour of a look
+from Rhoda. She kept down her head, biting back tears and words of rage
+and grief.
+
+'I think he means well--does Philip,' sighed Giles unhappily.
+
+Lois said bitterly: 'Like Samson blind, he goes to make sport for the
+Philistines.'
+
+Rhoda broke into passionate weeping.
+
+'Ah, ah!' she cried, 'it is unbearable. At every turn strangers I
+saw--who have come and heard--who will see, and our Christian will
+hear--alone, all alone. Oh, would that I were a brother to stand by him!
+Philip mean well! He prides himself on it, he parades it as a virtue, and
+to himself pretends that he does not hate. But once, he forgot, and
+looked--and I saw--hate--hate and fear. And I know, though he do
+contrary, that his blood will dance for joy at any affront to Christian.
+I know--and he takes Christian out to show!'
+
+Giles got on his feet.
+
+'If I am ever to tread the old quay, it may well be to-day.'
+
+The remonstrance of Lois lacked vigour. He took help of Rhoda's shoulder
+the length of the downward street, and then shambled off alone to
+Christian's protection.
+
+One, two, three hours passed, and twilight. Then back they came,
+Christian's ample strength charged with the old man's weight. Giles swore
+within his beard in his way that the women knew.
+
+'He takes his way for no asking or need of mine,' he declared gruffly;
+'and he might use his strength to better purpose.'
+
+'Christian outdone!'
+
+'No,' Christian said, 'I think not. No, none say so.'
+
+He stretched wearily, sighed, and, laying his head down on his arms,
+slept profoundly. They exchanged woful looks.
+
+'Poor lad, poor lad!' said the old man brokenly.
+
+'Ah, yes; he bested the lot: in rowing hardly, in swimming easily. Oh,
+don't ask! it was pretty bad. Bad! Oh, good Lord, but it makes one man
+sweat again to look back on it.
+
+'Oh! God damn their greedy eyes! Yet some few of our lot turned fair
+ashamed of their own handiwork; and when one brute of the Islands
+said--no matter what, but his own fellows muttered shame--and Philip
+would have struck him, yonder poor fool knocked up his arm quick.
+
+'Yes, Philip, girl! and I tell you I saw no hate: and he looked long and
+close too.'
+
+Stirless in sleep, Christian offered remonstrance to nerves that quivered
+under the halting tale.
+
+'The worst? no, the worst was after the young fools in their cups got
+heady. And in the end--well, the end of all was that Philip floored his
+man. And that should have been Christian's business, and he would not
+stir, though I nudged him to be up and at such foul jests. "I have heard
+nothing unfit," he says. And I wished I were underground. I never want to
+foot the quay again. Poor lad! ay, and poor spirit! the very man of him
+has got flawed.'
+
+'No,' said Lois painfully, 'however it came he did worthily, up to his
+name.'
+
+Giles closed his mouth, but shook his head mournfully, and Rhoda drew to
+him.
+
+This fell when late gales were closing the season to the coral fishers.
+Little more than a week after, Christian came back with his broken arm.
+
+Then want came looming straight ahead. Every due was paid, but none knew
+by what hard stinting, for resolute pride uttered no plea, and hid every
+sign. That the waning life of Giles should suffer from no lack, the
+others fared the harder. A haggard Christian, befitting a chastened lot,
+drew no comment; and if Rhoda grew a little pale, and Lois shrunk and
+grey, known cares they had for allowance, barring any guess at scant
+bread.
+
+The hardest of trials to a willing, strong man met Christian when,
+re-knit and sound, he offered for work and found that no man would hire
+him. His strange ill-luck cut him off from fellowship, so strong was the
+suspicion that a malignant influence had marked him down jealously. The
+only one to withstand the general verdict, to link him in, to persuade
+some favour to his hands, was the unrewarded Philip, whose best endeavour
+but won for him few, and brief, and ill-paid spells of labour. A many
+there were who would not take his services at a gift, and he knew it.
+Refuse, stranded out of touch of the human tide, he hung idle on the
+quay, through shortening days from morn to night, resolutely patient of
+the leaden hours and of the degradation on his famous strength.
+
+Lois foresaw that bitter need might drive him away at last, but as yet
+she could not bid him go, for Giles was slowly dying.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Philip sought out Christian secretly, to hint that on a venture three
+gold pieces might be his. Christian understood him well enough. In the
+veiled language of the coast, a venture signified honourable service for
+brave men, though the law of the land held otherwise, and rewarded it as
+felony. A well-knit League carried on far and near a contraband trade in
+the lives of proscribed men, and even the scrupulous honesty of Christian
+brought no reluctance to engage.
+
+'When, and with whom?' he asked.
+
+'To-morrow, you and I,' said Philip, and watched him anxiously.
+
+'Then are you of the League?' said Christian indifferently, nettling the
+other, still in the young pride of a desired association. The Alien at
+his best, he knew, would never have been reckoned fit; for though he
+excelled in strength, he lacked head.
+
+'You and I together,' he said, 'are fairly equal to any other three, and
+so can our gains be the larger.'
+
+Yet Christian would not readily close on the rich relief. He fixed on the
+other a thoughtful eye, pondering a question of fairness that might not
+be imparted. Philip flushed a little.
+
+'I am answerable to the League,' he said nervously; 'and though from
+outsiders we exact oaths, I will take it upon me to accept as sufficient
+your bare word for good faith and secrecy.'
+
+This was no more than Christian's credit had established; for from
+boyhood, under the strict schooling of Lois, he had kept to his word as
+sacredly as others to their oaths, and from pride and a scruple had ever
+refused to be sworn.
+
+Long seemed the pause and the trying scrutiny before Christian sighed and
+said, 'So be it.'
+
+'And secrecy?'
+
+'I promise secrecy.'
+
+'And you will not refuse a strict promise to obey orders--mine?'
+
+A vague foreboding warned Christian to stay, but reason could not
+sufficiently uphold it against his dire need of the gold. He promised.
+
+'I take it,' said Philip carelessly, 'that your boat would be the easier
+to handle. Mine is over heavy for two.'
+
+'I cannot risk what is not wholly mine.'
+
+'The League makes good all loss. And remember,' he looked away, and his
+voice had a strange note, 'if we do not come back--for long--or ever--the
+League sees to it that our folk do not want.'
+
+Christian looked at him hard.
+
+'Agreed,' he said first; and then, 'You think that likely?'
+
+'A venture is a venture; and, well, I may say that two ventures have
+miscarried, so many and brisk are the chasers; and I know of some who
+have fought shy of this one. I volunteered,' he said with pride.
+
+So they went their ways, Philip bidding his conscience lie still and
+mute, Christian questioning his.
+
+Save Giles, never had any man put out in that boat with the Alien. As the
+two slid out under early night, Philip looked at him, wondering if his
+wits were sound enough to tell him this, himself misliking the instance
+overmuch now. The sea was black and sullen, and the wind chill;
+Christian, silent and indifferent, was no heartening mate; and the shadow
+of night brought out a lurid streak in the venture that viewed under
+daylight had been but dull and faint.
+
+The stealthy boat crept on till midnight; now and then from the cusp of a
+bay floated out the faint cry of a quail. Then thrice it sounded, when
+the boat swooped in, touched, and with a third aboard, sprang away swift
+as a fishing gull.
+
+About to the west, then, Christian steered as Philip gave word; still
+west and west. He did not scan the stranger with natural interest, nor
+had he yet asked one question on their goings, though they were
+stretching for a coast known to him by fatal influence. When the very
+roar of evil waters sounded, and through it the first expostulation of a
+buoy bell, Philip's scrutiny could still detect no reluctance.
+
+Oh! fain now would he see a touch of human infirmity for fellowship;
+night had entered his blood, and shocks of horrid fear coursed; too stark
+and dreadfully mute was the figure at the helm for him to be void of
+apprehension. And the terrors of the sinister place, that his venture was
+to set at nought, according to a daylight mind, came beating in against
+unstable defences, entered, and took possession.
+
+Christian stooped over the gunwale, peering into the dark water. At
+that, Philip's hand went searching hurriedly about the bow, and that he
+sought was missing. He braced himself and approached the Alien.
+
+'Christian, has she never a twig of rowan at her bows?'
+
+The face that turned he could not see to read. 'No,' was the curt answer,
+and shaken through, he drew off with doubled thumbs.
+
+Too late now he doubted Christian to be no tool for handling with
+impunity. And worse he dreaded, out of a dark teeming with possibilities,
+dreadful to human flesh and human spirit. His hair rose, and he flung
+prayers to the hierarchy of heaven, but chiefly to those three--St. Mary,
+St. Margaret, and St. Faith. Comfort it was to draw to the side of one
+who abode, as he himself, within the limits of the five human senses. The
+quiet voice of the Adventurer rallied him.
+
+'What goes wrong?'
+
+'We bear no rowan, nor leaf, nor berry.'
+
+'Rowan! for protection against evil spirits?'
+
+'Ah! name them not. Not here and now. Rather turn your thumbs against
+them, and watch him.'
+
+'Him! your chosen mate?'
+
+'God forgive me, and help us--yes. Sir, I tell you, laughter here is
+more than folly--it is wickedness. No, I will not be questioned how and
+why. There--look there!'
+
+He grasped the sceptic's arm and pointed; Christian again had suddenly
+leaned down to peer over the boat's side.
+
+'What does he see?'
+
+Philip's teeth chattered. 'God knows, I dare not think.'
+
+He crowded sail recklessly, and the boat leapt along, quivering like a
+thing in fear. At speed they fled on further west, till the Sinister
+buoys were all passed by, and the Land's End drew up and turned behind
+them. Then Philip, with a heart lighter by some degrees, hove to, close
+furled, to wait and watch through the chill, long hours, till nearing
+dawn turned them back to the safe desolation of the evil place.
+
+Daylight better than dark speech declared the three to each other. The
+Adventurer considered well the men charged with his life and fortunes. Of
+a splendid make they were, both above the common in stature and strength,
+and well favoured in singular contrast. A practised student of his kind
+could read lines of weakness, and some feminine virtues also, in the
+dark, oval face with luminous, fine eyes, and a mouth too fully perfect
+for a man, and could read on the face from the resolute north a square
+threat of obstinacy showing from the bones out, and daring and truth in
+the grey eyes, deep set, and from brow to chin every imprint of
+integrity. Both faces were set and haggard, and their eyes encountered
+with a sombre disaffection that augured but ill for success. Strife was
+latent.
+
+Christian's glance rested on the Adventurer, unhooded to the morning
+light, and he guessed him, and knew him by silver mane and black brows an
+old lion-lord of a famous herd. The ray of recognition was caught and
+weighed. 'He has not been trusted, yet his looks are fit,' ran the old
+man's thoughts. He weighed Philip, whose features twitched, whose hands
+were nervous, who eyed his fellow with an uncertain glance, wavering at a
+return impassive as stone. Without hesitation he questioned for
+clearance.
+
+'Is all well--so far?'
+
+'Ay--so far?'
+
+'At your discretion I would hear how our chances lie, and on what side
+peril. To a landsman we carry on in an aimless fashion.'
+
+Philip looked at him straight enough, then furtively towards Christian.
+The stranger dropped his voice.
+
+'Is danger yonder?'
+
+Philip did not answer him, and strengthened in misdoubt, he spoke with a
+note of authority.
+
+'I would know your plans.'
+
+'You shall,' said Philip, but still he looked at Christian, and found it
+hard to begin. He took heart of wine.
+
+'Hearken--you also, Christian.
+
+'Sir, my undertaking is to put you aboard a foreigner, due to pass with
+her consorts off the Land's End, may be this day, or to-morrow at latest,
+whose part is but to contrive so that darkness may cover this bit of
+contraband trade.
+
+'Your flight discovered will for sure have brought an embargo on all the
+coast. Not a sail will be out, but chasers on the watch. Ashore now, not
+a chance were possible; but we took wing betimes; and here may we bide
+under daylight, and at night make again for the Land's End to watch our
+chance.'
+
+'Go on. This contrivance is too incredibly bald to suffice. How, then,
+when presently a patrol sails round yonder head?'
+
+'May Heaven forfend!'
+
+'Heaven! are you mad? Is all our security to be the grant by Heaven of a
+miracle?'
+
+'First, sir, I will tell you that we are like enough to be unharried;
+for it cannot be in mortal reckoning that we should dare here, since this
+place is a death-trap to be given wide berth in winter gales.'
+
+'The very place to seek men fugitive and desperate.'
+
+'By your leave, sir, I came into this venture as a volunteer, and not
+from desperation.
+
+'The special danger of these coasts you do not know. Our winter storms,
+sudden and fierce, strike here at their hardest. Learned men say that
+high ranges leagues off over sea make a funnel to set them here. We
+fishers have another way of thinking--no matter what. But 'tis wide known
+that there is no record of any boat caught in a winter burst within sound
+of these breakers living to boast of it.'
+
+'Is, then, the favour of Heaven also to be engaged to preserve from storm
+as from chase?'
+
+Philip, tongue and throat, was dry, and he drank again deeply.
+
+'You tell me of risks that I cannot bring myself to believe a volunteer
+would engage; not though, as I hear, he doubled his price.'
+
+Wine and resentment mounted a flush.
+
+'You do ill, sir, to fleer at a man who for your service risks freedom,
+life--ay, more than life--but that you would not believe; for you
+laughed, under night even, you laughed!'
+
+'By heavens! every look of a death-trap comes out on your own showing;
+and except you show me the key to unlock it, I myself will hazard the
+forcing; I and your mate yonder, who well I see is not in your
+confidence, whose face tells that he has no liking for you and your
+doings.'
+
+Christian turned away and made no response.
+
+'For God's sake, sir,' whispered Philip then, 'have patience, or you ruin
+all!'
+
+'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 gratitude; 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 ashore 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
+superstition was subjected to all the disintegrating forces that human
+scepticism can range; and with cold reason, logic, and analogy, 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 passed 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 damned 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 trespass? 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 passion 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 chastisement 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 pass, Philip dared greatly; for he
+bade Christian sleep, set hand himself to sail and tiller, glided in past
+the buoys, and rocked at trespass.
+
+'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.
+
+In the deep water unshadowed by the boat a darkness slid, catching his
+eye. He peered, but it was gone. His heart stood in his throat; a palsy
+of terror shook him. Oh speak, speak, St. Mary, St. Margaret, St. Faith,
+help a poor body--a poor soul!
+
+When he could stir he headed about, and slunk away for the open, out of
+the accursed region. A draught of wine steadied him somewhat, and softly
+overstepping Christian he roused the Adventurer, to get comfort of human
+speech. He told of the coming storm, he told of the coming sail, but of
+that other thing he said nothing. Yet presently the Adventurer asked why
+he shook. 'It is for cold,' and he drank again. And presently asked, what
+did he look for over the side? 'A shark's fin,' he said, 'that I thought
+I saw,' and he drank again.
+
+At their feet Christian lay motionless, heeding nothing outside his
+darkness. Yet presently the Adventurer said further: 'He sleeps. From
+what disquiet should you eye him so?'
+
+'If you list you shall know of his past,' muttered Philip. His speech was
+a little thick.
+
+From the coming from the sea of the alien child he started, and rambled
+on, with fact and fiction very inextricably mingled; but the hearer could
+make out the main truth of the blasting of a proud young life, and
+pitied, and was minded now to make large allowance for any misdemeanour.
+
+From their feet Christian rose, and without a look removed to the bows.
+They were stricken to silence.
+
+Suddenly Philip clutched the other, staring down. Both saw and blanched,
+though what they glimpsed gave to them no shape for a name. It was gone.
+
+'What is it?'
+
+'No rowan! not a leaf.'
+
+At that the old man mastered his nerves and laughed scorn in his beard.
+Philip cast a scared look towards Christian.
+
+'Last night,' he whispered, 'he looked over the side. I saw
+him--twice--it was for this.'
+
+'What is it?'
+
+'You saw. That was his familiar.'
+
+'Now look you,' returned the other with grave sarcasm, 'that is a
+creature I have seen never, and would gladly. You, if you be skilled as a
+fisher, catch me that familiar, and I will pay you in gold; or in broad
+silver if you win me but a fair sight.'
+
+Philip, ashy white, crossed himself. 'Heaven keep us! The one bait were a
+human soul.'
+
+Not with all his art and wisdom could the Adventurer now reinstate the
+earlier hardihood of his companion. Against a supplement by wine he
+protested.
+
+'Sir,' said Philip, sullen, 'I have braved enough for you and my
+conscience, and more. Longer here I will not bide; no, not for any
+price. We go to meet our fortune yonder of friend or foe.'
+
+The Adventurer looked at him and smiled. 'You miscount. Should I and he
+yonder, the Alien, be of another mind, your course may be ordered
+otherwise.'
+
+Taken in his own toils, Philip glared in wrath and fear, sundered from a
+common cause, an adversary.
+
+From the shrouded sea grew a roar; Christian sprang up; the darkness
+swayed forward, broke, and flew shredded; a line of racing waves leapt
+upon them as with icy stroke the squall passed. Through the broken
+vapours a rim of sun showed on the horizon; and there full west beat a
+tall three-master; a second was standing nearer; of a third a sway of
+mist withheld certainty. Here rose hope wellnigh clear of doubt.
+
+But the mists spread down again with twilight adding. The House Monitory
+woke and spoke far behind as they went to windward. Now Christian
+steered.
+
+Again was he aware of a stealthy threat moving below, and again looking
+he could nothing define. He was seen of both: the Adventurer came boldly
+to his side, and Philip dare not bide aloof. They peered, and he would
+not.
+
+For an intolerable moment he forbore them, gripping the tiller hard.
+
+'There is it!' said the old man. 'What say you is the creature? Your mate
+has named it--your familiar,' and he laughed.
+
+Even then Christian forbore still, though the stress of long hours of
+repressed passion culminated in a weight of frantic anger and loathing,
+cruel to bear.
+
+Then Philip lied, denying his words, and Christian knew that he lied; his
+crafty wits disturbed by wine, reverse, and fear, he blundered,
+protesting overmuch.
+
+Said the Adventurer grimly: 'Now my offer holds good for silver or gold;
+be you man enough to back your words, you who would give me the lie?'
+
+Without tackle men take fish by flamelight, spearing; and thus fell the
+wording of Philip's menace, as, reeling between fear and resentment on
+either hand, he cried wildly:
+
+'I care not--though, by heavens! a famous take may come of it. We have
+but to try fire.'
+
+Christian gripped him, very death in his face and in his strength; swayed
+him from his feet; gripped the harder for his struggles, till the ribs
+of the poor wretch gave, and cracked within his arms; with a great heave
+had him shoulder high; with another could have flung him overboard. And
+did not.
+
+On the finest verge of overpoise he held, swung round with a slackening
+hold, and dropped him like a cast bale to the bottom of the boat. Then he
+caught the tiller and clung to it with the strength of a drowning man.
+
+Philip lay groaning, broken and wrung in body and mind. He realised a
+dreadful truth: for one brief second he had seen in Christian's eyes
+fierce, eager hatred; clear, reasonable, for informed by most
+comprehensive memory; mad he was, but out of no deficiency; mad, with
+never a blank of mind to disallow vengeance; as cunning and as strong he
+was as ever madness could make a man; unmasked, a human devil.
+
+The Adventurer lifted him and felt his bones, himself half stunned and
+bleeding, for he had been flung heavily from unpractised balance, as
+suddenly the boat lurched and careened in the wallop of the sea.
+
+The menace of an extreme peril closed their difference, compelling
+fellowship. They counselled and agreed together with a grasp and a nod
+and few words. Philip fumbled for his knife, unclasped, and showed it.
+'Our lives or his. Have you?' 'Better,' returned the other, and had out a
+long dagger-knife sheathed, that he loosened to lie free for instant use.
+'It has done service before. Can you stand? are you able?' It was
+darkening so that sight could inform them but little concerning the
+Alien.
+
+Christian was regarding them not at all. From head to foot he was
+trembling, so that he had ado to stand upright and keep the boat
+straight. Not from restraint his lips were bitten and his breath laboured
+hard: quick revulsion had cast him down, so passion-spent,
+conscience-stricken, and ashamed, that scarcely had he virtue left for
+the face of a man.
+
+Their advance strung him, for he saw the significant reserve of each
+right hand. That his misdeed justified any extreme he knew, not conscious
+in his sore compunction of any right to resist even for his life. He
+waited without protest, but neither offered to strike.
+
+Reason bade for quick despatch--very little would have provoked it; but
+not Philip at his worst could conduct a brutal butchery, when conviction
+dawned that a human creature stood at their mercy by his own mere
+resolute submission. With names of coward and devil he struck him first,
+but they did not stir him to affording warrant. The Adventurer took up
+the word.
+
+'Brutal coward, or madman, which you be, answer for your deed; confess
+you are a traitor paid and approved.'
+
+He shook his head.
+
+'Why else have you now half murdered your fellow? Verily are you an alien
+through and through, for no man born on these shores would so basely
+betray a trust.'
+
+'Nor I,' he got out, and rather wished they would strike with their
+hands.
+
+'You lie!' said his accuser; 'or robbery, or murder, or treachery you
+intend--or all. Own your worst; try it; this time openly, fairly: your
+brute strength upon two who are not your match: on your mate damaged from
+your foul handling: on an old man, whose gold you have taken, the trust
+of whose life you have accepted.'
+
+He could not attempt a protest, though his heart was like to break
+enforced to silence. The other advanced in temerity with an order.
+
+'You have a knife. Give it up.'
+
+He obeyed without a word. Then the two made no reserve, but with a show
+of bare steel proved his temper. He did not lift a hand.
+
+Lois might come to hear of his transgression: she would never know how
+hard it was to atone, because they dawdled so cruelly, because he knew
+they would bungle so cruelly: he did not think either had force to drive
+a blade home at a stroke.
+
+The Adventurer paused. Here without madness was a guilty wretch cowed at
+detection, abject as a wolf in a pit!
+
+'We would not your blood on our hands, yet to no oath of yours may our
+lives trust.'
+
+'I would not offer it.'
+
+'Only as the wild beast you showed yourself, look to be kept bound.'
+
+Such putting to shame was simply just, but oh! hard.
+
+'I may not withstand you,' he said, hardly, steadily, 'but ah, sir! ah,
+Philip, suffer me! If this night I am to go to my account, I do greatly
+require that, through my default, the lives of two men may not drop in
+the loaded scale.'
+
+To them the plea rang strained and false.
+
+'We choose our risk; against treachery of the skies will we rather
+provide.'
+
+He surrendered his hands to the Adventurer. Philip took the helm, but
+the miserable culprit winced to hear how the strain brought from him a
+sob of distress. The old man did his best under direction for shortening
+sail; but while yet this was doing, again the ominous roar sounded and
+grew, and a squall caught them unready.
+
+The light boat quivered in every plank as she reared against the heavy
+charge; sheets of water flew over, blinding. Christian heard from the
+helm a shriek of pain and despair, and at that, frantic, such an access
+of strength swelled in him, that suddenly his bonds parted like thread,
+and he caught the restive tiller out of Philip's incompetent hold. There
+could be no further question of him whom by a miracle Heaven had thus
+graced in strength for their service. And for their lives they needed to
+bale. Christian blessed the cruel, fierce elements.
+
+Far ahead heaved lights, revealed on the blown seas: far, so far. Right
+in their teeth drove the promised gale, with intermittent bursts of sleet
+and hail. Upon bodies brine-wet the icy wind cut like a knife. Twin
+lights sprang, low down, giving the wanted signal; bore down, then stood
+away: the appointed ship followed after her consorts, not daring, with a
+gale behind, to near the cruelest coast known.
+
+Struggling on under a mere stitch of canvas, the wind resenting even
+that, clutching it, threatening to tear out the mast, they went reeling
+and shuddering on to their desperate fortune. For hours the long
+endeavour lasted, with gain on the double lights by such slow degrees as
+mocked at final achievement.
+
+Except that his hands were like to freeze out of use Christian cared
+marvellously little for outer miseries. To him all too short was the span
+of life left for retrieving one guilty minute; no future could he look
+for to live it down, so certain had he become that this night death was
+hard after him.
+
+Two stars reeling, kind, bright stars, shone life for others though not
+for him. Perhaps for him, he wanted to believe; some coward drop in his
+blood tried to cheat reason and conscience. Why not for him? Could his
+doom be so heavy as to sink that great bulk with its scores of souls? And
+though now he should freely release others of his peril, who would ever
+count it to him for righteousness, to soften the reproach that would lie
+against his name so long as ever it were remembered?
+
+The cold touched his brain. Surely he had died before, long ago, out of
+all this pain and distress. Waves heaved gigantically; spray dashed hard
+in his face; he shrank humanly, knowing he was not fit to die; she was
+coming through the sea bringing life. No, ah! not now. She was lurking in
+the sea holding death.
+
+'Madness and treason are not in him.'
+
+'He is a devil,' said Philip, 'a very devil. See! Go you now, and feign
+to persuade for abandoning the boat, and shipping together.'
+
+'That will I in all good faith,' and he went and came again.
+
+'First he refused outright; then he said, when the moment came we should
+know as well as he.'
+
+'I knew it, I knew it,' chattered Philip, 'oh, a devil he is! Sir, you
+will see me out of his hands. I know what he intends: on the instant you
+quit the boat he casts off and has me at his mercy, he and that thing
+below. I am no coward, and it ill becomes you to hint it; and I fear
+death no more than any sinner must, no clean, straight death.
+
+'Sir, his putting out of life was long and bloody: I saw it; death by
+inches. And he looked at me with infernal hatred then; the very same I
+saw in his eyes but now. Why should he check at sudden murder, but for a
+fouler revenge. You cannot judge as I. You have not seen him day after
+day. Treacherously he accepts friendship; he feigns to be witless; and
+all the while this hell-fire is hidden out of sight. You do not know how
+he has been denied opportunity, till rashly I offered it.
+
+'O sir, quit of him this once, I am quit of him for ever! No, I mean no
+villainy against him, but--but--it happens--there is every inducement for
+him to choose that he and his boat never be seen of us again. Drown? no,
+he never was born to drown. The devil sees to his own.
+
+'It is true--true. You saw the Thing yourself. Also, did he not refuse an
+oath? So has he all his life. Now know I: there are certain words he for
+his contract may not utter.'
+
+When tall masts rocked above, and voices hailed, and a rope shot across,
+again the Adventurer pressed Christian hard with precious human kindness.
+Men big and fair-haired were shouting, knocking at his heart strangely.
+Most foolish and absurd came a longing just once before he died to be
+warm and dry again, just once. He shook his head.
+
+Philip kept off, nor by word or sign offered the forgiveness he ached
+after, but hasted to pass first. Then the other followed; he loosed the
+rope; it leapt away. The last face he saw gleaming above him was
+Philip's, with its enmity and a ghastly drawn smile of relief: never to
+be seen of him again.
+
+How long would her vengeance delay? The vast anger of the sea leaped and
+roared round him, snatching, striking. An hour passed, and he was still
+afloat, though the mast was gone; and near another, and he was still
+afloat, but by clinging to an upward keel. In cruel extremity, then, he
+cried the name of Diadyomene, with a prayer for merciful despatch, and
+again her name, and again.
+
+Diadyomene heard. The waves ran ridged with light that flickered and
+leaped like dim white flame. Phosphor fires edged the keel; a trailing
+rope was revealed as a luminous streak. He got it round his body, and his
+hands were eased.
+
+Up from below surged a dark, snaky coil, streaming with pale flakes of
+fire; it looped him horribly; a second length and a third flung over him;
+a fourth overhung, feeling in air. A loathsome knot worked upon the
+planks, spread, and rooted there. He plucked an arm free, and his neck
+was circled instead. His knife he had not: barehanded he fought,
+frenzied by loathing of the foul monster, the foulest the sea breeds.
+
+Before his eyes rose the sea's fairest, towered above him on the rush of
+a wave, sank to his level. Terrible was her face of anger, and cruel, for
+she smiled. She flung out a gesture of condemnation and scorn, that
+flashed flakes of light off shoulder and hair. She called him 'traitor,'
+and bade him die; and he, frantic, tore away the throttled coil at his
+throat, and got out, 'Forgive.'
+
+Like challenge and defiance she hurled then her offer of mercy: 'Stretch,
+then, your hand to me--on my lips and my breast swear, give up your soul:
+then I forgive.'
+
+She heard the death agony of a man cried then. Ceasing to struggle, his
+throat was enwound again; both arms were fast: he cried to his God to
+resume his soul, and to take it straight out of his body and out of hell.
+
+Away she turned with teeth clenched and furious eyes; then, writhing, she
+returned, reached out, with one finger touched, and the foul creature
+shrank, relaxed, drew coil by coil away, dropped, and was gone.
+Diadyomene flashed away.
+
+When the night and the trouble of the storm were past, not a ship afloat
+was scatheless. From one that crawled disabled, a boat was spied,
+drifting keel upward, with the body of a man hanging across it, whose
+bright hair shone in the early sun, making a swarter race wonder. Against
+all conjecture life proved to be in him yet. And what unimaginable death
+had been at him? What garland was this on his throat: blossoms of blood
+under the skin? When he was recovered to speech he would not say. Good
+christian men, what could they think? His boat was righted, and with
+scant charity he was hustled back into it; none of these, suddenly eager
+to be quit of him, wishing him God-speed.
+
+Under cover of night he crawled up to his home, dreading in his guilt to
+face the dear, stern eyes of his mother. Ah! no, he entered to no
+questioning and little heed: the two women sat stricken with sorrow; not
+for him: in the room beyond Giles lay dead.
+
+So Christian's three gold pieces buried Giles with such decent honour as
+Lois could desire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Christian's misdoing was not to pass unregarded.
+
+A woman turned upon Rhoda passing with a mutter so like a curse that the
+girl's surprise struck her to a pause. It was Philip's mother who faced
+her, glowering hate.
+
+'What have you done with my boy?'
+
+'I?' said Rhoda, with widening eyes, though she blushed.
+
+'You--smooth-faced chit--yes, you! Oh, keep those fine eyes and that
+colour to take in men, for me they will not! I can see through you! I
+know you, and the games you are playing!'
+
+'What then?' flashed Rhoda. 'You accuse me? Of what? and by what right?'
+
+'Right! The right of a mother whose son you have driven away.'
+
+'He is nothing to me--never will be--never--nothing!'
+
+'I know it. I know it well, and I told him so: nothing! 'Tis only your
+vanity to have at your heels the properest lad and the bravest of the
+place.'
+
+'He!' cried Rhoda, in disdain.
+
+'Ay, I know how your fancy has run, against natural liking for the
+dark-haired and dark-eyed of your own race; your vagary goes after fair
+hair and grey eyes. Well, see for all your sly offers that great blond
+dolt gapes and gapes over your bait, never closing to it. That northern
+blood is half brine.'
+
+Rhoda stood speechless; her anger, shame, and pain transcended blushes,
+and she changed to dead white.
+
+'And you pick out one who can love like a man, who fires at a word or a
+look, and him you delight to stab and torment with your cruel tongue,
+while you use him for your ends. Shameless! You have dropped yourself
+into his arms even, so to heat the Alien from his fishes' blood. May I
+live to see you put to shame of some man!'
+
+'He said--oh, vile--of me! Cur, cur!'
+
+''Tis I that can read between the lines, not he, poor blind fool! Miscall
+him! ay, you have got the trick. You may bring up faults against
+him--some do; but I tell you no man will do greatly amiss who still goes
+to his old mother and opens his heart to her.'
+
+Rhoda's breath caught like a sob at that, for there unknowingly went a
+stroke at Christian. She gathered herself together for bitter onslaught,
+for outraged pride and indignation drove out compunction, drove out any
+mercy. Out it all shrivelled at a blasting thought that stopped her very
+heart. Mute she stood, white, shuddering, staring. Then she got out a
+whisper.
+
+'When did he go--tell me? Since--my uncle died--or--before?'
+
+'Well enough you know 'twas before----'
+
+Rhoda turned and fled homeward, fleet as terror, though her knees went
+slack and her brain reeled. She drew bolts before her dreadful incoherent
+whispers welled out to Lois.
+
+'Where he went she did not know, did not guess, never thought it was on a
+planned venture. None would think of that, or think that two alone would
+suffice, or dream of Christian--I had thought that strange--you too. And
+we know Christian went on a venture, by the three gold pieces we know:
+and that could not have been alone, and he is not of the League. And I
+thought it had been with Philip; and I thought Philip meant
+kindness--perhaps for my sake, which vexed me. Oh, perhaps it was for my
+sake, and I was vexed! Yet see, none others guess it nor do conceive that
+any, in any cause, would go hand in hand with our Christian. And none
+would greatly mark his goings and comings--Christian's--for unreason has
+so chartered his ways. Then, though both were away that same day, not
+even his mother had noted it. And oh! think of Christian in these days!
+Has sorrow only been heavy at his heart? And a hurt on his throat he
+would not show. And oh!' she said, 'and oh!' she said, and failed and
+tried again, 'oh! his knife--_he has not his knife_.'
+
+The love and faith of Lois sprang up against belief.
+
+'Child, child! what do you dare to say--to think? Would you hint that
+Christian--my boy Christian--has done murder?
+
+'No, no, never! No, never, never! I would stake my life--my soul--that it
+was fair fight!'
+
+Lois looked at her and said a cruel thing: 'You are no helpmeet for him.
+Thank God! you are not his wife!'
+
+Rhoda quivered at that, and found it a saying hard to forgive. Her heart
+swelled to refute it, and might not for maidenhood. Long ago she would
+have had Christian rise up to avenge himself terribly; her pride had
+suffered from the poor temper she saw in his. Now, though he had
+exceeded the measure of her vague desire, he stood fair and high in her
+estimation, illuminated, not blackened by the crime she imputed. Against
+all the world, against his mother, she was at one with him. Was there any
+other who desired and deserved the nearest and dearest claim, that she
+had renounced.
+
+A wedge of silence drove between them. The character of the mother's
+stern virtue dawned upon Rhoda, appalling her: for the salvation of her
+son's soul she might bid him accept the full penalty of his crime--even
+that. A horror of such monstrous righteousness took the girl. She stole
+to unbolt the door and away to warn Christian, when a whisper stayed her.
+
+'I failed him. I thought then only of my man, and I had no prayers for my
+boy. Ah, Christian, Christian!'
+
+Doubt had entered. Lois knelt and prayed.
+
+Rhoda wavered. Her estimate or the world's, the partial or the
+vindictive, shrank to their due proportions, as Lois thus set Christian's
+crime before the eye of Heaven. She wavered, turned, and fell kneeling,
+clinging and weeping, convicted of the vain presumption that would keep
+Christian from the hands of his God.
+
+She was bidden away when Lois caught a sound of Christian.
+
+His mother held him by the window for the first word.
+
+'Christian, where is Philip?'
+
+His startled eyes were a stab to her soul; the tide that crimsoned his
+very brow checked hers at her heart. He failed of answering, and guilt
+weighed down his head. She rallied on an inspiration that greatest crimes
+blanch, never redden, and 'You have not killed him?' was a question of
+little doubt.
+
+'No, thank God! no!' he said, and she saw that he shook.
+
+Then he tried to out with the whole worst truth, but he needed to labour
+for breath before he could say with a catch: 'I meant to--for one
+moment.'
+
+To see a dear face stricken so! Do the damned fare worse? More dreadful
+than any reproach was her turning away with wrung hands. She returned to
+question.
+
+'Then where is he?'
+
+'I cannot tell. He left me. He would not--he was afraid.'
+
+'What had you done? You had harmed him?'
+
+'Yes,' he said, and told how.
+
+'What had he done to anger you? Had he struck first?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'You had quarrelled?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Had you no excuse?' she said.
+
+He hesitated. Could she know and understand all, there might be some pity
+with her condemnation, there would be some tempering of her distress.
+
+'I can make none,' he had to answer.
+
+When next she spoke: 'Then it was old hate,' she said, and after a minute
+he answered 'Yes' to that.
+
+So she had to realise that for months, according to her gospel, he had
+been a murderer at heart; and her assurance of a merciful blank of mind
+and memory tottered, threatening a downfall that would prove the dear son
+of her hope of a rotten build. She tested his memory.
+
+'I asked a promise of you once, and you gave it.'
+
+'Yes,' he said, and, do what he would, 'I have broken it' got mangled
+wretchedly in his throat.
+
+'Your promise! Is it believable? You could--you!'
+
+'O mother! If God forgot me!'
+
+Her heart smote her because her prayers had deserted him then.
+
+'Oh, peace!' she said, 'and do not add blasphemy, nor seek to juggle with
+God.'
+
+She did not spare him, and deeply she searched his conscience.
+Self-convicted already he was, yet his guilt looked freshly hideous
+worded by her, as look wounds, known to the senses of night, discovered
+by the eye of day.
+
+For a whole dreadful hour Rhoda listened to the murmur of voices. Then
+they ceased, and Lois came. 'Thank God, child!' was all she needed to
+say.
+
+'Heaven forgive me! Can you? can he? Let me go to him--I must. Ah
+me!--can he forgive me?'
+
+Lois held the door and turned her. 'He has nothing to forgive,' she said,
+and her face frightened questions.
+
+From among some poor hoards Lois drew out a tiny cross of gold. It was
+Christian's, sole relic left of his young unknown life. As a little lad
+he had played with it and lost it, and Lois finding it had taken it into
+keeping. Now she took it to him.
+
+'I will ask no renewal of a broken promise--no. I want no hard thing of
+you, only this: when temptation to deadly sin is overbearing, before you
+yield, unfasten this and fling it from you into the sea. You will?
+Christian, answer--say, "I will."'
+
+'What worth has any word of mine?' he said in his despair; but her arms
+were round his neck fixing the knot, and stayed to clasp, but her rare
+terrible sobs rose as she cried, 'Oh, God help you, my son!' and 'I will,
+I will!' flew strong to assure her that that word would never have to be
+fulfilled.
+
+Near was the time that would put him to the test, and he knew it. A day
+passed and a day passed, out of eternity into eternity, and the moon
+filled up to Diadyomene's account.
+
+'Rhoda,' he said, 'do you know what day this is?'
+
+'Christmas Eve.'
+
+'Yes--but to my mother--her child was born----'
+
+'Yes,' said Rhoda hurriedly, and bent her head: she for the first time
+knew her own birthday.
+
+'Listen, Rhoda! She has aged and weakened so; the day and night of prayer
+and fasting she has now begun I fear may outdo her strength. Will you
+keep ever at hand to listen and be careful of her?'
+
+'And you?' asked Rhoda.
+
+'I may not stay. I cannot.'
+
+She flashed a look of amazed indignation, for instinctively she knew that
+he would be leaving his mother to seek the strange-named woman, and such
+filial misconduct in him was hardly credible. No kind word or look would
+Rhoda grant him. He never felt the lack: his mother's blessing he did
+greatly desire, but he dared not intrude on the day of her mourning to
+ask it.
+
+Short was the day and long the way, but over soon by some hours was he
+footing it. The singular incidence of the day encouraged belief that a
+special mercy of Heaven was ordering his goings for the comforting of a
+long sorrow. Ah! God grant her a soul from the sea, and ah! God grant it
+by me for a token. All his steps were taken to prayer, and the least
+thing he asked of his God was that, though his sins were so heavy, he
+might not die till he had seen that salvation. His head and his heart
+told him that if he failed in his high endeavour he must surely perish.
+
+Over the wold came a harsh call, and again till he answered and stayed.
+He was making for waste stretches, gashed athwart by long gullies
+preventing any fair paths. Already, though but half a league forward,
+tracks had grown rough and uncertain. The voice came from a mudded
+hollow, where a loaded cart stuck fast, an old horse and an old man
+striving with it in vain. Though loath to be hindered, Christian turned
+aside to give help.
+
+He was not graciously welcomed. The old man scowled, and swore under his
+breath. 'The Alien, deuce take it, he will not serve!'
+
+But he stared, and words failed when Christian promptly laid hand on the
+load, saying, 'Here's bad balancing, Gaffer; we had best uncord first and
+set it right.'
+
+'Ay, it shifted. Have it that way, if so you can and will. My two boys
+did the cording, and two fools they be.'
+
+He sidled away, muttering wonderful oaths as curiously he watched the
+Alien's tackling. The load was a tree brought down by the recent gale;
+protruding roots clawed the mud behind; piled branches nodded to the
+fore, orange-red berries bright as coral dangling there. Christian's
+great strength made light of the work, and soon the cart went crawling
+out of the mire. He snapped off a twig to scrape the mud from his shins,
+and the gaffer's mutter then caught his ear.
+
+'He's done it--sure! Be danged if I reckoned he could. Well, well, some
+be liars!'
+
+'In your best days, Gaffer, you might have done as much.'
+
+The old face wrinkled with a sour grin.
+
+''Twas said you couldn't abide the rowan.'
+
+'Why?'
+
+'Well, I never asked. May be they lie who swear that never a twig of the
+rowan goes in your boat. Some have taken to say so.'
+
+'None, true enough. What then?' said Christian, and he noticed that the
+man had thrust a bunch of berries into his belt.
+
+'Well, there, 'tis not I that can give the reason.'
+
+'Can you think mine the only boat that goes without that garnish?'
+
+'I swear the only one.'
+
+Christian did not know how on his very account a prevalent custom had
+gained ground. He brought out a string of names.
+
+'Why, most of those from this very tree have had takings. 'Tis an ill
+wind that blows nowhere; for I reckon now to get a good price off this
+timber--ay, to the last scrap, and 'tis you I owe some thanks for that.
+So, look you, I have a mind, after I have made my profit, to open out of
+your doing here with me and take the laugh. Hey? Ah! it seems to me that
+some of your wits are left, so may be all I heard tell of was lies, when
+'twas said you had had games with the Evil One, and had lost to him both
+wits and soul.'
+
+Christian said slowly, 'You thought I had no soul?'
+
+'Never thought at all; why should I? Let fools think; I see. You, I see,
+but now handle the rowan freely, and pass it to and fro, as never could
+you have done had your soul known unholy tampering.'
+
+Christian stood stock-still, with an unseeing stare, till the old man
+called back to him, 'Come on, just to lend a hand up this pitch.' Then he
+ran after, and so eagerly bore, that one spoke he broke.
+
+On the level he said, strangely breathless, 'Now I want payment.'
+
+'What! A great hulking fellow can't go two steps out of his way and lift
+a hand for one with old age in his bones but he asks payment!'
+
+'Yes,' said Christian, 'and for the love of God, give me the payment I
+shall ask.'
+
+'No promise, but what's your asking?'
+
+'Give me berries of the rowan.'
+
+With his sour grin the old fellow muttered, 'Well, well, no wits after
+all!' as he plucked some bunches and chucked them across.
+
+'More! more! and oh! quick; I lose time. See, fill up my cap.'
+
+'All you can't have. My brats have been promised their handfuls, and want
+you may.'
+
+When all that entreaty could get he had, Christian parted at a run, and
+the way he took was home.
+
+Rhoda wondered, seeing him pass the window. Presently, laying aside
+resentment, she went out to seek him in the linhay. The door resisted her
+hand.
+
+'Christian,' she called, and after his answer, 'Come in. What are you
+about? Bring in your work; there is fire still.'
+
+He said 'No' so forcibly, that she went away aggrieved, and a little
+curious.
+
+All was very quiet; of Lois she heard and saw nothing, and Christian made
+no noise at all. She wondered if he too were engaged in prayer; she
+wondered if she ought also to be so devoted.
+
+From the window she saw two figures on the road, and watched them idly.
+They neared, and from the opposite approach came two others. All four
+were known to her by sight, though hailing from some distance; they were
+kin to Philip; two were father and son, two were brothers. At the gate
+they stood, and turned in.
+
+Rhoda's heart dropped as she guessed their errand. To her a word from
+Christian were enough; but what solemnest oath, what evidence short of
+Philip's self, would convince these?
+
+They were knocking, while still her countenance was out of command; and
+when they asked for Christian, her wits were so troubled, that she said
+lamely, 'It is Christmas Eve; can you want him now?
+
+'Wait then--I will go--wait here, and he will come.'
+
+When she passed out and turned the wall, she knew by the sound of feet
+that two had started to go about the contrary way to make against any
+escape. At the linhay door she knocked, again getting an impatient
+answer.
+
+'Christian, come out, or let me in. You must.'
+
+He came out and closed the door, keeping his hand upon it while she told.
+
+'I cannot come. Go, say I cannot come; I will not!' and desperately
+impatient his hand beat upon the door.
+
+'You must,' she said, and her white face and shaking voice went far to
+convince him. 'I think you must. O Christian, don't you know why they
+come?'
+
+He looked at her blankly.
+
+'To ask after Philip.'
+
+His face burned red, and he stood dumfoundered.
+
+'You know? From my mother?'
+
+'Yes,' she said. 'No,' she said. 'I thought that first, and told her. Oh!
+why did she not tell you all when she would not let me confess? Yes, I
+thought that, and O wretch that I was! I thought no blame either. Now
+hate me, and never forgive me.'
+
+He also said, 'I have nothing to forgive'; and half audibly he groaned,
+'Ah, Christ! is there no forgiveness of sins?'
+
+Footsteps made them turn to see two rounding the linhay; and again,
+footsteps behind brought two after Rhoda, impatient of delay. None of the
+four from that moment judged Christian to be innocent, nor Rhoda wholly
+ignorant: their looks so bespoke guilt and apprehension.
+
+Some touch of resentment at the intolerant intrusion set Christian's head
+high, and his eyes were not to be daunted as he measured each for
+strength of will and strength of body. He knew them for the pick of
+Philip's kin; all were of the League.
+
+'Say why you come,' said Christian.
+
+'Bid me stay,' whispered Rhoda, though she saw that her presence hindered
+a ready answer; but Christian bade her go, and reluctantly she withdrew.
+
+Out of earshot she went, but no further than to the gate. There she
+leaned, and tried to keep her face averted, but against resolution now
+and then her head would turn to better her heart. Uncloaked, in the cold
+she shivered, and from apprehension.
+
+'Concerning our kinsman Philip,' began the eldest.
+
+His colour went and came for witness against him.
+
+'Speak low,' he said, glancing at a near window, 'lest my mother hear,'
+and at that a second score went down against his innocence.
+
+'You put to sea with him; you came back alone. Where is he?'
+
+In his haste Christian answered to more than was asked.
+
+'Alive he was when I saw him last. Where he now is I know little as you.'
+
+The youngest put in a word. 'Alive! But was any plank under him? Will you
+take your oath that he was alive and safe, and unhurt by you?'
+
+At that red guilt flew over his face, for he could not.
+
+Another turn of words might give him a chance, but he had no skill to
+play for it. The imposition of an oath he might not resent with his old
+high claim: a promise had been broken, though they knew not, and his head
+sank for shame. That, with his brief pause, sealed conviction.
+
+One muttered, 'Now I would not believe him though he swore'; but the
+other three frowned silence upon him, the spokesman saying, 'We do
+require an oath before we ask further.'
+
+No protest did he offer to hinder a quick despatch. He uttered the form
+prescribed, though conscience and pride alike took deep wounds of it.
+Afterwards it was told against him how his countenance worked, as for the
+first time an oath had been forced upon him.
+
+'Now be speedy,' said Christian, 'for I have little leisure or list to
+bide.'
+
+At that crass speech something of grim smiling hardly kept to
+concealment.
+
+'Is Philip alive?'
+
+'Yes,' he said, 'if he be not dead,' an answer that angered them. 'God
+knows'; then he said, 'I have no cause to think him dead.'
+
+'You saw him last alive and like to live?'
+
+'More like to live than I.'
+
+'Where, then, did you leave him?'
+
+'I may not say. I am pledged to silence.'
+
+'How pledged? To whom?'
+
+'To Philip.'
+
+'Ay, we know; but we all are of the League.'
+
+'None were excepted; "not to a soul," he said.'
+
+'He, speaking for the League, meant to not a soul beside.'
+
+'I mean to the League no less. So I think did he.'
+
+A poor satisfaction was in standing to his word against those who
+compelled him to an oath.
+
+'Crack-brained devil----'
+
+'Lower!' Christian said, glancing anxiously up at the window.
+
+'This is no case for foolery or brag. Out of you we must have the whole
+truth, lief or loath.'
+
+His stubborn face said no. To no man on earth could he tell the whole
+truth, nor, were that possible, would it be believed; less than the
+whole doomsday truth could scarce make his own outrageous act
+comprehensible.
+
+'Philip may tell you, but not I,' he said witlessly. And as he spoke and
+looked at these four, it came upon him that he might not long outlive
+Philip's telling of the tale, if only by reason of that lurking thing
+uncertainly seen. He clapped his hand upon the hidden cross, as a
+perilous flash told how less cause had set down a record that might not
+bear the light. So close was he ever to the mouth of hell.
+
+Live temper faded from his face, and it settled to the old blank mildness
+that had been lifting somewhat of late days.
+
+'Is he so mad?'
+
+'No, he shams.'
+
+'Leave fooling, and speak straight in a matter of life and death.'
+
+'Oh! more--more than life and death. For the love of God, make an end,
+and take a final answer. I will tell no more; nor would the most I know
+further you to Philip.'
+
+The comment of a vigorous curse checked him there.
+
+'Hear me out. If you need but to know how a venture went, I can tell you:
+well. If you have other need of him that does not brook delay, I can but
+offer to serve you to my best, for following and bringing him again;
+whatever be the risk, I owe that to him and you. Only this day I must
+have to myself. I must, though I pay for it with the rest of my life.'
+
+That preposterous offer took away breath. Then an oath yelping high with
+derision above anger brought Christian to entreat for his mother's quiet.
+
+'Let us in here, then,' said one, and reached to the latch behind him.
+
+Christian struck up his arm. 'No!' he said, and barred the way.
+
+Instantly, moved by a prompt suspicion, the four sprang out ready steel
+and swung one way, ringing him in. At that, Christian realised his
+desperate case. He blanched, and sweat started. 'For life and death!' he
+said hoarsely. 'O my God, my God!'
+
+Rhoda shot in between, and, voiceless from fear and speed, clung to
+Christian, presuming her weakness to turn offence.
+
+'Cowards!' she panted, 'four against one, and he empty-handed. What--why?
+Christian?'
+
+'You would do well to counsel your madman to give way and let us pass, if
+he care greatly for the quiet of any there within.'
+
+Christian yielded. He lifted the latch and thrust the door open, standing
+aside that they might pass him by; but two linked arm with him, walked
+him in, and held him a prisoner. He did not offer to resist. Rhoda
+pressed after him close; the last to enter closed and bolted the door.
+
+Puzzled silence fell. Not a corner of the bare place could harbour
+suspicion. Some tools were ranged against the walls; twine and canvas and
+common oddments lay there, a small enough show of garden store, and of
+fuel a pile pitifully low. A stool overthrown told of Christian's last
+hasty rising; on a bench lay his cap, half filled with scarlet berries,
+and strung berries were spread beside. Four blank countenances were
+turned upon him, whose looks were sullen and guilty like a criminal's
+taken in the act. Rhoda, bewildered, owned to her sinking heart that here
+showed such vagary of his wits as passed her reckoning.
+
+'You were best away, Rhoda.'
+
+'I will not go,' she said, 'except I be thrust out.'
+
+None urged for that rough kindness now, having gone so far; her presence
+might even turn to account, for it must lie with the Alien to spare her
+distress.
+
+The prisoner took up question.
+
+'The League has charged you to be judges?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'To give sentence?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'To execute it?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+Christian grew as white as a coward; he went on steadily nevertheless.
+
+'You are charged to do murder.'
+
+'To do justice.'
+
+'Without any proof that Philip is dead.'
+
+'Lack of proof that he is alive comes to the same as the case stands.'
+
+No lie would now avail of Philip lost overboard. In the stress of clear
+thinking for his life he felt relief that he could not be so tempted to
+damn his fair cause before Heaven.
+
+'He will return,' he muttered, 'but too late, for me too late.'
+
+'Christian, they dare not,' gasped Rhoda; 'no, you dare not, for Philip
+will return to confound you. Should he return--too late--then may God
+have no mercy on your souls.'
+
+Christian said 'Amen' to that.
+
+The spokesman turned to Rhoda.
+
+'You speak positively: can you bear witness in his favour?'
+
+'I know nothing--nothing.'
+
+'Yet have you shown singular quickness of apprehension.'
+
+She looked piteously at Christian, galled by remorse.
+
+'Oh me! Must I say?'
+
+'Why not? None here will blame you. I cannot.'
+
+So Rhoda faltered out how she too had entertained a wicked suspicion.
+
+'What evidence then routed it?'
+
+'His.'
+
+'His evidence?'
+
+'His denial.'
+
+Her sincerity was beyond question; her simplicity commanded respect; no
+ingenuity could have spoken better to his credit. Yet all was vain.
+
+'Bare denial may not suffice for us, when furthermore without valid cause
+he has refused any clear statement to satisfy a reasonable demand, and
+quibbled and defied.'
+
+'Give me a moment's grace,' pleaded Christian, 'to make sure if I can go
+no further.'
+
+He might take his time; but little he needed to gain conviction for
+despair; for he saw how inevitably answer would beget question point by
+point, till, again at bay, having traversed ground bristling with hostile
+indications, he must stand at yet worse disadvantage.
+
+Before his eyes, one, fingering in mere impatience, took hold of the
+strung berries; at a rough twitch some scattered. Christian, exasperated,
+plucked for a free hand, and a tightened grip set him struggling for one
+instant with the natural indignation of young blood at rude constraint.
+So well dreaded was his strength, that on a misconstruction of his aim,
+every tool that might serve as a weapon was caught up and thrust hastily
+from the window, while more of the rowan danced down. Balked the Alien
+seemed, resisting no longer, and sweating, shaking, choking, with eyes
+miserably wet with rage. But Rhoda, who had watched his face, turned, and
+gathering all the berries loose and strung, laid them safe from handling.
+
+'God bless you, dear!' he said; and so she knew that she had guessed
+right, and so she could not doubt but his wits had fallen again to their
+old infirmity.
+
+He had ended patience and grace when a gleam of hope came.
+
+'It must be within your knowledge,' he said, 'who last saw him with me.'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Then this I may say--he and Philip went together when we parted
+company.'
+
+'That too we had thought to be possible.'
+
+Christian recognised an ominous note, and the hostile faces he saw more
+dark and grim.
+
+'Speak out!' he cried; 'what is it you think?' Yet half he knew; yet
+quite he knew. 'Speak out! Do you dare think I have betrayed them?'
+
+'We have little doubt. Traitor, thrice over traitor, the League's account
+with you is overdue.'
+
+He laughed out savagely.
+
+'Now, devils that you are you show, that bring a false accusation, since
+well you know that once only have I been on a venture.'
+
+'Well we know how two ventures before failed--well-planned ventures. Now
+we know how you have played the fool and the spy together. Two times have
+you been gone, no man knew where; over a day gone, and not at sea. Will
+you say now where you went?'
+
+He despaired, and did not answer, while Rhoda's glance wavered
+consciously. At last he said:
+
+'Though I myself can make no defence, in due time I cannot fail to be
+cleared--of murder and treason. I cannot wait. This day I want; I must be
+free on any terms. No terms? But hear! I claim judgment instantly, this
+hour. Men, you dare not give it. Then I claim the judgment of God. I will
+fight it out. Choose your place and pick your man,--nay, any two. What?
+Cowards! three, all four together, but forgo your knives or lend me one.'
+
+'Fight you may, but the place shall be here, and the odds against you, as
+you see.'
+
+The door was fast, and the six within stood close in the limited space;
+he was held at disadvantage, and weaponless, against choice men prepared.
+Also he cared for two women.
+
+'Oh!' he cried, shaken and white with fury, 'I must, I must have one day.
+With what but my life may I purchase? Is it cheap, think you? As you hope
+for heaven by mercy, deal with me. Only one day! By this hour to-morrow,
+if I breathe, I surrender. I will swear to it by any form you will. Make
+harder conditions, and I take them. All my life-days after would I engage
+to set this day free. What more can a man offer than his life for lending
+or ending?'
+
+His face and voice were so dreadful to Rhoda's heart, that she could not
+brook the limits of reason.
+
+'Mine! Christian, you have mine. You will not refuse; you will let him
+go, for I will be his surety.'
+
+'This is folly.'
+
+'It is not. Is it not enough? I--life--honour, in pledge for him. O
+Christian, you cannot gainsay, else you dishonour your own purpose.'
+
+'We are plain men who are dealing for justice. An innocent girl cannot be
+substitute for a traitor all but proved, whom, moreover, the League needs
+for a better information.'
+
+Still Rhoda tried protests.
+
+'Girl, are you out of your senses too? dishonest too? Can you state any
+circumstance to justify this urgency for a day's grace? Failing that,
+well we can guess what he would do with it. It is somewhat barefaced.'
+
+Christian checked her answering, and owned defeat.
+
+'Give over now,' he said. 'An hour have I wasted fighting over losing
+ground. You have gained all along, and I know it. In every way you have
+the advantage. Say now, what will you do with it?'
+
+'You surrender?'
+
+'No. By your force, not by my will, shall liberty go. Quit words and be
+doing. No: what then?'
+
+'Consider that the odds are against your taking boat alive were a hint
+out of your foul dealing with the League. Yet if you promise resistance
+we have no choice but to hale you an open prisoner. Have you a mind to
+face stones?'
+
+Rhoda's scared looks drew one to assure her, that were Christian free
+from guilt, his cause could not miscarry at their hands, unless by his
+own intemperance; therefore should she persuade him to voluntary
+submission. He groaned in miserable despair.
+
+'I yield, but only till these stringent conditions be passed. Dispose
+with me as you will, and I submit--yes, absolutely--yes; but for a time
+only. A limited term; for one half-hour? More I will not, and look you
+after. I cannot surrender my will to be free this day.'
+
+Likely enough it was out of pity for the girl that his offer was taken.
+Against suspicion of some reservation he was constrained to swear faith
+under dictation; also the order of his going was ruled minutely, with
+warning that the lifting of a hand unallowed would be instantly fatal.
+'Be doing--be doing quickly,' he said, and the bolt was drawn.
+
+Christian turned to stay Rhoda, who came following, and the four men,
+with fine consideration, passed out first, letting the door swing to on
+the unhappy pair. Their eyes met, poor souls, with miserable
+consciousness that a barrier of reserve thwarted solace.
+
+'Keep heart, dear,' he said; and bravely tearless she echoed him.
+
+'But, oh!' she said, 'be patient, and not rash, for the sake of those who
+love you.'
+
+'O Rhoda, Rhoda! you do not know. I have a work this night. I think--I
+know it was meant for me. By Heaven, I think. My own sins have risen up
+against me now. They thwart. Hell itself striving against me has
+advantage by them. There must be some way. But I cannot see it. There
+must be! Oh! I cannot be condemned through turning back on an amended
+hope. So Heaven-sent I blessed it. No way--no way!'
+
+Muttering, he reached over to the rowan and absently fingered it, while
+Rhoda urged on him what she knew of reason. He turned on her a musing
+look.
+
+'Rhoda, will you help me?'
+
+'Oh, tell me to: never ask.'
+
+'Take the rowan, and finish what I was about.'
+
+She broke down at last, and turned away in such a passion of sobbing as
+owned desertion of hope.
+
+'Rhoda! You desert me, Rhoda!' in so broken a voice he said, that against
+all sense she cried: 'But I will! Yes, yes; trust me, I will!' and could
+not after retract when she saw his face.
+
+'I am not mad,' he said; 'look at me: I am not.' And with that she knew
+not how to reconcile evidence.
+
+'Be speedy against my return.'
+
+'Is it possible? How?' she whispered.
+
+'As God wills, I cannot know; but some way will show, must show.'
+
+Again she entreated against temerity, and for answer he taught her of a
+lonely spot, asking her to carry the threaded rowan there, and to wait
+his coming. 'If I do not come,' he said, 'I shall be----'
+
+'Not dead!' she breathed.
+
+'Oh, damned and dead,' he said.
+
+'It cannot be. No. Yet, O Christian, should any harm befall you, avenged
+you shall be. Yes. No law can serve us here efficient against the
+tyranny of the League; but if in all the land high places of justice be,
+there will I go, and there denounce the practice of such outrage and
+wrong. Those four, they shall not escape from account. For that I will
+live--ay, even hazard living--I know.'
+
+'You will not,' ordered Christian; 'for I myself freely have served the
+League, and have taken payment. And these four mean to deal justly; and I
+have no right to complain.'
+
+A hint of impatience sounded against the door, and Christian, with a last
+word enjoining secrecy, turned and lifted the latch. A forlorn sob
+complained. He caught both her hands in his.
+
+'Dear heart, dear hands, a farewell were misdoubt,' he said, and on brow
+and hands he crossed her. 'A human soul shall bless your faithful doing.'
+
+He loosed and left her. She saw the door's blank exchange for him; she
+heard the brisk departure of feet; away fled the spurious confidence she
+had caught in his presence, and desolate and despairing, blind and choked
+with grief, she cursed her own folly and bewailed his.
+
+When she took up her lunatic task the red berries like told beads
+registered one by one prayer too like imprecation, for sure she was that
+the strange-named woman stirred at the heart of this coil. In heats of
+exasperation she longed to scatter and crush the rowan; yet the thread
+crept on steadily through her hands, inch by inch, till that misery was
+over.
+
+Then it pleased her grief to bring out her own best scarf for enfolding.
+'So I further him to her,' she said; 'so I fashion some love-token
+between them.' As soft-foot she went for it, outside a fastened door she
+stood to listen. She heard the low mutter of petition, and jealous
+resentment sprang up against a monopoly by the dead of the benefit of
+prayer, so wanted by the living.
+
+As she stood, a patch of calm sea shone into her eyes through a narrow
+light; and from the frame, small as a beetle, moved a boat rowing across.
+Five men she counted, and she made out that the second rower was the
+biggest. So had he entirely surrendered. All hopeless she turned away to
+fulfil her promise.
+
+At that moment Christian was speaking.
+
+'I take it, the time is now up.'
+
+By a mile of engirding sea the prospect of escape looked so vain that one
+joined assent with a fleer. Placid as the sea's calm was the Alien's
+countenance, and he pulled on steadily. The leader from the helm leaned
+forward to regard him fixedly, finding his tranquillity consonant only
+with imperfect wits.
+
+'You think better of resistance, nevertheless?'
+
+'Truly I do,' he answered. 'I think better of resistance now,' and in his
+eyes was no reading of resentment or anxiety.
+
+His glance turned with his thoughts to distinguish the roof that covered
+his mother and Rhoda. Dear heart, cried his, do your part and I will
+mine.
+
+Rhoda by then was doing after her own thought and liking. Though fasting
+herself, poor child, that on the morrow the board might be the better
+spread, for Christian she was lavish. Wine she took that Giles had not
+lived to drink; of griddle cakes the best she chose, and also of figs
+from those she summer-time ago had gathered and dried. Then she wound the
+silly rowan in brown moss, knotted it up in her scarf, and cloaked
+herself, and went out on her fool's errand.
+
+Some miles to the west, on the edge of waste, stood a landmark of three
+trees, and near by, off the path, a furze-stack. Thither by devious ways
+of caution came Rhoda on the first wane of daylight, and having done all,
+faced the drear without heart, crouching into shelter of the furze.
+
+Poorly clad for such a vigil, thin from days of want, fasting, exhausted
+by excitement and grief, she had no strength left to bear bravely any
+further trial. Though Christian's desperate emphasis stood out to bar
+despair, she told herself his coming was impossible, and her spirit
+quailed in utter cowardice as she realised her own outlook. She was
+afraid of the night, and her engagement had taken no limit of time.
+Should the dreaded ice-wind of the season rise, there were peril to life;
+but her heart died under a worse terror, that increased as waste and tree
+bulked large and shapeless under drawing dark. For was it not the Eve of
+Christmas, when the strict limitations of nature were so relaxed that
+things inanimate could quit station, and very beasts speak like men, and
+naked spirits be clothed with form. Her mortal senses were averse. With
+desperate desire for relief she scanned the large through the longest
+hour of her life.
+
+Night was in the valleys, but on the uplands twilight still, when against
+the sky a runner came. He, dear saviour.
+
+But his footsteps made no sound; but he showed too white. Doubt of agony
+that this was not he in human flesh froze her, till he came and stood,
+and not seeing her close crouched, uttered his heart in a sound dreadful
+to hear.
+
+'Here, here!' cried Rhoda, and had her hands on him before her eyes had
+fairly realised him. He was mostly naked.
+
+Coatless, shirtless, unshod, his breeks and his hair clung damp, showing
+by what way he had come free. She held him, and laughed and sobbed.
+
+'You have it?' he said. 'Give it here--give it.'
+
+'This also--this first. Drink--eat.'
+
+'No; I cannot stay.'
+
+'You shall--you must,' she urged. 'Do you owe me nothing? What, never a
+word?'
+
+He declined impatience to her better counsel; and when he had got the
+rowan and belted it safe, to the praise of her providence he drank
+eagerly and ate.
+
+Rhoda spied a dark streak on his shoulder. 'You are hurt--oh!'
+
+'Only skin-deep. Salt water stanched it.'
+
+'And what of them? Christian, what have you done?' she asked with
+apprehension.
+
+'Yes; I have a charge for you. Oh, their skins are whole all. Can you
+step on with me a pace? You will not be afraid?'
+
+She looked at the wan south-west, and the sable heath, and the stark
+trees; but she could answer now: 'No,' stoutly and truly, and shiver for
+fear only. He withheld his pace for her, she stretched to a stride for
+him.
+
+'Well done, I know,' she said, 'but tell me how.'
+
+He gave a meagre tale, but many a detail she heard later to fill it out.
+It was easy doing according to Christian, when time and place suited, to
+beat out a rib of the boat, to stand his ground for a moment while the
+sea accomplished for him, then to drop overboard when blades struck too
+quick and close. The boat went down, he said, near three miles from
+shore.
+
+'O Christian! are any drowned?'
+
+'No, no. I had done my best by them. You know how the Tortoises lie. We
+were well within a furlong of them. I got there first, and was doffed and
+ready when they came, waiting to offer them fair. Rhoda, you will carry
+word of this that some fellows may go to take them off.'
+
+'Not I,' she said vindictively; 'let them wear the night there for due
+quittance.'
+
+'No. They might be perished. And 'twas I counselled them not to attempt
+the shore, and said I could send word of their plight; and I meant it
+honestly, though the fools grew so mad at that, that they took to
+stoning.'
+
+When, later, Rhoda heard the tale more fully, it showed elements of
+incongruous comedy; later still, she heard it grown into monstrous
+proportions, when the name of the Tortoises was put aside, and the place
+was known as the Devil's Rocks thenceforward. The Alien's feats that day,
+his mighty stroke staving the boat, his swimming of marvellous speed, his
+confidence and temerity, were not passed on to his credit: adverse was
+the interpretation, and he never lived it down.
+
+'Tell me, Christian, where you will be, and how we are to get news of you
+till you dare return.'
+
+'Dare return! If I be not dead, that will I to-morrow.'
+
+She cried out against such insanity.
+
+'You must not. It is wicked with a foolhardy parade to torment us--your
+mother.'
+
+'Have no fear, dear. If I come again, it will be with joy, bearing my
+sheaves.'
+
+She could put an interpretation on his words that loaded her heart.
+
+'Rhoda, dear sister, I owe you much this day, and now I will ask for one
+thing more.'
+
+She said 'Yes,' though foreboding ordeal. It was a minute before he
+spoke.
+
+'Will you pray for us?'
+
+Poor heart, how could she? Anything but that.
+
+'What worth are the prayers of such an one as I? Desire rather your
+mother's prayers.'
+
+'She for another cause will be praying the night through. Will you do as
+much for us?'
+
+He stopped her, for she did not speak, and held her by the shoulders,
+trying to see her face to get answered.
+
+'O Rhoda, will you not pray for us?'
+
+She made her answer singular. 'I will pray for thee'; but his greater
+want overcame her into ending: 'and--for Diadyomene.'
+
+He stood stock-still and gripped her hard when that name came, but he
+asked nothing. 'I will, I will,' she whispered; and then he kissed her
+brow and said: 'God bless you.' She flung her arms round his neck without
+reserve; her cheek lay against his bare breast, and because she felt a
+cross there she dared to turn her lips and kiss. He gathered her to close
+embrace, so that swept from her feet she lay in his arms rapt for one
+precious instant from all the world.
+
+When he had set her on her feet, when he had blessed her many times, she
+clung to him still, heaving great sobs, till he had to pluck away her
+hands.
+
+'Yes, go,' she said. 'I will pray for you both,' and down she knelt
+straightway.
+
+'God be with you.'
+
+'God be with you.'
+
+He passed from her into the darkness, away from sorrows she knew to some
+unknown. Rhoda, flung prostrate, wept bitterly, rending her heart for the
+getting of very prayer for that unknown woman, her bane.
+
+Too little thought Christian, though he loved her well, of her who so
+faithfully went on his bidding, trudging wearily on to make good his
+word, kneeling afterwards through the long hours in prayer that was
+martyrdom. If the value of prayer lie in the cost, hers that night
+greatly should avail.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Late knocking came importunate to the House Monitory. One went to the
+wicket and looked out. Her light, convulsed, for an instant abetted a
+delusion that he who stood knocking outside was Christ Himself with the
+signs of His Passion: unclothed was the man she saw, bloodstained, both
+head and hands. Then she noted fair hair, and had to believe that this
+haggard man was one with the brave-faced boy of earliest summer. He clung
+to the ledge for support; so spent was he that a word was hard to
+compass.
+
+'For the love of God,' he said, 'you who are watchers to-night pray for a
+human soul in sore need.'
+
+She would vouch for that; she would summon one with authority to vouch
+for more.
+
+When she carried word within: ''Tis the same,' said one, 'who twice has
+left fish at the gate, who slept once at the feet of St. Margaret.'
+
+To the wicket went the head monitress, and, moved to compassion by the
+sight of his great distress, she gave him good assurance that not the
+five watchers only, but one and all, should watch and pray for him that
+night, and she asked his name for the ordering of prayer.
+
+'Not mine!' he said. 'I ask your prayers for another whose need is mine.
+Pray for her by the name Diadyomene.'
+
+He unfastened the cross from his neck and gave it.
+
+'This is a pledge,' he said, 'I would lay out of my weak keeping for St.
+Mary, St. Margaret, and St. Faith to hold for me, lest to-night I should
+desire I had it, to be rid of it finally according to promise.'
+
+He had not made himself intelligible; clearer utterance was beyond him.
+
+'No matter!' he said. 'Take it--keep it--till I come again.'
+
+He knotted the empty string again to his neck, and, commended to God,
+went his way.
+
+Now when these two, little later, asked of each other, 'What was the
+strange name he gave?' neither could remember it. But they said 'God
+knows,' and prayed for that nameless soul.
+
+Somehow Christian got down the cliffs to the shore, as somehow he had
+come all the way. Little wonder head and hands showed bloody: every
+member was bruised and torn, for he had stumbled and gone headlong a
+score of times in his desperate speed over craggy tracks, where daylight
+goings needed to be wary. Scarcely could hoofed creatures have come
+whole-foot, and he, though of hardy unshod practice, brought from that
+way not an inch sound under tread. An uncertain moon had favoured him at
+worst passes, else had he fallen to certain destruction.
+
+He stood at the sea's edge and paused to get breath and courage. To his
+shame, he was deficient in fortitude: the salt of the wet shingle bit his
+feet so cruelly, that he shrank at the prospect of intensified pain
+through all the innumerable wounds he bore. He saw exposed a pitiful,
+unstable wretch, with a body drained of strength and nerve, and a spirit
+servile to base instances. In desperate spite he plunged and swam.
+
+He had ever waited for an outgoing tide; he had ever taken a daylight
+tide; now for his sins he had night and the flood against him. But still
+the moon blessed him. Delusions beset him that pains of his body came
+from the very teeth of sea-creatures, too fierce and many for him to
+cope with, crowding, dragging, gnawing hard at his life. For ease a
+passive moment and a little painful, airless sobbing would suffice:
+soonest, best. And had the pale moon darkened, he had gone under as at a
+supreme command, to such depravity and destitution were come his vital
+instincts. But, her light holding him alive, by hard degrees he won his
+way, till, for the last time, he stood upon the Isle Sinister.
+
+But when he had made his way through the narrow gorge, and trod sand, the
+moon was dark, and night fell upon his heart. He dared not call, and
+neither sight nor sound granted him assurance of Diadyomene's presence.
+Wanting her footprints to tell she had passed in, he feared lest he
+should be barring her very entrance. He fell down and prayed, being
+without resource.
+
+And Lois was praying, and Rhoda with bitter tears, and the House Monitory
+with the ring of its bells. Very faint was the moan of the sea in their
+ears.
+
+Slowly, slowly, the blessed moon stepped out, and lifted him up and
+delivered to his sight the track of light feet set from seaward--one
+track only. In haste, by the wavering light of the moon, he laid out the
+threaded rowan and weighted one end against the rock. The whole length
+extended came short of the further wall by about two feet.
+
+He rallied from the momentary shock, resolving that he himself could
+stand in the gap to bar passage.
+
+No form nor motion could he discern within his range as in slow scrutiny
+his eyes sought her from side to side. He lighted on despair; the
+entrance to the cavern had escaped his providence.
+
+In the dark he went to the low arch, and felt about the sand inch by inch
+for the dint of her feet. Naught could he find. Yet what did it profit
+him that she had not yet passed? To drop prone on the sand was his poor
+conclusion, abandoned to despair.
+
+He was but cast back on the morning's portion, then of fair sufficiency,
+but now oh! meagre, meagre, compared to the ripe hope that had come of
+nourishment strange and opportune as manna from heaven. Then had he
+incurred to no purpose expense of blood and sweat and anguish of body and
+mind, nay, brought to the crucial hour such an appalling deficiency.
+
+To contest a human soul with powers of darkness required perfect
+steadfastness of will and faith; lost, lost, with mere self-control lost
+in a useless barter that left him now a clod of effete manhood, with just
+life enough for groaning pain. Before conflict was he vanquished.
+Diadyomene need but come with a word of anger or derision to break him
+into childish sobbings.
+
+Yet driven to last extremity, such man's strength as remained to him
+might prevail in sanctified violence for the winning of a soul. He would
+hold her by the feet; his hands were bloody, but he would hold her by the
+feet; should he have to cling round her, he would not hurt; meek and
+gentle could he be, though fury should set her to such savage handling as
+a woman's strength may compass.
+
+To win a human soul? O wretched piece of clay, not that! The mere thought
+of contact with Diadyomene, close contact with her, cool, soft, naked
+there in the cold dark, swept the bright delirium of sea-magic over him
+again, stung his blood to a burning fever, set him writhing as pain had
+never. At the fiery blast, in this nadir hour the place of pure love was
+assaulted and taken by base lust; his desire was most strong, not for
+the winning of a human soul, but for the wicked winning of a human body,
+ay, maugre her will--any way.
+
+Yet, oh for the fair way of her favour! Had she not allowed him very
+gracious hints?--'lay your hand upon my breast, set your lips to mine.'
+Thrice she had said it--once when a touch on her hand had brought magical
+vision, once at her kindest, once at her cruelest. Though her command was
+against him, though her anger might not be overpast, a hope kindled that
+dread of the dark hour of her fate might urge her to his arms, there to
+find such gladness and consolation as might leave no place for horror to
+come into possession.
+
+'And give up your soul.' Thrice too had that been said. He was loath to
+give it remembrance, but it entered, whenever faint bells tolled on his
+ear it entered.
+
+Very strangely, while good and evil fought equal-handed for his will, he
+perceived that his body had risen to hands and knees, and was going
+forward very fitly like a beast. All round the cold dark began to burn. A
+boulder lay athwart his course, and then very strangely he was aware that
+his arms had fastened round it with convulsive strength, and brow and
+breast were wounded against it. He could not take possession to end this
+disgraceful treason; all that was left to him was to rescue integrity at
+least by undoing the knot at his neck.
+
+Then prevailed the blessed guile of Lois. The trivial exaction brought
+her son face to face with her, with her sorrows, with her prayers, and
+the mere communion of love set him praying frantically, and so brought
+him to himself again.
+
+We beseech, we beseech, we beseech: Lord God for my unbaptized! Dear
+Christ for Christian's Diadyomene! Blessed Trinity and all Saints for a
+nameless soul in sore need!
+
+Vile, vile indeed, were he to desert a holy alliance.
+
+There where the token had lain on his breast cross-edges of the boulder
+were wounding, and strange human nature turning ravenous to any gross
+substitution of fires, seized with wild energy on the ecstasy of pain,
+till the rock cut to the bone, while the whole boulder seemed to stir. In
+nowise might the cross be cast aside: it was kept against his will in
+holy ward; it was printed indelibly in his flesh.
+
+The very boulder had stirred. Then hope rose up as a tyrant, for he had
+fallen spent again. Spirit was weak and flesh was weak, and it were task
+hard out of measure to heave that boulder from its bed and set it up to
+block the low entrance; and useless, when at a sight or a sound
+Diadyomene were away fleet foot to the sea.
+
+And yet he felt about, set feet and shoulder for an arch of strength, and
+strained with great hefts; and again the mass seemed to stir. He dropped
+down, trenched painfully round, and tried again till his sinews cracked.
+Nor in vain: with a reluctant sob its bed of sand gave up the stubborn
+rock, and as it rolled endlong a devil that had urged excuse went from
+Christian. Foot after foot he fought that dreadful weight along the sand,
+right up to the cleft, right across the cleft he forced it. Not yet had
+he done enough; for he could feel that as the boulder lay, there was
+space for a slim body to press across and win the cavern. To better the
+barrier by a few poor inches, this way and that he wrung his wearied body
+and broke flesh; and to no purpose. 'Except my bones break, I will.' He
+grappled strenuously; a little give responded. He set his feet closer in,
+and lifted again mightily, and the boulder shifted, poised onward to
+settle.
+
+Who struck? Death.
+
+Nerveless, he swayed with the rock, on a motion its own weight
+consummated, agape, transfixed by the wonder of living still.
+
+Fresh, horrible pain seized him by foot and ankle, casting him down to
+tear up the sand, to bite the sand, lest in agony he should go shrieking
+like a woman.
+
+He writhed round to strike in the dark at the senseless mass, in the
+madness of terror and pain deeming the boulder itself had moved with
+malignant intelligence, not merely according to the preponderate laws
+that lift the world. To him the presence of infernal powers was manifest
+in this agent. In foul warfare they held him fast by the heel, and mocked
+the impotent spirit within the bonds of flesh. The dark grew pregnant
+with evil beings as he struggled to swooning.
+
+Pray for us, faithful hearts, pray! In the name of the Father, the Son,
+and the Holy Ghost, for her service! Then he prevailed, and out of the
+teeth of hell he wrenched his heel.
+
+Broken, crippled, strengthless, Christian crawled over the sand to the
+spot where he would die. Indistinguishable in the dark was the furrow he
+left stained till the tide should come: long before daylight broke the
+tide would come up to smooth and whiten it. He knew he was dying, and,
+touching the ended rowan, rendered thanks that it was to be there. All
+was nearly over, pain and a foolish, arrogant hope on which he had staked
+his life: presently, when he was dead, Diadyomene would come, to overstep
+his body, eluding there the toils. He misliked the thought that her feet
+might go red from treading him, and he stretched about weakly for briny
+hollows along the rock to cleanse the hot, slow oozing that chilled and
+stiffened into long stripes.
+
+Why should he be gasping still, as breathless as after his hardest race,
+as after his mightiest heft? He required breath to help endurance of
+thirst and exorbitant pain; air could he gasp in, deep and free, and yet
+he wanted for more.
+
+Why he should be dying, and how, Christian did not know. Life's centre
+had been stricken mortally quicker than a lightning-flash, too subtly for
+the brain to register any pain, so unmistakably he wondered only he was
+yet alive. From breath to breath he awaited another touch and a final,
+yet nothing lacked for vital order save air, air, more air. At short,
+merciful intervals he drifted out of the range of any pain.
+
+On this his third death he did not so very greatly shrink from passing
+out of the body to stand before the face of his Maker. He could not take
+up any meaning for prayer. He was discarded from service; perfect justice
+had tried him, judged him, and condemned him as unfit. It was bitter for
+him; but review of his finishing span of life, its sin, failure,
+impotence, brought him to acquiescence. 'Thine is the kingdom, and the
+power, and the glory' was all he had of prayer.
+
+The apprehension of each human principle was straitened, by darkness
+about him, by pain in strong possession, by recognition of death closing
+in. As visitants to his heart from some far-distant sphere came Rhoda,
+Lois, Diadyomene; they vanished away; he could not keep them close--not
+even Diadyomene. 'Dear love, my love!'
+
+Through the dark she came.
+
+He rose to his knees, aware of a moving glimmer of grey, nearing, near.
+At her swift, beautiful pace she made for the sea. Suddenly she stood. He
+heard the catch of her breath; swiftly the dim oval of her face was
+turned to him; then away. She swayed back a step; she swayed forward;
+hung a moment at poise upright; reeled aside, and fled back into the
+dark.
+
+Then Christian found he had yet strong faculty for life. He had retained
+small certainty that she had not long passed him by; speculation had
+fallen faint. Lo! she was here, controlled, and he not dead. He could
+pray, for her and for a little life, passionately.
+
+A low, bitter cry quivered through the dark to his heart. Diadyomene had
+fled for a way of escape, and found it barred. Soft rapids were her feet;
+she came speeding full to leap past. In vain; with a cry she flung up her
+arms, revulsed irresistibly, swerved, and stood stone-still. She moaned
+out long, agonised sighs; she seemed to turn away in pride, ignoring him;
+she seemed to face him again, not defiant. He saw her hands outstretched
+in appeal. 'What have you done?' she said; 'what have you done?' and then
+the woful complaint was changed to wilder: 'What have I done? what have
+I done?'
+
+He did not dare to speak, nor had he the breath. He was weeping for her.
+But she, not seeing, was stirred to wrath and fear by a silence so cruel.
+To her height she rose above the gasping, crouched shape, and her voice
+rang hard and clear.
+
+'Stand away. Once you trespassed, and I forgave you fully; twice, and I
+spared you; this third time--get you gone quickly, and find yourself some
+easy death before it be out of reach.'
+
+Still he did not answer. Her fear outdid her anger, and she stooped her
+pride.
+
+'Only be kind and true, and let me go,' she implored, and knelt low as
+he. 'I let you take my secret, and you turn it against me treacherously.
+You plan a shameful snare, you, you, whom I counted true as the sun. To
+you, a bold, graceless stranger, I granted life at the first; to you I
+gave the liberty of my dearest haunt. Be just, and leave me free in my
+own. Have pity, and let me go. Woe and horror are coming upon me to take
+me, awake and astray from the comfort of the sea.' She moaned and sighed
+piteously.
+
+His tears fell like rain for grief of his doings, for bitter grief that
+he might not comfort her.
+
+Because of a base alloy that had altered sacred love he had to fear. He
+turned away his head, panting and shaking, for pain and thirst made
+almost unendurable a temptation to stretch out his hand to hers, by the
+magic of her touch to lose himself till death in a blissful swoon.
+
+Her wail had in it the note of a deserted child and of a desolate woman.
+
+'I am crying to you for pity and help, and you turn away; I, who in the
+sea am regnant. But late you cried to me when no mercy and pardon were
+due, and I let you live. And if then I judged you unheard and wrongly,
+and if I condemned a breach of faith over harshly, here kneeling I pray
+you to forgive--I, who never bid vainly, never ask vainly, of any living
+creature but of you.'
+
+Christian only was weeping; Diadyomene shed no tear, though her voice
+quivered piteously.
+
+'Ah, my sea, my sea! Hark how it moans to me, and cannot reach me! My
+birds fail me, nestling afar--that you considered when you came by
+night. Undo, undo your cruel work, and I will reproach you never.'
+
+His silence appalled her. 'Why should you do this?' she cried. 'What
+would you have of me? A ransom? Name it. The wealth of the sea is mine to
+give; the magic of the sea is mine. To all seas, to all sea-creatures,
+you shall bear a charmed life henceforward, only let me go.'
+
+He sobbed, 'But I die, I die!' but so brokenly that the words failed at
+her ears.
+
+'Hear me,' she said; 'I make no reservation. Ask what you will, and
+nothing, nothing I can grant will I refuse--only quickly let me go.'
+
+She was crouched before him, with her face downward and hidden, as she
+moaned, and moaned surrender. Presently she half lifted, and her voice
+was at a lovely break between grief and gladness.
+
+'Fool, dear ignorant fool, Diadyomenos, are you blind? You have come to
+me often; have I ever looked unglad? Have I wearied of you soon? Have I
+failed you? Could you read into that no favour from me, Diadyomene, who
+have the sea to range? Can you wrong so my grace to you in the past as to
+plan an extortion? Ah, foolish, needless, empty wrong! Your eyes have
+been fair to me when they said what your tongue would not. Speak now fair
+words, since I cannot read your eyes. Dear hands, reach out for mine,
+take them and draw me out of the snare, and with gladness and shame own
+it needless, as with gladness and pride will I.'
+
+So vile a wretch she took him to be! and the bitterness was that he might
+not disclaim. For a moment he had fallen to that baseness; it might be
+that only because life was going out of him so fast was he past such
+purpose now. A stupid 'No, no,' was all he could bring out.
+
+She sprang up at a bound, driven to fury. She longed to strike with mere
+woman strength, yet she dared not a contact, lest hers be the
+disadvantage. With a shriek she fled back into the dark, and he heard the
+dreadful wailing cries wheeling away. Desperately he prayed for himself
+and for her; for his pain and an agony of pity were almost more than he
+could bear.
+
+Suddenly she came upon him and stood close. Her tone was changed.
+
+'At last,' she said, 'miserable creature, you shall know the truth. You
+love me. I know it well; I have known it long. And with all my
+strength--I--hate you. Not for this night's treachery and insolence
+only; from the first I hated you; and hatred has grown since more
+bitter-strong, till your one life and body seemed all too little to stay
+it. Ah! the love I read in your eyes has been sweet sustenance. So I
+waited and waited only for this: for love of me to take deep hold of your
+heart, to be dearer than life, before I plucked it up by the roots; and
+to laugh in your face as I did it, knowing it worse than any death. Oh!
+it should have been by daylight. I would like to see your face and your
+eyes now, and watch your great body writhe--I think it does! Why, laugh I
+must.
+
+'Can you fathom my hate by its doings? You stood here first, glad, proud,
+strong in your youth; but a few short weeks, and I had turned all to
+ruin. Yes, I--I--only was your bane, though I but watched, and laughed,
+and whispered beneath my waters, and let you be for the handling of your
+fellows. Truly my hate has worked subtly and well, and even beyond
+device; it has reached beyond you: an old man treads the quay no more,
+and a girl comes down to it grown pale and heavy-eyed, and a woman ageing
+and greyer every time. Think and know! You never shall see them again;
+for a brief moment you check and defy me, but the entrance of the tide
+shall bring you your death.
+
+'Now, I the while will plan the worst death I may. You think you have
+faced that once already? Fool! from to-morrow's dawn till sunset I will
+teach you better. The foulest creature of the deep shall take you again
+and hold you helpless--but that is nothing: for swarms shall come up from
+the sea, and from twilight to twilight they shall eat you alive. They
+shall gnaw the flesh from your limbs; they shall pierce to the bone; they
+shall drill you through and rummage your entrails. And with them shall
+enter the brine to drench you with anguish. And I, beside you, with my
+fingers in your hair, will watch all day, and have a care to lift your
+head above the tide; and I will flick off the sea-lice and the crays from
+your face and your eyes, to leave them whole and clear and legible to my
+hate at the last. And at the very last I will lay my face down against
+yours, and out of very pure hate will kiss you once--will kiss you more
+than once, and will not tire because you will so quicken with loathing.
+Even in the death agony I mean you to know my fingers in your hair. Ha!
+Agonistes.
+
+'And now you wish you had died on that moonlit, warm night long ago: and
+me it gladdens to think I did not then cut you off from the life to
+follow after, more bitter than many quick deaths. And you wish I had
+finished you outright in the late storm, that so you might have died
+blissfully ignorant of the whole truth: and I spared you only that you
+should not escape a better torture that I had contrived.
+
+'Ah! it has been a long delight to fool you, to play my game with
+flawless skill. As I choose a wear of pearls, so chose I graces of love
+for adornment. Am I not perfect now? What have I said of hatred and love?
+No, no, all that is false. Because you scorn the sea-life so dear to me,
+I try to keep hatred; but it may not abide when you stand before me and I
+look in your eyes--oh! slay it, slay it quite with the touch of your
+lips. My love!' her voice fell softly: 'My love, my love, my love, my
+love!' She was chasing the word along all the ranges of derision.
+
+She stood no more than a pace from him, a flexile figure that poised and
+swung, to provoke the wild beast in him to spring. Christian never
+stirred nor spoke.
+
+'Would the moon but shine! I mean to watch you when you die, but I think
+a better sight your face would be now than then. How well it pleases me
+your eyes are grey! Can grey eyes serve as well to show hate as love? Ay,
+I shall laugh at that: to see in them hate, hate like my own; but
+impotent hate, not like mine. It hardly has dawned yet, I guess, but it
+will; and presently be so strong that the dearest joy left would be to
+have your hand on my throat to finish my life. Do you think I fear? I
+dare you, defy you! Ha! Agonistes.'
+
+He did not come hurling upon her; he did not by word or sign acknowledge
+her taunts.
+
+'Why, the night of my dread goes blithely as never before. There is no
+bane left in it. I have found an antidote.'
+
+She forced a laugh, but it went wild, strangled, and fell broken. Again
+she fled back into the dark, and, like a prisoned bird, circled frantic
+for the sea that she could not reach. Far from Christian, she halted and
+panted low: 'Not yet have I failed, dear sea. Though love may not
+prevail, nor hate, yet shall my song.'
+
+Though the incoming tide sounded near, echo still carried the tolling of
+the bells. For the knell of that passing soul fittest names they bore out
+of all the Communion of Saints. St. Mary! bitter dregs had his life to
+drain; St. Margaret! his pearl of the sea was lost in deep waters; St.
+Faith! utter darkness was about, and desperate striving could find no
+light of Heaven; his life, his love, his God forsook, rejected, disowned
+him.
+
+Loss or fear could not touch him any more, for not one hope, one joy
+remained. From the cruel havoc, calm, passionless wonder distilled, and
+new proportions rose as his past came before him to be measured anew: so
+tolerable looked the worst of inflictions, a passing wrong, forgivable,
+forgettable; so sorry looked the best endurance, a wretched contortion,
+defacing, deforming. Against Diadyomene not one throb of passion stirred:
+she had broken his heart outright, so that it had not true faculty of
+life for any new growth. Strangely, to his wonder, under this her doing,
+the old derangement passed away, and the way of loving-kindness to all
+men showed clear. Too late! Never in this life could he meet his fellows
+with good, quiet blood, and frank eyes, and wholesome laughter, unafraid,
+simply acknowledging all records, free, candid, scrutable.
+
+He began even before death to resolve to impersonality; he surveyed the
+perverse obstinacy of vitality that would not quit its old habitation,
+though fierce pain was in possession; and he could wonder at the
+wretched body heaving, tortured by a double thirst for air, for water,
+when so short a time would render it mere quiet earth, soon to unshape.
+
+Out of the darkness rang her voice, noting beauty wordless, and sunlit
+seas glanced through the nights: the magic of the sea was upon him.
+
+Brief sweetness! the bright sound faltered, broke. O blackness and pain!
+The far, slow knell struck in.
+
+Again, up welled the buoyant voice, poised and floated exquisitely,
+mounted and shrilled frantically sweet, caught up the failing senses from
+the death sweats, and launched them on a magic flood of emotion, through
+racing sprays, and winds vivid and strong of the brine.
+
+Gone, ah! gone; for a wailing cry came, and then thwart silence suddenly,
+and flung him back to the dominion of black anguish.
+
+And again and again, high-noted, above the tramp of the nearing tide,
+that perfect voice flew to delicious melody; and promise of words
+strengthened the enchantment; and yet, and yet, a cry and a silence
+stabbed and bled the spell she would fashion.
+
+Perfect achievement came. Up rose a measure transcending in rapture all
+forgone, and flawless, unfaltering, consummate, leaped on and on, rhythm
+by rhythm, clear-syllabled for conquest.
+
+'Where silver shallows hold back the sea, Under the bend of the great
+land's knee, And the gleaming gulls go nestled and free.
+
+Where the tide runs down in the round of the bay, There in the rings
+where the mermen play, On ribs and shallows their footprints lay.
+
+In liquid speech they laughed and sung, Under the rocks, till the rout
+outswung, Called from the echoing cave its tongue.
+
+They were away with the glimmering seas: Off with the twilight, off with
+the breeze, Wave-weeds fell from their glancing knees;
+
+Robes laid by, which the hollowed spars Held and hid, while the wet
+sand-bars Failed of the sunlight and filled with stars.
+
+Sea-mists rose for a dream, but when Mists wore faint in the sunlight,
+then Lo, the sea with its dancing men.
+
+Spume and swirl spun under their feet; Sparkle and flash, for the runners
+were fleet; Over them climbed the day to its heat.
+
+And the day drew a draught of the tide-winds strong, As a singer the
+breath to be rendered song, As a child the life that will last so long.'
+
+Christian had fallen prone.
+
+While she sang, so potent was the magic, he lusted to live. Sentient
+only to the desires she kindled, out of account lay the dead heart, and
+the broken strength, and the body so shattered within and without, that
+wonder was it yet could hold a man's life. Pain was excluded by a great
+sensual joy of living.
+
+Her song manned the mirage of her delight, and straightway he was
+passionate for life. Never before had she acknowledged the sea-fellowship
+to occasion the ravenous ache of jealousy. She sang of the mermen, and
+they rose before him visionary at the spell, with vigorous hair and
+frolic eyes, very men, lithe and sinewy for the chase and capture of
+their feminine fairest in amorous play. Life was one fire burning for the
+hot war of nature's males, as through the riot, whirling with the song,
+he eyed challenge and promise of a splendid wrestle with strong, hard
+limbs; and the liquid, exquisite voice was a call to him to speed in and
+win, nor suffer the wanton sea-brood to prevail.
+
+It was then that his body fell, face forward, never to rise again.
+
+On sang Diadyomene, not knowing that a power stronger than her magic,
+stronger than his will, kept him from her feet. On she sang, herself
+possessed, uttering not with her own will more than magic. What alien
+element underlay the spell she would deliver? what lurking revelation to
+be dreaded, to be desired, hid beneath? Her voice was caught back again,
+and yet again, to repeat the finish:
+
+'As a singer the breath to be rendered song, As a child the life that
+will last so long-- As a child----'
+
+Then bell notes fell in a chime. She lifted her head; they rang, she
+hearkened, motionless, wordless.
+
+It was midnight, and joy for the birth of Christ thrilled the world. No
+spell could hold. Christian must resume the throes of death.
+
+The cold and the tide were merciful to shorten. His limbs were stone-cold
+and dead already, past motion, past pain. Against his side the foremost
+lap of the tide told. It licked and bit along his body, flanks, breast,
+throat, touched his cheek. Astray against his face he felt the thread of
+rowan. It kissed along cheek, along brow, and swung wide and away.
+
+'Christ, Christ, ah! Christ.'
+
+He turned his head and drank of the brine, and drank and drank to slake
+the rage of thirst. The drawing of breath made hindrance: not for long.
+The last draughts he took were somewhat sharp and painful, but they
+quenched his thirst. He was entirely satisfied.
+
+'We beseech, we beseech, we beseech: Lord God for my unbaptized! Dear
+Christ for Christian's Diadyomene! Blessed Trinity and all Saints for a
+nameless soul in sore need!'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Through all creation went the divine breath of renunciation. Joy for the
+birth of Christ rang on; and motionless, wordless, Diadyomene hearkened,
+released from the magic of the sea.
+
+Dawned a vision remote, but strangely distinct, of a small life
+comprehending two dear figures--one most dear; and thereto a small,
+beautiful pain responded. A tale flashed across and across, gaining
+coherence, giving it: the tale of a loved and lost child, long years ago
+lost to the sea; loved still. Perfect grew the interweaving; the
+substance of the two became one.
+
+Joy for the birth of Christ was abroad, thrilling all planes of existence
+with the divine breath of renunciation. In the soul of Diadyomene, waked
+from its long trance, love was alive; a finite, individual love, chief
+centred on one dearest to remembrance. The beautiful pain grew large, and
+the cold heart that the sea-life had filled and satisfied was yearning
+for share in another life long forgone. A small divine instinct,
+following ignorantly in the wake of that great celestial love that
+hundreds of years ago stooped to the sorrow of life, urged her to
+renounce the ample strengths and joys of the sea, and to satisfy a
+piteous want, were it by repression of energies, by eschewing full
+flavours of sense, by the draining of her young life. The soul of true
+womanhood in this child for the cherishing of her mother's waxed mature.
+
+Motionless, wordless, she hearkened while separate bells cadenced; when
+again they fell to their wonted unison, the sea-bred woman knew that a
+soul was hers, and that it claimed dominion.
+
+'We beseech, we beseech, we beseech: Lord God for my unbaptized! Dear
+Christ for Christian's Diadyomene! Blessed Trinity and all Saints for a
+nameless soul in sore need!'
+
+Diadyomene flung out vacant arms, and moaned a dear name, for years
+unuttered. Across the long interval of sea-life her spirit leaned to own
+the filial heart of childhood. Clear to her as yesterday came back that
+broken fragment of earlier life,--bright, partial, inadequate, quaintly
+minute, as impression had gone into a happy, foolish infant. Not a
+memory had traversed the ground since to blur a detail, though now the
+adult faculties could apprehend distortion, the beautiful vagarious
+distortion that can live in a brain over toddling feet.
+
+Recent song caught colour; reflected it.
+
+'As a woman the breath to be rendered song, As a child the life that will
+last so long.'
+
+From deep roots under dense forgetfulness, the song had drawn up truth to
+blossom in perfect form. Before the eager wonder of the child, the sea
+had revealed its secret of men shapes, who had beckoned, and laughed, and
+tempted her with promise and play, till she stretched out her arms to
+their glee, till she ran in their circles, till, breathless, she thirsted
+and drank of their offering, and so passed.
+
+So tempered was her cold sea body that no ice-wind ever started a shiver.
+Now one came, for the mother might not recognise her child, for the child
+might be grown unworthy of her mother's love.
+
+There was one to succour: Christian. What had she done? There was one to
+blast her, too foul for any love: Christian.
+
+Her hideous doings rushed back upon her with conviction of guilt; an old
+sense revived; she shrank and cowered, bowed to the ground by an agony of
+shame.
+
+Lo! the moon bared her face and looked.
+
+Diadyomene rose to her knees; with a steady will she rose to her feet and
+went to suffer her full penalties.
+
+Her portion of shame was dreadful to bear; her bold avowal of love for
+Christian, her atrocious wording of hate intervolved to double disgrace.
+Then neither passion had been entirely feigned; now she knew that love
+swayed her alone, turning her to a worship of the man. No bitterer
+penance could she conceive than with confession to him to strip heart and
+soul naked as her body; this only could extend it: should his large
+generosity keep under his loathing and contempt, and order him to deal
+gently for her help according to pity. No way could he remit her dues.
+
+As she went to meet his face, she lifted her gaze up the slant moonbeams,
+looking piteous, despairing appeal for darkness to come back and cover
+her. Wisps of cloud made only a poor pretence. She met the tide
+unhindered, and stood; she looked, no man was there; she wailed
+'Christian, Christian,' and no voice answered. With relief for the
+lengthened shadows below the rocks, she made for the very spot where he
+had knelt; it was far overpassed by the tide. Ankle deep she trod: knee
+deep. She sets her foot upon a man's hand, leaps, stumbles on his body to
+a fall: Christian dead lies under her embrace.
+
+Supreme justice had measured her due.
+
+The placid clay had returned to an old allegiance, and weltered with the
+tide according to the joint ordering of earth and moon. The living
+creature would not acknowledge that right dominion, most desperately
+would withstand it. She stooped her shoulder beneath the low head, and
+heaved it up above the tide: the air did but insist that it lay
+dead-still. With all her slender feminine strength put out for speed, she
+girthed, she held, she upbore the inert weight afloat for moonlighted
+shallows. There her knee up-staying, her frantic hands prevailing over
+the prone figure, the dead face fell revealed. No hope could appeal
+against that witness.
+
+A strange grey had replaced the ruddy tan of life, darker than the usual
+pallor of the dead. That, and the slack jaw, and the fixed, half-shut
+eyes, a new and terrible aspect gave to the head, dear and sacred above
+all on earth to the stricken creature beholding.
+
+For a long moment appalled she gazed, knowing yet but one fathom of her
+misery: just her loss, her mere great loss past repair. Then moaning
+feebly, her arms went round again to draw it close. Her smooth palms
+gliding over the body told of flawed surfaces, bidding her eyes leave the
+face to read new scores: on the breast a deep rent, on the shoulder
+another, and further more and more wherever a hand went. Along one arm
+she stretched hers, and lifted it up to the light of the moon. Beside the
+tense, slender limb, gleaming white, that other showed massive, inert,
+grey-hued, with darker breaks. The hand hanging heavy was a dark horror
+to see.
+
+Shadows invaded, for the moon was foundering on the rocks.
+
+Across her shoulders she drew the heavy burden, strove to rise upright to
+bear it, tottered, fell, and then dragged on with elbows and knees as the
+waves resigned to her the full load. Heavy knees furrowed the sand beside
+hers, heavy arms trailed; the awful, cold face drooped and swayed from
+her shoulder as she moved; now and again it touched her cheek.
+
+Withdrawn from the fatal sea, what gain had she? The last spark of life
+was long extinct, and she knew it; yet a folly very human set her
+seeking Christian's self in the shell that was left, scanning it,
+handling it, calling upon deaf ears, drawing the wet head against her
+breast. Cold, cold was her breast; the sea-magic had bred out all heat
+from her heart.
+
+She pressed the dripping hair; she stooped and kissed her dead lover on
+the lips. It was then her iniquity struck home with merciless rigour
+complete. 'I will lay my face down against yours, and out of very pure
+hate will kiss you once. Even in the death-agony I mean you to know my
+fingers in your hair.'
+
+The wretched soul writhed as the hideous words rose up against her to
+damn. They were alive with every tone and laugh; they would live stinging
+and eating out her heart until she died.
+
+And after death?
+
+'Christian! Christian!'
+
+The agonised cry now was no effort to waken deaf ears; it called after
+Christian himself, gone past reach of her remorse into unknown night.
+Gone deliberately, to be finally quit of so abhorred a creature? In mute
+witness the quiet body lay to vindicate Christian: too broken it was, too
+darkly grey for any death self-willed.
+
+Then she could look upon the blank face no more, for the moon passed
+quite away. Then the stretching tide came lapping and fawning, soon to
+sway the dead weight she held. She was not worthy to look upon clay so
+sacred, she was not worthy to touch it, she who in wanton moods had
+inclined to a splendid male, nor recognised in him a nobler version of
+love. No spark of profane passion could remain after she had kissed the
+cold, dead face.
+
+The dreadful cry of a soul's despair broke the vacant air with the name
+of Christian. Many times his name, and no other word. The desolation of
+great agony was hers: no creature of the sea could bring her any comfort
+now; no creature under heaven; for the one on earth to whom her child's
+heart yearned was the one on earth she least dared face with her awful
+load of guilt.
+
+Nothing could atone for what she had done: life could never give scope,
+nor death. Were this that she held Christian himself, able to see and
+hear, her passionate remorse could conceive no dearer impossibility than
+at his feet to fall, with supplication, with absolute confession
+delivering the love and worship of her heart before him: to be spurned by
+his inevitable hate. The inexorable indifference of the dead was a
+juster, a more terrible, recompense.
+
+Yet a more terrible conception woke from a growing discernment of
+Christian's utter abstraction from the mortal shape, that so long had
+represented him to her, and so well. This his body had ceased from
+suffering and endurance, yet the very self of Christian might bear with
+him unassuaged the wounds and aches her malice had compassed. Hate would
+heal, would sear, at least; but oh! if he had not quit him of a tyrannous
+love, then bruised and bleeding he carried with him still a living pain
+of her infliction. She dared not confidently reckon her vileness against
+the capacity of his extravagant love. She dared not. Her full punishment
+reached home to her at last.
+
+Her ignorant mortal senses strained to pierce the impenetrable mystery
+that had wrapt Christian to an infinite remoteness. For his relief, not
+for her own, would she present to him her agonies of love and remorse:
+him stanched, averse: him bleeding, tender; to gratify, to satisfy, to
+plenish any want.
+
+Tempests of despair raged through that undisciplined soul. Every hope was
+cut off, every joy was extinct. The sweet attraction of loving service,
+the pride and glory of despotic rule, were not for her, an exile from the
+one, and from the other abdicating. In all the world there was no place
+for her but this, between sea and land, with a hold on a dead illusion of
+Christian, with vain, frantic crying after his reality.
+
+She did not know, whelmed in gulfs of sin and grief and despair, she did
+not know how divine a dawn brooded over the waste. From the long-lost
+past clear echoes swept of childish prayers, to blend as an undercurrent
+with that message her lover had so tried to deliver, that she had
+repelled as hideous and grotesque. She used no conscious memory, nor
+followed any coherent thought, but, consonant with the first instinct of
+her fresh awakened soul, that longing for her mother's sake to make
+renunciation, consonant with Christian's finished achievement--his
+striving, suffering, enduring even death for her unworthy sake--was this
+incoherent impression of a divinity vastly, vaguely suffering in
+exemplary extreme out of great compassion and love to mankind, thence
+accrediting suffering as the divinest force that can move the world. Her
+also it had vanquished.
+
+The tide had turned; it pressed her gently to resume her old way to the
+deeps. The drift of another tide took her.
+
+Out of her futile striving for direct communion with Christian grew a
+sense that the sole possibility left to her was to yield body and soul to
+his will in strict possession, and to follow that guidance. In her great
+misery and helpless desolation a how and a whither with quailing beset
+her going. Lo! the first step was sure, because it entailed a
+heartrending renunciation.
+
+Ah! desperately dear was this, Christian's body, to her mortal
+apprehension of him. She held it very closely with an access of love and
+worship such as appertains to vacant shrines. O woe to part from it, to
+lay it aside and leave it to final obliteration!
+
+Suddenly she wept. This near, definite distress, so humanly common, broke
+up the fountain of her tears so many a year sealed. To a creature long of
+the cold sea breeding tears were scalding to the heart.
+
+Moaning, weeping, yet a little while she failed to forgo that embrace of
+pure worship and untainted love. Worthy of reverence that piece of clay
+was, for its loyal alliance with a high soul; wonderful as a noble and
+true representative; very sacred from the record of devotion scored
+deep, so fatally deep.
+
+She wept, she wept as though weeping could cease from her never. Could
+the deep draught of sea-magic in tears be distilled, void of it should
+she be long before daybreak come.
+
+The shallowing run of the tide drove her to resign the dead weight that
+exceeded her strength to uphold. Weeping, heartwrung, she bent her to
+replace her own will by Christian's! So first she gave away the dead body
+to final peace, and laid it down for ever in its destined sepulchre, and
+thereafter went alone into unfamiliar darkness to grope blind among
+strange worlds for the ways of Christian's countenance.
+
+We beseech, we beseech, we beseech: Lord God for my unbaptized! Dear
+Christ for Christian's Diadyomene! Blessed Trinity and all Saints for a
+nameless soul in sore need!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Some four days after Rhoda heard what more befell before that night was
+out. The chief monitress told her.
+
+'We were watching all,' she said, 'and praying according to that promise
+I had made for a nameless soul in sore need, whose name, Diadyomene, you
+have restored to us. The dull roar of the sea came in swells of sound,
+filled as often with an illusion of voices; angry voices they sounded
+then. This I say that you may understand how a cry like a human creature
+in distress could pass unregarded at first. Again and again it came more
+distinctly, till we were startled into suspicion that a feeble knocking
+was close by at the lych door of our chapel. One went at my bidding to
+look out. Back she fled, with terror white as death: "God and His saints
+guard," she said, "that without is not of flesh and blood!"
+
+'I and another took her light and went to the door, and before unclosing
+I asked in the name of God who was there. No answer came but a sound of
+bitter sobbing. Then I looked out, and verily doubted also if what I
+looked on were indeed flesh and blood. Upon the threshold crouched a
+slender woman-shape, naked. I flung wide the door and touched her: she
+was cold as marble, colder, I dreaded, than any creature of life could
+be. Then did she raise her head to show the fairest and saddest face I
+have ever beheld. Her eyes were full of tears fast falling, and oh! the
+wild, hunted, despairing look they had. "Christian, Christian!" she
+wailed. None knew of any such name.
+
+'We lifted her up and led her in and covered her hastily. Her dark hair
+was all drenched; recent wet had not dried from her skin. A few flakes of
+snow had been drifting down; I noticed some that lay on her shoulders:
+they did not melt there. Cold as a marble statue she was, and as white,
+and of as beautiful a form as any that man has fashioned, and but for her
+sobbing and that one cry of "Christian," one could think as dumb.
+
+'I would have led her to comfort and warmth and food, but she would not:
+from touch and question she shrank bewildered and scared; as though the
+cloak we had wrapped about her were irksome, she slipped it off once and
+again, unashamed of nakedness. Still her tears fell like rain, and heavy
+sobs shook her. But as the great bells struck overhead, she caught in
+sudden breath and held it while the air throbbed, and thereafter broke
+out with her cry: "Christian, Christian!"
+
+'I bade all kneel and pray, that if this were indeed one of God's
+creatures, wisdom might be given us to deal with her for her welfare. In
+great perplexity I prayed, and some fear. I think it was that utter
+coldness of a living body that appalled me most.
+
+'One spoke from her knees. "The name of Christ is in her utterance; no
+creature outcast from salvation could frame any such word." Then I said:
+"I will take upon me to offer her instant baptism. That may be her need
+that she cannot perfectly utter." She did not seem to hear one word when
+I spoke to her; I could see her mind was all too unknit for
+comprehension; she only cried out as before. But when I turned towards
+the altar and took her by the hand, she followed me unresisting.
+
+'So, right before the altar we brought her, and made her kneel among us
+all. All our font was a stoup of holy water held at hand. Then I prayed
+aloud as God gave me the grace. She ceased to weep; she caught my hand in
+hers; I know she heard. In the name of the blessed Trinity I baptized
+her, but signed no cross; too suddenly she rose upright; she flung up her
+arms with one deep sigh. I caught a dead body from falling.
+
+'God knows what she was.'
+
+The speaker fell to prayer. Presently Rhoda said: 'How did you name her?'
+
+'I named her Margaret.'
+
+Rhoda whispered: 'She was Diadyomene.'
+
+Then she covered her face with her hands, lest the grave eyes should read
+over deep.
+
+'What else?' she said, 'tell all.'
+
+'When the grace of God had prevailed over our doubt and dismay, we did
+not dread to consider the dead countenance. It was fairer even than in
+life; serene as any sleeping child; death looked then like a singular
+favour.
+
+'We closed her eyes and folded her hands, and laid her out before the
+altar, and resumed prayer for the one nameless and another Margaret.
+
+'And no more we knew of whence she came than this: that by daybreak a
+powder of drying brine frosted her dark hair, and the hollows of her ears
+were white with salt.'
+
+'So,' said Rhoda, 'might come one cast ashore from a wreck.'
+
+'We took measures, indeed, to know if that could be; but out of all the
+search we sent about not a sign nor a clue came. If she were indeed that
+one Diadyomene, we may only look to know more when the young man
+Christian shall come again.'
+
+Rhoda turned her face to the wall when she answered very low: 'He will
+not come again. Well I know he will never come again.'
+
+Then her breathing shortened convulsively, and past restraint her grief
+broke out into terrible weeping.
+
+The dark-robed monitress knelt in prayer beside her. That pious heart was
+wise and loving, and saw that no human aid could comfort this lorn girl
+fallen upon her care. When Rhoda was spent and still, she spoke:
+
+'My child, if, indeed, we can no more pray God to keep that brave young
+life from sin and death, yet may we pray that his soul may win to peace
+and rest under the mercy of heaven. Nay, there is no need that you too
+should rise for kneeling. Lie down, lie down, for your body is over
+spent. Kneel before God in spirit.'
+
+There was long silence, and both prayed, till Rhoda faltered to the
+betrayal of her unregenerate heart: 'Was she so very fair indeed? Where
+is she laid? Take me--oh, let me once look upon her face.'
+
+'It may not be. She lies a day buried, there without among our own
+dead--although--God only knows what she was.'
+
+Rhoda again would rise.
+
+'Yet take me there. Night-time? Ah yes, night, night that will never
+pass.'
+
+At daybreak she stood, alone at her desire, beside a new-made grave, and
+knew that the body of Diadyomene lay beneath, and knew hardly less
+surely, that somewhere beneath the sea she overlooked the body of
+Christian lay. Nearest the sea was the grave on the windblown, barren
+cliff. No flower could bloom there ever, only close dun turf grew. Below
+stretched the broken, unquiet sea, fretted with rock and surf, deep
+chanting of the wind and moon. One white sea-bird was wheeling and
+pitching restlessly to and fro.
+
+She turned her eyes to the land far east for the thought of Lois. Over
+there a winter dawn flushes into rose, kindles bright and brighter, and a
+ruddy burnish takes the edges of flat cloud. Lo! the sun, and the grey
+sea has flecks of red gold and the sea-bird gleams. She cannot face it.
+
+Rhoda knelt down by the grave to pray. Presently she was lying face
+downward along the turf, and she whispered to the one lying face upward
+below.
+
+'Ah! Diadyomene, ah! Margaret. God help me truly to forgive you for what
+you have done.
+
+'I have tried. Because he asked it, I have torn out my heart praying for
+you.
+
+'You fair thing! you were fairer than I, but you did not love him so well
+as I.
+
+'Ah! ah! would it were I who lay down there under the quiet shelter of
+the turf; would it were you who lived, able to set up his honour and make
+his name fair before all men!
+
+'Ah! ah! a dark rebuke the mystery of your life has brought; and the
+mystery of your death eats it in.
+
+'Can you bear to be so silent, so silent, nor deliver a little word?
+
+'When you rise, Diadyomene, when the dead from the sea rise, speak loud,
+speak very loud, for all to hear.
+
+'He loved you! He loved you!'
+
+The sod above the face of Diadyomene was steeped with the piercing tears
+of Rhoda. 'He loved you!' came many times as she sobbed.
+
+Blind with tears, she rose, she turned from the grave; blind with tears,
+she stood overlooking the sea; sun and shine made all a glimmering haze
+to her. She turned from those desirable spaces for burial to stumble her
+blind way back to the needs of the living.
+
+It was late, after sunset, that Rhoda, faint and weary, dragged into
+sight of the light of home. In the darkness a voice named her, struck her
+still. 'Philip's voice!'
+
+Groping for her in the dark, he touched her arm. Energy she had to strike
+off his hand and start away, but it failed when she stumbled and fell
+heavily; for then Philip without repulse helped her to her feet, and as
+she staggered a little, stunned, would have her rest a moment, and found
+the bank, and stripped off his coat for her seating. She said, 'No, no,'
+but she yielded.
+
+'You thought me dead?' he asked.
+
+She sat dumb and stupid, worn out in body and mind.
+
+'Do you hold _me_ to blame?'
+
+Still she did not speak.
+
+'Rhoda, O Rhoda, I cannot bear this! Has that devil Christian taught
+you?'
+
+Rhoda rose up with an indignant cry. Then she steadied her voice and
+spoke.
+
+'The name of Christian I love, honour, reverence, above all names on
+earth. You are not worthy even to utter it. Betake you, with your lies,
+your slanders, your suspicions, to others ready to suspect and slander
+and lie--not to me, who till I die can trust him utterly.'
+
+She turned and went. Philip stood.
+
+'Is he dead?' he said to himself. 'He is dead. He must be dead.'
+
+Awe and compassion alone possessed him. To his credit be it said, not one
+selfish consideration had a place then. Quick wits told him that Rhoda
+had inadvertently implied more than she would. He overtook her hastily.
+
+'Hear me! I will not offend. I will not utter a word against him.'
+
+He spoke very gently, very humbly, because of his great compassion; and
+truly, Christian dead, it were not so hard to forgo rancour. But Rhoda
+went on.
+
+'You must hear what I come to tell you before you reach home. Do you
+think I have been watching and praying for your return these hours, only
+to gird at Christian? For his mother's sake I came, and to warn you----'
+
+She stopped. 'What is it? What is it? Say quick.'
+
+'Nothing that you fear--nothing I can name. Hear me out!
+
+'Last night I came back, and told, in part, what had befallen me; and
+heard, in part, what had befallen Christian. To-day, one thrust in upon
+his mother, open-mouthed, with ugly hints. She came to me straight and
+asked for the whole truth. Rhoda, I swear I said nothing but bare truth,
+mere plain, unvarnished fact, without one extravagant word; but her face
+went grey and stony as she heard--oh! grey and stony it went; and when I
+asked her to forgive me--I did, Rhoda, though what wrong had I done?--she
+answered with her speech gone suddenly imperfect.'
+
+Rhoda pressed forward, then stopped again--
+
+'What did you tell her? I must know that.'
+
+Philip hesitated: 'Then against Christian I must speak in substance,
+however I choose my words.'
+
+'Go on--go on!'
+
+So Philip told, as justly and truly as he could, all he might.
+
+'Was this,' put in Rhoda, 'off the Isle Sinister?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+She heard all the tale: of Christian's sullen mood; of the dark something
+attending below, that he knew, that he watched; of his unfinished attempt
+at murder.
+
+'That we knew,' she said.
+
+Told in the dark by one who had lived through them, nearly died through
+them, whose voice yet acknowledged the terror of them,--circumstances
+were these of no vague indication to Rhoda. The reality of that dark
+implication stirred her hair, chilled her blood, loosened her joints; yet
+her faith in Christian did not fall.
+
+But no word had she to say to refute the dreadful accusation; no word for
+Philip; no word for an adverse world. And what word for his mother? Her
+heart died within her.
+
+The most signal evidence sufficient for her own white trust was a kiss, a
+close embrace, hard upon the naming of Diadyomene. She had no shame to
+withhold it; but too likely, under his mother's eye, discount would offer
+were maiden blood quick to her face when she urged her tale.
+
+She knew that an ominous hum was against Christian, because he had
+struck, and swum, and escaped as no other man could; she guessed how the
+roar went now because of Philip's evidence. How inconsiderable the wrong
+of it all was, outdone if one injurious doubt his mother's heart
+entertain.
+
+To hatred and to love an equal disregard death opposed. No menace could
+disturb, no need could disturb the absolute repose Christian had entered.
+She envied his heart its quiet in an unknown grave.
+
+'Be a little kind, Rhoda; be only just; say I was not to blame.'
+
+She could not heed.
+
+'Why do you hate me so? For your sake I freely forgive Christian all he
+has done; for your sake I would have been his friend, his brother, in
+spite of all. O Rhoda, what can I do?'
+
+'Let be,' she said, 'for you can undo nothing now. If I saw you
+kneeling--no, not before me--but contrite, praying: "God be merciful to
+me, for by thought and word and deed I have sinned against the noblest,
+the worthiest," then, then only, far from hate, I think I could almost
+love.'
+
+No indignation was aflame with the words; the weary voice was so sad and
+so hopeless as to assure Philip she spoke of one dead.
+
+'All I can do now is to pray God to keep me from cursing you and the
+world for your working of a cruel wrong that can never be ended.' Her
+voice pitched up on a strain. 'Oh, leave me, leave me, lest I have not
+grace enough to bear with you!'
+
+Philip, daring no more, stood and heard the hasty, uneven steps further
+and die. His eyes were full of tears; his heart ached with love and pity
+for Rhoda in her sorrow and desolation, that he could do nothing to
+relieve--nothing, because her infatuation so extravagantly required.
+
+Rhoda braced her heart for its work, reached to the latch, and stood face
+to face with Lois. The trial began with the meeting of their eyes; Rhoda
+stood it bravely, yielding no ground.
+
+'Is he dead?' muttered Lois.
+
+'None can tell us.' She faltered, and began to tremble, for the eyes of
+Lois were dreadful to bear; dreadful too was her voice, hoarse and
+imperfect.
+
+'Is he worse than dead?'
+
+'No! Never--never think it.'
+
+Lois forbore awhile with wonderful stoicism. She set Rhoda in her own
+chair; the turf-covered embers she broke into a blaze to be prodigal of
+warmth; there was skilly waiting hot; there was water. She drew off
+Rhoda's shoes, and bathed her feet, swollen and sore; she enforced food.
+
+Though she would not yet ask further, the sight of her face, grey and
+stony indeed, the touch of her hands, trembling over much, were
+imperative to Rhoda's heart, demanding what final truth she could give.
+
+'Child, if you need sleep, I can bear to wait.'
+
+'I could not,' said Rhoda. 'No.'
+
+She looked up into the tearless, sleepless eyes; she clasped the poor
+shaking hands; and her heart rose in worship of the virtues of that
+stern, patient soul.
+
+As the tale began they were face to face; but before long Rhoda had
+slipped from her seat, to speak with her head against his mother's knees.
+
+'I will tell you all now. I must, for I think I am no longer bound to
+silence, and, indeed, I could not bear it longer--I alone.'
+
+'And you promised, if I would let you go unquestioned away.'
+
+'I did, thinking I went to fathom a mystery. Ah, no! so deep and dark I
+find it to be, the wit of man, I think, will never sound it. But your
+faith and love can wing above it. Mine have--and yours, oh!--can, will,
+must.'
+
+'Ah, Christian! Child, where is my Christian? His face would tell me
+briefly all I most would know.'
+
+'You have listened to an ugly tale. I know--I know--I have seen Philip.
+You must not consider it yet, till you have heard all. I own it not out
+of accord with the rest, that reason just shudders and fails at; but
+through all the dark of this unfathomable mystery my eyes can discern the
+passing of our Christian white and blameless.'
+
+'Your eyes!' moaned Lois.
+
+Rhoda understood. She hid her face and could not speak. In her heart she
+cried out against this punishment as more than she deserved, and more
+than she could bear. No word that she could utter, no protest, no
+remorse, could cover a wrongful thing she had said for Lois to recall. So
+small the sin had looked then; so great now. She had spoken fairly of
+deadly sin just once, and now Lois could not rely on her for any right
+estimate, nor abide by her ways of regard.
+
+'Ah, Christ!' she whispered in Christian's words, 'is there no
+forgiveness of sins?'
+
+Lois heard that, and it struck her to the heart.
+
+Rhoda took up her burden again.
+
+'Christian loved one Diadyomene. What she was I dare not think: she was
+shaped like a woman, very beautiful. Dead she is now; I have seen her new
+grave. God have mercy on her soul, if any soul she have.
+
+'I have known this for long, for some months.'
+
+'He told--you!'
+
+'No--yes. I heard her name from him only in the ravings of fever. He
+never thought I knew, till the very last: then I named her once; then he
+kissed me; then he went.'
+
+She turned back to the earliest evidence, telling in detail of
+Christian's mad course with her; then of his ravings that remained in her
+memory painfully distinct; she kept back nothing. Later she came to
+faltering for a moment till Lois urged:
+
+'And he asked you to be his wife?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'And because of this knowledge you refused him?'
+
+'Yes. And he kissed me for joy of that nay-saying. On the very morrow he
+went--do you remember? It was to her, I knew it.'
+
+'O Rhoda, you might have saved him, and you did not!'
+
+Rhoda raised her head and looked her wonder, for Christian's sake, with
+resentment.
+
+'God smote one,' she said, 'whose hand presumed to steady His ark.'
+
+'O child, have you nothing to show to clear him?'
+
+'Wait, wait! There is much yet to tell.'
+
+Then she sped on the last day with its load for record, and, scrupulously
+exact, gave words, tones, looks: his first going and return; the coming
+of Philip's kinsmen; that strange vagary of the rowan berries that he had
+won her to a bet. Lois had come upon a garbled version of Christian's
+escape; Rhoda gave her his own, brief and direct.
+
+'Was it Christian--man alive!--that came to you?'
+
+'It was. It was. He ate and drank.'
+
+Of their last meeting and parting she told, without reserve, unashamed,
+even to her kissing the Cross on his breast.
+
+Was ever maiden heart so candid of its passion for a man, and he alive?
+Too single-hearted was Rhoda to know how much of the truth exhaled from
+her words. Without real perception Lois drew it in; she grew very still;
+even her hands were still. Verily it had got to this: that to hear her
+dearest were dead, merely dead, could be the only better tale to come.
+
+'Then,' said Rhoda, 'the morrow came and closed, and I would not believe
+he could have kept his promise to be dead; and a day and a day followed;
+and I dared tell you nothing, seeing I might not tell you all. Then I
+thought that in such extremity for your sake I did right to discover all
+I could of his secret; at least I would know if she, Diadyomene, were one
+vowed as I guessed in the House Monitory.
+
+'Now I know, though I would not own it then, that deep in my heart was a
+terrible dread that if my guess were good, no death, but a guilty
+transaction had taken our Christian from us. Ah! how could I? after, for
+his asking, I had prayed for her.
+
+'Now, though the truth lies still remote, beyond any guess of mine;
+though I heard of a thing--God only knows how she came by her life or her
+death--lacking evidence, ay, or against evidence, we yet owe him trust in
+the dark, never to doubt of his living worthily--if--he be not--dead
+worthily. Ah, ah! which I cannot tell you.
+
+'I went to the House Monitory and knocked. So stupid and weak I was, for
+longer and harder than I looked for had the way been, and my dread had
+grown so very great, that when the wicket opened I had no word to say,
+and just stared at the face that showed, looking to read an answer there
+without ever a question. I got no more sense than to say: "Of your
+charity pray for one Diadyomene."
+
+'I saw startled recognition of the name. Like a coward, a fool, in sudden
+terror of further knowledge, I loosed the sill and turned to run in
+escape from it. I fell into blackness. Afterwards I was told I had
+fainted.
+
+'They had me in before I came to myself. Ah! kind souls they were. A
+monitress knelt at either side, and one held my head. When memory came
+back, I looked from one to the other, and dared not ask for what must
+come. There was whispering apart that scared me. Then one came to me. "My
+child," she said, "we will pray without question if you will; yet if you
+may, tell us who is this Diadyomene?" I thought my senses had not come
+back to me. They would have let me be, but I would not have it then. "Who
+is she?" I said; "I do not know, I came to you to ask." "We do not know."
+Bewildered, I turned to the one who had opened to me. "But you know; I
+saw it in your face when I named her." "The name I knew, nothing more;
+and that I had heard but once, and my memory had let it escape." "Where
+had you heard it? Who knows?" I said. "On Christmas Eve a man came, a
+young man, fair-haired." "Christian," I said, "that was Christian." At
+that three faces started into an eager cluster. "Christian!" they said,
+"was his name Christian?" Then they told me that after night-fall he had
+come and named Diadyomene, and that before daybreak a woman, naked and
+very beautiful, had come wailing an only word, "Christian." But because
+of the hour of his coming I said no, it could not be he, for I had seen
+him too shortly before. And indeed it seemed to me past belief that any
+man could have come that way by night so speedily. So they gave detail:
+his hair was fair; his eyes grey; he was of great stature; he was
+unclothed, bleeding freshly, and, yes, they thought, gashed along the
+shoulder. "But here is a sure token," and with that they showed me that
+cross he had worn. "This," they said, "he unloosed from his neck."'
+
+Never a word more Lois heard of that tale, though for near a minute
+Rhoda carried it forward. Then looking up, she saw a face like a mask,
+with features strained and eyes fixed, and sprang up in terror, vainly to
+strive at winning from the stricken senses token of the life they locked.
+
+Was she guilty of this?
+
+Never did she know. For the few days that sad life held on till it
+reached its term never a word came: not one fiducial word through the
+naming of Christian to exonerate Rhoda.
+
+So Lois, too, had the comfort of death, and Rhoda only was left, through
+long life to go unenlightened, and still to go dauntless of the dark.
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+Tell us how an altered estimate grew after the passing of Christian, to
+end his reproach.
+
+But his name came to be a byword of disgrace, his story a dark, grotesque
+legend among records of infamy.
+
+Tell us how Rhoda lived to be happy.
+
+But the pain and shame of his stigma her heart could never lay aside,
+though long years gave to patience and fortitude a likeness to serenity
+and strength. Where Christian had lived would she still abide all her
+days; and the poor reward of her constancy was in a tribute of silence
+concerning him that came to respect her presence.
+
+Tell us how Philip ripened to iniquity and was cut off.
+
+But a tiny germ of compunction, lurking somewhere in that barren
+conscience, quickened and grew under Rhoda's shadow, till, spite of the
+evidence of his own senses, spite of reason, spite of public judgment, he
+entertained a strange doubt, and to his world and its ridicule
+acknowledged it. Long years wore out Rhoda's suspicion of his sincerity;
+long years raised him in her esteem in exact proportion as he sank in his
+own.
+
+Tell us how Rhoda never stooped to mate with one less worthy than her
+first love.
+
+But a day came when the House Monitory gave her way to a grave with a
+little son against her breast; and she stood there to look out over the
+sea that hid the bones of Christian, and thanked her God for appointing
+her in His world a place as helpmeet for a weak soul, who by paths of
+humility sought after right worship. Then she wept.
+
+Tell us in some figure of words how the soul of Christian entered for
+reward into the light of God's countenance.
+
+At rest his body lay, and over it flowed the tides.
+
+Tell us in some figure of words how the soul of Diadyomene, wan and
+shivering, found an unaltered love, with full comprehension and great
+compassion, her shelter in the light of God's countenance.
+
+At rest her body lay, and over it sang the winds.
+
+Tell us in some figure of words how Lois beheld these two hand in hand,
+and recognised the wonderful ways of God and His mercy in the light of
+His countenance.
+
+At rest her body lay, and over it grasses grew.
+
+We need no words to tell us that God did wipe away all tears from their
+eyes.
+
+Surely, surely; for quietly in the grave the elements resumed their
+atoms.
+
+
+
+
+Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh
+University Press
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes: On equal number occurrences of same word with and
+without hyphens (seagull:sea-gull; piecemeal:piece-meal;
+wellnigh:well-nigh) opted to leave both as printed.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unknown Sea, by Clemence Housman
+
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