The Earth Trembled Part 39

"Yes, in your own way," she replied, brokenly. "What happened before I was born must be considered first. If love is sweet to papa at his age think what it is to me?"

"You must not imagine, Ella dear, that we don't feel with you and for you.

I am proud of you as I watch your brave fight in which you will conquer."

"Why should I conquer when my heart tells me that the one I love is worthy of my love? It hurts me, it wounds my very soul, that he and I should be spoken to as if we had committed a crime. How could my love be so sacred and heavenly if it were wrong? Oh, how I hate, hate! There is nothing so hateful as hate."

"But, Ella, you don't consider all--"

"There is no need of considering all, Cousin Sophy. There are some things which stand out so clearly that all else is insignificant. Mr. Houghton hates papa and me. Does papa love him or his son? You know me, faulty, foolish little girl that I am; but think of that man raging at his son because he dared to love me! If George had committed a crime his father would have spent a fortune in defending him. To love me was worse than a crime. He would have been turned into the streets. Oh, it's all so unjust, it's all the sp.a.w.n of hate!"

Mrs. Bodine was aghast at the intensity of the girl's feelings, but could only say, "Well, Ella, dear, since things are as they are you must fight it out. Trust the experience of an old woman. Marriages in the face of such bitter opposition are rarely happy."

"Yes, the bitterness must be sacredly cherished, whatever else is lost.

Oh, I know, Cousin Sophy, I know I must fight it out if it takes my lifetime, and all the while know that G.o.d would bless our love if hate hadn't blighted it."

CHAPTER x.x.xV

n.o.bLE REVENGE

George Houghton took to the mountain solitudes a better and purer spirit than Clancy, who was so ready to be consoled by ambition and the fascinations of a woman incapable of evoking the best in his nature. The young fellow did fish and hunt with tireless energy, and many a humble cabin was stocked with provisions by his exertions. Believing that not only Bodine, but also that Ella herself, would have nothing to do with him, his affectionate nature turned to his father. With a large charity he tried to forget the stern words which had sorely wounded him, and only to remember the influences on his father's life which had led to their utterance. He recalled the abundant proofs of his kindness and liberality; and, now that his young dream was over, he purposed to carry out the old man's schemes as best he could.

He tired himself out through the long hot days, and slept at night from exhaustion. The time thus pa.s.sed until he felt that he had the strength to return to the city, and act as if Ella did not dwell there. He also thought of his father's need of help, and regretted that he had remained away so long.

The old man looked at him keenly when he returned, seeing that the young face had grown older by years, and that steadiness of purpose and resolution were in its every bronzed line.

"It's all right, father," George replied to the questioning glance. "I've come back to carry out your wishes."

"Ah, my boy! now I know that you are made of the same stuff as your brother. Well, you won't be sorry."

"I wish to leave this town, and I wish you would too. I don't think it's good for you to be here."

"I'll think of it, George. I have thought of it. I shouldn't be mulish since you are not."

"I'm glad you feel so about leaving, father. Go back with me to your old congenial friends and surroundings. I, for one, don't wish to stay where I am ostracized."

"Oh, curse the rebels! I've punished them! I've punished them well!"

"I don't wish to punish them; but, since they will have nothing to do with me, a decent self-respect leads me to go where I can be treated according to my behavior."

"I know you can't feel as I do. All I ask is that you have nothing to do with them."

For the next few days, regardless of the heat, George toiled early and late in his father's office, incited by the hope of soon taking the old man away on a visit to the more bracing climate of the North. In the evenings he refreshed himself by a long swim in the harbor, and by sailing his boat over its waters.

One evening, while enjoying the latter favorite pastime in the early twilight, it so happened that he caught sight, in a pa.s.sing boat, of a group which made his heart throb quickly. In the stern sat Captain Bodine steering the vessel toward the city. Ella was near him, and two ladies whom he did not know. As a hunter his eyes were keen, and he was satisfied that he had not been recognized. He could not resist the temptation to get a better view of Ella, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, he began to manoeuvre his boat so as to accomplish his purpose.

His little craft skimmed here and there so swiftly, as he tacked, that Ella at last began to watch it with a pleased yet languid interest, remarking, "That boat yonder tacks about and sails as if it were alive."

"Yah, yah, so 'tis alibe," said the negro owner of the craft which Bodine had hired for their excursion. "Young Ma.r.s.e Houghton sail dat boat, an' he beats any duck dat eber swum."

Ella's breath came quick, and she turned pale and red in her conflicting feelings, for it was evident that Houghton was purposely keeping near to them. She saw the frown on her father's face, and that Mara's expression was grave. Mrs. Hunter indignantly said, "He had better go on and mind his own business. Why should old Houghton's son be hovering around us like a hawk, I'd like to know?"

"The harbor is as free to him as to us," Ella answered, hotly.

Mrs. Hunter pursed her lips and looked unutterable things at the girl, but she regarded neither the matron's sour expression nor her father's stern glance, for her eyes were fascinated and held by the vessel which sped along the water like a white-winged gull. No one except Ella and the colored man continued the observance of Houghton. The girl was in a perverse mood, and watched until her father rebukingly spoke her name; then she turned away.

Meanwhile George gazed wistfully at one whom he believed that he might never see again; for he and his father were almost ready for their visit North, where the young man was to remain. Then he saw her steady gaze in his direction. Could she have recognized him? Did she continue to watch him because of some faint interest? His pulses quickened at the thought.

After a few moments he said bitterly: "Yes, she knows me at last, and turns away. Very well, away go I, then."

At this moment he caught a glimpse of the western sky, and his sailor instincts were alarmed. There was a single dark cloud rising rapidly, portending not a storm, but sudden, violent gusts. In the gathering gloom all thought of vanis.h.i.+ng was abandoned. No matter how Ella regarded him, he would not be far away while there was a shadow of danger to her.

Examining his sail carefully he knew he could drop it to the point of safety at a moment's notice.

The wind on which he had been sailing died out. Then came little puffs from the west. To catch these the colored skipper of the captain's boat took the helm and tacked, presenting a broad surface of sail to their force. Houghton tacked also in the same direction, but with his eye on the westward water, and his hand on the rope which would bring down his sail with a run. He speedily had need of this caution. There was a distant roar, the water sh.o.r.eward darkened, and then, as his sail came down and the prow of his boat went round to the gust, he was enveloped in a cloud of spray. At the same instant shrill screams of women and the hoa.r.s.e cries of men came from Bodine's vessel.

The fury of the first gust pa.s.sed quickly. When the atmosphere cleared a little, Houghton saw that the mast of the other craft had broken, and, with the sail, lay over on the leeward side. He instantly knew that the occupants were in imminent danger. Raising his sail as high as he dared, he tacked toward them with such nice judgment that if he kept on he would pa.s.s a little abaft of the disabled vessel.

"Oh, Ma.r.s.e Houghton! come quick," yelled the negro. "She'm won' float anoder minit!"

"Bail, you lubber!"

"Don got notin to bail wid!"

"As usual," growled Houghton.

All the rest were now silent. In his agonized apprehension for Mara and Ella, Bodine felt his heart beat as it had never done in the bloodiest battle. His careless boatman had not recognized the danger since the cloud was so comparatively small, and when he sought to lower the sail something was out of gear and it stuck. The gust struck it fairly, and would have capsized the boat had not the mast broken. As it was, the vessel so careened as to s.h.i.+p a dangerous quant.i.ty of water, which was rapidly increased by every wave that broke over the sides.

Mara and Mrs. Hunter were pallid indeed, but calm in woman's patient fort.i.tude, remembering, too, even in that awful moment, that if they escaped they would owe their lives to one whom they regarded with scorn and hostility. Ella's hope buoyed her spirit, although she felt herself sinking deeper every moment in the cold waters. With love's confidence she believed that Houghton would be equal to the emergency, and his swiftly coming sail was like the white wings of an angel. Then for an instant she was perplexed and troubled, for he seemed to be steering as if to pa.s.s them, near, yet much too far.

"She'm sinkin', she'm goin' un'er," the negro yelled.

"Be ready, every one, to jump the moment I lay alongside," Houghton shouted. Then he luffed sharply to the wind, dropped his sail; his light craft lost headway, and glided alongside of the sinking boat.

"Now jump, all," he cried.

The women and negro did so and were safe, but the crippled veteran failed, fell backward, and would have dragged Ella, who held his hand, with him, had not Houghton broken her grasp. As quick as light he sprang into the vessel, now down to the water's edge, and fairly flung the captain into his own boat. As he did so the water-logged craft went down, and he with it. Ella shrieked and called his name imploringly. In the wild anguish of the moment she would have jumped overboard after him had she not been restrained.

"Patience," cried her father, "he will rise in a moment."

Houghton's little boat, now so heavily freighted, had almost gone under in the suction. The negro, rendered half wild with terror, was bent only on saving his own life. He was scarcely in the boat before he had the oars in the rowlocks, and began to pull for the sh.o.r.e. In their eager scanning of the dark water, Bodine and the others did not notice this at first, and when they did the negro was deaf to their expostulations and threats. The captain tried to reach him as he heaped maledictions on his head, but at that instant another squall swooped down, enshrouding them in spray, and nearly swamping their frail vessel. They sat silent and trembling, expecting Houghton's fate, but the gust pa.s.sed finally, and the lights of the city gleamed out.

"Now put about, you--coward," thundered Bodine.

"No, sah, neber," replied the negro; "de boat swamp in two mi nit if I put 'bout in dis sea."

The veteran began to crawl toward him to compel obedience. The man shouted: "Stop dat ar. Ef you comes nigher I hit you wid'n oar. Bettah one drown dan we all drown."