The Wharf By The Docks Part 34

"Very," a.s.sented Carrie at once. "About the best I ever heard."

And she went on laughing.

"And I suppose," went on Max, unable to hide his annoyance, "that if I were to tell you it was not a joke at all, but that I spoke in downright earnest, you would laugh still more?"

"Well, I think I should."

"Well, laugh away, then. I was in earnest. I meant what I said. I was idiot enough to suppose you might find marrying me a better alternative than wandering about without any home. Extraordinary, wasn't it?"

"Well," answered Carrie, subduing her mirth a little and speaking in that deep-toned voice she unconsciously used when she was moved--the voice which Max found in itself so moving--"I should say it was extraordinary, if I didn't know you."

"If you didn't know me for an idiot, I suppose you mean," said Max, coldly, with much irritation.

"Not quite that," replied she, in the same tone as before. "I meant if I hadn't known you to be one of those good-natured people who speak before they think."

Max sat up angrily.

"I have not spoken without thinking," said he, quickly. "I have done nothing but think of you ever since I first saw you; and my asking you to marry me is the outcome of my thinking."

"Well, if I were you, I should think to better purpose than that."

Her tone was rather puzzling to Max. There was mockery in it; but there was something more. He came to the conclusion, after a moment's consideration of it, and of the little that he could see of her face, that she felt more than she chose to show. So he put his arm around her and caught one of her hands.

"Look here, Carrie," said he in a whisper. "I understand you. I know how you feel. I know you think it's neither decent nor wise to ask a girl to be your wife when you've only seen her twice. But just consider the circ.u.mstances. If I don't get you to say what I want you to say now, I shall lose sight of you to-night and never see you again. Now, I couldn't bear that--I couldn't, Carrie. I never saw a girl like you; I never met one who made me feel as you make me feel. And you like me, too. You wouldn't have troubled yourself about my going to the wharf if you hadn't cared. It's no use denying that you like me."

Carrie turned upon him with energy.

"Well, I don't deny it, if you care to hear that," said she, quickly. "I do like you. How could I help it? I liked you the moment I first saw you; I shouldn't have spoken to you if I hadn't; I should have been afraid. But what difference does that make? Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I don't know that this feeling you have--and I believe in it, mind--is just because I'm a new sensation to you, who are a spoiled child--nothing more nor less. Oh, don't let's talk about it; it's silly."

She had wrenched herself impatiently away from him, and now sat upright, frowning and looking straight in front of her as before.

Max, not finally rebuffed, but rather puzzled what to make of this form of repulse, was silent for a few moments.

"Well, if you won't let me talk about that," he said at last, "will you promise to let me know where you are going to, so that I shan't have to lose sight of you? Come, you like me well enough to agree to that, don't you?"

Carrie hesitated.

"I told you," she said at last, in a low voice, "that I didn't know myself where I was going. Have you forgotten that?"

"But it wasn't true. You said it to put me off. You must know!"

"Well, I shan't tell you. There!"

"Why?"

"Because it would be the beginning of what I don't want and won't have.

Because you'd come and see me, and I shouldn't have the heart to say you mustn't come; and in the end, if you persisted, I shouldn't have the heart to stop you from making a fool of yourself."

"How, making a fool of myself?"

"Why, by marrying me. Now don't pretend you don't know it's true.

Marrying me would be just ruin--ruin! Oh, I know! What would your family say, and be right in saying? That you'd been got hold of by a girl n.o.body knew anything about, without any parents or friends, and who came from n.o.body knew where."

"Ah, but when they knew you--"

"They'd think less of me than they did before."

"Nonsense! When they saw how beautiful you are and well educated and refined, they wouldn't believe you came from such a place as Limehouse."

Carrie smiled.

"I seem refined to you, because you didn't expect much where you found me. Put me beside your sisters and their friends, and I should be shy and awkward enough. No, I will not listen, and I want you to tell the driver to stop here."

Whether this was the point she had proposed to reach or whether she wanted to cut short the subject, Max could not tell. But as the hansom stopped she sprang out and led the way hurriedly in the direction of the river. She knew her way about on this side of the river as well as on the other, for she went straight to the water's edge, got into a boat which was moored there with a dozen others, and, with a nod to a man with a pipe in his mouth who was loafing near the spot, she directed Max to jump in, and seized one oar while he took the other.

"If we go from this side," she said, "we can make sure we're not followed, at all events."

In the darkness they began to row across the river, where the traffic had practically ceased for the night.

Threading their way between the barges, the great steam traders, with their ugly square hulks standing high out of the water, and the lesser craft that cl.u.s.tered about the larger like a swarm of bees round the hive, they came out upon the gray stream, slowly leaving behind one dim sh.o.r.e, with its gloomy wharves and warehouses, and nearing the other.

The London lights looked dim and blurred through the mist.

As they drew near the wharf, Carrie jerked her head in the direction of the little ugly cl.u.s.ter of buildings which Max remembered so well.

"There's a pa.s.sage under there," she said in a whisper, leaning forward on her oar, "through which they let the dead body of the man--you know--out into the river. It's just near here."

Max shuddered, and at the same moment there burst from the girl's lips a hoa.r.s.e cry.

Max turned sharply, and saw that she was staring down into the water.

"Look! Look there!" whispered she, gasping, trembling.

"What is it?" cried he.

But even as he asked, he knew that the dark object he saw floating in the water was the body of a man.

By a dexterous movement of her oar, Carrie had brought the boat alongside the black ma.s.s, and then, with the boat-hook, which she used with an evidently practiced hand, she drew the body close.

Max, sick with horror, leaned over just as Carrie's exertion's brought the face of the man to view.

"He's dead!" cried he, hoa.r.s.ely. "It's another murder by those vile wretches in there!"

An exclamation burst from the girl's lips.

"Look at him! Look at his face! Who is he?" whispered she, with trembling lips.

Max looked, putting his hand under the head and lifting it out of the water.

Then, with a great shout, he tore at the body, clutching it, trying to drag it into the boat.