Gabrielle of the Lagoon Part 8

Even Gabrielle looked up quickly as she heard him take a deep breath as he swept old Everard to dust, pulverised. He hadn't rehea.r.s.ed through the feverish night all that he intended to do at that moment, and written a mighty poem, to be finally thwarted by a drunken father.

Something kin to the fire that shone in the apprentice's eyes shone in Gabrielle's eyes also. She trembled, and obediently did all that he bade her do. In a moment they had taken hold of the prow of the canoe and between them dragged it for thirty yards over the shallows that separated the deeper lagoon waters from the sea. They were right opposite to where the Pacific waves gambol into a thousand creeks and coral caves. Without a moment's hesitation Gabrielle jumped into the canoe. "Be careful, dear," whispered the apprentice.

They lost no time in embarking. A trader was likely to pa.s.s at any moment, and Everard had threatened to "kick Hillary into the middle of next week" if he found that villainous apprentice hanging around his daughter. They could just hear the faint echoes of the tribal drums in the Buka-Buka mountains as their canoe shot silently out into the bay.

They were off, paddling away together into the unknown seas of romance.

Such was that world of rugged sh.o.r.e and dark blue waters to Hillary as he gazed up at the darkening sky. G.o.d had just lit the first star, and as he gazed upward it flashed into sight.

Gabrielle really _did_ look like some beautiful visionary creature sitting there; and she was voiceless, as befits those who travel across tropic seas of love. The apprentice paddled a long time, then at last he could hear the faint monotones of the seas that were ceaselessly beating against the reefs and the big bulk of the wreck.

"Allow me!" he said. His voice trembled as he took hold of her hand firmly, as though he thought she might escape. The prow b.u.mped gently against the hulks' side near the gangway. That big, three-masted derelict looked like some huge phantom s.h.i.+p as it loomed up there in the silent waters off Bougainville. "Come on, dear." Very carefully he placed his arms around her and step by step carried her up the ragged rope gangway.

Their heads were nearly up to the level of the deck, but there were still two more steps to climb. "Hold tight, dear," he whispered. His voice seemed to travel like an echo across the silence of the tropic night. Just for a second he gazed into Gabrielle's eyes, then he gently dropped her down on to the deck. At that moment reality returned; things took some definite shape; Hillary recalled time, the world and the far-off cities.

A drove of frightened rats went shrieking and squeaking down the alleyway towards the forecastle. The remnants of torn sail and tangled rigging flapped mournfully to the winds as they both slipped hurriedly across the warped deck. Hillary felt the ecstasy that is the highest attainment of mortal happiness. Had she wholly belonged to him, body and soul, he would not have been half so happy. He stared aloft at the tall masts and felt a mighty sympathy for that vessel lying there by the desolate sh.o.r.es of its last anchorage, for the jib-boom at the bow seemed to point helplessly at the far-away horizon, to which it could never sail. "This way! Come on!" he whispered, as he gazed around in some mad thought that the ghosts of the old crew were enviously hanging round in their great off-watch.

They sat down in silence on the old form that was close against the p.o.o.p, just by the entrance to the saloon. Immediately over their heads, by the deck rails of the now rotting p.o.o.p, was the spot where the old captain had stood when he sailed the seas. As the apprentice looked upwards he suddenly remembered that he was on the very derelict that had once been the s.h.i.+p of the old skipper who had left the books at Everard's bungalow, the books from which Gabrielle had gathered her romance.

In his mind he saw that old derelict when it sailed the seas in its prime, when the figure-head with outstretched hands at the bows (now with one arm broken off and its emblematic, once beautiful face fast rotting) had bounded across the waves like a living thing, long before Hillary was born. The influence of the surroundings and the girl beside him stirred his fancy. In imagination he saw the old skipper standing on the p.o.o.p watching the blue horizons and the starlight and moonlight that shone in another age, so far as his own brief run of years were concerned. In a flash he realised that out of all the cargoes the captain had jealously guarded in his long voyages it was the old books that had brought him solace in his cabin that had proved the most wonderful merchandise after all. Where were the imported pianos that had been s.h.i.+pped for the Australasian colonies, Fiji, Java, Callao and Shanghai? What had been their fate? They had been thumped and thumped to distraction and destruction while men drank their grog. Where were the cargoes of old grandfather clocks and German-made alarms? But more wonderful than all was the fact that Gabrielle sat beside him on that very s.h.i.+p, her heart aglow with the romance that she had gathered out of the pages of the old captain's books. True enough, that skipper never wrote the books, but he lived an adventurous life in the big world, and who will say that he may not have been wiser than the authors?

Hillary looked through the saloon port-hole just behind them and half fancied he saw a ghostly glimmer of the oil lamps that had shone in that saloon in the dusk of other days; he even saw the shadows of men moving about the cuddy table. But it was no ghostly pageant of the post at all, simply a stream of moonlight on the torn sail that waved to and fro as it hung from the main-yard and sent its shadow into the dark saloon.

The atmosphere that surrounded the wreck and the music of the wind in the decaying rigging affected Gabrielle also. Her old tom-boy demeanor, had completely vanished. Hillary only said, "Well Gabrielle," and she heard the music in those two words. For a moment they both forgot the world beyond that hulk. Only the stars existed, and they shone into Gabrielle's eyes as their lips met. The pa.s.sionate phrases that he had so carefully rehea.r.s.ed, all the poetic vehemence of the night before, had faded. Not one mad vow escaped his lips. He only held her tenderly, as though he were afraid that she might crumble in his arms-fall as dust to his feet. Not an atom of pa.s.sion come to ruffle the poetry of his feelings. For the young apprentice was _really_ in love. Her hair touched his face. It thrilled him as music thrills dreaming men.

"Gabrielle, you are very beautiful How strange that no man has claimed you before. For that, at least, I thank G.o.d."

The girl was silent. "Don't you believe me?" he added. He glanced swiftly at her face. It was deathly white. Hillary thought it was the rats scampering across the deck that had brought that startled look.

Then Gabrielle burst into tears.

The apprentice thought little about those tears. He had felt a little like that too when he was really happy. If there was a wrong construction to be placed on Gabrielle's actions, Hillary was sure to hit on it. It was a natural consequence, since he had gathered all his knowledge of women from his books. To him all women were beautiful and good. He thought of them as leading sheltered lives. They were perfectly different from men. It had never occurred to him to try and explain the differences. His views about women, in fact, were quite conventional, touched with the theatrical glamour that is common enough in extreme youth.

And still the tears lingered in Gabrielle's eyes. No one can tell what the girl really thought and felt, excepting that she heard the simple note of sincerity in all that the young apprentice said and which cannot be written down. As for Hillary, the material world had pa.s.sed from his sight. Gabrielle wept, but what did it matter? Weeping must be some natural attribute to real happiness. So he thought.

It may have been the noisy rats or the creak of the blown rigging that slightly dispelled the romantic atmosphere. "Even the ecstasy of insanity is denied men," thought Hillary as a haunting thought suddenly disturbed him. "She is weeping because I've frightened her. That's what it is. She's only a child after all-does not understand! I'm too pa.s.sionate, too headlong in my way of making love. She's frightened of me and so she weeps." Suddenly his manner altered. He led her to the bulwark's side. The moon had already risen, and as they both leaned over, looking down into the dark waters, they could see their shadows in the silent depths below. Neither spoke; some fascination held them. As the apprentice looked at the girl's face her shadow-eyes seemed to glance sideways at him. He fancied that he saw something distorted in the movement of her shadow. A puff of wind seemed to drift down from the stars; the hair was outblown, the features unfamiliar. But it was only for a second; in another moment Gabrielle's full outline developed in the light of the tropic moon. There they were, Hillary with his arm on the shoulder of the girl, who was still staring intently into the still water.

"Why did you sigh like that, Gabrielle?" he said. Then he looked on the western sky-line. The ghostly flush, the pale aftermath of the departed day, still lingered. Hillary vaguely recalled how near human happiness is to sorrow; he felt sure there was some sorrow in the girl's heart.

Rajah Koo Macka had looked into Gabrielle's eyes; but he knew that there are many different ways in which a woman may look at a man. None knew better than he.

Gabrielle's eyes to-night held a different expression as she again scrutinised the young apprentice.

"Do you love me, Gabrielle?"

She responded by clasping his hand tightly and looking at him in some fright. Her voice was hushed and trembling as she replied: "I've got a feeling for you that I've never had before for anyone. I think I could die with someone like you." Saying this, she looked steadily into his eyes, and then added in a half-sorrowful way: "I wouldn't care if we jumped into the sea and died together; I'd be much happier if I were dead."

"Well now," said Hillary as she continued: "I'm a hateful girl; I've already told you I'm wicked; besides, I'm haunted by a shadow-woman: she follows me, curses me, but I can't explain it to anyone."

She became excited and raised her voice as he had never heard her raise it before. The apprentice rubbed his eyes. "Jump into the seas and die!"

he gasped as he realised all that the girl had so pa.s.sionately poured forth. "Not if I know it." Then he added: "What do you mean about a shadow-woman and being haunted by her?"

He looked steadily into the girl's pallid face, then gently pulled her towards him and folded her to his heart.

"You're only a romantic child. _I've_ made you ill through my love-making. You don't understand. Some day, when you are a woman, you'll know how a fellow must feel, how he can really love such a one as you. Forgive me, Gabrielle, will you?"

The girl gently took hold of his hand and, looking steadily into his eyes, said: "Perhaps you are only a boy and it's _you_ who do not understand. You are too good a fellow for me. Don't you believe it; you've not made me ill. It's something that I don't quite understand."

"But why be ill at all?" was Hillary's brief summing up after she had rattled this off. But still she ran on: "You'd never believe what happened the other night. I went mad, I think."

"Good Lord! You must not encourage such ideas. You've been dwelling with your own thoughts too much."

"I'm not mad, though you may think I am. I could easily prove to you that I'm haunted; you don't know the horrible things that happen to people of the Papuan race. I'm afraid that even you would turn against me if you knew of my terrible heritage."

"Terrible heritage!" gasped the apprentice, as he leaned over the side and hardly knew what he was saying or doing as he followed Gabrielle's stare as she too leaned over and looked down into the deep, silent waters. "Is she mad? Perhaps she is." Then he thrust the thought from his mind. "Phew! Rubbis.h.!.+ She's beautifully eccentric; if anyone's mad it's me!"

"Gabrielle, your father's continual bullying has made you ill-and a bit neurotic. Don't worry, I'll protect you." For a moment he was silent; the father had given him the pluck and the opportunity to say what he longed to say. "Gabrielle, why put up with a father's bullying? Let's both clear out of Bougainville; come with me! We can go away to Honolulu. I'll swear that I'll look after you well, never say one word that you may not wish me to say. I can easily make money by my violin playing."

Having blurted out the foregoing, Hillary almost trembled as he waited to see the impression his outburst had made on the girl. He watched Gabrielle's eyes. "I've gone too far again. How rash I am!" was his miserable reflection as she nearly swooned into his arms.

"I'll go anywhere in the wide world with you, Hillary," she said, to his unbounded delight and astonishment.

"Will you!" His eyes shone, his voice was almost shrill, like a happy schoolboy's over the possibilities of some childish scheme.

"How can we manage all these things you've mentioned?" said Gabrielle softly, as she glanced earnestly at the young apprentice.

It was not Hillary's imagination, it was all true enough; Gabrielle wanted to go at once-no delay!

Hillary knew nothing, guessed nothing of the cause of the girl's desire for hasty flight. He only saw that the light in here eyes was as sincere as death.

"The Solomon Isles! And now an elopement with a haunted, beautiful white girl," was his mental e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

If he had had the slightest hint of the real reason of Gabrielle's hurry, would he have hesitated? No! He would have flown with her that very night and never let her go back to the homestead behind the beach at Felisi. Neither the wreck, the stars nor the whisper of the beating seas hinted the truth to him. He looked sh.o.r.eward across the straits.

The night was so clear that he fancied he could see the smoke rising from the crater of Bangana, fifty miles away.

"Gabrielle, will you meet me by the lagoon again to-morrow night? We will then arrange everything, and you can tell me if you will come."

Then he added: "I can manage everything splendidly." He spoke enthusiastically and with a.s.surance, as though he had had a large and successful experience of this kind of thing. Then he continued: "We can fly away to Honolulu, or anywhere you like from this cursed place-even to England."

Gabrielle was so affected and dazed by the apprentice's enthusiasm that she could only stare in the dusk at his flushed face and brightening eyes as he continued with his emotional tirade: "You don't know what I'll be to you, how I'll love you, dear. I'll write songs and music and dedicate all to you! I'll write poems--" Then he paused and exclaimed: "Gabrielle, I'm a poet-you don't know what I am! You don't know what I'm capable of achieving in this world if I had someone like you to encourage me."

Even Gabrielle forgot her vanity and felt some sad sense of shame over her own unworthiness, as he swore that the veriest vagabonds of the streets would aspire to fame if they had someone to inspire them beyond their unambitious selves. Hillary poured forth a flood of impa.s.sioned words; his eyes shone in his earnestness, and his lips trembled. Then he suddenly realised that his overwhelming flood of words might appear foolish to the girl. He stopped short. He watched her half in fright, wondering what impression he had made upon her.

Gabrielle replied by falling into his arms. She could not help feeling something of his almighty boyish sincerity. There in the friendly shadows she told Hillary that he had beautiful eyes. She laid her head on his lap so that he could gaze down into her eyes as their lips met over and over again. How it thrilled him when she said: "Hillary, my Hillary!" And while the torn rigging wailed and the deep waters boomed and resolved into gentle monotones against the derelict's wooden side she sat by him and sang. A silver sea-bird swooped over the deck and, sighting them there, gave a startled cry as it sped away.

"Gabrielle," he whispered, as he thought of all that he had rehea.r.s.ed in his mind and of how little he had accomplished now that the girl was quite alone with him on that wreck. Then he softly pulled down the delicate blue neck-fringe of her blouse and exposed the whiteness of her warm throat. And Gabrielle, with an artless vanity that inspired his waning courage, gently let her head fall back so that he might touch, just once, the soft whiteness of her throat with his lips.

The apprentice reddened to the ears and blessed the darkness as he thought of his boldness and softly pulled the delicate folds together again. "I've done it now! She'll think I'm a terrible fellow," was Hillary's hasty reflection as the girl remained silent. Then he tried to excuse himself. "I've read of men doing that in novels and poems," he said in a semi-apologetic tone.

"So have I," replied Gabrielle; then she laughed softly. And Hillary wondered what wondrous deed of virtue he had done that G.o.d should shower such unbounded happiness on his head.

It was a perfect night in Gabrielle Everard's life. No shadow came to haunt the silence of those moments as she sat by Hillary's side. Only the shadows of the torn sails waving to and fro in the warm tropic wind fell from aloft to touch their happy faces. The soft confusion of Gabrielle's hair harmonised with the bright thoughts that floated in his mind. The smell of the rotting tarred ropes and the palmy fragrance of the south wind over the sea mingled together and formed a part of his sensations.

It was close on midnight when the apprentice remembered the flight of time, which pa.s.ses with greater swiftness over the heads of lovers than of sad old men and women. Even the rats seemed to scamper and squeak in regret as they both rose and reluctantly crept across the silent deck. A slight breeze had sprung up from the south-east