Latitude 19 degree Part 37

When we returned, late in the afternoon, Cynthia was sitting on the sh.o.r.e clothed, but hardly in her right mind. I could not help pitying her, my poor dear! though she began to, as I had expected, flout me at once, not waiting, as most wives do, until after marriage. The blue dungaree had been washed, but it was streaked and wrinkled in places, and still damp in spots. A wave of pity welled up in my heart for this poor girl, who must consent to marry me, w.i.l.l.y nilly. It seemed so brutal to force her into this thing. And yet I reflected that it was my portrait, of which I had caught a glimpse, hanging to her chain.

"She says you may call her Cynthy," whispered the Skipper in my ear. I left him and walked up from the boat. "I'd start right in on it if I was you."

Cynthia sat on the shelving bank of the little stream, throwing pebbles into the sea.

I started in bluntly, waiting for no preliminaries.

"I understand," said I, "perfectly, that you are yielding to your Uncle's wishes in this thing. I promise to treat you just as I have heretofore."

Had I not known for certain from the Skipper, as well as from herself, that Cynthia could never care for me, and that William Brown had an irrevocable hold upon her affections, I should have thought that she looked a trifle disappointed.

"It is hard," returned Cynthia, "for a person to be forced upon a person by another person, when that person can't make the person that's forcing her on the other person understand that she don't care anything about the other person, or that the other person don't care anything about the person, but I don't see what we are to do about it."

"Whether I am forced upon you or not," said I, "I intend to tell you right here very plainly that you are not forced upon me. I have not the slightest intention of going through one of those ridiculous misunderstandings that one reads of in novels when one word can clear it up. What have I told you, Cynthia, ever since I saw----"

"Miss Archer, please."

"Your Uncle said I might----"

"Oh, very well, then, go on," said Cynthia wearily.

"What have I told you since I first met you on board the Yankee Blade, Miss Cynthia, Miss Archer?"

"No matter about the 'Miss,'" she said. "You'll have the right to call me whatever you choose by sunset."

"To call you wife," said I sentimentally.

Cynthia arose.

"If you say that now, I'll go away," her face the colour of that sunset of which we had been speaking.

I resumed.

"I have told you ever since I first met----"

"Yes," said Cynthia, with spirit, "and you told it to me a little too often, Mr. Jones. One of those girls at Martinique told me all about you. She said that the handsome Captain of the Seamew had made love to her and had given her his picture."

"Which one was that?" said I.

"Were there so many?"

"Lot's of 'em," said I.

Cynthia arose with dignity. "I'm going in," she said.

"Why?" asked I, with all innocence.

"And I shall tell Uncle that this ridiculous marriage shall not take place."

"Just when you've washed your dress and all," said the Skipper, coming up in time to hear this avowal.

"Sit down a moment, Miss Archer," I pleaded.

"I'm goin' to get the witnesses," called back the Skipper, as he walked quickly toward the hill. "Tide's nearly down."

"I've given my picture to a dozen girls, Cynthia. Girls are always asking for pictures, but as to loving any of those chocolate drops, I never really loved any but----"

"Helose Grandpre!" broke in Cynthia.

So _she_ was the one! My conscience did p.r.i.c.k me a little when I remembered certain veranda corners and vine-wreathed balconies, but, of course, I knew now that that had not been the real thing. None of them had ever been the real thing, and I had thought I would have died for some of those girls.

It's just looking for a s.h.i.+p at sea. You go on deck and discover a distant sail upon the horizon. The vessel is hull down, and without the gla.s.s you can't be sure what she is. You watch her until she gets nearer and nearer. She comes up over the curve after a while, and you say, "Pshaw! that's nothing but a schooner." You watch again for your full-rigged s.h.i.+p, and again you see a bit of sail down there against the gray, or the red, or the blue, and you say to yourself: "There she is this time for sure! Just wait until she heaves in sight." Up she comes again, and she isn't the one you're looking for, after all. Again you go on deck. You haven't any gla.s.s, and that new bit of white over there on the edge of the world, against the golden glow, isn't any nearer than the others. But there's no mistaking _her_. You know her at first sight, and you don't need any gla.s.s, either, to tell you that it's your s.h.i.+p, and that she's coming home from sea to you, thank G.o.d! with all her priceless cargo in her hold, her sticks lofty and straight, and her swelling canvas as full of G.o.d's breeze and blessing as they can carry.

So it was with me. I had been in love with forty different girls in forty different countries of forty different colours and forty different ages--there was a widow down at the Cape of Good Hope. Oh, good Lord!

how she did----

"I see that you have not forgotten her," said Cynthia. I started, and returned suddenly from the Cape of Good Hope.

"No, and never shall, if she comes between us now."

"I am not so easily taken in, Mr. Jones."

"Neither am I. I had hoped yesterday that at least you had grown to care for me a little. I saw a chain----"

Cynthia put her hand quickly to her neck.

"You saw my chain?"

"Yes, while your Uncle and I were carrying you."

"My Uncle and you! O Mr. Jones! carrying me?" in a tone as if to say, "What shall I hear next?"

"Yes, we were. The locket flew open, Cynthia, and I saw----"

"You saw William Brown," said Cynthia in a very dignified tone.

"Not at all," said I. "O Cynthia! is it any wonder that I was encouraged?"

Cynthia was fumbling with her chain. She pulled the locket from its hiding place; a look of consternation overspread her face.

"I've lost my ring!" she said.

"What ring?" asked I. "Oh, that curious serpent ring! It is probably in your sleeping chamber."

She slid her nail under the edge of the case of the locket and opened it.

"There!" she said triumphantly, holding the locket as far from her neck as the chain would allow. "Who is that?"

"Shall I really say?" I asked, hesitating on her account.