CHAPTER XVIII
THE PROGRESS OF ANOTHER ROMANCE
The ecstasy that came to Robert Morton with his new-found happinessswept before it the clouds that had overcast his sky, until his horizonwas almost as radiant as it had been on the day of his arrival atWilton. Janoah Eldridge came no more to the Spence cottage; Snellinghad vanished; the Galbraiths were occupied with their own affairs; andthe barrier between Bob and Willie began slowly to wear away. Thelittle old man was of far too believing and charitable a nature to holdout long against his own optimism; moreover, he detested strife and wasmuch more willing to endure a wrong than to harbor ill feeling; hencehe was only too ready to reconstruct Janoah's venomous story into termsof his native blind faith. He did not, to be sure, understand, and fordays and nights he puzzled ceaselessly over the problem eventspresented; but as no light was forthcoming, his zest in the enigmacooled until the mystery took on the unfathomable quality of variousother mysteries he had wrestled with and finally shelved asunanswerable. There was the invention to finish, and so eager was heto see it completed that to this interest every other thought wassubordinated. Therefore, although misgivings assailed him, theygradually receded into his subconsciousness, leaving behind them muchof the good will he had formerly cherished toward Robert Morton.
The olive branch Willie tacitly extended Bob seized with avidity. Hadnot the world suddenly become too perfect to be marred by discord?Why, in the exuberance of his joy he would have forgiven anybodyanything! He did own to bruised feelings, but time is a great healerof both mental and of physical pain, and the hurts he had received soondimmed into scars that carried with them no acute sensation. His mindwas too much occupied with Delight Hathaway and the wonder of theirlove for him to think to any great extent of himself. The romancestill remained a secret between them, for so vehement had been theturmoil into which Zenas Henry had been thrown by the tidings of thegirl's past history that it seemed unwise to follow blow with blow andacquaint him just at present with the news of the lovers' engagement.Moreover, there was Cynthia Galbraith to consider. Robert Morton wastoo chivalrous to be brutal to any woman, much less an old friend likeCynthia.
Hence he and Delight moved in a dream, the full beauty of which theyalone sensed. Their secret was all the more delicious for being asecret, and with all life before them they agreed they could afford towait. Nevertheless concealment was at variance with the character ofeither, and although they derived a certain exhilaration from theirclandestine happiness they longed for the time when their path shouldlie entirely in the open, when Zenas Henry's consent should beobtained, and their betrothal acknowledged before all the world. Untilsuch a moment came an irksome deception colored their love and leftthem in constant danger of discovery. Indeed, had the observer beenkeen enough to interpret psychic phenomena, there was betrayal in thesoft light of Delight's eyes and in the grave tenderness of her face;and as for Bob, he felt his great good-fortune must be emblazoned onevery feature of his countenance.
In point of fact, no such condition prevailed. The girl returned toher home and took her place there, bringing with her her customarybuoyancy of spirit; and if her light-heartedness was more exaggeratedthan was her wont, those who loved her attributed it to her joy atbeing once more beneath her own roof-tree. Zenas Henry and the threecaptains fluttered about her as if her absence had been one of yearsrather than of days; and even Abbie, less demonstrative than theothers, showed by a quiet satisfaction her deep contentment at havingthe girl back again.
Of course Robert Morton let no great length of time elapse before heclimbed the hill and invaded the Brewster home. As Celestina's nephewand Willie's guest he had credentials enough to assure him of awelcome, and for an interval these sufficed to give him an enviableentree; but after a few calls, his winning personality secured for hima place of his own. He inspected Captain Phineas Taylor's brokencompass and set it right; he discussed rheumatism and its woes withCaptain Benjamin Todd; he lent an attentive ear to the nauticaladventures of Captain Jonas Baker. Abbie, who was a systematichousekeeper, approved of his habit of wiping his feet before he enteredthe door and the careful fashion he had of replacing any chair hemoved; most men, she averred, were so thoughtless and untidy. But itwas with Zenas Henry that the young man won his greatest triumph, thetwo immediately coming into harmony on the common ground ofmotor-boating. Most of the male visitors who dropped in at the whitecottage came only to see Delight, but here was one who came to call onthe entire family. How charming it was! They liked him one and all;how could they help it? And soon, so eagerly did they anticipate hiscoming, any lapse in his visits caused keen disappointment.
"I kinder thought that Morton feller might be round this evenin',"Captain Phineas would yawn in a dispirited tone, when twilight haddeepened and the familiar figure failed to make its appearance abovethe crest of the hill. "Ain't it Tuesday? He most always comesTuesdays."
"Tuesdays, Thursdays, an' Saturdays you can pretty mortal sure bank onhim," Captain Benjamin would reply. "If he's comin' to-night, hebetter be heavin' into sight, for it's damp an' I'll have to be turnin'in soon."
"Mebbe he was delayed by somethin'," suggested Captain Jonas. "We'llnot give him up fur a spell longer. He told me he'd fetch me sometobacco, an' he always does as he promises."
Zenas Henry smoked in silence.
"I sorter wish he would appear," he presently put in, between puffs athis pipe. "There was somethin' I wanted to ask him about that durnmotor-boat."
"You don't mean to say that boat's out of order again, do you, ZenasHenry?" questioned Abbie.
"No, oh, no! 'Tain't out of order exactly. But the pesky propeller iskickin' up worse'n ordinary. It's awful taxin' on the patience. I'dgive a man everything I possess if he'd think up some plan to rid me ofthat eel grass."
"Why don't you set Willie on the job?" asked Captain Benjamin.
"Ain't I told Willie over an' over again about it?" Zenas Henryreplied, turning with exasperation on the speaker. "Ain't I hinted tohim plain as day--thrown the bait to him times without number? An'ain't he just swum round the hook an' gone off without so much asnibblin' it? The thing don't interest him, it's easy enough to seethat. He don't like motor-boats an' ain't got no sympathy with 'em,an' he don't give a hang if they do come to grief. In fact, I think herather relishes hearin' they're snagged. I gave up expectin' any helpfrom him long ago."
With a frown he resumed his smoking.
"Where's Delight?" Captain Phineas asked, scenting his friend's moodand veering tactfully to a less irritating topic.
"That's so! Where is the child?" rejoined Captain Jonas. "She wasround here fussin' with them roses a minute ago."
"That ain't her over toward the pine grove, is it?" queried CaptainBenjamin. "I thought I saw somethin' pink a-movin' among the trees."
"Yes, that's her an' Bob Morton with her, sure's you're alive!" CaptainPhineas ejaculated with pleasure. "You'll get your tobacco now, Jonas,an' Zenas Henry can ask him about the boat."
"Can you see has he got a bundle?" piped the short-sighted CaptainJonas anxiously.
"Yep!"
"Then he ain't forgot the tobacco," was the contented comment. "Hedon't generally forget. He's a mighty likely youngster, that boy!"
"An' friendly too, ain't he?" put in Captain Benjamin. "There'snothin' he wouldn't do for you."
"He's the nicest chap ever I see!" Captain Phineas echoed. "Don't youthink so, Zenas Henry?"
The answer was some time in coming, and when it did it was deliberateand was weighted with telling impressiveness:
"There's few young fry can boast Bob Morton's common sense," he said."His headpiece is on frontside-to, an' the brains inside it are tickin'strong an' steady."
Abbie failed to join in the laugh that followed this announcement.Either she did not catch the remark, or she was too deeply engrossedwith her own thoughts to heed it. Her eyes were fixed wistfully on thetwo figures that were approaching,--the girl exquisite wi
th youth andhappiness and the man who leaned protectingly over her. Yet whateverthe reveries that clouded her pensive face, she kept them to herself,and if a shadow of dread mingled with her scrutiny no one noticed it.
Perhaps it was only Willie Spence who actually guessed the greatsecret,--Willie, who having been starved for romance of his own, wasall the quicker to hear the heart-throbs of others. It chanced thatjust now he was deeply involved in several amorous affairs and becauseof them was experiencing no small degree of worry. The tangle betweenBob, Delight, and Cynthia Galbraith kept him in a state of constantspeculation and disquietude; then Bart Coffin and Minnie wereperilously near a rupture because of another rejuvenation of thetime-honored black satin; and although weeks had passed, Jack Nickersonhad not yet mustered up nerve enough to offer his heart and hand toSarah Libbie Lewis.
"Next you know, both you an' Sarah Libbie will be under the sod,"Willie had tauntingly called after the lagging swain, as he passed thehouse one afternoon on his way from the village. "What on earth you'rewaitin' for is mor'n I can see."
The discomfited coast guard hung his head sheepishly.
"It's all right for you to talk, Willie Spence," he replied over hisshoulder. "You ain't got the speakin' to do. It's I that's got to askher."
Then as he sped out of sight, he added as an afterthought:
"By the way, Bart an' Minnie Coffin have come to a split at last overthat 'ere dress. After gettin' it fixed, an' promisin' him 'twas furthe last time, she's ripped it all up again 'cause she's seen somepicter in a book she liked better. Bart's that mad he's took his seachest in the wheelbarrow an' set out for his mother's. I met him goin'just now."
"Bless my soul!" gasped Willie in consternation. "How far had he got?"
"He was about quarter way to the Junction," was the response. "He sungout he was headed where he'd be sure of gettin' three meals a day, an'where somebody'd pay some attention to him."
"H--m!" Willie reflected, scratching his thin locks. "Sorter looks asif it was time I took a hand, don't it?"
"I figger if anybody's goin' to interfere, now's the minute. Bart'sgot his sails set an' is clearin' port fur good an' all this time, nomistake. 'Twas sure to come sooner or later."
Their roads parted and Willie turned toward the town, while JackNickerson, with rolling gait, pursued his way to the beach where at thetip of a slender bar of sand jutting out into the ocean the low roofsof the life-saving station lay outlined against a somber sky. Greatbanks of leaden clouds sagging over the horizon had dulled the water toblackness, and a stiff gale was whistling inshore. Already the billowswere mounting angrily into caps of snarling foam and dashing themselveson the sands with threatening echo. It promised to be a nasty night,and Jack remembered as he looked that he was on patrol duty. Yetalthough the muscles of his jaw tightened into grimness, it was not theprospective tramp along a lonely beach in the darkness and wind thatcaused the stern tensity of his countenance. Storms and their perilswere all in the day's work, and he faced their possible catastropheswithout a tremor. It would have been hard to find anywhere along theMassachusetts coast a braver man than Jack Nickerson. Not only was heready to lead a crew of rescuers to succor the perishing, fearlesslydirecting the surfboat in its plunge through a seething tide, but manya time he had dashed bodily into the breakers, despite the hazard of apowerful undertow, and dragged some drowning creature to a place ofsafety. The fame of his many deeds of heroism had spread from one endof the Cape to the other, and as he was native-born the community nevertired of relating his feats to any sojourner who strayed into thelocality.
Yet courageous as was Jack Nickerson, there was one thing he was afraidof and that was a woman. Not that he trembled in the presence of allwomen--no, indeed! He had brought far too many of them to land forthat. Women as a class did not appall him in the least. He had seenthem in the agony of terror, in the throes of despair, and undismayedhad offered them sympathy and cheer. It was one woman only whodisconcerted him, the woman who for years had routed him out of hishabitual poise and left him as discomfited as a guilty schoolboy caughtin raiding the jam-pot.
Yes, he who inspired his associates with both respect and admirationwas forced to acknowledge to himself that when face to face with SarahLibbie Lewis he was nothing better than a faltering ten-year-old whosecollar is too tight for him, and whose hands and feet are sizes toolarge. The paradox was too humiliating to be endured! Nevertheless,he had endured the ignominy of it for five-and-twenty years, and thereseemed to be every prospect that he would continue to endure it.Periodically, it is true, he would rise in his wrath, resolving thatanother sun should not go down on his vacillation and timidity; nay,more, he would even stride forth to Sarah Libbie's home, vowing as hewent that before he slept he would speak the decisive words that hadfor so long trembled on his tongue.
Confronted by the lady of his choice, however, his courage, like thatof the immortal Bob Acres, would ooze away, and after basking for awretched interval in the glory of her smile, he would retrace his stepswith the declaration still unuttered. As far back as Jack couldremember, this woman had tyrannized over him and humbled hisself-esteem. In childhood she had leveled with a blow the sand castleshe built on the beach for her delight, and ever since she had contrivedto raze to the ground his less tangible castles,--dream-castles wherehe saw her the mistress of his lonely fireside. Yet despite herexasperating capriciousness, Jack had never wavered in his allegiance,not a whit. Long ago he had made up his mind that Sarah Libbie was theone woman in the world for him, and he had never seen cause to alterthat verdict. Nor did he entertain any doubt that Sarah Libbie'ssentiments coincided with his own, even though she did cloak herpreference beneath so many intricate and misleading devices offemininity. It was not fear of the thundering _No_ that hindered Jackfrom proclaiming his affection; it was merely the physicalimpossibility of putting his heart into intelligible and coherentphraseology when Sarah Libbie's bewitching gaze was upon him. He couldmeet all comers in a political argument, could hold his own against thebanter of the village gossips; he could even defy Willie and hiscounsel; but to address Sarah Libbie on a matter so tender and of suchvital import was an ordeal so overwhelming that it caused his tongue tocleave to the roof of his mouth, and his pulse almost to cease to beat.Unlucky Jack!
Many were the evenings he tramped the dunes, rehearsing in the darknessthe momentous declaration that was to work a miracle in his solitarylife. Like an actor committing his lines, he would repeat the words,hurling them upon the blackness of the night where, to theaccompaniment of the booming surf, they echoed with a majesty anddignity astonishingly impressive. But in the light of day and SarahLibbie's presence, his sonorous philippic would dwindle away into ajargon of garbled phrases too disjointed and meaningless to carryweight with any woman, let alone the peerless Sarah Libbie Lewis.
Thus for more than a quarter of a century Jack Nickerson had silentlyworshiped at the shrine of his divinity, and in the meantime the rosesin Sarah Libbie's cheeks had grown fainter, and tendrils of silver hadfound their way into the soft curls that shadowed her brow. Still Jackcould not speak the words that were on his lips. Of course the littlewoman could not do it for him, although she did venture by many asubtle device to aid him in his dilemma. She baked for him pies,cookies, and doughnuts of a delicious russet tint and sent them to thestation, that their aroma might gently prod into action her lover'sfaintness of heart; these visible tokens of her devotion woulddisappear, however, leaving behind them only a tranquil sense ofenjoyment; and as this lessened the fervor of her admirer'sdetermination would evaporate. Then Sarah Libbie would resort to lessephemeral offerings,--scarves, wristers, mittens, patiently knittedfrom blue wool and representing such an endless number of stitches thatJack never viewed them without elation.
And as if these proofs of her regard were not sufficient, every eveningjust at sundown she would light a lantern and flash a good-night to himacross the waters that estranged them. It was a pretty cust
om that hadhad its beginning when the boy and girl had lived as neighbors on thedeserted highway that followed the horseshoe curve of the Belleportshore. They had evolved a code whereby, with much labor it must beadmitted, they were able to spell out messages that flickered their waythrough the night with the beauty of a firefly's revel; but when Jackhad taken up work with the coast guard, this old-time substitute forspeech had been abandoned, giving place to the briefer method of threenightly flashes. Neither toil nor illness, rain, snow or tempest hadin all the years prevented Sarah Libbie from being at her post attwilight, there to watch for the gleam of Jack's lantern, whose raysshe answered with the light from her own. Even when fogs obscured theBar so that the distant headland was cut off from view, Sarah Libbiewould go through the little ceremony and after it was over return toher knitting with a quiet gladness, although the presence of the otherfactor in the drama was a mere matter of conjecture.
Thus the romance had drifted on, and Jack Nickerson now faced hisfiftieth year and was no nearer bringing the love story to aculmination than he had been when as a boy in his teens he had gazedinto Sarah Libbie's blue eyes and registered the vows he had never yetdared utter. Nevertheless lonely and disappointed as was Sarah Libbie,Jack was a thousand times more miserable. To-night, especially, as hetramped the coast in the teeth of the gale, he thought of WillieSpence's ridicule and one of his periodic moods of self-abasement cameupon him. What a wretched cur he was! How lacking in nerve! Anywoman, he muttered to himself, was better off without such afeeble-willed, spineless husband!
The fierce winds and whirling sands that stung his cheeks and buffetedhim seemed a merited castigation, a castigation that amounted to apenance. He welcomed their punishment. As he stumbled on through thepitch black of the night, he asked himself what he was going to do.Was he always to go on loving Sarah Libbie and letting her love him andnever in manly fashion bring the affair to a climax? If he did notmean to make her his wife, had he the right to stand in the way andprevent her from marrying some one else? The baldness of the questionbrought him up with a turn, and as he paused breathlessly awaiting hisown verdict, his eye was caught by the lantern dangling from his hand.He regarded it with slow wonder as if he had never seen it before. Whyhad he never thought until now of this method of communication? Notonly was it simple and direct, but it also obviated the difficulty thathad always been the stumbling-block in his path,--the necessity ofconfronting Sarah Libbie in the flesh. He grasped the inspiration withzeal. Fate was with him. His watch was up, and he was free to makehis way back to the station, if he so willed, and put his remarkablescheme into execution.
Away he sped through the howling tempest.
As he flew up the steps of the lookout tower, he could detect thetwinkling lights from his lady's home gemmed against the background ofvelvet darkness. Perhaps her fluttering little heart was uneasy abouther lover, and she was peering out into the gale. However that may be,he had no difficulty in summoning her to the window when he raised hislantern. Then, with the talisman held high, he paused. What should hesay? Of course he could send no lengthy message. Even a few wordsmeant a laborious amount of spelling. Perhaps _Will You Marry Me?_ wasas simple and direct a way as he could put it. Firmly he gripped thelantern. Then, instead of the customary three flashes, he began theinvolved liftings, dippings, and circlings which in luminous waves wereto spell out his destiny.
_Will You Marry_--
Ah, there was no need for him to go on! Sarah Libbie had waited toolong for those magic words to doubt their purport. Nor did shehesitate for an answer. In an instant she caught up the unique avowal,and across the turbulent waters signalled to her beloved the threemystic letters that should make her his forever. With the faint,blinking flashes, the weight of years fell away from Jack Nickerson.No longer was he a trembling, tongue-tied captive, scorning himself forhis want of will. He was a free man, the affianced husband of the mostwonderful creature in the world. In his exultation he raised hislantern aloft and swung it round and round with the abandon of a boywho tosses his cap in the air. Then he bounded down the iron staircaselike a child let out of school, dashing round their spiral windingswith reckless velocity.
The deed was done! Sarah Libbie was his!
It might have been half an hour later, as he sat smoking in blissfulmeditation in the living room of the station, that the door waswrenched open and Willie Spence burst into the room. Every hair on theold inventor's head was upright with anxiety, and he puffedbreathlessly:
"What's ashore? I saw your signal an' knew straight off somethin'terrible was up, for you've never called for help from the town before.I've raised all the folks I could get a-holt of an' Bob Morton's goneto get more. They'll be here on the double quick!"
The boast was no idle one. Even as he spoke there was a tramping, arush of feet, and a babel of confused, frightened voices, and into theroom flocked the dwellers of the hamlet,--men, women, and children, allwith wind-tossed hair and strained, terrified faces.
"What is it?"
"What's the matter?"
"Where's the wreck?"
As they stood there tragic in the dim light, there was a stir near thedoor and Sarah Libbie Lewis pushed her way through the crowd.
She had stopped only to toss a black shawl over her head and incontrast to its sable folds her cheeks and lips were ashen.
"They told me there was a wreck," she cried, rushing to Jack's side andseizing his arm wildly. "Oh, you won't go--you won't go and leave menow, Jack--not so soon--not after to-night!"
Already sobs were choking the words and her hands were clinging to his.
With the supreme defiance of a man prepared to defend his dearestpossession against the universe, Jack Nickerson circled her in hisembrace and faced the throng. No longer was he the shrinking, timoroussupplicant. Victorious love had set her crown upon his brows,bestowing dignity upon his years and glory upon his manhood. Hisexplanation came fearlessly to his lips.
"There ain't no wreck," he said quietly. "All the same I'm glad yousaw my lantern an' came, 'cause I've got somethin' to tell you all. Mean' Sarah Libbie are goin' to get married."
For a moment there was an incredulous hush. Then Willie Spence came tothe rescue.
"Well, I will say, Jack," he drawled, "you had a pretty good nerve toget us out on a night like this to tell us that! You might at leasthave waited 'til mornin'. Still, I reckon if I'd been nigh on to aquarter of a century gettin' my spunk together to ask a woman to marryme an' had finally done it, I'd a-wanted somebody to know it."
The words were not unkindly spoken and Jack joined in the generallaugh. Nothing mattered to him now. Oblivious to the spectators, hewas bending down over the woman he loved and murmuring:
"I love you, Sarah Libbie. I've always loved you."
The little old inventor watched the radiant pair a moment then motionedto the villagers to slip away. But Bartley Coffin could not berestrained from lagging behind and whispering confidentially in Jack'sear:
"If you want to be truly happy, mate, an' live clear of a life ofpesterin', don't you never buy Sarah Libbie a satin dress! Minnie an'I have made it up, thanks to Willie Spence, but 'twas a tussle. I'dcome to the jumpin'-off place."
The statement was but too true. Willie had indeed intervened andaverted a tragedy, but the feat had demanded ruthless measures, and hehad trudged home from the Coffins with the bone of contention clutchedrigidly beneath his arm.
That night Celestina heard muffled sounds in the workshop.
"Oh, my land!" she murmured. "If Willie ain't hitched again! I didhope nothin' new would come to him 'til he got rested up from thisother idee."
But Willie's inspiration was not of the inventive type. Instead thelittle old man was standing before the stove, kindling a fire, and intoits crackling blaze he was bundling the last remnants of MinnieCoffin's far-famed black satin. The light played on his face which wasset in grim earnestness.
"It seems a wicked shame," he
observed in a whisper, as he viewed thefuneral pyre, "but it's the only way. Long's that dress remained onearth there'd be no peace for Bart nor his wife either. It had to go."
The flames danced higher, flashing in and out of the trimmings of jetand charring the beads to dullness. In the morning only a heap of grayashes marked the flight of Minnie Coffin's social ambitions.
"_Requiescat in pace_!" murmured Willie as with lips firm with Puritanstoicism he passed by the stove. There he added gently: "Poor Minnie!Poor foolish Minnie!"