CHAPTER IX
MISS FREGELIUS
While Miss Fregelius was speaking, Morris had been staring at the sail,which, after drawing for a time in an indifferent fashion, had begun toflap aimlessly.
"What is the matter?" asked his companion. "Has the wind veered again?"
He nodded. "Dead from the west, now, and rising fast. I hope that yourspirit of prophecy still speaks smooth things, for, upon my word, Ibelieve we are both of us in a worse mess than ever."
"Can't we row ashore? It is only a few miles, is it?"
"We can try, but I am afraid we are in for a regular tearer. We get themsometimes on this coast after a spell of calm weather."
"Please give me an oar," she said. "I am used to rowing--of a sort."
So he let down the sail, and they began to row. For ten minutes or sothey struggled against the ever-rising gale. Then Morris called to herto ship oars.
"It is no use exhausting ourselves, Miss Fregelius," he said, "for nowthe tide is on the ebb, and dead against us, as well as the wind."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
Morris glanced back to where a mile behind them the sea was beginning tofoam ominously over the Sunk Rocks, here and there throwing up isolatedjets of spray, like those caused by the blowing of a whale.
"I am going to try to clear them," he said, "and then run before it.Perhaps we might make the Far Lightship five and twenty miles away. Helpme to pull up the sail. So, that's enough; she can't stand too much. Nowhold the sheet, and if I bid you, let go that instant. I'll steer."
A few seconds later the boat's head had come round, and she was rushingthrough the water at great speed, parallel with the line of the SunkRocks, but being momentarily driven nearer to them. The girl, StellaFregelius, stared at the farthest point of foam which marked the end ofthe reef.
"You must hold her up if you want to clear it," she said quietly.
"I can't do any more in this wind," he answered. "You seem to know aboutboats; you will understand."
She nodded, and on they rushed, the ever-freshening gale on their beam.
"This boat sails well," said Stella, as a little water trickled over thegunwale.
Morris made no answer, his eyes were fixed upon the point of rock; onlybidding his companion hold the tiller, he did something to the sail. Nowthey were not more than five hundred yards away.
"It will be a very near thing," she said.
"Very," he answered, "and I don't want to be officious, but I suggestthat you might do well to say your prayers."
She looked at him, and bowed her head for a minute or so. Then suddenlyshe lifted it again and stared at the terror ahead of them with wide,unflinching eyes.
On sped the boat while more and more did tide and gale turn her prowinto the reef. At the end of it a large, humpbacked rock showed now andagain through the surf, like the fin of a black whale. That was the rockwhich they must clear if they would live. Morris took the boat-hook andlaid it by his side. They were very near now. They would clear it; no,the wash sucked them in like a magnet.
"Good-bye," said Morris instinctively, but Stella answered nothing.
The wave that lifted them broke upon the rock in a cloud of spraywherein for some few instants their boat seemed to vanish. They wereagainst it; the boat touched, and Stella felt a long ribbon of seaweedcut her like a whip across the face. Kneeling down, Morris thrust madlywith the boat-hook, and thus for an instant--just one--held her off. Hisarms doubled beneath the strain, and then came the back-wash.
Oh, heaven! it had swept them clear. The rock was behind, the sail drew,and swiftly they fled away from the death that had seemed certain.
Stella sighed aloud, while Morris wiped the water from his face.
"Are we clear?" she asked presently.
"Of the Sunk Rocks? Yes, we are round them. But the North Sea is infront of us, and what looks like the worst gale that has blown thisautumn is rising behind."
"This is a good sea-boat, and on the open water I think perhaps that weought to weather it," she said, trying to speak cheerfully, as Morrisstowed the sail, for in that wind they wanted no canvas.
"I wish we had something to eat," she added presently; "I am so hungry."
"By good luck I can help you there," he answered. "Yesterday I was outfishing and took lunch for myself and the boatman; but the fish wouldn'tbite, so we came back without eating it, and it is still in the locker.Shift a little, please, I will get the basket."
She obeyed, and there was the food sure enough, plenty of it. A thickpacket of sandwiches, and two boiled eggs, a loaf, and a large lump ofcheese for the boatman, a flask of whiskey, a bottle of beer, another ofwater, and two of soda. They ate up the sandwiches and the eggs, Morrisdrinking the beer and Stella the soda water, for whiskey as yet shewould not touch.
"Now," she said, "we are still provisioned for twenty-four hours withthe bread and cheese, the water and the soda which is left."
"Yes," he answered, "if we don't sink or die of cold we shall notstarve. I never thought that sandwiches were so good before;" and helooked hungrily at the loaf.
"You had better put it away; you may want it later," she suggested. Andhe put it away.
"Tell me, if you don't mind," he asked, for the food and the lighteningof the strain upon his nerves had made him conversational, "what is thatsong which you sang upon the ship, and why did you sing it?"
She coloured a little, and smiled, a sweet smile that seemed to begin inher eyes.
"It is an old Norse chant which my mother taught me; she was a Dane, asmy father is also by descent. It has come down in her family for many,many generations, and the legend is that the women of her race alwayssang it or repeated it while the men were fighting, and, if they had thestrength, in the hour of their own death. I believe that is true, forshe died whispering it herself; yes, it grew fainter and fainter untilit ceased with her breath. So, when I thought that my hour had come, Isang it also, for the first time, for I tried to be brave, and wishedto go as my forefathers went. It is a foolish old custom, but I like oldcustoms. I am ashamed that you should have heard it. I thought myselfalone. That is all."
"You are a very strange young lady," said Morris, staring at her.
"Strange?" she answered, laughing. "Not at all; only I wanted to showthose scores of dead people that their traditions and spirit still livedon in me, their poor modern child. Think how glad they must have beento hear the old chant as they swept by in the wind just now, waiting togive me welcome."
Morris stared still harder. Was this beautiful girl mad? He knewsomething of the old Norse literature and myths. A fantastic vision roseup in his mind of her forebears, scores and hundreds of them gatheredat some ghostly Walhalla feast, listening to the familiar paean as itpoured from her fearless heart, and waiting to rise and greet her, thelast newcomer of their blood, with "_Skoll_, daughter, _skoll!_"
She watched him as though she read his thought.
"You see, they would have been pleased; it is only natural," she said;"and I have a great respect for the opinion of my ancestors."
"Then you are sure they still exist in some shape or form, and areconscious?"
She laughed again. "Of course I am sure. The world of spirits, as Ithink, is the real world. The rest is a nightmare; at least, it seemslike a nightmare, because we don't know the beginning or the end of thedream."
"The old Egyptians thought something like that," said Morrisreflectively. "They only lived to die."
"But we," she answered, "should only die to live, and that is why I trynot to be afraid. I daresay, however, I mean the same as they did, onlyyou do not seem to have put their thought quite clearly."
"You are right; I meant that for them death was but a door."
"That is better, I think," she said. "That was their thought, andthat is my thought; and," she added, searching his face, "perhaps yourthought also."
"Yes," he answered, "though somehow you concentrate it; I have neverseen things, or, rather, thi
s thing, quite so sharply."
"Because you have never been in a position to see them; they have notbeen brought home to you. Or your mind may have wanted an interpreter.Perhaps I am that interpreter--for the moment." Then she added: "Wereyou afraid just now? Don't tell me if you had rather not, only I shouldlike to compare sensations. I was--more than on the ship. I admit it."
"No," he answered; "I suppose that I was too excited."
"What were you thinking of when we bumped against the rocks?" she askedagain.
"Well, now that you mention it," he replied, rubbing his forehead withhis left hand like a man newly awakened, "I could think of nothing butthat song of yours, which you sang upon the vessel. Everything grew darkfor an instant, and through the darkness I remembered the song."
"Are you married?" she asked, as though speaking to herself.
"No; I am engaged."
"Then, why----" and she stopped, confused.
Morris guessed what had been in her mind, and of a sudden felt terriblyashamed.
"Because of that witch-song of yours," he answered, with a flash ofanger, "which made me forget everything."
She smiled and answered. "It wasn't the song; it was the excitement andstruggle which blotted out the rest. One does not really think at allat such moments, or so I believe. I know that I didn't, not just when webumped against the rock. But it is odd that you should believe that youremembered my song, for, according to tradition, that is just what thechant should do, and what it always did. Its ancient name means 'TheOver-Lord,' because those who sang it and those who heard it were saidto remember nothing else, and to fear nothing, not even Death our lord.It is the welcome that they give to death."
"What egregious nonsense!" he blurted out.
"I daresay; but then, why do you understand my nonsense so well? Tellme, if you will, of what blood are you?"
"Danish, I believe, in the beginning."
"Oh," she said, laughing, "no doubt that accounts for it. Someforefather of yours may have heard the song of the Over-Lord, perhapsfrom the lips of some foremother of mine. So, of course, you rememberedand understood."
"Such a thing will scarcely bear argument, will it?"
"Of course it won't. I have only been joking all the time, though I dohalf believe in this old song, as my ancestors did before me. I mean,that as I thought I had to die, I liked to keep up the ancient customand sing it first. It encouraged my spirits. But where are we going?"
"To where our spirits will need no more encouragement," he answeredgrimly; "or, at least, I fear it may be so. Miss Fregelius, to dropjests, it is blowing very hard off land; the sea is getting up, and thisis but a small boat. We are doing pretty well now, but sooner or later,I fear, and I think it right to tell you, that a wave may poop us andthen----"
"There will be an end," said Stella. "Is there anything to be done? Haveyou any plan?"
"None, except to make the Far Lightship, as I told you; but even if wesucceed, I don't know whether it will be possible to get aboard of herunless the sea moderates."
"Won't the lifeboat come out to look for you?" she asked.
He shook his head. "How could they find one tiny sail upon the greatocean? Moreover, it will be supposed either that I have foundered ormade some port along the coast. There is the worst of it. I fear that itmay be telegraphed everywhere," and he sighed deeply.
"Why?" she asked. "Are you a very important person that they shouldbother to do that? You see," she added in explanation, "I don't evenknow your name or where you come from, only that you told me you workedin a shop which," she added reflectively, looking at him, "seems odd."
Even then and there Morris could not help a smile; really this younglady was very original.
"No," he answered, "I am not at all important, and I work in a shopbecause I am an inventor--or try to be--in the electrical line. My nameis Morris Monk, and I am the son of Colonel Monk, and live at the AbbeyHouse, Monksland. Now you know all about me."
"Oh! of course I do, Mr. Monk," she said in some confusion, "how foolishof me not to guess. You are my father's principal new parishioner, ofwhom Mr. Tomley gave us a full description."
"Did he indeed? What did he say?" he asked idly.
"Do you really want to know, Mr. Monk?"
"Yes, if it is amusing. Just now I shall be grateful for anything thatcan divert my thoughts."
"And you will promise not to bear malice against Mr. Tomley?"
"Certainly, especially as he has gone away, and I don't expect to seehim any more."
"Well, he described your father, Colonel Monk, as a handsome anddistinguished elderly gentleman of very good birth, and manners, too,when he chose, who intensely disliked growing old. He said that hethought of himself more than of anybody else in the world, and next ofthe welfare of his family, and that if we wished to get on with himwe must be careful not to offend his dignity, as then he would bequarrelsome."
"That's true enough, or most of it," answered Morris, "a good picture ofmy father's weak side. And what was his definition of myself?"
"He said that you were in his opinion one of the most interesting peoplethat he had ever met; that you were a dreamer and a mystic; that youcared for few of the things which usually attract young men, and thatyou were in practice almost a misogynist. He added that, althoughheretofore you had not succeeded, he thought that you possessed realgenius in certain lines, but that you had not your father's 'courtlyair,' that was his term. Of course, I am only repeating, so you must notbe angry."
"Well," said Morris, "I asked for candour and I have got it. Withoutadmitting the accuracy of his definitions, I must say that I neverthought that pompous old Tomley had so much observation." Then he addedquickly, to change the subject, since the possible discussion of his ownattributes, physical or mental, alarmed him, "Miss Fregelius, you havenot told me how you came to be left aboard the ship."
"Really, Mr. Monk, I don't know. I heard a confused noise in my sleep,and when I woke up it was to find myself alone, and the saloon half fullof water. I suppose that after the vessel struck, the sailors, thinkingthat she was going down, got off at once, taking my father, who had beeninjured and made insensible in some way, with them as he happened tobe on deck, leaving me to my chance. You know, we were the onlypassengers."
"Were you not frightened when you found yourself all alone like that?"
"Yes, at first, dreadfully; then I was so distressed about my father,whom I thought dead, and angry with them for deserting me, that I forgotto be frightened, and afterwards--well, I was too proud. Besides, wemust die alone, every one of us, so we may as well get accustomed to theidea."
Morris shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"You think that I need not talk so much about our mortal end. Well,perhaps under all the circumstances, we may as well keep our thoughts onthis world--while it lasts. You have not told me, Mr. Monk, how you cameto be sailing about alone this morning. Did you come out to look at thewreck?"
"Do you think that I am mad?" he asked, not without indignation. "ShouldI make a journey at night, in a November fog, with every chance ofa gale coming up, to the Sunk Rocks in this cockle-shell, and alone,merely to look at the place where, as I understood rather vaguely, aforeign tramp steamer had gone down?"
"Well, it does seem rather odd. But why else did you come? Were youfishing? Men will risk a great deal for fishing, I know, I have seenthat in Norway."
"Why do you pretend not to understand, Miss Fregelius? You must knowperfectly well that I came to look for you."
"Indeed," she answered candidly, "I knew nothing of the sort. How didyou find out that I was still on the ship, or that the ship was stillabove water? And even if you knew both, why should you risk your lifejust on the faint chance of rescuing a girl whom you never saw?"
"I can't quite tell you; but your father in his delirium muttered somewords which made me suspect the truth, and a sailor who could speaka little bad French said that the Trondhjem was lost upon some rocks.Well, these are the only
rocks about here; and as the whole story wastoo vague to carry to the lifeboat people I thought that I would come tolook. So you see it is perfectly simple."
"So simple, Mr. Monk, that I do not understand it in the least. You musthave known the risks, for you asked no one to share them--the risks thatare so near and real;" and, shivering visibly, she looked at the greycombers seething past them, and the wind-torn horizon beyond. "Yet,you--you who have ties, faced all this on the chance of saving astranger."
"Please, please," broke in Morris. "At any rate, you see, it was a happyinspiration."
"Yes, for me, perhaps--but for you! Oh, if it should end in your beingtaken away from the world before your time, from the world and the ladywho--what then?"
Morris winced; then he said: "God's will be done. But although we may bein danger, we are not dead yet; not by a long way."
"She would hate me whose evil fortune it was to draw you to death, andin life or out of it I should never forgive myself--never! never!" andshe covered her eyes with her cold, wet hand and sighed.
"Why should you grieve over what you cannot help?" asked Morris gently.
"I cannot quite explain to you," she answered; "but the thought of itseems so sad."