CHAPTER XXVIII
THE POTION
They were a rather silent party on the homeward way. Dunham sailed theboat. Benny Merritt, fortified with thick slices of Mrs. Lem's goodbread and butter, fell asleep and snored peacefully. He had bargainedwith Minty for this substantial repast as the price of sailing heraround the Basin, and Sylvia had been quite concerned that he had noappetite for the afternoon tea which the others took before settingforth.
At Anemone Cottage the party was received with acclaim. Miss Lacey'scheeks had been very pink from the moment of discovering with herspyglass a fourth figure in the boat; and Judge Trent had no cause tocomplain of his supper.
The effervescent spirits which had this morning been Sylvia's seemednow to have passed into her hostess, and the glad eagerness with whichthe younger girl followed the other's mood was noted and appreciated byDunham, who, when he could catch Sylvia's eye, sent her reassuringsmiles, not one of which was lost upon Edna.
Sylvia almost persuaded herself that she had been imaginative andunjust. Of course Edna had been too occupied in greeting Judge Trentjust now, and in caring for his comfort, to give her more than asmiling nod of welcome on her arrival, but Edna's good cheer at thesupper table was charming, and each guest in his way showed response toher mood.
"I've another day of my carpenters to-morrow," she said after a while,"and I can't be sorry. They're great fun. I'm having the shed changed.The architect had suggested a more acute angle than my carpenter liked.I told Willis I thought he was improving on Mr. Lane's lines, and hereplied, with that delightful drawl, 'Ye-us, he had sech a quickyank!'"
Another day of the carpenters! Sylvia was sorry to hear this, since itoccupied Edna; and yet, one more day alone on the shore! Ah, what joy,if she could only escape Dunham and her uncle!
The evening was perfect, and when the party rose from the table theygravitated as usual to the piazza.
"What a clear horizon!" said Edna. "The moon will be coming up in a fewminutes. Do you feel properly romantic, Judge Trent?"
"I feel the nearest approach to it that a man in my class ever does,"he replied. "That was an excellent supper, Edna. If you'll show me theway to the kitchen I could almost kiss the cook, if she would considerit."
Miss Lacey was listening and bridling triumphantly behind a neighboringpillar.
"You needn't go so far," rejoined Edna gayly. "Miss Lacey made thatdessert."
The judge was unperturbed, as he stood, his hands clasped behind him."In that case, Martha," he remarked, his impersonal gaze resting on theshadowy distance, "please consider yourself chastely saluted."
"This evening demands music," said Edna. "I'll sing for you to-night,John."
"Good girl," returned Dunham, with an involuntary glance towardSylvia's starlit face.
The hostess went indoors, and Sylvia started after her. "Do you mind ifI sit near the piano, Edna?" she asked.
"And miss the moonrise? I certainly should not allow it. Stay rightwhere you were."
"Of course, stay right where you were," said John quietly, "or rathersit here." He placed a cushion for Sylvia on the top step, and as sheaccepted the position he placed himself at her feet.
Miss Martha sank into a rocking-chair, and Judge Trent moved down uponthe grass, where he walked back and forth, a shadowy figure in theevening hush, for the wind goes down with the sun at Hawk Island.
"Ask her to sing the 'Sea Pictures,'" suggested Sylvia to hercompanion.
John called his request, and Edna complied. She had scarcely commencedthe first song when a halo of light appeared on the horizon,foretelling the edge of the orange-colored disc which soon began itssplendid ascent from the silhouetted waves. The air was full of thescent of sweet peas, that clung in lavish abundance to the base of thecottage. The vista of firs framed the rising moon, which graduallyflecked the water with dancing gold. Edna's voice flooded the air withstrange melody.
Sylvia's responsive sense yielded to the witchery of the hour. Pettythoughts were swept away. John's eyes were constantly drawn back to herrapt face as the light grew clearer.
"The little stars are going out, do you see?" she murmured, and henodded.
Soon Edna began the accompaniment of "In Haven," the one which Sylviacalled the island song. The first notes brought a new light to herface, and she smiled into Dunham's upturned eyes.
"This is mine," she said. The words of the song came clearly to them,as the moon-path broadened and lengthened between the spires of thefirs.
"Closely let me hold thy hand, Storms are sweeping sea and land, Love alone will stand.
"Closely cling, for waves beat fast, Foam flakes cloud the hurrying blast, Love alone will last.
"Kiss my lips and softly say, 'Joy, sea-swept, may fade to-day; Love alone will stay.'"
Sylvia leaned her head against the vine-wreathed stone, and her eyesclosed against the glory of a world that seemed hushing itself tolisten,--closed against John Dunham, whose personality had so strangelypermeated the song on the day she first heard it. What a different dayfrom this, and how long, long ago it was! Then storm was sweeping seaand land; the hurrying blast, the beating waves, the driven foamflakes, had been an actuality. Now all unrest was in her own thought,while o'er sea and land brooded a peace that suggested eternity. Thesweetness of that which alone would last,--how it appealed to her!
She could see beneath her lashes the moonlight falling on John's strongprofile, and on the brown hands that clasped his knee. If, without wordor look, he could reach up to her one of those hands, and she could puther own into it with the knowledge that there was its rightful place,what would every storm of circumstance mean to her henceforth!
She came to herself with a start. Here on Edna's very piazza, enjoyingher hospitality, she was indulging in a dream of theft from her. If herthoughts could be so betrayed, might it not be that some action hadindeed given Edna just cause of offense? She remembered the day when,in the boat with her newly discovered uncle, he had told her thatDunham was straining at the leash to get away to Boston to MissDerwent. Every moment of the latter's charming hospitality, and now herglorious voice, doubtless bound him closer to her. Sylvia knew herselfto be not of their world, and perhaps she was more of a novelty toDunham than she could realize. It was some strangeness in her, possiblysome unconscious _gaucherie_, that so often called his attention toherself. Surely she should blush forever that, so soon as her thoughtsescaped control, the subject began to attempt to betray her Princessand usurp her place.
"I mustn't stay here. I ought not to stay," thought Sylvia in suddenpanic. "I cannot be trusted."
The song closed. Dunham turned his head and looked up at his companion.
"Your song, is it?" he asked softly. "Let me in, too. It belongs tothis place."
"Go and tell Edna how you like it," said Sylvia. "She always says itbelongs to this island."
"And to her present guests especially," rejoined Dunham. "Won't youseal the partnership before I go?"
He reached his hand up to her with the movement she had pictured.
Her own were clasped behind her head. "No," she answered quickly. "TakeEdna's hand upon it. Let her know how you love it, for it is one of herown favorites."
Dunham still hesitated, regarding the moonlit face, and Sylvia suddenlyrose and, passing him, ran down the steps and joined Judge Trent in hismeasured promenade.
Miss Martha marveled at the ease with which her niece took possessionof the lonely man who courted loneliness; and she could see by the waythe judge turned toward the young girl, as she took his arm, that hewas not an unwilling captive. "I shouldn't wonder if the child madeCalvin real human," she thought, with a contented sigh. Sylvia was apossession which they held in common. Miss Martha seemed to see afuture in which her relation with her ex-lover ceased to be one ofarmed neutrality.
Dunham, who had gone into the house to thank his entertainer, soonreappeared, with Edna beside him. They strolled off the piazza and downthe rock path towa
rd the golden street which joined the short avenue offirs, and Sylvia saw them no more that night.
She took care to be in bed, with her light out, before Edna cameupstairs, only calling to her a cheery good-night as she passed herdoor. She hoped her friend would come in and stay for a little talk,but Edna paused only for a moment to exclaim upon the beauty of theevening and the pity of the fact that sleep was a necessity. Then shetoo said good-night, and passed on.
Affairs the next morning turned out quite as Sylvia would have hadthem. At breakfast she discovered that Judge Trent and Dunham haddeparted early on a fishing expedition. Edna was absorbed with hercarpenters and their alterations, and Sylvia found no difficulty inescaping unquestioned to the woods, the pillow slip hanging over herarm.
This time when she returned at noon there was no one in sight, and shelaid down bottle and bag in a corner of the piazza while she went tothe well for a drink. Returning, she again took the flat, stiff pillowslip and went upstairs with it.
The men came home to dinner a little late. They brought no treasuresback save those of John's imagination; and he regaled the companyduring the meal with such accounts of the morning's experiences ascaused Miss Martha to entertain fears concerning his ultimatedestination.
They all left the table at last in a gale of merriment, and went out onthe piazza to drink their coffee. When they had finished Edna offeredto show Judge Trent a shady hammock where breezes were warranted tolull all but the uneasiest conscience to rest. It was swung between twobalsam firs, and the young people, leaving the judge therein, his cappulled down over his eyes, went back to the piazza.
As soon as Dunham went up the steps his eye fell on a bottle on thefloor in a corner. He recognized it at once, and pounced upon it.
"At last!" he exclaimed, and held it up to the light. "You've been inthe woods again this morning." He frowned at Sylvia, who laughed softlyand colored to the tips of her ears. "Aha! You look guilty enough foranything. I thought your eyes had an extra sparkle this noon."
Edna caught her lip between her teeth, and stood still, regarding herblushing guest.
A curious excitement took possession of Dunham. Had Sylvia left thebottle purposely for him to find it? "It has gone down fast sinceyesterday," he went on. "Remember, I saw it yesterday. Any one whocomes in on this will have to be prompt and firm." He looked accusinglyat the girl, who was the picture of embarrassment, as she stood there,laughing with a conscious air.
"Very well," she exclaimed suddenly. "You shan't tease me any longerabout that. Here!" She seized a cup from the coffee table, and,emptying into it the remaining contents of the bottle, she handed it toDunham.
He looked at her strangely.
"What is this? An elixir?"
"You say so," she replied saucily.
"Will it make me fluent, and sparkling, and gay?"
"You say so."
"Then I should let Edna have a share." He started to hand the cup tohis hostess.
"No, no," laughed Sylvia, putting out a protesting hand. "She doesn'tneed it. It's not fit for Edna. Take it yourself, and--theconsequences."
Dunham looked over the rim of the cup at the merry, defiant face, anddrank. He then replaced the cup on the table, with sudden gravity and alook of tardy apprehension in the direction of Edna.
"It's not sweet," he said.
"No," returned Sylvia, "except in its results."
Their young hostess stood there, rigid, her hand leaning on the back ofa chair. John could not meet the speaker's eyes.
"I have a new story upstairs," he said abruptly. "I'm going to get itand see if I can't induce one of you to read aloud."
He disappeared, and Sylvia regarded the empty bottle with reminiscenteyes.
"What did you expect to do with that stuff, Sylvia?" asked Edna.
"Something that will make a transformation in my life," replied theother slowly. "I want to tell you about it when we have more time. Iknow you have to go back now to your workmen,--but I'm very hopeful,Edna, and, unless I deceive myself greatly, I shall be happy; andyou've been so wonderfully generous to a stranger, you'll be happy forme, I'm sure."
"We haven't time to talk now, as you say," returned Edna, with ameasured coldness that caused her friend to look up, the lightvanishing from her face. "Your actions have amazed me beyond words.Would you be willing that Thinkright should know the dreams and plansyou have indulged in in this place?"
Sylvia stood dumb, transfixed, convicted of guilt.
"It does not come gracefully from your hostess to lecture you, I know;but against my will I have learned what I know, and--the disappointmenthas been bitter, Sylvia. Don't be vexed with me for speaking plainly. Ican help you, I believe, when we get an opportunity for a quiet talk.Yes, I'm coming, Jenny," for the girl was at the door, bringing aquestion from the carpenter. "Excuse me, Sylvia. We'll talk later."
Dunham, upon reaching his room, forgot all about the book he had cometo seek. Standing still in the middle of the floor, he alternately wentinto paroxysms of laughter and scowled gravely at the wall.
"Nonsense!" he ruminated. "Edna and I are both idiots. I could see thatEdna was back in that kitchen while we stood there. This is thetwentieth century, and Sylvia has never lived out of the world."
So from moment to moment he would dispose of the Idea; but then therewas the Look. That had been unmistakable. There was a chamber inDunham's heart where that memory picture hung, and it seemed to himimpertinence to open the door. As often as the recollection returned tohim he recoiled from it. That look had been a theft from Sylvia, not agift; but she had given him the potion at last. Again John laughed athimself for believing in her intention. Again he scowled at the wallbecause she had fulfilled it.
At last he shook himself together. An unacknowledged longing possessedhim to see how she would carry herself now. He caught up the book hehad come for, and went downstairs to the piazza. Sylvia had vanished.Disappointed, he went back into the house. Straying to the piano, hesat down and began to play a Chopin prelude. It was John's one and onlyinstrumental achievement, learned by ear, and dug out of the ivories,as one might say, by long hours of laborious search for its harmonies.
Edna glided into the room. "If you don't mind, John," she said, "thisis Miss Lacey's nap-time."
He dropped his hands. "Certainly I won't mind, if you'll produce MissSylvia. She's slipperier than a drop of quicksilver."
Edna stiffened slightly. "Perhaps she has gone to sleep, too."
"Well, you haven't, anyway. Come! I hate those carpenters with avirulence that grows worse every hour."
The young hostess laughed. "I've only to stay with them a little whilelonger. Come with me. They're nearly through, and then we'll get Sylviaand go off somewhere."
John followed lazily to mysterious regions at the back of the cottage.Sylvia, listening at the head of the stairs, heard them go. It was heropportunity.