Part 15 (1/2)

”Why cannot each satisfy himself or herself of the other? Why cannot the choice be mutual?”

”It would take too long,” said she; and laughed again.

”Very long?” asked Claudius, trying not to let his voice change. But it changed nevertheless.

”Generally very long,” she answered in a matter-of-fact way.

”Why should it?”

”Because neither women nor men are so easily understood as a chapter of philosophy,” said she.

”Is it not the highest pleasure in life, that constant, loving study of the one person one loves? Is not every antic.i.p.ated thought and wish a triumph more worth living for than everything else in the wide world?”

He moved close to her side. ”Do you not think so too?” She said nothing.

”I think so,” he said. ”There is no pleasure like the pleasure of trying to understand what a woman wants; there is no sorrow like the sorrow of failing to do that; and there is no glory like the glory of success. It is a divine task for any man, and the greatest have thought it worthy of them.” Still she was silent; and so was he for a little while, looking at her side face, for she had thrown back the veil and her delicate profile showed clearly against the sea foam.

”Countess,” he said at last; and his voice came and went fitfully with the breeze--”I would give my whole life's strength and study for the gladness of foreseeing one little thing that you might wish, and of doing it for you.” His hand stole along the taffrail till it touched hers, but he did not lift his fingers from the polished wood.

”Dr. Claudius, you would give too much,” she said; for the magic of the hour and place was upon her, and the Doctor's earnest tones admitted of no laughing retort. She ought to have checked him then, and the instant she had spoken she knew it; but before she could speak again he had taken the hand he was already touching between both of his, and was looking straight in her face.

”Margaret, I love you with all my soul and heart and strength.” Her hand trembled in his, but she could not take it away. Before she had answered he had dropped to his knee and was pressing the gloved fingers to his lips.

”I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated, and his strength was as the strength of ten in that moment.

”Dr. Claudius,” said she at last, in a broken and agitated way, ”you ought not to have said this. It was not right of you.” She tried to loose her hand, but he rose to his feet still clasping it.

”Forgive me,” he said, ”forgive me!” His face was almost luminously pale. ”All the ages cannot take from me this--that I have told you.”

Margaret said never a word, but covered her head with her veil and glided noiselessly away, leaving Claudius with his white face and staring eyes to the contemplation of what he had done. And she went below and sat in her stateroom and tried to think it all over. She was angry, she felt sure. She was angry at Claudius and half angry at herself--at least she thought so. She was disappointed, she said, in the man, and she did not mean to forgive him. Besides, in a yacht, with a party of six people, where there was absolutely no escape possible, it was unpardonable. He really ought not to have done it. Did he think--did he flatter himself--that if she had expected he was going to act just like all the rest of them she would have treated him as she had? Did he fancy his well-planned declaration would flatter _her_? Could he not see that she wanted to consider him always as a friend, that she thought she had found at last what she had so often dreamed of--a friends.h.i.+p proof against pa.s.sion? It was so common, so commonplace. It was worse, for it was taking a cruel advantage of the narrow limits within which they were both confined. Besides, he had taken advantage of her kindness to plan a scene which he knew would surprise her out of herself. She ought to have spoken strongly and sharply and made him suffer for his sin while he was yet red-handed. And instead, what had she done? She had merely said very meekly that ”it was not right,” and had sought safety in a hasty retreat.

She sighed wearily, and began to shake out the ma.s.ses of her black hair, that was as the thickness of night spun fine. And as she drew out the thick tortoise-sh.e.l.l pins that bore it up, it rolled down heavily in a soft dark flood and covered her as with a garment. Then she leaned back and sighed again, and her eyes fell on a book that lay at the corner of her dressing-table, where she had left it before dinner. It was the book they had been reading, and the mark was a bit of fine white cord that Claudius had cunningly twisted and braided, sailor fas.h.i.+on, to keep the place. Margaret rose to her feet, and taking the book in her hand, looked at it a moment without opening it. Then she hid it out of sight and sat down again. The action had been almost unconscious, but now she thought about it, and she did not like what she had done. Angry with him and with herself, she was yet calm enough to ask why she could not bear the sight of the volume on the table. Was it possible she had cared enough about her friends.h.i.+p for the Doctor to be seriously distressed at its sudden termination? She hardly knew--perhaps so. So many men had made love to her, none had ever before seemed to be a friend.

The weary and hard-worked little sentiment that we call conscience spoke up. Was she just to him? No. If she had cared even as much as that action showed, had he no right to care also? He had the right, yes; but he had been wanting in tact. He should have waited till they were ash.o.r.e. Poor fellow! he looked so white, and his hands were so cold. Was he there still, looking out at the s.h.i.+p's wake? Margaret, are you quite sure you never thought of him save as a friendly professor who taught you philosophy? And there was a little something that would not be silenced, and that would say--Yes, you are playing tricks with your feelings, you care for him, you almost love him. And for a moment there was a fierce struggle in the brave heart of that strong woman as she shook out her black hair and turned pale to the lips. She rose again, and went and got the book she had hidden, and laid it just where it had lain before. Then she knew, and she bowed her head till her white forehead touched the table before her, and her hands were wet as they pressed her eyelids.

”I am very weak,” she said aloud, and proceeded with her toilet.

”But you will be kind to him, Margaret,” said the little voice in her heart, as she laid her head on the pillow.

”But it is my duty to be cold. I do not love him,” she argued, as the watch struck eight bells.

Poor Saint Duty! what a mess you make of human kindness!

Claudius was still on deck, and a wretched man he was, as his chilled hands clung to the side. He knew well enough that she was angry, though she had reproached herself with not having made it clear to him. He said to himself he ought not to have spoken, and then he laughed bitterly, for he knew that all his strength could not have kept back the words, because they were true, and because the truth must be spoken sooner or later. He was hopeless now for a time, but he did not deceive himself.

”I am not weak. I am strong. And if my love is stronger than I what does that prove? I am glad it is, and I would not have it otherwise. It is done now and can never be undone. I am sorry I spoke to-night. I would have waited if I could. But I could not, and I should despise myself if I could. Love that is not strong enough to make a man move in spite of himself is not worth calling love. I wonder if I flattered myself she loved me? No, I am quite sure I did not. I never thought anything about it. It is enough for me that I love her, and live, and have told her so; and I can bear all the misery now, for she knows. I suppose it will begin at once. She will not speak to me. No, not that, but she will not expect me to speak to her. I will keep out of her way; it is the least I can do. And I will try and not make her life on board disagreeable. Ah, my beloved, I will never hurt you again or make you angry.”

He said these things over and over to himself, and perhaps they comforted him a little. At eight bells the Swedish captain turned out, and Claudius saw him ascend the bridge, but soon he came down again and walked aft.

”G.o.d afton, Captain,” said Claudius.