Part 18 (1/2)
”Look at that darkness,” she said--”that infinite void under which an ocean wallows. It is like h.e.l.l, I think. Do you understand how I fear the ocean?”
”Do you fear it, child?”
”Aye,” she said, musing; ”it took father and mother and brother. You knew that?”
”Lady Coleville says there is always hope that they may be alive--cast on that far continent----”
”So the attorneys say--because there is a legal limit--and I am the Honorable Elsin Grey. Ah, Carus, _I_ know that the sea has them fast.
No port shall that tall s.h.i.+p enter save the last of all--the Port of Missing s.h.i.+ps. Heigho! Sir Frederick is kind--in his own fas.h.i.+on.... I would I had a mother.... There is a loneliness that I feel ... at times....”
A vague gesture, and she lifted her head, with a tremor of her shoulders, as though shaking off care as a young girl drops a scarf of lace to her waist.
Presently she turned quietly to me:
”I have told Lady Coleville,” she said.
”Told her what, child?”
”Of my promise to Captain Butler. I have not yet told everything--even to you.”
Roused from my calm sympathy I swung around, alert, tingling with interest and curiosity.
”I gave her leave to inform Sir Peter,” she added. ”They were too unhappy about you and me, Carus. Now they will understand there is no chance.”
And when Sir Peter had asked me if Walter Butler was married, I had admitted it. Here was the matter already at a head, or close to it.
Sudden uneasiness came upon me, as I began to understand how closely the affront touched Sir Peter. What would he do?
”What is it called, and by what name, Carus, when a man whose touch one can not suffer so dominates one's thoughts--as he does mine?”
”It is not love,” I said gloomily.
”He swears it is. Do you believe there may lie something compelling in his eyes that charm and sadden--almost terrify, holding one pitiful yet reluctant?”
”I do not know. I do not understand the logic of women's minds, nor how they reason, nor why they love. I have seen delicacy mate with coa.r.s.eness, wit with stupidity, humanity with brutality, religion with the skeptic, aye, goodness with evil. I, too, ask why? The answer ever is the same--because of love!”
”Because of it, is reason; is it not?”
”So women say.”
”And men?”
”Aye, they say the same; but with men it is another sentiment, I think, though love is what we call it.”
”Why do men love, Carus?”
”Why?” I laughed. ”Men love--men love because they find it pleasant, I suppose--for variety, for family reasons.”
”For nothing else?”
”For a balm to that mad pa.s.sion driving them.”