Part 52 (1/2)

Beth's eyes filled with tears. To be thought unlike other people was the one thing that made her quail.

”Well, mamma, what am I to do?” she said. ”I hate to vex you, goodness knows; but I must be doing something. The days are long and dreary.”

She wiped her eyes. ”When people warned you that you would have trouble with me, they always said unless you sent me to school.”

Mrs. Caldwell rocked herself on her chair forlornly. ”School would do you no good,” she declared at last. ”No, Beth, you are my cross, and I must bear it. If I forgive you again this time, will you be a better girl in future?”

”I don't believe it's my fault that I ever annoy you,” Beth answered drily.

”Whose fault is it, then?” her mother demanded.

Beth shrugged her shoulders and began to balance the pencil on her fingers once more.

Mrs. Caldwell got up and stood looking at her for a little with a gathering expression of dislike on her face which it was not good to see; then she went towards the door.

”You are incorrigible,” she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed as she opened it, making the remark to cover her retreat.

Beth sighed heavily, then resolved herself into a Christian martyr, cruelly misjudged--an idea which she pursued with much satisfaction to herself for the rest of the day.

In consequence of that conversation with her mother, when the evening came her conscience accused her, and she made no attempt to go out.

She was to meet Alfred and d.i.c.ksie on Sat.u.r.day, their next half-holiday, and she would wait till then. That was Wednesday.

During the interval, however, a strange chill came over her feelings.

The thought of Alfred was as incessant as ever, but it came without the glow of delight; something was wrong.

They were to meet on the rocks behind the far pier at low water on Sat.u.r.day. Few people came to the far pier, and, when they did, it was seldom that they looked over; and they could not have seen much if they had, for the rocks were brown with seaweed, and dark figures wandering about on them became indistinguishable. Beth went long before the time. It was a beautiful still grey day, such as she loved, and she longed to be alone with the sea. The tide was going out, and she had a fancy for following it from rock to rock as it went. Some of the bigger rocks were flat-topped islands, separated from the last halting-place of the tide by narrow straits, across which she sprang; and on these she would lie her length, peering down into the clear depths on the farther side, where the healthy happy sea-creatures disported themselves, and seaweeds of wondrous colours waved in fantastic forms. The water lapped up and up and up the rocks, rising with a sobbing sound, and bringing fresh airs with it that fanned her face, and caused her to draw in her breath involuntarily, and inhale long deep draughts with delight. As the water went out, bright runnels were left where rivers had been, and miniature bays became sheltered coves, paved with polished pebbles or purple mussels, and every little sandy s.p.a.ce was ribbed with solid waves where the busy lob-worms soon began to send up their ropy castings. Beyond the break of the water the silver sea sloped up to the horizon, and on it, rocking gently, far out, a few cobles were scattered, with rich red sails all set ready, waiting for a breeze. It was an exquisite scene, remote from all wail of human feeling, and strangely tranquillising. Gradually it gained upon Beth. Her bosom heaved with the heaving water rhythmically, and she lost herself in contemplation of sea and sky scape. Before she had been many minutes p.r.o.ne upon the farthest rock, the vision and the dream were upon her. That other self of hers unfurled its wings, and she floated off, revelling in an ecstasy of gentle motion. Beyond the sea-line were palaces with terraced gardens, white palaces against which gra.s.s and trees showed glossy green; and there she wandered among the flowers, and waited. She was waiting for something that did not happen, for some one who did not come.

Suddenly she sat up on her rock. The sun was sinking behind her, the silver sea shone iridescent, the tide had turned. But where were the boys? She looked about her. Out on the sands beyond the rocks on her right, a man was wading in the water with a net, shrimping. Close at hand another was gathering mussels for bait, and a gentleman was walking towards her over the slippery rocks, balancing himself as though he found it difficult to keep his feet; but these were the only people in sight. The gentleman was a stranger. He wore a dark-blue suit, with a s.h.i.+rt of wonderful whiteness, and Beth could not help noticing how altogether well-dressed he was--too well-dressed for climbing on the rocks. She noticed his dress particularly, because well-dressed men were rare in Rainharbour. He was tall, with glossy black hair inclining to curl, slight whiskers and moustache, blue eyes, and a bright complexion. A woman with as much colour would have been accused of painting; in him it gave to some people the idea of superabundant health, to others it suggested a phthisical tendency.

Beth looked at him as he approached as she looked at everybody and everything with interest--nothing escaped her; but he made no great impression upon her. She thought of him princ.i.p.ally as a man with a watch; and when he was near enough she asked him what time it was. He told her, looking hard at her, and smiling pleasantly as he returned his watch to his pocket. She noticed that his teeth were good, but too far apart, a defect which struck her as unpleasant.

”Why, it is quite late!” she exclaimed, forgetting to thank him in her surprise.

”Are you all alone here?” he asked.

”I was waiting for some friends,” she answered, ”but they have not come. They must have been detained.”

She began to walk back as she spoke, and the gentleman turned too perforce, for the tide was close upon them.

”Let me help you,” he said, holding out his hand, which was noticeably white and well-shaped; ”the rocks are rough and slippery.”

”I can manage, thank you,” Beth answered. ”I am accustomed to them.”

Beth involuntarily resolved herself into a young lady the moment she addressed this man, and spoke now with the self-possession of one accustomed to courtesies. Even at that age her soft cultivated voice and easy a.s.surance of manner, and above all her laugh, which was not the silvery laugh of fiction, but the soundless laugh of good society, marked the cla.s.s to which she belonged; and as he stumbled along beside her, her new acquaintance wondered how it happened that she was at once so well-bred and so shabbily dressed. He began to question her guardedly.

”Do you know Rainharbour well?” he asked.

”I live here,” Beth answered.

”Then I suppose you know every one in the place,” he pursued.