Part 6 (2/2)

Dawn. He realizes the d.u.c.h.essa's existence when he wakes. (His dreams had been coloured by her, but that's beside the mark.)

Daybreak. The d.u.c.h.essa ascends on deck and smiles at him.

Breakfast time. The d.u.c.h.essa sits opposite to him.

The sunny morning hours. The d.u.c.h.essa sews fine lace; she talks, she smiles,--the smile that radiates through the sadness of her eyes.

And so on, throughout the day, till the evening gloaming brings a hint of further intimacy into their conversation, and night falls as she wishes him pleasant dreams before descending to her cabin.

He dwelt then, for the moment, solely in her friends.h.i.+p, but vaguely the half articulate thought of the future began to stir within him, pulsing with a secret possibility of joy he barely dared to contemplate.

CHAPTER VI

AT TENERIFFE

It was about ten o'clock of a sunny morning that the _Fort Salisbury_ cast anchor off Teneriffe, preparatory to undergoing the process known as coaling.

Antony, from her decks, gazed towards the sh.o.r.e and the buildings lying in the sunlight. Minute doll-like figures were busy on the land; mules, with various burdens, were ascending the steep street. Boats were already putting out to the s.h.i.+p, to carry ash.o.r.e such pa.s.sengers as desired to spend a few hours on land.

The whole scene was one of movement, light, and colour. The sea, sky, and earth were singing the Benedicite, and Antony's heart echoed the blessings. It was all so astonis.h.i.+ngly good and pleasant,--the clean, fresh morning, the blue blue of the sky, the green blue of the water, and the possibilities of the unknown mountain land lying before him.

There is an extraordinary fascination in exploring an unknown land, even if the exploration is to be of somewhat limited duration. The s.h.i.+p by which Antony had travelled to the Cape, had sailed straight out; it had pa.s.sed the peak of Teneriffe at a distance. Antony had looked at it as it rose from the sea, like a great purple amethyst half veiled in cloud. He had wondered then, idly enough, whether it would ever be his lot to set foot upon its sh.o.r.es. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined under what actual circ.u.mstances that lot would be his. How could he have guessed at what the fates were holding in store for him? They had held their secret close, giving him no smallest inkling of it. If we dream of paradise, our dream is modelled on the greatest happiness we have known; therefore, since our happiness is, doubtless, but a rushlight as compared to the suns.h.i.+ne of paradise, our dreams must necessarily fall exceedingly far short of the reality. Hitherto Antony's happiness had been largely monochrome, flecked with tiny specks of radiance. He might indeed have dreamed of something a trifle brighter, but how was it possible for him to have formed from them the smallest conception of the happiness that was awaiting him?

”It is really perfect,” said a voice behind him, echoing his thoughts.

Antony turned.

The d.u.c.h.essa had come on deck, spurred and gauntleted for their adventure,--in other words, attired in a soft, black dress, a shady black hat on her head, crinkly black gloves, which reached to the elbow, on her hands, and carrying a blue sunshade.

”It is really perfect,” she repeated, gazing towards the mountainous land before them, the doll-like figures on the sh.o.r.e, the boats cleaving the sparkling waters.

”Absolutely,” declared Antony, his eyes wrinkling at the corners in sheer delight. ”The G.o.ds have favoured us.”

”Is there a boat ready?” she demanded, eager as a child to start on the adventure.

”A boat,” said Antony, looking over the s.h.i.+p's side, ”will be with us in a couple of moments I should say, to judge by the strength of the rower's arms. He has been racing the other fellows, and will be first at his goal.”

”Then come,” she said. ”Let us be first too. I don't want to lose a minute.”

Antony followed in her wake. Her sentiments most a.s.suredly were his. It was not a day of which to squander one iota.

Ten minutes later they were on their way to the sh.o.r.e. Behind them the _Fort Salisbury_ loomed up large and black from the limpid water; before them lay the land of possibilities.

The other pa.s.sengers in the boat kept up a running fire of comments. A stout gentleman in a sun-helmet, which he considered _de rigeur_ as long as he was anywhere at all near the regions of Africa, gazed towards the sh.o.r.e through a pair of field-gla.s.ses. At intervals he made known such objects of interest as he observed, in loud husky asides to his wife, a small meek woman, who clung to him, metaphorically speaking, as the ivy to the oak. Her vision being unaided by field-gla.s.ses, she was unable to follow his observations with the degree of intelligence he demanded.

”I don't think I quite--” she remarked anxiously now and again, blinking in the same direction as her spouse.

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