The Two Saplings. Mazo de la Roche
haven’t got them,” she said impatiently. “Your father has them. Palmer, what is the boy’s name?”
Palmer looked up and down the deck. “What boy?” he asked.
“Good heavens! The English boy you’ve been with all the way across.”
“I haven’t been with him all the way across. I’ve been with you most of the time.” He wrinkled his smooth brow. “His name is Mark—Mark Rendel. Say, Boss, can I have the binoculars?”
Robert gave them him and he hurried off.
Camilla sat lost in thought. Her mind moved through the mists of memory trying to form some solid shape to which she might attach the name. “Mark Rendel,” she repeated softly. “I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”
Robert had an extraordinarily good memory for names. He thought a moment, then said,—“Rendel was the name of the people whose baby was born in the nursing home the same day as Palmer. Captain Rendel, the man’s name was.”
“And they named the baby Mark! Why, Robert, what an astounding coincidence! That boy is the baby! If his parents are with him, then we six are meeting again on this boat. Did you ever hear of anything so strange?”
“It certainly is a coincidence,” he agreed.
Both sat silent for a space, absorbed by the singularity of what had happened. He noticed the way she had clenched her hands and was looking at them out of narrowing eyes, as though they held some secret which she was afraid would escape her.
“Yes,” she repeated. “This Mark Rendel is the Mark Rendel who was born just across the corridor from Palmer—on the same day—the same day.”
“Huh-huh,” he agreed, listening to the pound of the waves against the side of the ship. In an odd way he was trying to protect himself against what she might say next. They sat silent a space.
She unclenched her hands. She looked strange.
“Robert, it couldn’t have happened, could it? Do you know what I mean? . . . Oh, Robert, that place was so carelessly run! Wouldn’t it be terrible if——” Her voice broke. “Oh, Robert!”
He looked at her almost pleadingly. “Camilla, I want you to put any sensational idea right out of your head.”
“But, Robert—the boy—why, he’s the image of you! Everybody’s always saying how much like me Janet is. But she’s not half as much like me as that boy is like you. Oh, Robert, he’s so like you.”
“It’s just a chance resemblance. It couldn’t be anything else. Don’t get excited.”
“But I’ve got to know; I’ve got to find those people!” She struggled up from her chair and pushed the rug away from her.
He gathered it up and folded it.
“Come,” she said impatiently. “We haven’t any time to spare. I must talk to them.”
He laid the neatly folded rug on her chair.
“You saw the man,” she said, as they went along the deck. “What did he look like?”
“I forget. I think he was tall and thin. He’d a small dark moustache.”
“Do you see that couple in the corner reading? He’s reading the Sketch. Is that the man?”
Robert looked at him carefully. “Yes. That’s him. I’d know him anywhere. He hasn’t changed.”
“Don’t move for a minute. Stand right here and look out at the water. Be talking to me. I want to have a look at them before I speak.”
He obediently stared at the broken, foam-flecked waves of the Channel. He said, in a hurried undertone:
“Take my advice, Camilla. Don’t speak to these people. You’ve an impossible idea in your head. They’ll think you’re crazy. Take my advice, just for once. Just take my advice, Camilla.”
“I’m always taking your advice,” she retorted. “But I’d never have another moment’s peace if I didn’t probe this thing. Robert—Palmer looks like that woman! God, she smiled then and it was Palmer’s smile! I’m going to speak to her.”
She went straight over to the two people absorbed in their illustrated weeklies. She said, in her clear, emphatic voice, her body tense:
“Pardon me, but aren’t you Mrs. Rendel?”
The Englishwoman raised her eyes to Camilla’s face in a look that was curious but not unfriendly.
“Yes,” she answered, “I am!”
Captain Rendel had got to his feet. His expression was polite but slightly irritated. Then, as he noticed how attractive Camilla was, his irritation faded.
Camilla looked straight into Mrs. Rendel’s eyes. “We’ve never met,” she said, “but we went through the same experience in rooms opposite one another in Miss Holt’s nursing home in London, thirteen years ago last November. Do you remember?”
Mrs. Rendel looked puzzled, then smiled. She said,—“Yes, I remember. There was an American baby born the same day as my boy. Are, you his mother?”
“Yes. I’m Camilla Wylde. This is my husband.”
Robert’s face was heavy with reluctance as he came forward and shook hands. He said to Captain Rendel:
“You saved me from falling when I was getting into the elevator in the nursing home. Do you remember?”
It was plain that Captain Rendel did not remember. But he said,—“Yes, yes,—of course.”
“I guess I’ve changed a lot since then. I’ve got a corporation and grey hair. But I’d have known you anywhere.” He looked anxiously at Camilla, waiting to see what she would do next.
Captain Rendel dragged forward two empty chairs and the four sat down somewhat uneasily.
“I’m afraid we’re just going to dock,” said Mrs. Rendel. “I must find Mark.”
Camilla twisted her fingers together in her lap. She was very pale. “I’ve got something terribly important to say,” she began breathlessly. “It’s about our two boys. You must listen to me.”
“For my part,” interrupted Robert, “I’m against saying anything. I think it’s a mistake.”
Camilla’s fine grey eyes looked searchingly into Captain Rendel’s face. “You wouldn’t want to live under a delusion, would you? If you found something mysterious in your life I think you’d want to clear it up.”
Now he looked defensive but he said,—“Yes. I’d want to clear it up.”
“Oh, you must think I’m crazy! But I’m not. It’s only that a terrible suspicion is tormenting me. That is, ever since I saw your boy and my husband together. Your boy is the image of my husband.” She saw the blood mount to their faces. Their look of wanting to escape from a demented person. “Please don’t think I’m crazy,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “This is as terrible for me as it is for you. What I think has happened is that the nurse got our babies mixed and that you have our boy and that we have yours.”
The colour receded from Mrs. Rendel’s face. It looked pale and set. She rose. She was a fine-looking woman in a careless blond way, as though she lived a country life and had never had anything in it to conceal. She said coldly, addressing Robert:
“I think you will understand that my husband and I can’t listen to this. I’m afraid your wife is not well.”
He was miserably embarrassed, still he couldn’t have Camilla spoken of that way. He said:
“My wife’s well enough, but she’s worried to death over this thing. And it does seem queer when you think about it.”
He