A Bachelor Husband. Ruby M. Ayres
woman in the crowd began to cry, "Poor child! Poor child!" For Marie Celeste looked only a child as she lay there, her wet hair tumbled all around her.
"It's too late, she's gone!" someone else said, hopelessly, and Feathers turned like a lion.
"It's not too late," he thundered. He went down on his knees beside her, exhausted as he was, and worked like a giant to save her, and all the time he was wondering what Chris would do, what Chris would say, and if he would be expected to break the news to him.
And then, after a long time, a little shell-like tinge of color crept back to the marble whiteness of Marie's face—the doctor gave a little exclamation, and went on with his work harder than before.
Feathers asked him a harsh question:
"Can we save her?"
"I think so—yes! … "
Each moment seemed an eternity, until, with labored, choking breaths and little gasping cries, Marie struggled back to life and the golden summer morning.
Feathers rose to his feet. "I'll go on and tell her husband. You're sure she's out of danger?"
The doctor smiled, well pleased.
"Oh, she's all right now." He turned to the stretcher upon which they had laid the girl, and Feathers started to walk away, but the crowd would not have this. They surged round him, slapping him on the back and cheering him to the echo. They were only too eager and willing to give praise where it was due, and at last, in desperation, Feathers broke into a run and eluded them.
He went into the hotel across the garden, and through a side door, his dripping clothes leaving little wet marks all the way. He met one of the porters in the passage. The man stopped with a gasp of dismay.
"Good heavens, sir! Has there been an accident?"
"Yes, one of the ladies here, a Mrs. Lawless, but she's all right 43 now. Can you find her husband for me? He's probably in the writing- room. Do you know him?"
"Oh, yes, sir, but … "
"Well, clear off and fetch him, then! I'm all right—don't make a fuss. They're bringing her here. Hurry, man, hurry!"
He was back in a moment with Chris, looking greatly mystified and not at all upset, for the porter had been afraid to tell him the truth of what had happened, and had merely said he was wanted.
Feathers explained in a few words.
"Mrs. Lawless got out of her depths or got cramp or something, but she's all right. She had a nasty scare, though. It's all right; they're bringing her along."
Chris went dreadfully white. He clutched his friend's arm. "You're not lying to me!" he said, hoarsely. "She's not—dead!"
Feathers laughed. "Good lord, man, no! I tell you it's all right. She got a bit of a ducking. She's probably back in the hotel by this time; you'd better go and see for yourself."
But Chris had gone before he had finished speaking, and Feathers crept away up to his room and peeled off his sodden clothes.
He felt very exhausted now it was all over. It had been a ghastly five minutes when he dived again and again into that still green water. He felt that he would never care for the sea in the same way any more.
Supposing she had been drowned! Although he knew that she was safe and well, and to-morrow would probably be none the worse for her accident. Feathers involuntarily echoed the words of the woman in the crowd who had wept.
"Poor child! poor child!"
He laughed at himself directly afterwards, as he got into a dry suit, tried to reduce some sort of order to his unruly hair, and went downstairs.
He was a simple sort of fellow, and thought so little of his own action that it gave him a positive shock when the visitors in the lounge insisted on giving him a cheer as he went through. The news 44 of what had occurred had spread like wildfire and, red faced and frowning angrily. Feathers had to submit to being made a hero.
Mrs. Heriot, who had hitherto deliberately avoided him, insisted on shaking hands, and gushed that she was 80 proud of him, so delighted to know such a brave man.
Feathers turned on her almost fiercely.
"It's all rubbish," he declared. "I happened to be the nearest, that was all! For heaven's sake, Mrs. Heriot, say no more!"
He went without his lunch because he could not bear the battery of eyes which he knew would be upon him all the time. He sat up in his own room reading until Atkins, still pale and shaken, came knocking at the door.
Feathers said, "Come in," not very pleasantly, and the boy went across to him and held out an unsteady hand.
"I say, you're a ripping sport!" he said in heartfelt tones. "If she'd gone I should have jumped in and drowned myself; I swear I should."
"And a lot of good that would have done," Feathers said dryly. "For heaven's sake, chuck it, young 'un, and talk about something we can all enjoy."
But Atkins apparently could talk of nothing else, and he kept harping on the same subject until in desperation Feathers took him by the shoulders and put him outside.
Even then there was no peace, for almost directly Chris himself arrived.
"They tell me you saved her life," he said agitatedly. "I ought to have guessed! It's the kind of thing you would do. I can't—can't tell you how grateful I am. If anything had happened to her … "
Feathers chucked the book he was reading across the room with violence.
"Well, nothing has happened to her," he said crossly. "So, for the love of Mike, shut up!" He walked over to the window. "I suppose she is all right?" he asked casually.
"She's weak, of course, but the doctor says she'll be quite herself in a day or two." Chris hesitated. "She'd like to see you, Feathers."
Feathers ran a distracted hand across his hair.
45 "More heroics!" he said savagely. "Well, I refuse! I absolutely refuse! I hate this tommyrot, I tell you!"
Chris looked offended. "I think she'll be hurt if you don't go." he said diffidently.
There was a little silence.
"Oh, all right!" Feathers turned resignedly to the door. "Do I go now, and do you come with me?"
"Yes."
They went out of the room together and along the corridor.
Marie was lying on a sofa by the window, wrapped in a blue woolly gown. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow behind her, and she looked very frail and wan.
She held out her hand to Feathers, smiling faintly.
"I know you'll hate it," she said weakly, "but—I want to thank you. They tell me "—her brown eyes went past him to where her husband stood—"Chris tells me that you saved my life."
Feathers managed a laugh.
"Chris exaggerates," he said uncomfortably. "I happened to be lucky enough to pull you out—that was all. I hope you'll soon feel yourself again."
"Thank you, yes." He was still holding her hand, and, suddenly realizing it, he let it go abruptly.
Chris had gone to the door with the doctor, and for a moment Marie and Feathers were alone.
"Mr. Dakers," she said hesitatingly.
"Yes."
Her brown eyes were raised to his ugly face appealingly.
"I was horrid to you this morning, I know! It was—hateful of me! But there was a reason … some day I'll tell you."
He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Lawless; it's all right."
"Yes, but it isn't," she insisted weakly. "And I want