A Gamble with Life. Silas K. Hocking
to Muller, and he failed to see that in case his schemes came to nothing he was proposing an act of deliberate dishonesty. He would save his honour at the expense of his honesty.
It was not of failure, however, he thought, as he looked towards the sunset. The future was opening out before his imagination in widening vistas of success.
"I shall astonish everybody," he said to himself, a bright, eager smile spreading itself over his face. "Muller believes in me, but he has no idea how great my scheme is. I don't see the end of it myself, for one thing will lead to another. Oh! I shall have a crowded life; for one success will beget other successes, and so I shall go forward—never idle—till my day's work is done."
He was roused from his pleasant reverie by a light footstep near him, and looking round quickly he saw the fair stranger who had interested him on two previous occasions. She did not hesitate for a moment in her walk, but came briskly forward till she was directly opposite where he sat.
"Pardon me," she said, in a voice that was distinctly musical in spite of its unfamiliar accent, "but can you tell me if there is a path anywhere hereabouts leading down to the beach?"
He was on his feet in a moment, and raising his hat he said, with a smile, "The nearest point is down Penwith Cove; that is at least half a mile further on."
"And is the path easy?"
"Quite easy."
"Not dangerous at all?"
"Not a bit," he answered, with a smile.
"You will excuse me speaking, won't you?" she said, with a mirthful light in her eyes. "I'm not at all sure that it's a bit proper. Sir Charles has read me several lectures already about speaking to people I don't know, but if I only speak to people I know I shall never speak at all when I'm out of the house."
"You are a stranger in St. Gaved?" he questioned, nervously.
"I come from across the water," she answered, with delightful frankness. "I never saw your country till four days ago."
"And do you like it?" he questioned.
"Well, yes—up to a certain point. I shall get used to it in time, no doubt. But at present it seems a bit dull and slow."
"You've lived in a city, perhaps?"—he was astonished at his boldness, but her whole manner seemed to invite conversation.
"That's just it," she replied. "And after New York this place seems a trifle dull and quiet."
"I should think so," he said, with a laugh. "Why, even natives like myself find it almost insufferable at times."
"Then why do you stay here? Why don't you go right away where the pulse of life beats more quickly?"
"Ah! that question is not easy to answer," he said, looking out over the fire-flecked sea. "Our home is here, our work lies here. Beyond is a great unknown. Many have gone out and have never returned."
"Got lost, eh?" she questioned, with a musical laugh.
"Lost to us who have remained," he answered. "Some have prospered, I have no doubt. Some have failed, and died in obscurity and neglect. Better, perhaps, endure the ills we have than fly to others we know not of."
"Well, yes, I guess there's truth in that," she answered, raising frankly her soft brown eyes to his. "Yet there's always fascination in the unknown, don't you think so?"
"No doubt of it."
"That's the reason, I expect, why I'm just aching to explore these cliffs, and the caves of which Sir Charles says there's any number."
"That won't take you very long," he answered, "though it would hardly be safe for you to go alone."
"That's what Sir Charles says; but would you mind telling me just where the danger comes in?"
"Well, you see, the rocks are often slippery. And if you are not acquainted with the tides you might get caught."
"Ah! that would be interesting."
"Well, scarcely. Strangers have been caught and drowned before now."
"They could not swim?"
"It would take a very strong swimmer to clear St. Gaved Point and get into the harbour."
She turned her eyes in that direction and looked grave.
He studied her face a little more closely and allowed his eyes to wander over her graceful and well-knit figure. She was very simply dressed, without ornament of any kind. A large picture hat shaded her pale face. Her eyes were large and dark, her forehead broad, her nose straight, her lips full and red.
She caught him looking at her and he blushed a little. "I don't think I could swim that distance," she said, turning her eyes again in the direction of St. Gaved Point.
"I don't think you would be wise to attempt it." Then he blushed again, for she turned on him a swift and searching glance, while her lips parted in a smile that seemed to say, "I did not ask you for advice."
For a moment there was silence, then she said, "Do you know the sea has been calling me ever since I came."
"Calling you?" he questioned.
"Well, I mean it fascinates me, if you understand. I want to get close to it, to paddle in it. It is so beautiful. It looks so cool and friendly. Beryl says she cannot bear the sea; that it is not friendly a bit; that it is cruel and noisy, and treacherous."
"Ah! she has lived near the sea most of her life."
"And yet you can scarcely see it from the Hall."
"But it can be heard on stormy nights, and when a westerly gale is raging its voice is terrible."
"You have lived here all your life?" and her lips parted in the most innocent smile.
"Here, and in a neighbouring parish," he answered, frankly.
"And do you like the sea?"
"Sometimes. On an evening like this, for instance, I could sit for hours looking at it, and listening to the low murmur of the waves. But in the winter I rarely come out on the cliffs."
"I have never seen the sea real mad," she said, reflectively; "but I expect I shall if I stay here long enough."
"Do you expect to stay long?" he questioned. If she asked questions he did not see why he might not.
"Well, I guess I shall stay in England a good many months anyhow," she answered slowly, and with an unmistakable accent; and she turned away her eyes, and a faint wave of colour tinged her pale cheeks.
He would have liked to have asked her a good many other questions, but he felt he had gone far enough.
"I fear I shall have to go back now," she said at length, without looking at him, "or they'll all be wondering what has become of me."
"You could not easily get lost in a place like this," he said, with a laugh.
"No, nobody would kidnap me," she said, arching her eyebrows.
"No, I don't think so," he answered in a tone that was half-mirthful, half-serious.
She raised her eyes to his for a moment in a keen searching glance, then, with a hasty "Good evening," turned and walked away in the direction she had come.
He stood and watched her until she had passed over the brow of the hill in the direction of Trewinion Hall. Then he slowly resumed his journey towards St. Gaved.
That night he awoke from a dream with a feeling of horror tearing at his heart. He dreamed that his great scheme had proved a failure, and that Felix Muller stood over him demanding the immediate fulfilment of the contract.
So vivid had been the dream that, for the moment, he seemed powerless to shake off the impression. He sat up in bed, and stared round him, while a cold perspiration broke out in beads upon his brow.