CHAPTER XV
THE SIMPLE LIFE
IT must not be imagined for a moment that a person of the quality andthe dignity of Mrs. Ewart-Crane could long sustain life under theconditions imposed upon her on that first night on the island. Thispromiscuous mixing with people in a very different sphere of lifewas not at all to her taste; she set about to remedy matters at theearliest possible opportunity.
Her slumbers during that night in the hut had been spoiled, as shedeclared, by the persistent snoring of Mrs. Stocker; Mrs. Stockerwas equally emphatic that she had not snored at all, but that Mrs.Ewart-Crane, on the other hand, had been no quiet neighbour. To add tothe good woman's troubles, her daughter Enid appeared to have struck upa sort of friendship with Bessie Meggison; there was much dodging toand fro from one compartment of the hut to the other, and a draggingaside in consequence of the improvised screen. More than that, Mrs.Ewart-Crane was conscious that after a night during which she hadtossed about restlessly on what she designated as "leaves and twigsand prickles" she did not look her best. It seemed, too, that untilsomething was devised ablutions were impossible.
However, Pringle had been early astir, and there was something at leastin the shape of breakfast, with a fire to warm the early morning air.They gathered about it, and made the best of a bad situation, accordingto their moods--Mr. Tant declaring wheezily that he had caught theworst cold he had ever had in his life--and Daniel Meggison statingthat but for an absurd prejudice on the part of Pringle to allowing himan early morning draught of strong waters to keep out the cold, thiswas in reality the very life for which Daniel Meggison had been piningthroughout his existence.
The finding of a little spring of pure clear water in the side of thehill above the wood to the west led to the unfortunate episode of thebarrel. There had, of course, been a barrel containing water, and thecontents had been jealously guarded; but the finding of the springsupply caused the barrel to be regarded by Pringle as an ordinaryarticle for domestic use. Whether or not he felt that Mrs. Stockerlooked more dilapidated than Mrs. Ewart-Crane will never be known;certain it is that he approached the former lady smilingly, with thevessel partly filled with water, and delicately suggested that shemight use it for her ablutions in the privacy of the hut. Mrs. Stockerwas gratefully accepting this boon, forgetful of the fact that therigged-up sail, while it concealed her from the people on the otherside of it, did not mask her voice, when Mrs. Ewart-Crane swept itaside, and stood indignant before the abashed Pringle and Mrs. Stocker.
"Is there no one in this community to whom I can appeal?" demandedMrs. Ewart-Crane. "Is it not sufficient that I am kept awake for thegreater part of one extremely long night, but that now, in the morning,I am to be ousted from the position Society has never yet denied to me?Who is this person, that she should be given precedence over me in sucha matter?"
"I'm very sorry, ma'am," said Pringle, scratching his chin--"but Ithought perhaps this lady"--he indicated Mrs. Stocker, who was standingwith folded arms on guard over the barrel--"I thought perhaps----"
"Well--what did you think?" demanded Mrs. Stocker.
Pringle had been on the very point of saying, as delicately aspossible, that he thought she needed it the most; but cowering underher gaze he abjectly said--"Nothing, ma'am"; and pretended to hear avoice calling him in the distance.
Mrs. Stocker held to her rights, and Mrs. Ewart-Crane went unwashed.But the matter, of course, could not end there; and before nightfall itwas known that some other arrangement must be made, or Mrs. Ewart-Craneat least would take her repose in the night air. Simon Quarle wasdisposed to let her do it; Gilbert looked hopeless; but Jordan Tantwas firm about the matter, and said that another place must be found.Accordingly a further search of the island was begun, Pringle throwinghimself into the matter with ardour, and with the utmost cheerfulness.
It was, after all, but an anticipating of after events. A little to thesouth of those miniature hills which rose in the centre of the island asort of cave was discovered, going back some dozen feet into the hillitself; and over the front of this the wonderful Pringle arranged asort of screen with the other sail, so that it might be lifted duringthe day, and form a pleasant shelter under which to sit, and might belowered discreetly at night. To this place Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enidwere duly escorted; and over them during the day Mr. Jordan Tant keptwatch and ward--extending that service even into the night, when he laydown outside the screen to sleep.
So far as the larger hut was concerned, the screen which divided itinto two was kept in its place; Mrs. Stocker and Bessie occupied oneside, and Daniel Meggison and Aubrey, with Mr. Edward Stocker, theother. They would have been willing to make arrangements for taking inSimon Quarle (though this was somewhat against the wishes of DanielMeggison), but Simon settled the matter in characteristic fashion bywrapping himself up in a great overcoat he wore, and sleeping in theboat upon the shore.
Guessing, perhaps, something concerning the difficulty in whichhis master found himself with these uninvited guests, Pringle hadeven arranged a separate sleeping place for Gilbert Byfield. On thetop of the hill, just above the spring--the highest point in theisland--Pringle laced branches, dragged from the trees, firmly togetherbetween the trunks of some young saplings growing in a bunch; and afterroofing them over in the same way, contrived a very comfortable sortof hut for his master. For his own part, he preferred the freedom ofthe open air on these warm nights, despite Gilbert's protests; morethan that, the moon still proving bright, he devoted some portion ofthe night to keeping watch, in the hope that some passing vessel mightcross the wide track of silver that lay upon the waters.
Thus it came about that only Jordan Tant, in his devotion, was leftoutside; and even he succumbed after a night or two, and crept up thehill, and craved shelter from Gilbert.
"Personally, I should be glad if I might be permitted to share thisplace with you--at night, I mean," said Mr. Jordan Tant. "Technically,of course, we are rivals, and that is a point upon which I shall nevergive way. I shudder to think what might have happened had Enid come tothis place without that constant reminder of my devotion which my merepresence here affords. Nevertheless, even those claims must be waivedwhen one is cold, and--and lonely."
"Come in, by all means," said Gilbert, smiling. "If it comes to that,I'm a little lonely myself--and a little bit afraid concerning thefuture. Frankly, I don't know what is to become of us."
"You alarm me," exclaimed Mr. Tant, seating himself on the ground, andstaring at his friend.
"You see, we might stay here for months--and I haven't the ghost of anotion what we're to get to eat," went on Gilbert. "I don't care toalarm the ladies about the matter, and I've said nothing to anyoneyet, except Pringle. But he tells me that the tinned foods are almostgone, and even his ingenuity hasn't been sufficient to enable him tocatch any fish. In other words, my dear Tant, we're on the verge ofstarvation."
"We may see a vessel," said Mr. Tant, with a gloomy face.
"And that vessel may not see us," retorted Gilbert. "In any case, wedon't seem to have been noticed yet, and the position is a desperateone. If nothing happens within the next twenty-four hours we must havea volunteer party for the boat, and that party must start off in thehope of discovering some other land comparatively near."
"I suppose you've no idea where we are?" asked Tant.
Gilbert Byfield shook his head. "Not the least in the world," he said."I paid no heed to the direction in which the vessel was going duringthose few days of our voyage, nor do I even know at what rate we went,nor how far. There's one curious thing about this island, by the way."
"What's that?" asked the other.
"Why, that the vegetation is not tropical, nor, for the matter of that,is the climate. I am more puzzled than I can say; but all the puzzlingin the world won't help us. Food we must have, and clothing; the ladiesespecially are at a serious inconvenience, in having nothing but whatthey stand up in."
"Personally, of course, I should like to do something of an apparen
tlybrave nature--something in the way of a rescue--just to impress Enid,"said Mr. Tant thoughtfully. "But I expect that when it comes to thepinch that sort of thing will fall to your share, and I shall have tostand aside and look on. And she admires brave men; she's rather rubbedthat point in once or twice."
"I'll promise you that if anything does happen that calls for bravery,you shall have the first chance, Tant," said Gilbert.
"I wasn't exactly suggesting that; there's nothing selfish about me, Ihope," retorted Tant.
Presently he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and fell into anuneasy slumber. Anxiety kept Byfield awake, and presently also urgedhim to leave the rough little hut, and to set off on a ramble in themoonlight. Pringle, sleeping like a dog with one eye open, stirred andsat up; then, reassured, lay down to sleep again. Gilbert picked hisway down the hillside into the wood, hearing more and more distinctlyas he moved the murmur of the sea. And most of all now, in the silenceof the night, he thought of Bessie--Bessie who had never complained;Bessie who worked hard, even here, for others; Bessie who had been,in her love and her innocence, so shamefully treated. He knew that hehad brought ruin upon her, in the sense that she would never acceptfrom him any help in the future, even should it happen that they wererescued from that place. He knew that she must start in some otherArcadia Street that old sordid battle of life he had but interrupted.He remembered bitterly enough how she had avoided him almost completelyin this place; he knew that she felt that everyone about her knew nowin what way she had lived, and on whose charity; he understood that sheraged fiercely within herself at the thought of uncharitable eyes thatwatched her, and uncharitable lips that whispered about her.
He went down through the wood, and came out upon the shore at thewestern side of the island. And there, standing startlingly enough inthat deserted place, was a woman at the very margin of the sea, herfigure showing dark against the moonlit water and the sky. He wentforward wonderingly, and yet with a vague feeling in his mind that heknew who it was; and so came to her, and spoke her name.
"Bessie!"
"I couldn't sleep; I came out into the silence and the moonlight; Iwanted to think," she said; and in that solemn hour it seemed as thoughthe barrier she had raised between them had gone down again, and couldnot ever again separate them. She seemed to look at him with the oldfriendliness; she let her hands rest in his, while they stood together,with only the sea and the moon for company.
"I couldn't sleep--and I too wanted to think," he said. "I wanted tothink most about you--about all that I had wanted and longed to do foryou--and about all the ruin I have brought upon you. I have rememberedall that you said to me on board the yacht--all that I deserved youshould say to me."
"I don't want you to remember that," she told him earnestly. "I layawake there to-night, and remembered that you were the only one thathad ever gone out of your way to do anything for me, or to help me; Iremembered that you spent your money recklessly for me, and to give mepleasure. And after that I said vile things to you, and told you that Ihated you."
"I deserved it every bit," said Gilbert. "I didn't understand at thetime--but I treated you like a child, without care or thought of yourfeelings in the matter--or of your future. I lied to you, and deceivedyou; but there was one matter about which I didn't lie."
"What was that?" she asked.
"When I said I loved you. That was true enough--it grows more trueevery day I live. I wouldn't part with any hour of all that we havespent together; I wouldn't go back, or undo anything I have done, ifthe undoing meant that I must lose any hour of that time. The yacht isgone--and we are poor castaways who may never leave this place alive;yet I'm glad--selfishly and brutally glad--for my own sake. Do youunderstand me, Bessie?"
She nodded slowly, keeping her head turned away from him. "Yes--Iunderstand," she replied. "And I believe you. I never meant anythingthat I said to you on the yacht--about the hating part, I mean," sheadded in a whisper.
He put his arms about her, and drew her close to him. "Have you nothingfurther to say to me?--or do you shut me out of your life altogether,Bessie?" he asked.
She bent her head down until her face was hidden on his arm. "You knowI can't do that, dear," she whispered. "I've tried hard to do it--butlove won't let me."
They stood for a long time there, without word or movement; it seemedas though, while he held her in his arms and she lay contentedly onhis breast, no words were needed. And all else was forgotten--pastbitternesses and misunderstandings--and even their present situation.That they were poor prisoners, cast away hopelessly and helplessly onan island of which they did not even know the name, did not matterthen; for love has wide wings that may stretch even across greatcontinents and great seas. Arcadia Street and Fiddler's Green and allthe rest of the amazing business lay far behind; they stood here in themoonlight and silence, forgetting even the grotesque figures that sleptso near them.
"THEY STOOD HERE IN THE MOONLIGHT AND SILENCE." _Page253_]
"It is strange to think, sweetheart, how all the life we knew--theonly life we seemed to understand--is left behind and forgotten," hewhispered presently. "We were this and that in the world--and it was asif the great place could not go on without us; and in a moment we'reswept away, and lost, and left stranded, high and dry out of all thehurly-burly of it. What is going to become of us I don't know--but eventhat doesn't matter."
"Nothing matters at all; nothing will ever matter again," shewhispered. "But oh, my dear love--I do pray you never to let memake-believe any more--always to let me understand exactly what ishappening--exactly the truth. The poor game has been played out now tothe bitter end; promise me that whatever the future may hold for us, mydear, we shall face it hand in hand, and without any pretence about it.Promise me that solemnly."
He kissed her lips, and promised solemnly that in future she shouldalways know the truth.
They left the sea behind them, and went up together through the woodstowards the hut that had been made for him by the industrious Pringle;it was a shorter way to her own sleeping place in the bigger hut. Quitenear to the place where the unconscious Jordan Tant crouched insidehis shelter and slumbered fitfully the pair halted for a moment, as asudden thought occurred to Gilbert.
"My darling Bessie--I want you to understand that I wouldn't haveanything that has happened changed in the least," he said, in a lowtone. "I could never have had you all to myself in any other place;foolish scruples and conventions would have crept in, and you wouldhave run away from me, and I should have lost you in the big world. Ifsomeone came to me to-morrow, and told me that we could be rescued, andcould go back to the commonplace world again, honestly I think that Iwould not be glad. If only we can manage to live somehow I want to stophere with you always."
They went on down across the hill, and disappeared from sight. Withina few yards of where they had stopped Pringle raised himself on hiselbow, wide awake, and stared after them.
"That settles it!" he said to himself. "I was in two minds about it,after what I found out this mornin'; but if the guv'nor wants anisland, an island he shall have. I was never in love myself--not toany great extent; but it's pretty to see it in others. Pringle, myboy, you are on an island, whatever Nature may say to the contrary;consequently, keep your mouth shut, and go to sleep."
He dropped down again contentedly--chuckled once softly to himself--andslept.