Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies Page 14

  Morris looked round the comfortable sitting-room with its recessed Tudorwindows, its tall bookcases and open hearth, where burned a bright fireof old ship's timbers supported on steel dogs, and thought to himselfthat he was fortunate to be there. Then the door opened, he heard thehousemaid's voice say, "This way please, Miss," and Stella came in. Shewore a plain white dress that seemed to fit her very well, though whereshe got it from he never discovered, and her luxuriant hair was twistedup into a simple knot. On the bosom of her dress was fixed a spray ofbrilliant ampelopsis leaves; it was her only ornament, but none couldhave been more striking. For the rest, although she limped and stilllooked dark and weary about the eyes, to all appearances she was notmuch the worse for their terrible adventure.

  Morris glanced at her. Could this dignified and lovely young lady bethat red-cloaked, loose-haired Valkyrie whom he had seen singing atdaybreak upon the prow of the sinking ship, or the piteous bedraggledperson whom he had supported from the altar in the Dead Church?

  She guessed his thought--from the beginning Stella had this curiouspower of discovering his mind--and said with a smile:

  "Fine feathers make fine birds, and even Cleopatra would have lookeddreadful after a November night in an open boat."

  "Have you recovered?" he asked.

  "Yes, Mr. Monk; that is, I don't think I am going to have inflammationof the lungs or anything horrid of the sort. The remedies and that walkstopped it. But my feet are peeling from being soaked so long in saltwater, and my hands are not much better. See," and she held them towardshim.

  Then dinner was announced, and for the second time that day they walkedarm-in-arm.

  "It seems a little strange, doesn't it?" suggested Morris as he surveyedthe great refectory in which they two, seated at the central table,looked so lone and small.

  "Yes," she answered; "but so it should, anything quite usual would havebeen out of place to-day."

  Then he asked her how her father was going on, and heard what he hadalready learned from the doctor, that he was doing as well as could beexpected.

  "By the way, Mr. Monk," she added; "if you can spare a few minutes afterdinner, and are not too tired, he would so much like to see you."

  "Of course," answered Morris a little nervously, for he scented adisplay of fervent gratitude.

  After this they dropped into desultory conversation, curiously differentfrom the intimate talk which passed between them in the boat. Thenthey had been in danger, and at times in the very shadow of Death; acondition that favours confidences since those who stand beneath hiswings no longer care to hide their hearts. The reserves which so largelydirect our lives are lifted, their necessity is past, and in the face ofthe last act of Nature, Nature asserts herself. Who cares to continue toplay a part when the audience has dispersed, the curtain is falling, andthe pay-box has put up its shutters? Now, very unexpectedly these twowere on the stage again, and each assumed the allotted role.

  Stella admired the room; whereon Morris set to work to explain itscharacteristics, to find, to his astonishment, that Miss Fregeliushad more knowledge of architecture than he could boast. He pointed outcertain details, alleging them to be Elizabethan work, to which age theyhad been credited for generations, whereon she suggested and, indeed,proved, that some of them dated from the earlier years of Henry VIII.,and that some were late Jacobean. While Morris was wondering how hecould combat this revolutionary opinion, the servant brought in atelegram. It was from Mary, at Beaulieu, and ran:

  "Had not heard that you were drowned, but am deeply thankful that youare saved. Why did you pass a night at sea in this weather? Is it ariddle? Grieved to say my father not so well. Best love, and please keepon shore. MARY."

  At first Morris was angry with this rather flippant message; then helaughed. As he had already discovered, in fact, his anxieties had beenquite groundless. The page-boy, Thomas, it appeared, when questioned,had given the inquirers to understand that his master had gone out tofish, taking his breakfast with him. Later, on his non-appearance,he amended this statement, suggesting out of the depths of a fertileimagination, that he had sailed down to Northwold, where he meant topass the night. Therefore, although the cook, a far-seeing woman whoknew her Thomas and hated him, had experienced pangs of doubt, nobodyelse troubled the least, and even the small community of Monkslandremained profoundly undisturbed as to the fate of one of its principalinhabitants.

  So little is an unsympathetic world concerned in our greatest and mostparticular adventures! A birth, a marriage, an inquest, a scandal--thesemove it superficially, for the rest it has no enthusiasm to spare. Thiscold neglect of events which had seemed to him so important reacted uponMorris, who, now that he had got over his chill and fatigue, saw themin their proper proportions. A little adventure in an open boat at seawhich had ended without any mishap, was not remarkable, and might evenbe made to appear ridiculous. So the less said about it, especially toMary, whose wit he feared, the better.

  When dinner was finished Stella left the room, passing down its shadowedrecesses with a peculiar grace of which even her limp could not rob her.Ten minutes later, while Morris sat sipping a glass of claret, the nursecame down to tell him that Mr. Fregelius would like to see him if hewere disengaged. Reflecting that he might as well get the interviewover, Morris followed her at once to the Abbot's chamber, where the sickman lay.

  Except for a single lamp near the bed, the place was unlighted, but bythe fire, its glow falling on her white-draped form and pale, uncommonface, sat Stella. As he entered she rose, and, coming forward,accompanied him to the bedside, saying, in an earnest voice:

  "Father, here is our host, Mr. Monk, the gentleman who saved my life atthe risk of his own."

  The patient raised his bandaged head and stretched out a long thin hand;he could stir nothing else, for his right thigh was in splints beneath acoffer-like erection designed to keep the pressure of the blankets fromhis injured limb.

  "Sir, I thank you," he said in a dry, staccato voice; "all the humanitythat is lacking from the hearts of those rude wretches, the crew of theTrondhjem, must have found its home in you."

  Morris looked at the dark, quiet eyes that seemed to express much whichthe thin and impassive face refused to reveal; at the grey pointed beardand the yellowish skin of the outstretched arm. Here before him, hefelt, lay a man whose personality it was not easy to define, one whomight be foolish, or might be able, but of whose character the leadingnote was reticence, inherent or acquired. Then he took the hand, andsaid simply:

  "Pray, say no more about it. I acted on an impulse and some wanderingwords of yours, with results for which I could not hope. There isnothing to thank me for."

  "Then, sir, I thank God, who inspired you with that impulse, and mayevery blessing reward your bravery."

  Stella looked up as though to speak, but changed her mind and returnedto her seat by the fire.

  "What is there to reward?" said Morris impatiently; "that your daughteris still alive is my reward. How are you to-night, Mr. Fregelius?"