English
Bravewinds,blowingfair,swiftlydrovetheGhostnorthwardintothesealherd.
Weencountereditwelluptotheforty-fourthparallel,inarawandstormyseaacrosswhichthewindharriedthefog-banksineternalflight.
Fordaysatatimewecouldneverseethesunnortakeanobservation;thenthewindwouldsweepthefaceoftheoceanclean,thewaveswouldrippleandflash,andwewouldlearnwherewewere.
Adayofclearweathermightfollow,orthreedaysorfour,andthenthefogwouldsettledownuponus,seeminglythickerthanever.
Thehuntingwasperilous;yettheboats,lowereddayafterday,wereswallowedupinthegreyobscurity,andwereseennomoretillnightfall,andoftennottilllongafter,whentheywouldcreepinlikesea-wraiths,onebyone,outofthegrey.
Wainwright—thehunterwhomWolfLarsenhadstolenwithboatandmen—tookadvantageoftheveiledseaandescaped.
Hedisappearedonemorningintheencirclingfogwithhistwomen,andweneversawthemagain,thoughitwasnotmanydayswhenwelearnedthattheyhadpassedfromschoonertoschooneruntiltheyfinallyregainedtheirown.
ThiswasthethingIhadsetmymindupondoing,buttheopportunityneveroffered.
Itwasnotinthemate’sprovincetogooutintheboats,andthoughImanœuvredcunninglyforit,WolfLarsennevergrantedmetheprivilege.
Hadhedoneso,IshouldhavemanagedsomehowtocarryMissBrewsterawaywithme.
Asitwas,thesituationwasapproachingastagewhichIwasafraidtoconsider.
Iinvoluntarilyshunnedthethoughtofit,andyetthethoughtcontinuallyaroseinmymindlikeahauntingspectre.
Ihadreadsea-romancesinmytime,whereinfigured,asamatterofcourse,thelonewomaninthemidstofashiploadofmen;butIlearned,now,thatIhadnevercomprehendedthedeepersignificanceofsuchasituation—thethingthewritersharpeduponandexploitedsothoroughly.
Andhereitwas,now,andIwasfacetofacewithit.
Thatitshouldbeasvitalaspossible,itrequirednomorethanthatthewomanshouldbeMaudBrewster,whonowcharmedmeinpersonasshehadlongcharmedmethroughherwork.
Noonemoreoutofenvironmentcouldbeimagined.
Shewasadelicate,etherealcreature,swayingandwillowy,lightandgracefulofmovement.
Itneverseemedtomethatshewalked,or,atleast,walkedaftertheordinarymannerofmortals.
Herswasanextremelithesomeness,andshemovedwithacertainindefinableairiness,approachingoneasdownmightfloatorasabirdonnoiselesswings.
ShewaslikeabitofDresdenchina,andIwascontinuallyimpressedwithwhatImaycallherfragility.
AsatthetimeIcaughtherarmwhenhelpingherbelow,soatanytimeIwasquiteprepared,shouldstressorroughhandlingbefallher,toseehercrumbleaway.
Ihaveneverseenbodyandspiritinsuchperfectaccord.
Describeherverse,asthecriticshavedescribedit,assublimatedandspiritual,andyouhavedescribedherbody.
Itseemedtopartakeofhersoul,tohaveanalogousattributes,andtolinkittolifewiththeslenderestofchains.
Indeed,shetrodtheearthlightly,andinherconstitutiontherewaslittleoftherobustclay.
ShewasinstrikingcontrasttoWolfLarsen.
Eachwasnothingthattheotherwas,everythingthattheotherwasnot.
Inotedthemwalkingthedecktogetheronemorning,andIlikenedthemtotheextremeendsofthehumanladderofevolution—theonetheculminationofallsavagery,theotherthefinishedproductofthefinestcivilization.
True,WolfLarsenpossessedintellecttoanunusualdegree,butitwasdirectedsolelytotheexerciseofhissavageinstinctsandmadehimbutthemoreformidableasavage.
Hewassplendidlymuscled,aheavyman,andthoughhestrodewiththecertitudeanddirectnessofthephysicalman,therewasnothingheavyabouthisstride.
Thejungleandthewildernesslurkedintheupliftanddownputofhisfeet.
Hewascat-footed,andlithe,andstrong,alwaysstrong.
Ilikenedhimtosomegreattiger,abeastofprowessandprey.
Helookedit,andthepiercingglitterthataroseattimesinhiseyeswasthesamepiercingglitterIhadobservedintheeyesofcagedleopardsandotherpreyingcreaturesofthewild.
Butthisday,asInotedthempacingupanddown,Isawthatitwasshewhoterminatedthewalk.
TheycameuptowhereIwasstandingbytheentrancetothecompanion-way.
Thoughshebetrayeditbynooutwardsign,Ifelt,somehow,thatshewasgreatlyperturbed.
Shemadesomeidleremark,lookingatme,andlaughedlightlyenough;butIsawhereyesreturntohis,involuntarily,asthoughfascinated;thentheyfell,butnotswiftlyenoughtoveiltherushofterrorthatfilledthem.
ItwasinhiseyesthatIsawthecauseofherperturbation.
Ordinarilygreyandcoldandharsh,theywerenowwarmandsoftandgolden,andalla-dancewithtinylightsthatdimmedandfaded,orwelleduptillthefullorbswerefloodedwithaglowingradiance.
Perhapsitwastothisthatthegoldencolourwasdue;butgoldenhiseyeswere,enticingandmasterful,atthesametimeluringandcompelling,andspeakingademandandclamourofthebloodwhichnowoman,muchlessMaudBrewster,couldmisunderstand.
Herownterrorrusheduponme,andinthatmomentoffear—themostterriblefearamancanexperience—Iknewthatininexpressiblewaysshewasdeartome.
TheknowledgethatIlovedherrusheduponmewiththeterror,andwithbothemotionsgrippingatmyheartandcausingmybloodatthesametimetochillandtoleapriotously,Ifeltmyselfdrawnbyapowerwithoutmeandbeyondme,andfoundmyeyesreturningagainstmywilltogazeintotheeyesofWolfLarsen.Buthehadrecoveredhimself.
Thegoldencolourandthedancinglightsweregone.
Coldandgreyandglitteringtheywereashebowedbrusquelyandturnedaway.
“Iamafraid,”shewhispered,withashiver.“Iamsoafraid.”
I,too,wasafraid,andwhatofmydiscoveryofhowmuchshemeanttomemymindwasinaturmoil;but,Isucceededinansweringquitecalmly:
“Allwillcomeright,MissBrewster.Trustme,itwillcomeright.”
Sheansweredwithagratefullittlesmilethatsentmyheartpounding,andstartedtodescendthecompanion-stairs.
ForalongwhileIremainedstandingwhereshehadleftme.
Therewasimperativeneedtoadjustmyself,toconsiderthesignificanceofthechangedaspectofthings.
Ithadcome,atlast,lovehadcome,whenIleastexpecteditandunderthemostforbiddingconditions.
Ofcourse,myphilosophyhadalwaysrecognizedtheinevitablenessofthelove-callsoonerorlater;butlongyearsofbookishsilencehadmademeinattentiveandunprepared.
Andnowithadcome!MaudBrewster!
Mymemoryflashedbacktothatfirstthinlittlevolumeonmydesk,andIsawbeforeme,asthoughintheconcrete,therowofthinlittlevolumesonmylibraryshelf.HowIhadwelcomedeachofthem!
Eachyearonehadcomefromthepress,andtomeeachwastheadventoftheyear.
Theyhadvoicedakindredintellectandspirit,andassuchIhadreceivedthemintoacamaraderieofthemind;butnowtheirplacewasinmyheart.
Myheart?Arevulsionoffeelingcameoverme.
Iseemedtostandoutsidemyselfandtolookatmyselfincredulously.MaudBrewster!
HumphreyVanWeyden,“thecold-bloodedfish,”the“emotionlessmonster,”the“analyticaldemon,”ofCharleyFuruseth’schristening,inlove!
Andthen,withoutrhymeorreason,allsceptical,mymindflewbacktoasmallbiographicalnoteinthered-boundWho’sWho,andIsaidtomyself,“ShewasborninCambridge,andsheistwenty-sevenyearsold.”
AndthenIsaid,“Twenty-sevenyearsoldandstillfreeandfancyfree?”ButhowdidIknowshewasfancyfree?
Andthepangofnew-bornjealousyputallincredulitytoflight.Therewasnodoubtaboutit.Iwasjealous;thereforeIloved.
AndthewomanIlovedwasMaudBrewster.
I,HumphreyVanWeyden,wasinlove!Andagainthedoubtassailedme.
NotthatIwasafraidofit,however,orreluctanttomeetit.
Onthecontrary,idealistthatIwastothemostpronounceddegree,myphilosophyhadalwaysrecognizedandguerdonedloveasthegreatestthingintheworld,theaimandthesummitofbeing,themostexquisitepitchofjoyandhappinesstowhichlifecouldthrill,thethingofallthingstobehailedandwelcomedandtakenintotheheart.
ButnowthatithadcomeIcouldnotbelieve.Icouldnotbesofortunate.Itwastoogood,toogoodtobetrue.Symons’slinescameintomyhead:
“Iwanderedalltheseyearsamong
Aworldofwomen,seekingyou.”
AndthenIhadceasedseeking.Itwasnotforme,thisgreatestthingintheworld,Ihaddecided.
Furusethwasright;Iwasabnormal,an“emotionlessmonster,”astrangebookishcreature,capableofpleasuringinsensationsonlyofthemind.
AndthoughIhadbeensurroundedbywomenallmydays,myappreciationofthemhadbeenæstheticandnothingmore.
Ihadactually,attimes,consideredmyselfoutsidethepale,amonkishfellowdeniedtheeternalorthepassingpassionsIsawandunderstoodsowellinothers.Andnowithadcome!
Undreamedofandunheralded,ithadcome.
Inwhatcouldhavebeennolessthananecstasy,Ileftmypostattheheadofthecompanion-wayandstartedalongthedeck,murmuringtomyselfthosebeautifullinesofMrs.Browning:
“Ilivedwithvisionsformycompany
Insteadofmenandwomenyearsago,
Andfoundthemgentlemates,northoughttoknow
Asweetermusicthantheyplayedtome.”
Butthesweetermusicwasplayinginmyears,andIwasblindandoblivioustoallaboutme.ThesharpvoiceofWolfLarsenarousedme.
“Whatthehellareyouupto?”hewasdemanding.
Ihadstrayedforwardwherethesailorswerepainting,andIcametomyselftofindmyadvancingfootonthevergeofoverturningapaint-pot.
“Sleep-walking,sunstroke,—what?”hebarked.
“No;indigestion,”Iretorted,andcontinuedmywalkasifnothinguntowardhadoccurred.
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