Adventure, November 1915 — page 161: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Gold at Sea I looked up and found her at my shoulder. She was staring at my upturned. palm, stretched over the table, My hand held the withered remains of the red carnation. “Oh!”’ she repeated. ‘You saved it! I wondered if you——”’ | She stopped, her white cheeks suddenly rosy. Somehow, without conscious action, I got to my feet. “You remember the flower?” I said. “You wanted me to save it—you are glad I treasured it?”’ Ee “T—I”’ she evaded. “I have come to apologize to you. Oh, can you ever forgive - the horrible things I said to you? I did not understand—I did not know how you came to be here until Roger told me. It hurt to think of you as one of these others. I had thought of you——”’ She stopped again in pretty confusion. My heart gave a great bound. “You thought of me?” I cried. dreamed of me as I dreamed of you She retreated before my impetuous ad- vance, and regarded me with wide eyes/and parted lips. The mad longing to reach out and crush her in my arms almost overpow- ered me. *“You dreamed, too?” she whispered. “Girl,” I said, ‘IT love you!” She quivered as if the words were a blow. *“You—jest,” she faltered. “Tt is truth!” I cried. “But we—you—we are strangers.” “Our hearts are not,” I declared. “No, no! Oh, this is madness!” I seized and imprisoned her hands—warm little things that fluttered and then were still within my grasp. “T love you, Mary Morrison,” I told her. “T do not know why. I can not explain or apologize. My love is stronger than I. I am but a penniless boor, yet I love you. You are my woman—my mate!” All the life seemed to leave her face. She withdrew her hands from my grasp and bur- ied her face in them. | “Oh, I wish I were dead,’’ she said mis- erably. “Forgive me—I have offended you!” I cried with contrition. She shook her head negatively. “Tell me—has that dog Dacy harmed you? Tell me, girl!” I cried harshly. “No, no! Oh, do not talk like that!” She raised her head, and I saw her great eyes were sheeny with unshed tears. “Oh, “Vou }?? 159 believe me, your Captain Dacy is not so evil as you think.” “And you. defend him,” I muttered, my silly jealousy in my voice. ‘‘He has placed you in this horrible position, and you defend him.” “Tam in no danger,” she answered. ‘No, no, do not think so. I am safe.” She moved towards the door, and I fol- lowed her. . “Girl, I don’t know who you are—nor what you are to Dacy,” I said. “TI don’t care. I love you. You—do you care?”’ For a long instant she met my gaze, her face white, her eyes become brilliant. Then her cheeks crimsoned and she looked away. “T—TI care,” she said faintly. She turned and rushed from me, and a second later the door of her room closed behind her. I stood transfixed to the spot by the power of her parting words. She cared! €) watch again, with a singing heart, though troubled mind. Von Wer- ner, with whom [ had barely exchanged a word since the day before, greeted me with a flow of language. He discoursed length- ily upon the vagaries of marine engines. I saw with half an eye he was sparring for an opening, so I waited patiently. “Haf you heard how der young lady vas?” he blurted at last. “What business is it of mine?’ I answered gruffly. His words implied gossip. I knew the kind of talk that was undoubtedly being bandied between the foul mouths of the crew. — : | “Nein, nein! You nod understand me. It vas for her safety I ask.” He spoke earnestly. During the past day he had lost much of his former jaunti- ness. . His shoulders drooped a little, and his face was careworn. He had a kindly, rather gentle face, had Von Werner. _ “She seems safe enough,” I said a little bitterly, perhaps. ‘‘Dacy_is looking after her comfort.” “T think nod dot Dacy will harm her,” he said. “He-vas nod dot kind. But der rest—dey haf got drink, und I like it nod. Und Ralder—ach, schweinhund! He look at her, und he talk.” I ripped out an oath. XV COME IOOK LATE in the afternoon I went on_ Eom: