A Singer from the Sea. Amelia E. Barr

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      And Joan trusted her daughter––she scouted the idea of Denas doing anything that was outside her mother’s approval. She told John that his fear was nothing but the natural conceit of men; they thought a woman could not be with one of their sex and not be ready to sacrifice her own life and the lives of all her kinsfolk for him. “It be such puddling folly to start with,” she said indignantly; “talking about Denas being false to her father and mother! ’Tis a doleful, dismal, ghastly bit of cowardice, John. Dreadful! aw, dreadful!”

      Then John was silent, but he communed with his own heart. Joan had not seen Roland and Denas as he had seen them; no one had troubled Joan as he had been troubled. For something often gives to a loving heart a kind of prescience, when it may be used for wise and saving ends; and John Penelles divined the angry trend of Roland’s thoughts, though it was impossible for him to anticipate the special form that trend would take.

      Roland had indeed been made furiously angry at the interference between himself and Denas. “I spoke pleasantly to the old fisher, and he was as rude as could be. Rude to me! Jove! I’ll teach him the value of good manners to his betters.”

      He sat down on a lichen-covered rock, lit a cigar, and began to think. His personal dignity had been deeply wounded; his pride of petty caste trod upon. He, a banker’s son, had been snubbed by a common 35 fisherman! “He took Denas from me as if I was going to kill her, body and soul. He deserves all he suspected me of.” And as these and similar thoughts passed through Roland’s mind he was not at all handsome; his face looked dark and drawn and marked all over with the characters sin writes through long late hours of selfish revelry and riot.

      But however his angry thoughts wandered, they always came back to the slight of himself personally––to the failure of Penelles to appreciate the honour he was doing him in wooing his daughter. And if the devil wishes to enter easily a man or a woman, he finds no door so wide and so easy of access as the door of wounded vanity and wounded self-esteem.

      Roland’s first impulse was to make Denas pay her father’s debt. “I will never speak to her again. Common little fisher-girl! I will teach her that gentlemen are to be used like gentlemen. Why did she not speak up to her father? She stood there without a word and let him snub me. The idea!” These exclamations were, however, only the quick, unreasoning passion of the animal; when Roland had calmed himself with tobacco, he felt how primitive and foolish they were. His reflections were then of a different character; they began to flow steadily into a channel they had often wandered in, though hitherto without distinct purpose.

      “After all, I like the girl. She has a kind of nixie, tantalising, bewitching charm that would drive a crowd mad. She has a fresh, sympathetic 36 voice, penetrating, too, as a clarion. Her folk-songs and her sea-songs go down to the bottom of a man’s heart and into every corner of it. Now, if I could get her to London and have her taught how to manage her voice and face and person, if I had her taught how to dance––Jove! there is a fortune in it! Dressed in a fancy fisher costume, singing the casting songs and the boat songs––the calls and takes she knows so well––why, she would make a gas-lit theatre seem like the great ocean, and men would see the white-sailed ships go marching by, and the fishing cobbles, and the wide nets full of gleaming fish, and––and, by Jove! they would go frantic with delight. They would be at her feet. She would be the idol of London. She would sing full pockets empty. I should have all my desires, and now I have so few of them. What a prospect! But I’ll reach it––I’ll reach it, and all the fishers in St. Penfer’s shall not hinder me!”

      He thought his plans over again, and then it was dark and he rose up to return home; but as he shook himself into the proper fit of his clothes and settled his hat at the correct angle, he laughed vauntingly and said:

      “I shall be even with you, John Penelles, before next Easter. I was not good enough for Denas, was I not? Well, she is going to work for me and for my pleasure and profit, John Penelles; going to make money for me to spend, John Penelles. My beautiful fisher-maid! I dare be bound she is dreaming of me now. Women! women! women! What dear little fools they are, to be sure!”

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      He was quite excited and quite good-tempered now. A new plan was like a new fortune to Roland. He never took into consideration the contrariness of circumstances and of opposing human elements. His plans were perfect from his own standpoint; the standpoint of other people was out of his consideration. Never before had he conceived so clever a scheme for getting a livelihood made for him. There was really nobody but Denas to interfere with any of his arrangements, and Denas was under his control and could be made more so. This night he felt positive that he had “hit the very thing at last.”

      He reached home late, but in exuberant spirits. Elizabeth was waiting for him. She was beautifully dressed, and in a moment he saw upon her hand the flash of large and perfect diamonds. “They were mother’s, I suppose, and I have as much right––yes, more right––to them than she has.” This was his first thought, but he did not express it. There was an air about Elizabeth that was quite new to him; he was curious and full of expectation as he seated himself beside her. She shook her head in a reproving manner.

      “You have been making love to Denas. I see it in your eyes, Roland. And you promised me you never would.”

      “Upon my honour, Elizabeth. We met the old fisher Penelles a long way up the cliff and he took her from me. Talking of making love––pray, what have you been doing? I thought you had a headache.”

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      “Roland, I am going to be married––June the 11th.”

      “Is that your engagement ring?”

      “It is. Mr. Burrell says it was his mother’s engagement ring; but, then, gems are all second-hand––a hundred-hand––a thousand-hand for that.”

      “Burrell! You take my breath away! Burrell! The man who has a bank in Threadneedle Street?”

      “The same.”

      “Good gracious, Elizabeth! You have made all our fortunes! You noble girl! I did not know he was thinking of you.”

      “He was waiting for me. Destiny, Roland. But he is a noble-hearted man, and he loves me and I intend to be a good wife to him. I do indeed. He is going to make a great settlement on me, and I shall have an income of my own from it––all my own, to do what I like with.”

      “Elizabeth, dear, I always have loved you better than anything else in the world. You will not forget me now, will you, dear?”

      “Why, Roland, I thought of you when I accepted Mr. Burrell. When I am married, Roland, I shall manage things for you as you wish them, I daresay. The man loves me so much that I could get not the half, but the whole of his kingdom from him.”

      “You are the dearest, noblest sister in the world.”

      “I could not bear to go to sleep without making you as happy as myself. Now, Roland, there is something you must not do, and that is, have any love nonsense with Denas Penelles. At Burrell Court you will meet rich girls and girls of good 39 birth, and your only chance is in a rich marriage––you know it is, Roland.”

      “Oh, I do not quite think that, Elizabeth.”

      “Roland, you know it. How many situations have you had and lost? If Mr. Burrell gave you a desk in his bank to-morrow, you would hand back its key before my wedding-day.”

      “Perhaps; СКАЧАТЬ