The Marriage of Esther

He passed his arm round her waist. She started as if with surprise.

"Why, what's the matter?" he asked anxiously.

"I did not know what it was," she answered. "You frightened me."

"That makes me certain you're not very well. I must have the doctor over to see you to-morrow morning, if you don't feel better."

"I shall be all right in the morning. I think I am over-tired to-night."

"Perhaps Merton's music has given you a headache. I think he thumps a little hard for my taste."

This was scarcely the truth. He had never really thought so, but he wanted to find some reason for her downcast demeanour. She did not answer. Then suddenly, and without any apparent reason, she turned to him, and throwing her arms round his neck, sobbed upon his shoulder as if her heart were breaking.

"Why, Esther, my darling," he cried, this time in real alarm, "what on earth does this all mean? You frighten me, dearest. Try and tell me what is the matter with you." He led her to a chair, placed her in it, and seated himself beside her. "Come, try and tell me what it is, and let me help you. You frighten me dreadfully."

"It is nothing, nothing, nothing; Oh, Cuthbert, my husband, bear with me to-night. Don't be angry with me, I beseech you. You don't know how the memory of this night will always remain with me."

"You are very mysterious to-night. I can't think what you mean."

"Don't ask to be told. Indeed, I could not tell you. I don't know myself. I only know that I am more miserable to-night than I have ever been in my life before."

"And you can't tell me why? Esther, that puts us such a long way apart. I thought we were to be everything to each other, in sorrow as well as happiness!"

"It is ungenerous of you to taunt me with that now, just because I will not gratify your curiosity."

She rose with an offended air, and made as if she would go to her room. He caught her by the wrist and held her. She turned on him almost fiercely!

"You are hurting me! Let me go!"

"Esther, you are very cruel to me to-night. Do you know that?"

"Have you been so kind that you can bring that accusation against me? But there, I won't quarrel with you, even though you seem to want to make me."

"I want to make you quarrel with me, Esther? You know that is not true. You wrong me, on my soul, you do!"

She began to cry again, and fell back into the chair.

"I know I do, I know I do! I cannot do anything right to-night. I can't even think, my brain seems asleep. Oh, forgive me, forgive me!"

He smoothed back her hair and kissed her on the forehead.

"There is nothing to forgive, darling. It was altogether my fault. I wanted to sympathise with you, and I did it in my usual clumsy fashion. It is you who must forgive me."

She still hung her head. Suddenly she raised it and looked him in the face.

"Some day you will hate and despise me, I know. You will curse my name. But before God to-night I swear that – that – that – No, I can't say it. It must go through eternity unsaid, one little word unspoken."

"Dear girl, do you know what you are saying? Don't you think you had better go to bed?"

Without another word she rose and went down the veranda to her room. He sat like a man dazed, turning and twisting her behaviour this way and that in an endeavour to pierce the cloud that seemed to be settling on him. What did she mean by her last speech? What was to be the upshot of all these vague allusions? What was it she had intended to say, and then thought better of? He racked his brains for a solution of the problem, but without success. He could hit on nothing feasible. In a state of perfect bewilderment he went across to the hut and spent a miserable night, only to find at breakfast next morning that she had quite recovered and was her old self once more.

After that night Murkard might be considered convalescent. Like a shadow of the man he used to be, he managed to creep out into the sunshine of the beach, to sit there for hours every day. The bout had been a severe one, and it would be some time before he could be himself again. All this time Ellison allowed no word of reproach to fall from his lips, nor did Murkard offer any apology. But there was a wistfulness in his eyes when they lighted on the other that told a tale of gratitude and of devotion that was plainer than anything words could have uttered. On the third morning of his convalescence he was sitting in his usual spot just below the headland, looking across the blue straits dotted here and there with the sails of luggers, and at the white roofs of the township, when he heard steps approaching. The pedestrian, whoever he might be, was evidently in merry pin, for he was whistling a gay chanson, and seemed to be in the best conceit, not only with himself, but with all the world. Turning the corner, he came directly upon Murkard, who looked up full and fair into his face. It was Merton. If the latter seemed surprised, the effect upon Murkard was doubly so. His eyes almost started from his head, his mouth opened, and his jaw dropped, his colour became ashen in its pallor.

"You – you here!" he cried. "Oh, my God! Is this a horrible dream? I thought you were dead long since."

The other was also a little pale, but he managed to laugh with a pretence of merriment.

"My dear boy, this is the most delightful surprise I have ever experienced. I hope you're not sorry to see me. May I sit down? Well, what a funny thing this is, to be sure. To think that we should meet like this, and here of all places in the world. You've been seriously ill, I'm sorry to hear."

"How long have you been in this place?"

"Nearly a fortnight now. I've seen you a good many times, but you never knew me!"

"I wish I could say that I don't know you now. And what devil's business are you up to here?"

"Amusing myself, as usual. Studying men and manners. Your friends here are very entertaining, the woman particularly so."

"Do they know who you are?"

"George Merton of Brankforth Manor, near Exeter, County Devon, at your service."

He threw himself down on the sands with another merry laugh.

"It's extraordinary, isn't it? our meeting like this. I've often laughed over it. And so your name's Murkard? Silas too, if I'm not mistaken. What a rum beggar you are, to be sure. Do you still take life as seriously as you used to in the old days?"

"You're evidently as cold-blooded a devil as when I last found you out."

"Found me out? My dear fellow, aren't you rather confusing things? Wasn't it the other way round? But seriously, Bur – "

"Silence! My name is Murkard."

"What did I say? Oh, I forgot; pray forgive me. It shan't occur again. Seriously, Murkard, I want you to believe that I have never ceased to regret that terrible business. You must remember you put me in such a position that, though it cut me to the heart to do it, I had no option but to expose you."

"If you had told all you knew you might have saved me. As it was, I had to take the course I did. I could not help myself."

"'Pon my honour, I knew nothing more. The stones were lost. I happened to stumble quite by accident on the baggage and found them there. The baggage was yours – what could I do?"

"Very well. I have at least paid the penalty; we need not discuss the subject further. But one thing must be settled now and forever. What are you going to do?"

"When? Now, do you mean? Well, I think I shall stay here for a month or so longer; and then – well, then I don't quite know what I shall do."

"You will leave here at once – in an hour's time."

"My dear fellow, impossible. Not to be thought of, I assure you."

"Either you or I must go. We cannot both remain."

"Still taking life seriously, I see. Well, I fear in that case it will have to be you. I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. I have reasons for staying on. A holiday will do you no harm."