The Marriage of Esther

"I don't see why. It is my duty to keep you up to your work."

"Very well, then we'll say no more. The screws shall be on your table on the veranda at ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Without fail?"

"Without fail. I always keep my word."

He went on with his sawing. She sat and watched him, and for the first time became aware of the elegance and symmetry of his figure.

"Not always, I think. I asked you yesterday to tell me what brought you to Australia; you said you would, but you have evidently forgotten your promise."

"Again you misinterpreted my speech. I think I said I could not bore you with it until I knew you better."

"And by that I am to understand that you won't tell me?"

"Not yet."

The saw cut through the log with a little whine, and the end dropped to the ground.

"You don't know me well enough yet to trust me, I suppose?"

"I know you as well as I suppose I ever shall know you. You are not a difficult person to understand."

"Have you so much experience of my sex, then?"

"More than most men, perhaps. God help me!"

"You don't seem to realise that that is a dangerous admission to make to a woman."

"Why? You let me see very plainly yesterday that our ways lie far apart. In fact, that whatever my rank may once have been, I am now only your father's servant."

She rose from the box on which she had been sitting and stamped her foot. He looked up and saw that indignant tears stood in her eyes.

"You are very unjust and very unkind. I'm sure I never said or implied anything of the sort."

"Then I must crave your pardon once more for misunderstanding you. I certainly understood that to be your meaning."

She sat down again and fell to scraping up the shavings and litter with her foot. He resumed his sawing. For the space of about three minutes neither spoke. Then she said timidly:

"I notice that you are very patient and persevering."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye suspiciously. This was too novel and satisfactory not to make him a little distrustful.

"And pray what makes you think that?"

"For many reasons. One because you don't saw wood like most men I have seen. You go right through till the cut is even and the end drops off of its own weight. Most men saw it three parts through, then drive in a wedge, and break off the rest. It saves time, but it means laziness. I think I like your way best."

"It is very kind of you to say so."

"Oh, not at all. I thought as I've scolded you so often I ought to tell you of something I approve, that's all."

Decidedly he was a handsome man. She liked his colour, she liked his glow of health and strength, and she was not quite certain that she did not like his eyes; but she wasn't going to let him think she had the very smallest grain of admiration for him. He wondered what was coming next.

"All the same, you're not a very quick worker. I don't know that it's quite a profitable occupation for you. One of the boys would have done twice as much in half the time – not so neatly perhaps, but it would have burned just as well."

That was the way with her. He never made any advance but she drove him back further than he was originally. She saw how her last remark was affecting him, and a smile flickered over her face that was not altogether one of discouragement. He looked up just in time to catch it. The result was disastrous. He missed his thrust – the saw slipped and cut his hand. It was not a deep wound, but it bled profusely – into the white slit of wood, and, drop by drop, down upon the little heap of saw-dust at his feet. She saw it as soon as he did, and gave a little cry of alarm.

"Oh, you have cut yourself, and all through my stupidity! Quick, give me your handkerchief and let me tie it up."

Before he had properly realised what had happened, she had drawn her own handkerchief from her pocket, taken his hand, and was binding it up.

"I'm so very, very sorry. It was all my fault. I should not have stayed here worrying you with my silly talk. Can you forgive me?"

He looked into her face – with its great brown eyes so close to his – this time without the least embarrassment. And what beautiful eyes they were!

"You are not to blame. It was the result of my own carelessness. I should have looked at the saw instead of your face."

"Very possibly; but you must not cut any more wood. I forbid it! Do you think you will remember what I say?"

"I'm very much afraid so."

Not another word passed between them. She went into the house, and he, with a sea of happiness surging at his heart that he would have been puzzled to account for, back to the store.

But that evening all the enjoyment he had got out of the afternoon was destined to be taken away from him. After dinner, Murkard had some work in the office he wished to finish in time for the China mail next day, so Ellison wandered down to the shore alone. The moon was just rising over the headland, and the evening was very still; there was hardly enough wind to stir the palm leaves on the hill-top. Further round the island alligators were numerous, and as he stepped on to the beach Ellison thought he could make out one lying on the sand ahead of him. He stepped across to obtain a closer view, only to find that it was the trunk of a sandal-wood tree washed up by the tide. As he turned to retrace his steps he heard someone coming through the long grass behind him. It was Esther.

"Good-evening!" he said, raising his hat. "What a perfect night for a stroll it is. Just look at the effect of the moonlight on the water yonder."

"How is your hand?"

"Progressing very satisfactorily, thank you. It is very good of you to take so much interest in my tiny accident."

"I don't see why! I should have been just as interested in anyone else. I pity the woman who could fail to be affected by an ugly cut like that. Good-night!"

She resumed her walk, and as he had nothing to say in answer to her speech, he looked across the stretch of water at the twinkling lights of Thursday. He had received a well-merited snub, he told himself – one he would not be likely to forget for a few days to come. He had presumed too much on her kindness of the afternoon. Who was he that he might expect from her anything more than ordinary civility? He was her father's servant, paid by the week to do odd jobs about the place; a position only found for him out of charity by a kind-hearted girl. With a gesture of anger he went briskly across the sands, plunged into the thicket, and strode back towards the house. He was not of course to know that after leaving him she had stopped in her walk and watched him until he disappeared. When she, in her turn, wended her way homeward, it was, illogically enough, with an equally heavy heart. She did not, perhaps, regret her action, but her mind was torn with doubts.

"If only I could be certain," she kept repeating to herself. "If only I could be certain!"

But that didn't mend matters very much. That she had angered him, at least, was certain. Then came the question which was destined to keep her awake half the night. Had she played with him too much? She could see that he was thoroughly angered.

On arriving at the hut Ellison discovered Murkard in the act of going to bed. He was seated on his couch, one boot on, the other in his hand. He looked up as his friend entered, and one glance at his face told him all he wanted to know. Placing the boot he held in his hand carefully on the floor, he removed the other and arranged it beside its fellow. Then, addressing himself to the ceiling cloth, he said:

"I have often noticed that when a man imagines himself happiest he is in reality most miserable, and vice versa. Last night my friend was supremely happy, – don't ask me how I knew I saw it, – and yet he sighed in his sleep half the night. This evening he would have me believe that he is miserable, and yet there's a look in his eyes that tells me at the bottom he is really happy."

"You're quite out of your reckoning, my friend, as far as to-night is concerned. I am miserable, miserable in heart and soul, and for two pins I'd leave the place to-morrow."

"I should."

"The devil! and why?"