“Speak! What do you mean?” exclaimed Dutch, panting.
“I only thought she ought to be more particular, perhaps, as a lady, and not speak to the dark mulatto sailor.”
“Have – have you seen her speaking to – to that man?” said Dutch, with his breath coming thick and short.
“Yes, I did last night,” said Wilson; “but I did not mention it to anyone else, and of course she was only doing it out of kindness, for she is very amiable.”
“When – when was it?” panted Dutch, whose face flushed with shame and anger that he should be stooping to ask such questions.
“Just after dark, when you diving people were having your meal below. They parted, though, directly.”
“Thanks; say no more about this,” said Dutch, more calmly. “Perhaps it looks a little imprudent, but, as you say, she is so amiable and kind to the men that her actions are easily misconstrued.”
Dutch rose to go on deck, for the air in the cabin seemed to stifle him, but Wilson arrested his steps.
“But you will come if we have a shooting expedition, Mr Pugh?” he exclaimed. “You have not been ashore yet, but spending your time over this dreadful treasure-hunting, when the treasures ashore are a thousand times more beautiful.”
“I will see – perhaps – I cannot say,” replied Dutch; and he stumbled on deck to stand watching Rasp, who was busy over the air-pump, which he had taken all to pieces, but as it was close upon dusk he was collecting the various screws and placing them loosely in their proper holes before covering all over with a tarpaulin to keep off the heavy night dew that hung in drops each morning from every rail.
The words of Wilson, the simple-hearted naturalist, had so troubled Dutch that his mind was once more in a whirl. Till then he had been gradually getting into a calm, resigned state, and accepting the inevitable; but now to hear such remarks as these about his wife’s conduct was simply maddening him, and as he went and leaned over the side, gazing down into the pure water where the golden treasure lay, it was forgotten mostly in the trouble of his heart, and he made up his mind that he would see Hester and demand some full explanation of her conduct, and so end this terrible suspense.
“I will know,” he muttered; and as he rose he felt surprised at the lapse of time, for the short tropic twilight had given place to intense darkness while he had been brooding over his troubles, and now it occurred to him that he had not told Mr Parkley about the gold.
“I’ll see him now,” he said; and he was turning to go to the cabin stairs when the low musical voice of his wife fell upon his ear, and though the darkness was so great that he could not see her he was aware that she was close at hand in conversation with some one whose voice seemed familiar.
He could not make out a word, but it was evident that whoever was speaking to Hester was addressing her in a low, passionate tone, while her replies were almost inaudible.
Who was it? Not the mulatto: his peculiar, harsh, grating voice was too familiar. This was the voice of some one who made his nerves thrill with rage and indescribable emotion; and yet in his confusion and excitement he could not make out who it could be.
“I cannot play the spy like this,” said Dutch to himself, and, raging as he was with curiosity and mortification, he walked away; but his agony was unbearable, and, turning back, he approached the spot once more, to hear a half-stifled cry for help; then there was the noise of a slight struggle, and he darted forward to strike himself against the foremast and stagger back half-stunned, and lean against the side to collect his scattered thoughts.
For his forehead had come violently into collision with the mast, and for a few minutes memory forsook her seat, and a strange sense of sickness accompanied the oblivion.
This soon passed off, though, and now, thoroughly roused, Dutch retraced his steps, going with outstretched hands to the spot whence the voices had seemed to proceed, to find all perfectly still.
“But she was here,” he muttered moodily; and recalling his determination to insist upon a full explanation, Dutch walked straight to the cabin occupied by Bessy Studwick and his wife, and stood listening for a few moments before he knocked.
He could hear voices behind him, where it was evident that the captain and his friends were gathered, and upon listening more attentively he learned what he wished to know, but was never in doubt about – namely, the presence of Hester in the little cabin.
She was there, though, for he heard some one talking in a low tone, and that there was a low sob.
He waited no longer but knocked.
There was no reply.
He knocked again, and there was a rustling sound within which made his heart beat heavily, the blood rushed to his eyes, and a strange swimming affected his brain, as the horrible suspicion crossed his mind that it was not Bessy Studwick’s voice he had heard, but the same that he had listened to on deck.
Fighting against the dizzy sensation, and striving to become calm, he raised his hands and stood in the attitude of one about to hurl himself against the door and burst it from its fastenings; but something seemed to restrain him, and he knocked again, and this time plainly enough, he heard Hester’s voice in an excited whisper say, —
“He is there! pray, pray, don’t open the door.”
It never occurred to Dutch that his wife could not know that it was he who knocked, for the hard jealousy that he had taken to his heart suggested and thought but evil of the woman he had sworn to love and protect. It was not Bessy Studwick, then, who was with her, and they dared not open the door. He had given up before, and sought no revenge; this time he would have it if he died.
“Open this door,” he said in a low deep whisper, full of the rage he felt, for in his mad cunning he told himself that if he raised his voice or broke in the door, he would alarm the occupants of the other cabin.
There was a dead silence for a few moments, and he was about to make a fresh demand as his hands clenched, and the veins in his forehead stood out throbbing from the excess of his wild emotion.
“Will you open this door?” he hissed again savagely, with his lips close to the panel.
“No,” exclaimed a firm voice. “Make the slightest attempt to enter again, and I will alarm the ship.”
Dutch Pugh’s hands dropped to his side and a sigh like a groan burst from his lips as he staggered away on deck, and going to the side rested his aching head upon the rail.
“Am I mad?” he said to himself. “That was Bessy Studwick. Could it have been her I heard talking here on deck? No, that was impossible, for there was the struggle. Oh! Hester, Hester, my darling, forgive me if I am judging you wrongfully; I’d give my life to believe you true, and yet again to-night I am so ready to accuse you in my heart.
“It is no use, I will not lead this life of hell upon earth: she must – she shall explain her conduct. There was some reason more than I know for her coming on board here. Her conversations with that mulatto. That meeting to-night. Ha! is it possible? Yes! I have it at last: Studwick was right: Lauré’s influence still with us. Bah! I believe I am half-mad,” he said, with a contemptuous ejaculation. “I will see her in the morning, and this trouble shall be cleared away.”
As he spoke he went down to the cabin he shared with the doctor, feeling lighter of heart for the resolution he had made, and telling himself that half his trouble might have been saved had he spoken to his wife. “She might even have come out of the trial unscathed,” he said, with a strong feeling of elation, and worn out mentally and bodily he threw himself half dressed into his berth, after opening the little window, for the heat was stifling.
“A good resolution at last,” muttered Dutch as he laid his head upon his pillow, and as he dropped off to sleep listening to the lapping of the water against the schooner’s side, the sound seemed to form itself into a repetition of the words – “Too late, too late, too late,” until he fell into a heavy sleep.
Story 1-Chapter XXVII.
Hester’s Trials
That evening, for the second time in obedience to a fierce demand from Lauré, Hester Pugh crept timidly on deck as soon as it was dark, and then repenting of her venture she was about to retreat when she felt a grasp like steel clasp her wrist, and in a low voice that made her shudder Lauré began to upbraid her, speaking passionately of his love, and telling her that it was his wish to win her by his tenderness, and not by force, while she in turn told him of his cruelties, and piteously pleaded for mercy.
“Yes,” he said at last, “the same mercy that you have had on me,” and flinging his arms round her he drew her shuddering form tightly to his breast.
“Make a sound,” he hissed in her ear, “and you slay Dutch Pugh, perhaps all here on board except my party. Be silent and you shall be my happy, loving wife, a princess in wealth and station.”
Maddened by her position, Hester struggled fiercely and lettered a stifled cry for help, and at the same moment almost there came the sound of approaching feet, followed by the sound of a blow; and half fainting, she found herself loosened from the arms that held her, and ran, how she never knew, to her cabin, to fall exhausted into Bessy Studwick’s arms.
“Lock the door, lock the door!” she panted, clinging tightly to her friend. “Oh Bessy, Bessy, if I could but die.”
Bessy locked the door, and returned wondering to Hester’s side.
“Hester, darling, your husband must be a perfect monster,” she cried, taking the sobbing woman in her arms.
“No, no, no,” wailed Hester, “he is all that is good and noble and true, but he thinks me wicked.”
“How dare he treat you like this, if he does!” cried Bessy, indignantly, as she smoothed Hester’s dishevelled hair.
“No, no, no, it was not he,” panted Hester.
“Not he?” exclaimed Bessy. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been on deck to meet some one else?”
“Yes, yes, and I am afraid; oh, I am afraid,” whispered Hester, with a shudder, as she clung more closely to her friend.