Dutch the Diver: or, A Man's Mistake

Dutch started, for in spite of his love and trust he was thinking of the handsome Cuban being installed at his home, and always in company with his innocent young wife, while he was away busy over his daily avocations.

“I beg pardon; did I seem thinking?”

“That you did. But never mind; you’ll do this for me, Pugh?”

“Certainly, if you wish it,” said Dutch, making an effort; while the figure of the Cuban seemed to be coming like a dark shadow across his life.

“Well, yes, I do wish it, Pugh, and I am very much obliged. By-the-way, though, what will she say to your going out on the expedition?”

Dutch shook his head.

“By Jove, I never thought of that,” said Mr Parkley. “Poor little woman, it will be too bad. I tell you what, I was going to get old Norton to mind the business. I will not. You shall stay at home.”

“I should like to go,” said Pugh, quietly; “but situated as I am, I should be glad if I could stay.”

“So you shall, Pugh – so you shall,” said Mr Parkley. And nodding his head over and over again, he left Dutch to his thoughts.

He left for home that night with the cloud seeming to darken round him. He felt that under the circumstances he was bound to accede to his partner’s wishes, and yet he was about to take this man, a stranger, to his own sacred hearth, and he shuddered again and again at the ideas that forced themselves upon his brain.

“I’ve said I’ll receive him,” he said at last, half aloud; “but it is not yet too late. Hester shall decide, and if she says ‘No,’ why there’s an end of it all.”

A short run by the rail took him to his pleasant little home – a small house, almost a cottage, with its tolerably large grounds and well-kept lawn. The little dining and drawing-rooms were shaded by a broad green verandah, over which the bedroom of the young couple looked down, in summer, upon a perfect nest of trailing roses.

Dutch gave a sigh of satisfaction as he saw the bright, sunny look of pleasure that greeted him, and for the next hour he had forgotten the dark shadow as he related to his young wife the great advance in their future prospects.

“I do love that dear old Mr Parkley so,” she cried, enthusiastically. “And now, Dutch, dear, tell me all about why this foreign gentleman is taking up so much of your time. Why, darling, is anything the matter?”

Dutch sighed again, but it was with satisfaction, as with a mingling of tender love and anxiety the little woman rose, and, throwing one arm round his neck, laid her soft little cheek to his.

“Matter! No, dear. Why?” he said, trying to smile.

“You looked so dull and ill all at once, as if in some pain.”

“Did I? Oh, it was nothing, only I was a little bothered.”

“May I know what about?”

“Well, yes, dear,” he said, playing with her soft hair, as he drew her down upon his knee. “The fact is that Mr Parkley is anxious for some attention to be paid to this Cuban gentleman – this Mr Lauré.”

“And he wants us to ask him here,” said Hester, gravely; and for a moment a look of pain crossed her face.

“Yes. How did you know?” he cried, startled at her words.

“I can’t tell,” she replied, smiling again directly. “I seemed to know what you were going to say by instinct.”

“But we cannot have him here, can we?” said Dutch, eagerly. “It would inconvenience you so.”

She remained silent for a moment, and a warm flush appeared upon her face as he gazed at her searchingly; for it was evident that a struggle was going on within her breast, and she was debating as to what she should say. Then, to his great annoyance, she replied —

“I don’t think that we ought to refuse Mr Parkley this request, dear. I hardly liked the idea at first, and this Mr Lauré did not impress me favourably when we met.”

Dutch’s face brightened.

“But,” she continued, “I have no doubt I shall like him very much, and we will do all we can to make his stay a pleasant one.”

Dutch remained silent, and a frown gathered on his brow for a few moments; but the next moment he looked up, smiling on the sweet ingenuous countenance before him, feeling ashamed of the doubts and fancies that had intruded.

“You are right, dear,” he said, cheerfully. “It is a nuisance, for I don’t like any one coming between us and spoiling our evenings; but it will not be for long, and he has come about an enterprise that may bring us a considerable sum.”

“I’ll do all I can, dear,” she cried, cheerfully.

And then, going to the piano, the tones of her voice fell upon the ears of Dutch Pugh even as the melodies of David on the troubled spirit of Saul of old, for as the young husband lay back in his chair, and listened to his favourite songs – sung, it seemed to him, more sweetly than ever – the tears gathered in his eyes, and he closed them, feeling that the evil spirit that assailed his breast had been exorcised, and that the cruel doubts and fears were bitter sins against a pure, sweet woman, who loved him with all her soul; and he cursed his folly as he vowed that he never again would suffer such fancies to gain an entrance to his breast.

For quite an hour they sat thus, she singing in her soft, low voice ballad after ballad that she knew he loved; and he lying back there, dreamily drinking in the happiness that was his, and thanking Heaven for his lot. For the shadow was beaten back, and true joy once more reigned supreme.

He was roused from his delicious reverie by the touch of two soft, warm lips on his forehead.

“Asleep, darling?” whispered Hester.

“Asleep? No,” he cried, in a low, deep voice, as he drew her to his heart. “Awake, darling – wide awake to the fact that I am the happiest of men in owning all your tender, true, womanly love.”

As he spoke his lips sought hers, and with a sigh of content, and a sweet smile lighting up her gentle face, Hester’s arms clasped his neck, and she nestled closer to his breast.

Story 1-Chapter V.

A Waking Dream

The next day, after a long and busy discussion, in which Lauré took eager interest, and during which plans were made as to stores, arms for protection against the Indians of the coast they were to visit, lifting and diving apparatus, and the like, the Cuban was installed at the cottage, and that first night Dutch saw again upon his face that intense admiration the dark, warm-blooded Southerner felt for the fair young English girl. For girl she still was, with a girl’s ways, prettily mingled with her attempts to play the part of mistress of her own house. The young husband felt a pang of jealous misery await him as he sat back in the shade of his prettily-furnished drawing-room, seeing their visitor hover about the piano while Hester sang, paying endless attentions with the polish and courtesy of a foreigner, various little refined acts – such as would never have occurred to the bluff young Englishman.

“I’m a jealous fool – that’s what I am,” said Dutch to himself; “and if I go on like this I shall be wretched all the time he is here. I won’t have it – I won’t believe it. She is beautiful – God bless her! and no man could see her without admiring her. I ought to be proud of his admiration instead of letting it annoy me; for, of course, it’s his foreign way of showing it. An Englishman would be very different; but what right have I to fancy for a moment that this foreign gentleman, my guest, would harbour a thought that was not honourable to me? There, it’s all gone.”

He brightened up directly; and as, with a pleasant smile, Lauré came to him soon afterwards and challenged him to a game of chess, the evening passed pleasantly away.

The days glided on rapidly enough, with Dutch Pugh always repeating to himself the stern reproof that he was unjust to his guest and to his young wife to allow a single thought of ill to enter his heart; and to keep these fancies away he worked harder than ever at the preparations for the voyage, being fain, though, to confess that one thing that urged him on was the desire to be rid of his guest.

“I don’t think much of these furren fellows,” said Rasp, one day, when, after a shorter stay than usual at the offices, Lauré had effusively pressed Dutch’s hand and gone back to the cottage. “How does Mrs Pug like him?”

Dutch started, but said, quietly —

“Suppose we get on with the packing of that air-pump, Rasp. You had better get in a couple of the men.”

“All right,” grumbled the old fellow; “I wasn’t going to leave it undone; but if I was a married man with a ’ansum wife, ’ang me if I should care about having a smooth-tongued, dark-eyed, scented foreign monkey of a chap like that at my house.”

“You insolent old scoundrel!” cried Dutch, flashing into a rage; and he caught the old fellow by the throat, but loosened him again with an impatient “Pish!”

Rasp seized the poker and sent the red-hot cinders flying as he stoked away at the fire.

“I desire that you never speak to me again like that. How dare you!”