CHAPTER XIV

As Hermione came over the side of the _Shark_, Heldstrom stepped forward to give her a bit of a "dressing-down" for the anxiety which she had caused him. But, at sight of her face, he stopped short in his tracks and stared. The next instant he glanced quickly about, as though fearful that some other person might see what he beheld. Olesen, the quartermaster of the watch, was busy with the skiff, however, and none of the cabin party had as yet appeared.

For Hermione, an uncommonly pretty girl at all times, was transfigured. Her face was still pale, with the crimson patch on either cheek, but the treatment which they had just received appeared to have given a new and wonderful expression to her lips. The flagrant tell-tales were, however, her eyes, still shot with a flame which the damp fog was utterly unable to quench. They held, also, a warm tenderness and a sort of knowledge which is the distinguishing feature between the eyes of a girl and those of a woman.

"Heffens...!" rumbled Heldstrom, in a voice so like that to which she had just been listening that Hermione's pulse raced off afresh. "Fere you been? You look like a yoong br'ride!"

Hermione dropped the long lashes over her tell-tale eyes.

"I ... I have been rowing around in the fog...." She tried to slip past him and gain the companionway, but his big bulk was planted directly in her course.

"R'rowing ar'round in der fog ... r'rowing ar'round in der fog..." he repeated, slowly. He shook his massive head and the deep-lined face was flooded with anxiety. The clear blue eyes bored like gimlets into hers.

"Hermione ... Hermione ... my little ger'rl..." the big voice was very tender. "You did not get dose eyes nor dose cheeks from der kiss of der fog! Do you tell me that you haf been r'rowing ar'round in der fog ... _alone_?"

Hermione hung her pretty head. The colour on her cheeks deepened.

"No, Uncle Chris ... I was not alone. I will tell you all about it ... but not now. Let me pass, please."

There was an imperious note in the last words which brooked no denial. Heldstrom moved aside without a word. Hermione walked to the companionway and went below, while Heldstrom stared after her. His eyes were lit with the blue flame of the sun on an iceberg and his forehead was ominous as a storm-cloud. He glanced quickly about to see that no one was lurking near, then turned with a fierce Norse oath, and shook his head in the direction of the _Daffodil_.

"Ah, I t'ink I understand! It's that Pilot-vish! Ven I saw his yellow eyes blinking at me from der sea I knew dere vas no goot behind dem! It vas like ... like ... anodder face ... I vonce knew ... to my gr'rief!"

For a moment he stood stiff and silent, staring in the direction of the _Daffodil_. He cursed again.

Suddenly he raised his voice and hailed the quartermaster.

"Der gig at der gan'vay...!" said he.

The order was quickly executed. Heldstrom got into the boat and gave the order to "give way." The fog was thick as ever, and, at the end of a few moments, he commanded--"Oars."

The boat glided silently through the still water. Heldstrom turned his massive head slightly to one side and listened intently. On the starboard bow there came the sound of voices. All at once he heard the somewhat peculiar remark, in Danish, which is to say, Norwegian, although a Dane would put it the other way about.

"Yes. Two days in every month you may get drunk. Between these periods, not a drop...."

"Gif way, poort...!" growled Heldstrom.

As he drew near the yawl, the answering voice became suddenly muffled, and Heldstrom knew that the speaker had gone below, while still talking. There was an excited note to this voice which suggested the babble of a fever patient. Heldstrom saw his bow oar furtively cross himself. This man had one day encountered the Finn when both were the worse for drink, and the warlock had opened his lips and delivered himself of informations which had sobered the Irishman as a sluicing with ice-water might have done.

Close aboard the yawl, Heldstrom gave the order--"Way enough!" As the gig shot alongside, Heldstrom saw Applebo standing in the cockpit, staring down at him. The face of the old man grew stiff and cold as ice.

Applebo's features were like a clay death-mask and the only live quality was in the eyes, these barely visible between the double fringe of dark lashes.

"Good-morning," said he, in a voice as expressionless as his face. "Captain Heldstrom of the _Shark_, I believe?"

"Der same," answered Heldstrom, and added: "I haf come to pay a visit. I am curious to see der little yawl vich haf followed me for so many miles of sea."

"Pray come aboard," said Applebo. "There is really not much to see. I am about to breakfast. Perhaps you will do me the honour to join me."

"T'anks..." said Heldstrom. He stepped aboard the yawi, then turned to the stroke-oar, who was shifting aft to take the yoke lines.

"Go back alongside," said Heldstrom. "I vill ask you..." he turned to Applebo, "to set me back on my ship."

"Certainly."

The gig glided off into the fog. Heldstrom, standing by the main rigging, stared under lowered brows at Applebo.

"We have t'ings to say to each odder," he remarked, in a heavy voice. "Dis fella of yours ... does he oonderstand English?"

"Yes," answered Applebo. He motioned to the Finn, who was eyeing the two with his shaggy head at its curious slant.

"Get in the dinghy and hang off and on," said Applebo, in Danish. "When I want you, I will whistle. Keep away. I do not wish to be interrupted."

The Finn appeared to hesitate.

"Go..." said Applebo, "... at once!"

The Finn tugged at his cap. Without a word, he stepped into the dinghy and pulled off into the fog. As soon as he was lost to sight, Applebo turned to Heldstrom.

"Come below," said he, and led the way.

In the cabin of the yawl, Applebo motioned his guest to a transome opposite. The old man was too great of bulk for one of the camp-chairs. For a minute the two men eyed each other in silence. Heldstrom was breathing heavily; Applebo was as pale as it was possible for his peculiar ivory tint to become, but, aside from the singular glow of his eyes, his manner was free of all emotion.

Heldstrom spoke first.

"I know you," he said, in English. "You are my son."

Applebo slightly inclined his head.

Heldstrom gave him another piercing look. "You haf all of your mudder ... und more!" he said. "You haf also somet'ing of me. Der vorst of me."

Applebo's brows came lower. He did not reply.

"I haf never said it to anybody," continued Heldstrom, "und I vould knock der man down vat said it to me. But I vill say it to you. Your mudder vas royalty, but she vas no goot. Und you are like her."

Applebo raised his eyebrows.

"If you were not my father," he said, "I would knock your brains out. But after all, when one stops to think, you are throwing mud principally at yourself."

Heldstrom's expression became terrible.

"I t'row mud at nobody!" he cried, and leaned forward, gripping the gravity table until his great finger joints creaked. "I tell you only vat you ar're!"

Applebo hunched up his shoulders, leaned back, crossed his strong hands in front of one upraised knee, and eyed his father through half-opened eyelids.

"When did you discover my identity?" he asked.

"That iss my affair! I knew alvays dere was a son. All my life, since your mudder left me...."

"I beg your pardon ... since you left my mother...."

"Since your mudder left me ... for..."

"Since you left my mother..." interrupted Applebo, in a voice which, for all of its silky tone, sheared its way through that of Heldstrom.

Heldstrom struck the gravity-table a blow with his great fist.

"Since your mudder left me...."

"Please don't break my furniture! I need it. I don't need a father, particularly...." Applebo's voice was smooth and yet appeared to overtone and undertone that of Heldstrom. "But I do need my table. I need certain ideals, also, that you are trying your best to break down ... like any other coarse brute of a Scandinavian sailorman! You ... you lived a whole lifetime in a few weeks, didn't you ... _didn't you?_ ... Don't begin to glare! And now ... you come over here aboard of my little boat ... _to kick about the bill!_"

Few men would have cared to face Christian Heldstrom at that moment, but the one facing him was of the same fierce, viking breed. Applebo guessed at the motive for the visit, which was very far from being one of parental interest. There was no doubt in his mind that it had to do with Hermione, but of that, later. At present it had to do with himself and this father, whom for weeks he had followed through a deep-seated filial instinct of affection. He was very glad that he had waited before declaring himself. Applebo felt shame and a hot resentment in his heart that this father, about whom he had built so many splendid ideals, should thus prove himself merely a harsh and violent Norwegian sailor.

Heldstrom was glowering at him across the table. His eyes were like the blue tips of icicles.

"Pay der bill...?" he rasped. "Vat do you mean?"

"Just that," answered Applebo. "You might have known what to expect, if you were not altogether a fool. My mother was a young and beautiful woman, the only daughter of rich and noble parents, a favourite of the King. You were the son of a poor but respectable farmer, at the time engaged in the trade of boat-building. Is that not true...?"

Heldstrom's lips moved, but no sound came from them. A terrible rage was gathering on his heavily bearded face. Applebo saw it, but continued in the same dispassionate tone:

"You were years older than she, and you should have known better. You sold her uncle a yacht and sailed her one season for your client. My mother was aboard the boat a good deal, and so you met and became infatuated with one another. Then you eloped and were married, and brought her to America as a poor emigrant. Do you consider that to have been an act of affection...?"

"Stop!" Heldstrom's voice was choked and strangling. "Not anudder vord! Dis iss not your affair...."

"Pardon me, it is very much my affair ... seeing that I was the result of the folly! Of your blind selfishness! Do you think that I have had a happy life? It has been one long record of loneliness ... for I am not of the sort to make friends, readily! And there has been a good deal of terrible monotony about it, too! Not until Harold Applebo died and left me a small income, four years ago, did I commence really to live."

Heldstrom's face was livid, but the devastating rage had left it. He swallowed once or twice.

"Und you say I kick about der bill!" he growled. "Vat you vant, den? Somet'ing froom me?"

A fierce gleam shot from the pale eyes of Applebo. Leaning forward, he shook his finger in Heldstrom's face:

"No. I want nothing from you ... now that I know the sort of man you are! I did want a little paternal sympathy and interest and to feel that I was not entirely a stray spar washed from the wreck of two lives and left to drift where the current carried me! Now that I know you, I want nothing! Formerly, I thought that you might possibly contain a spark of paternal instinct. I thought, also, that you might welcome the thought of one of your own blood to be the companion of your declining years. It was for this that I have been following your schooner all summer long...."

Heldstrom raised his massive head, which had been slightly drooping, and stared intently at his son.

"You tell me it vas for me that you haf followed der _Shark_?" he demanded, harshly.

"Yes. I wanted to learn precisely what I have learned this morning ... but not exactly in this way!" Applebo smiled ironically. "That was my whole object in trailing you about!"

Heldstrom thrust himself suddenly forward.

"You are a liar!" he almost shouted.

[Illustration: "You are a liar!" he almost shouted]

Applebo slightly recoiled. For an instant it seemed as though the older man were about to hurl himself upon him.

"That iss vat you are ... yoost like all your mudder's kinfolk! Dey vas liars all! Und you inherit froom dem; not froom me, t'ank God! You haf learned but a little part of dis history, und that wr'rong! I took your mudder avay because her fadder vas going to marry her mit a man dot vas known to be der vor'rst blackguard in Europe, und she hated him, too. But I make me no excuses...."

"Then," Applebo interrupted, "suppose you make me one for having so far forgotten yourself as to call me a liar. Otherwise, this interview must come to an end."

Cried Heldstrom, in his great bull-whale voice: "Dis interview vill coom to an end ven I haf said my say! Do not enr'rage me, yoong man, or, son or no son, you may haf cause to be sorry. I call you a liar, und you are that! If you follow de _Shark_ because of me, vy do you not coom forward like a man long ago, and say, 'You are my fadder; I am your son!' I do not say that I vould be glad ... but, at least, I vould do my duty und you vould do yours! Vy do you follow und v'vatch und look und peer und pr'ry like a yellow cat v-vatching der cage of a bird? Vy do you anchor off und neffer coom aboard, der more so ven you vas invited by Captain Bell und Mr. Wood? Vy do you send dose sickening werses to my yoong ladies ... for I learn yesterday you do? Answer me, you fella ... vy do you do all dis if it iss for me dot you follow der _Shark_?"

All of the colour faded from Applebo's face. He began to understand. But, while he caught the ugly reflection of what was in the mind of Heldstrom, he did not see how he was to answer him. How was he to make this rough sailor understand his silly sentimentality? And how could he explain his own sensitiveness in approaching him on the subject of their relationship? He hesitated, and Heldstrom, of course, took this hesitation as a sign of guilt, and the endeavour to search for some explanatory lie. His face grew black, and in contrast the piercing blue eyes appeared to pale. Perhaps they did actually pale as a consuming wrath contracted the pupils. He leaned forward and shook his heavy forefinger so close to Applebo's face that it almost struck him.

"I tell you vy! Now I understand! It vas because of my little ger'rl ... Miss Hermione! Dot mor'rning at Shoal Harbour! Dis morning in der fog! Und how many mornings besides, I do not know...!"

"_Silence!_" Applebo sprang to his feet. For all of his height, there was head room in the yawl's cabin to permit him to stand erect. The face which he turned to his father was bloodless, tense, with white teeth bared to the molars, while the heavy cords and muscle-bands of his neck stood out under the ivory skin.

Heldstrom, too, hove himself upon his feet, and, for an instant, the two big men faced each other across the little table. Then Applebo sank back to his seat.

"You are my father," he said, "and you are aboard my boat. Also, you are in the wrong, as you will discover when you talk with the lady in question. I have seen her but twice: once by accident at Shoal Harbour; once this morning, when she came to ask me to follow you no longer. She will tell you the rest. As soon as the weather clears, I shall sail for New York, to lay up the yawl. This is all the explanation that you will get from me. In fact, there is nothing more to be said." He arose and, stepping up into the cock-pit, blew a wailing note on a siren boat-call. Almost immediately there came the sound of oars, and the Finn appeared propelling the dinghy over the flat grey surface of the water. It was apparent that the man had not been far from the yawl.

Applebo turned to Heldstrom.

"Here is the boat," he said.

Heldstrom gave him a fierce, questioning look, which Applebo did not appear to see. The face of the older man was haggard as he came up through the hatch. For an instant he seemed to hesitate, as if on the point of speech. Applebo gave him no opportunity.

"Set Captain Heldstrom aboard the _Shark_," he said to the Finn, who vigorously nodded his wild, dishevelled head.

Heldstrom glanced down at the boat, then at his son. The old sailor had the expression of a very aged man who has overtaxed his waning strength and is about to bend beneath the weight of years and trouble. Again he hesitated, as if trying to speak.

"Good-morning...!" said Applebo, curtly.

The words acted like a bucket of cold water on Heldstrom. His great frame appeared to stiffen. He stepped down into the dinghy and seated himself heavily in the stern. Applebo raised his hand in salute. Heldstrom ignored it.

"Gif vay...!" he growled to the Finn.

The warlock dipped his oars. The boat glided off into the fog, which appeared to have suddenly darkened. A damp air was fanning in from the sea.