CHAPTER XV

Norah, meanwhile, is left alone with Stapleton.

She has given him no response to his cheery greetings, not even a smile, and looks at him with a serious and mystified air.

The question which is on her lips finds utterance immediately Mrs. Shaw and Netta have gone out of hearing; she puts it slowly and earnestly:

"How did you come ashore?"

Stapleton laughs away her seriousness, or tries to; "I heard you were here, and I came to see you," he answers readily.

"I don't mean that--you know I don't!" Her earnestness deepens into an anxious craving for the truth, as the quivering voice betrays when she adds the direct question.

"Why was your cruise cut short? And when did you get in?"

Stapleton is not the man to be cornered so easily as this, however, and finds a way to evade the awkward interrogation with every appearance of frankness:

"Now you are asking me to tell you naval secrets! What, do you imagine I am going to trust you with the knowledge of the movements of the fleet? It wouldn't be safe! But I can answer one part of your question; we got in about six o'clock this morning. And, as I told you, I came here to see you as soon as I could find out where you were. You ought to say 'pleased to meet you,' or something like that, you know."

"'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stapleton,'" echoes Norah with mock politeness.

"Yes, but are you really though?" urges Stapleton more earnestly. "_Are_ you pleased to see me again? Are you glad that I came straight here to see you? Tell me!"

"Why, of course I am," answers the girl, fencing off his impulsive attack; "it cannot be anything but a pleasure to see one of those who were so kind to us last night."

"You know perfectly well I don't mean anything like that!" This impetuous lover is so very direct in his speech, it is difficult to keep him at bay; Norah, with a trembling heart, finds all her defences breaking down at once. "I told you last night that if I lived I would search for you until I found you. I meant it. And I have found you--sooner than I dared to hope. Now then, I must hear you tell me, are you glad to see--me?"

A silence.

"Norah--are you?"

"Yes--I--am."

"Norah! My Norah!"

"Ah, no, no!"

"But it is ah, yes, yes! Look me in the face--can you tell me that you do not care for me?"

She does as he bids her; raises her glorious dark eyes to his, fearlessly, like the brave-hearted girl she is, and tells him the truth she is too proud to conceal.

"Yes, I do care. Very much!"

"Surely it is all a dream! It is all too strange, too wonderful, too exquisite to be true! There flashes across the girl's mind, as she speaks her simple confession of love, a sort of instantaneous vision--a mental picture of her life. She sees dark clouds forming, rolling down upon her and growing ever more and more threatening; gloomy black clouds, heavy with doom and horror; they close around her and she is almost engulfed in them--when on a sudden, a dazzling shaft of golden light pierces the thick darkness, rolling back the evil clouds and scattering them into nothingness, leaving her bathed in the gleaming glory.

The vision passes. Her lover has taken her by the hand and is gently compelling her to follow him. His desire is to lead her away, out of sight and hearing of all who may chance to break in upon them. This supreme moment of their lives must not be interrupted; it is for themselves alone.

The hillocky ground of the wild heather-clad island affords many a safe retreat for lovers' confidences, even though it is a fairly well frequented spot. Here is the sailors' hut, and here the recreation ground, and further away some scattered cottages of the highland natives; but there is room enough amongst the rough sedgy wastes where the bog-cotton makes a snowy carpet and the curlew and plover awake the solitudes with their plaintive cries, room enough for two to escape from all the wide world and find a new glorious world in which live none but just themselves alone.

So they walk, side by side, in silence at first: and the rough ground beneath their feel becomes the golden floor of heaven.

And, presently, Alick Stapleton takes his beloved into his arms. "Then you are my Norah, after all," he whispers to her; "my very own Norah! Yet I never doubted it, from the first moment I saw you. Even then as soon as my eyes rested on you, I knew that there could never be any other woman in the world for me but you, and I hoped--yes, I knew, that you would sometime or other come to feel just the same way about me! And do you really and truly mean that you can love me too? That you began to care for me at that very same time? Wonderful!"

A premonition of impending misfortune strikes coldly upon her heart, a dark foreboding such as chilled the passionate rapture of another maiden long ago who, like her, feared a sudden ending to the glories of love at first sight--

"_----Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night; It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.'_"

Stapleton feels no such foolish dread, and would laugh her fears away.

"Why, what is there to be afraid of?" he smilingly chides her. "As long as we love each other there is nothing in the world that can come between us!"

Norah sighs, answering him, "Ah, how many who have loved have said the same thing--and believed it!"

"But _I_ believe it, and you must believe it, too," this forceful lover insists--"Norah, my darling, do not let such sad thoughts come upon you at such a moment as this!"

"No," she makes answer, almost fiercely, thrusting aside her dread presentiment, "this hour of love and happiness at least may be allowed me, and nothing shall snatch it away!"

She clings to her lover's arm, leaning upon him as though she would seek shelter there and keep the world at bay, defying fate and all the threats and dangers of the days to come.

"Why, that's my girl," smiles Stapleton. "But not this hour of happiness only, Norah. Love and happiness shall be ours all through our life. It will rest with ourselves to make it so. Every thought of mine shall be for you. Do you know, I kept thinking about you all the time after you left us last night? I could not put you out of my mind--I did not want to!"

Not _quite_ the truth, Lieutenant-Commander Stapleton, first lieutenant of the _Marathon_, not quite the whole truth and nothing but the truth; for was there not that terrible time when all his thoughts had been for the ship and her crew, suddenly overtaken by that awful disaster!

Yet he must not let his mind dwell upon that horror for a single moment, lest his brain should telegraph to Norah's the sad awfulness of it; for both their minds are surely tuned alike at such a time as this, and it would be very easy for her to receive impressions from the waves of her lover's thoughts. At all costs, the knowledge of the disaster must be kept from her, at least for the present.

So Stapleton dismisses the fearful memory; and a lighter recollection takes its place in his mind. This is better fitted for her ears, and he smiles as he tells her.

"Do you know, when my marine servant brought the hot water to my cabin just before dinner, I said 'Thank you, darling,' to him."

"He _must_ have been surprised," laughs Norah.

"Oh, I don't know; it takes a good deal to surprise a marine!--But tell me, did you think about me, too, just ever so little?"

"More than a little. I thought about you all the time. Oh, I am so glad to know you are safe--all of you!"

"Hm! Why shouldn't we be safe?"--Stapleton thinks it rather a curious remark, and hopes to goodness his face will not betray him into making any unnecessary revelations.

Norah also realises how very inopportune are the words that have slipped out unawares; and endeavours to explain away her real anxieties.

"Oh, I don't know why! There are always dangers at sea, aren't there? And especially now in war-time." The girl turns very white as she voices these stirrings of her heart.

Stapleton feels he must dispel these fears at once. He knows what an agony is endured by sweethearts and wives who let their imagination brood upon the perils of the deep in time of war. His messmates have spoken of such matters in his hearing how the dear women at home endure torturing days and sleepless nights in utter helplessness, thinking of those who go down to the sea in ships, and suffering infinitely more than the objects of their anxiety and compassion--who, indeed, are very often spending a thoroughly comfortable time and would be vastly surprised to be told they were the subjects of so much pity.

It will never do for Norah to start indulging in such worries; so Stapleton turns the subject aside with a light-hearted jest.

"Well," says he, "anyhow, there are no more dangers at sea than there are ashore. Why, the most dreadful things happen to those brave people who have the courage to live on dry land. Think of the--the 'bus accidents, and the--the banana skins! Think of the flag days! More people get killed in one day in London through bursting blood-vessels in altercations with taxi-drivers than have been lost in action at sea since the days of Nelson; there are statistics to prove it! And, then, there was an uncle of mine who spent twenty-nine years afloat, and directly he retired and took to the beach, blessed if he didn't go and marry his cook! Oh yes, the land is far more dangerous than the sea, every time!"

And so, betwixt love and laughter, the happy minutes pass. Norah clings to her hour, the more because she knows full well it must end soon. She must make full confession--that is imperative; and, when she has confessed, there can be no more question of love between her and this gallant, loyal young King's Officer. He will hate her--or, what is worse, will pity her; but in no case can he consent to link his life with hers; she has put herself beyond the pale by her rash and wicked plotting.

But the confession shall not be made just yet. Of that Norah is determined. So little has been her portion of joy in life till now, so little will be hers when this brief hour is gone; now, while love is within her grasp, it shall be hers to enjoy, come what may!

Yes, and there is another consideration that makes her keep silence: the safety of Netta, who is very dear to her. Norah is quite prepared to stand the punishment for her own guilt, but she will not incriminate her cousin.

Wait till they have escaped Southwards, when Netta can hide herself somewhere till the affair has blown over--Patrick doubtless, will be quite able to take care of himself. Then, and not before, Norah says to herself, she will write to Alick Stapleton, openly confessing her own share in the plot--and then she, too, can shrink into obscurity and pray that her life may not be a long one. But, for the present, she bids defiance to black care.

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