CHAPTER XIII

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Slowly the weeks slipped by. The castaways were still in their island prison with relief as far away, apparently, as ever.

Grace had taken possession of her cabin and made herself as comfortable as it was possible under the circumstances. The luxuries to which she had always been accustomed were lamentably lacking. There was no dainty bathroom for her ablutions, no maid to answer her call, no extensive wardrobe to select from, no telephone through which she could chat with friends. But at least she had shelter and a bed to sleep upon, and for these blessings she was sensible enough to be devoutly thankful. Armitage had built close by, for his own use, a similar, but less elaborate, hut, and he took a certain pride in keeping it in order.

One day Grace found some flowers on the table in her cabin. Only one person could have put them there, and when she realized that fact, it came rather as a shock to find her strange companion paying her attentions of this nature.

"Thank you for the flowers," she said, with some embarrassment.

"I thought they'd brighten the place up a bit," he replied awkwardly:

He smiled, and she noticed for the first time that he had fine white teeth. But nothing more was said, and he went unconcernedly about his work.

For the remainder of that morning she avoided him. She left her cabin and fled to Mount Hope, straining her eyes once more in a fruitless effort to see appear on the horizon the ship which would come to her rescue.

Monotonous and lonely as was their existence on this remote islet, there was plenty of work to be done, and the hours sometimes sped by so quickly that both Grace and Armitage were astonished. The shadows of night would fall when they had thought it only a little past noon; Each did a share of the day's work, glad of the occupation that helped to divert the mind.

The signal-fire on Mount Hope demanded most of Armitage's attention; When not engaged in gathering fuel, he went on long foraging expeditions. The problem of procuring food was no light one, and, like other shipwrecked sailors, who have had to exercise their wits, he was quick to devise ways to keep their larder supplied. He caught fish with a hook made out of a sharp-pointed stick hardened in flame; he killed sea-gulls with stones hurled from a sling; he overturned turtles while they lay basking in the sun, and he saw to it that they had an abundant supply of fresh drinking-water.

Grace also was not idle. She mended and patched their clothes with needles made of fish-bone and thread made of the fiber of plantain fruit; and under Armitage's clumsy tuition she quickly learned how to cook. He showed her how to clean and broil the fish he caught, and taught her how to obtain salt by boiling sea water until the water evaporated. In a cleverly improvised oven which he built for her, she learned how to bake delicious cakes of flour made from dried and pulverised plantain fruit. She prepared their meals, which they ate together at regular hours, and for dessert she set before him plantains, quinces, limes, and cocoanuts which she herself had gathered in the wood.

This constant and intimate association could have only one result. Every day it brought the proud beauty and her taciturn companion closer than would have been possible under any other conditions. At times, in her interest in the work of the moment, Grace would entirely forget their difference in class. She would unbend and laugh and chat with him as though she had known him for years. Then, an instant later, suddenly conscious of their respective positions and what she thought she owed to her own dignity, she would relapse into an abrupt silence and draw away once more, cold and reserved. But this purely artificial demeanor could not be kept up. A few hours later, obeying her natural impulse, she was herself again, chatting with him freely, asking his opinion, trying to please him, full of respect for his superior judgment.

Armitage listened to her ceaseless prattle, amused at her vivacity, replying gravely to her questions, explaining all she wished to know. During long, idle afternoons they would sit together on the beach and he would tell her stories of the sea, about lands he had visited, strange people he had seen, while Grace, curled up at his feet, like a child, listened with breathless attention.

Thus gradually, almost unconsciously, their mutual interest in each other grew. They became necessary to each other. Sharing common perils, they naturally sought each other's companionship, and to Grace as much as to Armitage the unconventional association and comradeship was as delightful as it was novel. Grace was pleased because he treated her not as other men had done, as a toy, only to be flattered with foolish compliments, but as a woman, a helpmate, whose opinion was worth having.

Greatly to her surprise, Grace soon found herself taking pleasure in this bucolic, semi-savage sort of a life. It was so utterly unlike anything which she had ever known that, at times, she thought it must be all unreal and that, sooner or later, she would wake up from what was only a fantastic dream. But it was real enough. She had only to glance around her to realize the grim truth. There was Armitage a short distance away along the beach trying with a crudely made net to catch fish for their noonday meal, yonder on top of Mount Hope a column of black smoke was ascending to the blue sky--a mute and urgent summons to the outer world for help--and if any further testimony were needed she had only to look down at her own tattered rags, scarcely recognizable now as a gown to bring back with vividness all that had happened since the moment the typhoon broke.

Yet, as the time went on, with rescue no nearer than before, Grace seemed each day more resigned to her precarious situation. She did not fret so much. Her nervousness disappeared and her spirit became more buoyant. There ware moments when she even felt happy. Armitage was quick to notice it, and by the way he smiled as he greeted her, by the almost boyish enthusiasm he went about his work, it was evident that he welcomed the change.

Grace was surprised herself. At first it alarmed her to note her growing indifference. She could not understand the reason. Sensibly she argued that she could not be always fretting. If she did, nervous collapse would be the consequence. It never occurred to her that this new life in the exhilarating sea air explained the secret, that her body was growing more healthy and normal under the new hygienic conditions, and that as her body changed, her mental outlook changed also. The discomforts which she had to put up with were, of course, many, and her anxiety regarding the outcome of the adventure as poignant as ever, yet in other respects it was an almost ideal existence.

The weather was perfect. She lived, so to speak, in a bower of flowers, in idyllic peace, with nothing to disturb the general serenity. She had all the food to eat that her appetite craved for, there was plenty of crystal spring water to drink. At night she slept peacefully, lulled by the rhythmical music of the waves as they washed lazily against the shore, and when she awoke the birds were singing their joyous notes of welcome to another glorious day. It was the voluptuous life of the tropics with all its dreamy languor, its sensuous charm.

Constant living in the open had indeed effected a wonderful improvement in her personal appearance. Had she possessed a mirror she would scarcely have recognized in that health-flushed face, tanned by wind and sun, the pale and languid girl whose condition had alarmed her friends in New York. With her large dark eyes, clear and limpid, her lips, red and tempting as cherries, her glorious hair caught up in careless knot, her bosom fuller, her lines more rounded, her walk with an elasticity it had never known before--she was in the full bloom of youth and beauty. Grace herself realized the change, and vaguely she guessed that this explained the new mental attitude she had assumed toward her unfortunate position. Not only in body, but in her mind she felt more vigorous. Her despondency had given place to a pronounced optimism. She took keen interest in everything taking place around her. She was no longer peevish and irritable. She laughed and chatted with the spontaneous gaiety of youth, and if it were not for a constantly gnawing anxiety to know what the future had in store, to communicate with her parents, she would have been content to go on living like this for months.

Not only were the surroundings ideal and conducive to real happiness, but it was a new and pleasurable sensation to her to find that she could be of some use in the world. She took pride in doing her share of the work, and her respect for herself grew in proportion as she felt that her services were appreciated by Armitage. Gradually she learned to scrutinize his face to see if he approved what she had done, and if she saw him smile she beamed with satisfaction.

Long ago she had come to the conclusion that her companion was no ordinary man. Not only was he above his apparent station in life, but he possessed qualities that she had never yet detected in any of the men she had met. Not only was he handsome and built like an Apollo, but she recognized his superior mentality. He was born for leadership--that was evident by the manner in which he had managed things on this island. He had suffered in life, for some cause which he kept secret, and had been forced to take to brutalizing work. But it had not degraded him. He was kind and gentle, unselfish and brave.

While he succeeded in concealing his own past life, Armitage was less successful in concealing his interest in his companion. Grace's feminine tuition told her that he admired her, and, although she knew that socially he was far beneath her, she was still woman enough to be gratified. Besides, she did not seek to disguise from herself the fact that she was strangely attracted toward this man. He had about him a magnetism which she could not explain. Perhaps more than anything else it was the very mystery with which he surrounded himself that interested and attracted her. She found herself speculating strangely. Suppose he had been a man of her own class, would she marry him? Was he the type of man she could love? She remembered Professor Hanson's queer hypothesis that afternoon on the steamer. Suppose this man were to make love to her and insisted on the ties suggested by the professor. What could she do to protect herself? What could she do? She was utterly helpless. There would be nothing to do but throw herself on his generosity.

It annoyed her when she realized how much her companion entered into her thoughts. She tried not to feel lonely when he was away. She tried not to feel pleased when he returned. But she knew that she was lying to herself, and at moments it terrified her when slowly it dawned upon her that her strange, mysterious companion had entered into her most intimate life. Was it love? She laughed at the absurdity of the idea, and to show her indifference, so Armitage might plainly understand the difference in their positions, she forced herself to seem cold and reserved. He noticed the sudden change in her manner, and, unable to account for it, thought he must have displeased her.

One day he had gone up to Mount Hope to attend, as usual, to the signal-fire. She was alone. The day's work was done, and, somewhat fatigued, she was resting, seated on the verdant, sloping beach overlooking the sea. At her feet stretched the golden sands, gently laved by the rippling, transparent waves. The air was full of sweet scents, and the temperature so warm that even the thinnest clothing was almost unendurable. Drowsy from the heat, she lay under the grateful shade of spreading trees, and, looking out over the glistening ocean, watched the water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Her eyes half-closed, her entire being thrilled by a novel sensation of languor, she abandoned herself to the voluptuousness of the place and moment. Had she been alone, with no one to see her and no danger of a sudden surprise, she would have loved to divest herself of all her clothing and, nymphlike, roll nude in the golden sands like the woman she once saw in a picture called "The Birth of the Wave." Her form was physically as beautiful. She wondered if Armitage thought her beautiful--if he ever thought of her at all as men think of women--and gradually her mind wandered in strange channels.

As she lay there basking in the ardent sunshine, she felt the pleasurable, exhilarating sensation of enjoying perfect animal health. A strange feeling of languor came over her. This, she knew, was happiness and the joy of life, and yet she felt that there was still something lacking to make that happiness complete. As her eye dwelt on the loveliness of the surrounding scene, perhaps for the first time she understood the enthusiasm of those nature lovers who are content only when in the country. What, indeed, were the artificial, tawdry delights of the man-made cities compared with the delights of life in the God-made fields? She thought of overheated ballrooms, inane afternoon teas, tiresome bridge-parties. What were they compared to lying there, listening to the birds singing in the trees, her cheek gently wafted by the soft sea breeze, the pure air filling her lungs and shading the damask on her cheek. If her dear old dad saw her he would hardly know her.

She knew what her life lacked--love. A man whom she could admire and respect, a man who would rule her with his iron will and crush her if need be in his strong arms. Would she ever meet such a man? Had she already met him? Once more her mind conjured up the picture of the ideal man--the man of her day-dream on the steamer. If he should come along now, would she have the strength of will to resist the pressure of his ardent lips. Her eyes closed, she fancied she saw him coming, his head thrown back, straight as an arrow, handsome as an Apollo. As he passed he stopped, fascinated by her beauty. He came nearer, and with a cry of joy clasped her closely in furious embrace. Weakly she tried to avoid the warm kisses he rained on her too willing mouth. As she turned she chanced to see his face, and, starting back, she gave a cry. It was a face she knew. Frightened, she opened her eyes and sat up. Armitage was standing before her.

"Were you asleep?" he asked, with a smile. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Where have you been?" she asked, embarrassed.

"Up on Mount Hope tending the fire," he replied, his eyes taking in every detail of her splendid beauty. Her hair was disarranged and her bodice open at the neck because of the heat. He thought she looked the prettier, and he was only human.

"Nothing in sight, I suppose," she asked.

"No, nothing," he answered.

She rose and, going to the cabin, hastened to prepare their supper.

While she bustled about he sat quietly and watched her. He hoped she would not read on his face the happiness that was in his heart.

Yes, she had guessed aright. He was happier on this desert island than ever before. It was true that he had no wish to be rescued. For him rescue meant going back to purgatory, while this was Elysium. Never in all his life had he known such happiness as this. Only one thing was lacking to make his happiness complete. It was to call this woman--wife. He did not know how it had come to him, but he loved her with a fierceness that frightened him. He did not like to even admit it to himself or even to think of it. But he knew that he must have this woman or his life must end. To live without her was impossible. It was inconceivable. He had tasted of Heaven these last few weeks, and if he lost that he must lose everything. Of course it was an impossible dream. She was rich. When she left here she would forget him. If one day she met him in New York she would even disdain to look at him.

He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Why should he lose this happiness that had come to him? He wanted this woman. No one should rob him of her. Even if it cost him his life and hers, he was determined to have her for his own. Why should he be denied her? Their rescue from this island was improbable, if not impossible. Ships never passed near there. It was too far from the beaten track, too full of hidden dangers. Navigators knew that and gave the island a wide berth. He had lied to her to reassure her, but he knew rescue was out of the question. They would spend the rest of their days there. The days would lengthen into months, the months into years. Their youth would go. Old age would come. Then it would be too late, and they would both be sorry. Why should they not mate now? He remembered the mutineers of H. M. S. _Bounty_--a true story of the sea which had always fascinated him. The men revolted and killed their officers and landed on an island inhabited by savages. They killed the men and married the women, and to this day their descendants were sturdy fishermen.

Long after Grace had retired to rest, Armitage sat under the trees alone amid the silent beauty of the tropical night. The stars in their countless millions shone bright and resplendent in the clear atmosphere. The firmament was a glorious blaze of light. The planets flashed like suns, and changed color as he gazed at them. The small stars twinkled more humbly in a milky way that stretched across the heavens, while now and again a brilliant meteor, outlaw of the heavenly host, shot across space and as quickly disappeared. It was a spectacle for the gods, but Armitage heeded it not. Lost in meditation of things more earthly, he was wondering if he could win this woman for himself, how he could delay the dreaded moment which would take her out of his life.

* * * * *

The next day when he suggested that they explore their lonely domain together, Grace readily consented to accompany him. Laughing merrily and chattering like a magpie, she walked briskly along at his side. The day was ideal. The weather was dry and clear, with an invigorating breeze from the sea, and, as they strode along in the dazzling sunshine, Grace felt buoyant with health and exuberant spirits.

They followed the coast-line, making their way in and out among the rocks. From the interstices of the tall cliffs as they approached flew out hundreds of wild sea-gulls uttering shrill cries of alarm. Armitage picked up a stone, but Grace stayed his arm.

"It's bad luck to kill one," she said. "Let them live. Besides, they're our neighbors. They're the only other inhabitants besides ourselves."

The tide was out, so their way along the smooth sands was easy. The beach was covered with shells of remarkable luster and beauty, and Grace insisted on stopping to gather some. Presently they came to a creek, with stepping-stones covered with slippery moss. The problem was how to get across.

"Come along," said Armitage, leading the way.

"I'm afraid I'll fall into the water," exclaimed Grace, looking ruefully at the water.

"No, you won't. Take my arm," said Armitage.

They went across together, her arm closely locked in his.

Suddenly she slipped. If she had not been holding tight to his arm, she would have fallen into the creek. As it was, she was badly frightened, and clung more nervously to him. He felt her warm body pressed close against his, and a thrill went through him. There was still some distance to go before the opposite bank was reached. Putting his arm round her waist, Armitage reassured her.

"You won't fall. Just keep close to me and step as I step," he said.

He felt her warm breath on his cheek. His head seemed to swim round. It needed all his self-control to keep his equilibrium and get across. Finally they reached the other bank in safety.

Leaving the beach, they clambered up the rocks, to the higher land, where they found an abundance of coarse grass with ravines and hollows choked up with a luxuriant growth of tropical vegetation. They entered a dense wood, almost impenetrable with tangled foliage, thick undergrowth, and hidden roots of trees. Carefully, he made a path for her, and once, when they came to a running stream with no way to ford it, he had to lift her up in his strong arms and take her across like a baby. Soon they came to a clearing, sweet with the odor of wild orchids and jasmine. Through the thick foliage of the spreading trees they had glimpses of the shimmering surface of the turquoise-blue sea. They sat down in the grass, glad to rest after their exertions, and when they got hungry they ate the provisions Grace had thoughtfully provided. It was a delightful picnic, and Grace laughed with glee.

Armitage had plucked a plantain and was eating the fruit when suddenly he stopped and looked fixedly at her.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked roguishly.

"Because you are nice to look at," he answered gravely. "I look at the sea because it is beautiful. I look at you. You are beautiful."

She laughed and reddened. The compliment was clumsy, but it pleased her because she knew he meant it. To her it sounded better than any of the compliments paid her in New York's drawing-rooms. To change the conversation she said:

"I wonder if we shall ever get away from here?"

He said nothing, but his eyes sought hers. After a pause, he said boldly:

"I don't know. To be quite honest, I'm in no hurry. I'm very happy here."

Grace made no reply. This time she did not even seem angry.

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