CHAPTER X.

DANGER.

About the same time a small wreath of blue smoke was observed issuing from one of the starboard ports of the _Pandora’s_ half-round, and the alarmed steward rushed upon the quarter-deck, with the terrible news that the ship was on fire. Vernon Blythe was the officer to receive it.

‘Unbatten the main hatch,’ he shouted, in a loud, clear collected voice to the carpenter, ‘and pass out the kegs of gunpowder. Now, lads!’ he continued, addressing some of his watch, ‘screw on your hose, and lead it through the skylight.’

As the women became alive to the possible danger of their position, they made confusion worse confounded by their screams.

‘Jack,’ cried Alice Leyton, as she flew to him for protection, ‘where shall we go? What shall we do? We shall all be burned to death.’

‘Stay where you are, dear,’ he answered, hastily but kindly, ‘and do nothing. It will all be right in a few minutes. Where is Lovell? Go and stay by him till I tell you all is safe,’ and with a nod and a smile he was off to the scene of action.

Alice rushed to her mother, who was half-fainting in a wicker chair, and flung herself at her feet.

‘Oh, he was too good for me. I was a fool not to see it. If anything happens to him, I shall never forgive myself,’ she said incoherently, as she began to weep with fear.

Mrs Vansittart was leaning on her husband’s arm, pale with fright, as she begged him to say if she had ever failed in her duty to him during the last twenty years; her daughter Grace was trying to extract some consolation from Godfrey Harland, who appeared to be more alarmed than herself, and all the other passengers were watching the threatened danger with faces white with suspense and fear. At the moment of the alarm, Mr Coffin happened to be between his blankets, snoring loudly, and Captain Robarts was in a similar position in his cabin, but both men were soon awakened to a sense of what was going on in the vessel.

Jack Blythe, having given a few instructions to the crew, rushed down the narrow passage to the saloon, and having ascertained from which berth the smoke was issuing, he entered it without ceremony. A small box lay upon the floor. Placing his hand upon the cover, he lifted it up, but not before the iron bands surrounding it had burned his palm, and as soon as it was done, the cabin was illumined by a sheet of flame. Tearing off his coat, Jack threw it on the burning mass, but was obliged immediately to retreat, half blinded and suffocated by the dense volumes of smoke his garment produced. Pressing forward again with a large glass decanter of water from the saloon sideboard, he succeeded in extinguishing the flames in the box, but not before the bed-clothes were all on fire.

By that time he was joined by some of the others, amongst whom was Captain Robarts with the hose, which Jack snatched from him, and played upon the burning articles, but the cabin was gutted and the bulkhead charred before the fire was out and the danger over.

Jack’s hair was scorched by the flame, and his eyes smarting and blackened by the smoke, as he emerged from the saloon, and drew in a deep breath of the fresh air.

‘Are you hurt, Mr Blythe?’ inquired Captain Robarts, who was proud of his smart young officer.

‘Not a bit, sir. My hair won’t want cutting again just yet,’ said Jack, passing his hand over his singed locks; ‘and the fire caught my ears a little. But I’m all right, and the ship’s all right, which is much more to the purpose.’

‘Thanks to your promptitude and courage, sir,’ replied the skipper.

The compliment was formal, but Jack coloured with pleasure to receive it, from brow to chin.

‘How did the fire originate? Where did it come from? Who put it out? What damage has it done?’ were the queries put by the various passengers, whose fears soon calmed down as they were apprised of their safety. But no one could answer them.

‘Mr Greenwood, Captain Robarts desires to see you in the saloon,’ said the steward, when the bustle and confusion were somewhat abated; and the young gentleman followed him to the presence of the master of the _Pandora_.

The captain was seated at the table, with his log-book before him.

‘I have sent for you, Mr Greenwood,’ he commenced, in a stern voice, ‘to ask how this fire originated. The smoke and the flames came from your cabin, and I understand you were the last person to leave it. How did it happen?’

‘I’m sure I can’t tell you, sir,’ replied young Greenwood, who was trembling under the captain’s gaze.

‘But no one has been in the berth but yourself,’ rejoined Captain Robarts; ‘my steward is a witness to that.’

‘But I don’t think it could have been _me_, sir, don’t you know?’ spluttered the youth, ‘because--’

‘What were you doing there?’ thundered the skipper; ‘come, sir, no nonsense with me. The lives of the whole ship’s company have been endangered, and I _will_ find out the cause. What did you come down for? Tell me at once. As captain of this vessel, I have a right to question you.’

Harold Greenwood had heard of other rights possessed by the captain of a vessel, such as putting mutinous subjects under arrest, and fearful of what the consequences of telling an untruth might be, he stammered out that he only came down to fetch a cigarette.

‘And where did you light your cigarette, Mr Greenwood?’ continued the captain relentlessly.

‘In the berth,’ blurted out the young man, ‘but I threw the match into the basin, don’t you know? I am _sure_ I did. I always do; and that can’t do any harm, eh?’

‘Steward, go with Mr Greenwood, and get the lucifer out of the basin,’ said the skipper; and whilst Harold tremblingly followed the servant, the captain leaned his head upon his hand, and seemed lost in thought. The search was unsuccessful. No trace of a burnt lucifer could be found in the basin.

‘But I’m _sure_ I did,’ stammered Greenwood.

‘_I_ will tell you what you did, Mr Greenwood,’ interrupted the captain angrily. ‘You lighted your cigarette, and dropped the still burning match into the box, and set fire to my vessel. You are well aware that smoking is prohibited in the saloon, yet by your disobedience and carelessness you have endangered the lives of my passengers and crew. Had it not been for the presence of mind of my second officer, the whole ship would have been blown out of the water.’

‘I’m sure, sir, I’m very sorry, don’t you know?’

‘_Sorry_, sir! what use would your being sorry have been when we were all dead men? You’re a fool, sir, that’s what you are--a d--d fool! You can leave me now. I shall enter the facts as they occurred, into my official log, and you will be charged with the damages, and I only hope your father may stop your allowance in consequence, and leave you less money to waste on cigarettes and matches, for the future. I have nothing further to say to you, sir, and you can go.’

Harold Greenwood sneaked out of the austere presence, looking very small and pitiful, and found to his horror, on reaching the deck, that the whole conversation had been overheard by the inquisitive passengers, who had listened attentively to it through the skylight. And he had the further mortification of hearing Jack Blythe’s cool-headed pluck lauded on all sides, by the same tongues that reproached him for his stupidity and want of care.

‘Allow me to congratulate you, Blythe,’ said Captain Lovell, ‘you possess all the attributes of a hero.’

‘We owe you a vote of thanks,’ added Mr Vansittart. ‘Had it not been for your courage, sir, we might all have been blown to smithereens by this time, and our limbs scattered to the four quarters of the globe.’

‘But you’ve lost your coat, I hear,’ said Miss Vere; ‘we must get you the very best that’s made, by general subscription, Mr Blythe.’

‘And, oh, Jack, you’ve hurt your hand!’ cried Alice Leyton plaintively, ‘and your hair is burnt right off to the roots, in front. Won’t you do anything for yourself, when you have done so much for us?’

‘Belay that, Alice,’ replied the young sailor laughingly. ‘You know how I hate fuss of all sort. And as for my hand, it is only a little scorched, and will be all right to-morrow. I’ve had it twice as sore after handling the ropes, I can tell you.’

‘Ah, you never _would_ let any one thank you, whatever you did for them,’ said Alice, with a sigh.

But there she made a mistake. There were _some_ thanks that Vernon Blythe accepted greedily, and treasured the remembrance of in his heart of hearts. As the night fell, and he sought out Iris Harland on the quarter-deck, her hand grasped his with a feverish pressure.

‘We have heard it _all_,’ she said, with a warm, grateful light in the eyes she bent on him; ‘Maggie and I were in the cabin when the alarm broke out, and at first I was very much frightened. But the steward or some one called out that it was Mr Blythe’s watch, and he had gone to see what it was all about. And then somehow, I felt quite satisfied. It seemed as if it _must_ be all right, if _you_ were there.’

‘Is that _really_ the case, Iris? Was the sense of my presence and protection such a comfort to you as all that?’

‘Indeed it was. I have only told you the truth. You are so brave and strong, and you seem so fearless yourself, that you inspire others with courage.’

‘It makes me very happy to hear you say so. Yet I was not quite so fearless as you give me credit for, Iris. When I first perceived the possibility of danger, the thought of _one_ person on board this vessel came into my mind, and almost paralysed me, until the same thought nerved my arm, and made me feel as if I could dare and do anything for her sake.’

‘That was the young lady you are engaged to, Mr Blythe, I suppose. You see, we hear all the chatter in the second cabin. Maggie has pointed her out to me--Miss Leyton, I mean--and I think she is very pretty. And, Mr Blythe,’ continued Iris, in a sweet, faltering voice, ‘I _do_ hope you will be happy with her. I--I--don’t think marriage is a very happy condition myself, but there are always exceptions, and I shall pray yours may be one of them.’

‘I think it will, if it ever comes to pass. But that will not be with Alice Leyton, Iris. Maggie and you are both mistaken. I am not engaged to her, or any woman. In fact, I believe she is on the point of being engaged to Captain Lovell.

‘Indeed! Then it was not _she_ who inspired your deed of daring?’

‘No. Quite another person. But you must not speak of a common act of duty by such an absurd name. There was never any positive danger. A young fool called Greenwood lit his cigar in the berth, and dropped the burning lucifer, which set the whole cabin in a blaze. Of course, it _might_ have resulted in a disaster. But it won’t do in this life to calculate on our “might-have-beens,” unless we wish to turn it into a book of Lamentations.’

‘Have you missed so many chances, then, Mr Blythe? I should not have thought so.’

‘I have missed _one_, Iris, for which no future success can ever repay me. Cannot you guess what that was?’

‘You don’t mean that old business at the Bridge of Allan, surely?’ she said, in a low voice.

‘Indeed I do. I do not blame _you_ for one moment, remember. I know that it was not your fault, and that I alone was to blame for my presumption in daring to love you, but it has spoilt my life.’

They were standing by the side of the vessel looking into the rushing sea as he spoke to her, and they were almost alone. The evening was so cold that none of the saloon passengers were on the poop, and the quarter-deck was nearly deserted. Maggie sat in a sheltered corner under the long-boat, by the side of Will Farrell, but they were too far off, and too much engrossed by each other, to hear what their companions said. And so Iris, wrapped in a dark cloak, stood, under the cover of night, with her sad eyes upraised, and her pure profile limned against the evening sky; and Vernon Blythe lingered by her side, looking with infinite love and yearning on her face. He was dreaming all sorts of wild, impossible dreams as he did so, but the wakening was coming to him only too soon.

‘_It has spoilt your life_,’ repeated Iris, in a tone of incredulity. ‘Oh, don’t say that, Mr Blythe. You make me feel so very miserable and guilty.’

‘Have I not just said that I acquit you of any intentional unkindness? How could you have been expected to believe that such a lad as I was should presume to lift his eyes to you? But, you see, I couldn’t help it. It was a sort of fate with me. I saw you and loved you from the beginning, and since then I have tried to put you out of my mind by every possible means, in vain. You _will_ stick there. You are so obstinate.’

Iris laughed faintly.

‘I am very, _very_ sorry. I must seem like an obstinate Irish tenant to you, who pays no rent, and yet refuses to turn out. Why don’t you evict me?’

‘I wouldn’t evict you if I could,’ said the young man warmly.

‘I don’t think,’ went on Iris dreamily, ‘that I quite knew what I was about in those days, Mr Blythe. I was only eighteen, you know (I am twenty-three now), and I had lived all my life in the country with my father, and he never looked after me, or advised me, as my mother would have done. If my poor mother had lived, I don’t think I should ever have married--as I did marry. But I was so ignorant. I knew nothing.’

‘Iris,’ said Vernon suddenly, ‘tell me all about your marriage. I never heard more than the mere facts. I don’t even know your married name, unless it was “Douglas.” But why do you call yourself “_Miss_?” Why are you going out to Dunedin? What was your husband, and when did he die? Would it be painful for you to tell me all this?’

‘Very painful. Please don’t ask me. My past life is like a bad dream to me.’

‘Then you were not happy with him?’

‘No.’

‘Did he dare to ill-treat you?’ exclaimed Vernon.

Iris was silent.

‘My God!’ cried the young man fiercely; ‘were he only on earth, he should answer to me for this.’

‘Hush! hush! Mr Blythe. Let us drop the subject. It is all over now,’ said Iris trembling.

‘But _is_ it all over? Can any future life (however happy) give you back your peace of mind, your lovely, girlish innocence, your health and strength? I parted with you rich in every gift that youth and hope can give--able and willing to speak of yourself, your past and your future; I meet you again, broken in health and spirits, with dark passages in your life which you dare not speak of--with no prospects, and no friends. Iris, it is killing me! I was a boy then, it is true, without future, or experience, or anything to recommend me in your eyes. But I _loved_ you, passionately and devotedly, and even though you did not love me, I could have made you happier than this. Oh, why did you throw yourself away on a man who could not appreciate you?’

‘How can I answer a question to you which I cannot answer to myself. I suppose I was mad, or blind. He was good-looking, and an adept at deception, and I was too inexperienced to distinguish the true metal from the false. Don’t blame me for it too much, Mr Blythe. I liked you very much. I felt honoured by your preference, and I have never forgotten it since. But you seemed such a boy to me then, and I did not know--I could not tell--’ she faltered, breaking down.

‘But I am not a boy now,’ urged Vernon eagerly; ‘I was twenty-five last birthday. You will not accuse me again of not knowing my own mind. Oh, Iris, I have never ceased to love, and dream of you. In my lonely watches, in tempests and in calm--from the torrid to the frigid zone--it has been all the same. Your dear image, the echo of your voice, the crumbs of comfort you threw to me in my distress, have been hugged to my heart as its best treasures. And it will be so till I die, even should I live for another half century.’

‘What am I to say to you?’ she answered, weeping, ‘except that it can never, _never_ be. Oh, Mr Blythe, don’t talk to me of love. It is useless! It can end in nothing! I--I--must not listen to you.’

‘But _why_? What is the obstacle? Do you love any one else?’

Iris shook her head.

‘And do you dislike me?’

She did not shake her head this time, but she looked up at the sky, and he could see the large tears that stood in her eyes, course slowly down her cheeks.

‘Oh, my darling!’ he exclaimed rapturously, as he threw his arms around her, ‘I have conquered at last. You need not trouble yourself to give me any other answer.’

But Iris twisted herself out of his embrace, and turned her pale face towards him.

‘Don’t! Pray, pray, don’t!’ she said earnestly. ‘I--I--cannot bear it! I appreciate all you have said to me at its full value, and I shall never forget it. But there it must end! For I have deceived you, Mr Blythe! I am not a widow! I--I--am _still married_.’

As this announcement left her lips, Vernon Blythe felt as if he had been struck right across the face. He turned as white as a sheet, looked her fixedly in the eyes for a moment, then dropping her hand, he turned on his heel, and walked silently away.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]