CHAPTER XIX

ONE OF THE DELIGHTFUL PEOPLE

Next morning broke gorgeous and absolutely windless, the sea like a mirror, and Sam grumbling that they had to put in another day over the grass.

Martia, who never let pleasure stand in front of business, had so much to do on board, that she could not get ashore before ten. She had not only to tidy up things and put the cabin to rights, but also to pack food for the working party.

Bobby rowed her off, and having beached the boat with the help of Bowler, he led her along to the opening of the cañon he had ascended yesterday.

Sam did not bother them. He was on board writing up his log.

The air was hot in the cañon, the atmosphere even out in the _Lorna_ was many degrees hotter than yesterday, the wind having withdrawn for the last twenty-four hours seemed to have made way for a momentary summer.

When they reached the place where the cañon fanned out and the downs lay before them, Martia paused to rest for a moment. She was tired. Nothing tires one more than sudden change in the temperature like this, especially coming after weeks of invigorating sea breezes.

"Sure you're up for the climb?" asked Bobby. "Or would you sooner go back? We can come another day."

"No thanks," replied Martia. "I'm all right."

They took the rise at a slant and with intervals for rest, and when they arrived on the shoulder of the down, the girl stood for a moment looking around her. Then she glanced up at the peak. The eagle had left his eerie and was circling in the blue just as he had circled yesterday. His sharp cry came through the crystal clear air; then he passed away and vanished towards the eastern-most side of the peak, and the silence resumed itself. The silence which yet held so many sounds, the faint murmur and hum of insects, the vaguest murmur of the sea, less sounds than indications of what might be hidden in the way of sounds in that silence old as the peak or Hyalos itself.

"This is the strangest, queerest place," said Martia, half laughing and turning her head this way and that as though she were listening or looking for something. "You'd never expect a bit of country like this up here, it's almost English."

"Yes, I told you," said Bobby. "It's like the downs."

"'Where the wild bee makes honey And the thyme Is sweet as when the gods of old were young,'"

murmured Martia.

"Yes, it's something like that," said Bobby, who had caught the words. "Makes you feel lonely, doesn't it?"

He looked up. The eagle had returned to the sky and was circling above them at a great height. He seemed climbing a spiral staircase in the air, and they sat down to watch him, leaning on their elbows and looking up till reaching a certain height he struck off seaward and to the north-west.

"I wonder where he is going to?" said the girl.

"If he goes far enough on that course he'll reach Milo," replied the other. "I expect he's making for there, it's not so very far in a straight line."

It was the first time they had been alone together since leaving England, and Bobby who had always lots to say on board ship found himself without conversation now.

The fact of the matter was he wanted to say a lot of things to Martia but couldn't. Much as he was beginning to care for her, the expedition stood first, it was a serious business that had to be finished and done with before personal considerations were to be thought of. He did not know in the least how her feelings stood towards him, and to risk a refusal or a rebuff that might make the position on board impossible, was not to be thought of.

"Where was the place by the cliffs that you were talking about?" asked Martia, waking from a moment of reverie during which she seemed to have forgotten the eagle and its destination and even Bobby.

"Which place?"

"The place by the cliffs where you went and lay down."

"Oh, right over there." He pointed to the grass line where the southern slope began. "I went to sleep somewhere about here and then I must have got up and walked over there and lain down."

"Right by the cliff edge?"

"A few yards away."

"You might have gone over."

"Oh, there is a Providence who looks after sleep-walkers."

"I believe there is," said Martia. "At least a Providence that protects people from evil and danger. I don't like this place."

"Hyalos?"

"No; here. It feels like a room that has been locked up for ever so long--I should think no one ever comes up here, not even fishermen."

She paused and they could hear the faint murmur of insects and the fainter murmur of the sea. The wild goats were not feeding here to-day, they had moved towards the other side of the peak.

Martia, leaning on her side listening to the murmuring that filled the warm air, forgot for a moment her dislike for this place. The sense of release from the weariness and distress of life that had touched Bobby yesterday came to her now even more strongly than it had come to him, yet meeting with a stronger opposition. Looking across the hollow where the temple column lay, her eyes were fixed on a far-off gull, just a flake of white on the southern sky, when something in the hollow drew her gaze.

The air seemed boiling in the hollow. That was the only way she could express it to herself. Just as the air quivers and shakes over a hot sandy beach so the air in the hollow was disturbed.

Then suddenly the boiling ceased, the air became normal, but there was something left, a whirling, a residuum, a dream, a reality, a terror, grotesque, obscene, soul-shaking.

In the amazement of the moment she clutched her companion by the arm, clinging to him for ten or twelve seconds--releasing him for want of power to retain her grip.

Then, as quick as they could, rising to their feet, they left that place, saying not one word to each other as they made their way down and back to the beach in a silence understandable--if you have ever seen a faun.

Neither then nor during their after life did they ever refer to this terrible matter which formed, yet, a bond between them, the bond of a common danger which they had escaped.