"As a nurse I've done that hundreds of times. But frankly, I can't read

poetry; I begin to sing-song it at once; it becomes rime without reason.

What is the book?"

Cleigh extended it to her. The moment her hands touched the volume she saw

that she was holding something immeasurably precious. The form was unlike

the familiar shapes of modern books. The covers consisted of exquisitely

hand-tooled calf bound by thongs; there was a subtle perfume as she opened

them. Illuminated vellum. She uttered a pleasurable little gasp.

"The Song of Songs, which is Solomon's," she read.

"Fifteenth century--the vellum. The Florentine covers were probably added

in the seventeenth. I have four more downstairs. They are museum pieces,

as we say."

"That is to say, priceless?"

"After a fashion."

"'Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a

man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly

be contemned!'"

"Why did you select that?"

"I didn't select it; I remembered it--because it is true."

"You have a very pleasant voice. Go on--read."

Thus for an hour she read to him, and by the time she grew tired Cleigh

was sound asleep. The look of granite was gone from his face, and she saw

that he, too, had been handsome in his youth. Why had he struck Denny on

the mouth? What had the son done so to enrage the father? Some woman! And

where had she met the man? Oh, she was certain that she had encountered

him before! But for the present the gate to recollection refused to swing

outward. Gently she laid the beautiful book on his knees and stole over to

the rail. For a while she watched the flying fish.

Then came one of those impulses which keep human beings from becoming half

gods--a wrong impulse, surrendered to immediately, unweighed, unanalyzed,

unchallenged. The father asleep, the son amusing himself with the

phonograph, she was now unobserved by her guardians; and so she put into

execution the thought that had been urging and intriguing her since the

strange voyage began--a visit to the chart house. She wanted to ask

Cunningham some questions. He would know something about the Cleighs.

The port door to the chart house was open, latched back against the side.

She hesitated for a moment outside the high-beamed threshold--hesitated

because Captain Newton was not visible. The wheelman was alone. Obliquely

she saw Cunningham, Cleve, and a third man seated round a table which was

littered. This third man sat facing the port door, and sensing her

presence he looked up. Rather attractive until one noted the thin, hard

lips, the brilliant blue eyes. At the sight of Jane something flitted over

his face, and Jane knew that he was bad.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024