Isobel's drooping was of brief endurance. Elsie and Mrs. Somerville

supported her to the stateroom, and there Elsie sat with her a little

while, soothing her as one might comfort a child in pain. Once it

seemed that the stricken girl was on the point of confiding in her

friend, but the imminent words died away in a passion of tears. Elsie

besought her to rest, and strove to calm her with predictions of the

joyous days they would pass together when the stress and terror of

their present life should be a tale that is told.

Isobel, stupefied by some haunting knowledge which appeared to have a

vague connection with the misfortunes of the Kansas, yielded to

Elsie's gentle compulsion, and endeavored to close her eyes. All was

quiet in the cabin, save for the sufferer's labored breathing, and an

occasional sob, while her wondering nurse smoothed her luxuriant hair,

and whispered those meaningless little phrases which have such magic

influence on the distracted nerves of woman-kind. There was hardly a

sound on the ship, beyond an unexplained creaking of pulleys, which

soon ceased.

Mrs. Somerville had gone, in response to Elsie's mute appeal. Somehow,

from a piecing together of hints and half phrases, the girl feared a

painful disclosure as the outcome of Isobel's hysteria. She was glad

it had been averted. If there were hidden scandals in her friend's

life in Chile, she prayed they might remain at rest. She had not

forgotten Christobal's guarded words. He probably knew far more than

he chose to tell of the "summer hotel attachment" between Isobel and

Ventana at which he had hinted. But, even crediting that passing folly

with a serious aspect, why should the daughter of the richest merchant

in Valparaiso fall prostrate at the mere mention of the name of a

disreputable loafer like José the Winebag? To state the fact was to

refute it. Elsie dismissed the idea as preposterous. It was clear

enough that Isobel's break-down arose from some other cause; perhaps

the relaxed tension of existence on board the Kansas, after the

hardships borne on the island, supplied a simple explanation.

Through the open port she heard a man walk rapidly along the deck, and

halt outside the door. She half rose from her knees to answer the

expected knock, thinking that Mrs. Somerville had sent a steward to

ascertain if Miss Baring needed anything. But the newcomer evidently

changed his mind, and turned back. Then came Courtenay's voice, low

but compelling: "One moment, M'sieu' de Poincilit. A word with you."

The French Count! During the whirl of the previous night, and by

reason of the abiding joy of her morning's reverie, she had failed to

miss the dapper Frenchman. Once, indeed, she had mentioned him to

Isobel, who offered a brief surmise that he might be ill, and keeping

to his cabin. Yet, here he was on deck, and possibly on the point of

seeking an interview with the lady to whom he had paid such close

attention during the early days of the voyage. Perhaps Mrs. Somerville

had told him of the fainting fit, and he was about to make a friendly

inquiry when the captain accosted him. But Elsie's ears, tuned to fine

precision where her lover's utterances were concerned, had caught the

note of contemptuous command, and she was even more surprised by the

Count's flurried answer in French: "Another time, M'sieu'. I pray you pardon me now. I find I am not

strong enough yet to venture on deck."




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024