The Trespasser

The tall white yachts in a throng were lounging off the roads of Ryde.

It was near the regatta time, so these proud creatures had flown loftily

together, and now flitted hither and thither among themselves, like a

concourse of tall women, footing the waves with superb touch. To

Siegmund they were very beautiful, but removed from him, as dancers

crossing the window-lights are removed from the man who looks up from

the street. He saw the Solent and the world of glamour flying gay as

snow outside, where inside was only Siegmund, tired, dispirited,

without any joy.

He and Helena had climbed among coils of rope on to the prow of their

steamer, so they could catch a little spray of speed on their faces to

stimulate them. The sea was very bright and crowded. White sails leaned

slightly and filed along the roads; two yachts with sails of amber

floated, it seemed, without motion, amid the eclipsed blue of the day;

small boats with red and yellow flags fluttered quickly, trailing the

sea with colour; a pleasure steamer coming from Cowes swung her soft

stout way among the fleeting ships; high in the background were

men-of-war, a long line, each one threading tiny triangles of flags

through a sky dim with distance.

'It is all very glad,' said Siegmund to himself, 'but it seems to be

fanciful.' He was out of it. Already he felt detached from life. He belonged to his

destination. It is always so: we have no share in the beauty that lies

between us and our goal.

Helena watched with poignant sorrow all the agitation of colour on the

blue afternoon.

'We must leave it; we must pass out of it,' she lamented, over and over

again. Each new charm she caught eagerly.

'I like the steady purpose of that brown-sailed tramp,' she said to

herself, watching a laden coaster making for Portsmouth.

They were still among the small shipping of Ryde. Siegmund and Helena,

as they looked out, became aware of a small motor-launch heading across

their course towards a yacht whose tall masts were drawn clean on the

sky. The eager launch, its nose up as if to breathe, was racing over the

swell like a coursing dog. A lady, in white, and a lad with dark head

and white jersey were leaning in the bows; a gentleman was bending over

some machinery in the middle of the boat, while the sailor in the low

stern was also stooping forward attending to something. The steamer was

sweeping onwards, huge above the water; the dog of a boat was coursing

straight across her track. The lady saw the danger first. Stretching

forward, she seized the arm of the lad and held him firm, making no

sound, but watching the forward menace of the looming steamer.