The others were idle fancies. They lasted, on the average, a week, while this--"

"Might last a month?" she interrupted.

"Or an eternity."

"I think we had best talk of something else," she said, uneasily. "In the morning we must begin our work, bright and early. I suppose there will be no beach bathing here, and we can commence before coffee if you wish. I want to be of all possible use while we are together."

"You will never leave me, Marjorie," I answered, "if I am allowed to set the time of your departure. Don't think, I beg, that I would say these things if I did not mean them. I want you for my true and loving wife--understand, that is what I mean--wife; and something tells me that, when you think it over, you will grant my wish."

She flushed until her neck was as rosy as her cheek. Several very long breaths came and went to stir her matchless bosom. She seemed as if strangling for an instant and recovered her equanimity with difficulty.

"Mr. Camwell--" she began.

"'Don,'" I corrected.

"No, not at this moment," she answered. "Do you recollect to whom you are speaking? I am a nearly friendless girl--who has trusted herself to your manhood and honor. I am far from my home, if indeed I can truly claim to have one; you know nothing about me. It is madness if you mean what you say. It is villainy of the deepest dye if you do not mean it."

"We shall have to call it madness, then," I replied, smiling at the thought that I knew her heart in spite of all her efforts to conceal its true pulsations. "I might fall at your feet, declaim my story after the manner of a stage hero, all that sort of thing. I believe it best to tell you what I have to say in the plain, sincere tone that a matter of great moment should be spoken. I love you, Marjorie! I have loved you since the minute my eyes rested on your face. I shall love no other woman while life remains to me. I offer you my hand in sincere and honest affection, and may G.o.d--"

She half rose from her chair and lifted a hand deprecatingly.

"Don't say that!" she interpolated, with distress in her tone. "I will believe you without the oath. But, I cannot listen. It is impossible.

You must not--you must not--"

"My darling," I said, leaning toward her, and speaking lower than any native of St. Croix, "I know I have surprised you, by coming to the point in such an unconventional and sudden fashion. We will say no more about it--to-night."

"Neither to-night, nor ever," she replied, earnestly. "Oh, why have you done this? We were such good friends; and now, it never can be the same again!"

There were tears in her eyes, and at sight of them my resolution to remain cool took wings. Rising, I clasped the shrinking form in my arms, and poured into her ears the love that was consuming me. I said the only answer I would ever listen to from her was "Yes." I would wait, if need be, but I must have it. Never, never, should she separate from me. The love I had to offer was that of a lifetime.

"I am not a poor man, either," I added, trying to weight my proposition with all the things that would count. "I can give you a home of comfort, even luxury. The days for you to toil in disagreeable offices are ended.

The time when you will count your money to see if you can afford the necessaries of life is past. We will go on long journeys, to interesting lands. Your existence shall be, as far as I can make it so, a dream of happiness. Marjorie, believe me! I want to hear your sweet lips say the word that will make this world a heaven--now!"

Instead of being influenced by my pa.s.sionate flow of language, she seemed only to shrink further and further away. I saw at last that, in some manner I could not understand, I was actually frightening her.

Alarmed at her appearance I quickly released my hold and stood there, a very confused figure, panting with the excess of my emotions.

Marjorie seemed fainting and in my alarm I begged her to let me go and summon a.s.sistance.

"No," she whispered. "But you will stop--you will say no more? You may, if you will be so kind, get me--a--gla.s.s--of water. I shall be better--presently."

It took a long time to get the simple thing she wanted. There are no bells in the house, to begin with. The princ.i.p.al ambition of West India servants is to keep out of sight and hearing, lest they might be asked to do something. When one was at last found he could produce nothing colder than water that had stood in a jug since dinner. This would not do and, by the time he had found the ice, at least ten minutes must have pa.s.sed.

Bringing the gla.s.s of water with all speed to the balcony, great was my disgust to find that a man had reached there before me and was even then engaged in conversation with my late companion. He had come upon the balcony from the public sitting room and was trying to persuade the lady to let him fetch something from his own chamber that he promised would speedily restore her. When he turned to meet me I was filled with positive rage. For the man was none other than my old fellow pa.s.senger, Edgerly!

"Where the devil did you come from?" I demanded, hotly.

"I hope I have done no harm," he answered, in an apologetic voice that made me feel as if I ought to punch my own head instead of his, which was my original intention. "I happened to step out on this balcony and seeing that the lady was ill offered to a.s.sist her. That is all."

He was always offering to a.s.sist her, it seemed to me, as I recalled the time when he flew to the companionway of the steamer with the same end in view.

"I think I will go in now, if you don't mind," said Marjorie, wearily, after she had sipped the water I brought. "I was overcome by--by the heat--I think, but I am much better."

Thinking that Edgerly might wish to "a.s.sist her" again I made haste to offer her my arm; but she declined it with a faint smile, saying she had no need of help. Her window was open and she left the balcony as she had entered it, closing the gla.s.s doors after her.

"You were not very polite to me, a moment ago," said Edgerly, in clear, cutting tones. "I thought it the part of a gentleman not to notice it while the lady was present, but now I am obliged to express my opinion of you; which is," he paused a moment, looking me squarely in the eye, "that you are a cur!"

I grappled with him almost before the words were out of his mouth. We went down together in a heap, his hand at my throat, mine at his. I would have thrown him over the railing, or he would have thrown me, in an instant more.

A voice interrupted us--the voice of Miss May, through her window.

"Mr. Camwell, will you kindly call a chambermaid," she said.

It was like the sudden appearance of a flag of truce in the midst of a battle. Edgerly muttered something about seeing me at another time, and released his hold. I did the same, remarking that I was at his service whenever he pleased. We both rose. Edgerly entered the sitting room, lifting his hat ironically as he vanished. I entered my own chamber, reaching the hall in that way. Finding the woman, I sent her to Miss May, telling her to knock at my door when she had executed the lady's requests. Then I threw myself into a chair, and realized for the first time how inadequate my weakened physical strength was to cope with a well man like Edgerly.

Had not that voice separated us, I would now have been lying, either dead or mangled, on the stone pavement, twelve feet below!

When I thought the matter over, I could see I had been in the wrong. The fellow had done nothing that deserved my abuse, in the first place, and the epithet he had hurled at me was in a measure justified by my conduct. It was now too late, however, to consider the origin of the quarrel. Blows had been exchanged, threats had been pa.s.sed, we had agreed to settle the matter later. It was not in my disposition to crave the pardon of a man under those circ.u.mstances. If he carried out his evident purpose of trying to trash me, I would have to meet him. The fact that I was still in effect an invalid--that I was not in condition for such a game--was no excuse, nor did I intend to avail myself of it.

I felt pretty certain that, within a given number of hours, I would be very lucky if I knew myself in the gla.s.s.

The chambermaid came to say that "Miss Carney" would like to see me after a short time had pa.s.sed. I therefore made myself as presentable as possible, bathing my heated face, brushing my hair and arranging a necktie that had got sadly out of place. When twenty minutes had elapsed, I went to Marjorie's door and knocked softly. She came and opened it just enough to see who was there, but instead of asking me to enter said she had found, on reflection, that she did not need anything and believed the best course for her was to retire. She evidently either knew or suspected what had occurred and wanted to see if I bore evidence of having been injured.

"Very well; good-night," I said, in answer to her suggestion.

"Good-night," she answered. And, "G.o.d bless you!" she added, fervently.

"My love!" I murmured, hoping she would relent and give me a longer interview, but she shook her head with a sad smile and closed the door.

I heard the key turn in the lock and, realizing that it was useless to remain longer, re-entered my own chamber and prepared for sleep.

In the midst of a sound slumber, for the events of the evening did not much disturb my rest, I suddenly came to consciousness. A figure, distinct enough, stood between me and the window. The bright night of the tropics made the princ.i.p.al objects in the room look almost as clear as day. Half doubting whether I were really awake I sprang up, when a low voice made me pause.

"Hush! Not a sound," said the voice. "It is only I."

The window was wide open, showing where she had entered, for it was Marjorie that spoke.

"I was nervous, and could not sleep, and on going upon the balcony I found your window unfastened."

The wonder that she had entered overpowered every other sentiment. How could it be true that this girl, who had nearly fainted with fear when I merely put an arm around her, had come in the night within my bedroom, clad, as I plainly saw, in the garments of slumber.

I stretched my arms toward her, but she moved away. What an incomprehensible creature she was!

"Do not stir," she continued, earnestly, and with a trembling tongue. "I tried to make you hear me, without entering, but you slept too soundly.

It is not well--it is not safe--to sleep with your window unfastened. I thought you ought to know. That is all. Good-night."

She was moving toward the exit and I called after her softly.

"Marjorie!" I said. "Come here a little while before you leave."

She turned her white face--whiter in the pale moonlight than I had ever seen it--toward me, still moving slowly away.