CHAPTER XI.

A REBUFF FOR ADONIS.

The next two days were stormy. It rained steadily; and, prevented by the extreme roughness of the sea from going on deck, the passengers lounged about in the close atmosphere below, till, growing weary of the sound of their own voices, they lapsed into a dismal, moping condition.

Even Nina succumbed to the general wretchedness. They were crossing the track of a gale that was cyclonic in its tendencies; and her husband either could not or would not come below, not even for his meals or to inquire after her.

Miss Marsden did not leave her room. Nina sat with her until she drove her away, when she usually fell into the hands of the ever-waiting Delessert. How strange that on the first day at sea she should have thought one could never get tired of staring at his handsome face! Alas! in his case, “beauty soon grows familiar, fades in the eye, and palls upon the sense.” For he had nothing to sustain it, no manliness, no energy. He often reminded the girl--horribly enough--of something without life, a waxen image, a marble statue, even a dead man; so perfectly emotionless, so soulless did he usually appear. What a contrast he was to the forceful, hard-working man above, who did not condescend to come to see her!

Nina’s conversations with the beauty tired her greatly: and yet she kept them up, for she had shrewdness enough to perceive that Adonis really admired her; that he made an effort to please her by keeping above flattering, semi-flirting commonplaces; and also, most potent of all, that he had some mysterious interest in her, connected with the subject of her parentage.

True to her resolve, she would not ask him questions with regard to this interest; and he did not volunteer information except occasionally, and in the most delicate and blameless way. If by chance she left the region of the ship and referred to some occurrence in her former life, there would be in his manner a slight infusion of animation, and he would drop some item of slight information. Then she would hastily leave the subject, until her next lapse into forgetfulness.

When Mrs. Grayley chose to leave the seclusion of her own room during the two days of imprisonment below, Nina was faintly amused, for the lady of middle age was consumed with admiration for Mr. Delessert. Upon her appearance he was obliged to put all his small graces and accomplishments on exhibition, and she fairly worried him to invent devices for whiling away the tedium of the long hours.

When the weather permitted, and often when it did not, the piano was resorted to; and Mr. Delessert was obliged to sing and play even at the risk of rolling off the stool several times during the performance of one piece. Upon these latter occasions, Mrs. Grayley always clapped her lily-like hands and gaily assured him that never before, off the stage, had she seen a man fall so gracefully.

He took her merriment not at all in good part, and usually wandered away. But always to come back; for the other people on board, the men especially, for some reason or other kept themselves severely away from him. Captain Eversleigh, who at first had shown a slight preference for his society, now, Nina noticed, never addressed him, but was constantly with the tall youth Maybury.

On the evening of the last day of bad weather Nina was in Miss Marsden’s room.

“It is eleven o’clock,” that young lady at last observed, “don’t you think you would better go to bed?”

“Don’t send me away yet,” pleaded Nina; “tell me some more things about yourself.”

The girl was kneeling by the lounge of her new-made friend; and, lovingly throwing an arm around her feet, she listened to stories of wanderings in Europe, until another half-hour had elapsed, when Miss Marsden insisted upon her saying good night.

“Shall I send Marie with you?” she inquired, when Nina reluctantly approached the door.

Nina darted a glance at the sleepy maid in the upper berth, shook her head and hurried from the room. With a light heart she trotted down the long passages. The Boston girl was a darling. She thoroughly approved of her. She was far more interesting to talk to than that faultfinding ’Steban. She did not miss him at all. She was glad that she had in some way offended him. She did not want to know what it was about. Very likely he was jealous of that wretched man, Delessert; and she scowled at his open cabin door that she was just passing.

A ray of light from it streamed out on the semi-dark passage; and as her pattering footsteps approached, he himself stepped out.

Nina threw him a hasty glance as he stood in the doorway. His face was deeply flushed and he was staring boldly at her. He had been drinking, the scamp, and she shrugged her shoulders in scorn. Once or twice before she had had her suspicions; now they were confirmed. And he had left the door-post and was blocking the passage.

She must control herself and not show wrath. That had been Mrs. Danvers’s instruction with regard to drunken tramps on the Rubicon Meadows roads. “Don’t cross them, but placate them and then run,” and Nina scanned the way behind him.

“What do you wish?” she asked, when he seemed to have some difficulty in articulating a sentence.

He was standing gracefully flourishing one hand and trying to manage his suddenly thickened tongue. “It is with regard to the name Nina Stephana,” he said, at last. “May I offer an explanation?”

His words were more courteous than his glances, and Nina, forgetting her caution, said, sharply, “No, I am in a hurry to go to my room. Please let me pass.”

“Nina Stephana,” he continued, in a dense voice; then he paused in order to adjust a trifling difficulty connected with balancing himself.

“Pretty name,” he went on, “brute of husband--stole child.”

Nina was not at all frightened. She became suddenly angry. He would slander that absent husband, would he?

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she snapped at him; “a young man like you to get drunk. What do you suppose will become of you when you are old? _Will_ you let me go by? If you don’t--”

She was furious now, and although his brain was slightly clouded, he took in her meaning. She had said that he was drunk. “Isn’t enough on _Merrimac_ to overcome me,” he muttered. “Pretty girl, but insulting. Must stand still, till apologise,” and one of his hands went weakly wandering in search of hers.

She was so intent upon watching his face that he did manage to seize one hand in his hot grasp, one of the hands that her ’Steban always held--even when he had them against her will--as gently and cautiously as if they were rose-leaves. The drunken scamp!

“Let that go at once,” she said, in a low, furious voice. “If you don’t, I will call my husband and he will knock you down.”

If she had been less absorbed in the present scene, and had given one glance behind her, she would have seen that husband coming down the passage with measured tread. But her attention was fully concentrated on her companion, and his on her; and the man behind stopped short as a pink palm suddenly flew into the air and then descended mercilessly.

She was only a little thing, but she had plenty of courage, and was by no means afraid of the tall young man bending over her; and there were no half-way measures with her. She had slapped the aggressor in the face, and had done it so successfully that he was glad to let her go.

With a curious dash of sympathy in the scorn with which he regarded the tottering figure, Captain Fordyce moved toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder: “Never mind her,--get into your room.”

Adonis was about to follow her, to endeavour to seize the wicked palm and press it in punishment to his lips; but now he speedily changed his mind, and in a shuffling manner proceeded to fall in with the advice given.

Captain Fordyce went after him, said a few words in his ear, then he stepped outside.

Nina had paused away down there in the half-darkness, and was looking back. If her enemy had fallen, it would have been like her to return and give him assistance. But now he had safely disappeared, and there was her husband.

She did not like the expression of his face. How unfortunate that he should have come on the scene just now! He would think that she had been flirting with that miserable young man. Should she go back and explain? No, she was afraid of that black Spanish temper. She would wait until morning; and, wisely wagging her head, she scampered the rest of the way to her room with the guilty air of a wanderer returning home.

However, she loitered by the doorway and listened with ears in the air. Her husband had followed her for some distance. Now he was going up a near stairway and giving vent to his displeasure by that most common and convenient of all methods,--violently banging a door. She shivered, and with a pagan wish that some dire calamity might befall the young man who had been the cause of her mortification, she went to bed.

For some reason or other she could not sleep. There was a thorn in her pillow; and although she shook it vigorously, it would not be driven out; therefore in impatient, healthy restlessness she lay awake, her brain a jumble of thought, pierced occasionally by the clear, weird sound of the boatswain’s whistle as it blew at intervals through the long, long night.

At seven o’clock she got up, and, with a face “tinged with wan from lack of sleep,” looked out the window. The storm was over. She had scarcely noticed its subsidence during the night, but now she saw that they had come to a glorious day. The air was keen and cool, the eastern sky was adorned with crimson and gold streaks, the morning sun was flashing on the deep green waves, and another quotation from her school-books leaped into her mind.

“‘The waters burn With his enkindling rays, No sooner touched than they return A tributary blaze.’”

Dazzled by the glare, she turned away; she reflected that, as Miss Marsden had promised to take a walk with her before breakfast if the day were perfectly fine, she would have ample opportunity to admire the beauties of sea and sky from the vantage-ground of the deck. She would also prefer to have her first meeting with her husband, after the encounter of last night, away from the breakfast-table, and in the presence of a third person.

Therefore she scrambled through her dressing, and in a very few minutes closed her door behind her, and stepping outside, stumbled against the stewardess, who was passing by. She received good-naturedly Nina’s penitent apology, and asked her whether she was going on deck.

“You’d better have your rubbers, mem, and some one to hold on to. The decks are awful wet. Have you heard about the capting?”

“What about him?” asked Nina, catching her breath.

“He had a bad fall last night.”

“A fall,--is he hurt?”

“Pretty bad, mem. He’s got a long cut down his cheek.”

Nina laid a hand on her heart, and leaned up against the wall. “When did it happen?”

“Between eleven and twelve. You see he was walkin’ toward the bridge. He didn’t notice a heavy sea boardin’. It knocked him down; he struck an iron bar and lost some blood. But the doctor fixed him.”

“Is he--is he walking about?” asked Nina, with a white face, and stammering as she usually did when much moved.

“Yes, mem, but I guess he’ll go to bed now it’s turned fine. He don’t rest much in storms.”

Nina suddenly became absent-minded, and the woman took her departure. Left alone, she indulged in a guilty shudder and a confused soliloquy. Probably she had been the cause of this accident. ’Steban, horrified at last evening’s escapade in which she had been so blameless, had rushed on deck, and, blinded by rage, had forgotten to be watchful and had been struck down. He might have been killed; in which case she would have been the cause of his death.

In a transport of compassion and fear she drew her cloak about her and clambered on deck. She paused in the doorway and looked out. Storms leave their traces, and though the sky was so clear the sea had by no means calmed down; and the _Merrimac_ rolled steadily from side to side, her decks for the greater part of the time covered with water. Nina could not get out. Planks about two feet high were placed on the thresholds of the doors to keep the water from coming in. If she ventured out it would be at the risk of being washed overboard. In deep discontent she stared about her. No one passed until some sailors came to heave the log. She watched the long line reeling out, then mechanically counted the knots as it was pulled in. The cheerful “heave ho” of the men’s voices prevented her from hearing some one splashing through the water. Not until a shadow darkened the doorway did she turn around. Captain Fordyce was just passing. His appearance was so unexpected and so singular that it drew from her a nervous, hysterical laugh.

The sickly hue of his face changed slightly, and he hastened his steps to get away from the sound of her voice.

“Oh, how bad I am!” she ejaculated. “He will think I am making fun of him, and I am so sorry. I must get out;” and, desperately climbing and scrambling over the planks, she fell into a wave that was running down the deck. The water surged coldly around her ankles; she felt herself slipping. The sailors had finished their work and were going away. The only person in sight was the rubber-clad form disappearing around a distant capstan.

“Captain Fordyce!” she called, despairingly.

He apparently did not hear her.

“Captain Fordyce,” she cried, indignantly, “_will_ you come back?”

Her voice impressed him this time, and he turned around. His determined young wife had fallen on her knees in the water; with one hand she held back a tangle of curls that the wind had blown about her face; with the other she groped after a slipper sailing merrily toward the lee scuppers. With a few quick strides he was beside her, and, lifting her up, attempted to put her in the doorway. But she wriggled away from him, and took hold of the iron railing that ran around the deck cabins.

“You must not stand here,” he said, shortly.

She gazed earnestly at his averted face. Her eyes were full of tears, her voice seemed to have left her. “It must be his strange appearance,” she reflected, mournfully. “Those bandages are dreadfully disfiguring. One of his eyes is quite closed; his face is swollen, and the corner of his mouth is half-way up his cheek: and perhaps it is my fault. ’Steban,” she said, tentatively, “I heard about your fall a few minutes ago. I am so sorry--Good gracious! what an immense wave! Do you think it is coming over?”

“Yes.”

She threw a hurried glance about her. The _Merrimac_ was lurching heavily. Along her sides the waves seemed hollowed out in a huge valley; other waves rose behind them like a range of hills. A dizzy feeling came over her, and she felt as if she were slipping for ever into the yawning gulf before her. “’Steban, ’Steban!” she shrieked, imploringly, as she clung to him, “don’t let me fall.”

His arms were strong. One of them was around her, the other grasped a stanchion. She felt perfectly safe now, and her heart beat a little quicker. His face was still averted. Jealousy, the rage of man, had probably entire possession of him; but just for an instant when they went down, down, till the rail that surrounded the deck dipped into the sea, the grasp of his arm tightened, the expression of his face changed. But when the ship righted herself he was again cold and forbidding, and all her courage died away. Dropping her eyes, she said, meekly, “I will go in now.”

“Wait an instant,” he said, quietly. “You must give up talking to that young man who has been amusing you during the past two days, and who was having so touching an interview with you last evening.”

“He is a very nice young man,” said Nina, feebly.

“He is a professional gambler.”

“A what?” she exclaimed, flinging up her head.

“A gambler,--a man whose business it is to fleece any person he meets who is silly enough to engage in games of chance with him, and”--meaningly--“he likes to play for high stakes.”

Nina restlessly moved one of her wet feet about the moist deck. And this was the sort of man she had allowed to talk to her,--to be friendly with her.

“A short time ago,” her husband went on, “he got into trouble on a French steamer because one of his victims shot himself.”

“Why did you not tell me this before?” murmured the girl, resentfully.

“Suppose I wanted you to learn a lesson.”

“You didn’t want me to learn a lesson,” she said, vehemently. “I don’t believe you knew, for sure, what he was like till just now: that sort of thing is _not_ permitted. The captain of a ship--”

“Has no right whatever to control the amusements of his passengers unless they interfere with the exercise of his duties. I really wished to give you a lesson, though I did not know surely how bad he was till yesterday. The longer I live, the more I wonder over the guilelessness of women--good women--in making acquaintances.”

“I hate suspicious people,” retorted Nina.

“You must go below and change those wet clothes,” he said, peremptorily lifting her inside the door, “and don’t wear house slippers on deck again.”

She discontentedly made her way to her room. The interview had not been satisfactory. “He was dreadfully cross,” she muttered; “and he can look as disagreeable with one eye as most people can with two.”