Martha Idell Fletcher Bellinger - The Stolen Singer

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It was a long and weary wait for help, though help of a most efficient
kind was on the way. Agatha had been looking and listening toward the
upper wood, whither Hand had disappeared. She had even called, from
time to time, on the chance that she could help to guide the assisting
party back to the cove. At last, as she listened for a reply to her
call, she heard another sound that set her wondering; it was the
p-p-peter-peter of a motor-boat. She looked out over the small expanse
of ocean that was visible to her, but could see nothing. Nevertheless
the boat was approaching, as its puffing proclaimed. It grew more and
more distinct, and presently a strong voice shouted "Ahoy! Are you
there?"

Three times the shout came. Agatha made a trumpet of her hands and
answered with a call on two notes, clear and strong. "All right!" came
back; and then, "Call again! We can't find you!" And so she called
again and again, though there were tears in her eyes and a lump in her
throat for very relief and joy. When her eyes cleared, she saw the
boat, and watched while it anchored well off the rocks; then two men
put ashore in a rowboat.

"And where are our patients?" came a deep, steady voice from the rocks.

"This way, sir. I think mademoiselle has moved the camp up under the
trees," was the reply, unmistakably the voice of Mr. Hand.

And there they found Agatha, kneeling by James and trying to coax him
to his feet. "Quick, they have come! You will be cared for now, you
will be well again!" she was saying. She saw Hand approach and heard
him say: "This way, Doctor Thayer. The gentleman is up here under the
trees," and then, for the first time in all the long ordeal, Agatha's
nerves broke and her throat filled with sobs. As the ex-chauffeur came
near, she reached a hand up to him, while with the other she covered
her weeping eyes in shame.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come! I'm so glad you've come!" she tried to
say, but it was only a whisper through her sobs.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long," said Hand, touching her timidly on the
shoulder.

"Tell the doctor to take care of him," she begged in the faintest of
voices; and then she crept away, thinking to hide her nerves until she
should come to herself again. But Hand followed her to the niche in
the rocks where she fled, covered her with something big and warm, and
before she knew it he had made her drink a cup that was comforting and
good. Then he gave her food in little bits from a basket, and sweet
water out of a bottle. Agatha's soul revived within her, and her heart
became brave again, though she still felt as if she could never move
from her hard, damp resting-place among the rocks.

"You stay there, please, Mademoiselle," adjured Mr. Hand. "When we get
the boat ready, I'll come for you." Then, standing by her in his
submissive way, he added a thought of his own: "It's very hard,
Mademoiselle, to see you cry!"

"I'm not crying," shrieked Agatha, though her voice was muffled in her
arms.

"Very well, Mademoiselle," acquiesced the polite Hand, and departed.

Two men could not have been found who were better fitted for managing a
relief expedition than Hand and Doctor Thayer. Agatha found herself,
after an unknown period of time, sitting safe under the canvas awning
of the launch, protected by a generous cloak, comforted with food and
stimulant, and relieved of the pressing anxiety, that had filled the
last hours in the cove.

She had, in the end, been quite unable to help; but the immediate need
for her help was past. Doctor Thayer, coming with his satchel of
medicines, had at first given his whole attention to James, examining
him quickly and skilfully as he lay where Agatha had left him. Later
he came to Agatha with a few questions, which she answered clearly; but
James, left alone, immediately showed such a tendency to wander around,
following the hallucinations of his brain, that the doctor decided that
he must have a sedative before he could be taken away. The needle,
that friend of man in pain, was brought into use; and presently they
were able to leave the cove. Doctor Thayer and Mr. Hand carried James
to the rowboat, and the engineer, who had stayed in the launch, helped
them lift him into the larger boat. "No more walking at present for
this man!" said the doctor.

They were puffing briskly over the water, with the tiny rowboat from
the _Jeanne D'Arc_ and the boat belonging to the launch cutting a long
broken furrow behind them. Mr. Hand was minding the engine, while the
engineer and owner of the launch, Little Simon--so-called probably
because he was big--stood forward, handling the wheel. Jim was lying
on some blankets and oilskins on the floor of the boat, the doctor
sitting beside him on a cracker-box. Agatha, feeling useless and
powerless to help, sat on the narrow, uncomfortable seat at the side,
watching the movements of the doctor. She was unable to tell whether
doubt or hope prevailed in his rugged countenance.

At last she ventured her question; but before replying Doctor Thayer
looked up at her keenly, as if to judge how much of the truth she would
be able to bear.

"The hemorrhage was caused by the strain," he said at last, slowly.
"It is bad enough, with this fever. If his constitution is sound, he
may pull through."

Not very encouraging, but Agatha extracted the best from it. "Oh, I'm
so thankful!" she exclaimed. Doctor Thayer looked at her, a deep
interest showing in his grim old face. While she looked at James, he
studied her, as if some unusual characteristic claimed his attention,
but he made no comment.

Doctor Thayer was short in stature, massively built, with the head and
trunk of some ancient Vulcan. His heavy, large features had a rugged
nobility, like that of the mountains. His face was smooth-shaven,
ruddy-brown, and deeply marked with lines of care; but most salient of
all his features was the massively molded chin and jaw. His lips, too,
were thick and full, without giving the least impression of grossness;
and when he was thinking, he had a habit of thrusting his under jaw
slightly forward, which made him look much fiercer than he ever felt.
Thin white hair covered his temples and grew in a straggling fringe
around the back of his head, upon which he wore a broad-brimmed soft
black hat.

Doctor Thayer would have been noticeable, a man of distinction,
anywhere; and yet here he was, with his worn satchel and his
old-fashioned clothes, traveling year after year over the country-side
to the relief of farmers and fishermen. He knew his science, too. It
never occurred to him to doubt whether his sphere was large enough for
him.

"I haven't found out yet where we are, or to what place we are going.
Will you tell me, sir?" asked Agatha.

"You came ashore near Ram's Head, one of the worst reefs on the coast
of Maine; and we're heading now for Charlesport; that's over yonder,
beyond that next point," Doctor Thayer answered. After a moment he
added: "I know nothing about your misfortunes, but I assume that you
capsized in some pesky boat or other. When you get good and ready, you
can tell me all about it. In the meantime, what is your name, young
woman?"

The doctor turned his searching blue eyes toward Agatha again, a
courteous but eager inquiry underneath his brusque manner.

"It is a strange story, Doctor Thayer," said Agatha somewhat
reluctantly; "but some time you shall hear it. I must tell it to
somebody, for I need help. My name is Agatha Redmond, and I am from
New York; and this gentleman is James Hambleton of Lynn--so he told me.
He risked his life to save mine, after we had abandoned the ship."

"I don't doubt it," said Doctor Thayer gruffly. "Some blind dash into
the future is the privilege of youth. That's why it's all recklessness
and foolishness."

Agatha looked at him keenly, struck by some subtle irony in his voice.
"I think it is what you yourself would have done, sir," she said.

The doctor thrust out his chin in his disconcerting way, and gave not
the least smile; but his small blue eyes twinkled.

"My business is to see just where I'm going and to know exactly what
I'm doing," was the dry answer. He turned a watchful look toward
James, lying still there between them; then he knelt down, putting an
ear over the patient's heart.

"All right!" he assured her as he came up. "But we never know how
those organs are going to act." Satisfying himself further in regard
to James, he waited some time before he addressed Agatha again. Then
he said, very deliberately: "The ocean is a savage enemy. My brother
Hercules used to quote that old Greek philosopher who said, 'Praise the
sea, but keep on land.' And sometimes I think he was right."

Agatha's tired mind had been trying to form some plan for their future
movements. She was uneasily aware that she would soon have to decide
to do something; and, of course, she ought to get back to New York as
soon as possible. But she could not leave James Hambleton, her friend
and rescuer, nor did she wish to. She was pondering the question as
the doctor spoke; then suddenly, at his words, a curtain of memory
snapped up. "My brother Hercules" and "Charlesport!"

She leaned forward, looking earnestly into the doctor's face. "Oh,
tell me," she cried impulsively, "is it possible that you knew Hercules
Thayer? That he was your brother? And are we in the neighborhood of
Ilion?"

"Yes--yes--yes," assented the doctor, nodding to each of her questions
in turn; "and I thought it was you, Agatha Shaw's girl, from the first.
But you should have come down by land!" he dictated grimly.

"Oh, I didn't intend to come down at all," cried Agatha; "either by
land or water! At least not yet!"

Doctor Thayer's jaw shot out and his eyes shone, but not with humor
this time. He looked distinctly irritated. "But my dear Miss Agatha
Redmond, where _did_ you intend to go?"

Agatha couldn't, by any force of will, keep her voice from stammering,
as she answered: "I wasn't g-going anywhere! I was k-kidnapped!"

Doctor Thayer looked sternly at her, then reached toward his medicine
chest. "My dear young woman--" (Why is it that when a person is
particularly out of temper, he is constrained to say My _Dear_ So and
So?) "My dear young woman," said Doctor Thayer, "that's all right, but
you must take a few drops of this solution. And let me feel your
pulse."

"Indeed, Doctor, it is all so, just as I say," interrupted Agatha.
"I'm not feverish or out of my head, not the least bit. I can't tell
you the whole story now; I'm too tired--"

"Yes, that's so, my dear child!" said the doctor, but in such an
evident tone of yielding to a delirious person, that he nearly threw
her into a fever with anger. But on the whole, Agatha was too tired to
mind. He took her hand, felt of her pulse, and slowly shook his head;
but what he had to say, if he had anything, was necessarily postponed.
The launch was putting into the harbor of Charlesport.

Even on the dull day of their arrival, Charlesport was a pleasant
looking place, stretching up a steep hill beyond the ribbon of street
that bordered its harbor. Fish-houses and small docks stood out here
and there, and one larger dock marked the farthest point of land. A
great derrick stood by one wharf, with piles of granite block near by.
Little Simon was calling directions back to Hand at the engine as they
chugged past fishing smacks and mooring poles, past lobster-pot buoys
and a little bug-lighthouse, threading their way into the harbor and up
to the dock. Agatha appealed to the doctor with great earnestness.

"Surely, Doctor Thayer, it is a Providence that we came in just here,
where people will know me and will help me. I need shelter for a
little while, and care for my sick friend here. Where can we go?"

Doctor Thayer cast a judicial eye over the landscape, while he held his
hat up into the breeze. "It's going to clear; it'll be a fine
afternoon," said he. Then deliberately: "Why don't you go up to the
old red house? Sallie Kingsbury's there keeping it, just as she did
when Hercules was alive; waiting for you or the lawyer or somebody to
turn her out, I guess. And it's only five miles by the good road. You
couldn't go to any of these sailor shacks down here, and the big summer
hotel over yonder isn't any place for a sick man, let alone a lady
without her trunk."

Agatha looked in amazement at the doctor. "Go to the old red house--to
stay?"

"Why not? If you're Agatha Redmond, it's yours, isn't it? And I guess
nobody's going to dispute your being Agatha Shaw's daughter, looking as
you do. The house is big enough for all creation; and, besides,
they've been on pins and needles, waiting for you to come, or write, or
do something." The doctor gave a grim chuckle. "Hercules surprised
them all some, by his will. But they'll all be glad to see you, I
guess, unless it is Sister Susan. She was always pretty hard on
Hercules; and she didn't approve of the will--thought the house ought
to go to the Foundling Asylum."

Agatha looked as if she saw the gates of Eden opened to her. "But
could I really go there? Would it be all right? I've not even seen
the lawyer." There was no need of answers to her questions; she knew
already that the old red house would receive her, would be a refuge for
herself and for James, who needed a refuge so sorely.

The doctor was already making his plans. "I'll drive this man here,"
indicating James, "and he'll need some one to nurse him for a while,
too. You can go up in one of Simon Nash's wagons; and I'll get a nurse
up there as soon as I can."

The launch had tied up to the larger dock, and Hand and Little Simon
had been waiting some minutes while Agatha and the doctor conferred
together. Now, as Agatha hesitated, the businesslike Hand was at her
elbow. "I can help you, Mademoiselle, if you will let me. I have had
some experience with sick men." Agatha looked at him with grateful
eyes, only half realizing what it was he was offering. The doctor did
not wait, but immediately took the arrangement for granted. He began
giving orders in the tone of a man who knows just what he wants done,
and knows also that he will be obeyed.

"You stay here, Mr. Hand, and help with this gentleman; and Little
Simon, here, you go up to your father's livery stable and harness up,
quick as you can. Then drive up to my place and get the boy to bring
my buggy down here, with the white horse. Quick, you understand? Tell
them the doctor's waiting."

Agatha sat in the launch while the doctor's orders were carried out.
Little Simon was off getting the vehicles; Doctor Thayer had run up the
dock to the village street on some errand, saying he would be back by
the time the carriages were there; and Hand was walking up and down the
dock, keeping a watchful eye on the launch. James was lying in the
sheltered corner of the boat, ominously quiet. His eyes were closed,
and his face had grown ghastly in his illness. Tears came to Agatha's
eyes as she looked at him, seeing how much worse his condition was than
when he had talked with her, almost happily, in the night. She herself
felt miserably tired and ill; and as she waited, she had the sensation
one sometimes has in waiting for a train; that the waiting would go on
for ever, would never end.

The weather changed, as the doctor had prophesied, and the rain ceased.
Fresh gusts of wind from the sea blew clouds of fog and mist inland,
while the surface of the water turned from gray to green, from green to
blue. The wind, blowing against the receding tide, tossed the foam
back toward the land in fantastic plumes. Agatha, looking out over the
sea, which now began to sparkle in the light, longed in her heart to
take the return of the sunshine as an omen of good. It warmed and
cheered her, body and soul.

As her eyes turned from the sea to the village tossed up beyond its
highest tides, she searched, though in vain, for some spot which she
could identify with the memories of her childhood. She must have seen
Charlesport in some one of her numerous visits to Ilion as a child; but
though she recalled vividly many of her early experiences, they were in
no way suggestive of this tiny antiquarian village, or of the rocky
hillside stretching off toward the horizon. A narrow road wound
athwart the hill, leading into the country beyond. It was steep and
rugged, and finally it curved over the distant fields.

But the old red house was the talisman that brought back to her mind
the familiar picture. She wondered if it lay over the hill beyond that
rugged road. She closed her eyes and saw the green fields, the mighty
balm-of-gilead tree, the lilac bushes, and the dull red walls of the
house standing back from the village street, not far from the
white-steepled church. She could see it all, plainly. The thought
came to her suddenly that it was home. It was the first realization
she had of old Hercules Thayer's kindness. It was Home for her who had
else been homeless. She hugged the thought in thankfulness.

"Now, Miss Agatha Redmond, if you will come--"

The eternity had ended; and time, with its swift procession of hours
and days, had begun again.

CHAPTER XII

SEEING THE RAINBOW

A few days on a yacht, with a calm sea and sun-cool weather, may be
something like a century of bliss for a pair of lovers, if they happen
to have taken the lucky hour. The conventions of yacht life allow a
companionship from dawn till dark, if they choose to have it; there is
a limited amount of outside distraction; if the girl be an outdoor
lass, she looks all the sweeter for the wind rumpling her hair; and on
shipboard, if anywhere, mental resourcefulness and good temper achieve
their full reward.

Aleck had been more crafty than he knew when he carried Melanie and
Madame Reynier off on the _Sea Gull_. Almost at the last moment Mr.
Chamberlain had joined them, Aleck's liking for the man and his
instinct of hospitality overcoming his desire for something as near as
possible to a solitude _a deux_ with Melanie.

They could not have had a better companion. Mr. Chamberlain was
nothing less than perfect in his position as companion and guest. He
enjoyed Madame Reynier's grand duchess manners, and spared himself no
trouble to entertain both Madame Reynier and Melanie. He was a hearty
admirer, if not a suitor, of the younger woman; but certain it was,
that, if he ever had entertained personal hopes in regard to her, he
buried them in the depths of his heart by the end of their first day on
the _Sea Gull_. He understood Aleck's position with regard to Melanie
without being told, and instantly brought all his loyalty and courtesy
into his friend's service.

Madame Reynier had an interest in seeing the smaller towns and cities
of America; "something besides the show places," she said. So they
made visits ashore here and there, though not many. As they grew to
feel more at home on the yacht, the more reluctant they were to spend
their time on land. Why have dust and noise and elbowing people, when
they might be cutting through the blue waters with the wind fresh in
their faces? The weather was perfect; the thrall of the sea was upon
them.

The roses came into Melanie's cheeks, and she forgot all about the
professional advice which she had been at such pains to procure in New
York. There was happiness in her eyes when she looked on her lover,
even though she had repulsed him. As for Mr. Chamberlain, he breathed
the very air of content. Madame Reynier, with her inscrutable grand
manner, confessed that she had never before been able precisely to
locate Boston, and now that she had seen it, she felt much better.
Even Aleck's lean bulk seemed to expand and flourish in the atmosphere
of happiness about him. His sudden venture was a success, beyond a
doubt. The party had many merry hours, many others full of a quiet
pleasure, none that were heavy or uneasy.

If Aleck's outer man prospered in this unexpected excursion, it can
only be said that his spiritual self flowered with a new and hitherto
unknown beauty. It was a late flowering, possibly--though what are
thirty-four years to Infinity?--but there was in it a richness and
delicacy which was its own distinction and won its own reward.

Melanie's words, spoken in their long interview in the New York home,
had contained an element of truth. There was a poignant sincerity in
her saying, "You do not love me enough," which touched Aleck to the
center of his being. He was not niggardly by nature; and had he given
stintingly of his affection to this woman who was to him the best? His
whole nature shrank from such a role, even while he dimly perceived
that he had been guilty of acting it. If he had been small in his gift
of love, it was because he had been the dupe of his theories; he had
forsworn gallantry toward women, and had unwittingly cast aside warmth
of affection also.

But such a condition was, after all, more apparent than real. In his
heart Aleck knew that he did love Melanie "enough," however much that
might be. He loved her enough to want, not only and not mainly, what
she could give to him; but he wanted the happiness of caring for her,
cherishing her, rewarding her faith with his own. She had not seen
that, and it was his problem to make her see it. There was only one
way. And so, in forgetting himself, forgetting his wants, his
comforts, his studies and his masculine will--herein was the blossoming
of Aleck's soul.

Melanie instinctively felt the subtle change, and knew in her heart
that Aleck had won the day, though she still treated their engagement
as an open question. Aleck would read to her in his simple, unaffected
manner, sometimes with Madame Reynier and Mr. Chamberlain also for
audience, sometimes to her alone. And since they lived keenly and
loved, all books spoke to them of their life or their love. A line, a
phrase, a thought, would ring out of the record, and each would be glad
that the other had heard that thought; sometime they would talk it all
over. They learned to laugh at their own whimsical prejudices, and
then insisted on them all the harder; they learned, each from the
other, some bit of robust optimism, some happiness of vision, some
further reach of thought.

After they had read, they would play at quoits, struggling sternly
against each other; or Chamberlain would examine Melanie in nautical
lore; or together, in the evening, they would trace the constellations
in the heavens. During their first week they were in the edge of a
storm for a night and a day; but they put into harbor where they were
comfortable and safe, and merry as larks through it all.

So, day by day, Aleck hedged Melanie about with his love. Was she
thoughtful? He let her take, as she would, his thoughts, the best he
could give from his mature experience. Was she gay? He liked that
even better, and delighted to cap her gaiety with his own queer,
whimsical drolleries. Whatever her mood, he would not let her get far
from him in spirit. It was not in her heart to keep him from her; but
Aleck achieved the supermundane feat of making his influence felt most
keenly when she was alone. She dwelt upon him in her thoughts more
intensely than she herself knew; and that intenseness was only the
reflection of his own thought for her.

They had been sailing a little more than a week, changing the low,
placid Connecticut fields for the rougher northern shores, going
sometimes farther out to sea, but delighting most in the sweet,
pine-fringed coast of Maine. There were no more large cities to visit,
only small villages where fishermen gathered after their week's haul or
where slow, primitive boat-building was still carried on. Most of the
inhabitants of the coast country appeared to be farmers as well as
fishermen, even where the soil was least promising. The aspect of the
shores was that of a limited but fairly prosperous agricultural
community. Under the shadow of the hills were staid little homes, or
fresh-painted smart cottages. Sometimes a bold rock-bank formed the
shore for miles and miles, and the hills would vanish for a space.
Here and there were headlands formed by mighty boulders, against which
the waves endlessly dashed and as endlessly foamed back into the sea.

Such a headland loomed up on their starboard one evening when the sun
was low; and as the plumes of spray from the incoming waves rose high
in the air a rainbow formed itself in the fleeting mist. It was a
fairy picture, repeating itself two or three times, no more.

"That's my symbol of hope," said Aleck quite impersonally, to anybody
who chose to hear.

Mr. Chamberlain turned to Aleck with his ready courtesy. "Not the only
one you have received, I hope, on this charming voyage."

Madame Reynier was ready with her pleasant word. "Aren't we all
symbols for you--if not of hope, then of your success as a host? We've
lost our aches and our pains, our nerves and our troubles; all gone
overboard from the _Sea Gull_."

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