It was towards the close of a hot summer day. The setting sun was pouring the full force of its rays into an open window, in the third story of a house in the center of the city. The room showed, by its disordered appearance, as well as by the many masculine possessions scattered about, that the occupant was a man. On a small round table, drawn close to the window, stood a telescope, which seemed somewhat out of place among the various unscientific articles in the room.
A rush and stumble were heard on the stairs outside. The door was thrown open violently, and a young man entered, who sank wearily into a chair near the table. With an impatient movement, he rested his elbow on the table, and shaded his eyes from the dazzling sunlight with his hand.
He was not handsome, but his honest gray eyes, and the smile generally seen upon his face, made up for the want of regular features. A favorite with all who knew him, Jack Hunter was, by birth and education, a gentleman, and by profession a lawyer. He had settled in the city some months previously to practice law, and, fortunately for him, his efforts had met with more than usual success. Strangely enough, however, this young man was not happy, and the telescope was to blame.
One evening, when coming home from his office, curiosity led him into a house, where a scientific gentleman, whose tastes had exceeded his income, was having his possessions disposed of at auction. As Jack entered, a small, but exceedingly fine, telescope was put up for sale. In the excitement of the moment, he added his bids to those of other persons present, and suddenly found himself the owner of an instrument of no use to him. But he had it taken to his room and placed on his table, little dreaming how important a part it was to play in his life.
For several evenings he amused himself “star gazing,” but, finding nothing of particular interest in the skies, he turned his glass earthward with more satisfaction. One evening, after having gazed into back yards until weary of clothes lines and woodsheds, he turned his instrument toward the window of a house, at which he could, with his naked eye, distinguish a figure sitting.
The telescope disclosed a young and beautiful girl sitting with her head against the casement. Her face was turned toward the evening sky, with a look of sadness, that made Jack long to take her hands in his and ask what troubled her; for his was a nature that could not bear to see any one unhappy, especially a pretty young woman.
Daily his interest in her grew, and every evening he saw her at the window. It appeared to be a favorite place. Sometimes she would be reading, sometimes writing, but more often sitting in the weary listless fashion, that aroused his sympathy the first time he saw her. He filled his brain with fancies about her, an exercise that was bad for him and worse for his clients. Evening after evening, he watched her until, at last, he was forced to confess to himself that he loved her.
But the sight of her through the telescope failed to satisfy him. He longed to make her acquaintance. The street and house in which she lived were easily discovered, but the house was exactly like all the others in the row. The door-plate bore the name of Bently; but, with this exception, he was no wiser than before. Still he haunted the spot, as if constant watching and longing would open the door and insure him a welcome within. He even became an object of interest, not unmixed with suspicion, to the policeman on that beat.
At last, one evening, as he was standing near the house that had become so interesting to him, a carriage stopped before the door, and a very severe-looking old lady stepped out followed by a young girl, at sight of whom Jack’s pulse beat somewhat faster than usual. In stepping to the ground, she caught her foot, and would have fallen but for Jack, who sprang forward, and for one blissful half second held her in his arms.
Her slight exclamation caused the elder lady to turn.
“How can you be so awkward Elsie?” she said fretfully.
“I’m sure I cannot tell, grandma,” answered the girl.
Then, turning to Jack with a smile, she said, “I am very much obliged to you, sir.”
Before he could take off his hat in recognition of her courtesy, she had followed her grandmother into the house, and the door was closed behind them. As he turned to go, he saw a handkerchief lying on the sidewalk. Picking it up, he was delighted to find the name “Elsie Cameron,” written across one corner in a pretty feminine hand. There was no doubt as to the owner; and, putting it into his pocket as a cherished treasure, he went away, feeling that, for once, he was in luck.
Every evening for a week after, Elsie, as Jack now called her, was in her accustomed place, and then — he saw her no more! Her window remained closed, and the conviction forced itself upon him that she had gone away. It is no wonder that he now sat in his chair dejected.
Meanwhile, the sun had set, and, there being no longer any necessity for Jack to shade his eyes, he took down his hand, and at that moment caught sight of a letter conspicuously placed upon his table. It was from a friend, and read as follows:
BAKER’S, July 1st.
DEAR OLD JACK: Do try to run down here for a couple of weeks. The sea breeze will do you no end of good. I promise you plenty of sailing, fishing. and pretty girls without number. I should be delighted to see you.
Your old friend,
FRED.
“By Jove, I’ll go!” exclaimed Jack, as he finished the letter. “There is no use in staying here.”
The next day, he was in Denham, a little town by the sea. He had no difficulty in finding his friend and classmate, Fred Langham, for the town consisted of but one street, with a row of cottages on one side and the sea on the other.
At the head stood the hotel, known as “Baker’s.” Jack had but to walk up the street to the hotel piazza, where Fred sat, lazily tipping his chair back on two legs, his hands in his pockets, his hat over his eyes, and an appearance of sleep about him. At sight of Jack, however, he sprang up, wide awake.
“Have you really come, old fellow?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, here I am,” was the answer, though the fact was self-evident.
Denham was a little fishing village, on a cove or bay, that ran in from the sea, and had but lately become a popular resort. “Baker’s” stood on a hill, with a wide lawn in front stretching down to the road, on the other side of which was the beach. A long pier or breakwater ran out into the bay, with a landing at the end, and anchored near were sail boats ready for use.
Jack had certainly chosen an auspicious time for his visit. The day was bright and the wind blowing from the ocean with that freshness so dear to all lovers of the sea. The waves in the bay and ocean beyond were dancing and tossing their white caps merrily in the sunlight. A small island lay two or three miles distant, covered with pine woods, making a safe and sheltered harbor of the bay from the ocean beyond. Denham was truly an ideal place, and “Baker’s” the best of hotels, though at present there was little sign of life about it. Fred Langham was holding undisputed possession of the piazza, while the lawn was occupied by two decidedly plain ladies of uncertain age, playing croquet. Jack looked about with a half-amused expression.
“Where are the pretty girls?” he asked.
“Taking the usual afternoon nap,” said Fred with a yawn.
At that moment, an old lady crossed the piazza, leaning on the arm of a young girl. As they went into the house, the girl looked over her shoulder at Fred, with a friendly little nod of recognition.
“Fred, do you know her?” exclaimed Jack in breathless surprise; for it was the girl with whom he was so hopelessly in love.
“Yes.”
“Do you really?”
“What is the matter with you, Jack?” he asked, looking at him in surprise. “Of course, I know little Elsie Cameron.”
“Tell me everything about her,” begged Jack.
“Explain first this absorbing interest.”
“Oh, go on, Fred. Don’t ask me to do that now,” he answered.
But Fred was determined; for he saw by Jack’s manner there was something to be told, and he listened with great amusement to a detailed account of Jack’s experience for the past few weeks, and then, in turn, imparted the information that he had known Elsie Cameron ever since she was a baby and he a boy of six. At present, she was a penniless orphan, dependent upon her grandmother, Mrs. Bently, and Fred concluded with the remark that it was his opinion the old lady led the poor girl an unhappy life.
“She shan’t stay a minute longer with her than she likes, if I have my way,” said Jack to himself.
Next morning, Elsie Cameron, armed with book and umbrella, started for the beach. She usually spent the morning with her grandmother, who devoted that portion of the day to literature and letter writing. Elsie did the reading and writing, and Mrs. Bently the scolding. This morning, however, the old lady had a severe headache and was confined to her bed. Elsie found it impossible to feel sorry; for a whole morning of freedom was an unusual treat.
Finding a spot to suit her, she placed the umbrella tent fashion on the sand and seated herself comfortably underneath. Raising her eyes for a final look about, they rested with delight on the ever changing water before her. Little boats were moving to and fro on its surface, their weather-beaten sails gleaming white in the sunlight. The air was soft and ladened with spicy fragrance from the pines on the island. Forgetting all care in that one delightful moment. Elsie gave a sigh of content, and was about to begin her book, when she saw, with disappointment, her pet aversion coming, in the shape of Paul Thorne.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “This is too bad! If the sea would only swallow him!”’
The sea would not, and on he came, unconscious of the wish. But the wind was her friend; for, rushing under her umbrella, it caught it up and whirled it over the sands. She ran after it, as it danced along the beach, nearly recovering the truant, only to see it, as if possessed with the spirit of mischief, dart away once more, as she put out her hand to catch it. She was inclined to laugh, until she saw, with dismay, that it was likely to be blown into the water.
“Can’t it be stopped?” she exclaimed.
“It can,” said a voice at her side. The next moment the umbrella was in her hand and she was speaking her breathless thanks to a young man whose face was familiar, and yet she could not at first remember where she had seen him.
Of course, it was Jack, who had been waiting all the morning for an introduction to her, and Fred Langham, coming up, performed this ceremony.
“I am glad your umbrella did not get away from you entirely,” said Jack.
“I was more successful,” she answered laughing, as she looked over her shoulder and saw that Mr. Thorne had disappeared; “for I, too, was running away.”
But Elsie was not to get off so easily, as an invitation came to sail that afternoon with Mr. Thorne, which her grandmother, who liked him, made her accept. It might have been pleasant for Elsie, who was fond of being on the water, if he had been content to sail; but he had brought her out for another purpose, of which she was happily unconscious.
“I will not sit there,” she said, seeing him arrange shawls and cushions in the stern beside himself. “I should be in your way when you steer.”
“You could never be that,” he said.
She took no notice of the compliment, being absorbed apparently in watching his preparations for getting under way. Soon the little boat was dashing through the water as if it were alive. Elsie leaned comfortably back on the cushions and was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Suddenly her companion said, “I wish we might go on like this forever.”
“I don’t,” she replied, beginning to feel very uncomfortable. “We would be very hungry before long,” she added saucily. “Besides, this is a rather small place to be in forever.”
“That is not exactly what I mean.”
She did not answer, but appeared deeply interested in watching the water ripple through her fingers, as she held her hand over the side of the boat.
“Elsie!”
“Miss Cameron, if you please.”
“Nonsense!” he said roughly. “This is not the time to be hampered by conventionalities. You know what I want.”
“This is the first intimation I have had that you wanted anything.”
“Will you be my wife?”
“No!”
Then there was silence, except the noise of the little boat rushing through the water.
The situation was awkward. Conversation of any kind was out of the question. She gazed into the distance, and he scowled at the back of her head. An irresistible desire to laugh overcame her.
“ You seem to find it very funny,” he said angrily.
She was ashamed, but could not help it. Suddenly he brought the boat around very abruptly, which nearly upset them, and sailed rapidly towards home.
Jack Hunter was on the pier when they landed, and to her intense relief, he walked with her to the house, Paul Thorne remaining behind to look after the boat.
Mr. Thorne went to the city the next day, but on his return, a few days later, his manner toward Elsie was so unembarrassed that she almost imagined that the little scene in the boat had never taken place. For nearly two weeks, life was very pleasant to Elsie, with him as her friend and Jack her devoted slave. Only the time spent with her grandmother was unpleasant. Possibly Mrs. Bently’s fault-finding was not altogether unjustifiable. Elsie’s mind was apt to wander in these days from the book she was reading or the letter she was writing, in a manner that would have been trying even to a patient person, but Mrs. Bently certainly did not belong to that class.
As no summer is a success without a picnic, one had been proposed to the island, and Elsie was allowed to go. She was not aware that she owed this pleasure to Mr. Thorne, but he had begged that she might be of the party; and Mrs. Bently, who saw in him an excellent husband for her granddaughter, surprised Elsie by giving a cordial assent when her permission was asked. The day appointed dawned bright and beautiful. At nine o’clock, a merry party assembled at the pier, waiting for Elsie, who had been detained.
At last she came, looking, in Jack’s eyes, almost perfect in her close-fitting black dress, with a deep rose, someone had given her, thrust carelessly into her belt.
The sail of two miles was short, with the fresh breeze blowing directly toward the island. After landing and selecting a place to meet and dine, they scattered about in groups of two or more to explore. Jack and Elsie formed a group of two, with no idea of making explorations. She was sitting on the grass, her beautiful head coming out in bold relief against the rough bark of a tree at her back. Jack was stretched upon the ground at her feet, his head resting on his hand, and his eyes fixed on her face.
“You look now as you did when I first saw you,” he said.
“On the piazza with grandmama?” she said, unconsciously disclosing her remembrance of the first time that she saw him.
“No, indeed; I had seen you many times before that.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“Do you remember the evening, early in the spring, you were getting out of the carriage and stumbled?”
“And you caught me!” she added. “Now I know why your face has always been so familiar.”
“But I had often seen you before that.” Seating himself comfortably on the grass, but never losing sight of her face, he told her about his telescope. She gave a little laugh as he finished.
“You are not displeased?” he asked anxiously.
“No, indeed! I am glad to think there was someone that took such a kindly interest in me. I was very unhappy then.” A shadow fell over her face as she spoke.
“Elsie,” he said, and she did not reprove him, “will you give me that rose?”
“But it is all I have,” she objected, hoping to hear him ask again.
“I will give you a hundred prettier.”
“If there are a hundred prettier, why do you want this?”
“Because there is none in the world like that.”
She partly drew it from her belt. Just then Fred Langham and Paul Thorne appeared.
“Oh, here you are!” said the former. “We have been looking for you everywhere. Jack, I must speak with you.”
Taking his unwilling friend by the arm, he led him away. Then Paul turned to Elsie and again asked her to be his wife.
“I hoped you had given that up,” she said gently.
“You little know me, Elsie, if you thought that.”
She shook her head.
“It is useless to hope,” she said, and left him.
As he turned to follow, he saw Elsie’s rose, which had fallen unnoticed from her belt, lying on the ground. Picking it up, he put it in his button-hole and joined the others. Jack could hardly believe his eyes when Thorne joined them; and, drawing his own conclusions, he suddenly became so cold and stiff in his manners that Elsie was considerably puzzled, until she saw that Thorne had her rose. Then she grew, very angry with Jack for thinking that she could give the flower to any one but him.
The sail home was far from pleasant to either Jack or Elsie. Indeed, a gloom seemed to have settled upon them all. A change had taken place in the weather. The sky had become overcast, and the breeze of the morning had settled into a cold wind, which whipped the water into little choppy waves very disagreeable to many on board. Elsie shivered and drew her wraps more closely around her.
Thorne, who was sitting next, stooped and whispered to her. She shook her head with a smile. It was only a request that she would add another wrap to those already on; but, in Jack’s eyes, it appeared a most loverlike action, to which she had responded with affectionate gratitude. An attempt to sing was made, but it ended in a failure, and a dismal party landed at the dock, in decided contrast with the morning’s joyful departure.
That evening Elsie was with Thorne on the piazza. She had been dancing, and, flushed and heated she had come out for a breath of cooler air. She stood for a moment outside of one of the windows and looked in on the dancers spinning about in spite of the heat, while the sweet strains of the waltz floated out to her. Matrons and would-be matrons sat in rows against the wall, watching the dancers or whispering bits of gossip to each other behind their fans. Outside, the moon was shedding a flood of soft, cool light. In spite of the discomfort of the afternoon, Elsie felt happy and at peace with all men, even Thorne, until she caught sight of the flower still in his button-hole.
“Give me that!” she said, almost rudely.
He looked at her in mute protest, but she was inflexible; and yet, when he had reluctantly given it to her, she tore it in pieces, scattering the red petals over the floor.
The days that followed were miserable to Elsie, although she concealed the fact most successfully, and, in revenge for Jack’s change of manner, she became very friendly with Thorne. This gave him little satisfaction, however; for, although accepting his attentions, she would listen to no love-making. Determined to have his way, and win her by fair means or foul, he at last thought of a plan, that would prove most effective in making her listen to him. Approaching her one morning, he said:
“I have made a discovery, which I wish to share with you.”
“Yes?” she said, with but slight show of interest.
“I have found hosts of water lilies.”
“Where?”
She was eager enough now, for they were her delight.
“I will show them to you, but not to anyone else.”
“Well, then, come!” she exclaimed, rising hastily; and Jack, who sat near, apparently absorbed in a book, muttered between his teeth.
“Not now. Be ready about five this afternoon. We must go to the island for them,” said Thorne.
“Won’t that be too late? It’s a long sail to the island.”’
“Oh, no; it is too hot on the water earlier. We shall have plenty of time.”
Five o’clock found her ready, eager for the promised treat. The day had been warm, but a breeze had sprung up, which blew in from the sea with delicious freshness. Jack was standing on the landing, and Elsie nodded him a saucy goodbye as she passed.
Suddenly she stopped and looked back to where he stood gazing moodily after her.
“Won’t you come, too?” she asked, though she could not have told why.
“No, no, Miss Elsie,” said Thorne before Jack could speak. “You forget; the bargain was for you to come alone.”
She said nothing, but followed him to the boat, with a curious feeling of uneasiness.
“Are you not going to sail the boat yourself?”’ she asked, with some surprise, as a boy took the place at the helm.
“Someone must look after the boat while we get the lilies,” he answered carelessly, but his hand trembled as he helped her in.
The wind was light and the sail longer than she had expected.
“I hope we shan’t be late in getting back. Grandmama will be so cross,” she said anxiously.
“We shall have the wind with us going back. As he spoke, the boat ran up on the shore of the little island. They landed, and a short walk brought them to a pond almost covered with water lilies in full bloom. The air was filled with their fragrance.
“Oh, Mr. Thorne! How good it was in you to bring me here!” she cried with delight. But the flowers were out of hand’s reach, and, after one or two ineffectual efforts to gather some, she looked at him in despair.
“I will go and send the boy to gather them for you,” he said, and left her to devour the prizes with greedy eyes.
Five minutes passed, and she began to grow uneasy. When five more had gone and still he did not come, she felt that pleasure must give way to duty. She should wait no longer. Something had detained the boy, no doubt. She would go back to the boat, and come for the lilies another day.
She went back to where they had landed. Thorne stood alone on the shore, and far away on the water, with the setting sunlight shining upon it, was a tiny white sail.
“Where is the boat?” she asked.
“It has gone.”
He did not look at her, but kept his eyes on the vanishing sail.
“Gone! Why?” she asked, coming close to him in her surprise.
Then he looked her full in the face. His own face was white with the knowledge of the desperate move that he had made, and, as he spoke, his voice trembled.
“It has gone and will not be back until tomorrow.”
“ But how shall we get home?”
“We will not go home,” he replied. He was cool enough now. “Listen, Elsie,” he continued; “twice you have refused to marry me. Now, I fancy, when you return to your grandmother it will be as my wife, as you will scarcely be welcome otherwise.”
“You coward!” she said, turning white, more from rage than fear.
“All is fair in love and war, my lady,” said he, taking her hand.
She tore it from him.
“Don’t dare to touch me!”’ she said, stepping back.
He looked at her and laughed. Then taking a cigarette from his case, he rolled it between his fingers and lighted it.
“I will never marry you!”
“Oh, you will after you have thought it over. By tomorrow you will be quite willing.”
“I would rather starve!”
“Marrying is better than starving. You have your choice. If you do not marry me, your absence will be interpreted in such a way that no one will have anything to do with you.”
She wrung her hands in despair. It was too true. She stood for a long time gazing out over the water, thinking of Jack, and wishing she had never foolishly withheld the explanation that would have banished the misunderstanding between them. Above all, she wished she had never fancied that she could play with fire unharmed. Either way she looked, she could see nothing but ruin and unhappiness as this man’s wife, or thrust from her only shelter a homeless outcast.
The daylight was fast going. The moon was just showing above the horizon. A single star glittered in the sky above her head. Far away in the distance she could see “Baker’s,” looking safe and peaceful, with lights already beginning to twinkle in the windows. Still nearer on the opposite shore was another little fishing village nestling among the hills. She could almost hear the fisher folk talk with one another, as they sat mending their nets in the evening light. Indeed, she did hear one woman, louder-voiced, perhaps, than the rest, call to her children:
“Come in,” she said, “it is late.”
Late it was. Elsie was tempted to shriek aloud to these people to come to her aid. Thorne seemed to divine her thoughts.
“It would be of no use,” he said. “If you called and they came, I could easily satisfy them.”
She looked about in despair. Was there no help for her? Suddenly she saw a boat coming rapidly towards her. Her heart gave a great bound, for Jack was its sole occupant. Would he see her? She called loudly and waved her hands wildly in the air, in spite of Thorne’s efforts to stop her.
In a moment, the boat struck the beach and Jack leaped out. Elsie rushed toward him before the astonished Thorne could speak.
“Take me away!” she cried. “Oh, Jack, hurry?”
He did not ask for explanations until they were both in the boat and were out on the sea. Then he turned to her with questioning eyes, and she told him all.
“The villain!” he exclaimed.
Suddenly his face lighted.
“Don’t you love him?” he asked.
“I hate him!” she answered, with angry emphasis. “And, Jack,” she continued, “I did not give him that rose. It fell from my belt and he picked it up.”
“And you would have given it to me?”
“Yes, you silly fellow!”
“My darling!” he said, putting his arm about her and drawing her close to him.
“How did you happen to come?” she asked, after a moment’s silence.
“I came because I had to. After you left I was seized with an irresistible impulse to follow you. I fought against it for a long time, but at last I took a boat and started. I thought it strange when I met the boy coming back alone. So I kept on till I found you.”
“I am so thankful,” she whispered. “If you had only come this afternoon, when I asked you!”
“I wish I had; but I am here now, darling!”
She looked in his face with love and confidence, but neither spoke. The night was coming rapidly on. It was quite dark. The moon had hidden herself behind a cloud, but the little stars were twinkling down upon them like friendly eyes. Suddenly Elsie started.
“Oh, Jack!” she exclaimed, “how late it is! What will grandmama say? What will they all think?”
He looked down on the poor, little, white face.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Oh, Jack! Why do you ask me such a question?”
“But do you!” he persisted.
“Yes,” she said so softly that he had to bow his head to hear.
“Will you be my wife? I will devote my whole life to making you happy. Will you, Elsie?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jack, how can you ask such a question?” He did not answer, but putting the boat about, they sailed toward the little village among the hills.
“Where are we going?” she asked in surprise.
“To be married!” he said with quiet determination, “and then I am going to take you home. Do you hear, Elsie? To your home and mine! You shall write to your grandmother from there, and sign yourself Elsie Hunter!”
