Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 58

"I am Bartlemy that killed you!" says I. "I am Black Bartlemy! They know out yonder beyond the reef, hark and you shall hear how they hail me--"

"O kind G.o.d, teach me how I may win him back to knowledge!" So crying, this Spanish lady of a sudden unpinned her hair and shook its glossy ripples all about her:

"Look, Martin!" cries she, "Don't you know me--O don't you know me now?

I am Joan--come back to you--"

"No!" says I, "No--Damaris is dead and lost--I saw her die!"

"Then who am I, Martin?"

"The Spanish lady or--one of the ghosts do haunt me."

But now her hands were clasping mine, her soft hair all about me as she stooped. And feeling these hands so warm and vital, so quick and strong with life, I began to tremble and strove against her no longer; and so she stooped above me that I might feel her sweet breath on fevered cheek and brow:

"'Tis your Damaris, Martin," says she, her tears falling fast, "'tis your comrade hath come back to comfort you."

Now seeing how I stared all trembling and amazed, she set her arms about me, and drawing me to her bosom, clasped me there. And my head pillowed thus I fell a-weeping, but these tears were tears of joy and thankfulness beyond all words.

"O Damaris," quoth I at last, "if this be death I care not since I have seen thee again!"

"Why, Martin," says she, weeping with me, "art indeed so glad--so glad to find again thy poor comrade!"

And thus, knowing myself forgiven, a great joy sang within me.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

HOW MY DEAR LADY CAME BACK TO ME

I was sitting in one of our armchairs amid the leafy shade watching her knead dough with her two pretty fists. To this end she had rolled up the sleeves of her splendid gown; and thus I, hearkening to her story, must needs stare at her soft, round arms and yearn mightily to kiss their velvety smoothness and, instantly be-rating myself therefor, s.h.i.+fted my gaze from these temptations to my own unlovely figure, contrasting myself and my worn garments with her rich attire and proud and radiant beauty; she was again the great lady and far removed above such poor wretch as I, for all her pitiful tenderness.

"... and so when I plunged from the rock," she was saying, "I never thought to see this dear place again or the blessed sun! And I sank ...

O deep--deep! Then, Martin, I seemed to be caught in some current, far down there in the darkness, that whirled and tossed me and swept me up behind the torrent. And in the rock was a great cavern sloping to the water, and there this current threw me, all breathless and nigh dead, Martin."

"G.o.d be thanked!" says I fervently.

"And there I lay all night, Martin, very sick and fearful. When day came I saw this great cave opened into a smaller and this into yet another. So I came to a pa.s.sage in the rock, and because there was none other way for me, I followed this--and then--O Martin!"

"What?" quoth I, leaning forward.

"Have you ever been to the palace at Versailles, Martin!"

"Once, as a boy with my father."

"Well, Martin, the cave--the hall I came to at last was more splendid than any Versailles can show. And then I knew that I had found--Black Bartlemy's Treasure!"

"Ha!" quoth I. "And is it indeed so great?"

"Beyond description!" says she, clasping her floury hands and turning on me with s.h.i.+ning eyes. "I have held in my hands, jewels--O by the handful! Great pearls and diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires--beyond price!"

"Aye!" I nodded, "But was this all?"

"All, Martin?" says she, staring.

"Why, according to Adam there should be all manner of stores," says I, "powder and shot, tools--a carpenter's chest--"

"They are all there, with provisions of every kind; as witness this flour, Martin, but I heeded only these wondrous jewels!" Hereupon she turns to her work again, describing to me the splendour of these precious stones and the wonder of Bartlemy's treasure, whiles I, viewing her loveliness, would have given such foolish treasure a thousand times for but her little finger, as watching the play of her round arms again, I fell a-sighing, whereupon she turns, all anxious questioning.

"Doth your wound trouble you, Martin?"

"Nay, indeed," says I, shaking my head, "I am very well, I thank you!"

"Then wherefore sigh so deep and oft?"

"I am a vasty fool!"

"Are you, Martin--why?" But in place of answer I rose and, coming beside her, scowled to see the tender flesh of her arms all black and bruised:

"What is this?" I demanded.

"Nought to matter!"

"Who did it?"

"You, Martin. In your raving you were very strong, mistaking me for the poor Spanish lady."

"O forgive me!" I cried, and stooping to this pretty arm would have touched my lips thereto for mere pity but checked myself, fearing to grieve her; perceiving this she comes a little nearer:

"You may--an you so desire, Martin," says she, "though 'tis all floury!" So I kissed her arm, tenderly and very reverently, as it had been some holy thing (as indeed so I thought it).

"I'm glad 'twas I did this, comrade."

"Glad, Martin?"

"Aye! I had rather 'twas myself than yon evil rogues--nay forget them," says I, seeing her s.h.i.+ver, "plague on me for reminding you."

"Hush, Martin!"

"Why then, forget them--and I have their weapons to cope with 'em should they return."

"Now thank G.o.d!" cries she, clasping my hand in both of hers. "Thank G.o.d, Martin! I feared you had killed them all!"

"Why, I did my best," I sighed, shaking my head, "but they were too strong for me! Would to G.o.d I had indeed slain--"

"Hush, Martin, O hus.h.!.+" And here she claps her pretty hand to my lips, where I straightway 'prisoned it to my kisses. "Though truly," says she the whiles this was a-doing, "from your raving I feared them all slain at your hand, so do I rejoice to know you innocent of their deaths!" Here, her hand released, she fell a-laughing (albeit a little tremulously) to see my face all patched with flour; and so, back to her labour.

"But, Martin," says she, turning to glance at me in a while, "You must be very terrible to drive away these four great men, and very brave!"