The Pagan Madonna Part 39

"Why----"

"You poor boy! I'm only fis.h.i.+ng."

"For what?"

"Well, why do you want to marry me?"

"Hang it, because I love you!"

"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place? How was I to know unless you told me? But oh, Denny, I want to go home!" She laid her cheek against his hand. "I want a garden with a picket fence round it and all the simple flowers. I never want another adventure in all my days!"

"Same here!"

A stretch of silence.

"What happened to me?"

"Someone hit you with a wine bottle."

"A vintage--and I never got a swallow!"

"And then your father went to your defense."

"The old boy? Honestly?"

"He stood astride your body until Mr. Cunningham came in and stopped the melee."

"Cunningham! They quit?"

"Yes--Flint. I didn't dream it wouldn't be safe to go on deck, and Flint caught me. He was drunk. But for Cunningham, I don't know what would have happened. I ran and left them fighting, and Flint wounded Cunningham with a knife. It was for me, Denny. I feel so sorry for him! So alone, hating himself and hating the world, tortured with misunderstanding--good in him that he keeps smothering and trampling down. His unbroken word--to hang to that!"

"All right. So far as I'm concerned, that cleans the slate."

"I loved you, Denny, but I didn't know how much until I saw you on the floor. Do you know what I was going to demand of your father as a reparation for bringing me on board? His hand in yours. That was all I wanted."

"Always thinking of someone else!"

"That's all the happiness I've ever had, Denny--until now!"

CHAPTER XXI

A good deal of orderly commotion took place the following morning.

Cunningham's crew, under the temporary leaders.h.i.+p of Cleve, proceeded to make everything s.h.i.+pshape. There was no exuberance; they went at the business quietly and grimly. They sensed a shadow overhead. The revolt of the six discovered to the others what a rickety bridge they were crossing, how easily and swiftly a jest may become a tragedy.

They had accepted the game as a kind of huge joke. Everything had been prepared against failure; it was all cut and dried; all they had to do was to believe themselves. For days they had gone about their various duties thinking only of the gay time that would fall to their lot when they left the _Wanderer_. The possibility that Cleigh would not proceed in the manner advanced by Cunningham's psychology never bothered them until now.

Supposing the old man's desire for vengeance was stronger than his love for his art objects? He was a fighter; he had proved it last night.

Supposing he put up a fight and called in the British to help him?

Not one of them but knew what the penalty would be if pursued and caught.

But Cunningham had persuaded them up to this hour that they would not even be pursued; that it would not be humanly possible for Cleigh to surrender the hope of eventually recovering his unlawful possessions. And now they began to wonder, to fret secretly, to reconsider the ancient saying that the way of the transgressor is hard.

On land they could have separated and hidden successfully. Here at sea the wireless was an inescapable net. Their only hope was to carry on.

Cunningham might pull them through. For, having his own hide to consider, he would bring to bear upon the adventure all his formidable ingenuity.

At eleven the commotion subsided magically and the men vanished below, but at four-thirty they swarmed the port bow, silently if interestedly. If they talked at all it was in a whispering undertone.

The mutinous revellers formed a group of their own. They appeared to have been roughly handled by the Cleighs. The att.i.tude was humble, the expression worriedly sorrowful. Why hadn't they beat a retreat? The psychology of their madness escaped them utterly. There was one grain of luck--they hadn't killed young Cleigh. What fool had swung that bottle?

Not one of them could recall.

The engines of the _Wanderer_ stopped, and she rolled lazily in the billowing bra.s.s, waiting.

Out of the blinding topaz of the sou'west nosed a black object, illusory.

It appeared to ride neither wind nor water.

From the bridge Cleigh eyed this object dourly, and with a swollen heart he glanced from time to time at the crates and casings stacked below. He knew that he would never set eyes upon any of these treasures again. When they were lowered over the side that would be the end of them. Cunningham might be telling the truth as to his intentions; but he was promising something that was not conceivably possible, any more than it was possible to play at piracy and not get hurt.

At Cleigh's side stood the son, his head swathed in bandages. All day long he had been subjected to splitting headaches, and his face looked tired and drawn. He had stayed in bed until he had heard "s.h.i.+p ahoy!"

"Are you going to start something?" he asked.

Cleigh did not answer, but peered through the gla.s.s again.

"I don't see how you're going to land him without the British. On the other hand, you can't tell. Cunningham might bring the stuff back."

Cleigh laughed, but still held the gla.s.s to his eye.

"When and where are you going to get married?"

"Manila. Jane wants to go home, and I want a job."

Cleigh touched his split lips and his bruised cheekbone, for he had had to pay for his gallantry; and there was a spot in his small ribs that racked him whenever he breathed deeply.

"What the devil do you want of a job?"

"You're not thinking that I'm going back on an allowance? I've had independence for seven years, and I'm going to keep it, Father."

"I've money enough"--brusquely.

"That isn't it. I want to begin somewhere and build something for myself.

You know as well as I do that if I went home on an allowance you'd begin right off to dominate me as you used to, and no man is going to do that again."

"What can you do?"

"That's the point--I don't know. I've got to find out."