The Washington times., 1921-02-27
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not know in those days how far
removed from any attitude Of mind
represented by apologies was the
stun OF England's character
Il have never done anything I
dtd not choose 20 do. or that !
would have had undone." he said
In years after to one knew.
Father, could see, was In an
embarrassing position.
II am very glad 10 see you. here"
he said To the doctor. Il assure
you you win not be permitted 10
lose by your visit, II II has been
inconvenient TO you 10 come"
.Confoundedly inconvenient. sarf
Blackburn cheerfully. Il depend
on having my two-monthly drunk
and It upsets me when l don't. It's
the time now and was Just getting
under way. when-how long have
yoz had it,"
"What?" asked father In some
bewilderment at the rapid change
of subject. But Lorraine saw. She
slipped my hand into hers and led
me, unwilling. away.
~"Come to my room" she said. as
the door closed behind US. "The
doctor 10 going to talk to your
father"
-
Night came. The driftwood fire
was lighted In the hall; smalt-blue
and celadon-green the little flames
burned up, as they had burned on
every night of my life that ! re-
membered. The great archway.
when the fire died down. grew vel
vet-dark again.
The sea crept up the beach. not
far away, with sound as OF the
ringing OF a myriad porcelain bells.
NY father was not there. but Lor-
raine and Dinaht occupied their
places, and old Ivory. on his sea-
weed ed-cushioned chair, sat working
away at fish-nets. as he always did
of nights.
my sleepy eyes on the flame. fel:
without words that the world had
come right again.
So lay till It was my bedtime;
and the doctor did not come out,
nor did Captain England.
At last Lorraine beckoned to me,
and, reluctant, sleepy, but Tapped In
peaceful sureness of things past,
present and to come, dragged my
feet to ..he door of the room where
the red and ivory shell lamp had
watched above my sleeping for all
the nights that l knew-where 1t
was never, never to watch me 80
again.
And closed the door on the
great cave-hall, filed with shadow
and with firelight, and on the group
about the fire, which had been my
last sight every evening since first
could remember, but which ]. and
time, were never to see there more.
1 cannot tell how It was that |
did not wake. There must have
been noise and movement during
the night, and / was not commonly
the heaviest of sleepers. Perhaps
the excitement Of the schooner call
--of all things most exciting and
exhausting to an island dweller-
had tired me out. Perhaps some
kind fate kept finger on my eyes.
Certain 1t Is that slept sound as
the small green parrots slept In
their nests among the dark mango
trees outside; sound as the great
sea-cows that snored on the lonely
beaches at the back of the island
until half the night was past. Then,
suddenly, woke.
Something had called me back
from the depths Of sleep.
II was what / had never heard
before. the voice of another woman
raised in loud, terrible sobbing.
And I knew, impossible as 1t
seemed, that It could be none but
Lorraine.
/ cannot account for the mood
that took me. l never said to my
self did not even whisper to the
depths of my soul-what | knew
the cry to mean. l got out Of bed,
slipped on the few clothes that !
wore in daytime, plated and tied
back my hair.
The cave-hall was very dark In
deed; not an ember showed in the
sunk fireplace; not flicker OF
foam-light came through the oute-
arch. The sea was black and still,
save for the low. deep breathing
that never ceases, night and day
and year and century through on
Pacific coast. All the doors about
the hall were closed.
stood in the middle, not know
Ing where to go. was not fright