The gay party on shore discussed their warm coffee and elegant lunch with such keen appetites that the absentees were almost forgotten, until the increasing fog suddenly awoke a feeling of alarm in Ralph Allen’s breast.
“I wish now that they had not gone out sailing,” he said. “It is no joke to be becalmed in a fog. What if they should be run down by a steamer?”
Several members of the party began to express alarm, but Percy Seabright cried out boisterously:
“Do not let us borrow trouble. It is not likely that anything will happen to them. Indeed, I envy Francis his good luck in getting becalmed in a fog with such a pretty girl. What a chance for a flirtation! Ten to one they come back engaged, and this winter we will get cards to the wedding.”
He had quite recovered from his melancholy of a while ago, and was the life and soul of the party, singing songs and telling anecdotes to while away the long hours. The young people fell in with his infectious gaiety and took his bright view of the situation, all but Ralph and Alexie.
These two felt seriously uneasy over their friends, and from time to time went arm in arm down to the beach, watching to see the fog lift, or the air freshen and the tide come in, but the winds remained quiescent in their mysterious caves, and the fog hung like a white gauze veil over a still and glassy sea.
But no one else shared their anxiety. Percy Seabright and Mrs. Dunn were boisterously gay, and Alys Audenreid had a strange look in her eyes and a strange tone in her voice. She believed that the powers of evil had granted her wicked wish, and that Francis Murray and Italy were both drowned in the cruel sea. So hard and cruel had jealousy made her heart that she exulted secretly in the belief. She would much sooner have seen him dead than happy with her rival--beautiful, dark-eyed Italy Vale.
In her blind fury of jealous rage, Alys wanted the world to end for those two who had made her so unhappy. She had grown hopeless of supplanting Italy in Francis Murray’s heart.
Francis Murray had never shown Alys one sign of love, but she chose to consider herself wronged and deserted, and exulted in the speedy ending of those two lives. What a cruel thing is the jealousy of an ignoble mind--strong as death and cruel as the grave!
It was almost two hours past midnight when Ralph Allen uttered a cry of the keenest joy:
“The wind is rising, the fog lifting!”
He and Alexie ran down to the beach again. The sea was ruffled with little white-capped wavelets, and the tide began to roll in upon the shore with a wailing voice. The wind was high and the fog was rolling away. They stretched their eyes over the wide expanse of water, hoping to see the little dory riding in with the tide. Ah, joy! There it came, far away as yet; but no--what was it tossing on the waves like a sail?
Ralph Allen gave a loud shout, and the whole party ran down to him. They did not have to wait and watch long. Directly the strong tide brought in and cast at their feet the broken sail of the dory, with a half-unconscious girl clinging despairingly to the rope!
Washed ashore on a broken sail that clung to some fragments of a shattered boat--oh, what an eloquent story was told in that occurrence! All of Ralph’s forebodings were dismally realized. He knew that the worst had happened, that the dory had been run into and destroyed by some monster steamer--but--where was Francis Murray?
The wailing wind and the moaning sea gave no reply, and Italy’s lips were silent, too. Only a faint pulse at her heart gave signs of life.
It was well that there was a physician with the party, and that warm coffee and wine were at hand. Everything necessary was quickly done, and then she was taken back to The Lodge breathing faintly but looking like a dead girl and quite unable to speak. They did not stay to see the sun rise, but disbanded mournfully--mourning Francis Murray as dead, and dreading lest Italy’s life should also be offered up as a sacrifice to the pitiless sea.
Only Percy Seabright said hilariously:
“It is evident that Miss Vale was not born to be drowned. She has had two hairbreadth escapes from the sea, and the Fates that pursue her had better change their tactics if they wish for success.”
Mrs. Dunn and Alys said nothing, but they wished in their hearts that Italy had perished and Francis Murray escaped. Then they might have woven anew their spider’s web to ensnare a good man’s heart.
Too late! Too late! There could scarcely be one hope that he had survived, for the next day, when Italy was able to speak, she told feebly the story of their accident, how the dory had been cleft in twain by the steamer, and that she had been swept instantly away and never heard his voice again.
The day succeeding was the first of September, when the house-party was to break up. Mrs. Dunn and her favorite niece, Alys, took leave with silky purrings of sympathy for the bereaved hostess, but Alexie begged frankly to stay and nurse the sick girl, who was too weak yet to leave her bed.
Mrs. Murray was glad to have her stay, glad for some one else to watch over Italy, whom she hated now with more virulence than ever.
“Through this girl I have lost my son, and I will never willingly look upon her face again. When she gets well, either she or I must leave The Lodge,” she avowed before them all.
Mrs. Dunn and Alys vowed that she was right, Percy Seabright said nothing, but Ralph and Alexie looked shocked and indignant.
“But, dear Mrs. Murray, the accident was not Italy’s fault,” cried the warm-hearted girl.
But Mrs. Murray’s terrible bereavement had but hardened her cold heart.
“The girl disobeyed me in going with Francis that night. Had she remained at home, as I bade her, he would now be alive and well. No, I will never forgive Italy Vale for my son’s tragic death, and as soon as she recovers I shall ask her to make her home elsewhere.”
Alexie looked pleadingly at her aunt.
“May I ask her to become our guest this winter?” she murmured.
“Decidedly not. Mrs. Murray’s cause is mine, and I fully endorse her course,” was the brusk reply.
The quick tears came into Alexie’s sweet blue eyes as she turned them on Ralph. He whispered tenderly:
“When we are married you shall have our friend for your guest as long as you like. In the meantime I will see if we cannot find a pleasant home for her as soon as she is able to leave The Lodge.”
He went away with the rest that day, but Alexie knew that he would return on the morrow, for all the sunshine of Ralph Allen’s life lay in those sweet, blue eyes of his fair, betrothed bride, and for them the course of true love had always run smooth.
