II.
When Luke returned from fishing, towards evening, he went down to Briton's cabin, hardly taking time to remove from his person the traces of his day of toil, his haste was so great.
Briton had arrived before him, and now sat at supper with his cup of grog beside him. When Luke entered, Dame Briton was exhibiting the gold chain, reserved, in spite of her impatience, till she had cooked the supper.
It was partly on account of this chain that Luke had made such haste in coming. He felt interested in the fortunes of the family to-night, and he knew Briton's habit of bargaining and throwing away treasure.
Clarice was standing on the hearth when he arrived. As Luke passed the window, he thought her face looked very sad; but when he crossed the threshold, the expression greatly changed, or else he was mistaken. She had been telling her father how she found the chain,—but concerning the ring was silent, as in the morning. That ring was still fastened to its cord, and hung about her neck. With reluctance she had shown it even to her mother, and by this time, having scarcely thought of anything beside, it possessed an almost sacred charm to her eyes. Why should I not say it was the most sacred of all things to her, since that is but true?
"Is that the chain," asked Luke, as he came up behind the fisherman's chair, and clapped Old Briton on the shoulder. "You could trade that for a silver watch."
"What's that?" asked Briton, quickly taking up the lad's words; and he pulled out his pewter watch and laid it on the table. "A silver watch?" said he.
"A silver watch, as good as ever run, for that gold chain. Just see how fine it is!"
"So, so!" said the fisherman, thoughtfully resting his rough chin in his broad palm. That was his attitude, when, at home, he contemplated any of those famous bargains which always turned out so differently from anything that he anticipated.
"Let Luke do the trading for ye," said Briton's wife, quickly recognizing his symptoms.
She looked from the lad to her daughter, and back again, five or six times in a second,—seeing more than most people could have seen in observation apparently so careless and superficial.
"I kept a sharp look out, Clary, all day, but I saw nothing," said Luke, going over to the hearth.
"Nothing,—but," he added, she looked so disappointed, "but, for all that, some one else may."
"Oh, I hope so"!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Briton.
"The shipwreck," said Luke.
"Oh!—well, Luke,—will you make the trade, Sir? What do you say, Clarice? The chain belongs to you, after all," said Briton, with a laugh,—he could not help the shipwreck. "What are you going to do with it, my girl?"
"It is yours, father."
"Thank ye!—a present!" Old Briton looked well pleased.
"And if Luke will take it over"—
"I'll go to-night," said Luke, ready to start that moment, if such was the wish of any person in the house.
Briton laughed. "No, you won't," said he. "What the deuse!—Sit down and take something. What are you all standing about for? Sit down. You shall do the trading, Luke. There now, I've said it, and I hope you are all easy."
He laughed again; for he knew very well—he had often enough heard it stated in full—the estimate set on his skill in making a bargain.
"You haven't seen the ring yet?" said Dame Briton, quite kindly, now that this matter was settled to her mind. "Where's the ring, Clarice?"
Other eyes were on the girl besides those of her mother. Old Briton pushed back his dish, and looked at Clarice. Luke was smiling. That smile became joyful and beautiful to see, when Clarice, blushing, removed the string from her neck and showed the ring.
"That's neat," said Briton, turning the delicate ornament round and round, examining its chaste workmanship admiringly. "I never saw a pearl like that, Mother. What do you wear it round your neck for, Clarice?—put it on your finger."
Luke Merlyn had come to Briton's cabin to explain how matters stood between him and Clarice, as well as to look after the other bargain. Taking advantage of her hesitation, he now said,—
"She could not wear it at her work. And it's a token betwixt her and me. Heart and Hand. Don't you see the letters? That's what they mean to us."
Luke spoke out so boldly, that Clarice ceased to tremble; and when he took her hand and held it, she was satisfied to stand there and answer, that the joined hands were a symbol of the united hearts.
"What's that, old woman?" asked Briton, looking at his wife, as if for an explanation.
"Luke, what do you mean? Are you asking for Clarice?" inquired the dame.
"Yes, Mrs. Briton."
"That's right enough, old woman," said Briton; and strong approval, together with some emotion, was in his voice.
"Babes in arms, both of 'em! But a promise a'n't no hurt,"—was the dame's comment. Neither was she quite unmoved, as she looked at the young pair standing on the hearth; such another, her heart told her, was not to be found in Diver's Bay.
"Clarice is a good girl, Luke Merlyn," said Old Briton, solemnly.
"She is so," confirmed the mother. "So take the ring there for your token."
Luke came forward and received the ring from Old Briton, and he laid the string that held it round Clarice's neck.
"Take this chain," said Briton, with a softened voice. "It's fitter than the string, and none too good for Clarice. Take it, Luke, and put the ring on't."
"I'm going to trade that chain for a silver watch," said Luke, answering according to the light he saw in the eyes of Clarice. "That chain is Clary's wedding present to her father."
"Thank you, Luke," said Briton,—and he drew his hand across his eyes, not for a pretence. Then he took up his old pewter watch, the companion of many years; he looked at it without and within, silently; perhaps was indulging in a little sentimental reflection; but he put it into his pocket without speaking, and went on with his supper, as if nothing had happened.
* * * * *
This took place before Clarice was fourteen years of age. At seventeen she was still living under her father's roof, and between her and Luke Merlyn the pearl ring still remained a token.
Luke used to praise her beauty when there was little of it to praise. He was not blinder when the young face began to be conspicuous for the growing loveliness of the spirit within. The little slender figure sprang up into larger, fuller life, with vigor, strength, and grace; the activity of her thoughts and the brightness of their intelligence became evident, as well as the tenderness and courage of her heart. Her own home, and many another, was the better for Clarice.
Some Sunday in this summer of her seventeenth year, when the missionary came down to the Bay, they were to be married. It was settled where they were to live. A few years before, a young artist came to the Bay and built a cabin near the settlement; there, during the summer months, he lodged, for several seasons,—spending his time in studying the rocks of the coast and sailing about in his pleasure-boat. The last autumn he spent here he gave the cabin to Luke, in consideration of some generous service, and it was well known that to this home Luke would bring his wife ere long.