At dawn I was up, and immediately took out my boat and went to the buoy. The wind was light and I had no difficulty in getting fast to it. Instead of taking up the buoy, as I had at first intended, I merely shortened the anchor line so that the buoy was held under water about two feet. I knew that the gourds would remain in this condition for a long time, and with my sights on shore would enable me to find the neighborhood, while they would not be likely to be seen by others not looking for them.
When this was done I sailed back to the creek in time for breakfast, congratulating myself on the additional peace of mind this act had brought me. Now nobody would be likely to stumble on the galleon, and I could give my thoughts to the problem before me.
As I rounded into the creek before the wind, I saw the graceful figure of Alice Millward, who was coming down from the house to look after her fire for breakfast. When I came up I found her lamenting that not a single spark could be found alight, and that the breakfast must needs be late, or cold. But the sun was already well up above the sea,—at least an hour and a half high,—and I found no difficulty in procuring a blaze with the burning-glass, and the fire was soon burning bravely.
I sat down in the shade of the shed, while she busied herself with the simple cookery, and thought as I looked on, what a beautiful girl this was, with her clean-cut profile, her floating tendrils of silken, brown hair, her well rounded form, the graceful poise of her shapely head, the elastic step, the sweet voice humming bits of song, the cheerful, musical laugh. She was fair indeed, and more than that I knew she was pure and true in everything, a lovely and lovable woman. I then and there confessed to myself that she had become a part of my life. I was in love, and the strange delight of her presence thrilled my heart with new emotion. Up to this time my thoughts had been bent solely on getting a treasure buried in the sea; I now realized that here was a treasure recovered from the sea, which if I could hope to call it my own, would far exceed in value all the gold and jewels ever carried by the richest fleet that ever floated on the Spanish seas. It was all so new and strange and sudden to me that I was afraid to stay longer near her, lest I might be obliged to speak to her, and thus betray myself. So I got up and wandered away to the edge of the forest. But the leaves trembling in the gentle morning breeze seemed to whisper my secret; the rasping locust, which had been noisily droning all night long, seemed to play it in every trill; the birds sang it.
So this was love,—love that makes the world go round; that comes once at least into each life, and fills it with light and sweetness, or with gloom and sorrow. When did I begin to love this girl? I could not tell. Yesterday I did not know it, but it must be that I loved her then as now; and before that and ever since I had first seen her. And even before I had seen her had not my heart been waiting for her? But now I felt that somehow our relations had changed. Could I have again the sense of comradeship that I had felt toward her? Would she not see a change in me? I could not analyze this new sensation nor predict what would happen. A dreadful doubt and uncertainty oppressed my heart simultaneously with its new-born gladness. Could I hope that this sweet maid would ever find anything to love in me?
A hot, despairing wave of self-depreciation came over me. I looked at myself in imagination,—my great hulking frame, my tanned skin, my bearded face, my long, unkempt hair. Oh, William Morgan, what a poor fool you are to fall in love with this fair vision of beauty, this domestic goddess, this Hebe, this sum of grace and loveliness. And then a tender desire welled up and filled my heart to love and cherish and protect this helpless waif that had floated in to me from the wild sea.
After a little I plucked a spray of orchids that hung from a half-rotten limb,—one of those strange, rare flowers that seem rather the dreamy vagary of a flower painter than a natural production. They were white, but beautifully marked with spots of rich purple and ribs of golden yellow. This spray I carried to the house, and gave it to her. Such an act could have no particular significance, but to my distempered fancy it seemed a homage paid, a tribute given, a declaration of fealty.
At the breakfast table I broached the subject of the galleon, and stated that I had almost determined to remain upon the island and to undertake the recovery of the treasure by aid of such apparatus as could be made here, provided they were willing to delay their departure a sufficient time. The truth was that since the last hour my mind was fully made up to stay if possible, and the presence of Alice Millward was doubtless a moving cause for that determination. I felt very anxious that they should both fall in with my plan.
“I think,” said I to the old man, “that if you go on improving as you have done, you will soon be able yourself to give me the aid I need. And remember, in that case there will probably be treasure enough for all. In the mean time, while you are getting well your daughter and I can be making preparations for the work. There is a great deal to be done. Now what do you say?”
“But let me know exactly your plan of work,” replied he, “in order that I may be better able to judge of its feasibility.”