“Quick, men; shift Mrs. Helmstedt’s baggage into this boat,” commanded Mr. Helmstedt, as with averted eyes he coldly took Marguerite’s hand and assisted her to enter his skiff. The two men hastily transferred the little traveling trunk that comprised Marguerite’s whole baggage—and then, with a respectful leave-taking, laid to their oars and pulled rapidly to overtake the vessel.
Philip and Marguerite were left alone. Without addressing her, he turned the head of the skiff and rowed for the island. The first flush of pleasure had died from Marguerite’s face, leaving her very pale—with a pallor that was heightened by the nunlike character of her costume, which consisted simply of a gown, mantle and hood, all of black silk. For some moments Marguerite fixed her large, mournful eyes upon the face of her husband, vainly trying to catch his eyes, that remained smoldering under their heavy lids. Then she suddenly spoke to him.
“Philip! will you not forgive me?”
The thrilling, passionate, tearful voice, for once, seemed not to affect him. He made no answer. She gazed imploringly upon his face—and saw, and shuddered to see that an ashen paleness had overspread his cheek, while his eyes remained rooted to the bottom of the boat.
“Philip! oh! Heaven—speak to me, Philip!” she cried, in a voice of anguish, laying her hand and dropping her sobbing face upon his knee.
The effect was terrible. Spurning her from him, he sprang to his feet, nearly capsizing the skiff, that rocked fearfully under them, and exclaimed:
“I do not know where you find courage to lift your eyes to my face, madam, or address me! Where have you been? Come, trifling is over between us! Explain, exculpate yourself from suspicion! or these waters shall engulf at once your sin and my dishonor!”
“Philip! Philip!” she cried, in a voice of thrilling misery.
“Explain! explain! or in another moment God have mercy on your soul!” he exclaimed, drawing in the oar, planting its end heavily on the prow of the skiff, in such a manner that by leaning [his] weight upon it he could capsize the boat—standing there, glaring upon her.
“Philip! Philip! for the Saviour’s sake, sit down,” she cried, wringing her pale fingers in an ecstasy of terror.