The silence in that sheltered nook was painful, and the low moan of the restless sea even seemed to be hushed, as the child threw back its little head, and kicked and laughed and crowed with delight.
“Pitiful, contemptible coward!” thought Rhoda, biting her lip to keep down her anger. “And I once cared about this degraded wretch!”
“I wouldn’t move to save my life!” thought Geoffrey. “You doubting, incredulous, proud, faithless woman! You shall beg my pardon yet.”
He had a wonderful mastery over himself as far as his face was concerned, and he returned Rhoda’s angry look with one as bitter, if not worse; but though he could keep smooth his face, he was not wholly master of his emotions, as it proved.
For just as Rhoda was trying to summon up force enough to make her tear herself away with a look of intensified scorn and contempt, Geoffrey’s hands, which held the baby, instead of lightly tossing it up and down, involuntarily gripped its little tender ribs so fiercely that the merry crow was changed into a loud wail of pain, and, with a hysterical laugh that jarred through every nerve of Geoffrey’s frame, Rhoda rushed away, to burst, as soon as she was out of sight, into a passion of tears.
“You little wretch!” roared Geoffrey, springing up and shaking the baby. “What do you mean by making me look such a fool? Be quiet, or I’ll throw you into the sea. Hang me, what an idiot I must have looked,” he cried, stamping up and down with the baby in his hands, and then stuffing it roughly in a niche in the rock. “Be quiet, will you,” he roared, shaking his fist in the poor little thing’s face; “be quiet, or I’ll smash you!”
The cessation of the shaking, and the appearance of the fist close to its snub nose had the desired effect. The storm passed, and sunshine burst forth over the little face, followed by a laugh and a futile effort to catch at the hand.
“Poor little beggar?” cried Geoffrey, carefully taking up the helpless thing once more. “There, I don’t care, do I, baby?” he cried, laughing and grinding his teeth together as the tiny fists grasped and held on to his beard, while the little eyes laughed in his. “Let her see me, and think what she likes. Come along, young ’un. I’m not cross with you. You couldn’t help it. Here, hold your little wet button-hole still, and I’ll give you a kiss. No, no—kiss: don’t suck, stupid?” he said, laughing; and then the anger passed away, as a convulsion swept over the tiny face, and consequent upon a hair from Geoffrey’s beard touching the apology for a nose, the baby sneezed three times.
“Well done, young one,” he cried. “Feel better? No? Give us another.”
He raised the little thing once more and kissed it, and as he lowered it again something prompted him to look back, and as he did he saw that Rhoda was in full view upon the cliff, that she had turned, and that she must have seen that kiss.