“But I must tell you. I could not look you in the face again if you did not hear it. When I was left alone in your cabin, the second time, and the sea came in, a packet of letters fell out of some clothes which I picked up from the floor. There was one from your sister. I hardly knew what I was doing, but I saw her name, ‘Madge,’ and I read a few words on the half page above her signature.”
His left arm was now so well established that his hand touched her cheek, and he found it wet with tears.
“What wild conceit has crept into your pretty little head?” he cried in amaze, unconsciously raising his voice somewhat. “A letter from my sister! She is the most straightforward woman breathing, I assure you. Never a line has she written to me which could bear any construction such as seems to trouble you. Why, on the contrary, Madge has often chaffed me for being so like herself in giving no thought to matrimony.”
“It is horrid of me to persist, but I owe it to you to tell you what I saw. She alluded to your ‘affianced wife,’ and said that ‘under no other circumstances,’ whatever they were, would she receive her.”
Then Courtenay laughed again, and Elsie found it was absolutely essential, if Joey were not to be crushed, that her head should bend a little forward, with the obvious result that it rested on Courtenay’s shoulder.
“I must show you the whole of that letter,” he cried, “and the others which are tied up in the same bundle. You will see me blush, I admit, but it will not be from a sense of perfidy. But there is one thing you have forgotten, Elsie—” and his voice dropped to a tense whisper again—“In telling me your secret, which is no secret, you have given me my answer. Your heart must have crept out a little way to meet mine, dear, or my sister’s words would not have perplexed you. So that is why you have avoided me during the past few days! But there! Now, indeed, I am not acting quite fairly. It is unfair to ask you to confess when I want you to wait until we win clear of our present difficulties before you decide whether or not you can find it to your liking to make a poor sailor-man happy.”
Joey was a highly accommodating dog under certain conditions. He had curled up so complacently that Elsie found she could hold him quite easily with one arm. So the other went out in the darkness until it rested timidly on her lover’s disengaged shoulder.
“It is easy to confess that which is already known,” she murmured. “Whether we are fated to live one day or fifty years, it will be all the same to me, dear.”
She lifted her face again to his, and would have returned the kisses he gave her were it not that they lost their one-sided character this time. It was an odd place for love-making, this darkened nook on the deck of a disabled and beleaguered ship. But a man and a woman reck little of time or locality when the call of love’s spring-time sounds in their ears. That magic summons can be heard but once, and it is well with the world, for those two at least, while its ecstasy floods the soul.
There was a chance that Joey might have been partly suffocated—though, to all appearance, he meant to die a willing martyr—had not Suarez leaned over the upper rail, and asked, in his grating accents, if he heard the señor captain’s voice below.