Orders were now given for the strangers to come forward and embark.
Lorenzo, who had been in his cabin the whole of the morning, now came on deck. His appearance was not the same as it was wont to be. On his manly brow sat gloomy care and anxiety, and there was even something fierce in the expression of his lips. There was anxiety, deep anxiety, furrowed in his looks, but there were also marks of a deeper and sterner feeling.
When he came on deck, Agnes and her guardian were standing almost opposite the captain, on the starboard side of the vessel.
He saw them, but his eyes could not rest on them. Was he bashful?—was he afraid to meet the looks of a frail old man, and the timid glances of a helpless maiden?—he who had encountered enemies that every human passion had excited and embittered against him?—he whose daily life was a continuous challenge to man, to the powers that ruled the earth, and to the controlless element itself which he had made his home? No, he was afraid of himself: he was afraid of his pride. He had never placed himself before in a position to meet either slight or insult. He expected nothing from humanity, and he never placed himself in a way to be the object of its kindness or beneficence. But love—love—the leveller—had now overcome him: he had declared his feeling to a girl, he had, as he fancied, humbled himself, by putting himself in her power, and his pride was completely at her mercy. He therefore feared to look at her, lest in her looks he might read that which was—oh! more horrible than anything else to his nature—slight, indifference, or contempt. He had had a fierce struggle with himself at first to write the letter which he had put into the cabin of Agnes.
But he had no sooner done so than he repented of his act. The mastery that love had gained over pride was but temporary, it soon ceased, and he was left to be crushed under the tyranny of that unrelenting feeling. How many conflicts such as Lorenzo experienced, are there not? How many hearts that nature formed but to be united and to swell and beat but in the community of each other, have shrunk, withered, and dried away in cold and comfortless solitude, because the love of another could not over-ride the fear of a risk, or an exposure of the love of one’s self! How many a one has traversed this beautiful world, and moved on it as on the barren bareness of a desert land, with no congenial soul to enhance the pleasures of existence by its participation, or to diminish its miseries by its sympathy, because pride forbad him to disclose to some loving heart how much happiness it was in its power to administer.
These feelings, on the part of Lorenzo, did not arise from any low conceit that he entertained for himself: nor were they the emanation of that vulgar selfishness that concentrates existence, the capacity of possessing feelings, the desire of happiness, in one’s single self, and there traces out their bournes and limits; nor did they spring from the senseless and stupid vanity that bolsters itself up in all the “pomp and circumstance” of its full-fed ignorance. No: in the sturdy and the bold, such feelings do not, cannot exist. It was something better—nobler; something that could exist and thrive only in the community of exalted thoughts, and delicate sensibilities. It was a sensitive self-respect.
Lorenzo approached the pirate captain, and saluted him. The latter returned the salute, and, at the same time, fixed his keen eyes on his officer.
We have already said there was something peculiar in the eyes of the pirate captain: there was something that seemed to penetrate the inmost soul, and read the mind, and see what was passing there. This power he used on this occasion. The deep, earnest, steady look which he fixed on Lorenzo seemed to overcome the latter and his eyes bent before it. When the captain had looked long and stedfastly at his officer, he turned suddenly on one side, and seemed to contemplate in the same manner, the fair Agnes, that stood still leaning on the taffrail of the schooner, with her eyes fixed on the deck.
The captain had at once read in the manner of Lorenzo, that he was in love with the beautiful captive. His studious mind had long been exercised in connecting deductions and his deep knowledge of human actions and their springs, enabled him to trace, in one moment, the change which was perceptible in the appearance of his chief officer to its proper cause. He was at once convinced that Lorenzo loved Agnes, and he now looked on her with some interest. One would have said he was examining her in order to discover whether she was worthy of the affection of one whom he prized so highly.
The examination lasted long, and Agnes was justly alarmed concerning the meaning of this scrutiny on the part of the captain.