“What did you ask?” he inquired softly.
“I asked for Happiness,” Meriel said, and turned her eyes on him with a pitiful smile.
There was a long silence before he answered, but when he spoke his voice was tremulous with feeling.
“Ah, Meriel!” he cried; “and we have given you Duty! ... It’s a cold thing to fill a woman’s heart... I’ve reproached myself a thousand times.—I should not have allowed you to sacrifice yourself.—It must not go on!”
A spasm of fear ran through her veins.
“It’s the nearest approach to happiness I’ve ever known.”
“Nevertheless,” he said firmly, “it shall not go on. We have no right to murder your joy. Help me through the next few months, and then, whatever happens, we start afresh!”
“But if I want to stay?”
He shook his head with a finality from which she knew there was no appeal. What Geoffrey Sterne said he meant, to the last letter of the word, and there was no turning him from a decision. Meriel felt the terror of one who, playing among flowers, sees a sudden vision of a serpent’s head. A moment before their lives had seemed indefinitely linked, now, in a few months, must come separation, as complete as though they were at opposite ends of the world, for Sterne now lived entirely in his country home, and shunned the society of his fellows. She searched his face for some sign of grief, even of regret, but the stern features were set in a mask-like composure. The terrible suspicion stabbed her that he might be glad; that he was wearied of the burden of gratitude!
For the next few days Meriel and Sterne mutually avoided being left alone, which was the more easily accomplished, as Flora was showing signs of renewed restlessness and irritability. The novelty of the voyage had worn off, the heat of the Canal had tried her endurance, and dreaded symptoms called for renewed vigilance on the part of her attendants. Now they were out on the Indian Ocean; but for once the change brought little relief and the nerves of the travellers were tried still further by a slight accident to the engines, which involved a slackening of speed. They were within three days’ sail of Colombo when the glass fell sharply after a period of intense heat—a danger signal, which to the understanding was rendered more alarming by the sound of hammerings from below, denoting fresh mischief in the machinery. A cyclonic storm was upon them, and the boat altered her course to avoid its centre—a perilous business in face of the long chain of reefs stretching southward from the Laccadives. At nightfall there came up a grey swell accompanied by almost unbearable heat, the wind rapidly increased, and in an hour the gale burst upon them in all its fury. That night was a nightmare of horror, for although the boat was headed for the open sea, the crippled engines were unable to support the strain, and she was therefore driven back into the danger zone. The waters were lashed into a churning fury, the wind yelled with a deafening menace. Flora cowered in bed in a panic of terror, but to Meriel the tumult of the elements brought relief rather than dread. They voiced the tumult of her own mind; the shriek of the wind was as the shriek of her own tortured heart.