Strange how I should at such a critical moment allow my thoughts to fly far back into the dim past to where a young man and a maiden fair sauntered through wheat fields and clover patches, each forgetful of the fact that there had been lovers true before their day.
Perhaps close contact between a sturdy arm and a winsome waist has been responsible for some very queer things, but I venture to declare it never gave a man more utter contempt for present danger than fell upon me just then.
Why, I felt as though I could have “taken wings of the morning,” and soared away with her far from the maddening crowd, so that we two might once more go Maying as in those halcyon days before she chose to consider me deficient in manly attributes, and renew the vows made under the chestnut blooms.
I suppose men will continue to make fools of themselves until the end of time—that is perfectly natural; but it may be set down as a little surprising when one deliberately swears he means to remain a celibate the remainder of his life, and then bows down a second time before the cruel goddess who had been the cause of his wanderings.
Bah! I grew disgusted with myself, and unconsciously fierce in my actions, until a little “Oh!” close beside me gave warning that it was something more fragile than a stone idol of the ancient mound builders of Mexico that I embraced.
The bay—would it ever come into view?
And what then? How were we to pass over the intervening water, so as to reach my yacht?
I kept a boat ashore during the day, but it was now late at night, and it would be only through the merest luck if such were the case at this time.
Besides, where we reached the water might be a considerable distance from the spot where the yacht’s boat lay.
Still, there was others, and we would not find fault because the craft lacked the conveniences of my own dainty naphtha launch.