The apprentice thought little about those tears. He had felt a little like that too when he was really happy. If there was a wrong construction to be placed on Gabrielle’s actions, Hillary was sure to hit on it. It was a natural consequence, since he had gathered all his knowledge of women from his books. To him all women were beautiful and good. He thought of them as leading sheltered lives. They were perfectly different from men. It had never occurred to him to try and explain the differences. His views about women, in fact, were quite conventional, touched with the theatrical glamour that is common enough in extreme youth.
And still the tears lingered in Gabrielle’s eyes. No one can tell what the girl really thought and felt, excepting that she heard the simple note of sincerity in all that the young apprentice said and which cannot be written down. As for Hillary, the material world had passed from his sight. Gabrielle wept, but what did it matter? Weeping must be some natural attribute to real happiness. So he thought.
It may have been the noisy rats or the creak of the blown rigging that slightly dispelled the romantic atmosphere. “Even the ecstasy of insanity is denied men,” thought Hillary as a haunting thought suddenly disturbed him. “She is weeping because I’ve frightened her. That’s what it is. She’s only a child after all—does not understand! I’m too passionate, too headlong in my way of making love. She’s frightened of me and so she weeps.” Suddenly his manner altered. He led her to the bulwark’s side. The moon had already risen, and as they both leaned over, looking down into the dark waters, they could see their shadows in the silent depths below. Neither spoke; some fascination held them. As the apprentice looked at the girl’s face her shadow-eyes seemed to glance sideways at him. He fancied that he saw something distorted in the movement of her shadow. A puff of wind seemed to drift down from the stars; the hair was outblown, the features unfamiliar. But it was only for a second; in another moment Gabrielle’s full outline developed in the light of the tropic moon. There they were, Hillary with his arm on the shoulder of the girl, who was still staring intently into the still water.
“Why did you sigh like that, Gabrielle?” he said. Then he looked on the western sky-line. The ghostly flush, the pale aftermath of the departed day, still lingered. Hillary vaguely recalled how near human happiness is to sorrow; he felt sure there was some sorrow in the girl’s heart. Rajah Koo Macka had looked into Gabrielle’s eyes; but he knew that there are many different ways in which a woman may look at a man. None knew better than he.
Gabrielle’s eyes to-night held a different expression as she again scrutinised the young apprentice.
“Do you love me, Gabrielle?”
She responded by clasping his hand tightly and looking at him in some fright. Her voice was hushed and trembling as she replied: “I’ve got a feeling for you that I’ve never had before for anyone. I think I could die with someone like you.” Saying this, she looked steadily into his eyes, and then added in a half-sorrowful way: “I wouldn’t care if we jumped into the sea and died together; I’d be much happier if I were dead.”
“Well now,” said Hillary as she continued: “I’m a hateful girl; I’ve already told you I’m wicked; besides, I’m haunted by a shadow-woman: she follows me, curses me, but I can’t explain it to anyone.”
She became excited and raised her voice as he had never heard her raise it before. The apprentice rubbed his eyes. “Jump into the seas and die!” he gasped as he realised all that the girl had so passionately poured forth. “Not if I know it.” Then he added: “What do you mean about a shadow-woman and being haunted by her?”
He looked steadily into the girl’s pallid face, then gently pulled her towards him and folded her to his heart.