Chapter IV: Alone!

In furtherance of his own cruel and nefarious schemes against Ellinor, Sir Redmond had forbidden the Vierlander attendant to inform her of where the yacht was now, and a few silver kassengelds effectually sealed her lips, while Ellinor, still confined to her little cabin, was prostrate in strength, and only thankful that the din of the storm had passed away, and the awful pitching and rolling of the cutter was at an end.

Dewsnap had fortified himself with so many potations of brandy and water during the last few hours that he was scarcely sober now, and swayed about on his feet swearing it was still 'the roll of the ship.'

'My watch has stopped,' said he, in a thick voice, to Sleath.

'Indeed,' said the baronet, not much interested in the matter.

'I tried to wind it up last night, and mistook the corkscrew for a key.'

'After such a devil of a time as we have had of it I don't wonder at anything.'

Meanwhile Sleath was still considering how he would induce Ellinor to trust herself on shore with him, after writing to announce her coming to the Frau Wyburg's residence, or _pension_ as she was pleased to call it; and Dewsnap was busy imbibing a 'pick-me-up' of iced seltzer and brandy, while conning over the sporting intelligence at several recent meetings--the plates run for, the bets at starting, the Welter sweepstakes, and so forth, without even caring to open the letters the steward had brought him from the Poste Restante at the Post Strasse, when suddenly a loud interjection escaped him.

'What is up?' asked Sleath, looking up from his coffee.

'The devil to pay in the East!'

'How?'

'A Reuter's telegram announcing the murder of Sir Louis Cavagnari, and massacre of the entire embassy at Cabul!'

'The entire lot?'

'Escort and every man-jack of the Europeans!'

Sleath was of course interested, and read for himself the brief and alarming despatch.

'So that cad Colville is wiped out then--a devilish good job too!' was his first comment, and he contrived soon to let Ellinor Wellwood know the fate of her 'cousin,' as he called Colville in mockery.

Her first thoughts were of Mary.

More than ever did Ellinor long to be with her now. She strove to leave her bed, but sank helplessly back upon the pillow, and lay there still choked by dry sobs, her face pallid to the lips; in her half-closed eyes an unnatural gleam that came of mental and bodily suffering, while her hands were clenched at times till the nails almost cut the tender palms.

Ringbolt, the sailing-master, had a keen appreciation of the charming in female nature, and was able to admire every variety of the sex that came under his observation.

The wonderful beauty and delicacy of Ellinor inflamed his fancy. He saw that she seemed, somehow, utterly helpless--a mysterious waif, cast upon the waters; he saw that she trembled under the unpleasant gaze of Dewsnap, and simply loathed Sleath, who sought to make himself the arbiter of her destiny; so Mr. Rufane Ringbolt thought why should he not enter stakes for this prize? Why should not he try to make his innings when others failed?

She had been picked up like a derelict craft, and by himself, too; and then Hamburg--dissipated Hamburg--filled with people of many races and creeds--was just the place where people may play the wildest pranks with ease.

Thus Ringbolt had been a kind of protection in one way to Ellinor, over whom he kept an eye, on his own account, and, as Sleath began to think, was always on the watch, as he was one who took what he called 'dog watches,' or 'dog snoozes,' and could sleep by night or day with wonderful facility, and apparently with one eye open.

And now that the yacht was moored along the quay of the Binnen Hafen, close by such thoroughfares as the Deich Strasse, and would soon be dismasted and in the riggers' hands, he thought the time had come when he might venture on some scheme of gaining Ellinor's gratitude first by pretending to succour and free her.

And, as these ideas occurred to him, his eyes sparkled, the colour in his grog-pimpled cheeks deepened, and he mumbled about with his lips like a man who had been in the habit of chewing twist tobacco, which was the case with Ringbolt after he was turned out of the navy and took to the yachting line of business.

The watchfulness we have referred to had not been unnoticed, and Sleath began to suspect that, if Ringbolt was not doing this for himself, he must be acting in the interests of Mr. Dolly Dewsnap, and thus some action on his own part was imperatively necessary.

He was becoming exasperated, piqued, and disgusted, moreover, with Ellinor's trembling abhorrence of him, and began secretly to arrange with the faithful and unscrupulous Gaiters a scheme for having her more completely in his power ashore, and luring her quietly from the yacht on the pretence of restoring her to Mrs. Deroubigne.

'The embassy massacred--every officer and soldier destroyed!' exclaimed the latter, when she read the same startling telegram that gave Sir Redmond such extreme satisfaction. 'The hope of her future--her soul--her existence gone--poor Mary! Poor darling! _How_ am I to break this to her?'

But broken it had to be, and then to Mary came hours of agony--such hours as in our lives count for years!

'Ellinor drowned and--and Colville slain.'

Mary Wellwood was stunned and sorely stricken, and bowed her head as if the waves of Destiny were rolling over her.

She read the paragraph, so comprehensive and yet so terrible in its brevity, again and again, till it seemed to pierce like burning needles into her heart and brain.

So Leslie Colville was gone--dead--destroyed in what manner or after what torment she would never, never know.

His face and figure--his voice and smile came vividly and poignantly to memory as she sat like one turned to stone, with the kind arms of Mrs. Deroubigne around her, caressing her head on her bosom.

The dire calamity she had hourly dreaded might happen, had come at last, and yet there seemed to be an impossibility in the realisation of it.

Oh, why did men become soldiers?

'Alone--alone in the world now!' wailed Mary.

'My darling, you have me and my little girls to love you as sisters,' said Mrs. Deroubigne, folding the deathly-pale girl again and again to her motherly breast; but, passionate though her sympathy and regard, Mary shivered, and thought who could ever replace Ellinor as a sister, and felt, as she said, most fearfully alone.

Her mind at times became confused. Something more had happened to her--she scarcely knew what it was.

Never again did it seem possible that she could take any interest in the life of the world and its daily routine. She was apathetic--careless of what was done with herself or anything around her.

Existence and its ties seemed over and done with, yet her present calamity seemed also a kind of dream to her. 'Sometimes in great trouble,' says a writer, 'the brain acts in this way of itself--it will return to events of long ago and recall them vividly, while the immediate moment becomes remote. But the reaction is all the more intense for this mental rest; and when the mind returns to the contemplation of the _present_ it is to see with greater vividness.'

'The embassy massacred to a man!' How often was she to reiterate mentally that appalling line?

It was now Mary's evil fortune to feel perhaps--nay, surely--more keenly than her sister had done this new calamity, for poor Ellinor had certainly ceased for a time to love, though she had never failed to respect Robert Wodrow, now deemed also with the dead.

All was silent in that pretty villa by the broad and shining Elbe--shining in the light of the moon. The fire glowed in the tall, cylindrical, porcelain stove in a corner of the room; that room ere while decorated and prepared for her and Ellinor so lovingly by Mrs. Deroubigne, and there she lay restless, sleepless, and alone, too bewildered to realise the dire calamity that had befallen her, and been acted in blood and wrath so far, far away, and yet but a few hours ago.

The curtains were drawn back, and the red glow of the half-open stove and of the night-light shed a radiance on her surroundings, but whenever her eyes wandered they seemed to see something that was familiar and yet strange to them.

Her mind was every way confused and involved, and poor Jack from time to time licked her hand unnoticed.

There was, however, always the one prominent idea. Leslie Colville, the one love of her heart, her affianced husband, was dead--killed cruelly--horribly, she doubted not, but in what fashion she knew not, and, fortunately perhaps, should never know.

And ever and anon aching memory went back to that sunny noon when she first met him, yet knew him not, as they fished together by the bonnie Birks of Invermay.