Her Sailor. Marshall Saunders

Danvers, I hope you’ll remember I am your wedded wife. I know I’m getting old—”

      She broke down, and tears finished the sentence.

      Mr. Danvers was aghast. He had not seen her cry for twenty years—not since her mother died. Getting up with difficulty, he waddled to her end of the table, and, gingerly tapping her shoulder, ejaculated, “So, so, there—so, so.”

      Mrs. Danvers wiped her eyes and gave him a slight push. “I’m not a cow, Israel, and go back to your seat. There’s some one coming.”

      Nina was quietly slipping in through the window. Approaching the foot of the table, she took Mr. Danvers’s bald head in her embrace and kissed him sweetly and fervently. Then, nearing the head of the table, she pecked at Mrs. Danvers’s cheek in an affectionate but perfunctory manner.

      “Here’s your mush,” said Mrs. Danvers, uncovering a small bowl. “Israel, pass the cream; where’s Captain Fordyce, Nina?”

      “I left him on the bridge. I think he must be waiting for the moon,” she said, seriously.

      Her lips were pale, and there was a nervous expression about her eyes, and Mrs. Danvers said to herself, “They’ve had a quarrel.”

      “Ever see him by daylight before, pussy?” asked Mr. Danvers.

      “No, daddy.”

      “Must look kind of queer.”

      “He looks older,” said the girl, with her spoon poised over her mush. She had fallen into a reverie and was gazing fixedly out the window. After a time she roused herself and said: “He had a faint turn on the bridge.”

      “He—faint?” said Mrs. Danvers, incredulously.

      “Yes,” said Nina, with a queer look, and dropping her eyes. “He has been working hard and not eating much, and the sun shone on his head and made him dizzy. I thought, mamma, you might give him some medicine.”

      “I’ll give him some if he’ll take it,” said Mrs. Danvers, grimly, “but he’s not one to be coddled. What is he coming in the daytime for? Does he want anything particular?”

      Nina turned quickly and gave her an owlish stare—a stare so sudden that Mrs. Danvers had not time to avert her own gray eyes shining with so glad a light.

      “Would you let him marry me right away, mamma, if he wanted to?”

      “Well,” hesitated Mrs. Danvers, “your case isn’t like others. Of course your engagement has been standing a good while.”

      “Does he want to marry you right off?” asked Mr. Danvers, sharply.

      “Yes, dear daddy,” said the girl, softly, “but you won’t let me go, will you?”

      Mr. Danvers tried to speak, but only uttered a low, confused rumble like that of a helpless animal. He could do nothing, and the girl turned to her adopted mother. Her curiously expectant glance was not met. Mrs. Danvers’s head was bent over her plate. There was no protest there. The marriage must take place.

      Nina, having fully satisfied herself on this point, reached out her hand for the sugar-bowl; and, carefully dusting her oatmeal, poured cream on it, and proceeded to take her breakfast in silence and composure.

      “Why, there’s Captain Fordyce,” said Mrs. Danvers, suddenly. “Come in, come in,” she went on, addressing the sailor, who stood by the low, open window. “You must want some breakfast.”

      They were all staring at him, but he looked his usual self, and, with a brief salutation to his host and hostess, he entered the room and seated himself at the table.

      “Have some hot drink,” said Mrs. Danvers, passing him a cup. “It will make you feel better.”

      His gaze went suspiciously to Nina, and the faintest and most evanescent of blushes passed over his dark face. “I had no dinner yesterday,” he said, gruffly, “and the racket on the wharf was deafening.”

      “Did you have a prosperous voyage from England?” asked Mrs. Danvers, amiably.

      “Yes.”

      “And an agreeable company of passengers?”

      “Fair—I didn’t see much of them.”

      “Were there any nice, nice girls on board?” lisped Nina, in her infantine fashion.

      “Plenty,” he said unexpectedly, fixing her with an indulgent stare.

      She did not address him again during the meal, although she listened attentively to every one of the curt sentences with which he favoured her parents. He was always grave, almost severe with them. Why was he not with them, with the rest of the world, as he was with her? Why at her slightest word did he lose his air of command, soften his tone, and adjust himself to any mood she happened to be in? Was it only because he loved her, or was there some other reason? It was certainly very puzzling, and the man across the table, who was intently following her meditations, smiled to himself, as he heard the perturbed little sigh with which she always concluded them.

      Mr. Danvers scarcely spoke, and the others rarely addressed him; for they plainly felt that the atmosphere about him was somewhat electrical.

      “Poor old fatty,” soliloquised Captain Fordyce, “he’s blue to think of losing his little playmate. I’m sorry for him,” and he gazed approvingly at the stout man. “Madam there loves Nina because she is a dressed-up doll, representing duty and dollars;” and he favoured his hostess with a sardonic glance. “Schoolma’am and wife, but never a mother. Time my little wench was out of this.”

      Mr. Danvers finished his breakfast, then rose in sulky silence. While Nina ran to get his hat and cane, he addressed Captain Fordyce:

      “So you want to steal our child?”

      “I do.”

      The fat man choked back some emotion. “Is she willing to go?”

      “Yes.”

      Mr. Danvers brought his plump fist down on the table with noiseless emphasis, and threw a defiant glance at his wife. “Well, mark this, she’s always got a home here if anything befalls you. And don’t ever force the truth on her. I wouldn’t for a thousand dollars have her know she isn’t our child.”

      “And I wouldn’t for a thousand more,” said Captain Fordyce, coolly.

      “Would not this be a good time to inform her of the true state of affairs?” interposed Mrs. Danvers. “Is not truth always better than error?”

      Captain Fordyce frowned at her, Mr. Danvers ejaculated, “Hold your tongue, Melinda;” but nothing further could be said, for at that instant Nina came gliding back.

      “Here is your hat, daddy dear,” then, tucking her hand under his arm, she left the room with him.

      Mrs. Danvers followed the two with a peculiar glance, and Captain Fordyce, seeing it, smiled.

      “Are her traps in order for travelling?” he asked.

      “Yes,” she replied, laconically.

      “I will take her away to-morrow.”

      She looked slightly ashamed, and fell into a silence that lasted until Nina returned, when she wandered away into the kitchen.

      The girl had been standing a long time at the gate watching the sorrowful lines of the substantial figure plodding across the meadows. Her face was flushed and disturbed; and, scarcely knowing what she did, she seated herself at the table and made a blind onslaught on a loaf of bread.

      “Here, give me that knife, you will cut yourself,” said Captain Fordyce. He laid a thin slice on her plate, then, in a state of utter beatification, for he had had his own way in every particular during a short conversation they had had on the bridge, he sat watching her eat it.

      “Three days from now you will be having