Quarantine Island

BY SIR WALTER BESANT

"No!" he cried, passionately. "You drew me on; you led me to believe that you cared for me; you encouraged me! What! can a girl go on as you have done without meaning anything? Does a girl allow a man to press her hand--to keep her hand--without meaning anything? Unless these things mean nothing, you are the most heartless girl in the whole world; yes--I say the coldest, the most treacherous, the most heartless!" It was evening, and moonlight; a soft and delicious night in September. The waves lapped gently at their feet, the warm breeze played upon their faces, the moon shone upon them--an evening wholly unfit for such a royal rage as this young gentleman (two and twenty is still young) exhibited. He walked about on the parade, which was deserted except for this solitary pair, gesticulating, waving his arms, mad with the madness of wounded love.

She sat on one of the seaside benches, her hands clasped, her head bent, overwhelmed and frightened and remorseful. He went on: he recalled the day when first they met; he reminded her of the many, many ways in which she had led him on to believe that she cared for him; he accused her of making him love her in order to laugh at him. When he could find nothing more to say, he flung himself upon the bench,--but on the other end of it,--and crossed his arms, and dropped his head upon them. So that there were two on the bench, one at either end, and both with their heads dropped--a pretty picture in the moonlight of a lovers' quarrel. But this was worse than a lovers' quarrel. It was the end of everything, for the girl was engaged to another man.

She rose. If he had been looking up, he would have seen that there were tears in her eyes and on her cheek.

"Mr. Fernie," she stammered, timidly, "I suppose there is nothing more to say. I am no doubt all that you have called me. I am heartless; I have led you on. Well, but I did not know--how could I tell that you were taking things so seriously? How can you be so angry just because I can't marry you? One girl is no better than another. There are plenty of girls in the world. I thought you liked me, and I--but what is the use of talking? I am heartless and cold; I am treacherous and vain and cruel, and--and--won't you shake hands with me once more, Claude, before we part?"

"No! I will never shake hands with you again; never--never! By heavens! nothing that could happen now would ever make me shake hands with you again. I hate you, I loathe you, I shudder at the sight of you, I could not forgive you--never! You have ruined my life. Shake hands with you! Who but a heartless and worthless woman could propose such a thing?"

She shivered and shook at his wild words. She could not, as she said, understand the vehemence of the passion that held the man. He was more than half mad, and she was only half sorry. Forgive the girl. She was only seventeen, just fresh from her governess. She was quite innocent and ignorant. She knew nothing about the reality and vehemence of passion; she thought that they had been very happy together. Claude, to be sure, was ridiculously fond of taking her hand; once he kissed her head to show the depth of his friendship. He was such a good companion; they had had such a pleasant time; it was a dreadful pity that he should be so angry. Besides, it was not as if she liked the other man, who was old and horrid.

"Good-bye, then, Claude," she said. "Perhaps when we meet again you will be more ready to forgive me. Oh," she laughed, "it is so silly that a man like you--a great, strong, clever, handsome man--should be so foolish over a girl! Besides, you ought to know that a girl can't have things her own way always. Good-bye, Claude. Won't you shake hands?" She laid her hand upon his shoulder,--just touched it,--turned, and fled.

She had not far to go. The villa where she lived was within five minutes' walk. She ran in, and found her mother alone in the drawing-room.

"My dear," the mother said, irritably, "I wish to goodness you wouldn't run out after dinner. Where have you been?"

"Only into the garden, and to look at the sea."

"There's Sir William in the dining-room still."

"Let him stay there, mother dear. He'll drink up all the wine and go to sleep, perhaps, and then we shall be rid of him."

"Go in, Florence, and bring him out. It isn't good for him, at his age, to drink so much."

"Let the servants go," the girl replied, rebellious.

"My dear, your own accepted lover! Have you no right feeling? O Florence! and when I am so ill, and you know--I told you--"

"A woman should not marry her grandfather. I've had more than enough of him to-day already. You made me promise to marry him. Until I do marry he may amuse himself. As soon as we are married, I shall fill up all the decanters, and keep them full, and encourage him to drink as much as ever he possibly can."

"My dear, are you mad?"

"Oh no! I believe I have only just come to my senses. Mad? No. I have been mad. Now, when it is too late, I am sane. When it is too late--when I have just understood what I have done."

"Nonsense, child! What do you mean by being too late? Besides, you are doing what every girl does. You have accepted the hand of an old man who can give you a fine position and a great income and every kind of luxury. What moree can a girl desire? When I die--you know already--there will be nothing--nothing at all for you. Marriage is your only chance."

At this moment the door opened, and Sir William himself appeared. He was not, although a man so rich, and therefore so desirable, quite a nice old man to look at--not quite such an old man as a girl would fall in love with at first sight; but perhaps under the surface there lay unsuspected virtues by the dozen. He was short and fat; his hair was white; his face was red; he had great white eyebrows; he had thick lips; his eyes rolled unsteadily, and his shoulders lurched; he had taken much more wine than is good for a man of seventy.

He held out both hands and lurched forward. "Florenshe," he said, thickly, "letsh sit down together somewhere. Letsh talk, my dear."

The girl slipped from the proffered hands and fled from the room.

"Whatsh matter with the girl?" said Sir William.

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