Not a member?     Existing members login below:
Holidays Offer
 

Dead Men Tell No Tales

11.
I Live Again
Squire Rattray, as I say, was seated at the head of his table, where the broken
meats still lay as he and I had left them; his fingers, I remember, were playing
with a crust, and his eyes fixed upon a distant door, as he leant back in his chair.
Behind him hovered the nigger of the Lady Jermyn, whom I had been the slower
to recognize, had not her skipper sat facing me on the squire's right. Yes, there
was Captain Harris in the flesh, eating heartily between great gulps of wine,
instead of feeding the fishes as all the world supposed. And nearer still, nearer
me than any, with his back to my window but his chair slued round a little, so that
he also could see that door, and I his profile, sat Joaquin Santos with his
cigarette!
None spoke; all seemed waiting; and all were silent but the captain, whose vulgar
champing reached me through the crazy lattice, as I stood spellbound and
petrified without.
They say that a drowning man lives his life again before the last; but my own fight
with the sea provided me with no such moments of vivid and rapid retrospect as
those during which I stood breathless outside the lighted windows of Kirby Hall. I
landed again. I was dogged day and night. I set it down to nerves and notoriety;
but took refuge in a private hotel. One followed me, engaged the next room, set a
watch on all my movements; another came in by the window to murder me in my
bed; no party to that, the first one nevertheless turned the outrage to account,
wormed himself into my friendship on the strength of it, and lured me hither, an
easy prey. And here was the gang of them, to meet me! No wonder Rattray had
not let me see him off at the station; no wonder I had not been followed that
night. Every link I saw in its right light instantly. Only the motive remained
obscure. Suspicious circumstances swarmed upon my slow perception: how
innocent I had been! Less innocent, however, than wilfully and wholly reckless:
what had it mattered with whom I made friends? What had anything mattered to
me? What did anything matter -
I thought my heart had snapped!
Why were they watching that door, Joaquin Santos and the young squire? Whom
did they await? I knew! Oh, I knew! My heart leaped, my blood danced, my eyes
lay in wait with theirs. Everything began to matter once more. It was as though
the machinery of my soul, long stopped, had suddenly been set in motion; it was
as though I was born again.
How long we seemed to wait I need not say. It cannot have been many moments
in reality, for Santos was blowing his rings of smoke in the direction of the door,
and the first that I noticed were but dissolving when it opened - and the best was
true! One instant I saw her very clearly, in the light of a candle which she carried
in its silver stick; then a mist blinded me, and I fell on my knees in the rank bed
into which I had stepped, to give such thanks to the Almighty as this heart has
never felt before or since. And I remained kneeling; for now my face was on a
level with the sill; and when my eyes could see again, there stood my darling
before them in the room.
 
Remove