being braced to meet some sort of a storm, maltham was rather put about by not encountering it. ulrica certainly was looking the worse[124] for her headache—her eyes were duller than usual, and there were dark marks under them, and she was very pale; but she did not seem to be at all excited, and the greeting that she gave him was out of the ordinary only in that she did not offer him her hand. he drew a quick breath, and the tense muscles of his mind relaxed. if she were taking it in that quiet way, he thought, he had worked himself into heroics for nothing. and then, quite naturally, he felt a sharp pang of resentment because she did take it so quietly. her calmness ruffled his self-love.
as she remained silent, making no reference to maltham's engagement, the major felt that the proprieties of the case were not being attended to and prompted her. "i have been wishing geo'ge joy and prospehrity, my deah," he said. "have yo' nothing to say to him youahself about his coming happiness?"
"yes," she answered slowly, "i have a great deal to say to him—so much that i am going to carry him off in the nixie to say it." she turned to maltham and added: "you will come with me for a last sail, will you not?"
maltham hesitated, and then answered doubtfully: "isn't it a little cold for sailing to-day?[125] your father says that you are not feeling well. i do think that it will be better not to go—unless you really insist upon it, of course."
"yo' mustn't think of such a thing!" the major struck in peremptorily. "the weatheh is like ice. yo' will catch yo' death of cold!"
"it is no colder, father, than that day when i took george out in the nixie for the first time—and it will do my head good," ulrica answered. and added, to maltham: "i do insist. come!"
against the major's active remonstrance, and against maltham's passive resistance, she carried her point. "come!" she said again—and led maltham out by the side door into the ragged garden. there she left him for a moment and returned to her father—who was standing in a very melancholy way before the fire.
"do not mind, father," she said. "it is the best thing for me—it is the only thing for me."
he looked at her inquiringly, puzzled by her words and by her vehement tone. suddenly she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "remember always, father, that i have loved you with my whole heart for almost my whole life long. and remember always," she[126] went on with a curiously savage earnestness, "that i am loving you with my whole heart—with every bit of it—to-day!"
"i am suah yo' ah, my daughteh," the major answered, very huskily.
she kissed him again, holding him tight in her arms. then she unclasped her arms with a sudden quick energy and swiftly left the room.
she led maltham silently to the boat, and silently—when she had cast off the mooring—motioned to him to enter it. he found this silence ominous, and tried to break it. but the commonplace words which he wanted to speak would not come.
and then, as he sat in the stern and mechanically steadied the tiller while she hoisted the sail, the queer feeling again came over him that it still was that wonderful first day. this feeling grew stronger as all that he remembered so well was repeated: ulrica's rapid movement aft to the tiller; his own shifting of his seat; her quick loosing of the centreboard as the wind caught them; and then the heeling over of the boat, and her steady motion, and the bubbling hiss of the water beneath the bow. it all so lulled him, so numbed his sense of time and fact,[127] that suddenly he looked up in her face and smiled—just as he had done on that first day.
"'i have loved you with my whole heart'"
but the look in ulrica's eyes killed his smile, and brought him back with a sharp wrench to reality. her eyes no longer were dull. they were glowing—and they seemed to cut into him like knives.
"well," she asked, "have you anything to say for yourself?"
"no," he answered, "except that fate has been too strong for me."
"fate sometimes is held accountable for a great deal," she said dryly, but with a catch in her voice.
they were silent again, and for a long while. the boat was running down the bay rapidly—even more rapidly, the wind being much stronger, than on that first day. they could hear, as they had not heard then, the surf crashing upon the outer beach of the point.
the silence became more than he could stand. "can you forgive me?" he asked at last.
ulrica looked at him with a curious surprise. "no," she answered quite calmly. "think for a moment about what you have done and about what you intend to do. do you not see that it is impossible?"
[128] "but i love you!" he cried eagerly. "i love you more than i can tell. it is not my will that is separating us—it is fate!"
her look softened for an instant as he began, but as he ended it hardened again. she did not answer him. a strong gust of wind heeled the boat farther over. they were going at a slashing rate. before them the inlet was opening. the booming of the surf was very loud.
he saw that his words had taken hold upon her, and repeated them: "i do love you, ulrica—and, oh, you don't know how very wretched i have been! more than once in this past month i have been very near killing myself."
she gave him a searching look, and seemed satisfied that he spoke the truth. "i am glad that you have wanted to kill yourself," she said slowly and earnestly. they were at the mouth of the inlet. as she spoke, she luffed sharply and they entered it close-hauled.
"yes," she repeated, speaking still more earnestly, "i am very glad of that. it makes me feel much easier in my mind about what i am going to do."
her tone startled him. he looked up at her quickly and anxiously. "what are you going to do?" he asked.
[129] "drown you," she answered simply.
for an instant he did not take in the meaning of her words. then his face became very white, though he tried to smile. his voice shook as he said: "i do not think that this is a good time for joking." the boat was biting her way into the wind sharply, plunging and bucketing through the partly spent waves which came in from outside.
"you know that i am not joking," ulrica answered very quietly. "i am going to drown you, and to drown myself too. i have thought it all out, and this seems the best thing to do. it is the best for father," her voice trembled, "and it is the best," she went on again, firmly, "for me. as for you, it does not matter whether it is the best for you or not—it is what you deserve. for you are a liar and a traitor—a liar and a traitor to me, and to that other woman too!" as she spoke these last words her calmness left her, and there was the ring of passionate anger in her tone. the fire that she had been smothering, at last was in full blaze.
they were at the very mouth of the inlet. the white-capped surface of the lake swelled and tossed before them. the boat was wallowing heavily.
[130] maltham's paleness changed to a greenish-grey. he uttered a shrill scream—a cry of weakly helpless terror. "put about! for god's sake put about!" he gasped. "we shall be drowned!"
for answer, she hauled the sheet a little and brought the boat still closer into the wind—heading straight out into the lake. "i told you once that the nixie could sail into the wind's eye," she said, coolly. "now she is doing it. does she not go well?"
at that, being desperate, he rallied a little. springing to his feet, but standing unsteadily, he grasped the tiller and tried to shift the helm. ulrica, standing firmly, laid her hand flat against his breast and thrust him away savagely—with such force that he reeled backward and fell, striking against the combing and barely missing going over the side.
"you fool!" she exclaimed. "do you not see that it is too late?" she did not trouble herself to look at him. her gaze was fixed in a keen ecstasy on the great oncoming waves.
what she said was true—it was too late. they were fairly out on the open lake, and all possibility of return was gone. to try to go about would be to throw the nixie into the[131] trough of the sea—and so send her rolling over like a log. at the best, the little boat could live in that surge and welter for only a very few minutes more.
maltham did not attempt to rise. his fall had hurt him, and what little was left of his spirit was cowed. he lay in a miserable heap, uttering little whimpering moans. the complaining noise that he made annoyed her. for the last time she looked at him, burning him for an instant with her glowing eyes. "silence, you coward!" she cried, fiercely—and at her strong command he was still. then her look was fixed on the great oncoming waves again, and she cast him out from her mind.
even in her rage—partly because of it—ulrica felt in every drop of her norse blood the glow and the thrill of this glorious battle with great waters. the sheer delight of it was worth dying for—and so richly worth living through to the very last tingling instant that she steered with a strong and a steady hand. and again—as she stood firmly on the tossing boat, her draperies blown close about her, her loosened hair streaming out in golden splendour—she was aslauga's very self. sorrow and life together were ending well for her—in high[132] emotion that filled and satisfied her soul. magnificent, commanding, defiant, she sailed on in joyful triumph: glad and eager to give herself strongly to the strong death-clasp of the waves.
