The Collected Works of James Oliver Curwood (Illustrated Edition). James Oliver Curwood
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a dead weight now and so he knelt on the ground with her, her head still upon his breast, her eyes closed, her arms fallen to her side. And as Nathaniel looked into the face from which all life seemed to have fled he forgot everything but the joy of this moment—forgot all in life but this woman against his breast. He kissed her soft mouth and the closed eyes until the eyes themselves opened again and gazed at him in a startled, half understanding way, until he drew his head far back with the shame of what he had dared to do flaming in his face.
And as for another moment he held her thus, feeling the quivering life returning in her, there came to him through that vast forest stillness the distant deep-toned thunder of a great gun.
"That's Casey!" he whispered close down to the girl's face. His voice was almost sobbing in its happiness. "That's Casey—firing on St. James!"
CHAPTER VII
THE HOUR OF VENGEANCE
For perhaps twenty seconds after the last echoes of the gun had rolled through the forest the girl lay passive in Nathaniel's arms, so close that he could feel her heart beating against his own and her breath sweeping his face. Then there came a pressure against his breast, a gentle resistance of Marion's half conscious form, and when she had awakened from her partial swoon he was holding her in the crook of his arm. It had all passed quickly, the girl had rested against him only so long as he might have held half a dozen breaths and yet there had been all of a lifetime in it for Nathaniel Plum, a cycle of joy that he knew would remain with him for ever. But there was something bitter-sweet in the thought that she was conscious of what he had done, something of humiliation as well as gladness, and still not enough of the first to make him regret that he had kissed her, that he had kissed her mouth and her eyes. He loved her, and he was glad that in those passing moments he had betrayed himself. For the first time he noticed that her face was scratched and that the sleeves of her thin waist were torn to shreds; and as she drew away from him, steadying herself with a hand on his arm, his lips were parched of words, and yet he leaned to her eagerly, everything that he would have said burning in the love of his eyes. Still irresolute in her faintness the girl smiled at him, and in that smile there was gentle accusation, the sweetness of forgiveness, and measureless gratitude, and it was yet light enough for him to see that with these there had come also a flush into her cheeks and a dazzling glow into her eyes.
"Neil has escaped!" she breathed. "And you—"
"I was going back to you, Marion!" He spoke the words hardly above a whisper. The beautiful eyes so close to him drew his secret from him before he had thought. "I am going to take you from the island!"
With his words there came again that sound of a great gun rolling from the direction of St. James. With a frightened cry the girl staggered to her feet, and as she stood swaying unsteadily, her arms half reached to him, Nathaniel saw only mortal dread in the whiteness of her face.
"Why didn't you go? Why didn't you go with Neil?" she moaned. Her breath was coming in sobbing excitement. "Your ship is—at—St. James!"
"Yes, my ship is at St. James, Marion!" His voice was tremulous with triumph, with gladness, with a tenderness which he could not control. He put an arm half round her waist to support her trembling form and to his joy she did not move away from him. His hand was buried in the richness of her loose hair. He bent until his lips touched her silken tresses. "Neil has told me everything—about you," he added softly. "My ship is bombarding St. James, and I am going to take you from the island!"
Not until then did Marion free herself from his arm and then so gently that when she stood facing him he felt no reproof. No longer did shame send a flush into his face. He had spoken his love, though not in words, and he knew that the girl understood him. It did not occur to him in these moments that he had known this girl for only a few hours, that until now a word had never passed between them. He was conscious only that he had loved her from the time he saw her through the king's window, that he had risked his life for her, and that she knew why he had leaped into the arena at the whipping-post.
The words she spoke now came like a dash of cold water in his face.
"Your ship is not bombarding St. James, Captain Plum!" she exclaimed. Darkness hid the terror in her face but he could hear the tremble of it in her voice. "The Typhoon has been captured by the Mormons and those guns are—guns of triumph—and not—" She caught her breath in a convulsive sob. "I want you to go—I want you to go—with Neil!" she pleaded.
"So Casey is taken!"
He spoke slowly, as if he had not heard her last words. For a moment he stood silent, and as silently the girl stood and watched him. She guessed the despair that was raging in his heart but when he spoke to her she could detect none of it in his voice.
"Casey is a fool," he said, unconsciously repeating Obadiah's words. "Marion, will you come with me? Will you leave the island—and join your brother?"
The hope that had risen in his heart was crushed as Marion drew farther away from him.
"You must go alone," she replied. With a powerful effort she steadied her voice. "Tell Neil that he has been condemned to death. Tell him that—if he loves me—he will not return to the island."
"And I?"
From her distance she saw his arms stretched like shadows toward her.
"And you—"
Her voice was low, so low that he could hardly hear the words she spoke, but its sweetness thrilled him.
"And you—if you love me—will do this thing for me. Go to Neil. Save his life for me!"
She had come to him through the gloom, and in the luster of the eyes that were turned up to him Nathaniel saw again the power that swayed his soul.
"You will go?"
"I will save your brother—if I can!"
"You can—you can—" she breathed. In an ecstasy of gratitude she seized one of his hands in both her own. "You can save him!"
"For you—I will try."
"For me—"
She was so close that he could feel the throbbing of her bosom. Suddenly he lifted his free hand and brushed back the thick hair from her brow and turned her face until what dim light there still remained of the day glowed in the beauty of her eyes. "I will keep him from the island if I can," he said, looking deep into them, "and as there is a God in Heaven I swear that you—"
"What?" she urged, as he hesitated.
"That you shall not marry Strang!" he finished.
A cry welled up in the girl's throat. Was it of gladness? Was it of hope? She sprang back a pace from Nathaniel and with clenched hands waited breathlessly, as if she expected him to say more.
"No—no—you can not save me from Strang! Now—you must go!"
She retreated slowly in the direction of the path. In an instant Nathaniel was at her side.
"I am going to see you safely back in St. James," he declared. "Then I will go to your brother."
She barred his way defiantly.
"You can not go!"
"Why?"
"Because—" He caught the frightened flutter of her voice again. "Because—they will kill you!"
The low laugh that he breathed in her hair was more of joy than fear.
"I am glad you care—Marion." He spoke her name with faltering tenderness, and led her out into the path.
"You must go," she still persisted.
"With you—yes," he answered.
She surrendered to the determination in his voice and they moved slowly along the path, listening for any sound that might come from ahead of them. Nathaniel had already