The Lust of Hate, Guy Newell Boothby [essential books to read .txt] 📗

I saw

the man in the bows lean forward to catch hold of us, and I remember

saying, “Lift the lady; I can hold on,” and then the boat seemed to

fade away, the icy cold water rose higher and higher, and I felt

myself sinking down, down, down, calmly and quietly into the black

sea, just fading out of life as happily as a little child falls

asleep.

 

When I came to my senses again I found myself lying in a bunk in a

cabin which was certainly not my own. The appointments were decidedly

comfortable, if not luxurious; a neat white-and-gold washstand stood

against the bulkhead, with a large mirror suspended above it. Under

the porthole, which was shaded with a small red curtain, was a

cushioned locker, and at one end of this locker a handy contrivance

for hanging clothes. Two men—one a young fellow about my own age,

and the other the elderly gentlemen with whom I had often seen Miss

Maybourne walking—were standing beside me watching me eagerly. When

they saw that I had recovered consciousness they seemed to consider

it a matter for congratulation.

 

“So you know us again, do you?” said the younger man, whom I now

recognised as the ship’s doctor. “How do you feel in yourself?”

 

“Not very bright just at present,” I answered truthfully. “But

I’ve no doubt I shall be all right in an hour or two.” Then, when a

recollection of what had occasioned my illness came over me, I said,

“How is Miss Maybourne? I hope they got her on board safely?”

 

“Thanks to you, my dear sir, they did,” said the old gentleman,

who I discovered later was her uncle, as I had suspected. “I am glad

to be able to tell you that she is now making rapid progress towards

recovery. You must get well too, and hear what the entire ship has to

say about your bravery.”

 

“I hope they’ll say nothing,” I answered. “Anybody could have done

it. And now, how long have I been lying here?”

 

“Since they brought you on board last night—about twelve hours.

You were unconscious for such a long time that we were beginning to

grow uneasy about you. But, thank goodness, our clever doctor here

has brought you round at last.”

 

The young medico resolved to stop this flow of flattery and small

talk, so he bade me sit up and try to swallow some beef tea he had

had prepared for me. With his assistance I raised myself, and when I

had polished off as much of the food as I was able to manage, he made

me lie down once more and try to get to sleep again. I did exactly as

I was ordered, and, in less time than it takes to tell, was in the

land of Nod. It was not until I was up and about again that I learnt

the history of the rescue. Immediately Miss Maybourne’s shriek had

roused the ship, and I had sprung overboard to her assistance, the

chief officer, who was on the bridge, ran to the engine-room

telegraph and gave the signal to stop the vessel; the second officer

by this time, with commendable activity, had accompanied the

carpenter, who among others had heard the alarm, to one of the

quarter boats, and had her ready for lowering by the time a crew was

collected. At first they had some difficulty in discovering us, but

once they did so they lost no time in picking us up. Miss Maybourne

was quite unconscious when they took her from my arms, and I believe

as soon as I felt myself relieved of her weight I too lost my senses

and began to sink. A boat-hook, however, soon brought me to the

surface. Directly we reached the ship’s deck the captain gave orders

that I should be conveyed to an empty cabin at the end of the saloon,

and it was here that I found myself when I returned to consciousness.

 

For what length of time I slept after the doctor and Miss

Maybourne’s uncle left the cabin I cannot say. I only know that when

I woke the former would not hear of my getting up as I desired to do,

but bade me make the best of a bad job and remain where I was until

he examined me the following morning. It must have been after

breakfast that he came to see me, for I heard the bell go, and half

an hour later the voices of the passengers die away as they left the

table and went on deck.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Wrexford,” he said, as he shut the door behind

him and came over to the bunk. “How are you feeling to-day? Pretty

well, I hope?”

 

“I feel quite myself again,” I answered. “I want to get up. This

lying in bed is dreary work.”

 

“I daresay you find it so. Anyway, I’ll not stop you from getting

up now, if you’re so minded; that is provided you eat a good

breakfast first.”

 

“I think I can meet you on that ground,” I said with a laugh. “I’m

as hungry as a hunter. I hope they’re going to give me something

pretty soon.”

 

“I can satisfy you up on that point,” he replied. “I saw the

steward preparing the tray as I came through the saloon. Yes, you

must hurry up and get on deck, for the ladies are dying to shake you

by the hand. I suppose you’re not aware that you are the hero of the

hour?”

 

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said in all sincerity. “There has been a

terrible lot of fuss made over a very simple action.”

 

“Nonsense, my dear fellow, there hasn’t been anything said yet.

You wait till old Manstone gets hold of you. He would have said his

say yesterday but for my preventing him, and ever since then he has

been bottling it up for you when you’re well enough to receive

it.”

 

“Who is this Mr. Manstone of whom you speak? I don’t think I know

him.”

 

“Why you must remember, he’s Miss Maybourne’s uncle—the

old gentleman who was in here with me yesterday when you came to your

senses again. You must have seen him walking with her on deck—a

fine, military-looking old chap, with a big grey moustache.”

 

“Now that you describe him, I remember him perfectly,” I said;

“but I had never heard his name before. I wish you’d tell him from me

that I don’t want anything more said about the matter. If they want

to reward me, let them do it by forgetting all about it. They

couldn’t do anything that would please me more.”

 

“Why, what a modest chap you are, to be sure,” said the doctor.

“Most men would want the Royal Humane Society’s medal, and some would

even aspire to purses of sovereigns.”

 

“Very probably. But down on my luck, as I am, I don’t want either.

The less notoriety I derive, the happier man I shall be. To change

the subject, I hope Miss Maybourne is better?”

 

“Oh, she’s almost herself again now. I expect to have her up and

about again to-day. Surely you will not mind receiving her

thanks?”

 

“I should not be so churlish, I hope,” I remarked; “but all the

same, I would rather she said nothing about the matter. That is the

worst part of doing anything a little out of the ordinary: one must

always be thanked, and praised, and made a fuss of till one begins to

regret ever having committed an action that could produce such

disastrous results.”

 

“Come, come, you’re looking at the matter in a very dismal light,

I must say,” he cried. “Nine out of every ten men, I’m certain, would

have given their ears for the chance you had of rescuing Agnes

Maybourne. That it should have come to a man who can’t appreciate his

good fortune seems like the irony of Fate.”

 

I was about to reply to his jesting speech in a similar strain

when there was a tap at the door, and a steward entered bearing a

tray. The smell of the food was as good as a tonic to me, and when

the doctor had propped me up so that I could get at it in comfort, I

set to work. He then left me to myself while he went to see his other

patient—the lady of whom we had just been speaking—promising to

return in a quarter of an hour to help me dress.

 

I had just finished my meal, and was placing the tray upon the

floor in such a way that the things upon it could not be spilt if the

vessel should roll, when there came another tap at the door, and in

response to my cry “come in,” the captain of the ship appeared, and

behind him the elderly gentleman whom the doctor had described to me

as Miss Maybourne’s uncle, under whose care she was travelling to

South Africa.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Wrexford,” said the captain, politely, as he

advanced towards me and held out his hand. “I hope you are feeling

better?”

 

“I am perfectly well again now, thank you,” I replied. “The doctor

is going to let me get up in a few minutes, and then I shall be ready

to return to my old quarters forward.”

 

“And that is the very matter I have come in to see you about,”

said the skipper. “First, however, I must tell you what the entire

ship’s company, both passengers and crew, think of your bravery the

night before last. It was as nobly done, sir, as anything I have ever

seen, and I heartily congratulate you upon it.”

 

“Thank you very much,” I answered; “but I must really ask you to

say no more about it. I have already been thanked ever so much more

than I deserve.”

 

“That could not be,” impetuously broke in Mr. Manstone, who had

not spoken hitherto. “On my own behalf and that of my niece I, too,

thank you most heartily; and you may rest assured I shall take care

that a full and proper account of it is given my brother when I reach

South Africa.”

 

“Until we do so, I hope, Mr. Wrexford,” said the skipper, “that

you will take up your quarters in this cabin, and consider yourself a

saloon passenger. I’m sure the owners would wish it, and for my part

I shall be proud to have you among us.”

 

“And I say ‘Hear, hear!’ to that,” added Mr. Manstone.

 

For a moment I hardly knew what to say. I was touched by his

kindness in making the offer, but in my position I could not dream of

accepting it. This notoriety was likely to do me quite enough harm as

it was.

 

“I thank you,” I said at last, “and I hope you will fully

understand how grateful I am to you for the kindness which prompts

the offer. But I think I will remain in my old quarters forward, if

you have no objection. I am quite comfortable there; and as I made my

choice on principle at the beginning, I think, with your permission,

I would rather not change it now.”

 

“But my dear sir,” began the captain, “you must let us show

our appreciation in some practical form. We could never let you off

quietly, as you seem to wish.”

 

“You have already done more than enough,” I answered. “You have

told me what you thought of my action, and you have also made me this

offer, the value of which, you may be quite sure, I fully appreciate.

I have felt