"I don't know," echoed Denis. "But I think--not."
"Really?" drawled Devenish. "Well, as a year's leave don't last forever, I'm not so sure."
And as Denis saw the last of him under the lamp, he had not yet resumed the filling of the Turk's head.
CHAPTER VII
DENIS AND NAN
Miss Merridew continued prostrate, yet so exempt from bodily mischief that her case began to baffle all except the other woman, who had charge of it.
Mr. Merridew allowed himself to be dissuaded from obtaining indifferent medical advice at exorbitant cost, but his anxiety increased with his perplexity, and was only allayed by his instinctive confidence in Mrs.
Kitto. That lady proved as practical and understanding as she was good and kind. Yet even Mrs. Kitto was puzzled just at first. They had to deal with one singularly reserved--who could lie for hours without closing an eye or uttering a word--and the father's way was to force her to say something, at the pain of his own passionate distress. But Mrs.
Kitto would bring in her sewing, of which she seemed to have a great deal, and sit over it, also by the hour, in a quietude as grateful as her sparing speech. She was very observant, however, and the one thing that puzzled her only did so in the beginning. This was the anomaly presented by a patient whose face was often in a burning fever while her head and hand kept perfectly cool.
The wreck was never mentioned in the sick-room, nor did Nan guess that an inquest on the bodies was held within a few yards of where she lay.
Yet it was she who eventually broke the ice.
"Is Mr. Dent still here?" she asked, but in a tone so magnificently offhand that a less astute person than Mrs. Kitto would have detected its anxiety as soon.
"He was this morning," replied Mrs. Kitto, smiling.
"Do you mean that he isn't now?" the girl demanded, half-rising on an elbow.
"No. I think I should have heard of it if he had thought of leaving us to-day."
Nan Merridew fell back upon her pillow.
"I wish he would go on board," she said petulantly, "if he is going."
"On board?" queried Mrs. Kitto; and she set down her work.
"Isn't he to be one of the officers on the ship we are all going home by?"
"I didn't know of it," said Mrs. Kitto, with equal embarrassment and surprise.
"But he is," declared the girl, with all an invalid's impatience. "I understood that from papa the day he came; he had spoken to the agents, or he was going to speak to them, and Denis--I mean Mr. Dent--was to have the best berth they could give him. I do wish he would go on board.
I--I almost wish he hadn't saved my life!"
And she tossed her face to the wall, for it was burning as it had burned so often since her deliverance.
"It's meeting him again," said Mrs. Kitto to herself; "and she does care for him, or she would mind less." It made it all the harder to ask aloud, "Did your father say he had succeeded, dear?"
"We have never mentioned Mr. Dent again," said Nan to that, quite haughtily.
"Because I don't think he's sailing in the _Memnon_ at all," continued Mrs. Kitto, gently. "I think he's going to the diggings instead."
"Going where?" the girl asked after a pause. The first sentence was all that she had heard.
"To Ballarat or Bendigo--to make his fortune."
"I hope he'll succeed," said Nan, after a pause; but her voice was a sweet bell jangled, and an hour went before she turned her face from the wall. It was still red, but there was a subtle difference in the shade.
And in the hazel eyes, which were the most obvious of Miss Merridew's natural attractions, there was a crude, new light.
"I am going to get up," said she.
Mrs. Kitto proved not unprepared for the announcement; it appeared that all her needlework had been for Nan, and now it was as though the last stitch had just been put into everything. It was all a surprise to the girl, who had not given the matter a thought. She was to get a fresh outfit at Geelong, before the ship sailed, but Mrs. Kitto insisted on sending her so far equipped by herself. And the dress which the kind soul had been so busy altering was almost the last remnant of her own trousseau, and some years behind the fashion.
In point of fact it was what used to be called a "double robe" of lavender cashmere; and it was trimmed with braid of the same colour, but the braid was a shade darker than the rest, and its criss-cross pattern as unlovely in its way as the voluminous skirts it was intended to adorn. But the fabric was soft and fine, and the delicate tint happened to suit Nan Merridew, who had a singularly clear and pale skin, and dark gold ringlets almost the colour of her eyes. For she was of the type dear to the pre-Raphaelites, with rather more flesh and blood, and a much more conspicuous spirit of her own, perhaps a little too conspicuous when Nan reappeared in the sunlight, with quite another light in her eyes, on the fourth day after the wreck.
It was near the close of a radiant afternoon, and Mr. Merridew was absent for the day; but Captain Devenish had been seen strolling toward the cliffs, and Nan thought that she would stroll after him in spite of the direction. No one must think of accompanying her; she would so enjoy finding the way for herself. To this Mrs. Kitto pretended to make no objection, but expressed a belief that Mr. Dent was with Captain Devenish, thinking she had named the last deterrent. On the contrary, it only decided Nan to go quickly; and go she did with that peculiar light stronger than ever in her eyes.
Now the way led through a belt of young pines, by which the station was almost surrounded, and in the middle of them Nan met a man in moleskins and a red shirt. Him she was approaching with downcast eyes, as one who must regard her curiously, when his voice thrilled her at close quarters.
"Nan! And you'd have passed me without a word!"
Denis was standing in her path, a common wide-awake drooping from one hand, the other reaching out for hers.
"I didn't recognize you," she said, scarcely touching his hand. "And I was looking for Captain Devenish--can you tell me where he is?"
"He has gone down to bathe," replied Denis with some reluctance. To bathe where a ship's company had been drowned that week! No wonder Nan winced. "Can't you spare me a few minutes instead?" he added as she was about to turn.
"Oh, yes, if you wish it."
"Of course I wish it!" exclaimed Denis. His shoulders looked very square under the coarse red flannel; but they were heaving, too.
Nan was her own mistress on the spot. "I couldn't know," said she. "You see, you never sent me any message--not one word."
"I shall tell you why."
"And then I understood you were going to the diggings."
"So I am," said Denis. His voice was preternaturally deep and vibrant.
She looked up at him with the odd light in her eyes.
"And why haven't you gone yet?"
"I wanted to see you first."
"That was very kind."
"To tell you why I was going at all--to tell you everything, Nan, if you will let me--if you aren't determined to misunderstand me before I open my mouth!"
Their eyes were together now, his dark with passion, in hers a certain softening of the unlovely light that hurt him more than her tone: and her eyes were the first to fall, to wander, to espy a stump among the pines.