"Are you so angry yet against——"
"More so, Adam. For now when I chance to meet him, which is seldom as possible, he affects the most nauseous humility. But no more of him,—talk we instead of ourselves, and first of myself for, Adam, I am becoming my own trouble."
"How so, Anthony?"
"By—growing! Look at me! Since leaving England I've grown—inches! And, as I say, this troubles me. Look now, don't you mark any change? Look at me, Adam!"
Obediently he glanced at her then, looking down at the sea again, answered:
"Yes, you are—browner."
"Brown as a berry, Adam. I've no more need for Mother Martha's walnut juice. But besides this I'm growing, so that it makes me anxious lest I begin to show ... to seem too much ... unlike a man. Adam, look at me ... look hard!"
Again he glanced at her, murmured a negative, and then gazed down at the sea once more, lest his eyes should betray him. At this she frowned, sighed and slipping hand within his arm, murmured:
"Have I anyways angered thee, dear Adam?"
"No," he answered, cheerfully as he might. "Lord love thee, no!"
"Yet I prove you a little ... strange of late."
"Ay, truly, I believe I am, and no wonder—for my poor head is all a-buzz with meridians and parallels, degrees and latitudes. As, for instance, how to find the longitude of any place by the satellites of Jupiter. And 'tis to be done on this wise——"
"Nay, a-mercy's sake, Adam."
"Yet, hearken." And drawing small book from pocket, he read forth: "'By a clock or watch observe the time of the immersion or emersion of any of the said satellites which being compared with the time of immersion or emersion of the same satellites at the first meridian, the difference of time reduced into degrees gives the longitude sought.' And what say you to this, now?"
"My poor Adam, why trouble your head with such?"
"To make myself a true and worthy seaman."
"Well now, look down with me into the wonder of this ocean that groweth ever bluer and almost too beautiful for belief ... like those islands we stayed at days agone, where was the mountain that flamed by night——"
"The Cape de Verd and that island with the volcano is called Fuoco."
"Yes, Adam,—but whither are these beautiful waters bearing us?"
"To happiness, I pray God, and a useful life."
"I pray so too, Adam. And yet sometimes I grow very fearful.... Have you no fear of the future?"
"No!" he answered, gently. "Since death I nowise fear and life can bring me no grief more bitter than I have known, I am resolute to meet whatso of tribulation may wait me ... and with no repining."
"Oh, Adam, I would I were brave as thou!"
"Alas, I am not brave!" he sighed. "'Tis only that I have faith in this better part of me the which is of God, this immortal soul that is so strong to endure all things and so mighty to achieve, that all things may be possible, despite frailty o' body, since our souls, I do believe, are very part of God, living forever. See you what I mean, Antonia, see you?"
"Yes, Adam, yes, and it makes me less fearful."
"Well now, since this great, glorious ocean is also of God, His own marvellous handiwork, and is now bearing us to His purposes, let us take heart and be joyful, therefore, nor anyway dread whatso the future may hold. Is it agreed, brother Anthony?"
"Yes, Adam, with all my heart, so long as I can see this dear, white head somewhere near me I shall be bold as any lion—or very nearly."
"And now, pray you, let us talk of ... of Absalom."
"But wherefore of this base creature?"
"He is my dear and honoured friend."
"Honoured, say you, Adam?"
"Ay I do! For indeed I know him a clean-souled, great-hearted gentleman and——"
"Yet I prove him a cruel wretch, with vile, bitter tongue."
"No, no."
"Yes, yes! And someday you shall hear me curse him to his hateful, mocking face and damn him the best I may."
"You swear very trippingly these days," sighed Adam, "and more frequently."
"Ay, I do indeed! I swagger and curse most hatefully—all to the one purpose, as you should know very well."
"Yet tell me, Antonia."
"Well," she answered, leaning closer to sigh in his ear so that her fragrant breath seemed all about him, "of late my womanhood grows upon me and ... the more womanly I feel the harder I swear. Oh, I curse and swear amain to shame and shock my womanhood, and seem the manlier and more brutally male. Yet I abominate swearing—except when I think on him—your Absalom, this Troy,—this brute-man that could name me 'gallows-bird' and 'claw-cat'! Oh, I could swear and curse at him with purest joy, as I shall yet,—damn him and burn his eyes!"
"Can you not forgive?"
"Never! No—except he kneel and plead my pardon, woo and sue and supplicate forgiveness on his odious knees."
"Forgiveness is a blessedness——"
"But one that should be earned, Adam, and sought with diligent humility." Here she paused and turned, as, with quick patter of small bare feet, came little Smidge to make a leg and pull forelock at them smartly as any hardy seadog aboard.
"Ax your pardins, sirs," he piped, "but Mr. Anthony, sir, if you please, sir, Joe Brent says as I'm to tell ye as he be took main bad again, so will ee come please for to shift his bandage?"
"Ha—rum!" quoth Antonia, at her manliest. "Shiver and sink Joe for sly rogue, 'tis more rum he's after! Tell him no, Smidge, no is the word, not another drop or burn my neck! Nay, I'll go tell him this myself."
Now scarce was she gone, striding very man-like, and Smidge's little legs trotting to keep pace, than hasty feet descended the poop nearby, a long arm clasped Adam's drooping shoulders.
"Now Lord love thee," exclaimed Absalom. "Lord love thee for trusty friend, my Old Adam.... I heard thee plead my cause,—ay, I've been listening, eavesdropping right shamelessly! I heard her curse me, bless her! 'Damn me and burn my eyes,' quo' she, and ears never heard swearing so sweetly pretty! Oh, Adam, what bride for a sailorman, what wife for a buccaneer! ... And on my knees! Ay, faith, at the first chance—down on my knees I'll go to plead her pardon even as she said; I'll woo and sue and supplicate ... even though she flout and deny me forgiveness, eh, brother, how say'st thou, Adam?"
"Yes," he answered, with sombre gaze on the distance, "speak from your heart and ... I don't think ... she'll deny you."
"By heaven, I will! At the least she shall see me humble and know me contrite.... And now, my Old Adam, go with me for a noggin,—ay and shalt help me plot our position on the chart."
CHAPTER XXI
HOW THEY TALKED AMID GLORY OF STARS
It was night very hot, very still, and Adam, the lanthorn drawn near, sat crouched above his books deeply intent and fiercely resolved to master the abstruse problem in navigation that engaged him.... But after some while, the ship being so silent, he became aware of a vague sound nearby, and raised his head to listen, then rose in sudden perturbation for Antonia was weeping very bitterly.