A Bid for Fortune Guy Boothby (animal farm read .txt) 📖

After that there was nothing for it but for me to push myself into a circle where I had the best reasons for knowing that I was not wanted. However, it had its good side: I saw more of Miss Wetherell; so much more indeed that I began to notice that her father did not quite approve of it. But, whatever he may have thought, he said nothing to me on the subject.

A fortnight or so later we were at Aden leaving that barren rock about four o’clock, and entering the Red Sea the same evening. The Suez Canal passed through, and Port Said behind us, we were in the Mediterranean, and for the first time in my life I stood in Europe.

At Naples the Wetherells were to say goodbye to the boat, and continue the rest of their journey home across the Continent. As the hour of separation approached, I must confess I began to dread it more and more. And somehow, I fancy, she was not quite as happy as she used to be. You will probably ask what grounds I had for believing that a girl like Miss Wetherell would take any interest in a man like myself; and it is a question I can no more answer than I can fly. And yet, when I came to think it all out, I was not without my hopes.

We were to reach port the following morning. The night was very still, the water almost unruffled. Somehow it came about that Miss Wetherell and I found ourselves together in the same sheltered spot where she had spoken to me on the occasion referred to before. The stars in the east were paling preparatory to the rising of the moon. I glanced at my companion as she leant against the rails scanning the quiet sea, and noticed the sweet wistfulness of her expression. Then, suddenly, a great desire came over me to tell her of my love. Surely, even if she could not return it, there would be no harm in letting her know how I felt towards her. For this reason I drew a little closer to her.

“And so, Miss Wetherell,” I said, “tomorrow we are to bid each other goodbye; never, perhaps, to meet again.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Hatteras,” she answered, “we won’t say that. Surely we shall see something of each other somewhere. The world is very tiny after all.”

“To those who desire to avoid each other, perhaps, but for those who wish to find it is still too large.”

“Well, then, we must hope for the best. Who knows but that we may run across each other in London. I think it is very probable.”

“And will that meeting be altogether distasteful to you?” I asked, quite expecting that she would answer with her usual frankness. But to my surprise she did not speak, only turned half away from me. Had I offended her?

“Miss Wetherell, pray forgive my rudeness,” I said hastily. “I ought to have known I had no right to ask you such a question.”

“And why shouldn’t you?” she replied, this time turning her sweet face towards me. “No, Mr. Hatteras, I will tell you frankly, I should very much like to see you again.”

With that all the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head. Could I be dreaming? Or had she really said she would like to see me again? I would try my luck now whatever came of it.

“You cannot think how pleasant our intercourse has been to me,” I said. “And now I have to go back to my lonely, miserable existence again.”

“But you should not say that; you have your work in life!”

“Yes, but what is that to me when I have no one to work for? Can you conceive anything more awful than my loneliness? Remember as far as I know I am absolutely without kith and kin. There is not a single soul to care for me in the whole world⁠—not one to whom my death would be a matter of the least concern.”

“Oh, don’t⁠—don’t say that!”

Her voice faltered so that I turned from the sea and contemplated her.

“It is true, Miss Wetherell, bitterly true.”

“It is not true. It cannot be true!”

“If only I could think it would be some little matter of concern to you I should go back to my work with a happier heart.”

Again she turned her face from me. My arm lay beside hers upon the bulwarks, and I could feel that she was trembling. Brutal though it may seem to say so, this gave me fresh courage. I said slowly, bending my face a little towards her:

“Would it affect you, Phyllis?”

One little hand fell from the bulwarks to her side, and as I spoke I took possession of it. She did not appear to have heard my question, so I repeated it. Then her head went down upon the bulwarks, but not before I had caught the whispered “yes” that escaped her lips.

Before she could guess what was going to happen, I had taken her in my arms and smothered her face with kisses.

Nor did she offer any resistance. I knew the whole truth now. She was mine, she loved me⁠—me⁠—me⁠—me! The whole world seemed to reecho the news, the very sea to ring with it, and just as I learned from her own dear lips the story of her love, the great moon rose as if to listen. Can you imagine my happiness, my delight? She was mine, this lovely girl, my very own! bound to me by all the bonds of love. Oh, happy hour! Oh, sweet delight!

I pressed her to my heart again and again. She looked into my face and then away from me, her sweet eyes suffused with tears, then suddenly her expression changed. I turned to see what ailed her, and to my discomfiture discovered her father stalking along the silent deck towards us.

Whispering to her to leave us she sped away, and I was