Tales of terror Chapter 16: Part 16

the fabled basilisk. She would have rushed away, but was spellbound. The strange man held her in a thrall. ‘How charming you look this morning,’ he remarked. ‘Why, you put even the glory of the sunrise to shame.’ ‘Really, Mr. Cornell,’ she exclaimed indignantly, and blushing to the very roots of her hair, ‘you insult me by such extravagant and stupid compliments. I don’t like men who talk nonsense, and think that all a girl wants is to be flattered. Of course plenty of empty headed girls do, but I’m not one of them.’ ‘Don’t be angry with me, please; I am sincere. Can the wretched moth that flutters into the flame of the candle help itself? Not a bit of it. You would pity the moth; why not pity me?’ ‘This is audacity, Mr. Cornell, and I will complain to the captain about you,’ she exclaimed as she made a movement to go. But ever so lightly, and without any effort, he touched her hand. What was the fearful magic of that touch that she should thrill so? What was the power in his voice that held her in a spell? She did not go, but stood there. Her left hand resting on one of the rattlings of the rigging, her right hanging down by her side, his large powerful fingers touching hers, her head averted, for she felt as if she dare not look at him. ‘It is not in your nature to be cruel, Miss Hetherington’--he spoke low, so that there should be no possibility of the man at the wheel catching his words, though he was so far off there was not much fear of that--‘why, then, should you be cruel with me?’ ‘I am not cruel, but you are rude, very rude,’ she answered with a voice that trembled from suppressed emotion. ‘I am _not_ rude, and you _are_ cruel,’ he returned, dwelling deliberately on every word. ‘You are a beautiful young woman, and I am a man. Surely I should be less than a man if I failed to admire you? Do you not admire the beauty of the sky there? why, then, should I do less than you, though in your face I find more to admire than in those glowing colours.’ ‘If you do not instantly leave me I will call out for assistance,’ she said. She felt faint and powerless, and as though she would certainly fall down on the deck if she let go her hold of the rigging. ‘No, you must not do that,’ he answered, coolly. ‘How can I possibly help feeling for you what I do feel. I am not a stone statue, but a man with a heart, and though a bolt from heaven should strike me into the sea for speaking the words, I tell you now, though I never utter another syllable to you, _that I love you_.’ He had never taken his fingers from hers, and now he pressed her hand. The sea seemed to be going round and round before her eyes. The wonderful colours in the sky were all blended in one confused mass. The ship appeared to be sinking beneath her feet, and yet she managed to murmur in a low, weak voice: ‘For God’s sake leave me!’ Without another word he walked away, and then she seemed to breathe more freely, and in a few minutes had quite recovered herself. She turned and went towards the companion-way, and as she did so she saw Cornell talking to the captain, who had just come on deck. The captain bade her good-morning, but Cornell was as immovable and impassive as a piece of sculpture. Oh! what a sense of relief she experienced when she got down to her cabin. The spell seemed to be lifted at last, and, closing the door, she threw herself into the bunk and wept passionately. When the hysterical fit had passed she was relieved, and she determined to tell her mother what had happened, but this determination only lasted for a few minutes, as on reflection she thought that it could but lead to unpleasantness, and in a little floating world such as a ship is the slightest things are looked upon as legitimate food for scandal to batten upon. Therefore, her second thoughts were to keep the matter to herself. Still she was very unhappy, and Dick noticed it. He naturally asked her the cause, but she made an excuse by saying that she was a little out of sorts. She was strongly tempted to tell him all, but was restrained by a fear that it might lead to a quarrel between him and the second mate. For several days after the unpleasant incident with Cornell she studiously avoided going on deck alone for fear of meeting him, but whenever he had occasion to pass her she would shudder, for his strange eyes seemed to exercise a power over her which was simply marvellous. She felt, in fact, when he was looking at her that she could grovel at his feet at his mere bidding. It was a dreadful feeling, and her health naturally suffered. Her mother and lover were both concerned about her, but she endeavoured to remove any anxiety they might have had by saying that her indisposition was of a very trivial character. One evening she had been sitting on the poop with Fenton. The weather was fine, but a strong breeze was blowing, and the vessel was tearing through the water. The daylight had almost faded out, and it was impossible to distinguish people who were standing or sitting only a few yards away. Fenton left her for a few minutes to go down to his cabin for some cigars, and scarcely had he disappeared when she was startled by the sudden appearance of Cornell. It seemed almost as though he had risen up out of the deck. She was seated on a camp stool, and he bent his head low until she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. He whispered to her in a voice that could not possibly have been heard by anyone else, however near they might have been; but she heard every word, every syllable, as it was poured into her ear, and it seemed to burn into her brain. ‘Lily, you are cruel,’ he said; ‘I love you madly, and yet you avoid me. You must give me some encouragement, or I will drown myself; and if you breathe a word of what I have said to you to any living soul, I tell you in God’s name that I will throw myself overboard, and my death will lie at your door. Remember what I say. I am a determined man, and nothing on earth will stop me carrying out my will.’ Once again his fingers touched her hand; then in a moment he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared. He seemed to fade away into the darkness like a spectre, but almost immediately afterwards she heard him bawling some orders in stentorian tones to the watch. When Fenton came back she was trembling and faint, and though she struggled hard to conceal from him that she was agitated, he could not fail to observe it, and in a tone of alarm asked the cause. ‘Oh, nothing, dear--nothing,’ she answered; ‘at least, nothing of any consequence. A slight feeling of faintness has come over me; but really it is not worth bothering about.’ Oh, how she longed to tell him all; but the words of the strange man who was exercising such a powerful influence over her were still ringing in her ears, and she was silent. Fenton did not make any further remark then on the subject, but he felt uneasy. He was convinced that there was some mystery, but what it was he could not for the life of him determine. The thought did flash through his brain that she was deceiving him, but instantly he put it away as unworthy of him. It seemed so preposterous to associate deceit with the Red Lily, who was as pure as the beautiful flower after which she was called. When he escorted her down to the cabin a little later, he said: ‘Darling, I am uneasy about you. Something is wrong, I am sure, but your gentle heart prompts you to keep it from me for fear of giving me pain. Do be good to yourself for my sake. Why don’t you take your mother into your confidence, and tell her if you have any trouble, since you do not apparently care to confide it to me.’ ‘Do not be uneasy,’ she answered. ‘Believe me, oh, do believe me, when I say that my indisposition is of a very trifling character. I have nothing to tell my mother, and you know perfectly well, Dick, you have my full confidence.’ She felt a little guilty as she said this, for she knew that she ought to have told him at once of Cornell’s conduct. But, firstly, the strange fascination he exercised over her kept her silent; and, secondly, she was really afraid of causing a scene between the two men. Besides, she comforted herself with the thought that the voyage would soon be over, and once clear of the ship it would be good-bye to Cornell for ever. She regarded him as a vain, presumptuous fellow, who imagined that every girl he looked at must be in love with him. As soon as her lover had left her, and she had been to wish her mother good-night, the Red Lily once again gave unrestrained vent to her feelings, and wept passionately. She could not help it. She felt almost as if she would die if she did not weep, and weep she did bitterly until she fretted herself to sleep. The following morning she was weak and pale, and did not put in an appearance at breakfast. The beautiful pink had faded from her face, and she had the look of one who was jaded and unhappy. Mrs. Hetherington visited her daughter, and naturally felt alarmed. There was a doctor on board, and Mrs. Hetherington expressed a determination to consult him; but Lily pleaded with such earnestness, and at last expressed such a strong determination not to see him, that her mother yielded, and Lily kept in her cabin all that day. On the following day she was better. Cornell’s influence had passed away, and she had to a considerable extent regained her spirits. The weather was now very chilly, and unfortunately the wind was unfavourable, so that the ship had to sail on long and short tacks. It was worse than tantalising to those who had looked forward so eagerly to spending