A \ B \ C \ D \ E \ F \ G \ H \ I \ J \ K \ L \ M \ N \ O \ P \ R \ S \ T \ U \ V \ W \Z

Pearl of Pearl Island by John Oxenham

J >> John Oxenham >> Pearl of Pearl Island



PEARL OF PEARL ISLAND

BY JOHN OXENHAM

HODDER AND STOUGHTON
PUBLISHERS LONDON
1908




TO MY WIFE




CONTENTS

PART THE FIRST PEARL
PART THE SECOND LOST PEARL
PART THE THIRD PEARL ISLAND
PART THE FOURTH PEARL OF PEARL ISLAND
PART THE FIFTH PEARL IN A RING
PART THE SIXTH SMALLER PEARLS




PEARL OF THE PEARL OF THE SILVER SEA!

PEARL Iridescent! Pearl of the sea!

Shimmering, glimmering Pearl of the sea!
White in the sun-flecked silver sea,
White in the moon-decked silver sea,
White in the wrath of the silver sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Lapped in the smile of the Silver Sea,
Ringed in the foam of the Silver Sea,
Glamoured in mists of the Silver Sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Glancing and glimmering under the sun,
Jewel and casket all in one,
Joy supreme of the sun's day-dream,
Soft in the gleam of the golden beam,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Splendour of Hope in the rising sun,
Glory of Love in the noonday sun,
Wonder of Faith in the setting sun,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!

Gaunt and grim to the outer world,
Jewel and casket all impearled
With the kiss of the Silver Sea!--
With the flying kiss of the Silver Sea,
With the long sweet kiss of the Silver Sea,
With the rainbow kiss of the Silver Sea,--

Pearl of the Silver Sea!
And oh the sight,--the wonderful sight,
When calm and white, in the mystic light,
Of her quivering pathway, broad and bright,
The Queen of the Night, in silver dight,
Sails over the Silver Sea!

Wherever I go, and wherever I be,
The joy and the longing are there with me,--
The gleam And the glamour come back to me,--
In a mystical rapture there comes to me,
The call of the Silver Sea!
As needle to pole is my heart to thee,
Pearl of the Silver Sea!

Pearl of the Pearl of the Silver Sea!
To some you are Margaret, but to me,
Always and ever, wherever I be,
You are Pearl of the Pearl of the Silver Sea!

J.C.G.




PART THE FIRST


I

NOTE.--_It would be impossible to depict the Sark of to-day
without using the names native to the Island. All such names
here employed, however, are used without any reference whatever
to any actual persons who may happen to bear similar names in
Sark. The characters are to be taken as types. The incidents are
in many cases fact._


If you want murders, mysteries, or mud--pass on! This is a simple,
straightforward love-story.


"Jock, my lad," said Lady Elspeth softly, nodding her head very many
times, in that very knowing way of hers which made her look like a
Lord Chief Justice and a Fairy Godmother all in one, "I've found you
out."

And when the shrewd old soul of her looked him gently through and
through in that fashion, he knew very much better than to attempt any
evasion.

"Ah!" he said meekly, "I was afraid someone would, sooner or later.
I've been living in constant dread of it. But it's happened before,
you know, between you and me. What is it this time, dear Lady
Elspeth?"

"Here have I been imputing grace to you for your kindly attentions to
a poor old woman whose race is nearly run, and setting you up above
the rest of them therefor, and lo, my idol----"

"Ah!" he said again, with a reproving wag of the head, for he knew now
what was coming,--"idols are perverse, camstairy things at best, you
know, and a bit out of date too. And, besides,"--with a touch of
remonstrance--"at your age and with your bringing-up----"

"Ay, ay, ye may be as insulting as ye choose, my laddie, and fling my
age and my upbringing in my face like a very man----"

"There isn't a face like it in all England, and as to----"

"I prefer ye to say Britain, as I've told ye before. Your bit England
is only a portion of the kingdom, and in very many respects the
poorest portion, notably in brains and manners and beauty. But ye
cannot draw me off like that, my laddie, whether it's meant for a
compliment or no. I was just about telling you you were a fraud----"

"You hadn't got quite that length, you know, but----"

"Will I prove it to you? Haven't you been coming here as regular as
the milkman for a month past----"

"Oh, come now!--Only once a day. I've an idea milkie comes twice, and
besides----"

"And what did ye come for, my lad?" with an emphatic nod and a
menacing shake of the frail white hand, pricelessly jewelled above,
comfortably black-silk-mittened below. "Tell me that now! What did ye
come for?"

"To see the dearest old lady in England--Britain, I mean. And--"

"Yes?--And?--" and she watched him, with her head a little on one side
and her eyes shining brightly, like an expectant motherly robin
hopping on treasure trove.

He smiled back at her and said nothing. He knew she knew without his
telling.

"And so I was only second fiddle--" she began, with an assumption of
scornful irascibility which became her less than her very oldest cap.

"Oh, dear me, no! Leader of the orchestra!--Proprietor of the
house!--Sole director and manager and--"

"Tuts! It was Margaret Brandt you came to see," and the twinkling
brown eyes held the merry gray ones with a steady challenge.

"Partly,--and I was just about to say so when you interrupted me--"

"Ay! Were you now? Ye can out with things quick enough at times, my
laddie!"

"Well, you see, there are some things one does not speak about until
one feels one has an absolute right to."

"You'd have told your mother, Jock."

"Perhaps, I'm not sure,--not yet--not, at all events, until--"

"And wasn't I to take her place when she left you all alone?"

"And so you have. You're just the dearest and sweetest old--"

"Second fiddle! Come away and we'll talk of Margaret, since that's all
you come for."

"And isn't she worth coming for? Did you ever in all your life see
anything more wonderful than Margaret Brandt?"

And she looked at him for half a minute with a twinkle in the shrewd
old eyes, which had surely seen many strange and wonderful things
since the first wonders passed and gave place to the common things of
life. Beautiful eyes they were still,--of a very tender brown, and
shining always with kindly feeling and deepest interest in the person
she was talking to.

I do not know how it may be with you, but, personally, I detest people
whose eyes and thoughts go wandering away over your left shoulder
while you are talking with them. It may be, of course, that you are
not much of a talker and are simply boring them, but, all the same,
mental squinters are not to my liking.

But Lady Elspeth was never bored--visibly, at all events, and while
you talked with her you were the one person in the world in whom she
was interested.

Margaret's eyes had something of the same in them, but they were very
deep blue, and there was in them just that touch of maidenly reserve
which best becomes a maiden's eyes, until, to one at all events, she
may lay it aside and let her heart shine through.

Lady Elspeth looked at him, then, for half a minute, with a starry
twinkle, and then said, with a finality of conviction that made her
dearer to him than ever--

"Never!" and he kissed her hand with fervour,--and not ungracefully,
since the action, though foreign to him, was absolutely spontaneous.

"But--!" she said firmly. And he sat up.

"But me no buts," he said. "And why?"

"Well, you see, Margaret is by way of being an heiress--and you are
not."

"I'm sorry. But, you see, I couldn't very well be if I tried. Still
I'm not absolutely penniless, and--"

"Tuts, boy! What you have is just about enough to pay Jeremiah
Pixley's servants' wages."

"D-hang Jeremiah Pixley!"

"D-hang is not a nice expression to use before a lady, let me tell
you. What you have, as, I was saying, is just enough to make or mar
you--"

"It's going to make me. I can live on it till things begin to come my
way."

"Everyone writes nowadays," she said, with a dubious shake of the
head. "Who reads all the books passes my comprehension. I suppose you
have all just to buy one another's to make a bit of a living out of
it."

"Like those washing people! But it's not quite as bad as all that.
There are still some intelligent people who buy books--good books, of
course, I mean."

"Not many, I'm afraid. They read reviews and chatter as though they'd
read the books. And if they really want to read them they get them out
of a library. You don't see bought books lying on the tables, as you
used to do when I was a girl, and they were scarcer and dearer. How is
this last one going?"

"I have reason to believe my publishers are not absolutely
broken-hearted over it, which leads me to think that they have
probably done pretty well out of it. They are not what you might call
a gushing race, you know, but they have given me a kind of cautious
half-hint that they might not refuse to look at my next if I offered
it to them on my bended knees. But let us get back to our--to Miss
Brandt. I had no idea she was an heiress. I have really never thought
of money in the matter, except as to how I could earn enough to offer
it to her."

"She has a fair portion--about two thousand a year, I believe. Her
father was Danish Consul in Glasgow, and had a shipping business
there. I should not be surprised if Mr. Pixley had views of his own
concerning Margaret's portion and his son--and of course Margaret
herself."

"Will you permit me to say, 'Hang Mr. Pixley!' dear Lady Elspeth? It
would be such a relief--if you're sure you don't mind."

"You may say 'Hang Mr. Pixley!' though it is not an expression I am in
the habit of using myself. But please don't begin it with a D."

"Hang Mr. Pixley, and Mr. Pixley's son, and all his intentions!" he
said fervently and with visible relish.

"Yes," she nodded slowly, as though savouring it; and then added, with
a delicious twinkle of the soft brown eyes, "There is something in
that that appeals to me. Jeremiah Pixley is almost too good for this
world. At least--"

"He is absolutely unwholesomely good. My own private opinion is that
he's a disreputable old blackg--I mean whited sepulchre."

"Unwholesomely good!" She nodded again. "Yes,--that, I think, very
fairly expresses him. 'Unco' guid,' we would say up north. But, all
the same, he is Margaret's uncle and guardian and trustee. He is also
the kind of man whom nothing can turn from a line he has once
adopted."

"I know. Pigheaded as a War-Office-mule," he side-tracked hastily.

For she had looked at him with a momentary bristle of enquiry in the
gentle brown eyes, and he remembered, just in time, that her husband
had once held the reins in Pall Mall for half a year, when, feeling
atrophy creeping on, he resigned office and died three months later.

He hastened to add,--"The ordinary Army-mule, you know, is specially
constructed with a cast-iron mouth, and a neck of granite, and a
disposition like--like Mr. Pixley's. I imagine Mr. Pixley can be
excessively unpleasant when he tries. To me he is excessively
unpleasant even to think of, and without any exertion whatever on his
part."

"Yes. Mrs. Pixley would rather convey that impression. She is always
depressed and apprehensive-looking. But she is very fond of Margaret,
and that no doubt is why--But I suppose she really has no choice in
the matter, until she comes of age--"

"Mrs. Pixley?"

"Until Margaret comes into her own she is no doubt obliged to submit
to her guardian's views. It is difficult to imagine anyone not a
Pixley living in the Pixley atmosphere of their own free will. What is
the son like? I have only seen him once or twice. Does he take after
his father?"

"He's about twice as tall, and several times as wide in some respects,
I should say,--certainly in the matter of the enjoyment of life. He's
not bad-looking--in a kind of a way, you know,--that is, for those who
like that kind of looks,--a trifle fleshy perhaps. But he's a fair
dancer, and sings a song well, and can talk about nothing as nicely
as any man I ever met. It's an accomplishment I often envy."

"I wouldn't trouble about it, if I were you. There are things more
worth doing in the world. And that reminds me. We were talking of your
books. I've been wanting to tell you that your love-scenes are not
altogether to my liking. They are just a little--well, not quite--"

"Yes, I know," he said sadly. "You see, I lack experience in such
things. Now, if Margaret--"

"Don't tell me you want to use her simply as a model," she began, with
another incipient gentle bristle.

"I want her as a model and a great many other things besides, dear
Lady Elspeth. I love Margaret Brandt with every atom of good that is
in me."

"And she?" with a nod and a sparkle.

"Ah! There now--that's what I don't know. She's not one to wear her
heart on her sleeve. At times I have dared to hope. Then again I have
feared--"

"That is quite right. That is quite as it should be. Anything more, so
early as this, would imply unmaidenliness on her part."

"Truly? You mean it? You are, without exception, the most charming old
lady in the world! You relieve my mind immensely. You see, she is
always so sweet and charming. But then she could not be anything
else, and it may really mean nothing. Do you really think I may hope?"

"'White-handed Hope, thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,'"
she quoted, with a smile.

"That's Margaret," he murmured rapturously.

"It's a poor kind of man that gives up hope until he lies in his
coffin, and even then--" and she nodded thoughtfully, as though
tempted to a descent into metaphysics.

"Let us talk of bridal wreaths. They are very much nicer to think of
than coffins when one is discussing Margaret Brandt."

"She is very sweet and very beautiful--"

"There never was anyone like her in this world--unless it was my
mother and yourself."

"Let Margaret be first with you, my boy. That also is as it should be.
Neither your dear mother nor I stand in need of empty compliments.
Margaret Brandt is worthy any good man's whole heart, and perhaps I
can be of some help to you. But, all the same, remember what I've
said. You may be too late in the field."

"You are just the splendidest old lady in the world," he said
exuberantly; and added, with a touch of gloom, "She was talking of
going off to the Riviera."

"Ah, then, I suppose I shall be in eclipse also, until she returns."

"Oh no, you won't. We can talk of her, you know," at which Lady
Elspeth's eyes twinkled merrily.

"What would you say to convoying a troublesome old lady to the
Riviera, yourself, Jock?"

"You?" and he jumped up delightedly,--and just at that point old
Hamish opened the door of the cosy room, and announced--

"Miss Brandt, mem!"


II

"Miss Brandt, mem!" announced old Hamish, in as dry and matter-of-fact
a voice as though it were only, "Here's the doctor, mem!" or "Dinner's
ready, mem!" and Margaret herself came in, rosy-faced and bright-eyed
from the kiss of the wind outside.

Lady Elspeth laughed enjoyably at the sight of her, and touched the
bell for tea.

"You are always like a breath from the heather to me, my dear, or a
glimpse of Schiehallion," said she, as they kissed, and Graeme stood
reverently looking on, as at a holy rite.

"Oh, surely I'm not as rugged and wrinkled as all that!" laughed
Margaret. "And I certainly am not bald. How do you do, Mr. Graeme?"

"There is no need to ask you that question, at any rate," he said,
with visible appreciation.

"I have loved Schiehallion all my life," said Lady Elspeth. "To me
there is no mountain in the world to compare with it. You see how
one's judgment is biassed by one's affections. And how is Mrs. Pixley
to-day, my dear?"

"She is much as usual, dear Lady Elspeth. She is never very lively,
you know. If anything, I think she is, perhaps, a trifle less lively
than usual just now."

"And Mr. Pixley is as busied in good works as ever, I suppose."

"As busy as ever--outside,"--at which gentle thrust the others smiled.

"It's all very well to laugh," remonstrated Margaret, "but truly, you
know, philanthropy, like charity, would be none the less commendable
to its relations if it sometimes remembered that it had a home. I
sometimes think that if ever there was a deserving case it is poor
Aunt Susan."

"And young Mr. Pixley? Doesn't he liven you up?" asked Lady Elspeth.
"He is very good company, I am told."

"Oh, Charles is excellent company. If we didn't see him now and again
the house would be like a tomb. But he's not there all the time, and
we have relapses. He has his own rooms elsewhere, you know. And I'm
really not surprised. It taxes even him to lighten the deadly dulness
of Melgrave Square."

"It must be a great comfort to Mrs. Pixley to have you with her, my
dear."

"I can't make up for all she lacks in other directions," said
Margaret, with a shake of the head. "I get quite angry with Uncle
Jeremiah sometimes. He is so--so absorbed in benefiting other people
that he--Well, you can understand how delightful it is to be able to
run in here and find the sun always shining."

"Thank you, my dear," said Lady Elspeth, with a twinkle in the brown
eyes. "Some people carry their own sunshine with them wherever they
go."

"And some people decidedly don't," said Margaret, who was evidently
suffering from some unusual exhibition of Pixleyism.

"It is generally possible to find a ray or so somewhere about, if you
know where to look for it," suggested Graeme.

"I was just accusing Jock of coming here as regularly as the milkman,"
twinkled Lady Elspeth.

"We have a community of tastes, you see," he said, looking across at
Margaret. "I also have a craving for sunshine, and I naturally come
where I know it is to be found," and Lady Elspeth's eyes twinkled
knowingly again.

"It's a good conceit of myself I'll be getting, if you two go on like
this."

"I'm quite sure you will never think half as well of yourself as your
friends do," said Graeme.

"Besides, you might even pass some of the credit on to us for the
excellent taste we display."

"Ay, ay! Well, it's good to be young," said Lady Elspeth.

"And it's very good to have delightful old sunbeams for friends."

"To say nothing of the young ones," laughed the old lady.

"They speak for themselves."

"We are becoming quite a mutual admiration society," said Margaret.
"Have you been dining with your fellow Friars lately, Mr. Graeme?"

"I'm sorry to say I've been neglecting my privileges in that respect.
I haven't been there for an age--not since that last Ladies' Dinner,
in fact. You see, I'm an infant there yet, and I scarcely know
anybody, and I've been very busy--"

"Chasing sunbeams," suggested Lady Elspeth.

"And other things."

"You are busy on another book?" asked Margaret.

"Just getting one under way. It takes a little time to get things into
proper shape, but once it is going, the work is very absorbing and
sheer delight. You were talking of going abroad again. Are you still
thinking of it?"

"I was hoping to get away. I wanted Aunt Susan to come with me to the
Riviera, but she flatly refuses to leave home at present, so I'm
afraid that's off."

"Well, now, that's curious. I've been feeling something of an
inclination that way myself," said Lady Elspeth. "I wonder if you'd
feel like coming with me, Margaret. I don't believe we would quarrel."

"Oh, I would be delighted, dear Lady Elspeth, and I'll promise not to
quarrel whatever you do to me."

"Who ever heard of sunbeams quarrelling?" said Graeme gaily, with Lady
Elspeth's earlier suggestion to himself dancing in his brain. "But
think of London left utterly sunless."

"London will never miss us," said Margaret. "It still has bridge, and
we are neither of us players."

And then, having an appointment from which he could not escape, and
knowing that they always enjoyed a little personal chat, he
reluctantly took his leave, and left them to the discussion of their
new plans.


III

He had met Margaret Brandt for the first time at a Ladies' Banquet of
the Whitefriars Club.

Providence,--I insist upon this. No mere chance set them next to one
another at that hospitable board,--Providence, forecasting the future,
placed them side by side, and he was introduced to her by his good
friend Adam Black, who had the privilege of her acquaintance and sat
opposite enjoying them greatly.

For they were both eminently good to look upon;--Margaret, tall and
slender, and of a most gracious figure and bearing, with thoughtful,
dark-blue eyes, a very charming face accentuated by the
characteristics of her northern descent, and a wealth of shining brown
hair coiled about her shapely head;--Graeme, tall, clean-built, of an
outdoor complexion, with nothing of the student about him save his
deep, reflective eyes, and the little lines in the corners which
wrinkled up so readily at the overflowing humours of life.

It was Charles Pixley--Charles Svendt Pixley, to accord him fullest
justice, which I am most anxious to do--who brought her, and to that
extent we are his debtors.

Though why Pixley should be a Whitefriar passes one's comprehension.
His pretensions to literature were, I should say, bounded by his Stock
Exchange notebook and his betting-book. He had not even read Graeme's
latest, though it was genuinely in its second--somewhat
limited--edition, and he did not even smile affably when Adam Black
introduced them. Graeme, however, had no fault to find with him for
that. There were others in like dismal case.

Pixley nodded cursorily at the introduction, with a
"How-d'ye-do-who-the-deuce-are-you?" expression on his face. He struck
Graeme as not bad-looking, in a somewhat over-fed and self-indulgent
fashion, and inclined to superciliousness and self-complacency, if not
to actual superiority and condescension. It occurred to him afterwards
that this might arise from his absorption in his companion, for he
turned again at once to Miss Brandt and began chattering like a lively
and intelligent parrot.

Graeme was one of the silent and observant ones, and he could not but
think how beneficent Nature is in casting us in many moulds. If we
were all built alike, he thought, and all dribbled smart inanities,
and nothing but inanities, with the glibness of a Charles Pixley, what
a world it would be!

However, it was Charles Pixley who brought Margaret Brandt to that
dinner, and Graeme sat on the other side of her there. And so, Charles
Svendt--blessings on thee, unworthy friar though thou be!

And presently, Miss Brandt, wearying no doubt of _perdrix, perdrix,
toujours perdrix_,--that is to say of Charles's sprightly chatter, of
which she doubtless got more than enough at home,--essayed
conversation with the silent one at her other side, and, one may
suppose, found it more to her taste, or more of a novelty, than the
Pixley outflow.

For, once started, she and Graeme talked together most of the
evening--breaking off reluctantly to drink various toasts to people in
whom they had, at the moment, no remotest interest whatever, and
recovering the thread of their conversation before they resumed their
seats.

Only one toast really interested Graeme, and that was "The Ladies--the
Guests of the Evening"; and that he drank right heartily, with his
eyes on Miss Brandt's sparkling face, and if it had been left to
himself he would have converted it from plural to singular and drunk
to her alone.

Adam Black, excellent fellow, and gifted beyond most with wisdom and
insight, and the condensed milk of human kindness, took upon himself
the burden of Pixley, and engaged that eminent financier so deeply in
talk concerning matters of import, that Miss Brandt and Graeme found
themselves at liberty to enjoy one another to their hearts' content.

They talked on many subjects--tentatively, and as sounding novel
depths--in a way that occasioned one of them, at all events, very
great surprise. Indeed, it seemed to him afterwards that, for a silent
and observant man, he had been led into quite unwonted, but none the
less very enjoyable, ways. He went home that night feeling very much
as Columbus must have done when his New World swam before his eyes in
misted glory. He too had sighted a new world. He had discovered
Margaret Brandt.

She had travelled widely over Europe, he learned, and was looking
forward with eagerness to another tour in the near future. They
discovered a common liking for many of the places she had visited.

She was a wide and intelligent reader. To him it was a rare pleasure
to meet one.

"New places, and new books, and new people are always a joy to me,"
she said, in a glow of naive enthusiasm. And then she blushed slightly
lest he should discover a personal application in the last-named, or
even in the last two.

But Graeme was thinking of her, and was formulating her character from
the delicious little bits of self-revelation which slipped out every
now and again.

"Yes," he said, "new things are very enjoyable, and in these times
there is no lack of them. The tendency, I should say, is towards
superfluity. But new places----! There are surely not many left except
the North Pole and the South. Everybody goes everywhere nowadays, and
you tumble over friends in Damascus and find your tailor picnicking on
the slopes of Lebanon."

Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

Frederick Marryat - "Japhet, In Search Of A Father"

Robert C. Benchley - "Love Conquers All"

Arnold Wolfensberger - "Theory Of Silk Weaving"

Kate Langley Bosher - "Mary Cary"