VI.
Clarice went out alone in her fishing-boat, as during all the past week she had purposed to do when this day came, if it should prove favorable. She wished to approach the Point thus,—and her purpose in so doing was such as no mortal could have suspected. And yet, as in the fulfilment of this purpose she went, hastened from her delaying by the address of Bondo Emmins, it seemed to her as if her secret must be read by the three upon the beach.
She wore upon her neck, as she had worn since the days of her betrothal to Luke, the cord to which the pearl ring was attached. The ring had never been removed; hut now, as Clarice came near to the Point, she laid the oars aside, and with trembling hands untied the black cord and disengaged the ring, and drew it: on her finger, that trembled like, a leaf. She was doing now what Luke had bidden her do,— and for his sake. Until now she had always looked upon it as a ring of betrothal; henceforth it was her wedding-ring,—the evidence of her true marriage with Luke Merlyn.
O unseen husband, didst thou see her as anew she gave herself to love, to constancy, to duty?
She was floating toward the Point, when, she knelt in the fishing-boat and plunged the hand that wore the ring under the bright cold water. How bright, how cold it was! It chilled Clarice; she shuddered;—was she the bride of Death? But she did not rise from her knees, neither withdraw her hand, until her vow, the vow she was there to speak, was spoken. There she knelt alone in the great universe, with God and Luke Merlyn.
When at last she stood upon the Point, she had strength to mother destiny, and patience to wait while it was being developed. She knew her marriage covenant was blest, and filial duty was divested of every thought or notion that could tempt or deceive her. Treading thus fearlessly among the high places of imagination, no prescience of mortal trouble could lurk among the mysterious shadows. By her faith in the eternity of love she was greatly more than conqueror.
The day passed, and night drew near. It was the purpose of Clarice to row home with the tide. But a strange thing happened to her ere she set out to return. As she stood looking out upon the sea, watching the waves as they rolled and broke upon the beach, a new token came to her from the deep.
Almost as she might have waited for Luke, she stood watching the onward drift; calculating the spot at which the waves would deposit their burden, she stood there when the plank was home inland, to save it, if possible, from being dashed with violence on the rocks.
To this plank a child was bound,—a little creature that might be three years old. At the sight of this form, and this helplessness, the heart of the woman seemed to break into sudden living flame. She carried the plank down to a level spot with an energy that would have made light of a burden even ten times as great; she stooped upon the sand; she unbound the body; and she thought, “The child is dead!" Nevertheless she took him in her arms; she dried his limbs with her apron; she wiped his face, and rubbed his hair;—but he gave no sign of life. Then she wrapped him in her shawl, and laid him in the boat, and rowed home.
There was no one in the cabin when Clarice went in. When Dame Briton came home, she found her daughter with a ring upon her finger, bending over the body of a child that lay upon her bed.
The dame was quickly brought into service, and there was no reason to fear that she would desist from her labors until she had received some evidence of death or life. She and Clarice worked all night over the body of the child, and towards morning were rewarded by the result. The boy’s eyes opened, and he tried to speak. By noon of that day he was lying in the arms of Clarice, deathly
