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Updated: May 26, 2025
As the days went by, his jealousy of Veath became almost intolerable. He dared not speak to Grace about it, for something told him she was not to be censured. Even in his blind rage he remembered that she was good and true, and was daring all for his sake. In calmer moments he could not blame Veath, who believed the young lady to be sister, and not sweetheart. In view of his misery, Mr.
I feel that in an hour like this and in a place like this I am worth more than I have ever been or could be in any other position. The fierceness of the night and the sting of your advice combine to give life and nerve to my weak heart. I am not the man who begged you a moment ago to listen to the weakness of a despairing lover; it is another man, another Henry Veath who talks to you now.
Here and there sailors began to light the deck lamps; many of the passengers went below to avoid the coming chill. In her stateroom Grace was just writing: "For over a week we have been sailing under British colors, we good Americans, Hugh and I, and I may add, Mr. Veath."
The green-eyed monster again cast the cloak of moroseness over him swathed him in the inevitable wet blanket, as it were. During the first two days Veath had performed a hundred little acts of gallantry which fall to the lot of a lover but hardly to that of a brother a score of things that would not have been observed by the latter, but which were inwardly cursed by the lover.
It was fully five minutes before Hugh could extract himself from the slough of speculation into which those thoughtless words had driven him. What did Veath know about her ideas on such matters? Where did he learn so much? The other spoke to him twice and received no answer. Finally he shook his arm and said: "Must be love at first sight, Ridge. Are you spellbound?"
In the hall, out of Hugh's sight, he stopped, clenched his hands, closed his eyes and shivered as if his blood had turned to ice. Presently he returned to the room, having gone no farther than the hall. "I have sent for her," he said in a strange voice. Grace was coming down stairs when Veath admitted Hugh.
The thought gave birth to a fear that he was not perfectly sure of her love, and that it might turn to Henry Veath, after all. In the early morning hours, between snatches of sleep, he decided to ask Lady Huntingford's advice, after explaining to her the dilemma in full. He would also tell Grace of Veath's declaration, putting her on guard.
"Thank God!" cried she, tears rushing to her eyes. Together they read and re-read the name, scarcely able to believe that she was truly one of the few to escape. "And Henry Veath, too. Oh, Hugh, it is a miracle a real miracle!" "Old Veath saved her! I knew he would if he had a ghost of a chance. Tennys, Tennys, I can't believe it is true." He was beside himself in his excitement.
"But who is she?" broke out Grace excitedly, as soon as she could catch her breath. "And where is she can't we see her?" put in Veath, slapping Hugh insanely on the back. "She's a goddess!" burst out Hugh, grabbing his cap and running out of the room, shouting hilariously: "Follow on, both of you, to the hotel, and see me worship at her shrine!" Hugh lost no time on the way back to the hotel.
"Going out among the natives, I suppose?" "What natives?" "Why, the Igorrotes, or whatever they are, of course." "Oh, of course to be sure," cried Hugh hastily. "I am so d d absent-minded." Veath stared in amazement. "You must not think it strange that I swear," said Hugh, mopping his brow. "I am not the missionary, you know." "Oh," was the other's simple exclamation.
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