"My dear boy," returned the Senor gently, "reflect upon the situation.Your suffering, real or implied, produces in the hearts of these gentle creatures a sympathy which not only exalts and sustains their higher natures, but, I conscientiously believe, gratifies and pleases their lower ones.Why should you deny them this opportunity of indulging their twofold organisms, and beguiling the tedium of the voyage, merely because of some erroneous exhibition of fact?"Later, Senor Perkins might have added to this exposition the singularly stimulating effect which Hurlstone's supposed peculiarity had upon the feminine imagination.But there were some secrets which were not imparted even to him, and it was only to each other that the ladies confided certain details and reminiscences.For it now appeared that they had all heard strange noises and stealthy steps at night; and Mrs.Brimmer was quite sure that on one occasion the handle of her state-room door was softly turned.Mrs.Markham also remembered distinctly that only a week before, being unable to sleep, she had ventured out into the saloon in a dressing-gown to get her diary, which she had left with a portfolio on a chair; that she had a sudden consciousness of another presence in the saloon, although she could distinguish nothing by the dim light of the swinging lantern; and that, after quickly returning to her room, she was quite positive she heard a door close.But the most surprising reminiscence developed by the late incident was from Mrs.Brimmer's nurse, Susan.As it, apparently, demonstrated the fact that Mr.
Hurlstone not only walked but TALKED in his sleep, it possessed a more mysterious significance.It seemed that Susan was awakened one night by the sound of voices, and, opening her door softly, saw a figure which she at first supposed to be the Senor Perkins, but which she now was satisfied was poor Mr.Hurlstone.As there was no one else to be seen, the voices must have proceeded from that single figure; and being in a strange and unknown tongue, were inexpressibly weird and awful.When pressed to remember what was said, she could only distinguish one word--a woman's name--Virgil--Vigil--no: Virginescia!
"It must have been one of those creatures at Callao, whose pictures you can buy for ten cents," said Mrs.Brimmer.
"If it is one of them, Susan must have made a mistake in the first two syllables of the name," said Mrs.Markham grimly.
"But surely, Miss Keene," said Miss Chubb, turning to that young lady, who had taken only the part of a passive listener to this colloquy, and was gazing over the railing at the sinking sun, "surely YOU can tell us something about this poor young man.If Idon't mistake, you are the only person he ever honored with his conversation.""And only once, I think," said the young girl, slightly coloring.
"He happened to be sitting next to me on deck, and I believe he spoke only out of politeness.At least, he seemed very quiet and reserved, and talked on general topics, and I thought very intelligently.I--should have thought--I mean," she continued hesitatingly--"I thought he was an educated gentleman.""That isn't at all inconsistent with photographs or sleep-walking,"said Mrs.Brimmer, with one of her vague simplicities."Uncle Quincey brought home a whole sheaf of those women whom he said he'd met; and one of my cousins, who was educated at Heidelberg, used to walk in his sleep, as it were, all over Europe.""Did you notice anything queer in his eyes, Miss Keene?" asked Miss Chubb vivaciously.
Miss Keene had noticed that his eyes were his best feature, albeit somewhat abstracted and melancholy; but, for some vague reason she could not explain herself, she answered hurriedly that she had seen nothing very particular in them.
"Well," said Mrs.Markham positively, "when he's able to be out again, I shall consider it my duty to look him up, and try to keep him sufficiently awake in the daytime to ensure his resting better at night.""No one can do it, dear Mrs.Markham, better than you; and no one would think of misunderstanding your motives," said Mrs.Brimmer sweetly."But it's getting late, and the air seems to be ever so much colder.Captain Bunker says it's because we are really nearing the Californian coast.It seems so odd! Mr.Brimmer wrote to me that it was so hot in Sacramento that you could do something with eggs in the sun--I forget what.""Hatch them?" suggested Miss Chubb.
"I think so," returned Mrs.Brimmer, rising."Let us go below."The three ladies rustled away, but Miss Keene, throwing a wrap around her shoulders, lingered by the railing.With one little hand supporting her round chin, she leaned over the darkly heaving water.She was thinking of her brief and only interview with that lonely man whose name was now in everybody's mouth, but who, until to-day, had been passed over by them with an unconcern equal to his own.And yet to her refined and delicately feminine taste there appeared no reason why he should not have mingled with his fellows, and have accepted the homage from them that SHE was instinctively ready to give.He seemed to her like a gentleman--and something more.In her limited but joyous knowledge of the world--a knowledge gathered in the happy school-life of an orphan who but faintly remembered and never missed a parent's care--she knew nothing of the mysterious dominance of passion, suffering, or experience in fashioning the outward expression of men, and saw only that Mr.Hurlstone was unlike any other.That unlikeness was fascinating.He had said very little to her in that very brief period.He had not talked to her with the general gallantry which she already knew her prettiness elicited.Without knowing why, she felt there was a subtle flattery in his tacit recognition of that other self of which she, as yet, knew so little.She could not remember what they had talked about--nor why.Nor was she offended that he had never spoken to her since, nor gone beyond a grave lifting of his hat to her when he passed.