On the fourth day of March, in the year 1867, being at that time in
my five-and-twentieth year, I wrote down the following words in my
note-book--the result of much mental perturbation and conflict:--

"The solar system, amidst a countless number of other systems as
large as itself, rolls ever silently through space in the direction
of the constellation of Hercules. The great spheres of which it is
composed spin and spin through the eternal void ceaselessly and
noiselessly. Of these one of the smallest and most insignificant
is that conglomeration of solid and of liquid particles which we
have named the earth. It whirls onwards now as it has done before
my birth, and will do after my death--a revolving mystery, coming
none know whence, and going none know whither. Upon the outer
crust of this moving mass crawl many mites, of whom I, John
M`Vittie, am one, helpless, impotent, being dragged aimlessly
through space. Yet such is the state of things amongst us that the
little energy and glimmering of reason which I possess is entirely
taken up with the labours which are necessary in order to procure
certain metallic disks, wherewith I may purchase the
chemical elements necessary to build up my ever-wasting tissues,
and keep a roof over me to shelter me from the inclemency of the
weather. I thus have no thought to expend upon the vital questions
which surround me on every side. Yet, miserable entity as I am, I
can still at times feel some degree of happiness, and am even--save
the mark!--puffed up occasionally with a sense of my own
importance."

These words, as I have said, I wrote down in my note-book, and they
reflected accurately the thoughts which I found rooted far down in
my soul, ever present and unaffected by the passing emotions of the
hour. At last, however, came a time when my uncle, M`Vittie of
Glencairn, died--the same who was at one time chairman of
committees of the House of Commons. He divided his great wealth
among his many nephews, and I found myself with sufficient to
provide amply for my wants during the remainder of my life, and
became at the same time owner of a bleak tract of land upon the
coast of Caithness, which I think the old man must have bestowed
upon me in derision, for it was sandy and valueless, and he had
ever a grim sense of humour. Up to this time I had been an
attorney in a midland town in England. Now I saw that I could put
my thoughts into effect, and, leaving all petty and sordid aims,
could elevate my mind by the study of the secrets of nature. My
departure from my English home was somewhat accelerated by the fact
that I had nearly slain a man in a quarrel, for my temper was
fiery, and I was apt to forget my own strength when enraged.
There was no legal action taken in the matter, but the papers
yelped at me, and folk looked askance when I met them. It ended by
my cursing them and their vile, smoke-polluted town, and hurrying
to my northern possession, where I might at last find peace and an
opportunity for solitary study and contemplation. I borrowed from
my capital before I went, and so was able to take with me a choice
collection of the most modern philosophical instruments and books,
together with chemicals and such other things as I might need in my
retirement.

The land which I had inherited was a narrow strip, consisting
mostly of sand, and extending for rather over two miles round the
coast of Mansie Bay, in Caithness. Upon this strip there had been
a rambling, grey-stone building--when erected or wherefore none
could tell me--and this I had repaired, so that it made a dwelling
quite good enough for one of my simple tastes. One room was my
laboratory, another my sitting-room, and in a third, just under the
sloping roof, I slung the hammock in which I always slept. There
were three other rooms, but I left them vacant, except one which
was given over to the old crone who kept house for me. Save the
Youngs and the M`Leods, who were fisher-folk living round at the
other side of Fergus Ness, there were no other people for many
miles in each direction. In front of the house was the great bay,
behind it were two long barren hills, capped by other loftier ones
beyond. There was a glen between the hills, and when the wind
was from the land it used to sweep down this with a melancholy
sough and whisper among the branches of the fir-trees beneath my
attic window.

I dislike my fellow-mortals. Justice compels me to add that they
appear for the most part to dislike me. I hate their little
crawling ways, their conventionalities, their deceits, their narrow
rights and wrongs. They take offence at my brusque outspokenness,
my disregard for their social laws, my impatience of all
constraint. Among my books and my drugs in my lonely den at Mansie
I could let the great drove of the human race pass onwards with
their politics and inventions and tittle-tattle, and I remained
behind stagnant and happy. Not stagnant either, for I was working
in my own little groove, and making progress. I have reason to
believe that Dalton's atomic theory is founded upon error, and I
know that mercury is not an element.

During the day I was busy with my distillations and analyses.
Often I forgot my meals, and when old Madge summoned me to my tea
I found my dinner lying untouched upon the table. At night I read
Bacon, Descartes, Spinoza, Kant--all those who have pried into what
is unknowable. They are all fruitless and empty, barren of result,
but prodigal of polysyllables, reminding me of men who, while
digging for gold, have turned up many worms, and then exhibit them
exultantly as being what they sought. At times a restless spirit
would come upon me, and I would walk thirty and forty miles without
rest or breaking fast. On these occasions, when I used to
stalk through the country villages, gaunt, unshaven, and
dishevelled, the mothers would rush into the road and drag their
children indoors, and the rustics would swarm out of their pot-
houses to gaze at me. I believe that I was known far and wide as
the "mad laird o' Mansie." It was rarely, however, that I made
these raids into the country, for I usually took my exercise upon
my own beach, where I soothed my spirit with strong black tobacco,
and made the ocean my friend and my confidant.

What companion is there like the great restless, throbbing sea?
What human mood is there which it does not match and sympathise
with? There are none so gay but that they may feel gayer when they
listen to its merry turmoil, and see the long green surges racing
in, with the glint of the sunbeams in their sparkling crests. But
when the grey waves toss their heads in anger, and the wind screams
above them, goading them on to madder and more tumultuous efforts,
then the darkest-minded of men feels that there is a melancholy
principle in Nature which is as gloomy as his own thoughts. When
it was calm in the Bay of Mansie the surface would be as clear and
bright as a sheet of silver, broken only at one spot some little
way from the shore, where a long black line projected out of the
water looking like the jagged back of some sleeping monster. This
was the top of the dangerous ridge of rocks known to the fishermen
as the "ragged reef o' Mansie." When the wind blew from the east
the waves would break upon it like thunder, and the spray
would be tossed far over my house and up to the hills behind. The
bay itself was a bold and noble one, but too much exposed to the
northern and eastern gales, and too much dreaded for its reef, to
be much used by mariners. There was something of romance about
this lonely spot. I have lain in my boat upon a calm day, and
peering over the edge I have seen far down the flickering, ghostly
forms of great fish--fish, as it seemed to me, such as naturalist
never knew, and which my imagination transformed into the genii of
that desolate bay. Once, as I stood by the brink of the waters
upon a quiet night, a great cry, as of a woman in hopeless grief,
rose from the bosom of the deep, and swelled out upon the still
air, now sinking and now rising, for a space of thirty seconds.
This I heard with my own ears.

In this strange spot, with the eternal hills behind me and the
eternal sea in front, I worked and brooded for more than two years
unpestered by my fellow men. By degrees I had trained my old
servant into habits of silence, so that she now rarely opened her
lips, though I doubt not that when twice a year she visited her
relations in Wick, her tongue during those few days made up for its
enforced rest. I had come almost to forget that I was a member of
the human family, and to live entirely with the dead whose books I
pored over, when a sudden incident occurred which threw all my
thoughts into a new channel.

Three rough days in June had been succeeded by one calm and
peaceful one. There was not a breath of air that evening. The sun
sank down in the west behind a line of purple clouds, and the
smooth surface of the bay was gashed with scarlet streaks. Along
the beach the pools left by the tide showed up like gouts of blood
against the yellow sand, as if some wounded giant had toilfully
passed that way, and had left these red traces of his grievous hurt
behind him. As the darkness closed in, certain ragged clouds which
had lain low on the eastern horizon coalesced and formed a great
irregular cumulus. The glass was still low, and I knew that there
was mischief brewing. About nine o'clock a dull moaning sound came
up from the sea, as from a creature who, much harassed, learns that
the hour of suffering has come round again. At ten a sharp breeze
sprang up from the eastward. At eleven it had increased to a gale,
and by midnight the most furious storm was raging which I ever
remember upon that weather-beaten coast.

As I went to bed the shingle and seaweed were pattering up against
my attic window, and the wind was screaming as though every gust
were a lost soul. By that time the sounds of the tempest had
become a lullaby to me. I knew that the grey walls of the old
house would buffet it out, and for what occurred in the world
outside I had small concern. Old Madge was usually as callous to
such things as I was myself. It was a surprise to me when, about
three in the morning, I was awoke by the sound of a great knocking
at my door and excited cries in the wheezy voice of my house-
keeper. I sprang out of my hammock, and roughly demanded of
her what was the matter.

"Eh, maister, maister!" she screamed in her hateful dialect. "Come
doun, mun; come doun! There's a muckle ship gaun ashore on the
reef, and the puir folks are a' yammerin' and ca'in' for help--and
I doobt they'll a' be drooned. Oh, Maister M`Vittie, come doun!"

"Hold your tongue, you hag!" I shouted back in a passion. "What is
it to you whether they are drowned or not? Get back to your bed
and leave me alone." I turned in again and drew the blankets over
me. "Those men out there," I said to myself, "have already gone
through half the horrors of death. If they be saved they will but
have to go through the same once more in the space of a few brief
years. It is best therefore that they should pass away now, since
they have suffered that anticipation which is more than the pain of
dissolution." With this thought in my mind I endeavoured to
compose myself to sleep once more, for that philosophy which had
taught me to consider death as a small and trivial incident in
man's eternal and everchanging career, had also broken me of much
curiosity concerning worldly matters. On this occasion I found,
however, that the old leaven still fermented strongly in my soul.
I tossed from side to side for some minutes endeavouring to beat
down the impulses of the moment by the rules of conduct which I had
framed during months of thought. Then I heard a dull roar amid the
wild shriek of the gale, and I knew that it was the sound of
a signal-gun. Driven by an uncontrollable impulse, I rose,
dressed, and having lit my pipe, walked out on to the beach.

It was pitch dark when I came outside, and the wind blew with such
violence that I had to put my shoulder against it and push my way
along the shingle. My face pringled and smarted with the sting of
the gravel which was blown against it, and the red ashes of my pipe
streamed away behind me, dancing fantastically through the
darkness. I went down to where the great waves were thundering in,
and shading my eyes with my hands to keep off the salt spray, I
peered out to sea. I could distinguish nothing, and yet it seemed
to me that shouts and great inarticulate cries were borne to me by
the blasts. Suddenly as I gazed I made out the glint of a light,
and then the whole bay and the beach were lit up in a moment by a
vivid blue glare. They were burning a coloured signal-light on
board of the vessel. There she lay on her beam ends right in the
centre of the jagged reef, hurled over to such an angle that I
could see all the planking of her deck. She was a large two-masted
schooner, of foreign rig, and lay perhaps a hundred and eighty or
two hundred yards from the shore. Every spar and rope and writhing
piece of cordage showed up hard and clear under the livid light
which sputtered and flickered from the highest portion of the
forecastle. Beyond the doomed ship out of the great darkness came
the long rolling lines of black waves, never ending, never tiring,
with a petulant tuft of foam here and there upon their crests.
Each as it reached the broad circle of unnatural light appeared to
gather strength and volume, and to hurry on more impetuously until,
with a roar and a jarring crash, it sprang upon its victim.
Clinging to the weather shrouds I could distinctly see some ten or
twelve frightened seamen, who, when their light revealed my
presence, turned their white faces towards me and waved their hands
imploringly. I felt my gorge rise against these poor cowering
worms. Why should they presume to shirk the narrow pathway along
which all that is great and noble among mankind has travelled?
There was one there who interested me more than they. He was a
tall man, who stood apart from the others, balancing himself upon
the swaying wreck as though he disdained to cling to rope or
bulwark. His hands were clasped behind his back and his head was
sunk upon his breast, but even in that despondent attitude there
was a litheness and decision in his pose and in every motion which
marked him as a man little likely to yield to despair. Indeed, I
could see by his occasional rapid glances up and down and all
around him that he was weighing every chance of safety, but though
he often gazed across the raging surf to where he could see my dark
figure upon the beach, his self-respect or some other reason
forbade him from imploring my help in any way. He stood, dark,
silent, and inscrutable, looking down on the black sea, and waiting
for whatever fortune Fate might send him.

It seemed to me that that problem would very soon be settled. As
I looked, an enormous billow, topping all the others, and
coming after them, like a driver following a flock, swept over the
vessel. Her foremast snapped short off, and the men who clung to
the shrouds were brushed away like a swarm of flies. With a
rending, riving sound the ship began to split in two, where the
sharp back of the Mansie reef was sawing into her keel. The
solitary man upon the forecastle ran rapidly across the deck and
seized hold of a white bundle which I had already observed but
failed to make out. As he lifted it up the light fell upon it, and
I saw that the object was a woman, with a spar lashed across her
body and under her arms in such a way that her head should always
rise above water. He bore her tenderly to the side and seemed to
speak for a minute or so to her, as though explaining the
impossibility of remaining upon the ship. Her answer was a
singular one. I saw her deliberately raise her hand and strike him
across the face with it. He appeared to be silenced for a moment
or so by this, but he addressed her again, directing her, as far as
I could gather from his motions, how she should behave when in the
water. She shrank away from him, but he caught her in his arms.
He stooped over her for a moment and seemed to press his lips
against her forehead. Then a great wave came welling up against
the side of the breaking vessel, and leaning over he placed her
upon the summit of it as gently as a child might be committed to
its cradle. I saw her white dress flickering among the foam on the
crest of the dark billow, and then the light sank gradually lower,
and the riven ship and its lonely occupant were hidden from my
eyes.

As I watched those things my manhood overcame my philosophy, and I
felt a frantic impulse to be up and doing. I threw my cynicism to
one side as a garment which I might don again at leisure, and I
rushed wildly to my boat and my sculls. She was a leaky tub, but
what then? Was I, who had cast many a wistful, doubtful glance at
my opium bottle, to begin now to weigh chances and to cavil at
danger. I dragged her down to the sea with the strength of a
maniac and sprang in. For a moment or two it was a question
whether she could live among the boiling surge, but a dozen frantic
strokes took me through it, half full of water but still afloat.
I was out on the unbroken waves now, at one time climbing, climbing
up the broad black breast of one, then sinking down, down on the
other side, until looking up I could see the gleam of the foam all
around me against the dark heavens. Far behind me I could hear the
wild wailings of old Madge, who, seeing me start, thought no doubt
that my madness had come to a climax. As I rowed I peered over my
shoulder, until at last on the belly of a great wave which was
sweeping towards me I distinguished the vague white outline of the
woman. Stooping over, I seized her as she swept by me, and with an
effort lifted her, all sodden with water, into the boat. There was
no need to row back, for the next billow carried us in and threw us
upon the beach. I dragged the boat out of danger, and then lifting
up the woman I carried her to the house, followed by my
housekeeper, loud with congratulation and praise.

Now that I had done this thing a reaction set in upon me. I felt
that my burden lived, for I heard the faint beat of her heart as I
pressed my ear against her side in carrying her. Knowing this, I
threw her down beside the fire which Madge had lit, with as little
sympathy as though she had been a bundle of fagots. I never
glanced at her to see if she were fair or no. For many years I had
cared little for the face of a woman. As I lay in my hammock
upstairs, however, I heard the old woman as she chafed the warmth
back into her, crooning a chorus of, "Eh, the puir lassie! Eh, the
bonnie lassie!" from which I gathered that this piece of jetsam was
both young and comely.


The morning after the gale was peaceful and sunny. As I walked
along the long sweep of sand I could hear the panting of the sea.
It was heaving and swirling about the reef, but along the shore it
rippled in gently enough. There was no sign of the schooner, nor
was there any wreckage upon the beach, which did not surprise me,
as I knew there was a great undertow in those waters. A couple of
broad-winged gulls were hovering and skimming over the scene of the
shipwreck, as though many strange things were visible to them
beneath the waves. At times I could hear their raucous voices as
they spoke to one another of what they saw.

When I came back from my walk the woman was waiting at the
door for me. I began to wish when I saw her that I had never saved
her, for here was an end of my privacy. She was very young--at the
most nineteen, with a pale somewhat refined face, yellow hair,
merry blue eyes, and shining teeth. Her beauty was of an ethereal
type. She looked so white and light and fragile that she might
have been the spirit of that storm-foam from out of which I plucked
her. She had wreathed some of Madge's garments round her in a way
which was quaint and not unbecoming. As I strode heavily up the
pathway, she put out her hands with a pretty child-like gesture,
and ran down towards me, meaning, as I surmise, to thank me for
having saved her, but I put her aside with a wave of my hand and
passed her. At this she seemed somewhat hurt, and the tears sprang
into her eyes, but she followed me into the sitting-room and
watched me wistfully. "What country do you come from?" I asked her
suddenly.

She smiled when I spoke, but shook her head.

"Francais?" I asked. "Deutsch?" "Espagnol?"--each time she shook
her head, and then she rippled off into a long statement in some
tongue of which I could not understand one word.

After breakfast was over, however, I got a clue to her nationality.

Passing along the beach once more, I saw that in a cleft of the
ridge a piece of wood had been jammed. I rowed out to it in my
boat, and brought it ashore. It was part of the sternpost of a
boat, and on it, or rather on the piece of wood attached to
it, was the word "Archangel," painted in strange, quaint lettering.

"So," I thought, as I paddled slowly back, "this pale damsel is a
Russian. A fit subject for the White Czar and a proper dweller on
the shores of the White Sea!" It seemed to me strange that one of
her apparent refinement should perform so long a journey in so
frail a craft. When I came back into the house, I pronounced the
word "Archangel" several times in different intonations, but she
did not appear to recognise it.

I shut myself up in the laboratory all the morning, continuing a
research which I was making upon the nature of the allotropic forms
of carbon and of sulphur. When I came out at mid-day for some food
she was sitting by the table with a needle and thread, mending some
rents in her clothes, which were now dry. I resented her continued
presence, but I could not turn her out on the beach to shift for
herself. Presently she presented a new phase of her character.
Pointing to herself and then to the scene of the shipwreck, she
held up one finger, by which I understood her to be asking whether
she was the only one saved. I nodded my head to indicate that she
was. On this she sprang out of the chair with a cry of great joy,
and holding the garment which she was mending over her head, and
swaying it from side to side with the motion of her body, she
danced as lightly as a feather all round the room, and then out
through the open door into the sunshine. As she whirled round she
sang in a plaintive shrill voice some uncouth barbarous chant,
expressive of exultation. I called out to her, "Come in, you
young fiend, come in and be silent!" but she went on with her
dance. Then she suddenly ran towards me, and catching my hand
before I could pluck it away, she kissed it. While we were at
dinner she spied one of my pencils, and taking it up she wrote the
two words "Sophie Ramusine" upon a piece of paper, and then pointed
to herself as a sign that that was her name. She handed the pencil
to me, evidently expecting that I would be equally communicative,
but I put it in my pocket as a sign that I wished to hold no
intercourse with her.

Every moment of my life now I regretted the unguarded precipitancy
with which I had saved this woman. What was it to me whether she
had lived or died? I was no young, hot-headed youth to do such
things. It was bad enough to be compelled to have Madge in the
house, but she was old and ugly, and could be ignored. This one
was young and lively, and so fashioned as to divert attention from
graver things. Where could I send her, and what could I do with
her? If I sent information to Wick it would mean that officials
and others would come to me and pry, and peep, and chatter--a
hateful thought. It was better to endure her presence than that.

I soon found that there were fresh troubles in store for me. There
is no place safe from the swarming, restless race of which I am a
member. In the evening, when the sun was dipping down behind the
hills, casting them into dark shadow, but gilding the sands and
casting a great glory over the sea, I went, as is my custom,
for a stroll along the beach. Sometimes on these occasions I took
my book with me. I did so on this night, and stretching myself
upon a sand-dune I composed myself to read. As I lay there I
suddenly became aware of a shadow which interposed itself between
the sun and myself. Looking round, I saw to my great surprise a
very tall, powerful man, who was standing a few yards off, and who,
instead of looking at me, was ignoring my existence completely, and
was gazing over my head with a stern set face at the bay and the
black line of the Mansie reef. His complexion was dark, with black
hair, and short, curling beard, a hawk-like nose, and golden
earrings in his ears--the general effect being wild and somewhat
noble. He wore a faded velveteen jacket, a red-flannel shirt, and
high sea boots, coming half-way up his thighs. I recognised him at
a glance as being the same man who had been left on the wreck the
night before.

"Hullo!" I said, in an aggrieved voice. "You got ashore all right,
then?"

"Yes," he answered, in good English. "It was no doing of mine.
The waves threw me up. I wish to God I had been allowed to drown!"

There was a slight foreign lisp in his accent which was rather
pleasing. "Two good fishermen, who live round yonder point, pulled
me out and cared for me; yet I could not honestly thank them for
it."

"Ho! ho!" thought I, "here is a man of my own kidney. Why do you
wish to be drowned?" I asked.

"Because," he cried, throwing out his long arms with a passionate,
despairing gesture, "there--there in that blue smiling bay, lies my
soul, my treasure--everything that I loved and lived for."

"Well, well," I said. "People are ruined every day, but there's no
use making a fuss about it. Let me inform you that this ground on
which you walk is my ground, and that the sooner you take yourself
off it the better pleased I shall be. One of you is quite trouble
enough."

"One of us?" he gasped.

"Yes--if you could take her off with you I should be still more
grateful."

He gazed at me for a moment as if hardly able to realise what I
said, and then with a wild cry he ran away from me with prodigious
speed and raced along the sands towards my house. Never before or
since have I seen a human being run so fast. I followed as rapidly
as I could, furious at this threatened invasion, but long before I
reached the house he had disappeared through the open door. I
heard a great scream from the inside, and as I came nearer the
sound of a man's bass voice speaking rapidly and loudly. When I
looked in the girl, Sophie Ramusine, was crouching in a corner,
cowering away, with fear and loathing expressed on her averted face
and in every line of her shrinking form. The other, with his dark
eyes flashing, and his outstretched hands quivering with emotion,
was pouring forth a torrent of passionate pleading words. He made
a step forward to her as I entered, but she writhed still
further away, and uttered a sharp cry like that of a rabbit when
the weasel has him by the throat.

"Here!" I said, pulling him back from her. "This is a pretty to-
do! What do you mean? Do you think this is a wayside inn or place
of public accommodation?"

"Oh, sir," he said, "excuse me. This woman is my wife, and I
feared that she was drowned. You have brought me back to life."

"Who are you?" I asked roughly.

"I am a man from Archangel," he said simply; "a Russian man."

"What is your name?"

"Ourganeff."

"Ourganeff!--and hers is Sophie Ramusine. She is no wife of yours.

She has no ring."

"We are man and wife in the sight of Heaven," he said solemnly,
looking upwards. "We are bound by higher laws than those of
earth." As he spoke the girl slipped behind me and caught me by
the other hand, pressing it as though beseeching my protection.
"Give me up my wife, sir," he went on. "Let me take her away from
here."

"Look here, you--whatever your name is," I said sternly; "I don't
want this wench here. I wish I had never seen her. If she died it
would be no grief to me. But as to handing her over to you, when
it is clear she fears and hates you, I won't do it. So now just
clear your great body out of this, and leave me to my books.
I hope I may never look upon your face again."

"You won't give her up to me?" he said hoarsely.

"I'll see you damned first!" I answered.

"Suppose I take her," he cried, his dark face growing darker.

All my tigerish blood flushed up in a moment. I picked up a billet
of wood from beside the fireplace. "Go," I said, in a low voice;
"go quick, or I may do you an injury." He looked at me
irresolutely for a moment, and then he left the house. He came
back again in a moment, however, and stood in the doorway looking
in at us.

"Have a heed what you do," he said. "The woman is mine, and I
shall have her. When it comes to blows, a Russian is as good a man
as a Scotchman."

"We shall see that," I cried, springing forward, but he was already
gone, and I could see his tall form moving away through the
gathering darkness.

For a month or more after this things went smoothly with us. I
never spoke to the Russian girl, nor did she ever address me.
Sometimes when I was at work in my laboratory she would slip inside
the door and sit silently there watching me with her great eyes.
At first this intrusion annoyed me, but by degrees, finding that
she made no attempt to distract my attention, I suffered her to
remain. Encouraged by this concession, she gradually came to move
the stool on which she sat nearer and nearer to my table, until
after gaining a little every day during some weeks, she at last
worked her way right up to me, and used to perch herself
beside me whenever I worked. In this position she used, still
without ever obtruding her presence in any way, to make herself
very useful by holding my pens, test-tubes, or bottles, and handing
me whatever I wanted, with never-failing sagacity. By ignoring the
fact of her being a human being, and looking upon her as a useful
automatic machine, I accustomed myself to her presence so far as to
miss her on the few occasions when she was not at her post. I have
a habit of talking aloud to myself at times when I work, so as to
fix my results better in my mind. The girl must have had a
surprising memory for sounds, for she could always repeat the words
which I let fall in this way, without, of course, understanding in
the least what they meant. I have often been amused at hearing her
discharge a volley of chemical equations and algebraic symbols at
old Madge, and then burst into a ringing laugh when the crone would
shake her head, under the impression, no doubt, that she was being
addressed in Russian.

She never went more than a few yards from the house, and indeed
never put her foot over the threshold without looking carefully out
of each window in order to be sure that there was nobody about. By
this I knew that she suspected that her fellow-countryman was still
in the neighbourhood, and feared that he might attempt to carry her
off. She did something else which was significant. I had an old
revolver with some cartridges, which had been thrown away
among the rubbish. She found this one day, and at once
proceeded to clean it and oil it. She hung it up near the door,
with the cartridges in a little bag beside it, and whenever I went
for a walk, she would take it down and insist upon my carrying it
with me. In my absence she would always bolt the door. Apart from
her apprehensions she seemed fairly happy, busying herself in
helping Madge when she was not attending upon me. She was
wonderfully nimble-fingered and natty in all domestic duties.

It was not long before I discovered that her suspicions were well
founded, and that this man from Archangel was still lurking in the
vicinity. Being restless one night I rose and peered out of the
window. The weather was somewhat cloudy, and I could barely make
out the line of the sea, and the loom of my boat upon the beach.
As I gazed, however, and my eyes became accustomed to the
obscurity, I became aware that there was some other dark blur upon
the sands, and that in front of my very door, where certainly there
had been nothing of the sort the preceding night. As I stood at my
diamond-paned lattice still peering and peeping to make out what
this might be, a great bank of clouds rolled slowly away from the
face of the moon, and a flood of cold, clear light was poured down
upon the silent bay and the long sweep of its desolate shores.
Then I saw what this was which haunted my doorstep. It was he, the
Russian. He squatted there like a gigantic toad, with his legs
doubled under him in strange Mongolian fashion, and his eyes fixed
apparently upon the window of the room in which the young girl
and the housekeeper slept. The light fell upon his upturned face,
and I saw once more the hawk-like grace of his countenance, with
the single deeply-indented line of care upon his brow, and the
protruding beard which marks the passionate nature. My first
impulse was to shoot him as a trespasser, but, as I gazed, my
resentment changed into pity and contempt. "Poor fool," I said to
myself, "is it then possible that you, whom I have seen looking
open-eyed at present death, should have your whole thoughts and
ambition centred upon this wretched slip of a girl--a girl, too,
who flies from you and hates you. Most women would love you--were
it but for that dark face and great handsome body of yours--and yet
you must needs hanker after the one in a thousand who will have no
traffic with you." As I returned to my bed I chuckled much to
myself over this thought. I knew that my bars were strong and my
bolts thick. It mattered little to me whether this strange man
spent his night at my door or a hundred leagues off, so long as he
was gone by the morning. As I expected, when I rose and went out
there was no sign of him, nor had he left any trace of his midnight
vigil.

It was not long, however, before I saw him again. I had been out
for a row one morning, for my head was aching, partly from
prolonged stooping, and partly from the effects of a noxious drug
which I had inhaled the night before. I pulled along the coast
some miles, and then, feeling thirsty, I landed at a place where I
knew that a fresh water stream trickled down into the sea.
This rivulet passed through my land, but the mouth of it, where I
found myself that day, was beyond my boundary line. I felt
somewhat taken aback when rising from the stream at which I had
slaked my thirst I found myself face to face with the Russian. I
was as much a trespasser now as he was, and I could see at a glance
that he knew it.

"I wish to speak a few words to you," he said gravely.

"Hurry up, then!" I answered, glancing at my watch. "I have no
time to listen to chatter."

"Chatter!" he repeated angrily. "Ah, but there. You Scotch people
are strange men. Your face is hard and your words rough, but so
are those of the good fishermen with whom I stay, yet I find that
beneath it all there lie kind honest natures. No doubt you are
kind and good, too, in spite of your roughness."

"In the name of the devil," I said, "say your say, and go your way.

I am weary of the sight of you."

"Can I not soften you in any way?" he cried. " Ah, see--see
here"--he produced a small Grecian cross from inside his velvet
jacket. "Look at this. Our religions may differ in form, but at
least we have some common thoughts and feelings when we see this
emblem."

"I am not so sure of that," I answered.

He looked at me thoughtfully.

"You are a very strange man," he said at last. "I cannot
understand you. You still stand between me and Sophie. It is
a dangerous position to take, sir. Oh, believe me, before it is
too late. If you did but know what I have done to gain that
woman--how I have risked my body, how I have lost my soul! You are
a small obstacle to some which I have surmounted--you, whom a rip
with a knife, or a blow from a stone, would put out of my way for
ever. But God preserve me from that," he cried wildly. "I am
deep--too deep--already. Anything rather than that."

"You would do better to go back to your country," I said, "than to
skulk about these sand-hills and disturb my leisure. When I have
proof that you have gone away I shall hand this woman over to the
protection of the Russian Consul at Edinburgh. Until then, I shall
guard her myself, and not you, nor any Muscovite that ever
breathed, shall take her from me."

"And what is your object in keeping me from Sophie?" he asked. "Do
you imagine that I would injure her? Why, man, I would give my
life freely to save her from the slightest harm. Why do you do
this thing?"

"I do it because it is my good pleasure to act so," I answered. "I
give no man reasons for my conduct."

"Look here!" he cried, suddenly blazing into fury, and advancing
towards me with his shaggy mane bristling and his brown hands
clenched. "If I thought you had one dishonest thought towards this
girl--if for a moment I had reason to believe that you had any base
motive for detaining her--as sure as there is a God in Heaven I
should drag the heart out of your bosom with my hands." The
very idea seemed to have put the man in a frenzy, for his face was
all distorted and his hands opened and shut convulsively. I
thought that he was about to spring at my throat.

"Stand off," I said, putting my hand on my pistol. "If you lay a
finger on me I shall kill you."

He put his hand into his pocket, and for a moment I thought he was
about to produce a weapon too, but instead of that he whipped out
a cigarette and lit it, breathing the smoke rapidly into his lungs.

No doubt he had found by experience that this was the most
effectual way of curbing his passions.

"I told you," he said in a quieter voice, "that my name is
Ourganeff--Alexis Ourganeff. I am a Finn by birth, but I have
spent my life in every part of the world. I was one who could
never be still, nor settle down to a quiet existence. After I came
to own my own ship there is hardly a port from Archangel to
Australia which I have not entered. I was rough and wild and free,
but there was one at home, sir, who was prim and white-handed and
soft-tongued, skilful in little fancies and conceits which women
love. This youth by his wiles and tricks stole from me the love of
the girl whom I had ever marked as my own, and who up to that time
had seemed in some sort inclined to return my passion. I had been
on a voyage to Hammerfest for ivory, and coming back unexpectedly
I learned that my pride and treasure was to be married to this
soft-skinned boy, and that the party had actually gone to the
church. In such moments, sir, something gives way in my head,
and I hardly know what I do. I landed with a boat's crew--all men
who had sailed with me for years, and who were as true as steel.
We went up to the church. They were standing, she and he, before
the priest, but the thing had not been done. I dashed between them
and caught her round the waist. My men beat back the frightened
bridegroom and the lookers on. We bore her down to the boat and
aboard our vessel, and then getting up anchor we sailed away across
the White Sea until the spires of Archangel sank down behind the
horizon. She had my cabin, my room, every comfort. I slept among
the men in the forecastle. I hoped that in time her aversion to me
would wear away, and that she would consent to marry me in England
or in France. For days and days we sailed. We saw the North Cape
die away behind us, and we skirted the grey Norwegian coast, but
still, in spite of every attention, she would not forgive me for
tearing her from that pale-faced lover of hers. Then came this
cursed storm which shattered both my ship and my hopes, and has
deprived me even of the sight of the woman for whom I have risked
so much. Perhaps she may learn to love me yet. You, sir," he said
wistfully, "look like one who has seen much of the world. Do you
not think that she may come to forget this man and to love me?"

"I am tired of your story," I said, turning away. "For my part, I
think you are a great fool. If you imagine that this love of yours
will pass away you had best amuse yourself as best you can until it
does. If, on the other hand, it is a fixed thing, you cannot
do better than cut your throat, for that is the shortest way out of
it. I have no more time to waste on the matter." With this I
hurried away and walked down to the boat. I never looked round,
but I heard the dull sound of his feet upon the sands as he
followed me.

"I have told you the beginning of my story," he said, "and you
shall know the end some day. You would do well to let the girl
go."

I never answered him, but pushed the boat off. When I had rowed
some distance out I looked back and saw his tall figure upon the
yellow sand as he stood gazing thoughtfully after me. When I
looked again some minutes later he had disappeared.

For a long time after this my life was as regular and as monotonous
as it had been before the shipwreck. At times I hoped that the man
from Archangel had gone away altogether, but certain footsteps
which I saw upon the sand, and more particularly a little pile of
cigarette ash which I found one day behind a hillock from which a
view of the house might be obtained, warned me that, though
invisible, he was still in the vicinity. My relations with the
Russian girl remained the same as before. Old Madge had been
somewhat jealous of her presence at first, and seemed to fear that
what little authority she had would be taken away from her. By
degrees, however, as she came to realise my utter indifference, she
became reconciled to the situation, and, as I have said before,
profited by it, as our visitor performed much of the domestic work.

And now I am coming near the end of this narrative of mine, which
I have written a great deal more for my own amusement than for that
of any one else. The termination of the strange episode in which
these two Russians had played a part was as wild and as sudden as
the commencement. The events of one single night freed me from all
my troubles, and left me once more alone with my books and my
studies, as I had been before their intrusion. Let me endeavour to
describe how this came about.

I had had a long day of heavy and wearying work, so that in the
evening I determined upon taking a long walk. When I emerged from
the house my attention was attracted by the appearance of the sea.
It lay like a sheet of glass, so that never a ripple disturbed its
surface. Yet the air was filled with that indescribable moaning
sound which I have alluded to before--a sound as though the spirits
of all those who lay beneath those treacherous waters were sending
a sad warning of coming troubles to their brethren in the flesh.
The fishermen's wives along that coast know the eerie sound, and
look anxiously across the waters for the brown sails making for the
land. When I heard it I stepped back into the house and looked at
the glass. It was down below 29 degrees. Then I knew that a wild
night was coming upon us.

Underneath the hills where I walked that evening it was dull and
chill, but their summits were rosy-red, and the sea was brightened
by the sinking sun. There were no clouds of importance in the sky,
yet the dull groaning of the sea grew louder and stronger. I
saw, far to the eastward, a brig beating up for Wick, with a reef
in her topsails. It was evident that her captain had read the
signs of nature as I had done. Behind her a long, lurid haze lay
low upon the water, concealing the horizon. "I had better push
on," I thought to myself, "or the wind may rise before I can get
back."

I suppose I must have been at least half a mile from the house when
I suddenly stopped and listened breathlessly. My ears were so
accustomed to the noises of nature, the sighing of the breeze and
the sob of the waves, that any other sound made itself heard at a
great distance. I waited, listening with all my ears. Yes, there
it was again--a long-drawn, shrill cry of despair, ringing over the
sands and echoed back from the hills behind me--a piteous appeal
for aid. It came from the direction of my house. I turned and ran
back homewards at the top of my speed, ploughing through the sand,
racing over the shingle. In my mind there was a great dim
perception of what had occurred.

About a quarter of a mile from the house there is a high sand-hill,
from which the whole country round is visible. When I reached the
top of this I paused for a moment. There was the old grey
building--there the boat. Everything seemed to be as I had left
it. Even as I gazed, however, the shrill scream was repeated,
louder than before, and the next moment a tall figure emerged from
my door, the figure of the Russian sailor. Over his shoulder
was the white form of the young girl, and even in his haste he
seemed to bear her tenderly and with gentle reverence. I could
hear her wild cries and see her desperate struggles to break away
from him. Behind the couple came my old housekeeper, staunch and
true, as the aged dog, who can no longer bite, still snarls with
toothless gums at the intruder. She staggered feebly along at the
heels of the ravisher, waving her long, thin arms, and hurling, no
doubt, volleys of Scotch curses and imprecations at his head. I
saw at a glance that he was making for the boat. A sudden hope
sprang up in my soul that I might be in time to intercept him. I
ran for the beach at the top of my speed. As I ran I slipped a
cartridge into my revolver. This I determined should be the last
of these invasions.

I was too late. By the time I reached the water's edge he was a
hundred yards away, making the boat spring with every stroke of his
powerful arms. I uttered a wild cry of impotent anger, and stamped
up and down the sands like a maniac. He turned and saw me. Rising
from his seat he made me a graceful bow, and waved his hand to me.
It was not a triumphant or a derisive gesture. Even my furious and
distempered mind recognised it as being a solemn and courteous
leave-taking. Then he settled down to his oars once more, and the
little skiff shot away out over the bay. The sun had gone down
now, leaving a single dull, red streak upon the water, which
stretched away until it blended with the purple haze on the
horizon. Gradually the skiff grew smaller and smaller as it
sped across this lurid band, until the shades of night gathered
round it and it became a mere blur upon the lonely sea. Then this
vague loom died away also and darkness settled over it--a darkness
which should never more be raised.

And why did I pace the solitary shore, hot and wrathful as a wolf
whose whelp has been torn from it? Was it that I loved this
Muscovite girl? No--a thousand times no. I am not one who, for
the sake of a white skin or a blue eye, would belie my own life,
and change the whole tenor of my thoughts and existence. My heart
was untouched. But my pride--ah, there I had been cruelly wounded.

To think that I had been unable to afford protection to the
helpless one who craved it of me, and who relied on me! It was
that which made my heart sick and sent the blood buzzing through my
ears.

That night a great wind rose up from the sea, and the wild waves
shrieked upon the shore as though they would tear it back with them
into the ocean. The turmoil and the uproar were congenial to my
vexed spirit. All night I wandered up and down, wet with spray and
rain, watching the gleam of the white breakers and listening to the
outcry of the storm. My heart was bitter against the Russian. I
joined my feeble pipe to the screaming of the gale. "If he would
but come back again!" I cried with clenched hands; "if he would but
come back!"

He came back. When the grey light of morning spread over the
eastern sky, and lit up the great waste of yellow, tossing waters,
with the brown clouds drifting swiftly over them, then I saw him
once again. A few hundred yards off along the sand there lay a
long dark object, cast up by the fury of the waves. It was my
boat, much shattered and splintered. A little further on, a vague,
shapeless something was washing to and fro in the shallow water,
all mixed with shingle and with seaweed. I saw at a glance that it
was the Russian, face downwards and dead. I rushed into the water
and dragged him up on to the beach. It was only when I turned him
over that I discovered that she was beneath him, his dead arms
encircling her, his mangled body still intervening between her and
the fury of the storm. It seemed that the fierce German Sea might
beat the life from him, but with all its strength it was unable to
tear this one-idea'd man from the woman whom he loved. There were
signs which led me to believe that during that awful night the
woman's fickle mind had come at last to learn the worth of the true
heart and strong arm which struggled for her and guarded her so
tenderly. Why else should her little head be nestling so lovingly
on his broad breast, while her yellow hair entwined itself with his
flowing beard? Why too should there be that bright smile of
ineffable happiness and triumph, which death itself had not had
power to banish from his dusky face? I fancy that death had been
brighter to him than life had ever been.

Madge and I buried them there on the shores of the desolate
northern sea. They lie in one grave deep down beneath the yellow
sand. Strange things may happen in the world around them. Empires
may rise and may fall, dynasties may perish, great wars may come
and go, but, heedless of it all, those two shall embrace each other
for ever and aye, in their lonely shrine by the side of the
sounding ocean. I sometimes have thought that their spirits flit
like shadowy sea-mews over the wild waters of the bay. No cross or
symbol marks their resting-place, but old Madge puts wild flowers
upon it at times, and when I pass on my daily walk and see the
fresh blossoms scattered over the sand, I think of the strange
couple who came from afar, and broke for a little space the dull
tenor of my sombre life.