"As a nurse I've done that hundreds of times. But frankly, I can't read
poetry; I begin to sing-song it at once; it becomes rime without reason.
What is the book?"
Cleigh extended it to her. The moment her hands touched the volume she saw
that she was holding something immeasurably precious. The form was unlike
the familiar shapes of modern books. The covers consisted of exquisitely
hand-tooled calf bound by thongs; there was a subtle perfume as she opened
them. Illuminated vellum. She uttered a pleasurable little gasp.
"The Song of Songs, which is Solomon's," she read.
"Fifteenth century--the vellum. The Florentine covers were probably added
in the seventeenth. I have four more downstairs. They are museum pieces,
as we say."
"That is to say, priceless?"
"After a fashion."
"'Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a
man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly
be contemned!'"
"Why did you select that?"
"I didn't select it; I remembered it--because it is true."
"You have a very pleasant voice. Go on--read."
Thus for an hour she read to him, and by the time she grew tired Cleigh
was sound asleep. The look of granite was gone from his face, and she saw
that he, too, had been handsome in his youth. Why had he struck Denny on
the mouth? What had the son done so to enrage the father? Some woman! And
where had she met the man? Oh, she was certain that she had encountered
him before! But for the present the gate to recollection refused to swing
outward. Gently she laid the beautiful book on his knees and stole over to
the rail. For a while she watched the flying fish.
Then came one of those impulses which keep human beings from becoming half
gods--a wrong impulse, surrendered to immediately, unweighed, unanalyzed,
unchallenged. The father asleep, the son amusing himself with the
phonograph, she was now unobserved by her guardians; and so she put into
execution the thought that had been urging and intriguing her since the
strange voyage began--a visit to the chart house. She wanted to ask
Cunningham some questions. He would know something about the Cleighs.
The port door to the chart house was open, latched back against the side.
She hesitated for a moment outside the high-beamed threshold--hesitated
because Captain Newton was not visible. The wheelman was alone. Obliquely
she saw Cunningham, Cleve, and a third man seated round a table which was
littered. This third man sat facing the port door, and sensing her
presence he looked up. Rather attractive until one noted the thin, hard
lips, the brilliant blue eyes. At the sight of Jane something flitted over
his face, and Jane knew that he was bad.