MR LAWRENCE AND MR EAGLE
It was a May morning in the English Channel. Over the soft blue of the
sky some large clouds as yellow and tender for the eye to dwell upon as
the spume of the sea from the receding breaker, with glories in their
brows and glories in their skirts, were sailing slowly and stately on
the mild breeze that blew sweet with mingled odours of land and brine
from the coast of Old England. There was weight enough in the wind
to grace the lines of streaming waters as they ran with feathers of
foam, and on this wide plain, with the shores of Britain dwelling in a
faint, violet shadow upon the starboard horizon north, but one ship was
visible and scarce to be wondered at!
War had swept the narrow seas, and for hours in the day little more
hove into view whether from the cliffs of our country or from those of
the enemy opposite, than sometimes a large convoy glimmering cloud-like
as it floated, some compact, some scattered, under the protection of
men-of-war up Channel to London town or to other ports, or down Channel
to their several destinations in various parts of the globe.
Or it might be a cloud of steam-like smoke far off indicating an action
between single ships. An Englishman had hailed a Frenchman to strike.
The Frenchman had answered with a broadside, and before the sun sets
the Englishman with her fore-topmast and mizzen topgallant mast gone is
making for Plymouth with a prize in tow.
Or again it will be a smuggling lugger chased by a Revenue cutter with
a flash of the sea-snow at her stem and the blaze of a long gun on the
forecastle.
The ship in sight carried in those days a very unfamiliar rig. She
was what is well known now as a barque. She was under all plain sail
and showed many wings, and she lifted sails which Lord St Vincent
when Captain Jervis was the first to introduce into the Navy, and
Merchantmen, always quicker than Navy ships to adopt improvements or
changes for the good, were using them when ships of the State, at least
a good many of them, were still satisfied with the truck above the
topgallant yard.
This vessel was the _Minorca_, which, as we know, had left Old Harbour
shortly after eight o'clock that morning, and now she had shrunk the
Mother Country into a delicate vision, and slightly leaning from the
wind was sliding with a steady keel through the water which beautified
the copper that shone ruddily under her weather-bow with the prisms and
crystals and gems of the ocean fountain. In spite of Admiral Lawrence's
admiration of her, she would excite laughter in this age as an example
of the stump-ended fabrics which the shipwrights of the eighteenth and
the nineteenth centuries were building for sailors. Yet many of these
structures made wonderfully long voyages and kept the seas, touching
here and there to careen, for as lengthy a period as the average life
of the modern steel fabric.
The _Minorca's_ length did not very greatly exceed her beam. Her bows
were round, though they fined down into keenness at her entry under
water. She had a large square stern with windows, and her buttocks
when her stern fell into the hollow, swept up as much foam as recoiled
from the plunge of her bows. Upon the weather-side of the quarterdeck
of the ship on this May morning in the English Channel Mr John Eagle,
the mate of the vessel, was walking to and fro, sometimes directing
his gaze to windward, sometimes aloft, sometimes sending it along the
ship's decks at the men who were employed on the numberless jobs which
attend a sailing ship's departure from port. High aloft, perched on the
fore-topgallant yard, was the figure of a look-out man, who was told to
report anything that hove into sight and to continue to report how the
distant sail was heading. These were Mr Lawrence's instructions.
Mr Eagle looked a very mean sort of man as he walked the deck. Neither
by form, face, nor manner did he express individuality or character.
The sole feature noticeable in him was a look of sullenness, a sour,
sneering, quarrelsome air about the mouth, to be found perhaps in the
curve of his thin lips.
Whilst he walked Mr Lawrence came up from the cabin through the
companion-hatch, and after standing a few moments looking about him, he
stepped to the side of Mr Eagle. The contrast between the two men was
remarkable. You could scarcely have believed that they belonged to the
same nation. Mr Lawrence's tall, elegant, and dignified figure towered
above the poor, unshapely conformation of Eagle; his handsome face wore
an expression of haughtiness, distance, and reserve. Both Mr Eagle and
the boatswain, named Thomas Pledge, who acted as second mate, and the
rest of the crew had already discovered that their captain perfectly
well understood and remembered that he had been an officer in the Royal
Navy, a sailor of His Majesty the King, that comparatively brief as
his story was it was brilliant with heroic incident and adventure,
and that instead of being greatly obliged to Captain Acton for this
command, he considered that he was acting with a very uncommon degree
of condescension in taking charge of a merchant vessel, unless indeed
she was a prize to his man-o'-war.
"There is nothing in sight, sir," he exclaimed, as he stood beside Mr
Eagle, who had come to a halt on the approach of the other. "You will
please see that a sharp look-out is kept for any sort of sail that may
heave into view; and I trust to you to keep a sharp look-out yourself.
When fairly clear of the Scillies, I may breathe with some ease."
"So far nothing's hove into sight, sir," said Mr Eagle.
"We have a pretty little breeze blowing," said Mr Lawrence, going to
the side and looking over, "and we are under all plain sail. The wind's
abeam and her speed is under six. Can she walk in strong weather?"
"She's done nine, sir, in my experience of her," answered Mr Eagle.
"But it took half a gale of wind on the quarter to make her do it."
Mr Lawrence came from the ship's side, and said: "Pray continue your
walk. I have something of importance to communicate to you," and he
looked down into Mr Eagle's face with a curiously mingled expression
of contempt, haughtiness and superiority. "It is not customary, I
believe," he said, "in the Merchant Service for shipmasters to take
their mates into their confidence. It is necessary, however, that I
should communicate one or two facts to you in connection with this
voyage. I presume you are not aware that Miss Lucy Acton is on board
this ship?"
"I saw her come over the side, sir, but didn't know she had stopped,"
said the mate, with an expression which might have passed for
incredulity in the sour, congenital curl of his lips.
"She remained on board, and is in my cabin, and I shall occupy the
cabin which was fitted up professedly for a sick-bay."
"Miss Lucy Acton aboard this ship!" cried the mate, giving way to his
amazement. "Well, I _am_ truly astonished."
"I don't care a damn about your astonishment, Mr Eagle!" exclaimed Mr
Lawrence with haughty severity. "I want you to understand that Miss
Lucy Acton is on board this ship, and I desire that you will regulate
your behaviour by thoroughly understanding the facts which I am going
to do you the honour to impart."
Mr John Eagle made no answer.
"I first of all wish you to understand," continued Mr Lawrence, "that
Miss Acton and I are in love with each other. We desire to be married.
Captain Acton objects on the grounds of what I am forced to term my
poverty; and certainly this quarter-deck would not know my tread if
I were not poor. At the same time the greatest esteem and friendship
exists between Captain Acton and myself, and his regard for me is
sufficiently expressed by his placing me in command here. Do you follow
me, sir?"
"I do, sir."
"Miss Acton and I agreed to elope. We found our opportunity in this
vessel. This could only be done by contriving what the French call a
ruse. It was to be assumed that her father had fallen ill in this ship
whilst inspecting her early this morning, and the stratagem was to be
carried out by his dictating a letter to me begging his daughter to
come at once to the vessel. This she did, and she is now below. Do you
understand me, Mr Eagle?"
"Oh yes, sir, I am a-following of you," answered the mate, with a face
crippled in meaning by astonishment and by other sensations excited by
this extraordinary story.
"Now," continued Mr Lawrence, still preserving his lofty, superior,
rather over-bearing manner, as though he would heave Mr John Eagle
overboard by scruff and breech if the fellow durst utter a syllable of
offence, "it is arranged by Miss Acton and myself that she should feign
that I have kidnapped her--sailed away with her, in short, against her
will. This attitude we preconcerted, to rescue her from the accusation
of having eloped, which might greatly prejudice her in the eyes of
her father, and injure her future and fortune. When, therefore, you
meet her, which you doubtless will, she will probably with the utmost
passion, nay, even with tears in her eyes, declare that she has been
torn from her home by a base artifice. And you'll understand, Mr Eagle,
that her sighs, her statements, and her tears are merely tricks and
parts of a play which has been carefully prearranged between the lady
and myself. Do you understand, sir?" he added, looking stormily at his
mean little companion from the altitude of his elegant and commanding
figure.
"Why, yes, sir, course I do. But I never should ha' thought it. Why of
all the young ladies----"
"I'm not asking you for any opinion, nor will any view that you can
take concern me. You have the facts, and you will repeat them to
the crew, to some of whom she may probably appeal, as indeed I have
advised, that her pretended situation may seem the more real, and
Captain Acton by such evidence be more fully convinced. You and the
crew will know what to think. It is simply a love affair and my own and
the lady's business essentially," and he stopped in his quarterdeck
walk, causing his companion to stop, and flamed threats from a pair of
eyes as imperious as ever glared command upon another.
Mr Eagle looked as obedient as a quartermaster to instructions sternly
delivered by a flogging captain.
"I have another matter to talk to you about," Mr Lawrence proceeded,
"and on this head I have to request without the smallest qualification
of what you must regard as my orders that you will preserve silence."
"I beg pardon," interrupted Mr Eagle, "but before you go on I should
like to say that I am only mate of this ship and take no interest lyin'
outside the sphere of my duties that don't consarn me."
"What I have to say," said Mr Lawrence, "will concern you--at least I
think so. It will concern you very much indeed. Yesterday, Captain
Acton placed in my hands sealed orders with strict instructions to
summon all hands and to read the document to you and the men, but on
no account to break the seal before the ship had arrived at latitude
twenty degrees north, and longitude--about--for we never can be sure of
that--thirty degrees west."
Mr Eagle's figure started as he walked. He knew his course to Kingston,
Jamaica as intimately well as you know your home when crossing from
over the way to it. He ventured to stare at Mr Lawrence, who went on:
"The nature of these instructions I can only guess at from several
conversations which I have had with Captain Acton, who without being
in any degree specific, yet seemed to suffer me to read between
the sentences of his conversation. And now, sir," said Mr Lawrence
with great austerity, "this is the communication you will preserve
strict silence upon until the sealed instructions are read. My belief
is--understand me: I say that the idea I have arrived at from Captain
Acton's conversation--is that I should carry this ship to a port that
certainly is not Kingston nor is it in Jamaica, though I am unable
to say more, and that he wishes this vessel to be handed over to the
representative of a South American merchant who does business in
London. What the port may be I am as curious as you undoubtedly now
are to learn. I believe also that the whole of us from captain to boy
will be paid off at this port and sent to England at Captain Acton's
expense, and each man will receive treble the amount of the wages that
he would have got for his voyage to Kingston and home. All this I infer
from Captain Acton's language, and I may be violating his good faith in
me in committing even these conjectures to the strict confidence which
I am sure you will observe."
Various sensations were depicted in Mr Eagle's face as he listened.
First he looked scared, then fierce by mere force of frown and
enlargement of eyes, then sceptical with his sour, sneering mouth, then
obstinate, sullen, mulish. He perfectly believed in the statement Mr
Lawrence had made. Captain Acton, the owner, was a naval officer, and
so was Mr Lawrence. They had agreed to abide in this matter of selling
the ship and discharging the crew by a custom of their Service, namely,
the sealed instructions.
A very short silence followed Mr Lawrence's delivery. Mr John Eagle
then said: "You'll find, sir, that when the crew comes to larn that
this voyage ain't bein' made to Kingston, Jamaica, but to another
place, they'll tarn to and refuse to work the ship, as their agreement
was for Kingston and nowhere else."
"That will be mutiny. To refuse an order aboard ship is mutiny. In the
Navy we hang men for that sort of conduct."
"Well, sir," said Mr Eagle, who uttered his convictions with the
misgiving which fear of the listener excites, "my own opinion is that
it wouldn't be reckoned as mutiny. It wouldn't be justice if it was
called mutiny, and treated as mutiny. 'Taint the crew that breaks the
agreement by refusing to do something which they never shipped to
undertake, but the owner who gives 'em a job when at sea which they
would have declined to hear of had they been told of it ashore. And I'm
surprised," he continued, emboldened by Mr Lawrence's silence, "that
Captain Acton, who is a gentleman born, and a man one could sarve all
his life with satisfaction to himself and employer, should get rid of
his ship and crew in such a fashion. But, perhaps, all that you say,
sir, won't be found in the instructions you are to read in latitude
twenty."
"I am talking to you," said Mr Lawrence, with acid contempt, "not to
gather your opinion of Captain Acton and of such instructions as he
may have given me, but to acquaint you as an officer of this ship with
such facts as I collected from Captain Acton's conversation, which must
presently become the property of the whole crew. It seems to me, sir,"
he continued, looking at his mean companion in his lofty, imperious,
flaming way, "that even on the bare hint of the possibility of such
a proceeding as I have stated, you are on the side of the crew, you
advocate and express the cause of the crew, you anticipate the action
which would be ranked as mutiny, and which would certainly cost human
lives, unless, indeed, I decide upon a course of my own, by which I
mean that if the crew refuse to work this ship to the place named by
Captain Acton, I would steer to the nearest port and get rid of the
whole of them and replace them by others; and if they refused to help
me to navigate the ship to the nearest place, I would hoist a signal of
distress and make my helpless situation known to the first man-o'-war
that was not French or Spanish that came along."
Having driven in his nail firmly and deeply enough (as he thought) to
sustain his wild, piratical, extravagant project, Mr Lawrence added in
his commanding way, "I hope, sir, I have said enough. Meanwhile, I must
repeat my order to you to keep a sharp look-out for ships and to see
that a sharp look-out is kept. We should be in a very serious plight
if we allowed a French cruiser to cross our hawse, and come between
us and the coast of England. The Frenchmen's frigates sail well, the
_Minorca_ has a shabby pair of heels. Therefore I am for putting my
helm to port should anything show ahead, and you will be good enough to
report any sail that springs into sight."
With that after a long penetrating look round he went below, leaving
Mr Eagle looking as if he was asleep with his eyes open and dreaming.
Indeed, Mr Eagle's mind was so shallow that all that he could think
of or conceive was simple even to silliness. He resumed his walk to
and fro on the quarter-deck, and every time that his face was turned
forward his eyes fastened upon Thomas Pledge, who was acting second
mate besides being boatswain and carpenter, and who just now was
superintending some shipboard business that was going on in the waist.
Mr Lawrence descended the steps into the cabin, which has already been
described, with its plain sea furniture and stand of arms, and entered
the after berth which he had pretended to convert into a sick bay.
Here were two rough bunks, one on top of the other, each containing a
mattress and bolster. It was the middle berth betwixt the Captain's and
the pantry. Mr Lawrence's sea-chest, clothes, and nautical instruments
were here collected. He stepped to a shelf and took from it a tin box
containing the ship's papers, and from this box he drew out a large,
portentous, heavily-sealed envelope, whose enclosure of stout paper
rendered it somewhat thick and bulky. He looked at the address. Upon
the envelope in a bold clerkly hand was written:
"To WALTER LAWRENCE, Esquire., R.N.,
in command of Captain Acton's barque-rigged
vessel named the _Minorca_.
"Secret instructions to be read to the officers and crew of the
above said _Minorca_ by Mr Lawrence whenever the ship shall have
arrived at twenty degrees of north latitude, and about thirty
degrees of west longitude."
He looked attentively at the seals, which were impressed with the
Acton crest. He mused for a little while over this document manifestly
thinking of other things. Though his brow was knit, his handsome face
was a-work with thought. Under that knitted brow the expression of the
idea in him came and went. There never could have been a finer study
for an artist than this tall and elegant creature, slightly bowed, his
beauty lighted up so to speak by the several colours of the moods which
inspired him, and which seemed by the occasional movement of his lips
to indicate the rehearsal of a passage that was to follow. With an
impulse almost passionate as an effect of stern resolution he replaced
the tin box, walked out of the berth, and dangling a key which he had
withdrawn from his pocket, stood listening for a few moments at the
door of the berth which adjoined the one he had quitted.
He listened, then knocked, knocked again, and receiving no reply,
inserted the key, turned the handle and entered. This was the berth set
aside for the Captain, though as a matter of fact in Merchant vessels
the Captain used to occupy almost invariably the aftermost starboard
berth. It was plainly, but comfortably, furnished, the bedstead was
like those ashore, and such as in former times Spanish ships chiefly
were equipped with. It had a chest of drawers and a washstand in
combination, and a table in the middle, at which sat Miss Lucy Acton.
Her hands were clasped before her and rested on the table. She shot a
swift glance under her beautiful eyelids at the incomer, then looked
down upon her hands with a gaze which for motionlessness might have
been riveted, though nothing was to be seen of her eyes under their
lovely drooping clothing of lids and lashes. She was plainly dressed
in a gown whose waist was just under her bosom. In some such a gown,
or in some such attire she was wont of an early spring or summer
morning to amuse herself in the flower gardens, or to take walks,
occasionally remaining to breakfast at some poor neighbour's house.
The only conspicuous feature of her apparel was a hat lately introduced
from Paris and much affected by the fashionable ladies of London and
other parts of this country. I speak of it as a hat: it was in truth
a jockey-bonnet made of lilac-coloured silk decorated in front with a
bunch of fancy flowers, and on top was a lace veil that hung gracefully
down the back.
Mr Lawrence stood viewing her in silence for a few moments, and then
approaching the table so that he stood close to her, he said in a voice
of tenderness:
"Miss Acton--Lucy--my Lucy: for my Lucy you have ever been in my
heart since the day when I asked you to be my wife, and you know--but
you must believe--that my adoration of you then has not waned by a
single ray of its brilliance--nay, the flame is greater and purer and
more glowing than it was in that hour in which you refused my hand,
not because you could not love me, nor because you believed the half
of what had been told you about me, but because I was in too great
a hurry. I had not given you time to find me out and love me as I
believe, as I am sure you now do. Oh, my Lucy, this act of seeming
treason against you will be forgiven. Your heart will acknowledge that
violent as might seem the step I have taken, by no other could we have
been brought together, and all the artifices and all the falsehoods I
have been guilty of were, you will come to believe, the inspiration of
such a love as few men ever felt for the women of their worship."
He knelt on one knee by her side and tried to take her hand. She
started from her chair and recoiled some paces. On which he rose and
stood towering in his figure and gazing at her, but with a face whose
beauty could not have been more perfected than by the expression of the
emotion of his heart.
Her native blush, which was one of the delightful features of her
loveliness, had vanished: her face was colourless, and this uncommon
pallor which one would have thought could only have visited her cheek
in the day of dangerous sickness or in death, heightened the wonder,
the depth, the power of her dark eyes, whilst those lids of her's which
naturally drooped upon the loveliness they eclipsed in slumber, were
raised till the vision she might have been said to pour in soft light
upon her companion, looked unnatural and wild, the eyes of madness,
the incommunicable gaze of any one sooner than the half-veiled,
love-lighted sweetness of the orbs of Lucy Acton.
"I asked you when you first came in here to see me what you mean to do
with me," she exclaimed in a voice so strained and high, so entirely
lacking in its native music that her father, had she been unseen, would
not have recognised the tones as his child's.
"And I answered, I will marry you," he replied.
"That is no answer, sir," she cried. "You have basely and cruelly
stolen me from my home. I command you to return me to my father! Is
this your gratitude for his goodness to you and the affectionate regard
he has for Sir William Lawrence, who will be more shocked than even
Captain Acton by your unnatural, ignoble, treacherous conduct? Home
cannot be far, the ship has not sailed many miles. Return me at once,
sir! Ships must be in sight, any one of which will put me ashore. If
you detain me, if you carry me I know not where in the hope of my
marrying you, you will drive me mad, as I nearly am mad now," and when
she spoke these words, she delivered a wild, shrieking laugh, baring
her teeth by such strenuous elongation of her lips as left them ashen;
and the tragic quality of that ringing dreadful laugh was heightened by
the absence of the faintest stroke of merriment in her features.
"You are wrong, madam," he said, with an appearance of respect, and
even of sympathy colouring the tender voice he employed. "There is
no ship in sight. If there were she would probably prove an enemy's
cruiser which must end my dream of happiness by our consignment to a
French prison. You are in the hands of a man who loves you, who adores
you, who is indeed taking his chance of the gibbet to win you. Trust
in me. As my wife you shall be faithfully returned to your father, who
will not condemn an action which merely anticipates the sanction I was
looking forward to when he gave me command of this ship, and brought me
by this stroke of goodness closer to you."
"You will return me," she said. "You are not in earnest. This is a bold
and awful act of treachery attempted merely to test me. Marry you! Send
me back to my father at once whilst my home is at hand, or you will
discover that instead of having won a wife, you have driven a girl into
a madhouse."
Her wild look, the extraordinary change by dramatisation of the eyes
which she held in their soft brilliance fastened upon him, her raised,
painful, indescribable voice, her attitude, the hue of her face, might
well have suggested to him that her threat was no idle one, that being
a young woman of exquisite sensibility she might be so wrought by
his inhuman conduct as to lose her mind, her delicate intellect would
stagger into madness under the cruel blow he had dealt her in the name
of love.
"You are not likely to go mad," he said, smiling at her, and his
handsome face with that smile lighting it up might have helped to
conquer any woman, though betrayed into the imprisonment of a ship's
cabin, and sailed away with into unknown regions, who in her heart of
hearts felt towards this man as Lucy Acton did. But not in the way that
Mr Lawrence had devised was the victory to be his.
"When am I to leave this ship?" she asked.
"Will you be seated?"
"No, sir. When am I to leave this ship?"
"You know, madam--Miss Acton--Lucy--_my_ Lucy--that I am a man of
broken fortunes. I have struggled hard to retrieve the past, but the
world is full, and I have been unable to find room in it. You came in
my way. I adored your beauty, and worshipped you for your character.
You would not accept my hand, but I felt in my secret soul that I was
not indifferent to you--nay, that if I could advance higher claims than
those of a broken lieutenant and a man with the reputation of being
a gambler and a drunkard, you would have listened to me, you would
have consented. Nor would your father have objected, for he loves our
service, and his partiality for Sir William would have helped me. I
determined to win you, no matter the machinery I might set in motion.
I was determined to escape the horrible trouble of bankruptcy, and
the intolerable menace of a debtor's gaol, by carrying this ship to a
port and there selling her and her cargo through the agency of a man
who is known to me, and with the money thus got, I mean to pay off all
my creditors in England, and return with you as my wife, assured of
Captain Acton's forgiveness for your sake, and equally assured of his
approval, as it is my intention to hoist the flag of honour as high as
my father has mastheaded it, to be a gentleman, to live as a gentleman,
and to be deemed by the part I hope to play in the drama of life,
worthy of being the husband of Lucy Acton, and the son-in-law of her
gallant, generous, noble-hearted father."
She listened to him with the immobility of a ship's figurehead. No
astonishment at his extraordinary revelation of intention varied the
expression of her face which remained as it was when she shrank from
him. Truly a wonderful face, the face of an actress of supreme genius,
the face of the inheretrix of the surprising, most excellent art of her
mother, the famous Kitty O'Hara. Still did she keep bare her beautiful
teeth, still did the tension through the elongation of her sweet lips
hold them bloodless, her eyes had lost in their expression their lovely
quality of brooding. They stared, and the stare was that of madness.
Her colour was gone. Apparently this delicate, fascinating, lovable,
gentle girl, possessed powers of will and intellect which dominated
Nature herself in her; and even as it is known of some, that they have
been capable of arresting the pulsation of their heart and yet live, so
obviously in this lady was an influence, a passion, a very wizardry of
determination, which suffered her to drive the blood from her cheek,
to narrow the eyelid till the eye had lost its familiar seeking and
dwelling look, till the mouth took the form that was to convey the
intention of the artist.
Her only reply to his speech was (as though she had not attended to his
meaning), "Are you going to keep me a prisoner in this cabin?"
"For a day or two only, madam," he answered, with his face flushed with
disappointment, for he had hoped his candour would have produced a very
different effect. "But I may tell you frankly that Mr Eagle and the
crew know that you are on board, and I should have played my part ill
had I not provided that nothing you can say, no entreaties that you can
make, will persuade them that your elopement is not voluntary."
"Oh, sir, I had never thought you a villain!"
"You shall never find me one!" he cried with impetuosity. "But I am to
win you, and will you tell me the poet or the philosopher who has ever
spoken of the strategies employed in love as villainy?"
She continued to stare at him. Her figure still seemed to shrink as
though in her first recoil when he tried to take her hand. Her face
then suddenly underwent a change, her mouth relaxed what in homely
features might have been called its wild grin; she frowned; her eyes
took an unsettled look. There was something in her countenance that
could hardly have failed to arrest the attention of any one who had
a tolerable acquaintance with the insane. Mr Lawrence seemed to see
nothing but Lucy Acton in her beauty.
"You have stolen me from my home, sir," she exclaimed in a piteous,
almost whining voice, "and I am without clothes except the dress that
I am wearing, and they will soon be in rags, which will flutter if I
begin to dance."
"I am thankful to hear you speak of dancing. If ever your clothes
should become rags and flutter to the measures of your feet, your
beauty will still make them a finer garment, at least in my sight, than
the apparel of royalty in state. But you shall not want for clothes,"
he said, speaking in his gentlest voice, which, as he held command
over fine vocal powers that rendered him at the piano, or at any other
instrument, a sweet and engaging and manly singer, would have been
found soothing by any ear that had not Lucy Acton's to hear with. "Your
dress will last you till our arrival, and then you shall have plenty;
whatever your choice selects you may already call your own."
She delivered the same wild, screaming laugh which had before filled
the cabin with its insane music, and said, dropping her note into one
of plaintiveness, whilst she extended her skirt with both hands as
though she was about to make a step or two in a dance: "Think of poor
Lucy Acton in rags! Think of the lady who was notable, before a liar
and a rogue stole her from her father, for her fine dresses and modish
hats and bonnets; oh, think of her"--she paused to sigh deeply--"in
rags, a prisoner in a ship owned by her father, who would kill the
wretch that tore her from his side!"
And thus speaking she turned to the bulkhead, and putting her arm
against it buried her face in her sleeve, and fell to sobbing so
piteously that you would have thought her poor little heart was broken.