repairing-ship ready to go to sea at shortest notice. Some 'faults'
are of a nature not seriously to interfere with the working of a
cable; but it cannot be expected that they will remain always in the
same comparatively harmless state. When a flaw occurs in the insulator
it tends to enlarge itself, and more of the current escapes to the
sea, until so much escapes that the current which reaches the distant
station is too feeble to work the instruments there. All traffic
therefore ceases. The electrician's tests having localised the fault
so many miles from shore, the repairing-ship proceeds to the spot.
Here she lowers her grapnel a mile or two on one side or other of the
supposed line of the cable, and when enough rope has been let out, she
steers very slowly under steam, or drifts with the tide across the
cable's track. The grapnel is simply a great iron hook, one approved
form being like a compound fish-hook, with five or six flukes starting
from the shank. A weight of chain drags behind it, to keep it well
down on the bottom. The rope, which is generally of wire and yarn,
passes under a dynamometer, which indicates its tension, and thence
to the steam winch used for hauling in. Often the grapnel catches in
rocks, or mud, and gives rise to false hope of the cable having been
found. The ship is brought to, and hauling in commences; but soon the
obstruction 'gives,' or the grapnel itself breaks, and the true nature
of the 'catch' is found out. When the cable is hooked, the greatest
skill and care are needed, especially when the ship's head lifts with
the waves, to bring up the bight carefully without breaking the cable.
When brought to the surface the cable is cut, and each end is brought
on board in turn and tested. The fault, as we have previously shewn
with the paying-out ship, may prove to be but a few miles distant. The
sound end is thereupon buoyed, and the ship proceeds to pick up or haul
in the faulty end until it is thought the fault must have been picked
up. The electrician then cuts off the piece which contains the fault,
and then he has only to join on a sound piece of cable in its place,
and lay it back to the end that was buoyed, so filling up the gap. But
if it should _not_ contain the fault, the tests are again applied,
until finally the fault is detected and cut out. Repairing is arduous
and trying work; now giving rise to hopes, now crushing them, and anon
deferring them. A great responsibility rests on those who undertake
them, as the gain or loss of a week or two may represent an enormous
sum of money to the Company.
CROSS-PURPOSES.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.--CHAPTER II.
Had Cissy only known it, there was very little in Frank Halkett's
words to cause her any uneasiness. On his entering the drawing-room,
seeing his place by Cissy's side forestalled by the major, whose person
intercepted the beaming smile of welcome she bestowed upon him, he had
turned away and thrown himself into the low chair that stood by Mrs
Leyton's cosy lounge.
'So you have taken refuge with me,' says that lady with a quiet smile.
'Refuge!' repeats Halkett with an innocently puzzled air. 'No; I have
only taken a seat.'
'What's the matter with you, Frank?'
'Nothing. Why? Do I look dyspeptic?'
'You don't look pleasant, certainly, if that has anything to do with
it. Come; I am a witch, you know,' says Mrs Leyton, 'and so can tell
all your secrets. And just to prove my power, I will tell you something
now--you are sulky this evening.'
'Meaning I am stupid, I suppose,' says Halkett; 'but it don't take much
witchery to discover that. I have an awful headache.'
'Oh, but I have not half done yet,' exclaims Mrs Leyton. 'Shall I go
on? I could tell something very important, but that I am afraid of your
heavy displeasure. Will you promise not to be angry?'
'Angry with _you_! Was I ever that?' asks Halkett tenderly. 'I give you
full liberty to say anything on earth you like to me.'
'Do you mean that?'
'Certainly I mean it.'
'Very good then,' says the widow with lazy triumph; 'I will continue my
sorceries; and first--you are in love.'
'"In love!"' reiterates Halkett, forcing himself heroically to meet her
laughing eyes, and reddening very much in the attempt. 'No, no; your
witchcraft has played you false this time.'
'It has not. I persist in my declaration. You are in love--hopelessly,
irretrievably, desperately in love.'
'Well, perhaps I am,' says Frank, with tranquil resignation. 'Is that
strange? Could one be with you, Frances, for so long a time, and
not'----
'Nonsense!' interrupts Mrs Leyton. 'Do not trouble yourself to complete
that sentence. We are much too old friends for _that_, I take it. And
now, Frank, be a good boy; emulate your name, tell me all about it.'
'I really don't know that there is anything much to tell,' says
Halkett, smiling. 'But what there is you shall hear. I admire a certain
young lady more than is good for me; I fancy, until to-day, she
returns my regard. I discover a couple of hours ago that my vanity
has misled me. I see her happy in the arms--no, in the society of
another--I find myself nowhere, hence my dyspepsia, distraction, and
despair.--Don't look so sympathetic, Frances; probably I shall get over
it.'
Though he says this with a laughing face, Mrs Leyton's dark eyes can
see for themselves he is tremendously hard hit.
'And what is her name?' she asks sweetly.
'O Frances! You laying claim to be a witch, and must even ask _that_
question? I decline to answer it. Your fairy lore should enable you to
find out that much for yourself.'
'I love my love with a C because she is candid; I hate her with a C
because she is capricious,' says Mrs Leyton archly. 'Am I "warm?" or
will you still cry "cold?" If you do the latter, I doubt you will be
wronging your conscience. Ah, Frank, I think I am one too many for you!'
'You were always that. What one man is equal to any woman? Well, as you
have guessed so far, I believe I may as well tell you the rest;' and
forthwith he commences to pour forth a tale, the telling of which had
caused Cissy such exquisite anguish.
When he has finished, Mrs Leyton says: 'If you will take my advice, you
will seek the first opportunity that offers, and ask for an explanation
of her coldness.'
'You really think that the best thing to do?' says Halkett,
brightening. 'I will act upon your advice then, and try my chance. Now
let us forget it for the present. Is that a new ring upon your finger?
May I look at it? Does it mark a fresh adorer?'
'No; an old one. Geoffrey Hyde gave it to me last autumn.' She
surrenders her hand to him as she speaks; and he bending over it,
examines leisurely the cluster of brilliants that scintillate and flash
beneath the lamp-light.
'He has been faithful to you for a long time,' says Halkett presently.
'Yes; he is very tormenting. I really believe I shall have to marry
him in the long-run, if only to get him out of the way.' She reddens a
little as she says this, and laughs rather nervously.
'Are you serious?' asks Halkett with surprise. 'Then you are going to
make him a happy man after all?'
'That remains to be proved. Probably I shall make him a wholesome
warning to all obstinate men. But I think when last I saw him I made
him some foolish promise about marrying him in the spring.'
'I congratulate him with all my heart, and you too,' says Halkett
cordially. 'I think he is the only man I know _quite_ worthy of you.'
When the hour comes for bedroom candles to be adjusted, Halkett seizes
one, lights it, and carries it solemnly to Miss Mordaunt. But quick as
he has been, Major Blake reaches her side similarly armed, almost at
the same moment.
'Which shall I take?' says Miss Cissy gaily. 'I suppose I can have my
choice. I think _this_ pleases me most;' and she holds out her hand
towards Blake with a pretty smile. 'Thank you,' she continues, slipping
her slender fingers into his brown palm; 'and good-night. Don't smoke
too much;' and with a little provoking backward nod she trips away,
without bestowing so much as one poor glance upon Halkett. And so ends
his first attempt at an explanation, leaving him so indignant that he
almost vows he will not seek another.
All the following day Miss Mordaunt studiously avoids him, giving him
no chance of obtaining the tête-à-tête she sees is impending. But
Halkett calmly bides his time, knowing it cannot be far distant. As
daylight fades, he feels more than ever determined to bring her to
book before the dawn of another morning; and in this instance at least
the Fates favour him, as there is to be a large dancing-party at the
Hall to-night. She cannot well refuse to give him one dance out of the
many--such palpable avoidance would be rather _too_ marked; and once
he has secured her as his partner, she must be at his mercy until the
dance comes to an end.
This idea of course has also occurred to Miss Mordaunt, and though
dreading the interview, she is still sufficiently indignant to
cause her to make up her mind to be as curt and outspoken on the
occasion as will be in strict keeping with her dignity. In this frame
of mind she goes up-stairs to dress, and being an Irishwoman, it
cannot be altogether said but that she sustains a rather pleasurable
sensation--albeit one largely mingled with something very much akin to
nervousness--as the battle-hour draws nigh.
'What shall I wear, Kennedy?' she asks her maid, sinking languidly into
a chair.
'Well, miss, you know you look well in anything,' says Kennedy
obligingly; 'there is nothing but what becomes you; but if I might be
allowed to suggest, you look lovely entirely in white.'
'I won't wear white; I hate it,' says her mistress pettishly.
'Débutantes, and brides, and corpses wear white; I think--I shall
wear--_black_ to-night.'
'Black? O Miss Mordaunt!'
'Yes; certainly. Is gay clothing so necessary to me, then?'
'Well, miss, there's no doubt but you look real handsome in black; but
the other ladies--they will be so gay--and you'----
'I shall be gayer than any of them, and the greater contrast!' cries
Cissy, springing to her feet. 'Come, Kennedy; despatch, despatch; I
feel I shall hold my own yet.'
And Kennedy throwing herself heart and mind into her task, soon turns
out the most charming picture possible.
As Miss Mordaunt enters the drawing-room she sees Halkett standing on
the hearth-rug in earnest conversation with the widow, who, if there
is a fire anywhere, is never any great distance from it. He has been
telling her of his repulse of the night before, and is looking somewhat
dejected.
'Never mind,' says Mrs Leyton kindly; 'get her _alone_; then _you_ will
have the advantage. I think she must have heard--or fancied--something
that wounds her.'
'I do not flatter myself so far; I merely think she prefers Blake, and
wishes to get rid of me,' says Halkett gloomily.
'Nonsense! Let nothing induce you to believe that. In the first place,
she doesn't even _look_ at the man in the right way.'
Halkett laughs in spite of himself, and immediately afterwards becomes
if possible even more despondent than before.
'How can she like that fellow Blake?' he says ill-naturedly.
'Oh, I don't see _that_. For my part, I think him absolutely handsome.'
'Of course, that goes without telling. All women have a _tendresse_ for
those great coarse broad-shouldered men. And what an accent he has!'
'Do you really dislike it? To me, I confess it is rather pleasant;
mellow, with just a touch of the brogue. Your Cissy, you must remember,
has it too, with perhaps rather more of the mellow and less of the
brogue; but then you are prejudiced against this poor Blake.'
'Indeed I am not; you mistake me altogether: I think him a downright
good fellow. In fact I have a fancy for all Irishmen; they are so full
of go--chic--good-humour, until crossed. And Blake is like all his
countrymen, a most enjoyable companion,' says Halkett with suspicious
warmth.
'Evidently Miss Mordaunt is of your opinion,' says the widow rather
cruelly, pointing to where Cissy is listening with a smiling face to
one of the major's good stories.
Meanwhile the guests are arriving; and the fine old room that has
been given up to the dancers is rapidly filling with pretty girls
and powdered dowagers and men of all ages and degrees. Papas too are
numerous; but these instinctively crowd round Uncle Charlie, and by
degrees edge towards a more dimly lighted room, where instinct tells
them, whist is holding silent sway.
'Will you give me the first dance?' says Halkett to Mrs Leyton, who
readily grants her consent. Major Blake has of course secured Cissy;
and presently, as ill-luck will have it, they find themselves in the
same set, dancing opposite to each other. As Halkett's hand meets
Cissy's, he hardly lets his fingers close round hers; and as she is
also in a revengeful mood, the ladies' chain almost falls to the
ground. Mrs Leyton, in spite of the good-nature that lies somewhere
in her composition, nearly chokes with suppressed laughter as she
witnesses this little by-play. She twits Halkett about it later on, but
he is moody, and doesn't take kindly to her witticisms.
At least half the programme has been gone through before Captain
Halkett asks Miss Mordaunt for the pleasure of a dance.
'If I am disengaged,' she says coldly, not looking at him, and searches
her card with a languid bored air that tantalises him almost beyond
endurance. He is longing to say: 'Never mind it; I wont interfere
with your enjoyment this time,' with his sweetest smile, and rage at
his heart; but he is too sternly determined to have it out with her
to-night, to let his natural feelings win the day.
Cissy examining her card finds she is not engaged for the next dance,
very much to her disgust; and is pondering whether she shall tell the
lie direct and declare she is, when Halkett, as though he divines her
thoughts, says abruptly: 'Not engaged for the next? Then I suppose I
may have it?'
'I suppose so,' returns Miss Cissy reluctantly; and instantly turning
from him, addresses her partner, as though such a person as Halkett
were no longer in existence. Indeed, when after a quarter of an hour,
he finds her in the conservatory and claims the fulfilment of her
promise, it is with the utmost bad grace she places the very tips of
her fingers upon his arm, and looks impatiently towards the ball-room.
'I don't mean dancing just yet; I have something particular to say to
you first,' says Halkett hastily, and almost commandingly, standing
quite still. 'It is hardly private here. Would you find it too cold
to come with me into the garden?' glancing at the open door of the
conservatory.
Cissy hesitates; then fearful of seeming reluctant, says: 'No. If you
will go to the library for my shawl (you will find it on the sofa), I
will go with you.'
'You will stay here until I return?' says Halkett, regarding her
intently.
Cissy stares in turn. 'Of course I will,' she answers rather haughtily;
and he goes.
'Did he imagine I would run away when his back was turned?' she
soliloquises angrily. 'Does he suppose I am _afraid_? One would
think it was _I_ was in the wrong, not he. His conduct altogether is
downright mysterious. I cannot understand him;' and for the first time
it dawns upon her mind that there may possibly be some flaw in the
interpretation she has put upon his conduct.
Returning with the shawl, Halkett places it gently round her shoulders,
and they pass into the quiet night.
'What a beautiful moon!' exclaims Cissy presently, hardly knowing what
to say.
'Yes;' absently.
'And for this time of year, how wonderfully mild it is--not in the
least cold--as one might expect.'
'Yes--no--is it not?'
'I really don't know what _you_ think about it,' says Miss Mordaunt
impatiently. 'I for my part find it almost warm; but of course I cannot
answer for you. Probably all this time you are feeling desperately
cold.'
This little petulant outburst rouses Halkett.
'No!' he says with sudden energy and warmth; 'I am _not_. It is not
in my nature to be cold in any way. I feel most things keenly: more
especially slights from those I love. All ill-concealed disdain, unkind
speeches, fickleness, touch me closely.'
'I can sympathise with you,' says Cissy calmly. 'I think nothing can be
so bad as inconstancy--except perhaps deceit.'
This retort being as unexpected as it is evidently _meant_, puzzles
Halkett to such a degree that he becomes absolutely silent. Miss
Mordaunt, with her white shawl drawn closely round her slight
black-robed figure, walks quietly beside him with the air of an
offended queen, her head held rather higher than usual, a pretty look
of scorn upon her lips.
After a while Halkett pulls up abruptly and faces her in the narrow
pathway. 'What is the reason of your changed behaviour towards me
to-day and yesterday?' he says shortly. 'I think I have a right to ask
that.'
'_Have_ I changed?'
'_Have_ you? Must you ask the question? The whole world can see it. You
treat me with the most studied coldness.'
'I thought I was treating you with as much courtesy as I give to all my
uncle's guests.'
'I don't care for courtesy,' says Halkett passionately; 'your hatred
would be better than your indifference. Yesterday morning I believed we
were friends--nay, _more_ than that; yesterday evening you ignored me
altogether. It is either heartless coquetry on your part, or else you
have a reason for your conduct. Let me hear it.'
'You are forgetting yourself,' says Miss Mordaunt coldly. 'You are the
first person who has ever accused me of coquetry; you shall not do it
again. I was foolish to come here with you, but--I trusted you. I wish
to return to the house.'
'Nay, hear me!' cries Halkett remorsefully, following as she makes
a movement to leave him, and catching her hand to detain her. 'Your
avoidance has so perplexed and maddened me, that I said more than I
meant or intended. Forgive me, and at least let me know how I have
offended. Cissy, answer me!'
For a moment Miss Mordaunt hesitates, then endeavouring to speak
lightly: 'I did not intend to perplex you,' she says; 'one cannot
speak to every one at the same time. I am sorry if I appeared rude
or neglectful; but you did not _look_ very miserable, and surely
Mrs Leyton was an excellent substitute for me.' She smiles as she
says this, but pales a little too beneath the brilliant moon that is
betraying her.
'Mrs Leyton is my very oldest and dearest friend,' replies Halkett;
'but no one on earth could console me for--your loss. Why will you not
confess the truth, Cissy, and'----
'Yet you once loved her, if report speaks truly,' interrupts Miss
Mordaunt, still speaking carelessly, though her heart-throbs can almost
be counted. 'In India, we hear, there was a time when you would gladly
have called her your wife. Is it not so?'
Halkett drops her hand.
'Has that miserable bit of gossip taken root even here?' he says with a
faint sneer. 'Has Blake been making his cause good by such rubbishing
tales? Frances Leyton and I grew up together. I would as soon think of
making love to my nearest of kin as to her. The idea of any romantic
attachment existing between us is more than absurd! Besides, she is to
be married to Geoffrey Hyde early in the coming spring.'
Miss Mordaunt severs a little twig from one of the shrubs, and takes it
to pieces slowly.
'Then _she_ did not give you your favourite mare?' she says quietly,
detesting herself as she asks the question, yet feeling compelled to
solve all her doubts at once.
'No; she did not.' A pause. 'Shall I tell you who gave her to me? It
was my only sister, Lady Harley. She loved the Baby dearly, and on her
death-bed, told me to take good care of the creature, for her sake.'
The twig falls from Cissy's fingers. Surely, surely it cannot be true!
Oh, how he must hate and despise her for all she has said and done!
It is too late now to make reparation. She feels she would rather
die a thousand deaths than give in, and confess to all the wretched
suspicions and jealousies she has been carefully harbouring in her
heart during these two past days.
'However, all this is beside the question,' goes on Halkett; 'you have
not yet told me what I so much want to know. Has Blake anything to do
with your coldness to me? Tell me, Cissy, are you engaged to him?'
Cissy has not expected this, and growing suddenly crimson, lets her
head droop somewhat suspiciously. Halkett's eyes are on her face.
'No; of course not--I am not indeed.' There is a faint stammer in her
speech as she says this, and Halkett's fears become certainties.
'But you _care_ for him!' he exclaims vehemently. 'The very mention
of his name has brought a flush into your cheeks. You hesitate, and
turn your head aside. This then accounts for your sudden change of
behaviour towards me! Having gained your point, you found your first
victim in the way, and hardly knowing how to get rid of so troublesome
an appendage, had recourse to---- Had you told me point-blank my
attentions were unwelcome, it would have been more womanly, more
just'----
'Pray, do not say another word,' says Miss Mordaunt with dignity,
though tears are in her voice and eyes; 'this is the second time
to-night you have spoken words difficult to forget. Do not trouble
yourself to return with me. I prefer going in alone.'
* * * * *
When Cissy and Halkett appear at breakfast the following morning,
they take care to seat themselves as far as possible from each
other, and presently it becomes palpable to every one that they are
considerably out of sorts. Uncle Charlie suggests that Miss Cissy has
over-danced herself, or given the wrong man his _congé_; a remark that
has sufficient truth in it to bring the hot blood into her cheeks.
While Captain Halkett, having run through his letters, declares he
must return to town by the afternoon train; at which Mrs Leyton looks
uneasy, and casts a covert glance at Cissy Mordaunt.
That young lady stands fire pretty well, but with all her hardihood
cannot keep her under lip from trembling ever so little. This sign of
weakness be assured does not escape the widow's tutored eye; and she
instantly challenges Major Blake to a game of billiards after breakfast.
'My dear Frank, you can't go to-day,' says Uncle Charlie decidedly.
'To-morrow they have promised us the best run we have had yet. I will
not hear of your leaving. Write and tell her you have sprained your
ankle, and send her your undying love. She will forgive you when she
sees you.'
'I wish I _could_ stay,' says Halkett, laughing; 'but unfortunately my
recall is from my solicitor, not from my lady-love.'
'I don't believe a word of it!' says Uncle Charlie. 'A sudden recall
_always_ means a woman. Why, when _I_ was a young man, I thought
nothing of'----
'My dear!' says Aunt Isabel, with a gentle uplifting of the right hand.
'Quite so, my good Belle,' returns Uncle Charlie, patting the soft
white fingers. 'But seriously, Frank, she will do very well without
you.'
'I have no doubt of _that_,' says Halkett, and raising his eyes meets
Miss Mordaunt's full.
Half an hour later, Cissy, feeling mournful and guilty, steals round to
the stables to take a last look at the Baby, as she is afraid to look
at the Baby's master. Just as she is patting her and rubbing down the
soft velvet muzzle, the door opens, and Halkett enters.
'I am glad to see she is so much better,' says Miss Mordaunt promptly
but nervously, pointing to the injured limb. 'If you go to-day, you
will not take her with you, I suppose?'
'No; I suppose not.'
'_Must_ you go?'
Halkett glances at her reproachfully. 'Yes; of course I must. There is
no other course left open to me. After what you told me last night, it
would be simple madness to remain.'
'What did I tell you? I don't think I told you anything.'
'Well--what you led me to infer.'
'You should not infer things. _I_ never meant you to do so.' As Miss
Mordaunt says this in a very low tone, she turns her head aside and
recedes a step or two. A dark flush rises to Halkett's brow, colouring
all his face, even through the bronze an Indian sun has laid upon it.
A sudden gleam of something akin to hope shines in his eyes for an
instant, but is as speedily suppressed.
'Do you know what you are doing?' he says in a tone sufficiently
unsteady to betray the agitation he is feeling. 'Do you know what your
manner, your words seem to me to mean? Do not, I implore you, raise
within me again the hope I have surrendered, unless---- O Cissy, _you_
will never know how cruel a thing it is to love without return!'
'But--are you sure--_your_ love--has gained no return?' demands Miss
Cissy in faltering accents, and immediately afterwards feels she has
but one desire on earth, and that is for the ground to open and swallow
her.
'Cissy, Cissy!' cries Halkett, '_tell_ me you do not care for that
fellow Blake!'
'Not a bit, not a bit!' says Cissy; and in another moment finds herself
in Halkett's arms, her tears running riot over the breast of his coat.
'Oh, say that you forgive me!' she sobs. 'It was most hateful of
me--about that bedroom candlestick the other night, and everything. But
I misunderstood it all. I thought you loved Mrs Leyton. _Say_ that you
forgive me!'
'I will not hear a word about forgiveness now,' says Halkett, who has
been assiduously employed in kissing her hair, brow, and any other part
of her face that is visible. 'It is taking a mean advantage of me; I
am so happy this moment, I would forgive my bitterest enemy without
hesitation. By-and-by we will discuss the question, and I shall grant
you pardon on my own terms.'
Some time before luncheon there comes a knock, low but decided, at
Uncle Charlie's library door.
'Come in!' calls out the owner of the apartment; and the door opening
admits Frank Halkett and Miss Mordaunt--the latter keeping well behind,
and only compelled by the strong clasp of her companion's hand to
advance at all.
'I have come, sir,' says Halkett mildly, 'to tell you I have, after
all, decided on delaying my departure until next week, as I at first
intended--if you do not object.'
'Indeed, indeed; I am glad of that,' says Uncle Charlie, just a wee
bit puzzled. 'I need not say how welcome you are.--But what about the
business letter, eh, and your hot haste to reach town? What has changed
your plans, eh?'