AT SEA.
Before noon on the following day, the lighthouse at Dungeness was
sighted, and the _Pandora_ parted company with her towboat. It was
a joyous morning. A southerly wind blew its warm breath across the
water, and filled the sails of the vessel. It was just the wind that
suited her, for she could show off her powers far better on a bowline
than when running, and she ploughed along with the freshening breeze
at thirteen knots an hour. Her sharp stem cut through the swells, and
made the seething foam rush angrily from her, leaving a long white
streak of creamy froth in her wake. Little spits flew over the weather
topgallantsail, as the boisterous waves dashed against her, and the
sea gushed through the lee scupper-holes, oozed in at the ports, and
ran in torrents aft with the backward roll. Her large, white canvas
sails bulged out with the wind, and made her sheets crack again, as
they hugged the belaying bits; and the leeches, stretched taut with the
bowlines, trembled convulsively when she came up to windward.
The _Pandora_ was behaving beautifully, and her passengers--who had
mostly pulled round after their severe shaking in the Downs--all
thought the movement delightful. And the scene by which they were
surrounded added to their pleasurable sensations. The gulls sailed in
half-circles about the vessel’s wake, now and then uttering hoarse
cries as they dived after and engaged in a battle-royal for some
tempting morsel tossed overboard by the black cook. The porpoises
skimmed the waves in frolicsome gambols--often leaping straight out
of the water, and falling back upon their sides with a loud splash,
scaring the smaller fry, that fled in all directions, as they chased
each other over the crested swells. The numerous vessels that passed,
too, showed themselves off to advantage under such an inviting gale.
The heavily-rigged East Indiaman, with her Lascar crew, homeward bound,
after a twelve months’ voyage, followed by two small tugs, in the hope
that the breeze would drop, and she would be obliged to have recourse
to their assistance; the neat little Madeira fruiter, with a cargo
of oranges and bananas, making all haste to London to get rid of her
perishable freight; the Newcastle steamer, that enveloped every craft
that came near her in clouds of smoke, and poured gallons of water from
her black sides; the huge ocean liner, that looked like an enormous
floating hotel, and sent forth ominous blasts as she altered her course
to keep clear of the sailing vessels; the West Indian barque, that was
chartered to bring home rum and sugar; and the humble collier, with
her dusty cargo and begrimed hull and sails; these, and many others,
passed the _Pandora_ on her outward voyage, and kept her passengers
interested and amused. Mr Vansittart, with a storm-cap strapped under
his chin, and a pair of field-glasses slung in a case behind his back,
was standing under the shelter of the wheel-house, talking to his
daughter Grace, who looked rather paler than when she stepped aboard,
but declared she felt quite well as long as she remained in the fresh
air. Godfrey Harland was in close attendance on her, and she seemed
pleased by his proximity. He had quite got over the ridiculous fit
of self-reproach which had attacked him off Southend, and had nerved
himself to go through everything that might lie before him--even to
marriage with Grace Vansittart, if she and her parents consented
to it. Mrs Leyton, too, was on deck for the first time, and sat on
the skylight, enveloped in a warm shawl, whilst her little daughter
Winifred (who was still known as ‘Baby’), a pretty child of about
three years old, ran about the deck; and Alice carried on a laughing
flirtation with Captain Lovell, which she refused to relinquish for
all the warning looks she received from her mother. The fact is, Alice
was piqued. Her lawful sweetheart, Jack Blythe, may have been too busy
to stay by her side, and attend to her many little wants, and she was
a sensible girl, and did not expect him to give up his duty for his
pleasure; still, he might have spoken a word or two to her occasionally
in passing, or thrown a look with a world of meaning in it. But though
he had smiled kindly at her when they met in the morning, he had taken
no notice of her since, and Alice could not help seeing that he was
pre-occupied and serious. What could be the matter with him? Surely
he was never going to be so stupid as to feel jealous of the little
attentions Captain Lovell showed her, and which he himself had no time
to pay! If _that_ was to be the order of march at this early stage of
the proceedings, what would Jack do before the voyage was over. The
very thought made Alice’s only half-subdued heart rebellious, and her
smiles became sweeter, and her laughter more hilarious, than there was
any need they should be.
And, meantime, jealousy of her and her doings was the very last thought
of Vernon Blythe. His mind was entirely set upon Iris Harland, and he
had to drive her image, and the wild conjectures which the sight of
her had eliminated, by force away, in order to fit himself for his
duty. Where was her husband? What was she doing on board the _Pandora_?
Why had she embarked under a false name? And had she recognised him
when he recognised her? All these questions kept rushing through his
brain, and driving him half crazy because he could not solve them. He
had tried to pump Dr Lennard, but had derived little satisfaction from
the attempt. The doctor could not guess the reason for his anxiety,
and would not have sympathised with it, probably, if he had. He set
down the young man’s queries to curiosity, and answered them in a very
common-place manner. Miss Douglas was better, and would be all right in
a day or two. Did he not consider her an unusually pretty woman? Well,
she had good features, certainly, but was too thin and pale for beauty,
and she was very silent. The doctor didn’t know if she was stupid or
sulky, but she did not appear very grateful for the attentions shown
her; and the girl from the steerage who was nursing her, and seemed to
be her friend, was twice as interesting a person, in his eyes.
And so Vernon Blythe turned away with the secret of his burning heart
untold, and waited feverishly for the moment when he should see Iris
again and speak to her, although he could scarcely trust himself to
think of it. He had borne the sting of his disappointment for five long
years, and he believed that he was cured. He had never expected to meet
Iris Hetherley (the only name by which he had known her) again. He had
thought he should, in due time, marry Alice Leyton, and banish the last
memories of his first love for ever from his heart. Yet here she was,
and the very knowledge that she _was_ here had the power to make the
young sailor’s blood course like molten lava through his veins, and set
his head spinning like a top. He knew that, in a few days at latest, he
must see her again; but each hour seemed to mark a day as it dragged
its weary length along.
Jack longed for a storm to arise,--for the vessel to be in
danger,--for anything to occur that should take him out of himself, and
make the time go faster. But the clerk of the weather would not listen
to his prayer. The sky continued to be gloriously blue; the emerald
waters sparkled in the radiance of the sun; the white cliffs of dear
Albion, with the green fields beyond them, receded further and further
away; the vessels of every nation, which the English Channel bears upon
her bosom, became scattered and far between, and the _Pandora_ stood
out to the open sea.
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[Illustration]