FOREBODINGS.
The whole of the day Mrs. Hamilton had vainly tried to shake off a most
unwonted gloom. Convinced herself that it was greatly physical, from the
unusual oppressiveness of the weather relaxing the nerves, which had so
many months been overstrained, yet her thoughts would cling to Mr.
Maitland's words, that her husband might be coming home himself; but if
the accounts of Ellen's danger and Edward's confession had recalled him,
he ought to have arrived full two or three weeks previous. The gale that
swept round her--the awful and unnatural darkness--the remarkable
phenomena, at that season, of lightning--and the long, loud
thunder-claps[4] which inland could be fearfully distinguished from the
gale, appalled the whole household; and therefore it was not much wonder
that the vague idea of her husband's having left Feroe, and exposure to
such a tempest, should become in that fearful anxiety almost a certainty
of agony. It was well, perhaps, that her unselfish nature had an object
to draw her in some slight degree out of herself, for her firmness, her
trust beyond the accidents of earth, all seemed about to fail her, and
make her for the time being most wretched. As the storm and closeness
increased, so did Ellen's feverish restlessness; her nerves, not yet
fully restored, felt strung almost to torture with every flash, and
clap, and blast. She tried to laugh at her own folly; for, though often
terrified, when a little child, at the storms in India, those of England
had never affected her at all, and she could not understand why she
should feel this so childishly. But argument is of little moment in such
cases; and Mrs. Hamilton, satisfying her that she could no more help her
present sensation than her physical weakness, tried to soothe and amuse
her, and in so doing partially cheered herself. She did not leave her
till past midnight; and then desiring Mrs. Langford to sit up with her
till she was comfortably asleep, retired to her own bed-room. Never
since her husband's absence had its solitude felt so vast--so heavily
oppressive; thought after thought of him thronged her mind till she
fairly gave up the effort to struggle with them. "Will his voice ever
sound here again, his heart give me the support I need?" rose to her
lips, as she gazed round her, and the deep stillness, the gloom only
broken by a small silver lamp, and the fitful light of the fire, seemed
but a solemn answer. She buried her face in her clasped hands, and the
clock struck two before that inward conflict permitted her once more to
lift up heart and brow in meek, trusting faith to Him who still watched
over her and her beloved ones; and after an earnest, voiceless prayer,
she drew her little table, with its books of devotion, to the fire, and
read thoughtfully, prayerfully, for another hour, and then sought her
couch. But she could not sleep; the wind had again arisen, and fearing
to lie awake and listen to it would only renew her unusual agitation,
she rose at four, dressed herself, and throwing on a large shawl,
softly traversed the passage, and entered her niece's room; finding her,
as she fully expected, as wakeful and restless as herself, with the
addition of an intense headache. She had persuaded nurse Langford to go
to bed, but the pain had come on since then, and made her more restless
and feverish than before. She could not lie in any posture to get ease,
till at last, about six o'clock, completely exhausted, she fell asleep,
sitting almost upright in her aunt's arms, her head leaning against her,
as she stood by the bedside. Fearing to disturb her, Mrs. Hamilton would
not move, desiring the morning prayers to be said without her, and Miss
Harcourt and her daughters not to wait breakfast, as she would have it
with Ellen when she awoke. That she was stiff and exhausted with three
hours' standing in one position, she did not heed, perhaps scarcely
felt, for woman's loveliest attribute, that of a tender and utterly
unselfish nurse, was hers to perfection. But she did not refuse the cup
of chocolate Caroline brought her herself, and with affectionate
earnestness entreated her to take.
[Footnote 4: These storms, as occurring in Devonshire, in both January
and February, are no creation of the imagination; the author has heard
them herself, and more than one officer in the Preventive Service has
mentioned them as occurring during the night-watches, and of awful
violence.]
"You look so fatigued and so pale, dearest mother, I wish you would let
me take your place; I would be so quiet, so gentle, Ellen would not even
know her change of nurses."
"I do not doubt your care, love, but I fear the least movement will
disturb this poor child, and she has had such a restless night, I want
her to sleep as long as she can. Your thoughtful care has so refreshed
me, that I feel quite strong again, so go and finish your breakfast in
comfort, dearest."
Caroline very unwillingly obeyed, and about a quarter of an hour
afterward, Mrs. Hamilton was startled by the sound of a carriage
advancing with unusual velocity to the house. It stopped at the main
entrance, and she had scarcely time to wonder who could be such very
early visitors, when a loud scream, in the voice of Emmeline, rung in
her ears; whether of joy or grief she could not distinguish, but it was
the voice of her child, and the already tortured nerves of the wife and
mother could not bear it without a sensation of terror, amounting to
absolute agony. She laid Ellen's head tenderly on the pillow, watched
over her, though her limbs so trembled she could scarcely support
herself, saw with intense relief that the movement had not disturbed her
quiet sleep, and calling Mrs. Langford from an adjoining room, hastily
descended the stairs, though how she did so, and entered the
breakfast-room, she always said she never knew. Many and eager and glad
voices were speaking at once; the very servants thronged the hall and
threshold of the room, but all made way for her.
"Arthur!--my husband!" she did find voice to exclaim, but every object
but his figure reeled before her, and she fainted in his arms.
It was some time before she recovered, for mind and frame had been too
long overtasked; and Mr. Hamilton, as he clasped her in his arms,
beseeching her only to speak to him, and gazed on her deathlike
countenance, felt in a moment that great as his anxiety had been for
her, he had not imagined one-half she had endured. His voice--his
kiss--seemed to rouse the scattered senses, even more effectually than
Miss Harcourt's anxiously proffered remedies; but she could not speak,
she only looked up in his face, as if to be quite, quite sure he had
indeed returned; that her vague fancies of danger, even if they had
foundation, had merged in the most blissful reality, that she was no
longer _alone_; and leaning her head on his bosom, was only conscious of
a thankfulness too deep for words; a repose that, since his departure,
she had not known for a single day. Neither she nor her husband could
believe that it was only six months since they had been separated. It
seemed, and to Mrs. Hamilton especially, as if she must have lived
through years in that time, it had been so fraught with sorrow.
"Not one word, my own dearest! and only these pallid cheeks and heavy
eyes to greet me. Must I reproach you directly I come home, for, as
usual, not thinking enough of yourself; forgetting how precious is that
self to so many, your husband above all?"
"Nay, papa, you shall not scold mamma," said Emmeline, eagerly, as her
mother tried to smile and speak in answer. "She ought to scold you, for
not sending us one line to prepare us for your unexpected presence, and
frightening us all by coming so suddenly upon us, and making mamma
faint, as I never saw her do before. Indeed I do not like it, mother
darling!" continued the affectionate girl, kneeling down by her mother,
and clinging to her, adding, in a suppressed, terrified voice, "It was
so like death."
Mrs. Hamilton read in a moment that Emmeline's playfulness was only
assumed to hide strong emotion; that she was trying very hard for
complete control, but so trembling, that she knelt down, literally
because she could not stand. It was such a proof of her endeavor to
profit by her mother's gentle lessons, that even at that moment it not
only gave her the sweetest gratification, but helped her to rouse
herself.
"Indeed, I think you are perfectly right, Emmy," she said, quite in her
usual voice, as she pressed her child a moment to her, and kissed her
cheek, which was almost as pale as her own. "I will not submit to any
scolding, when papa himself is answerable for my unusual weakness; but
as we wanted him so _very_ much, why, we will be lenient with him, and
only keep him prisoner with us for some time to come. But get him
breakfast quickly, Caroline, love; such an early visitor must want it.
When did you arrive, dearest Arthur?" she added, looking earnestly in
his face, and half wondering at the expression upon it, it seemed to
speak so many things; "surely not this morning? You were not at sea in
yesterday's awful storm?"
"I was indeed, my Emmeline; can you bear to hear it, or have you been
agitated enough already? I have been in danger, great danger, but our
Father's infinite mercy has preserved me to you all, making the
instrument of my preservation so young a lad and slight a frame, I know
not how sufficiently to bless God, or to thank my preserver."
Mrs. Hamilton's hand closed convulsively on her husband's; her eyes
riveted on his countenance as if she would grasp his whole meaning at
once, but little did she guess the whole.
"I did not come alone," he added, striving for composure, and even
playfulness, "though it seems I was such an important personage, as to
be the only one seen or thought about."
"By-the-by, I did see, or fancied I saw, Edward," rejoined Caroline,
who, at the news of her father having been in danger, had left the
breakfast-table, unable to keep away from him, even that short distance,
but neither she, nor either of the others, connecting her cousin with
Mr. Hamilton's words, and not quite understanding why he should have so
interrupted the most interesting subject. "He has gone to see Ellen, I
suppose, and so we have missed him. Was he your companion, papa? How and
where did you meet him?"
"Let him answer for himself!" replied Mr. Hamilton, still determinately
hiding his feelings under a tone and manner of jest, and leaving his
wife's side for a moment, he drew Edward from the recess of the window,
where all this time he had been standing quite unobserved, and led him
forward.
"Good heavens! Edward, what have you been about?" exclaimed Miss
Harcourt, and her exclamation was echoed by Caroline and Emmeline, while
Mrs. Hamilton gazed at him in bewildered alarm. He was deadly pale, with
every appearance of exhaustion, and a most disfiguring patch on his left
brow, which he had tried in vain to hide with his hair.
"You have been fighting."
"Only with the elements, Miss Harcourt, and they have rather tired me,
that is all; I shall be well in a day or two. Don't look so terrified,
dear aunt," he answered, with the same attempt at jest as his uncle, and
throwing himself lightly on an ottoman by Mrs. Hamilton, he laid his
head very quietly on her lap.
"Fighting--and with the elements? Arthur, dearest Arthur, for pity's
sake tell me the whole truth at once; it can not be--"
"And why should it not, my beloved?" (there was no attempt at jest now).
"He to whom your care has preserved a sister--whom your indulgent love
has given courage to resolve that error shall be conquered, and he will
become all we can wish him--whom you took to your heart and home when
motherless--God has mercifully made the instrument of saving your
husband from a watery grave, and giving back their father to your
children!"
"To be associated in your heart with other thoughts than those of
ingratitude, and cruelty, and sin! Oh, aunt Emmeline, I can not thank
God enough for permitting me this great mercy," were the only words poor
Edward could speak, when the first intensity of his aunt's emotion was
in some degree conquered, and she could look in his young face, though
her eyes were almost blinded with tears, and putting back the bright
hair which the rain and spray had so uncurled, as to lay heavy and damp
upon his pale forehead, she imprinted a long, silent kiss upon it, and
looking alternately at him and her husband, seemed powerless to realize
any other thought.
Mr. Hamilton briefly, but most eloquently, narrated the events of the
previous night, dwelling only sufficiently on his imminent peril, to
evince the real importance of Edward's extraordinary exertions, not to
harrow the feelings of his listeners more than need be. That the young
officer's determined opposition to the almost angrily expressed opinions
of Captain Harvey and old Collins as to the better landing-place, had
saved them from the effects of the huge wave, which had burst like a
water-spout a minute after they had all leaped in safety on shore,
almost overwhelming the projecting sand to which Collins had wished to
direct the boat, and so proving at once Edward's far superior nautical
knowledge, for had they steered there, the frail bark must inevitably
have been upset, and its crew washed by the receding torrent back to
sea. Harvey and Collins acknowledged their error at once, and looked
eagerly for Edward to say so to him, but he had vanished the moment they
had achieved a safe landing, to Mr. Hamilton's annoyance, for he had not
the least suspicion who he was, and only longed to express, if he could
not otherwise evince his gratitude, Collins and Grey refusing the
smallest credit, declaring that if it had not been for this young
stranger officer, of whom they knew nothing, not even his name, not a
man would have stirred; that for any fisherman or mere ordinary sailor
to have guided the boat to and from the sinking vessel, in such a sea,
was so impossible, that no one would have attempted it; old Collins
ending, with the superstition of his class, by a declaration, that his
disappearance convinced his already more than suspicion, that it was
some good angel in a boy's likeness; for Arthur Hamilton would never
have been permitted so to perish: an explanation, Mr. Hamilton added,
laughingly, that might suit his Emmy, but was rather too fanciful for
him. However, his young preserver was nowhere to be found, but, to his
extreme astonishment, and no little relief (for now that he was so near
home, his anxiety to hear of all, especially Ellen, whom he scarcely
dared hope to find alive, became insupportable), Mr. Howard suddenly
stood before him, grasping both his hands, without the power, for a
minute or two, to speak. Mr. Hamilton overwhelmed him with questions,
scarcely giving him time to answer one before he asked another. They had
nearly reached the hotel, when Captain Harvey's bluff voice was heard
exclaiming--
"Here he is, Mr. Hamilton; he is too exhausted to escape our thanks and
blessings now. What could the youngster have tried to hide himself for?"
But before Mr. Hamilton could make any rejoinder, save to grasp the
young man's hands strongly in his own, Mr. Howard said, eagerly--
"Oblige me, Captain Harvey; take that boy into our hotel, it is only
just round the corner; make him take off his dripping jacket, and give
him some of your sailor's stuff. He is not quite strong enough for his
exertions to-night, and should rest at once."
Captain Harvey bore him off, almost carrying him, for exertion and a
variety of emotions had rendered him faint and powerless.
"Do you know him, Howard? who and what is he?" But Mr. Howard did not,
perhaps could not reply, but hurried his friend on to the hotel; and
entered the room, where, having called for lights, and all the
ingredients of grog-punch, which he vowed the boy should have instead of
the brandy and water he had called for, they found Edward trying to
laugh, and protesting against all coddling; he was perfectly well, and
he would not go to bed, and could not imagine what right Captain Harvey
had to be a sailor, if he thought so much of a storm, and a blow, and a
wetting.
"Nor should I, if you were sailor-rigged; but what business have you
with this overgrown mast of a figure, and a face pale and delicate as a
woman's?"
And so like his dying mother it was, that Mr. Hamilton stood for a
moment on the threshold, completely stupefied. We leave our readers to
imagine the rest; and how Captain Harvey carried the seemingly marvelous
news that the brave young officer was Mr. Hamilton's own nephew, over
the town, and in every fisherman's hut, in a miraculously short space of
time.
We may as well state here at once, to save farther retrospection, that
Mr. Hamilton, by the active and admirable assistance of Morton, had,
after a three months' residence at Feroe, perceived that he might return
to England much sooner than he had at first anticipated; still he did
not like to mention even the probability of such a thing to his family,
till perfectly certain himself. Morton never ceased persuading him to
name a period for his return, knowing the comfort it would be to his
home; but Mr. Hamilton could not bear the idea of leaving his friend in
his voluntary banishment so many months sooner than they had reckoned
on. When, however, the letters came from Oakwood, detailing Edward's
return, and the discoveries thence proceeding, his anxiety and, let it
be owned, his extreme displeasure against his nephew, prompted his
return at once. Morton not only conquered every objection to his
immediate departure, but tried, and in some measure succeeded, to soften
his anger, by bringing before him many points in Mr. Howard's letter,
showing real, good, and true repentance in the offender, which a first
perusal of a narrative of error had naturally overlooked. The seas,
however, were so fearfully tempestuous and the winds so adverse, that
it was impossible either to leave Feroe, or get a letter conveyed to
Scotland, for a full fortnight after the Siren's last voyage. Nothing
but the extreme urgency of the case, increased by the fact that the
detention of the Siren at Wick had given Mr. Hamilton a double packet of
letters, but the second, though dated ten days later, gave the same
hopeless account of Ellen, could have made him attempt a voyage home in
such weather; yet he felt he could not rest, knowing intuitively the
misery his wife must be enduring, and scarcely able to bear even the
thought of what seemed most probable, that Ellen would be taken from
her, and the aggravated trial it would be. The voyage was a terrible
one, for length and heavy gales. More than once they wished to put into
port, that Mr. Hamilton might continue his journey by land, but their
only safety seemed keeping out at sea, the storm threatening to dash
them on rock or shoal, whenever in sight of land.
By the time they reached the Land's End--they had come westward of
England, instead of eastward, as they went--the vessel was in such a
shattered and leaky condition, that Captain Harvey felt and
acknowledged, she could not weather out another storm. The calm that had
followed the heavy gales, gave hope to all; even though the constant
shiftings of the wind, which was now not more than what, in sailor's
parlance, is called a cat's-paw, prevented their making as much way as
they desired. At length they were within twenty miles of Dartmouth, and
not a doubt of their safety disturbed them, until the darkening
atmosphere, the sullen rise and suppressed roar of the billows, the wind
sobbing and wailing at first, and then bursting into that awful gale,
which we have before described, banished every human hope at once. The
rudder snapped; every half-hour the water gained upon the hold, though
every man worked the pumps. There was not a shred of canvas, but the
masts, and yards, and stays bent and snapped like reeds before the
blast. To guide her was impossible; she was driven on--on--till she
struck on a reef of rock about a mile, or less, perhaps from Dartmouth.
Then came their signals of distress, as a last lone hope, for the crew
of the Siren were all too good seamen to dare believe a boat could
either be pushed off, or live in such a sea. Their wonder, their hope,
their intense thankfulness, when it was discovered, may be imagined. The
rest is known.
"And how did you get this disfiguring blow, my dear Edward?" inquired
his aunt, whose eyes, it seemed, would turn upon him, as if impossible
to connect that slight figure with such immense exertions--though some
time had passed, and a social, happy breakfast, round which all still
lingered, had enabled them to subdue too painful emotion, and only to be
conscious of the most deep and grateful joy.
"Pray do not call it disfiguring, aunt; I am quite proud of it. Last
night I could have dispensed with such a striking mark of affection from
the poor Siren, though I really hardly felt it, except that the blood
would trickle in my eye, and almost blind me, when I wanted all my sight
and senses too. But this morning Mr. Howard has made such a kind fuss
about it, that I think it must be something grand."
"But what did you hide yourself for, Ned?" demanded Emmeline, all her
high spirits recalled. Her cousin hesitated and a flush mounted to his
forehead.
"It was fear, Emmeline; absolute fear!"
"Fear!" she repeated, laughing; "of what? of all the bogies and spirits
of the winds and waves, whose wrath you dared, by venturing to oppose
them? Nonsense, Edward! you will never make me believe that."
"Because you do not know me," he answered, with startling earnestness.
"How can your gentle nature understand the incongruities of mine? or
loving your father as you do, and as he deserves, comprehend the dread,
belief in his unpitying sternness to youthful error, which from my
childhood he held--he holds--my fate, forgiveness or exposure, and how
could I meet him calmly? Emmeline, Emmeline, if I had been but as
morally brave as I may be physically, I should have had nothing to
dread, nothing to hide. As it is, uncle Hamilton, judge, act, decide as
you would, if I had not been the undeserved means of saving you--it will
be the best for me;" and, rising hurriedly, he left the room before any
one could reply.
"But you will forgive him, papa; you will try him again; and I am sure
he will be morally brave, too," pleaded Emmeline; her sister and Miss
Harcourt joining in the entreaty and belief, and Mrs. Hamilton looking
in his face without uttering a word. Mr. Hamilton's answer seemed to
satisfy all parties.
Ellen meanwhile had awoke, quite refreshed, and all pain gone, been
dressed and conveyed to her daily quarters, the events of the morning
entirely unknown to her; for though the joyful news, spreading like
wildfire through the house, had reached Mrs. Langford's ears, and made
her very happy, she had quite judgment enough, even without a message to
the effect from her mistress, to keep it from Ellen till carefully
prepared.
"What can I say to my little Ellen for deserting her so long?" inquired
Mrs. Hamilton, playfully, as she entered her room, about twelve o'clock,
after a long private conversation with her husband.
"I wish you would tell me you had been lying down, dear aunt; it would
satisfy me better than any other reason."
"Because you think it would do me the most good, dearest. But look at
me, and tell me if you do not think I must have been trying some equally
efficacious remedy." Ellen did look, and so radiant was that kind face
with happiness, that she was startled.
"What _has_ happened, aunt Emmeline? You have heard from my uncle," she
added, her voice trembling. "What does he say?--will he--"
"He says, you must summon all your smiles to greet him, love; for he
hopes to be with us very, _very_ shortly, so you will not wonder at my
joy?"
Ellen tried to sympathize in it; but Mrs. Hamilton soon saw that her
perhaps near dread of what should be her uncle's judgment on her brother
and herself, prevented all pleasurable anticipation of his arrival, and
that the only effectual way of removing it was to let them meet as soon
as possible.