“Hear the loud alarum bells――
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night,
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire――
In a mad expostulation to the deaf and frantic fire;
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire.”
EDGAR POE.
The long northern winter had nearly passed, and the breaking up of the
cold weather was daily expected at Halifax. To the fair Haligonians
themselves this season had been one of unusual enjoyment and gayety,
for more than one British ship had, during this time, visited them,
and the _Erratic_ had passed the whole period in their harbor. The
political disturbances which had made this arrangement advisable need
not here be detailed; they have nothing to do with my story, and did
not in the least interfere to stop the festive meetings, in which
those far-famed belles are said to delight, while they added to their
parties the unusual presence of merry young naval officers, always
eager to assist by their company in social amusements.
It was true that the captain of the _Erratic_ was married, and
therefore uninteresting; the first lieutenant, too, was so grave and
reserved, that, though interesting, he was inaccessible. It was
whispered that he had been crossed in love, and was not to be consoled
by any of the fair young beings, who, in their warm compassion, would
readily have undertaken that task. But though disconsolate, he was not
ill-natured; he was always ready to accommodate more happy individuals
by exchanging duties, or such other kindnesses as were required, so
that all agreed that Duncan was the best fellow in the world.
It was evening, a social party surrounded the Governor’s table, among
whom sat Captain Hepburn, who was a special favorite there. Suddenly
the alarm of fire in the town was raised, no uncommon event when
nearly the whole of the buildings were of wood. But there was on this
occasion apparently more danger, or more fear than usual; the sounds
of the uproar reached the dining-room, where Sir Charles was
entertaining his guests; and in a few minutes the table was deserted,
the whole party of gentlemen sallying forth to see what was going on.
There was reason for the outcry. The dark canopy of heavy smoke,
reddened up to the zenith by the reflection of the fire; the crackling
long tongues of fierce flames, which shot up high above the roofs, and
leaping madly off, like disembodied spirits for a moment visible,
ascended to the sky; the loud pealing of the startling alarum; the
cries and shouts; the rush of many feet; the heavy roll of the
fire-engines, tearing helter-skelter to the spot, all combined to show
that this was no common conflagration. One whole block of houses was
so completely in a blaze that to isolate the flame by pulling down
others, and cutting off communication, seemed the only thing left to
do. There were no lives in jeopardy, but property to a large amount
was in danger; the presence of the Governor gave a stimulus to
exertion, and all worked with a will; sailors, soldiers, firemen,
towns-people and strangers.
The scene was awfully grand, as scenes where fire has the mastery must
be. Other elements are majestic in their might, but none have such a
character as fire. The energy, self-will, malice, and cruel vigor of
this fearful power, give the beholders an idea of life which no other
can present. Yes, living fire is its fitting appellation. Living: a
life instinct with the spirit of mischief, such as nothing earth-born
can compare with. And while all worked as if for life and death, and
the enemy still rose and triumphed, seeming at once to invite and mock
their efforts――another alarm was raised of the same nature in a
quarter at some distance from the first.
Whether the fire had crept along the ground, or been carried by a
burning brand, or sprang up from some internal cause, could not be
known; it was too certain that there it was, and part of the crowd
moved off in that direction to ascertain the cause.
“For Heaven’s sake, Hepburn!” said Sir Charles, “go down and see what
new trouble is this. I will come in five minutes, if more help is
needed.”
At the word, Captain Hepburn disengaged himself from the press, and
hurried off. On his way he met a boat’s crew of his own “Erratics,”
who, headed by Maurice, were hastening to afford assistance, and who
now, with a joyous cheer, as they saw their captain, placed themselves
under his orders. They reached the spot; one house was on fire; a
large store belonging to three women, which had been but recently
built of brick, and now stood alone, the first of a new block.
Oh, horror! there were the forms of the wretched inmates at an upper
window, whither they had fled from the flames below; the stair-case
was consuming; their retreat was cut off. Already had a messenger been
sent for a ladder, and as the party of sailors came up, men were seen
approaching with one on their shoulders. But at this moment a cry was
raised, from whence it came they knew not, that there was powder in
the house, and the crowd shrank back in terror. “Better three women
than hundreds should perish,” was murmured round. The flames flashed
brighter, the black smoke curled thicker every moment. Captain Hepburn
sprang forward, and laid his hands upon the ladder which the dastards
who bore it had thrown to the earth in their hurried retreat.
“What, my men! ‘Erratics’ afraid of powder when a woman is in peril!
You have all had _mothers_!”
“Ay, ay, sir!” shouted the gallant fellows to a man, and assembled
round him. “We’ll heave up the ladder, sir,” said one noble seaman,
“if _you_ will keep out of danger; ay, and if needs be, go aloft
ourselves. ‘Erratics’ fear neither powder nor smoke;” and as he spoke,
the ladder was carried to the house, and in a second run up to the
roof, where the three terrified women had crept for safety from a
garret window.
Captain Hepburn stood at the foot to steady it; Maurice was by his
side. In a few, but peremptory words, he ordered all his men back; he
would remain alone: the instinct of obedience prevailed; slowly and
unwillingly the sailors retired, scarce condescending even then to
stand out of danger. The ladder was so frail that the least
experienced eye could see that it would not bear the weight of two
persons at once, and yet the women, even in their perilous position,
half hesitated to trust themselves to their only chance of escape.
“Down! down!” shouted the men, in an ecstasy of impatience, “every
moment you delay you risk the captain’s life.”
Captain Hepburn tried to speak words of encouragement, and at length
one, the boldest, ventured the attempt and descended in safety.
“Go, Maurice,” said Captain Hepburn to his brother-in-law, as they
together watched her progress; “go back with her; you are not wanted
here.”
“Never while you are in danger,” was the lieutenant’s resolute reply.
“Go,” repeated the other with more emphasis, “for Hilary’s sake; if I
perish, tell her I fell in duty――why should she lose us both?”
“Never!” was still the answer. “Go, you, dear Hepburn, for _her_ sake,
it matters nothing what becomes of me.”
By this time the second woman had nearly reached the ground; the
third, with feeble, tottering step, was commencing the descent,
seemingly more alarmed at this attempt than at the awful danger which
had menaced her. Another minute and all would be safe, when just then
a fiercer burst of flame issued from the window, as some new impulse
was given to its fury, and another shout arose amid the crowd, “The
powder! the powder!”
At the same time another form was seen, a man laden with a heavy box
issued from the garret window, and although the last woman had but
advanced a few steps, he began, with frantic haste, to descend the
ladder.
“Back! back!” was the word which swelled in a shout from the indignant
spectators; “wait for your turn, as you are a _man_!”
It was no use; even as the cry rose in the air, the ladder snapped
like a reed, and man and woman were hurled in one helpless writhing
heap upon the gallant officer who had tried to save their lives.
Maurice was unhurt. Another prolonged shriek echoed the voice of the
falling wretches, and then came the silence of horror, only broken by
the fierce crackling of the madly exulting flames. At the same moment
the governor arrived on the spot.
The sufferers were lifted from the ground and borne away; the
fractures or contusions of the two who were uppermost did not render
them wholly insensible, but the captain wore the appearance of a
corpse; hurriedly they carried him from further danger, and the next
moment, with a fearful explosion, the house blew up, the ruins of the
front wall covering the spot where the two bold men had so recently
stood. No more mischief was done.
“Would to God that I had been in his place!” sighed Maurice, as he
covered his insensible brother-in-law with some of the blankets
readily produced. He was lying on a door, which his men tore down to
carry him.
“He is not dead,” said a surgeon, as he felt the pulsations of that
heart which had beat so bravely. “Don’t smother him. Quick, with him
to the hospital. His best chance! I will go on, and get matters
ready.”
“Forward, men; steady, my boys!” and they bore their dearly-beloved
burden onward.
There were tears among his crew. Tears trickled down rugged,
weather-beaten cheeks; tears from eyes which could have confronted an
enemy’s battery without flinching; but good captains make good men;
and sailors, rough and hardy as they are, have often hearts within
soft as a woman’s.
He did not die then; he recovered his consciousness, and heard
unflinchingly from the surgeons the fate which would probably be his.
“Maurice, do you know what they say?” inquired he, as his
brother-in-law visited him. The lieutenant hesitated to answer.
“My professional career is over,” resumed he, calmly. “I may return to
Hilary, and die in peace.”
Maurice concealed his face.
“Yes, death may be slow, but it will be certain; so it is to all: only
I _feel_ his cold finger touching me. The spine is irrecoverably
injured, and I shall never stand on the quarter deck again.”
“Poor Hilary!”
“Yes, poor Hilary; she will suffer: it will be your duty to comfort
her when I am gone; but I trust I shall see her again. Maurice, you
need not pity me very much. One can not live on earth for ever, and to
die for duty has been my first wish.”
“Hepburn, I must go home with you.”
“Maurice, you must not! you can not! there is your profession!”
“I don’t care, I will renounce it――quit the service――give up any thing
to be of use to you.”
“Madness――think of your sisters; you know they look to you for
help――of your honor! your prospects in life! would you give up all,
and do me no good? I will not hear of it.”
“What steps shall you take?” said Maurice, resolved, yet unwilling to
dispute the topic.
“I shall apply for a survey in due form; there is not much question of
the incapacity of a man who can not stir a step, nor stand upright;
and go home next packet.”
“And the ship?”
“Ah, dear old _Erratic_. I have, I suppose, taken my last leave of
her. Thank my men, Duncan; thank them from me, for their zeal and
care. I fear I shall never see them again, nor hear their farewell
cheer as I go over the ship’s side for the last time.”
He turned his face a little more toward his pillow, and whispered
something about Hilary, which Maurice did not catch.
However things were ordered somewhat differently.
The next day, Maurice hurried to the hospital, with a face in which
various feelings contended strongly, though pleasure might be seen
flashing up amid pain.
“What has happened?” inquired the senior, as he saw his countenance.
“I shall go home with you, after all,” said Maurice; “I am promoted!”
“Ah! how glad I am, my dear fellow, I wish you joy; promoted! how?”
“From home; _how_ I don’t know! I have no interest, you know, and none
to care for me _now_.”
A shade came over his face, as he thought how his other step had been
gained.
“Well, you deserve it, Maurice, as much as any one; there is no need
of considering it the result of interest; your own merits have, no
doubt, been the cause; and it is come in time to reward your bravery
the other night; for your sake, _all_ your sakes, I am glad. How your
sisters will rejoice; dear Hilary! But I wish you had been appointed
to a ship out here, to have served your time at once.”
“I am sure I don’t. The best part of it is the being able to go home
with you. I should care little for it otherwise. But I must tell you
what the Admiral said. You know he came in yesterday about sunset; and
the mail arrived this morning.”
“Yes, I heard the salute yesterday evening. That will make it much
more easy to have the survey; I had been wondering how it would be
best to manage, there were so few of the right people. I should have
had to apply to the Governor.”
“Yes――well, this morning the Admiral landed, and then sent for me. He
asked me no end of questions about the fire, and said some very
handsome things about us both; then he added, ‘The Lords of the
Admiralty, with their usual discrimination in discovering merit, and
promptness in rewarding it, having moreover, no doubt, had penetration
enough to foresee what has just occurred, have sent out this as your
reward. Commander Duncan, I have great pleasure in presenting you with
your commission from their lordships, and beg to add your epaulettes
from myself as a mark of esteem!’ I thought he was joking, till I saw
the commission in my own hands. What a queer old fellow he is; and as
kind as he is odd.”
“And what did you say?” said Captain Hepburn, smiling.
“_I_ say? I am sure I don’t know. I felt ten thousand things at once;
I was choking with joy, and all sorts of feelings. Going home with you
was, I think, my first and last thought, though. He took my mutilated
thanks very civilly; but demurred to the idea of our going home in a
packet. Only think, the _Erratic_ is ordered home at once.”
“No! is she really; what for?” The color flashed up in Captain
Hepburn’s pale cheeks, and he made an effort to move his helpless
form. Maurice raised him tenderly, the tears standing in his eyes, as
he saw the utter prostration of that strong man’s strength. His arms
were free and living, but his lower limbs were as if dead.
After swallowing down his emotion, and arranging his brother-in-law
more comfortably on the pillows, no easy task, for there were many
contusions to be cared for, besides the great injury to the spine,
Maurice went on.
“The Admiral says you shall go home in your own ship, Hepburn; you
need not invalid until you reach England; you can command her from
your couch, and I will be your nurse and passenger.”
“But what is she going home for?”
“I did not hear; what do you say to his plan? He told me to mention
it, but he is coming here himself this afternoon; he and the Governor,
for the latter came in just before I left, and told me he meant to
come and see you. I must not repeat what he said to the Admiral about
it all; but he was very kind, and shook hands, and wished me joy of my
promotion; and talked as if I had done any thing at all.”
“You did as much as any body,” said Captain Hepburn, “except getting
your back broken; and I suppose may share equally in the merit,
whatever that may be. The result can not affect that!”
“But about the _Erratic_, you will keep the command?”
“I will answer the Admiral, Duncan!”
“Ah, then I know you mean to give up; well, perhaps it will be best;
if you do, he will put his nephew in with an acting order to take her
home; he is a nice, gentleman-like fellow, and the ship’s company will
get on with him. However, I should not wonder if they were paid off at
home, they have been out three years altogether!”
Captain Hepburn did not seem to be listening; he was considering some
other subject.
The Admiral and the Governor came together to visit the captain of the
_Erratic_.
“I am sorry to see you here, Captain Hepburn,” said the former, as he
shook him cordially by the hand. “Why must you go and do the firemen’s
work, and get into this pickle yourself?”
“Well, if there had been any one else, I would not have interfered,”
replied the young officer. “You see I must pay the penalty for
extra-professional zeal, by quitting her Majesty’s service.”
“Not quitting, I trust; a little rest and time will set you on your
legs again. Go home to your wife, and let her nurse you for six
months, and then you’ll be as well as I am.”
The sufferer shook his head.
“Never despair, never despair,” added the Admiral; “here is Sir
Charles here, was telling me how his cousin recovered from an accident
quite as bad as yours; so why should not you?”
“We shall see,” replied the other, quietly.
“That man who tumbled on you, ought to be run up to the yard-arm,”
pursued the admiral, warmly; “what are you going to do with him, Sir
Charles?”
“I believe he will be tried for burglary,” replied the governor, “as
soon as his arm is well. He was endeavoring to make off with stolen
goods, and must have broken into the house before the fire began.”
“Ah well, I hope he will be punished! but, Captain Hepburn, you need
not invalid; I’ll tell you what; those sagacious gentlemen at the
Admiralty have ordered me to send home the _Erratic_ at once, to take
his Excellency, Lord Somebody or other, to some court or kingdom; you
keep the command, at all events, till you reach Spithead; time enough
to invalid then, if you must. You might go to Haslar first, for six
weeks, and who knows what might happen!”
“You are very kind, sir, but I have really no chance of recovery; and
am so entirely incompetent for exertion, that I think I had better
keep to my first resolution.”
“Exertion――you need not exert yourself! leave that to the master and
first lieutenant. Why, what do half the captains do now-a-days, but
live on shore, and only go off to the ship when there is a man to be
flogged, or some other excitement!”
“There are such instances, but they are hardly the rule, sir.”
“And you must know your friend here too well, to expect him to follow
such exceptional courses,” said Sir Charles, smiling at the admiral.
“I don’t mean to say it’s right; but a captain with a head like
Hepburn’s, even though he had no legs, would be better than many a big
lubber all legs and arms, without any head to bless himself with. And
I know such on this very station; depending entirely on their first
lieutenant.”
“Still I would rather have my own way,” said the captain.
“Obstinate fellow! Think of the pay; you have a wife and family, have
you not?”
“A wife, sir; but I will not take pay for work I can not perform!”
“One of your absurd romances, Hepburn. I know you of old.”
“Not very absurd, I think: simply honest. And if a captain is of any
thing beyond nominal use, let the _Erratic_ have one for the voyage
who can move himself without help, either mental or personal.”
“Ah, well, I’m the gainer, you know; but what good will it do you at
the admiralty? will they thank you for your self-denial? Not they;
they don’t know what such fine feeling is. Boards are always
half-grained, tough, and intractable.”
“I am beyond caring for their praise or censure now, sir; my accounts
must soon be rendered at a higher tribunal.”
“Don’t be down-hearted, my dear fellow!” said the admiral, gulping
down something which seemed to stick in his throat. “I hope to have
you under my command again some day.”
“I am so glad Duncan has been promoted,” observed Captain Hepburn.
“Ay, there’s a piece of interest, depend on it. How does he manage to
get on? Not but what he is as fine a young fellow as need be; but then
_I_ know how things go. I would bet you any thing you please, Sir
Charles, that there is a lady at the bottom of that. I _know_ he got
his lieutenant’s commission because a little girl, having admired his
handsome face, got a great man to speak for him to the First Lord.
That’s the way the service goes on. Eh, Captain Hepburn!”
“You are not quite correct in one matter, sir; the young lady had
never seen Maurice Duncan; she did it out of love for his sister.”
The admiral laughed.
“His sister is my wife,” continued the captain.
“Ay! indeed! I was not aware of that!”
“He is a fine, intelligent, brave-hearted young man,” said Sir
Charles, “a credit to the service any how. His regret for your
accident, Hepburn, was touching the other night!”
“Well, I suppose the young lady has been to work again,” observed the
admiral; “for here’s his commission come out to-day.”
“She has had no hand in it this time, sir, at all events,” replied the
captain.
“Eh! how do you know that?”
“Poor thing! she is ill――married and ill――deranged, I believe, brain
fever, or something of the sort――at all events, quite out of the
question,” said Captain Hepburn, gravely.
“Ah, indeed, poor thing! I did not know that! Well, you are quite
determined to give up, and invalid, are you, Hepburn?”
“Quite, sir, thank you for your kindness and consideration. Thank you
very much. You have been my friend, and you too, Sir Charles; and if,
as you are pleased to say, you are satisfied with my conduct, all I
ask is, be friends to Duncan, if in your power. It is, perhaps, the
last professional favor I shall ask of any one.”
“Well, my dear fellow, I promise you,” said the admiral. “But, don’t
be down-hearted; you will soon be well. Good-by.”
“Poor fellow!” said the admiral to the governor, as they left the
hospital; “he’s booked for death as sure as fate. I am sorry for him;
and if he _is_ to die, he might as well have died within my command,
and I could have given the vacancy to my nephew.”
“We’ll hope he may get home alive,” said Sir Charles; and so he did.
Lord Dunsmore had been absent from Southampton for some days. He was
visiting at the admiral’s at Portsmouth, and the sisters did not at
all expect to see him, when one afternoon, a fly stopped at their
door, and he, issuing from it, was shown into the house. There was
something strange, excited, sad in his look, which startled both
ladies, and made them glance anxiously at him; yet he seemed trying to
speak as usual.
“We did not know you were come back,” said Hilary.
“I am but just arrived by train from Portsmouth. I wished――that is, I
undertook to bring you word”――he paused; she looked, but could not
speak. “The _Erratic_ arrived at Spithead at day-break.”
The beatings at Hilary’s heart choked her; she leaned back in her
chair, white as the cambric she held in her hands. She felt, she
_knew_ there was more; there was bad news behind. He started up.
“A glass of water, Gwyneth,” exclaimed he.
Mrs. Hepburn tasted the water, and then whispered――
“Go on.”
“I saw both your brother and your husband; here is a note for you!”
Hilary caught it; it was from Maurice, and she noted Lord Dunsmore
change color, nor did he tell her not to be alarmed; so there _was_
cause for fear! She forced herself, however, to look at the note.
“DEAREST HILARY,
“We are here; will you come to your husband? he wants
nursing. Lord Dunsmore has promised to bring you by next
train. Come at once. I will not leave H.
“Yours ever and ever,
“MAURICE DUNCAN.”
“Southsea Common.”
“I am ready,” said she, rising at once. “I will go directly.”
“There is a train leaves in an hour. I kept the fly; we should start
for the station in twenty minutes or less.”
“I will be ready,” said Hilary; she withdrew.
“Go and help her, Nest,” said Lord Dunsmore. “Please stay one moment,
Miss Duncan.”
“Call Sarah, Nest,” said Gwyneth; “tell her Mrs. Hepburn wants her.
Now, my lord.”
She turned to him for information. He threw himself on a chair, and
seemed to control his feelings with difficulty.
“You ought to know,” said he, hurriedly, “she will be long away,
perhaps. He is very ill; has had an accident; lost the use of both
legs――may be in great danger. Think what you will do in her absence.”
“Stay here,” said Gwyneth, decidedly.
“No, dear Miss Duncan, your brother mentioned it, approved my plan;
let Lady Rupert fetch you to-morrow. I will arrange it all.”
“Oh, what matters about us! it is for Hilary we must think; you go
back with her?”
“I will take charge of her to Portsmouth; will you not let me provide
for your comfort too?”
“You are very good to think of me! Now let me go to Hilary!”
Mrs. Hepburn looked bewildered, stunned; she was trying to dress for
her journey, while Sarah and Nest were packing a small carpet-bag.
“Law, ma’am, don’t take on so; I dare say it is not so bad. Why should
you expect the worst?”
“I do not know what I expect, Sarah; please make haste. What I do not
take, Gwyneth, you must send, if I want it. I don’t know now. Surely,
it is time to go.”
“Your shoes, Hilary, those slippers will not do for traveling,” said
the sharp-eyed Nest. “Give them to me that I may pack them up; here
are your boots!”
The exchange was made; in two minutes more she was in the fly with
Lord Dunsmore; than whom her own brother could not have been kinder or
more considerate.
They were just in time at the station, and were saved all the agony of
delay. Once in the train, Hilary began to ask some questions; and Lord
Dunsmore had to explain how he came to be connected with the affair.
The news had been telegraphed early that the _Erratic_ was at
Spithead, and then came the captain ashore in his gig――not the captain
whom Lord Dunsmore, remembering Hilary, expected to see, but another,
who brought the news that Captain Hepburn was sick, on the invalid
list; on this the admiral immediately offered his tender to bring him
on shore, and Lord Dunsmore had gone out in the vessel, partly from
anxiety for the invalid, to take him late news of his wife, and
partly, perhaps, from other motives.
He introduced himself to the two passengers, offered his services in
any way that would be of use, was most kindly received, and it was
soon settled among the gentlemen that, while Maurice attended his
brother-in-law to the lodgings in Southsea, which he had already sent
on shore to secure, this new friend should set off by the next train,
to bring back Hilary to the longing husband.
“Lodgings!” said Hilary. “Can he not be moved home!”
“I should hope he might eventually; but the first thing was to get him
safe on shore. The lodgings are only taken for a week!”
“And he――tell me――I can bear it now, what is the matter?”
Hilary’s face showed how she had, by a strong effort, brought her mind
to bear, and her lips to utter these words.
“It was an accident, I understood; he hurt himself, and can not, at
present, stand or walk; though I should not have known from his face
there was any thing the matter. He is helpless.”
This did not sound so very bad; Hilary’s imagination for a moment
suggested to her a variety of possible accidents, which might merely
disable him for a time; and for a little while her previous alarm
seemed unfounded. Then her memory again presented her companion’s
manner, the fixed gravity, the mournful glance, the utter absence of
all attempts at lessening her terror; he had never bid her hope, he
had never said she was too uneasy; he named no serious cause for
alarm, perhaps, but he felt it, and he meant her to feel it too. It
was what he did _not_ say, rather than what he did, which aroused
fear; and the cold, heavy weight of hopeless though undefined dread
sank on her heart and threatened to crush it quite.
But there was a Refuge to which she could flee, a Covert from the
tempest which now beat upon her head, a Rock on which she might safely
build her hopes. This thought it was that kept her calm; a feeling
rather than a thought. It was the impulse of her soul, a part of her
life, to trust and be still; she had trusted long; and confidence did
not forsake her now. That was her strength indeed.
“You were with him when he landed?” said she, presently, after sitting
for some little space with hands clasped and head bent down.
“I was! he bore it well; those things are easily managed by sailors.”
He did not tell her, for he could not trust himself, the scene on
board the _Erratic_, when he took his leave of the ship. He had been
carried out on the quarter-deck on his couch, to say farewell to his
men; there he had thanked them for their zealous services, their
obedience, their orderly conduct, during the three years they had been
together, and bade them all go on, though he was taken from them, to
serve their Queen and their country as nobly as before. Then, calling
up the crew of the second cutter, who had been with him on shore on
that eventful night at Halifax, he thanked each for his undaunted
bravery in the moment of danger which they had shared together; for
their concern for his safety, and their ardor for his rescue, saying,
that he believed it was to their promptness in assisting him that he
owed what little life was left him, as, perhaps, but for their ready
aid, he might have been buried under the ruins of the fire, and never
seen his country again. And now he charged them all to live sober,
steady, honorable lives, to strive to do their duty, and mind what the
chaplain taught them, “And so farewell, my lads; God bless you all!
and if we never meet again here, may we all reach the shores above,
where there is no more sea.”
They tried to give him the hearty cheers which he had once longed to
hear, but it would not do. The cheer broke down into one universal
sob; and brave, strong men, whose hearts might have been thought as
tough as the oak planks on which they trod, turned aside to conceal
their tears, or leaned against the bulwarks for support, as they wept
like children. They loved him well, those gallant fellows, and they
knew that he was going home to his young wife, from whom he had parted
on his wedding-day, only to die! and they mourned not only for him,
but for her, whose gentle beauty, in the short glimpses they had had
of her, had been strongly impressed on their romantic fancies.
“But if I am to be even a week at Southsea,” said Hilary, presently,
“what is to become of my sisters? they are too young to be left there
quite alone.”
“I thought of that,” said her companion, eagerly, “and so did your
brother; and we proposed――only perhaps, it would worry you to talk
about it now”――leaving off abruptly.
“Oh, no! indeed, their comfort is my first duty; I wish I could think
of any thing; my mind is not very steady; but it is not like our old
home now; it would have been nothing to leave them at the Vicarage.”
“Well, I thought, if you approved, might they not go to Lady Rupert’s;
I know she would like it; she is so fond of Gwy――of your sister.”
Hilary raised her eyes, and gave him one look, so penetrating, so
steady, that, had he not deserved her confidence, he could not have
met the glance.
“Are you in earnest, Lord Dunsmore?”
“Earnest, yes――perfectly so, from my heart! but I do not wonder you
ask, after what you saw in my brother!”
Hilary looked down.
“It seems hardly a time to speak of such things _now_,” continued he,
eagerly and rapidly, his pale countenance glowing with emotion; “but
yet, perhaps, after all, it might remove distrust and doubt, perhaps
lighten your anxiety in some respects, if I am open. Let me tell you,
then, my feelings, and see if you will trust _me_. I do love her, and
I do hope to win her. Even before I went to Italy, I preferred her;
but then I thought James did too; I thought he was in earnest, so I
left; but that as much as other things took me abroad; and when the
news reached me of his intended marriage, I own it was a relief which
greatly assisted my recovery. Now I hope some day to gain her
affections; and though I and you, and she, know I can not say she is
the first object of my love, and I am some years older, perhaps she
will not consider these as objections――perhaps I _may_ succeed in
time. Now after this, will you let her and Nest come to Lady Rupert’s
care?”
“I will talk to Maurice, and――and my husband!” her voice faltered.
“I have been, perhaps, abrupt, Mrs. Hepburn, but circumstances must be
my excuse,” added he.
“What will Lady Rupert say?”
“She is my kindest, best friend; she delights in your sister, and
would receive her as if she really stood in that relationship to
herself.”
“You have my best wishes,” said Hilary, holding out her hand with
tears in her eyes.
He thanked her warmly.
“James behaved very ill,” said he, presently; “though I hope to be the
gainer, I can not excuse him. He was very, very wrong, one way or
other. He was either too much or too little in earnest. Young as she
was, she was not such a child as to excuse his devotion or his
fickleness――and it has hurt his character too.”
“Please don’t. I would rather not talk of it now,” said Hilary,
gently.
“I beg your pardon; do you know we are almost at the terminus?”
“Yes;” she was looking very white, and seemed incapable of saying
more.
In a minute the train stopped――in a very few more the two were in a
fly, and driving hastily toward Southsea. She could not speak, she
could hardly breathe, as she saw walls and houses fly past them; her
heart seemed struggling to rush on faster, faster to that unknown spot
in which her husband waited for her.
They reached the house, they stopped, the door opened, Maurice
appeared; Hilary had hardly time to see his expression, as he hurried
to lift her from the carriage and support her inside the house. He
held her in his arms, her face was hidden on his shoulder, as she
whispered, between gasping sobs: “Where is he?”
He gently opened the door, and disengaging herself, she sprang in.
“Hilary, my darling!” said Captain Hepburn; and in another moment she
was on her knees, beside his couch, and her tears of joy and grief, of
anxiety and gratitude, and love, were poured out in her husband’s
bosom.