“Good luck to your fishing! Whom watch ye to-night?
A man of mean, or a man of might?”—SCOTT.
SOMETHING black was before the tossed boat! Yes, and light, not
lightning. A human voice seemed to be on the blast. Hubert Delrio
essayed to shout, but his voice was gone, or was blown away. He
understood that a vessel must be above him. Would it finish all by
running him down? He perceived that he was bidden to catch something. A
rope! His benumbed hands and the heaving of the boat made him fail once,
twice, and he was being swept away as at last he did grasp a rope, and
was drawn, as it ground his hands, close to the dark wall that rose
above, with lights visible.
“Cheer up! cheer up!” he cried to Vera. “Thank God, we are saved!”
Response from her there was none; but he could hear the yell of inquiry
from ahead, and answered, “Here! Two! A woman!”
A second rope was lowered. “Lash her to it.” But as it was evident that
Delrio could do nothing but hold on, and that his companion was helpless,
a sailor descended from no great elevation, and, in another moment, the
senseless girl was hoisted up and received on deck; and, with some
assistance, Hubert was also on board, thinking of nothing but the
breathless question, “Is she safe?”
“Oh, yes! She will soon come round! Here! They will see to her.” As
she was carried away, and Hubert had a perception that she was received
by female hands, but he was utterly exhausted, and unable to see or
speak, till some stimulant had been poured down his throat, and even then
he could hardly ask, “Is she safe?
“Yes, yes! All right! Reviving fast! Here! Take some more! Bed is
ready! Get rid of those clothes!” It was an elderly, grey-haired man
who spoke, and Hubert was in no condition to resist, as the yacht was
pitching considerably, though after the boat the motion was almost rest.
He instinctively shook his head at the glass, but swallowed what was
forced upon him, and managed to say, “Thanks—sitting in boat—drifted
off—Rock Quay.”
“All right! Never mind. Take him down. My berth, Ivy—Jephson. Tuck
him in. Don’t let him speak! Never mind, my lad! We will hear all
about it to-morrow!”
Meantime, Vera, though reviving, was conscious of very little, save a
soft pillow, tender hands, and warm drink that choked her; and then she
fell asleep, though still she was aware of a strange tossing going on all
night, and by and by she found herself secured into a sort of narrow
shelf, and murmuring female voices were at hand. As she moved, she
heard, “There, you are better now. You can take this, then you will be
more comfortable.”
Her eyes had opened to a curious sort of twilight, and there was a fair
girlish head over her, with a sweet smiling face. An elderly
weather-beaten face in a hood next appeared, and a brown hand holding a
cup closed over the top, in invalid fashion, and a kind strong arm
slightly raised her with, “There, there, poor dear! The spirit, my lady
dear, the spirit! That’s right, now then.”
“You _must_ be a baby;” and a merry reassuring smile broke out as the
draught was administered. Vera tasted, thanked, swallowed, felt giddy,
and lay down, hearing a lively bit of self-gratulation. “There, Mrs.
Griggs, I’m getting my sea legs!” followed by an ignominious stumble as
Mrs. Griggs caught the cup in good time as the vessel gave a lurch which
completed Vera’s awakening in the fear of being shaken out on the floor.
She looked round to find herself in a tiny room, cushioned throughout,
with strange dancing confused light coming in, and the few articles of
furniture carefully secured. Two young figures were there, both dressed
in stout blue serge, with white trimmings; one, the darker, beside her
bed, had a face full of kindness and solicitude, yet of fun dimpling over
continually; the other, even in that dim light, striking Vera as
something out of the loveliest visions of romance, so fair and beautiful
was the countenance.
A man’s voice was at the door. “Fly! Francie! How is she?”
“Much better! Nearly well! Good morning, Papa dear. Is he all right?”
“As sound as a bell! Ha!” As the door escaped, the curtain over it
shook, and he nearly fell against it, saving himself with his hands.
“That was exercise!” As the young girls came tumbling up and disappeared
behind the curtain, where, however, the voices could be plainly heard,
“Had any sleep to-night or this morning?”
“Between whiles! O yes! All our bones are still whole, as I hope yours
and Ivy’s are.”
“Come and see. Griggs is getting breakfast under difficulties
insurmountable to any one but a sea-grasshopper! I came to call you
damsels, and present my inquiries to Miss Prescott.”
“She will soon be all right! Francie and I are so proud of having had a
real downright adventure.”
“I trust she will not be the worse, and will—excuse me, and regard me as
incognito.”
This was said as another lurch drove the grizzled head into the cabin;
and recovering in another upheaval they all disappeared, leaving Vera in
a dreaming state, whence she was only half roused when Mrs. Griggs
returned to administer breakfast, so far as she could taste it, under
exhortations, pettings, and scoldings; and she very soon fell asleep
again, and was thus left, sensible all the time of tossings and
buffetings, but so worn out by the five hours of the boat, and so liable
to be made ill by the motion of the vessel, that it was thought best to
leave her to sleep in her berth.
She was only aware of voices above talking and laughing, or sailor calls
being shouted out, or now and then of some one coming to look at her, and
insisting on her taking food.
It was not till late in the afternoon that she awoke from what seemed
like a strange long uneasy dream, and found one of the girls sitting by
her and telling her she was better now.
“Yes,” said Vera, trying to raise herself, finding something over her
head, and falling back on the pillow; “but what is it? Where is this?”
“_This_ is somewhere out in the Channel, near off Guernsey, Griggs says,
but we cannot put in anywhere till the gale goes down.”
“What is it? Is it a ship, then?”
“O yes,” said the girl, laughing; “a yacht, the _Kittiwake_. Sir Robert
Audley has lent it to my brother, and we are all going to see the
Hebrides and Staffa and Iona.”
“Not to take me all up there?” groaned poor Vera, in horror. “Can’t you
put me out somewhere, anywhere?”
“Don’t be afraid,” was the much-amused reply. “As soon as ever we can
put in anywhere, we can telegraph to Rock Quay and put you ashore to go
home; but we can only run before the wind while the sea is so high. I
wish you could come on deck, it is so jolly!”
“Oh! it was too dreadful!”
“Beating about in the boat! It must have been, Mr. Delrio told us.”
“It was so stupid in him never to see that we had got loose, and were
drifting off,” said Vera, who had never thought of inquiring after him.
“My father and Griggs think he behaved quite like a hero,” was the
answer. “He must have managed very well to keep you afloat, and saved
you all this time.”
“I suppose so,” said Vera. “We always did know him, or I should not have
let him get me into that boat, when he minded nothing but his verses.”
“Those verses, they came all limp and wet out of his pocket, and Francie
made him let her dry them and copy them out; and she is so delighted with
them. It really is well it is too late to call the baby Cyriac.”
“The baby?”
“Oh, yes. We had to leave him behind, though Francie was ready to break
her heart over it; but they said that nothing would do for Ivinghoe—after
this second influenza—but a sea voyage, so she had to make up her mind to
leave him to my mother.”
Vera was in a state of bewilderment, caring a great deal more for herself
and her own sensations than for any of her surroundings; and her next
question was, “When do you think we shall be out of this?”
“We shall put into harbour somewhere as soon as the wind lulls. We
cannot venture yet, though we do steam; and then we can telegraph. I am
longing to relieve Miss Prescott. We can take you home all the way. We
were on our way into Rock Quay to take up Mysie Merrifield if she can go.
It really was a wonderful and most merciful thing that we made you out
just as it was getting light before running you down. My father saw you
first, and old Griggs would hardly believe it, but then we heard Mr.
Delrio’s hail! But it was a terrible business getting you up the ship’s
side.”
“I did not know anything about it. It was so dreadful in the lightning.
And my new hat was blown away. And what is become of all my clothes?”
“Mrs. Griggs has them, and is drying them. We will lend you a hat to
land in.”
“Oh, when we do! I wish I had never got into that boat, but Hubert
Delrio did persuade me so.”
“And he is an old friend?”
“Yes, he is come to paint the roof of St. Kenelm’s Church, and we want to
be attentive to him because my eldest sister would be sure to be cross
and keep him at a distance, being only that sort of wall painter, you
know, and his father a drawing master.”
“My father is very much pleased with him, and thinks him a very superior
young man. They have been sitting on deck together, talking as much as
they could about architecture and Italy, with their breath all blown away
every moment. There! You are really getting better! If you would eat
something and come on deck you would be well! I will call the sea gnat,
and see what we have.”
It was all very wonderful to Vera; and she began to be interested and to
forget her troubles. A slice of very salt ham was brought to her and a
glass of something, she did not know what, and asked if she could have
some tea.
“You could have tea if you like, but there’s no milk. You see, we ought
to have been in at Rock Quay yesterday evening, and our stores were not
adapted to hold out any longer! We shall have another curious
experience, though Mrs. Griggs says it won’t be so bad as once when they
were off the coast of Ireland, and when they put into a bay with a queer
name, all Kill and Bally, they could get nothing but potatoes and goat’s
milk.”
“Who is Mrs. Griggs?”
“She is wife to the sailing master; and, like the Norsemen, her home is
on the wave, at least in the yacht, for she always lives in it, and her
cabin is quite a sight; she is great fun, she cooks when there is
anything to cook, and is stewardess and everything. Francie and I knew a
maid would be a vain encumbrance, so we are taking care of ourselves,
and, if you will let me, I will try and set your hair to rights.”
It was in a fearful tangle, after five hours at sea, and many more in the
berth in the cabin; but Vera was able to sit up in a dainty
dressing-gown, and submit to treatment not quite that of a hairdresser,
but made as lively as could be by little jokes and kindly apologies at
any extra hard pull at the knots, which really seemed “as if a witch had
twined them;” and the two began to feel well acquainted with each other
over the operation, though Vera was somewhat impressed when she observed
that the brush was ivory handled.
Her bicycling skirt was in tolerable condition, but her once delicate
blue blouse was past renovation, so she was invested with a borrowed
white one, and led in triumph to the saloon, just as the beautiful
“Francie” came to call “Phyllis,” and give a helping hand. There were
two gentlemen besides Hubert Delrio, and there was a general rejoicing
welcome; but Vera did not think Hubert made half enough inquiries or
apologies, before she was seated at the table, where everything was
secured, and the fare was not very sumptuous or various, being chiefly
some concoction of rice and scraps of salt beef, which Francie said was a
shame, eating up the poor sailors’ fare; also there was potted meat, and
cheese, but all the fresh bread was gone, and they praised Mrs. Griggs’
construction of ham and rice with all the warmth and drollery each could
contribute. Vera began to be puzzled as to who every one was, for no
names except Phyl, Fly, Francie and Ivy were heard, and the merry
grey-haired head of the family was “Father” or “Papa” to every one,
except of course Mr. Delrio, who, however, seemed at his ease, and took a
fair share in the talk, and once or twice Vera thought he said, “my
lord,” but she did not believe it.
“I find you are a friend of a special pet of mine, Mysie Merrifield,”
said the father.
“I know her a little,” stammered Vera, “but Primrose best.”
“Nearer your age, eh? But Mysie is our gem! It looks fit for going on
deck.”
After the apology for a dinner, the young married pair went their way, he
to endeavour to add a fish to their provisions, she to look on; the
father and Delrio went where the latter could best study the wonderful
tints of sunset over the purple retreating clouds, and the still agitated
foaming sea,—sights that seemed to be filling him with enchantment, and
revealing effects in colour, while his delight was evidently a new
pleasure to his companion.
Vera was afraid to move, and sat on a deck chair, with her back to the
sunset, while Phyllis, who perhaps would have liked to share in the
admiration, sat by her, so that Vera began to accept her as a special
friend, and to pour out the explanation of how she came to be tossing in
an open boat with this one companion.
“You see, poor fellow,” she said, simpering, “he has been always so
devoted to me. Everybody observed it, and I could not help just
gratifying him a little.”
“He does seem to be very full of promise,” said Phyllis. “I suppose Miss
Prescott is much pleased with him.”
“My sister Magdalen, do you mean? Well, we have not introduced him to
her yet. You see, he is _only_ painting the church, and she is so
devoted to swells, and makes such a fuss about our manners.”
“Indeed! But surely you could not go out with him without her knowing
it.”
“She was not at this St. Milburgha’s Guild, you know, and Sisters Beata
and Mena knew all about it. Oh, yes, she lets us go to them at St.
Kenelm’s, but they are not swells enough for her.”
“Mr. Flight’s Sisterhood, are not they?”
“And Primrose Merrifield says that Wilfred declares that they are not
ladies; but that’s all jealousy, you know, because Will doesn’t like my
friends, and Magdalen is altogether gone upon grandees.”
“Fancy!” was all that Phyllis managed to say.
“She doesn’t want us to be friends with anybody who don’t belong to some
one with a handle to her name. So foolish and stuck up! So we knew she
would not be kind to Hubert.”
“I think you had better have tried. I thought her one of the kindest
people in the world.”
“Ah! but, you know, unfortunately she has been a governess, and that
teaches toadying.”
At that moment “Phyl” was called to see the first star over the sea, and
ran up to her father, so as to conceal how nearly she was laughing.
Hubert Delrio came towards Vera.
“Can you forgive me, Vera?” he said. “I shall speak to your sister as
soon as I am at home, and ask her forgiveness, and—”
“Oh, yes! yes! But do tell me who these people are.”
“Did you not know? That most kind of men, is Lord Rotherwood. Those are
Lord and Lady Ivinghoe, and—”
“Lady Phyllis! Oh!”