"How can that be possible in the work of a Perfect Creator, and a
Perfect Saviour who redeems from all evil--your supposed `muddle'
included?"
Our young coastguardsman was silent. It was probably the great
turning-point when the Holy Spirit opened his eyes to see Jesus, and all
things in relation to Him. For a long time he did not speak. The lips
of his nurse were also silent, but her heart was not so. At last Jeff
spoke--
"It _must_ be so. Perfection is bound to work out perfection. This
apparent evil _must_ be for good. `He doeth all things well.' Surely I
have read that somewhere!"
In a low clear voice his nurse said--
"`He doeth all things well,'
We say it now with tears;
But we shall sing it with those we love
Through bright eternal years."
"I think the light is dawning, auntie."
"I am _sure_ it is, Jeff."
Again they were silent, and thus they remained while the natural light
faded, until the western sky and sea were dyed in crimson.
The first thing that diverted their thoughts was a quick step outside,
then a thunderous knock at the door, and next moment the captain stood
before them, beaming with excitement, panting heavily, and quite unable
for some minutes to talk coherently.
"Sister," said he at last, "sit down an' listen. Jeff, open your ears."
He drew a crumpled letter from his pocket, spread it on his knee, put on
his glasses, and read as follows:--
"`My DEAR CAPTAIN MILLET,--
"`You will, I know, be grieved, though not surprised, to hear that your
old friend Nibsworth is dead. Poor fellow! his end came much as you and
I had anticipated when we last parted. He followed his dear Clara about
two months after her death. I suppose you know that she died three days
after you left their house.
"`My object in writing just now, however, is to convey to you a piece of
good news; namely, that Nibsworth has left you the whole of his
property, which, altogether, cannot amount to less, I should think, than
eighty thousand pounds.'"
At this point the captain paused and looked over his glasses at his
sister, who, with wide-open eyes, exclaimed--
"Brother! he must be joking!"
"Sister," returned the captain, "my friend _never_ jokes, except when in
extremely congenial society, and then his jokes are bad--so bad as to be
unworthy of repetition."
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Miss Millet.
"Singular," murmured Jeff, whose thoughts seemed to be engaged with some
far-off prospect.
"He goes on," continued the captain, reading: "`I am left the sole
executor of his affairs. Pray, therefore, write as to what you wish
done. I am not at present conversant with the precise duties of an
executor, but of course I will get the best advice possible in the
circumstances, and do the best I can. I would recommend you to do the
same at your end of the world, and let me have your instructions as soon
as possible. The enclosed statement will show you the nature of your
property. The greater part, you will observe, is in hard cash. I may
add that the house and grounds here would sell well at present, if you
feel inclined to dispose of them.
"`In conclusion, allow me to congratulate you on this piece of good
fortune--perhaps, knowing your character so well, I should have written,
this good gift from God.'"
"Ay, my friend," said the captain, folding the letter, "you might have
written, `this unexpected and undeserved gift from God.' But now,
Molly, what think ye of it all?"
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the good lady in reply; and beyond this word she
seemed unable to go for a time, save that, after a strong mental effort,
she varied it to "amazing!" Suddenly she seemed to recover, and said
with a quick, earnest look--
"Dick, what are you going to do?"
"Do?" exclaimed Captain Millet, smiting his knee and looking from his
sister to Jeff with a broad smile. "I'll run up to London, an' take a
mansion in the West End, call at Long Acre in passing, and buy a
carriage and four. Then I'll run down to Folkestone an' buy a villa
there, or a castle if they have one in stock; if not, I'll order one o'
the newest pattern, with gas, water, electricity, and steam laid on.
After that I'll buy a steam-yacht and take a trip round the world, so as
to calm my brain and think over it. Of course I'll drop in at Hong
Kong, in passing, to have a look at my property; and then--"
"Hush, brother! don't run on with such nonsense when we ought to be only
filled with serious thoughts."
"How can a man be filled with serious thoughts, Molly, when a sort of
Arabian Nights' affair has tumbled on him all of a sudden--took him
aback like a white squall, and thrown him on his beam-ends?"
"And what a selfish fellow you are, too!" said Jeff; "not one word in
all you propose to do about anybody except yourself--no mention even of
Rosebud."
"Pooh! Jeff, are you so green as not to know that a wise man never puts
his best foot foremost? Don't you know that it is usual, when a man
makes a speech, to keep tumblin' out one point after another--clinkin'
'em all as he goes along--until he comes to the `last but not _least_'
point? If you had let me alone, Molly, I was comin' to Rosebud and
yourself too; but as you've been so unmannerly, I'll keep these points
till another time. By the way, when you write to Rosebud, not a word
about all this. It might unsettle the darlin' with her lessons. An'
that reminds me that one o' my first businesses will be to have her
supplied wi' the best of teachers--French, Italian, Spanish, German
masters--Greek an' Hebrew an' Dutch ones too if the dear child wants
'em--to say nothin' o' dancin' an' drawin' an' calisthenics an'
mathematics, an' the use o' the globes, an' conundrums o' that sort."
"Really, brother, if you go on like this, I'll begin to think your good
fortune, as you call it, has turned your brain."
"Never fear, Molly, when I come to say what I'm going to do about the
little church, an' the night-classes, an' the soup-kitchens, and the
model-houses and the swimming-bath, you'll whistle another tune. But
come, Jeff; it's time to ask how you are gettin' along. You look
better, my boy."
"I _am_ better, captain--much, _much_ better," returned the youth, with
a flushed cheek and sparkling eye, "for I, too, have got news this
morning of a fortune which exceeds yours in value, and the security is
better."
The captain was puzzled. "A fortune, Jeff?"
"Yes; but my news will keep. You are too much excited to hear about it
just now. Enough to say that I am much better. Now, if you are wise,
you will go without delay and take some steps about this affair."
"You're right, lad," returned the captain, rising quietly and clapping
on his hat; "so good-bye to 'ee both. I'll soon be back. At present
I'm off to consult my--my--solicitor! though I don't know who he is yet,
more than the man in the moon."
CHAPTER SEVEN.
AN UNQUIET, ADVENTUROUS MORNING IN THE SHELL-CAVE.
"I think," said Jeff Benson one fine morning, as he got up and stretched
himself, "that I feel well enough to-day to get down to the shore
without assistance. You know, auntie, I shall never be able to walk
alone if I give way to laziness, and lean so much on others. I'm like
the babies now, and must be encouraged to try it on my own hook."
He looked at Miss Millet with a half-pitiful smile, for there was
something woefully true in his words, and his good little nurse found it
necessary to go in search of the household keys for a minute or so
before answering.
"Well, Jeff, perhaps you are right and the day is splendid--sunny, calm,
and warm--so you won't be likely to catch cold. Only don't go far, for
you might become tired out. So, promise that you won't go far, and then
I will let you go."
Jeff promised; but of course he did not do exactly as his nurse wished,
for, in such circumstances, the word "far" has a wonderfully varied
significance. At first, leaning on his stick and pausing frequently to
recover strength, he made his way to the shore; but when there, the
invigorating air and the exhilarating sound of ripples on the sand, and
a rest on the rocks, made him feel so much better, that he thought he
might walk the length of the shell-cave without breaking his promise.
He tried, and succeeded, but was so fatigued, when at length he threw
himself on the soft sand at the cave's mouth, that he felt uneasy about
getting home again.
The shell-cave was a favourite nook in a lonely part of the cliffs,
which Jeff had been wont to frequent in his coastguard days, especially
at that particular time when he seemed to expect the revival of the
smuggling traffic near Miss Millet's cottage. He had frequently spoken
of it to Rose as a beautiful spot where innumerable sea-shells were to
be found, and had once taken her to see it.
It was, as we have said, a lonely spot, far removed from the fishing
town, and was sought out by Jeff because he did not yet feel strong
enough to hold much intercourse with his friends and former mates--none
of whom had seen him since his illness began. But the poor invalid was
doomed to several interruptions that day.
The first comer was his comrade Wilson, of the coastguard, whose place
he had taken on the eventful night of the wreck. On rounding the point
of rock, and coming suddenly on our hero, that worthy was struck dumb
and motionless for at least a minute, while his eyes gradually opened
wide with surprise, and his mouth partially followed suit.
"Not Jeff Benson!" said Wilson at last, in quite a solemn tone.
"What's left of him," answered Jeff, with a faint smile.
"An' it ain't much!" returned Wilson, with a kind of gasp, as he
approached softly.
"Not much more than the bones an' clothes," said Jeff, with a laugh at
his friend's expression; "also," he added more seriously, "a good deal
of the spirit, thank God. How are all the lads, Wilson?"
The man tried to answer, but could not. The sight of his old stalwart
chum so reduced was too much for him. He could only go down on one
knee, and take the thin large hand in his. Seeing this, Jeff returned
his squeeze, and relieved him by saying--
"You can beat me now, Wilson, but I could squeeze till I made you howl
once, and mayhap I'll do it again--who knows? But you must not think me
unkind if I ask you to leave me, Wilson. The Doctor is always insisting
that I must keep quiet; so, good-day to you, my boy, an' remember me
kindly to my comrades."
The next visitor, who appeared half an hour later, was the terrier dog
of the station. Bounce belonged, of right, to David Bowers, but, being
amiable, it acknowledged the part-ownership of all the men. On suddenly
beholding Jeff, it rushed at him with a mingled bark and squeal of joy,
and thereafter, for full two minutes, danced round him, a mass of
wriggling hair from tip of tail to snout, in uncontrollable ecstasy.
Mingled misery and surprise at Jeff's sudden and unaccountable
disappearance, prolonged agonies of disappointed expectation, the
sickness of heart resulting from hope long deferred, all were forgotten
in that supreme moment of joy at reunion with his long-lost human
friend!
Jeff had to rise and sit down on a shelf of rock to escape some of
Bounce's overwhelming affection. Presently Bounce's owner appeared, and
went through something of a similar performance--humanised, however, and
with more of dignity.
"I can't tell 'ee how glad I am to see you again, Jeff," said Bowers,
sitting down beside him, and grasping his hand. "But oh, man, how
thin--"
The huge coastguardsman choked at this point, as Wilson had done before
him; but, being more ready of resource, he turned it into a cough, and
declared, sternly, that night-work must have given him a cold, or
"suthin' o' that sort." After which he made a great demonstration of
clearing his throat and blowing his nose.
"But you'll soon be yours--at least, somethin' like your old self,
before long, Jeff. The doctor told us that, the last time he was at the
station."
"If God wills," returned Jeff, softly; "I am in His hands, and willing
to be what He chooses. You remember, David, the talk we once had about
Miss Millet's argument, that God brings good out of evil. I didn't
believe it then; I believe it now. I've bin to school since I last saw
you, David, and I've learned a good lesson, for I can say from my heart
it has been good for me that I was afflicted."
Bowers did not reply, but looked at his friend with an expression of
puzzled surprise.
"Yes," continued Jeff, with rising enthusiasm; "I have lost my health--
the doctor thinks permanently. I've lost the strength that I used to be
so proud of, and with it the hope of being able to make a living in any
active line of life; and I've lost much more besides. But what I have
found in my Saviour far more than makes up for it all."
In the "much more besides," poor Jeff mentally referred to his loss of
all hope of ever gaining the hand of Rose Millet; for if his chance
seemed small before, how immeasurably was it reduced now that his health
was shattered, and his power even of supporting himself gone. No; he
felt that that door was closed--that he must avoid the girl as much as
possible in future; and, above all, be particularly careful not to fall
in love with her. Of course, it was only a passing fancy as yet, and,
like fruit, would never ripen unless the sun shone. He would avoid the
sunshine! Meanwhile, of all these rapidly fleeting thoughts, he said
never a word to his friend David Bowers, but after a little more
conversation, begged him also to go away and let him rest.
All very good, friend Jeff; but what if the sun should shine in spite of
you?
Just about that time, in the course of his eager and somewhat erratic
wanderings among solicitors and other men of business, Captain Millet
made a sudden pause, and, by way of taking breath, rushed down to
Folkestone, brought Rose up to Cranby, hired a dog-cart, and drove along
the sands at low tide, in the direction of his sister's cottage.
"I think it probable that you may see him today, Rosebud," he said,
"though I'm not quite sure, for the doctor is afraid of a relapse, and
friends are not yet allowed to visit him. To be sure bein' only a
little girl, you probably wouldn't disturb him at all--'specially if you
didn't speak. Anyhow, you'll see auntie, which will be more to the
purpose."
"Father," said Rose, whose name seemed remarkably appropriate at that
moment, "I should like to get down here, and walk the rest of the way.
By the time I arrive, you'll have had a little talk with poor Jeff and
auntie. Besides, there is a pretty cave that I used to gather shells in
when I was last here. I would like so much to pay it a visit in
passing."
Of course the captain had no objection, and thus it came to pass that
Jeff's fourth visitor on that unquiet morning was the Rosebud!
How feeble are written words to convey ideas at times! If you could
have obtained one glance of Rose and Jeff at that moment, reader, words
would not be required. No peony ever blushed like that Rose--to say
nothing of the blank amazement in those wide blue eyes. Jeff, still
seated on the rock, became petrified.
Recovering first, as women always do, Rose hurried forward with--"I'm
_so_ glad, Mr ---," but there she stopped abruptly, for the unexpected
sight of that stalwart coastguardsman, reduced to a big skeleton with
pale face, hollow cheeks, cavernous eyes, and an old-man stoop, was too
much for her. She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
What could Jeff do? He forgot his prudent resolves. He forgot his
weakness because his strength seemed to have suddenly returned. He
sprang up, intending to comfort the poor girl in a brotherly sort of
way. Somehow--he never could clearly remember how--he had her seated on
the rock beside him, with his arm round her waist and her head on his
shoulder.
A few moments later--he never could tell how many--the wickedness of his
conduct came down upon Jeff like a thunderbolt. He removed his arm,
drew away from her about three inches, and looked in her surprised face
with a solemn, self-condemned expression.
"Forgive me, Rose," he said, in the deep, hollow voice which had become
natural to him since his illness began; "my love for you proved too
strong to be restrained just now: but believe me, I had fully made up my
mind never to open my lips to you on the subject; for what right have I,
a helpless, and, I fear, hopeless, invalid, to dare to aspire--"
There must have been something peculiar in the very slight, almost
pathetic, smile which overspread the tearful face of Rose at that
moment: for the arm was suddenly replaced, the three inches were reduced
to nothing, the fair head again rested on the once stalwart shoulder,
and thus they remained until the cavern was filled with the sounds:--
"Hi! Ho! Hallo! Rose--Rosebud ahoy! That girl would worry any man to
death! Where are you? Hi! Ship ahoy! Hallo-o-o!"
We need scarcely remark that Rose did not wait for the last stentorian
halloo! Bounding from her lover's side, she ran to meet her father--red
at first and then pale--exclaiming, "Oh! father I've found him!"
"Found who, child?"
"Jeff--I mean Mister--"
"Not dead?" exclaimed the Captain, interrupting with awful solemnity.
He was answered by the invalid himself coming out of the cavern, and
wishing him good-morning with a confused and guilty air.
"Well now," said Captain Millet after a moment's pause, while he glanced
from the one to the other, "this beats the polar regions all to sticks
and stivers. Rose, my dear, you go round the p'int, an' wait by the
dog-cart till I come to 'ee."
"So, young man," he said, turning sternly to Jeff, "you've bin cruisin'
after my little girl without leave."
"I am guilty, Captain Millet," said Jeff humbly, "but not intentionally
so. Long ago, when I learned that there was no hope of recovering my
old strength, I had determined to give up all thoughts of dear Rose; but
I was taken by surprise this morning--was off my guard--and, I confess,
wickedly took advantage of my opportunity to tell her how dearly I loved
her. Yet it was done under a sudden, irresistible impulse. I do not
excuse myself. I would give worlds to undo the evil I may have done.
But after all it _may_ be undone. Rose may have mistaken her extreme
sympathy and pity for love. If so, she will not suffer much, or long.
Indeed, now I think of it, she won't suffer at all, except regret at
having been led to raise false hopes in my breast."
The mere thought of this was so depressing, that Jeff, who was already
almost worn out with excitement, leaned heavily on his stick for
support.
"Jeff," returned the captain severely, "how could you do it?"
"I hardly know," rejoined Jeff, feeling something of the old Adam rising
in his breast; "but my intentions were honourable, whatever my conduct
may have been under impulse and strong temptation. Perhaps I might
appeal to your own experience. Have you never done that which you did
not mean to under the power of impulse?"
"You've hit me there, boy, below the water-line," said the captain,
relaxing a little: "for I not only put the question to my old woman
without leave, but carried her off with flyin' colours against orders;
but it came all right at last, though I didn't deserve it. However,
Jeff, you've no need to look so blue. My little girl has raised no
false hopes in your breast. Moreover, let me tell you, for your
comfort, that I saw the doctor this morning, and he says that your
constitution is so strong that you're in a fair way to pull through in
spite of him, and that you'll be fit for good service yet--though not
exactly what you were before. So, keep up your heart, Jeff! Never say
die, and you shall wed my Rosebud yet, as sure as my name's Dick
Millet."
There was need for these words of comfort, for the poor youth was
obliged to sit down on the sand for a few minutes to recover strength.
"I've had a pretty stiff morning altogether, captain," he said
apologetically; "but I'm thankful--very thankful--for the succession of
events that have brought me to this happy hour."
"And yet, Jeff," said the captain, sitting down beside him, "you and I
thought these events--the wreck, and the loss of employment, and the
overturning o' the lifeboat, and the thump on the ribs, and the long
illness--nothing but misfortunes and full of evil _at first_. There,--
I'm not goin' to draw no moral. I never was good at that. Come, now,
if you've rested enough, we'll up anchor and away. I've got a dog-cart
beatin' off an' on round the p'int there, an' my Rosebud will be gettin'
impatient."
This was true--Rose was becoming not only impatient but anxious. When,
however, she saw her father and lover approach, all her anxieties
vanished.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER.
The wonder-working power of Time is proverbial. Behold Jeffrey Benson
once again, looking like his old self, at the hospitable board of Miss
Millet. It is an occasion of importance. Opposite to her sits her
brother. Jeff is on her right hand. On the left sits Rose--prettier,
brighter, and more womanly than ever. A gold circlet on one of the
fingers of her left hand proclaims a great fact. A happy smile on her
face proves that her confidence has not been misplaced.
Jeff is nearly as stout and strong as he ever was; of his severe illness
scarcely a trace remains. The doctor does not know what it was, and it
is not to be expected that we should know. Sufficient for us to state
the fact that it is gone.
But our hero is not now a coastguardsman. Listen, and the captain will
explain why.
"Molly, my dear, another cup of your superb tea, to web my whistle
before I begin. It ought to be good, for I know the man that grew it,
and the firm through which it came. Well, now, both you and Rosebud
will nat'rally want to know about the situation which I've obtained for
Jeff. You'll be surprised to hear that he is now Secretary of State to
King Richard Longpurse."
"In other words," interrupted Jeff, with a laugh, "your brother
thinks--"
"If _you_ think, sir," interrupted the captain in his turn, "that King
Richard cannot explain matters in his own words, you had better say so
at once, and I will abdicate in your favour."
"Go on, sire--I submit," said Jeff.
"Well then, Molly, I was about to say, when my secretary interrupted me,
that he and I have at last come to an agreement. After much
explanation, I have got him to understand that a king cannot possibly
manage all his own affairs with his own hands, and that I am forced to
have a secretary, who can at least do the `three R's' pretty well. You
see, although my edication has not been neglected, it still remains a
fact that I can't read without specs, that in cipherin' I am slow--slow,
though sure--and that in the matter of penmanship I am neither swift nor
legible. Therefore, seein' that in such things I don't differ much from
other kings and great men, Jeff has generously consented to refuse the
lucrative sitooation under Goverment, with nothin' partik'lar to do,
which has been offered to him, and to accept the secretary of
state-ship, now at the disposal of King Richard, who will give him at
least as good a salary as Government, and at the same time keep his nose
closer to the grindstone."
"Oh! Jeff," said Rosebud at this point, shaking her finger at her
husband, "I _knew_ there was something in the wind!"
"My child," remarked the captain, "there is always something in the
wind. According to the best authorities, you may count on findin'
oxygen, nitrogen, and carbonic-acid gases in it--not to mention foreign
substances at times, such as dust leaves, bits of old newspaper and the
like, except at sea, where it is always pure and good."
"But with plenty of salt in it," interposed Miss Millet, "though not
enough to cure you of bad habits, brother. Come now, tell us really
what you mean."
"Well, sister, what I really mean is this: that the fortune which has
been sent to me is far too big for one pair of hands and one brain to
manage: so my son-in-law has agreed to help me--and the labourer, you
know, is worthy of his hire! Surely I don't need to explain the meaning
of that text to _you_! Since we last conversed in this room on the
disposal of my surplus funds, Jeff and I have had many a long talk and
walk together. Moreover, I have kept the young secretary's nose so
tight to the grindstone for some months past that he has produced
results which will, I think, interest--it may be even surprise--you."