"IT IS ALL LIKE A DREAM."
The journey back from the inland sea to the Yack village had been full
of adventure and toil, but all happy; and there is hardly anything a
person will not do or encounter when buoyed up with hope and joy.
They had stayed for two weeks at the village, that the invalids might
recruit their health and strength; and then, with her sails outspread to
a favouring breeze, southward she sped, literally on the wings of the
wind.
"It is all like a dream," said Claude, as he sat by Meta's side on the
quarter-deck of the yacht _Alba_, one beautiful summer's day just two
months after the events related in the last chapter. "All like a dream,
Meta." The vessel was coasting along the western shores of Scotland,
many miles off the point of Ardnamurchan.
There was hardly a breath of air; just a little swell on, and a gentle
ripple on each round heaving wave, with the sunshine weaving threads of
brightest silver all through, and making rainbows in the spray and
bubbles that floated away astern in the ship's wake.
The _Alba_ and her happy crew were returning to their native land, and
if nothing occurred they would cast anchor by next morning, at the tail
of the bank.
"Yes, dear," replied Meta, "it is all like a dream--a long, long dismal
dream."
"I'm not sorry it all occurred, though, Meta; it has tried your faith
and mine as well; and perhaps, you know, if things had not turned out as
they have done, my mother would never have consented to our union."
"Oh, I love your mother so, _so_ much!" exclaimed Meta,
enthusiastically. "I loved her before we were a week together in the
ship; but then--"
"Then what, dearest?"
"I was not happy, because, you must know, I thought I was deceiving her,
that I was playing a double part, that I ought to have told her at once
who I was."
"Do you know, Meta," said Claude, after a pause, "I do not think I shall
ever doubt the goodness of Providence again. Oh! you cannot tell,
love," he continued, "how dark my heart felt, how sad and gloomy, and
how full of despair when poor Paddy reported the desertion of Jack and
Joe, the Eskimo Indians. And yet, Meta, had they not deserted, your
father would not have met them in the Yack village, and the probability
is you would not have found us, or found us dead."
Poor Meta shuddered, and the tears rose to her eyes. Claude hastened to
change the subject.
"Do you think, dear," he said, "you will like our country?"
Meta had not been enough in society to be anything else but candid.
"I'm sure I shall not at first," she replied; "only--"
She paused.
"I will be with you," said Claude, beaming.
"Yes. And after a time I dare say I shall get used to--to Scotland; but
oh! never to England."
"We will keep this yacht, Meta."
"That will be delightful."
"And when tired of one place, we will go to another. I have a home in
the wildest part of the Highlands of Ross; we will live much there. And
we will sometimes cruise away north to Norway, and to your dear
Icelandic home."
Meta was too happy to reply.
Claude's thoughts were also very pleasant, so the lovers relapsed into
silence.
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There are, to my way of thinking, few events more sad than the breaking
up of a ship's company, on her return after a long voyage.
At sea we have been a little community--nay, more, a family almost. We
have learned each other's ways. We have learned to love our messmates,
or at all events to regard them with friendship. We know their
peculiarities, their habits, even their weak points and faults. We have
been, indeed, more than a community; we have been a little world afloat,
knowing as little for the time being of any other people as the
inhabitants of one planet do about those of another.
But now with the paying-off of the ship's crew all is over; from the
moment the ship sails into the harbour all is changed, and every tie is
ruthlessly snapped asunder.
Everything is now bustle, stir, and excitement. The very ship herself
begins to look unkempt and untidy. She seems to become reckless and
regardless of her personal appearance--ropes anyhow, rigging awry, dirty
foot-prints on a deck that erst was snowy-white, tarnished brass and
soiled mahogany. Strangers, too, crowd on board--landsmen with long
hats and umbrellas; lands-women who care less for a ship than they do
for a barn. You feel the vessel is no longer your home, and you long to
get away out of her.
The crew is broken up; and on shore, if you meet some of the seamen you
sailed with, you will hardly know them, for Jack himself seems to have
degenerated, and your smartest and tidiest sailor on board may, on
shore, look a veritable rake or lubber.
No; my ship never looks well in dock. Let me have her leagues and
leagues away out on the silent sea; be the water rough or smooth--be it
blue, green, grey, or foam-flecked, I can love her then and be quietly,
serenely happy.
So the men of the _Alba_ and the survivors of the unfortunate _Icebear_
were scattered far and near, the yacht being left in charge of McDonald
and two hands.
Meta and Claude parted for a time--Meta going home to her father's
beautiful villa at R--, on the banks of the romantic Clyde. Byarnie
went with his mistress. Dr Barrett became the guest of the Lady of the
Towers and of Claude. The boy Bounce was here also. He took up his
abode in the kitchen, and settled down to serious eating, by way,
perhaps, of making up for what he had lost in the Arctic regions. And
Paddy O'Connell went home to "ould Oirland" to visit his mother and his
sister Biddy--"and the pig, the crayture."
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My little heroine--the bonnie, winsome, lovesome Meta--had seen many
changes even in her short lifetime. And now she is home for a time at
her father's house. Though a very beautiful and tastefully furnished
mansion, Captain Jahnsen's home was by no means a palace, but compared
to Meta's cottage in Iceland, surrounded by wild, bleak, and rugged
scenery--scenery nearly as silent as the grave or Greenland--her
father's domains were almost a paradise.
But Meta was one of those girls that, however humble their early
surroundings, if transplanted to a higher sphere, grace it Meta, in her
Norland home, dressed in hodden grey or simple wincey, was a lady.
Meta, arrayed in the costliest and neatest garments a fashionable
costumier could devise, and, through her father's fondness, "bedecked in
jewels rare," was nothing more. She was artless, straightforward,
innocent, and candid. What else can you wish for in a lady, young or
old?
And by-and-by Meta would be the lady of Dunallan Towers, and Claude's
mother the dowager; and none to see her now could doubt she would fit
and fill the proud position gracefully and well.
After a few weeks at home, during which, however, he had made many a
little run to Captain Jahnsen's house, going with all a lover's joyful
ardour, returning with all a lover's sad, sweet reluctance, our hero ran
his vessel down the Clyde.
It mattered but very little to Claude where the beautiful yacht _Alba_
lay while being altered and refitted, so she was moored not far from
Captain Jahnsen's house. Refitted? Yes, because there were tons of
iron and wood to come off her bows, and changes were to be made in her
saloon and interior generally. She would sail no longer to the icy
regions of the far north, but by way of change--and such a change!--to
sunny lands beyond the torrid zone.
There was a deal to be done to the interior of the _Alba_. Fewer hands
would be needed now, and therefore a new saloon for the officers, with
cabins off it, was built in the fore-part of the ship. It was by no
means capacious, this room, but Claude spared no expense in making it
both elegant and comfortable.
The after-part of the ship was to contain Claude's private apartments,
and here taste vied with elegance to make a suite of ship-rooms that
nothing that is beautiful on board the finest liner could surpass.
What a pleasure it was to Claude, this refitting of what for many months
was to be the ocean home of his bonnie bride!
When the last clang of hammer was hushed on board, when every artisan
had left the ship, then, and not till then, did Claude invite Captain
Jahnsen and his daughter to inspect the _Alba_.
Is it necessary to say that Meta wondered at and admired everything;
asked a great many questions, and felt somewhat like a maiden under the
spell of an enchanter?
But honest Captain Jahnsen viewed all in silence. It was certainly the
silence of admiration for Claude's cleverness--nay, almost genius--in
the art of turning a yacht into a lady's boudoir. But, after all,
Jahnsen was a very practical sailor, so no doubt he thought, although he
said nothing, that he would just as soon sail in a less costly fitted
barque.
But then Captain Jansen was _not_ going in the _Alba_. His sailing days
were over, unless, as he said, something wonderful turned up to cause
him to go to sea again.
Well, the _Alba_ being completely fitted, it is only necessary to add
that as many of Claude's Arctic messmates as he could find were easily
prevailed upon to join the ship.
Among these I need only name boy Bounce, who was rated wardroom steward;
Paddy O'Connell, second officer--he was a good sailor, and true, as we
already know; giant Byarnie, head steward and general superintendent;
and last, but not least, Dr Barrett, surgeon, of course. His duties
were bound to be very light, and he was rejoiced to have an opportunity
to get that rest in southern climes which his adventures in the Arctic
regions rendered a necessity.
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It was gay and happy company that sat down to breakfast on that
beautiful autumn day on which Claude and Meta were married; and perhaps
the happiest, the most calmly, serenely happy face at that festive board
was that of the Dowager Lady Alwyn.
And Claude, with his bride, went away to sea.
But one thing is worthy of note in this place. Before bidding his
mother good-bye, he took the snow-bird from his shoulder and whispered
some words in its ear. I do not for a moment wish any one to believe
that the bird knew what was said, but one thing is certain: when Claude
placed Alba in his mother's arms, it nestled there, and it never
afterwards left Dunallan Towers.
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Seated on a mossy bank, in a wooded ravine, I have been writing this
last chapter, dear reader mine, while the Nith goes wimpling through the
glen close beneath me.
Summer winds are sighing and whispering among the silver birch trees,
and their drooping branches, nodding, kiss the murmuring stream. There
is a wealth of wild flowers everywhere--great banks of brambles starred
over with pink-white blooms, and great banks of green and feathery
breckans, up through which tower the crimson-belled stalks of the
beautiful foxglove.
Musing on the story I have just completed, lulled by the river's lisping
song, and mournful croodle of the wild pigeons in the dark spruce
thicket, I have almost dropped into dreamland. But I start as a hand is
laid on my shoulder. I start and stand up.
No need to be frightened. It is only Janet who confronts me--Janet,
with her silvery hair, her mild eyes, and chastened face.
"Janet," I say, "I have finished my story--your story."
"The story of our boy," says Janet, musingly, almost sadly. "And," she
adds, "you have told all about the death of my dear Dowager Lady, and
how Claude never cares now to visit Dunallan Towers? Have you told how
weeds now grow in the great old garden, and dark, dank nettles where the
roses bloomed? How owls usurp the place of the pigeons in the ivied
battlements? How on the drear, dark days of autumn the raven flaps--"
"Stay, Janet, stay," I cry; "no trace of melancholy or gloom must tinge
my last pages. Look, Janet, look up. What does yonder sky forebode,
evil or good?"
It was the parting rays of the setting sun I pointed to, gleaming red
upon a lovely reach of water far down the strath, and lighting up the
dark pine trees and the hills that o'ertopped them with a glory not
their own. It lighted up old Janet's face, too, and her locks of
silvery-grey, until her face shone--radiant.
"Ah!" she murmured, "that sky bodes a bright to-morrow."
So, too, shall the sunset of your life and of mine be, dear reader, if
our lives are spent in the discharge of duty--be it high, be it low--and
if our hearts are ever brightened with a hope that is not of this world,
but lies in--the Far Beyond.
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The End.