THE LAST OF THE SHIP
It was many a weary month before we saw Sendennis again, but we did see
it again. For Captain Marmaduke was so dashed by the untoward results of
his benevolence and the failure of his scheme that he saw nothing better
to do than to turn homeward, after mending his fortunes by the sale of
the greater part of his Dutch plantations. A portion, however, he set
apart and made over as a settlement for the remnant of the colonists,
who, having got so far, had no mind to turn back, and as an asylum for
the wretched women. With the aid of the Dutchmen we got the Royal
Christopher off her reef and made shift to tow her into harbourage at
Batavia, and there Captain Amber sold her and bought another vessel,
wherein we made the best of our way back to England, with no further
adventures to speak of. At Sendennis I had the joy to find my mother
alive and well, and the wonder to find that my birth-place seemed to
have grown smaller in my absence, but was otherwise unchanged.
And at Sendennis the best thing happened to me that can happen to any
man in the world. For one morning, soon after our home-coming, I prayed
Marjorie to walk with me a little ways, and she consented, and we went
together outside the town and into the free sweet country. We fared till
we came to that place where Lancelot once had found me, drowned in
folly, and there I showed Marjorie the picture that Lancelot had given
me, the picture of her younger self. And somehow as she took it from my
hands and looked at it there came a little tremor to her lips and my
soul found words for me to speak. I told her again that I loved her,
that I should love her to the end of my days. I do not remember all I
said; I dare say my words would show blunderingly enough on plain paper,
but she listened to them quietly, looking at the sea with steady eyes.
When I had done she stood still for a little, and then answered, and I
remember every word she said.
'We are young, you and I, but I do not believe we are changeable. I feel
very sure that you have spoken the truth to me; be very sure that I am
speaking the truth to you. I love you!'
And so for the first time our lips met and the glory came into my life.
I sailed the seas and made my fortune and married my heart's desire,
and we roved the world together year after year, and always the glory
staying with me in all its morning brightness.
All my life long I have hated parting from friends, parting from
familiar faces and familiar places. Yet by the course which it has
pleased Providence to give to my life it has been my lot to have many
partings, both with well-loved men and women and with well-loved lands
and dwellings. It is the plague of the wandering life, pleasant as it is
in so many things, that it does of necessity mean the clasping of so
many hands in parting, that it does of necessity mean the saying of so
many farewells. Yet, after all, parting is the penalty of man for his
transgression, and the most stay-at-home, lie-by-the-fire fellow has his
share with the rest. Thus the philosopher by temperament, like my Lord
Chesterfield, takes his friendships and even his loves upon an easy
covenant, and the religious accept in resignation, and the rest shift as
best they can. And so I hold out my hand and wish you good luck and
God-speed!
THE END