SORROW AND REJOICING.
The pain of death hath bitterness
Too deep for man to name--
But, ah! the poignant sting of grief
Accompanied with shame!
Words can hardly convey the feelings of wonder, sorrow and relief that
followed each other in rapid succession through Mrs. Sinclair's mind at
the old Captain's story.
She looked upon the undeniable proof of her own photograph with tears of
thankfulness in her eyes, while the last repentant words of her only
child, brought pain too deep for utterance or demonstration. It seemed
that two lads of about the same age, strangers to each other, became
inspired with the mutual desire to run away from parental authority and
try their luck upon the ocean.
Neither of the lads dreamed for an instant that their unexpected entree
into the Captain's family, when they were safely out of port, would be
greeted with less than cheers and congratulations, or that other than
ease and glory would be their portion for the remainder of the voyage.
Fortunately, for the success of their expectations, the Commander of the
"Water Sprite" had a gentle heart under his rough exterior, and
moreover, had boys of his own at home, so he only insisted on their
earning their glory by keeping the brass work shining and allowed them
to eat their fill at the second table.
The boys were singularly alike in feature but widely different in
expression and disposition, Maurice being mischievous and happy, while
Jack Fenton, the other lad, was ill-natured and vicious in his dealings
with his companion in the adventure.
On the day preceding the terrible storm, Maurice was taken violently
ill, and notwithstanding all was done that could be under such limited
circumstances, he passed away almost at the very moment, when,
rudderless and with her rigging swept away, the "Water Sprite" drifted
helplessly at the mercy of wind and wave.
They were all saved through the timely assistance of an outgoing
steamer, but Maurice's dead body was left to find a watery grave,
through sheer inability to remove it.
The other lad was safely landed in Calcutta, and the Captain soon lost
track of him in the press of his many duties.
To the old Captain, Maurice had told much of his home surroundings and
the letter to his mother, on the day of his death, was written at his
instigation, when his experienced eye saw that the black shadow was fast
settling down upon the frail lad's features. Before he died he gave his
ring, his clothing and the few other trifles that he had managed to
conceal about him when leaving home, to his comrade, Jack Fenton.
Afterward the Captain regretted that he had not retained these treasures
with the photograph and letter, but years passed by and in the varied
excitements and dangers of his adventurous life the incident was only
remembered in connection with the terrible disaster to his favorite
vessel, but the letter and picture had traveled about with him for
twelve long years, so safely hidden in the case of his miniature pocket
compass that their very existence was forgotten until the moment of Sir
Frederic's astounding revelation. The night was far spent before he had
finished his narrative and answered the almost innumerable questions of
his excited hearers.
They little heeded the violence of the storm, so great was the tempest
of sorrow and rejoicing that raged within their hearts. When morning
broke, the ladies were more composed, and a peaceful smile rested upon
Mrs. Sinclair's face.
Truly, the grief for a loved one whom death has taken from our hearts
and homes, is nothing in comparison to the shame and sorrow for one upon
whom evil deeds have left an ineffaceable stigma. A load seemed lifted
from her heart and although sorrow fell like a pall around her, still
the bitterness had been removed and even in her bereavement she could
find great cause for heartfelt thankfulness.
The sick woman was slowly recovering and the little Elsa was like a ray
of sunshine, lighting up each grief darkened heart with her merry
prattle.
Promptly upon their arrival in New York the suffering woman was placed
in the wards of St. Luke's Hospital, but the little girl was gladly
retained under the watchful eye of motherly Mrs. Sinclair.
Some way, in the bustle and confusion of disembarking, Sam Lee was
totally forgotten, but the beady eyes of the Mongolian watched their
every movement and in his own quiet way he soon discovered the
destination of both the woman and the little girl.
It was not long before Sir Frederic secured the lease of a handsomely
furnished house, and removed, not only Mrs. Sinclair and Stella, but
also the now convalescent woman and her child, to this beautiful,
although transient, home.