He borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay
him again when he was able.--Merchant of Venice.
One other incident alone in the course of the voyage deserves to be
mentioned; both because it served to bring out the characters of several
people, and because it was not,--what is?--without its lingering
consequences.
Thorn and Rossitur had kept up indefatigably the game of teasing Fleda
about her "English admirer," as they sometimes styled him. Poor Fleda
grew more and more sore on the subject. She thought it was very strange
that two grown men could not find enough to do to amuse themselves
without making sport of the comfort of a little child. She wondered they
could take pleasure in what gave her so much pain; but so it was; and
they had it up so often that at last others caught it from them; and
though not in malevolence yet in thoughtless folly many a light remark
was made and question asked of her that set little Fleda's sensitive
nerves a quivering. She was only too happy that they were never said
before Mr. Carleton; that would have been a thousand times worse. As it
was, her gentle nature was constantly suffering from the pain or the fear
of these attacks.
"Where's Mr. Carleton?" said her cousin coming up one day.
"I don't know," said Fleda,--"I don't know but he is gone up into one of
the tops."
"Your humble servant leaves you to yourself a great while this morning, it
seems to me. He is growing very inattentive."
"I wouldn't permit it, Miss Fleda, if I were you," said Thorn maliciously.
"You let him have his own way too much."
"I wish you wouldn't talk so, cousin Charlton!" said Fleda.
"But seriously," said Charlton, "I think you had better call him to
account. He is very suspicious lately. I have observed him walking by
himself and looking very glum indeed. I am afraid he has taken some fancy
into his head that would not suit you. I advise you to enquire into it."
"I wouldn't give myself any concern about it!" said Thorn lightly,
enjoying the child's confusion and his own fanciful style of
backbiting,--"I'd let him go if he has a mind to, Miss Fleda. He's no such
great catch. He's neither lord nor knight--nothing in the world but a
private gentleman, with plenty of money I dare say, but you don't care for
that;--and there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. I don't
think much of him!"
He is wonderfully better than _you_, thought Fleda as she looked in the
young gentleman's face for a second, but she said nothing.
"Why, Fleda," said Charlton laughing, "it wouldn't be a killing affair,
would it? How has this English admirer of yours got so far in your
fancy?--praising your pretty eyes, eh?--Eh?" he repeated, as Fleda kept a
dignified silence.
"No," said Fleda in displeasure,--"he never says such things."
"No?" said Charlton. "What then? What does he say? I wouldn't let him make
a fool of me if I were you. Fleda!--did he ever ask you for a kiss?"
"No!" exclaimed Fleda half beside herself and bursting into tears;--"I
wish you wouldn't talk so! How can you?"
They had carried the game pretty far that time, and thought best to leave
it. Fleda stopped crying as soon as she could, lest somebody should see
her; and was sitting quietly again, alone as before, when one of the
sailors whom she had never spoken to came by, and leaning over towards her
with a leer as he passed, said,
"Is this the young English gentleman's little sweetheart?"
Poor Fleda! She had got more than she could bear. She jumped up and ran
down into the cabin; and in her berth Mrs. Carleton found her some time
afterwards, quietly crying, and most sorry to be discovered. She was
exceeding unwilling to tell what had troubled her. Mrs. Carleton, really
distressed, tried coaxing, soothing, reasoning, promising, in a way the
most gentle and kind that she could use.
"Oh it's nothing--it's nothing," Fleda said at last eagerly,--"it's
because I am foolish--it's only something they said to me."
"Who, love?"
Again was Fleda most unwilling to answer, and it was after repeated urging
that she at last said,
"Cousin Charlton and Mr. Thorn."
"Charlton and Mr. Thorn!--What did they say? What did they say,
darling Fleda?"
"O it's only that they tease me," said Fleda, trying hard to put an end to
the tears which caused all this questioning, and to speak as if they were
about a trifle. But Mrs. Carleton persisted.
"What do they say to tease you, love? what is it about?--Guy, come in
here and help me to find out what is the matter with Fleda."
Fleda hid her face in Mrs. Carleton's neck, resolved to keep her lips
sealed. Mr. Carleton came in, but to her great relief his question was
directed not to her but his mother.
"Fleda has been annoyed by something those young men, her cousin and Mr.
Thorn, have said to her;--they tease her, she says, and she will not tell
me what it is."
Mr. Carleton did not ask, and he presently left the state-room.
"O I am afraid he will speak to them!" exclaimed Fleda as soon as he was
gone.--"O I oughtn't to have said that!"--
Mrs. Carleton tried to soothe her and asked what she was afraid of. But
Fleda would not say any more. Her anxious fear that she had done mischief
helped to dry her tears, and she sorrowfully resolved she would keep her
griefs to herself next time.
Rossitur and Thorn were in company with a brother officer and friend of
the latter when Mr. Carleton approached them.
"Mr. Rossitur and Mr. Thorn," said he, "you have indulged yourselves in a
style of conversation extremely displeasing to the little girl under my
mother's care. You will oblige me by abandoning it for the future."
There was certainly in Mr. Carleton's manner a sufficient degree of the
cold haughtiness with which he usually expressed displeasure; though his
words gave no other cause of offence. Thorn retorted rather insolently,
"I shall oblige myself in the matter, and do as I think proper."
"I have a right to speak as I please to my own cousin," said Rossitur
sulkily,--"without asking anybody's leave. I don't see what you have to
do with it."
"Simply that she is under my protection and that I will not permit her to
be annoyed."
"I don't see how she is under your protection," said Rossitur.
"And I do not see how the potency of it will avail in this case,' said his
companion.
"Neither position is to be made out in words," said Mr. Carleton calmly.
"You see that I desire there be no repetition of the offence. The rest I
will endeavour to make clear if I am compelled to it."
"Stop, sir!" said Thorn, as the young Englishman was turning away, adding
with an oath,--"I won't bear this! You shall answer this to me, sir!"
"Easily," said the other.
"And me too," said Rossitur. "You have an account to settle with me,
Carleton."
"I will answer what you please," said Carleton carelessly,--"and as soon
as we get to land--provided you do not in the mean time induce me to
refuse you the honour."
However incensed, the young men endeavoured to carry it off with the same
coolness that their adversary shewed. No more words passed. But Mrs.
Carleton, possibly quickened by Fleda's fears, was not satisfied with the
carriage of all parties, and resolved to sound her son, happy in knowing
that nothing but truth was to be had from him. She found an opportunity
that very afternoon when he was sitting alone on the deck. The
neighbourhood of little Fleda she hardly noticed. Fleda was curled up
among her cushions, luxuriously bending over a little old black Bible
which was very often in her hand at times when she was quiet and had no
observation to fear.
"Reading!--always reading?" said Mrs. Carleton, as she came up and took a
place by her son.
"By no means!" he said, closing his book with a smile;--"not enough to
tire any one's eyes on this voyage, mother."
"I wish you liked intercourse with living society," said Mrs. Carleton,
leaning her arm on his shoulder and looking at him rather wistfully.
"You need not wish that,--when it suits me," he answered.
"But none suits you. Is there any on board?"
"A small proportion," he said, with the slight play of feature which
always effected a diversion of his mother's thoughts, no matter in what
channel they had been flowing.
"But those young men," she said, returning to the charge,--"you hold
yourself very much aloof from them?"
He did not answer, even by a look, but to his mother the perfectly quiet
composure of his face was sufficiently expressive.
"I know what you think, but Guy, you always had the same opinion of them?"
"I have never shewn any other."
"Guy," she said speaking low and rather anxiously,--"have you got into
trouble with those young men?"
"_I_ am in no trouble, mother," he answered somewhat haughtily; "I cannot
speak for them."
Mrs. Carleton waited a moment.
"You have done something to displease them, have you not?"
"They have displeased me, which is somewhat more to the purpose.
"But their folly is nothing to you?"
"No,--not their folly."
"Guy," said his mother, again pausing a minute, and pressing her hand more
heavily upon his shoulder, "you will not suffer this to alter the friendly
terms you have been on?--whatever it be,--let it pass."
"Certainly--if they choose to apologize and behave themselves."
"What, about Fleda?"
"Yes."
"I have no idea they meant to trouble her--I suppose they did not at all
know what they were doing,--thoughtless nonsense,--and they could have had
no design to offend you. Promise me that you will not take any further
notice of this!"
He shook off her beseeching hand as he rose up, and answered haughtily,
and not without something like an oath, that he _would_.
Mrs. Carleton knew him better than to press the matter any further; and
her fondness easily forgave the offence against herself, especially as her
son almost immediately resumed his ordinary manner.
It had well nigh passed from the minds of both parties, when in the
middle of the next day Mr. Carleton asked what had become of Fleda?--he
had not seen her except at the breakfast table. Mrs. Carleton said she
was not well.
"What's the matter?"
"She complained of some headache--I think she made herself sick
yesterday--she was crying all the afternoon, and I could not get her to
tell me what for. I tried every means I could think of, but she would not
give me the least clue--she said 'no' to everything I guessed--I can't
bear to see her do so--it makes it all the worse she does it so
quietly--it was only by a mere chance I found she was crying at all, but I
think she cried herself ill before she stopped. She could not eat a
mouthful of breakfast."
Mr. Carleton said nothing and with a changed countenance went directly
down to the cabin. The stewardess, whom he sent in to see how she was,
brought back word that Fleda was not asleep but was too ill to speak to
her. Mr. Carleton went immediately into the little crib of a state-room.
There he found his little charge, sitting bolt upright, her feet on the
rung of a chair and her hands grasping the top to support herself. Her
eyes were closed, her face without a particle of colour, except the dark
shade round the eyes which bespoke illness and pain. She made no attempt
to answer his shocked questions and words of tender concern, not even by
the raising of an eyelid, and he saw that the intensity of pain at the
moment was such as to render breathing itself difficult. He sent off the
stewardess with all despatch after iced water and vinegar and brandy, and
himself went on an earnest quest of restoratives among the lady passengers
in the cabin, which resulted in sundry supplies of salts and cologne; and
also offers of service, in greater plenty still, which he all refused.
Most tenderly and judiciously he himself applied various remedies to the
suffering child, who could not direct him otherwise than by gently putting
away the things which she felt would not avail her. Several were in vain.
But there was one bottle of strong aromatic vinegar which was destined to
immortalize its owner in Fleda's remembrance. Before she had taken three
whiffs of it her colour changed. Mr. Carleton watched the effect of a few
whiffs more, and then bade the stewardess take away all the other things
and bring him a cup of fresh strong coffee. By the time it came Fleda was
ready for it, and by the time Mr. Carleton had administered the coffee he
saw it would do to throw his mother's shawl round her and carry her up on
deck, which he did without asking any questions. All this while Fleda had
not spoken a word, except once when he asked her if she felt better. But
she had given him, on finishing the coffee, a full look and half smile of
such pure affectionate gratitude that the young gentleman's tongue was
tied for some time after.
With happy skill, when he had safely bestowed Fleda among her cushions on
deck, Mr. Carleton managed to keep off the crowd of busy inquirers after
her well-doing, and even presently to turn his mother's attention another
way, leaving Fleda to enjoy all the comfort of quiet and fresh air at
once. He himself, seeming occupied with other things, did no more but keep
watch over her, till he saw that she was able to bear conversation again.
Then he seated himself beside her and said softly,
[Illustration: Then he seated himself beside her.]
"Elfie,--what were you crying about all yesterday afternoon?"
Fleda changed colour, for soft and gentle as the tone was she heard in
it a determination to have the answer; and looking up beseechingly into
his face she saw in the steady full blue eye that it was a determination
she could not escape from. Her answer was an imploring request that he
would not ask her. But taking one of her little hands and carrying it to
his lips, he in the same tone repeated his question. Fleda snatched away
her hand and burst into very frank tears; Mr. Carleton was silent, but
she knew through silence that he was only quietly waiting for her to
answer him.
"I wish you wouldn't ask me, sir," said poor Fleda, who still could not
turn her face to meet his eye;--"It was only something that happened
yesterday."
"What was it, Elfie?--You need not be afraid to tell me."
"It was only--what you said to Mrs. Carleton yesterday,--when she was
talking--"
"About my difficulty with those gentlemen?"
"Yes," said Fleda, with a new gush of tears, as if her grief stirred
afresh at the thought.
Mr. Carleton was silent a moment; and when he spoke there was no
displeasure and more tenderness than usual in his voice.
"What troubled you in that, Elfie? tell me the whole."
"I was sorry, because,--it wasn't right," said Fleda, with a grave
truthfulness which yet lacked none of her universal gentleness and
modesty.
"What wasn't right?"
"To speak--I am afraid you won't like me to say it, Mr. Carleton."
"I will, Elfie,--for I ask you."
"To speak to Mrs. Carleton so, and besides,--you know what you said, Mr.
Carleton--"
"It was _not_ right," said he after a minute,--"and I very seldom
use such an expression, but you know one cannot always be on one's
guard, Elfie?"
"But," said Fleda with gentle persistence, "one can always do what
is right."
The deuce one can!--thought Mr, Carleton to himself. "Elfie,--was that
all that troubled you?--that I had said what was not right?"
"It wasn't quite that only," said Fleda hesitating,--"What else?"
She stooped her face from his sight and he could but just understand
her words.
"I was disappointed--"
"What, in me!"
Her tears gave the answer; she could add to them nothing but an assenting
nod of her head.
They would have flowed in double measure if she had guessed the pain she
had given. Her questioner heard her with a keen pang which did not leave
him for days. There was some hurt pride in it, though other and more
generous feelings had a far larger share. He, who had been admired,
lauded, followed, cited, and envied, by all ranks of his countrymen and
countrywomen;--in whom nobody found a fault that could be dwelt upon amid
the lustre of his perfections and advantages;--one of the first young men
in England, thought so by himself as well as by others;--this little pure
being had been _disappointed_ in him. He could not get over it. He
reckoned the one judgment worth all the others. Those whose direct or
indirect flatteries had been poured at his feet were the proud, the
worldly, the ambitious, the interested, the corrupted;--their praise was
given to what they esteemed, and that, his candour said, was the least
estimable part of him. Beneath all that, this truth-loving,
truth-discerning little spirit had found enough to weep for. She was right
and they were wrong. The sense of this was so keen upon him that it was
tea or fifteen minutes before he could recover himself to speak to his
little reprover. He paced up and down the deck, while Fleda wept more and
more from the fear of having offended or grieved him. But she was soon
reassured on the former point. She was just wiping away her tears, with
the quiet expression of patience her face often wore, when Mr. Carleton
sat down beside her and took one of her hands.
"Elfie," said he,--"I promise you I will never say such a thing again."
He might well call her his good angel, for it was an angelic look the
child gave him. So purely humble, grateful, glad,--so rosy with joyful
hope,--the eyes were absolutely sparkling through tears. But when she saw
that his were not dry, her own overflowed. She clasped her other hand to
his hand and bending down her face affectionately upon it, she wept,--if
ever angels weep,--such tears as they.
"Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, as soon as he could,--"I want you to go down
stairs with me; so dry those eyes, or my mother will be asking all sorts
of difficult questions."
Happiness is a quick restorative. Elfie was soon ready to go where he
would.
They found Mrs. Carleton fortunately wrapped up in a new novel, some
distance apart from the other persons in the cabin. The novel was
immediately laid aside to take Fleda on her lap and praise Guy's nursing.
"But she looks more like a wax figure yet than anything else, don't
she, Guy?"
"Not like any that ever I saw," said Mr. Carleton gravely. "Hardly
substantial enough. Mother, I have come to tell you I am ashamed of myself
for having given you such cause of offence yesterday."
Mrs. Carleton's quick look, as she laid her hand on her son's arm, said
sufficiently well that she would have excused him from making any apology
rather than have him humble himself in the presence of a third person.
"Fleda heard me yesterday," said he; "it was right she should hear
me to-day."
"Then my dear Guy," said his mother with a secret eagerness which she did
not allow to appear,--"if I may make a condition for my forgiveness, which
you had before you asked for it,--will you grant me one favour?"
"Certainly, mother,--if I can."
"You promise me?"
"As well in one word as in two."
"Promise me that you will never, by any circumstances, allow yourself to
be drawn into--what is called _an affair of honour_."
Mr. Carleton's brow changed, and without making any reply, perhaps to
avoid his mother's questioning gaze, he rose up and walked two or three
times the length of the cabin. His mother and Fleda watched him
doubtfully.
"Do you see how you have got me into trouble, Elfie?" said he, stopping
before them.
Fleda looked wonderingly, and Mrs. Carleton exclaimed, "What trouble?"
"Elfie," said he, without immediately answering his mother, "what would
your conscience do with two promises both of which cannot be kept?"
"What such promises have you made?" said Mrs Carleton eagerly.
"Let me hear first what Fleda says to my question."
"Why," said Fleda, looking a little bewildered,--"I would keep the
right one."
"Not the one first made?" said he smiling.
"No," said Fleda,--"not unless it was the right one."
"But don't you think one ought to keep one's word, in any event?"
"I don't think anything can make it right to do wrong," Fleda said
gravely, and not without a secret trembling consciousness to what point
she was speaking.
He left them and again took several turns up and down the cabin before
he sat down.
"You have not given me your promise yet, Guy," said his mother, whose eye
had not once quitted him. "You said you would."
"I said, if I could."
"Well?--you can?"
"I have two honourable meetings of the proscribed kind now on hand, to
which I stand pledged."
Fleda hid her face in an agony. Mrs. Carleton's agony was in every line of
hers as she grasped her son's wrist exclaiming, "Guy, promise me!" She had
words for nothing else. He hesitated still a moment, and then meeting his
mother's look he said gravely and steadily,
"I promise you, mother, I never will."
His mother threw herself upon his breast and hid her face there, too much
excited to have any thought of her customary regard to appearances;
sobbing out thanks and blessings even audibly. Fleda's gentle head was
bowed in almost equal agitation; and Mr. Carleton at that moment had no
doubt that he had chosen well which promise to keep.
There remained however a less agreeable part of the business to manage.
After seeing his mother and Fleda quite happy again, though without
satisfying in any degree the curiosity of the former, Guy went in search
of the two young West Point officers. They were together, but without
Thorn's friend, Capt. Beebee. Him Carleton next sought and brought to the
forward deck where the others were enjoying their cigars; or rather
Charlton Rossitur was enjoying his, with the happy self satisfaction of a
pair of epaulettes off duty. Thorn had too busy a brain to be much of a
smoker. Now, however, when it was plain that Mr. Carleton had something to
say to them, Charlton's cigar gave way to his attention; it was displaced
from his mouth and held in abeyance; while Thorn puffed away more intently
than ever.
"Gentlemen," Carleton began,--"I gave you yesterday reason to expect that
so soon as circumstances permitted, you should have the opportunity which
offended honour desires of trying sounder arguments than those of reason
upon the offender. I have to tell you to-day that I will not give it you.
I have thought further of it."
"Is it a new insult that you mean by this, sir?" exclaimed Rossitur in
astonishment. Thorn's cigar did not stir.
"Neither new nor old. I mean simply that I have changed my mind."
"But this is very extraordinary!" said Rossitur. "What reason do
you give?"
"I give none, sir."
"In that case," said Capt. Beebee, "perhaps Mr. Carleton will not object
to explain or unsay the things which gave offence yesterday."
"I apprehend there is nothing to explain, sir,--I think I must have been
understood; and I never take back my words, for I am in the habit of
speaking the truth."
"Then we are to consider this as a further, unprovoked, unmitigated insult
for which you will give neither reason nor satisfaction!" cried Rossitur.
"I have already disclaimed that, Mr. Rossitur."
"Are we, on mature deliberation, considered unworthy of tha _honour_ you
so condescendingly awarded to us yesterday?"
"My reasons have nothing to do with you, sir, nor with your friend; they
are entirely personal to myself."
"Mr. Carleton must be aware," said Capt. Beebee, "that his conduct, if
unexplained, will bear a very strange construction."
Mr. Carleton was coldly silent.
"It never was heard of," the Captain went on,--"that a gentleman declined
both to explain and to give satisfaction for any part of his conduct which
had called for it."
"It never was heard that a _gentleman_ did," said Thorn, removing his
cigar a moment for the purpose of supplying the emphasis which his friend
had carefully omitted to make.
"Will you say, Mr. Carleton," said Rossitur, "that you did not mean to
offend us yesterday in what you said?"
"No, Mr. Rossitur."
"You will not!" cried the Captain.
"No, sir; for your friends had given me, as I conceived, just cause
of displeasure; and I was, and am, careless of offending those who
have done so."
"You consider yourself aggrieved, then, in the first place?" said Beebee.
"I have said so, sir."
"Then," said the Captain, after a puzzled look out to sea, "supposing that
my friends disclaim all intention to offend you in that case--"
"In that case I should be glad, Capt. Beebee, that they had changed their
line of tactics--there is nothing to change in my own."
"Then what are we to understand by this strange refusal of a meeting, Mr.
Carleton? what does it mean?"
"It means one thing in my own mind, sir, and probably another in yours;
but the outward expression I choose to give it is that I will not reward
uncalled-for rudeness with an opportunity of self-vindication."
"You are," said Thorn sneeringly, "probably careless as to the figure your
own name will cut in connection with this story?"
"Entirely so," said Mr. Carleton, eying him steadily.
"You are aware that your character is at our mercy?"
A slight bow seemed to leave at their disposal the very small portion of
his character he conceived to lie in that predicament.
"You will expect to hear yourself spoken of in terms that befit a man who
has cowed out of an engagement he dared not fulfil?"
"Of course," said Carleton haughtily, "by my present refusal I give you
leave to say all that, and as much more as your ingenuity can furnish in
the same style; but not in my hearing, sir."
"You can't help yourself," said Thorn, with the same sneer. "You have rid
yourself of a gentleman's means of protection,--what others will you use?
"I will leave that to the suggestion of the moment. I do not doubt it will
be found fruitful."
Nobody doubted it who looked just then on his steady sparkling eye.
"I consider the championship of yesterday given up of course," Thorn went
on in a kind of aside, not looking at anybody, and striking his cigar
against the guards to clear it of ashes;--"the champion has quitted the
field; and the little princess but lately so walled in with defences must
now listen to whatever knight and squire may please to address to her.
Nothing remains to be seen of her defender but his spurs."
"They may serve for the heels of whoever is disposed to annoy her," said
Mr. Carleton. "He will need them."
He left the group with the same air of imperturbable self-possession which
he had maintained during the conference. But presently Rossitur, who had
his private reasons for wishing to keep friends with an acquaintance who
might be of service in more ways than one, followed him and declared
himself to have been, in all his nonsense to Fleda, most undesirous of
giving displeasure to her temporary guardian, and sorry that it had fallen
out so. He spoke frankly, and Mr. Carleton, with the same cool
gracefulness with which he had carried on the quarrel, waived his
displeasure, and admitted the young gentleman apparently to stand as
before in his favour. Their reconciliation was not an hour old when Capt.
Beebee joined them.
"I am sorry I must trouble you with a word more on this disagreeable
subject, Mr. Carleton," he began, after a ceremonious salutation,--"My
friend, Lieut. Thorn, considers himself greatly outraged by your
determination not to meet him. He begs to ask, by me, whether it is your
purpose to abide by it at all hazards?"
"Yes, sir."
"There is some misunderstanding here, which I greatly regret.--I hope you
will see and excuse the disagreeable necessity I am under of delivering
the rest of my friend's message."
"Say on, sir."
"Mr. Thorn declares that if you deny him the common courtesy which no
gentleman refuses to another, he will proclaim your name with the most
opprobrious adjuncts to all the world, and in place of his former regard
he will hold you in the most unlimited contempt, which he will have no
scruple about shewing on all occasions."
Mr. Carleton coloured a little, but replied coolly,
"I have not lived in Mr. Thorn's favour. As to the rest, I forgive
him!--except indeed he provoke me to measures for which I never will
forgive him."
"Measures!" said the Captain.
"I hope not! for my own self-respect would be more grievously hurt than
his. But there is an unruly spring somewhere about my composition that
when it gets wound up is once in a while too much for me."
"But," said Rossitur, "pardon me,--have you no regard to the effect of his
misrepresentations?"
"You are mistaken, Mr. Rossitur," said Carleton slightly;--this is but
the blast of a bellows,--not the Simoom."
"Then what answer shall I have the honour of carrying back to my friend?"
said Capt. Beebee, after a sort of astounded pause of a few minutes.
"None, of my sending, sir."
Capt. Beebee touched his cap, and went back to Mr. Thorn, to whom he
reported that the young Englishman was thoroughly impracticable, and that
there was nothing to be gained by dealing with him; and the vexed
conclusion of Thorn's own mind, in the end, was in favour of the wisdom of
letting him alone.
In a very different mood, saddened and disgusted, Mr. Carleton shook
himself free of Rossitur and went and stood alone by the guards looking
out upon the sea. He did not at all regret his promise to his mother, nor
wish to take other ground than that he had taken. Both the theory and the
practice of duelling he heartily despised, and he was not weak enough to
fancy that he had brought any discredit upon either his sense or his
honour by refusing to comply with an unwarrantable and barbarous custom.
And he valued mankind too little to be at all concerned about their
judgment in the matter. His own opinion was at all times enough for him.
But the miserable folly and puerility of such an altercation as that in
which he had just been engaged, the poor display of human character, the
little low passions which bad been called up, even in himself, alike
destitute of worthy cause and aim, and which had perhaps but just missed
ending in the death of some and the living death of others,--it all
wrought to bring him back to his old wearying of human nature and
despondent eying of the everywhere jarrings, confusions, and discordances
in the moral world. The fresh sea-breeze that swept by the ship,
roughening the play of the waves, and brushing his own cheek with its
health-bearing wing, brought with it a sad feeling of contrast. Free, and
pure, and steadily directed, it sped on its way, to do its work. And like
it all the rest of the natural world, faithful to the law of its Maker,
was stamped with the same signet of perfection. Only man, in all the
universe, seemed to be at cross purposes with the end of his being. Only
man, of all animate or inanimate things, lived an aimless, fruitless,
broken life,--or fruitful only in evil. How was this? and whence? and when
would be the end? and would this confused mass of warring elements ever be
at peace? would this disordered machinery ever work smoothly, without let
or stop any more, and work out the beautiful something for which sure it
was designed? And could any hand but its first Maker mend the broken wheel
or supply the spring that was wanting?
Has not the Desire of all nations been often sought of eyes that were
never taught where to look for him.
Mr. Carleton was standing still by the guards, looking thoughtfully out to
windward to meet the fresh breeze, as if the Spirit of the Wilderness were
in it and could teach him the truth that the Spirit of the World knew not
and had not to give, when he became sensible of something close beside
him; and looking down met little Fleda's upturned face, with such a look
of purity, freshness, and peace, it said as plainly as ever the dial-plate
of a clock that _that_ little piece of machinery was working right. There
was a sunlight upon it, too, of happy confidence and affection. Mr.
Carleton's mind experienced a sudden revulsion. Fleda might see the
reflection of her own light in his face as he helped her up to a stand
where she could be more on a level with him; putting his arm round her to
guard against any sudden roll of the ship.
"What makes you wear such a happy face?" said he, with an expression half
envious, half regretful.
"I don't know!" said Fleda innocently. "You, I suppose."
He looked as bright as she did, for a minute.
"Were you ever angry, Elfie?"
"I don't know--" said Fleda. "I don't know but I have."
He smiled to see that although evidently her memory could not bring the
charge, her modesty would not deny it.
"Were you not angry yesterday with your cousin and that unmannerly
friend of his?"
"No," said Fleda, a shade crossing her face,--"I was not _angry_ "--
And as she spoke her hand was softly put upon Mr. Carleton's; as if partly
in the fear of what might have grown out of _his_ anger, and partly in
thankfulness to him that he had rendered it unnecessary. There was a
singular delicate timidity and tenderness in the action.
"I wish I had your secret, Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, looking wistfully
into the clear eyes that met his.
"What secret?" said Fleda smiling.
"You say one can always do right--is that the reason you are
happy?--because you follow that out?"
"No," said Fleda seriously. "But I think it is a great deal pleasanter."
"I have no doubt at all of that, neither, I dare say, have the rest of the
world; only somehow when it comes to the point they find it is easier to
do wrong. What's your secret, Elfie?"
"I haven't any secret," said Fleda. But presently, seeming to bethink
herself, she added gently and gravely,
"Aunt Miriam says--"
"What?"
"She says that when we love Jesus Christ it is easy to please him."
"And do you love him, Elfie?" Mr Carleton asked after a minute.
Her answer was a very quiet and sober "Yes."
He doubted still whether she were not unconsciously using a form of speech
the spirit of which she did not quite realize. That one might "not see and
yet believe," he could understand; but for _affection_ to go forth towards
an unseen object was another matter. His question was grave and acute.
"By what do you judge that you do, Elfie?"
"Why, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with an instant look of appeal, "who else
_should_ I love?"
"If not him "--her eye and her voice made sufficiently plain. Mr. Carleton
was obliged to confess to himself that she spoke intelligently, with
deeper intelligence than he could follow. He asked no more questions. Yet
truth shines by its own light, like the sun. He had not perfectly
comprehended her answers, but they struck him as something that deserved
to be understood, and he resolved to make the truth of them his own.
The rest of the voyage was perfectly quiet. Following the earnest advice
of his friend Capt. Beebee, Thorn had given up trying to push Mr. Carleton
to extremity; who on his part did not seem conscious of Thorn's existence.