“My God! can my son have gone out in the face of this terrible storm?
It is the worst I have known upon the coast for years,” and Mrs.
Merrill pressed her face against the window-glass, striving in vain to
pierce the blackness without.
No longer confined to her bed by illness, it could now be seen that
she was a handsome woman, hardly more than thirty-five, and with the
indelible stamp of refinement upon her.
Her face wore a sad look, and no flush warmed the marble-like
complexion.
Her eyes were large and dreamy, seeming to be looking backward into a
past clouded with bitter memory rather than lighted with hope for the
future.
She was dressed in a close-fitting robe of mourning, and a miniature
breastpin, and band of gold upon her wedding-finger were the only
things that relieved the severe plainness of her appearance.
Old Peggy, a woman who had lived here fifty years, but was strong and
active, sat in a chair before a blazing pine knot, and in answer to the
remark of Mrs. Merrill, chimed in, like Job’s comforter, with:
“Well, it would be just like him; but never you fear for him, miss, for
he’s not born to be drowned, that boy isn’t, and sometimes I almost
fear he’s born to be hanged, he does escape the dangers of the sea so
constant.”
“Oh, Peggy, don’t speak so, for you fairly frighten me,” and the
slender, graceful form thrilled at the thought.
“Well, Miss Gladys, he’s not one to be hanged, either. He’s a boy who
can take care of himself, come what may, for you remember what the
doctor told you, how he went for rich Merchant Clemmons’ son and Ben
Birney?”
“Yes, Mark will not be imposed on, gentle as is his nature; but I only
wish I knew where he was.”
“So do I, miss, for the supper is getting cold waiting for him.”
“Well, I’m hungry enough to eat it, if it’s cold as ice,” said a cheery
voice from the next room, and in came Mark, dripping wet.
“Oh, Mark, where have you been? I----”
“Don’t touch me, mother, for I am as wet as a drowned rat, for I’ve
been overboard.”
“Ah! you were capsized?”
“Not a bit of it, mother, I’ve been swimming.”
“Where are your shoes and hat, Mark?”
“I’ll tell you all about it, mother, as soon as I have slipped into
some dry togs,” and the lad hastened away to his own room.
But he was back again by the time Peggy had supper upon the table, and
the three sat down to eat, for, though a servant, the old woman was a
tried and trusted friend, one who had been Mark’s nurse in babyhood.
His adventure had given the youth an appetite, and his mother knew
there was no hope of hearing what he had to tell until he had eaten off
the edge of his hunger, so she wisely heaped his plate with edibles,
and enjoyed seeing them disappear.
At last he said:
“Mother, there’s a yacht in our bay.”
“A yacht, Mark?”
“Yes, and a beauty. She’s the largest pleasure craft I ever saw.”
“But how did she get there, my son?”
“I played pilot, mother, and ran her in, and just in time, too.”
“Those on board were indeed fortunate in finding so good a pilot near
at hand, Mark; but tell me of it, for this is an ugly night for such
work.”
Mark told his story in his modest way, taking no credit to himself, and
then added:
“Now they wanted to make a hero of me, mother, and pay me for my
services, offering me a purse, and it was a well-filled one, too.”
“Which you, of course, refused?” quickly said the mother.
“Oh, of course he did, for he’d refuse money if he hadn’t two coppers
to jingle together in his pocket,” growled Peggy.
“I refused it, mother, but I am to get a reward.”
“Ah, Mark, what have you done?”
“Well, you see the yacht belonged to General Peyton, a millionaire
merchant of Boston, and he had as guests on board some ladies, the
Secretary of the Navy, and Commodore Lucien, of whom I have often read,
you know.”
“Distinguished company, indeed!” said Mrs. Merrill.
“And rich enough to spare a few thousands and not miss ’em,” Peggy
ventured, with an eye to the fact that the laborer was worthy of his
hire.
“I got, or will get, what to me, Peggy, is worth far more than
thousands, for the Secretary promises me a cadetship in the navy,”
and Mark’s eyes flashed with pride, while his mother kissed him, and
murmured
“My brave, noble boy! at last! at last the clouds have a silver lining.”
The next evening, true to their promise, the guests of the yacht landed
and strolled up to the mansion.
They gazed about them with interest, and Commodore Lucien remembered
having heard something of the tragic history of “Spook Hall,” and told
it to those with him.
Mark joined them, and this time each one grasped his hand.
He was dressed in his best sailor suit, for he wore nothing else at any
time, and looked very handsome.
The grand parlor of the old mansion had been thrown open, and they were
received there by Mrs. Merrill in a dignified manner.
But there was that about her face which prevented obtrusive
questioning, and after half an hour all arose to go, impressed with
the idea that some mystery hung about the Merrills which they were not
willing to attempt to fathom.
The Secretary renewed his promise to Mark, and the lad volunteered his
services to pilot the yacht out to sea, which he did, returning in his
surf-skiff, which had been tossing astern.
The skipper of the Midshipman dipped his colors to the lad as he sped
away, while the crew gave him a send-off in three rousing cheers.