well, and is weak-minded enough to buy some of the transparent
amber-like substance, which is at all events very wholesome. The sun was
so powerful that it was quite pleasant on their return to sit in the
little terraced garden and take their lunch before lesson-time, and
while their governess sipped her tea, the children drank their goat's
milk, and ate bread and quince jelly.
The warm February sun shone down on her, but she heeded it not; a
passage in Mrs. Somerset's letter, which had just been handed to her,
haunted her, and she read again and again: she could get no farther. "I
believe it is very likely we shall take the next ship that touches here,
it is the _Minerva_ from Tasmania. They say it is a hospital ship, but I
cannot wait for another, I hunger so for a sight of the children."
The young governess was none other than Norah Wylie. She had never
ceased following her husband's movements with the greatest, most painful
interest. She knew he had lately gone to Tasmania; suppose he should
return in that very ship? More unlikely things had happened. She was at
times very weary of her continual monotonous round, though she had been
fortunate enough to have got a very exceptional engagement, and had been
with Mrs. Somerset's children almost ever since she and her husband had
parted.
As Norah sat and knitted, looking out to sea and wondering where her
husband was, he, at the very moment, was pacing up and down the deck of
the _Minerva_. They had so far had a prosperous journey, fair winds, and
a calm sea. Some of the invalids were improving, and even able to come
to table, for sea air is a wonderful life-giver. But there were others
who would never see England. It was a day of intense heat in the Red
Sea, and even at that early season of the year there was not a breath of
air.
Amongst those who had been carried up out of the stifling cabin was one
whose appearance arrested Captain Wylie's attention, as he took his
constitutional in the lightest of light flannels. He could not but be
struck by the appearance of the young man. He had never seen him before,
but he looked so fragile that the young officer's kind heart went out to
him. He was lying in an uncomfortable position, his head all twisted and
half off the limp cabin pillow.
Something in the young face, so pathetic in its youth, with the ravages
of disease visible in the hectic cheek, and harsh, rasping cough,
touched the strong young officer. He stooped down and put his hand on
the young lad's forehead; it was cold and clammy. Was he dying?
Mrs. Cameron had come over and was standing beside him. She ran down and
brought up the doctor, explaining the young man's state.
[Sidenote: The Doctor's Verdict]
"He will pass away in one of these fainting fits," said the tired man as
he followed her. He was kind in his way, but overwhelmed with work.
"This may revive him for the time being," he went on as they ascended
the cabin stairs, "but he cannot live long. I do feel for that young
fellow, he is so patient. You never hear a word of complaint."
By this time they had reached the sick man. "Here, my good fellow, try
and take this," said the doctor, as Eva Cameron gently raised the young
head on her arm. The large dark eyes were gratefully raised to the
doctor's face, and a slight tinge of colour came to the pale lips.
[Illustration: "NOW I AM GOING TO FAN YOU," SHE SAID.]
"Now I am going to fan you," said Mrs. Cameron, as she sat beside him.
Now and then she sprinkled lavender water on his head and hands.
"Thank you," he said; "how nice that is! Would you sing to me? I heard
you singing the other day."
Eva softly sang a Tasmanian air which was wild and sweet.
"Will you do me a favour?" asked the young man. "Please sing me one of
the dear old psalms. I am Scotch, and at times yearn for them, you would
hardly believe how much."
She sang:
"God is our refuge and our strength,
In straits a present aid:
Therefore, although the earth remove,
We will not be afraid."
As she sang tears rolled down the wan cheek, but a look of perfect peace
came over the pale face. She went on:
"A river is, whose streams do glad
The city of our God,
The holy place, wherein the Lord
Most High hath His abode."
He was asleep, the wan young cheek leaning on his hand in a child-like
attitude of repose. Eva sat and watched him, her heart full of pity. She
did not move, but sat fanning him. Soon Mr. Cameron and Captain Wylie
joined her; as they approached she put her finger on her lips to inspire
silence.
She had no idea what the words of the dear old psalm had been to the
young Highlander--like water to a parched soul, bringing back memories
of childhood, wooded glens, heather-clad hills, rippling burns, and
above all the old grey kirk where the Scotch laddie used to sit beside
his mother--that dear mother in whom his whole soul was wrapped up--and
join lustily in the psalms.
The dinner-bell rang unheeded--somehow not one of the three could leave
him.
"How lovely!" he said at last, opening and fixing his eyes on Eva. "I
think God sent you to me."
"Ay, laddie," said the old Scotchman, taking the wasted hand in his,
"but it seems to me you know the One who 'sticketh closer than a
brother'? I see the 'peace of God' in your face."
"Ah, you are from my part of the country," said the lad joyfully, trying
to raise himself, but sinking back exhausted. "I know it in your voice,
it's just music to me. How good God has been to me!"
They were all too much touched by his words to answer him, and Eva could
only bend over him and smooth his brow.
"Now mother will have some one to tell her about me," he added, turning
to Mrs. Cameron, and grasping her hand. Then, as strength came back in
some measure to the wasted frame, he went on in broken sentences to tell
how he had been clerk in a big mercantile house in Hobart, how he had
been invalided and lying in the hospital there for weeks. "But I have
saved money," he added joyfully, "she need not feel herself a burden on
my sister any more; my sister is married to a poor Scotch minister, and
she lives with them, or was to, till I came home. Now that will never
be. Oh, if I could just have seen her!"
"But you will see her again, laddie," said the old man. "Remember our
own dear poet Bonar's words:
"Where the child shall find his mother,
Where the mother finds the child,
Where dear families shall gather
That were scattered o'er the wild;
Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest."
"Thank you," said the dying lad. "I think I could sleep." His eyes were
closing, when a harsh loud voice with a foreign accent was heard near.
[Sidenote: "I say I will!"]
"I say I will, and who shall hinder me?"
"Hush, there is a dying man here!" It was the doctor who spoke. A
sick-looking, but violent man, who had been reclining in a deck chair
not far off, was having a tussle with a doctor, and another man who
seemed his valet.
"Indeed you should come down, sir," the man was saying, "there is quite
a dew falling."
"You want to make out that I am dying, I suppose, but I have plenty of
strength, I can tell you, and will be ordered by no one!"
"Well, then, you will hasten your end, I tell you so plainly," said the
doctor sternly.
The man's face altered as he spoke, a kind of fear came over him, as he
rose to follow the doctor without a word. As he passed near the young
Highlander, he glanced at him and shuddered, "He's young to die, and
have done with everything."
"He would tell you he is just going to begin with everything," said Mr.
Cameron, who had heard the words, and came forward just then. "Doctor, I
suppose we need not move him," he added, glancing at the dying lad, "you
see he is going fast."
"No, nothing can harm him now, poor young fellow. I will go and speak to
the captain--will you help Mr. Grossman to his cabin?"
As they reached the state-room door, Mr. Cameron said, "Friend, when
your time comes, may you too know the peace that is filling the heart of
yon lad."
"He is believing in a lie, I fear," said the other.
"And yet, when you were in pain the other day, I heard you call loudly,
'God help me!'"
"Oh, well, I suppose it is a kind of instinct--a habit one gets into,
like any other exclamation."
"I think not," said the old man. "I believe that in your inmost, soul is
a conviction that there is a God. Don't you remember hearing that
Voltaire, with almost his last breath, said, 'Et pourtant, il y a un
Dieu!'"
Returning on deck, Mr. Cameron took his watch beside the young
Highlander. There was no return of consciousness, and very soon the
happy spirit freed itself from its earthly tenement without a struggle.
Next morning they consigned all that was mortal of him to the deep, in
sure and certain hope that he shall rise again. God knows where to find
His own, whether in the quiet leafy "God's acre," or in the depths of
the sea.
* * * * *
The year was advancing. It was towards the end of February. At Gibraltar
great excitement prevailed in the house perched on the side of the
"Rock." Major Somerset and his wife were expected! Norah paused suddenly
to look out over the blue expanse of sea, to-day ruffled with a slight
breeze--and then exclaimed:
"Children! children! come, a steamer with the British flag is coming in!
Hurry and get on your things."
There was no need for urging them to haste--the outdoor wrappings were
on in no time, and they ran down to the landing-stage just as the ship
had cast anchor. Numerous boats were already making their way out to
her. They soon learnt that the ship was from Malta, though she was not
the _Minerva_ they had expected.
How Norah's heart beat as she eagerly, breathlessly, watched the
passengers descend the ladder and take their places in the different
boats. A keen breeze had got up, and even in the harbour there were
waves already.
[Sidenote: "There is Mamma!"]
"There is mamma!" exclaimed little Ethel--"see her, Nory, in the white
hat! Oh, my pretty mamma!" she exclaimed, dancing with glee as the boat
came nearer and nearer.
Then came exclamations, hugs and kisses, intermingled with the quick
vivacious chattering of the boatmen bargaining over their fares. A
perfect Babel of sound! Several passengers were landing--so a harvest
was being reaped by these small craft.
The children clung to their parents, and Norah followed behind, feeling
a little lonely, and out of it all--would there ever come a time of joy
for her--a time when she too would be welcoming a dear one?--or should
she just have to go on living the life of an outsider in other people's
lives--having no joys or sorrows of her own, she who might have been so
blessed and so happy? How long those five years had seemed, a lifetime
in themselves, since she had last heard her husband's voice! Well, he
had not come, that was clear.
That evening as Norah was preparing to go to bed, a knock came to her
door, and Mrs. Somerset came in.
"I thought I might come in, Norah dear; I wanted to tell you how pleased
my husband and I are with the improvement in the children, they look so
well, and are so much more obedient. You have managed them very well,
and we are very grateful," and Mrs. Somerset bent forward and kissed
her. "Now, dear, we want you to accept a small present from us--it is
very commonplace--but there is little variety where we are stationed."
Norah undid the cedar box put into her hand and drew out a most lovely
gold bracelet of Indian workmanship.
"Oh, how very good of you, it is far too pretty!" she exclaimed,
returning Mrs. Somerset's embrace. "But, indeed, I have only done my
duty by the children: they are very good, and I love them dearly."
"Well, dear, I hope you will long remain with them--and yet--I cannot
wish it for your sake, for I wish a greater happiness for you. You
remember when you first came to me, telling me your history, Norah, and
begging me never to refer to it? Well, I have never done so, but
to-night I must break my promise, as I think I ought to tell you that I
have actually met Captain Wylie, though he did not know who I was."
Norah's colour came and went; she said nothing, only fixed her eyes on
Mrs. Somerset in speechless attention, while a tremor ran through her
being.
"Now, dear, listen to me; I believe you will see him in Gibraltar very
soon. You know we were to have come here in the _Minerva_, which is
actually in port in Malta now, but as she is detained there for some
slight repairs, we did not wait for her. I went on board the _Minerva_
with my husband, who had business with the captain--and there he was.
The captain introduced us. When he heard I was a native of the 'Rock,'
he became quite eager, and asked me many questions about the different
families living there, and told me he intended staying a few days here
on his way to England. He was standing looking so sad when we came on
board, looking out to sea, and he brightened up so when he spoke of
Gibraltar. But, dear child, don't cry, you should rejoice."
For Norah had broken down and was weeping bitterly, uncontrollably. She
could not speak, she only raised Mrs. Somerset's hand to her lips. The
latter saw she was best alone, and was wise enough to leave her.
"Oh Edgar! Edgar!" was the cry of her heart. "Shall I ever really see
you? Can you forgive me?"
Just about the same time as Norah Wylie was weeping in her room, her
heart torn asunder with hopes and fears, her husband was again pacing
the deck of the _Minerva_. They had sailed from Malta the previous day,
but owing to fogs, which had checked their progress, were hardly out of
sight of land.
Captain Wylie's thoughts as he passed up and down were evidently of a
serious nature. For the first time in his life he had began to think
seriously of religious things. Ever since the death of the young
Highlander, Kenneth McGregor, he had had deep heart-searchings. Besides,
another event had occurred that had cast a shadow over the whole ship,
so sudden and so awful had it been.
[Sidenote: "In Spite of the Doctor"]
Mr. Grossman had made a wonderful recovery. Contrary to all
explanations, he was apparently almost well. It was his constant boast
that he had recovered "in spite of the doctor."
One evening dinner was going on, and Herr Grossman, who was still on
diet, and did not take all the courses, got up and declared that he
would go on deck. It was misty and raining a little. He sent for his
great coat and umbrella, and as his valet helped him on with his coat,
the doctor called out to him:
"Don't stay up long in the damp."
"Oh, I'll be down directly," he had answered. "I've no wish to lay
myself up again."
The company at table fell into talk, and it was some time before they
dispersed.
"It is time Mr. Grossman was down," said the doctor; "did you see him,
steward?"
"I saw him near an hour ago, sir, he stopped on his way up to light his
cigar at the tinder lamp on the stairs."
The doctor went up, but no Herr Grossman was to be seen. He and others
hunted all over the ship. At last a sort of panic prevailed. Where was
he? What had happened? The ship was stopped and boats lowered. Captain
Wylie was one of those who volunteered to go with the search party.
Clouds of mist hung over the sea, and although lanterns were held aloft,
nothing was visible.
The search was in vain. No one ever knew precisely what had happened,
nor would know. Whether a sudden giddiness seized him, or whether he
leaned too far forward, misled by the fog which makes things look so
different; certain it is that he had disappeared--not even his umbrella
was found.
No one slept that night; a great awe had settled down over the whole
ship.
The next day a furious gale sprang up. Captain Wylie, who was an old
sailor, crawled up on deck; he was used to roughing it, and the waves
dashing over him as they swept the deck had an invigorating effect.
"We ought to be in this afternoon," shouted the captain, as he passed,
"but the propeller has come to grief; you see we are not moving, and
hard enough it will be to fix the other in in such weather," and he
looked anxiously around. The wind almost blew his words away.
Captain Wylie then perceived that they were in the trough of the sea,
helplessly tossed about, while the waves were mounting high, and any
moment the engine fires might be extinguished. Should that happen,
indeed they would be in a bad strait.
With difficulty he made his way to where the men were vainly trying to
fix the monster screw. Each time they thought they had it in place, the
heavy sea shifted it, and the men were knocked down in their attempts.
Captain Wylie willingly gave a hand, and after a long time, so it seemed
to the weary men, the screw was in its place, and doing its work.
The brave ship battled on. Already in the far distance the great "Rock"
was visible, and the young soldier's heart turned passionately to her
whom he loved.
And now a fresh disaster had arisen; the steam steering-gear had come to
grief, and the old, long-neglected wheel had to be brought into use. It
had not been used for years, and though constantly cleaned and kept in
order, the salt water had been washing over it now for hours, and it was
very hard to turn. The question now was, should they remain in the open
sea, or venture into the harbour?
A discussion on the subject was taking place between the captain and the
first mate. The steering-gear did not seem to do its work properly, and
the captain anxiously kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, as they were
drawn irresistibly nearer and nearer to the harbour. "It is the
men-of-war I dread coming near," the captain was saying to his mates;
"those deadly rams are a terror in this weather."
[Sidenote: A Critical Moment]
It was a critical moment. Darkness was coming down, the rain became more
violent, the wind cold and cutting, with now and then fierce showers of
hail.
On, on they were being driven; nothing could keep them back. The captain
shouted orders, the men did their best, but the wheel did not work
properly. Captain Wylie as he stood near, holding on while the waves
dashed over him, saw the lights twinkling in the town, and felt that the
cup of happiness so near might now at any moment be dashed from his
lips.
The danger was clear to all, nearer and nearer they drew. "Out with the
life-belts!" shouted the captain; "lower the boats!"
There was no time to be lost, faster and faster they were being driven
into the harbour.
Captain Wylie rushed downstairs; and here confusion and terror reigned,
for bad news travels fast, and a panic had seized the poor fellows who
were still weak from recent illness. They were dragging themselves out
of their berths.
"Get her ready, here are two belts," he cried, and, throwing them to Mr.
Cameron, he hurried to the assistance of the invalids. All were soon
provided with belts. A wonderful calm succeeded to the confusion, and
great self-control was exercised.
"Courage!" cried the young soldier; "remember we are close to shore. If
you can keep your heads above water you will speedily be rescued." The
one frail woman was as calm as any.
It came at last! A crash, a gurgling sound of rushing water, a ripping,
rasping noise.
"Up on deck," shouted Captain Wylie, as seizing the one helpless invalid
in his arms, he hastened on deck. An awful scene met the eye. What the
ship's captain feared had indeed come true!
The boats were soon freighted and pushed off.
* * * * *
While this terrible scene was taking place, anxious eyes were taking it
all in from the shore.
Early that day the _Minerva_ had been signalled, and Norah with her
heart in her mouth had watched almost all day from the veranda, scanning
the sea with a pair of binoculars. Mrs. Somerset kept the children
entirely, knowing well what her poor young governess was going through.
[Sidenote: A Weary Night]
The storm had raged fiercely all day, but as night came on it grew
worse. Norah could remain no longer in the house, and had gone down to
the quay. As she reached it she saw a large ship driving furiously
forward to its doom. There she stood as though turned to stone, and was
not aware of a voice speaking in her ear, and a hand drawing her away.
"This is no place for you, Mrs. Wylie; my wife sent me for you. You can
do no good here; you will learn what there is to learn quicker at
home--one can't believe a word they say."
Her agony was too great for words or tears. She had gone through so much
all those years, and now happiness had seemed so near, she had believed
it might even yet be in store for her since Mrs. Somerset had spoken to
her on the subject, and now? . . . She let herself be led into the house,
and when Mrs. Somerset ran to meet her and clasp her in her arms, it was
as if she grasped a statue, so cold and lifeless was Norah.
"She is stunned," the major said; "she is exhausted."
Mechanically she let herself be covered up and put on the sofa, her feet
chafed by kind hands--it gave a vague sense of comfort, though all the
time she felt as if it were being done to some one else.
And yet had Norah only known, grief would have been turned into
thanksgiving. Her husband was not dead.
The weary night came to an end at last, as such nights do. Several times
Mrs. Somerset had crept in. They had been unable to gather any reliable
news about the _Minerva's_ passengers. The ship had gone down, but
whether the people had been saved they had been unable as yet to
ascertain.
A glorious sunrise succeeded a night of storm and terror, and its
crimson beams came in on Norah. Hastily rising, and throwing on her hat
and jacket she ran out into the morning freshness longing to feel the
cool air.
She only wanted to get away from herself.
She climbed the steep ascent up the "Rock," past the governor's house,
then stood and gazed at this wonderful scene.
And she stood thus, wrapped up in sad thoughts and anticipations of
evil, a great, great joy lay very near her.
Edgar Wylie had thrown himself into the sea, and lost consciousness from
the effects of a blow. Several boats had braved the furious sea, and
come out to save the unfortunate people if possible.
Thus it was that he was picked up, as well as a young fellow he had
risked his life to save.
When he came to himself, he found he had been brought to the nearest
hotel, and a doctor was in attendance. There was, however, nothing
really the matter with him. He had, it is true, been stunned by the
sharp spar that had come in contact with his head, but no real injury
had been done.
A good night's rest had restored him to himself. He woke early the
following morning, and rising went out to breathe the fresh pure air.
Thus it came to pass that the husband and wife were passing each other
in their morning walk, and they did not know it.
And yet, as his tall figure passed her, a thrill of memory went through
her, a something in the walk reminded her of her husband.
Both had arrived at the supreme crisis of their lives, and yet they
might never have met, but for a small incident, and a rather funny one.
Norah had taken off her hat and had laid it carelessly beside her on the
low wall on which she was leaning, when she became aware of some one
taking possession of it, and looking round she saw the impudent face of
a monkey disappearing with it up the steep side of the "Rock."
She had no energy to recover it, and was standing helplessly watching
his movements when she saw the stranger who had passed her set off in
pursuit of the truant.
She soon lost sight of him, and had again sunk into a reverie when a
voice said: "Here is your hat; I have rescued it. I think it is none the
worse for this adventure."
Oh, that voice! Norah's heart stood still, she was stunned and could not
believe that she heard aright. Was she dreaming? "The rascal was caught
by one of the sentries, evidently he is quite at home with them, and the
soldier on duty coaxed it from him."
Then Norah turned, there was no longer room for doubt, her eyes were
riveted on the grey ones fixed on her.
[Sidenote: "You are not Dead!"]
"Then you are not dead," was the thought that flashed through her mind.
Her tongue was dry and parched; her heart, which had seemed to stop,
bounded forward, as though it must burst its bonds.
"Oh, Edgar!" she cried, losing all self-command; "oh, if it is you,
forgive me, don't leave me. Don't let me wake and find it a dream!"
A strange whizzing and whirling came over her, and then she felt herself
held securely by a strong arm and a face was bent to hers. When she
recovered herself somewhat, she found that she was seated on a bank,
supported by her husband.
It was his voice that said in the old fond tones: "Oh, Norah, my Norah,
we are together again, never, never more to part. Forgive me, darling,
for all I have made you suffer in the past."
"Forgive you! Oh, Edgar! Will you forgive me?"