Mr. Carnegie, at this, started up, and seemed about to go outside, whenFaith's soft voice arrested him.
"Father wished us all to stay here," she said reproachfully.
He turned back, with a movement full of agonized uncertainty.
"I know," he murmured, "but—"
He stood irresolute, with his perplexed face turning from the outer door to her own up-looking eyes.
"And if he needs you he certainly will let you know," she added, with some asperity.
He smiled, and reseated himself beside her.
"You are right, as usual, Miss Faith. He certainly knows—"
"Knows what?" she asked at length, as his sentence remained unfinished.
"Knows that I am here and ready," he returned, with a smile, but she noticed that his eyes often sought the door, and his manner was that of one alert for action.
The women, who had children asleep in the staterooms, had run to them with the first alarm, and these, with the ayahs and babies, now began creeping back into the saloon, longing for fellowship in this trying hour; while, the first dire shock over, the men of cool thoughtfulness, like the Traveler, Mr. Lawrence, Carnegie, and a few others, began making all of them as comfortable as possible, forming them into compact groups, guarded from the danger of breaking furniture, woodwork, and glass, by their own watchfulness, as they made a cordon around them. Many were unable to lift their heads from illness, and others went from hysterics into fainting fits.
These required most of the attention of Martha Jordan and her women, but Dwight, soon rallying from his first fright, and always both nimble and steady of foot, proved of real assistance, fetching and carrying equal to Tegeloo, who went through his duties with the calm stoicism of the Oriental in the face of death. After a little, Faith and Hope also joined in the "Relief Corps," as he named it, while Bess fought her own sickness bravely that she might care for her mother, whose heart action was imperfect. To their great delight the electric lights suddenly blazed out again, greatly relieving the distress of the situation, for its horrors had been doubled by darkness. At the same instant the captain appeared among them and amid a clamor of questions, requests, and suggestions, held up a hand for silence, and called loudly,
"Listen, please! You have all behaved so well in this trial that I want to trust you in full, and ask your further help and forbearance. The storm is not over, and the fire is not out, but I believe we shall weather both in safety. In case we cannot extinguish the fires, the boats are ready to be lowered at a minute's notice, and all can get safely off. You shall know in time. Meanwhile, get together whatever you most want to save, and I will send you life-preservers to put on. Let the men go for the valuables, when possible, and the women all stay here. It is the safest place for them. There's no occasion for a panic, and I don't expect any. If our staunch old ship can stand the strain of these last few minutes so well she isn't going back on us now, I'll swear!"
His voice broke a trifle, and he turned to his daughters, who were now close together, their arms about each other.
"What shall I send from the cabin to you, girlies?" he whispered."Tegeloo shall bring you your treasures here."
"There's poor Texas, if he isn't killed already," said Hope.
"And Andy," added Faith, when suddenly out popped the monkey's head from the reefer pocket, and, looking-glass still in hand, he scrambled down into Faith's lap.
"Why—why!" cried the astonished captain, "Was it Andy? I thought something wriggled once or twice, but concluded 'twas only imagination. Well, I declare! Whose glass is that?"
"I don't know, papa. He had on Mrs. Campbell's dress hat, and somebody's sash, but—"
A sudden distraction came in the shape of Janet Windemere, who burst into their midst all excitement, followed by Mrs. Windemere, pallid and weeping silently, as she wrung her hands in despair.
"Captain—Captain Hosmer!" cried the former in a rasping voice. "We have been robbed! We've been getting our things together, and our money's gone!"
"Robbed?" muttered the captain dazedly, then with indignation he broke out, "I don't believe it! My men are all honest, and have been working like Trojans, to the last man-Jack of them. There's some mistake—you must have mislaid it."
"No, we always kept it in mother's dressing-case, but Laura carelessly left it open and the whole glass is gone. It must have been somebody that knew, for we never told a soul—"
"Knew what?" asked the man in a resigned tone. "What has your looking-glass and your mother's dressing-case got to do with your money, anyhow? I thought you said that was stolen."
"Of course. You see, for safety we put our money and letter of credit inside the back of the hand-mirror, and—"
He turned and flashed a look from Andy, serenely admiring himself, to his daughter.
"Oh, oh!" she cried distressfully, "is this it?"
She tried to snatch the thing from Andy's hand, but he held on with a determined clutch and howled, even threatening her with his teeth. It was the prettiest toy he had seen for many a day!
"Yes, that's it. You wretched little beast! See! He's spoiledLaura's ribbon too."
"See here, sir!" said the captain indignantly, as he boxed the creature's ears. "You'll have to learn better manners, if you stay aboard this craft. Thieves aren't allowed."
Poor Andy, perforce, yielded to higher authority, and crawled under the soft arm of his mistress, crying like a baby, while the captain handed the glass to Mrs. Windemere, saying brusquely,
"Better find a new place for your money now, and secure it about your person somewhere—you may need it."
"Oh, Captain, are we going to the bottom?" she moaned.
"If I thought we were would I tell you to secure your money?" he answered crisply. Then, turning to his daughters, "I'll send you your ulsters and life-preservers—and Texas; but let the trinkets go. They only weight one down, and they look pretty small to-night! You'll take to the boats if the rest do, and then I'll give you my papers."
"Why give them to us, papa?" asked Hope, innocently.
He looked at her with a strange expression, but did not answer. Instead, he turned to an officer who had entered and, after one glance, said quickly,
"Yes, I'm coming. Don't speak!" and hurried after him, but as he passed Carnegie a look passed between them, and the young officer at once arose and followed him outside.
Hope turned to her sister, white to the lips.
"What did he mean, Faith? Why are we to take those papers?"
"I don't understand—exactly."
"But you think—"
"I think he means to stay by his ship."
Faith spoke low and tremulously.
"To the death?" whispered Hope in awe-stricken accents.
"Yes."
They gazed into each other's eyes, and drew closer. Hope clutched Faith's hand, and the complaining monkey gave a last babyish little cry, and snuggled down in the warmth of their nestling forms, his sorrows quickly forgotten in slumber. He was safe so long as his mistress held him. Suddenly a thought came to Faith. She looked down at the mite, then upwards, and her eyes were like radiant stars in her pale young face.
"See!" she said, "he feels safe with me, and does not mind the storm; father feels safe with his ship; you and I with our father, and all of us with God. It is a chain of safety. Let's give up worrying and stay by papa, trusting in Jesus. If it is best to save us, He will do so; if not, we will go to sleep just this way—together, and in His arms!"
"Yes," assented Hope softly, pressing lovingly to the side of her twin."Yes, all together, and in His arms!"
So mischievous Andy redeemed his naughtiness by teaching a timely lesson of peaceful trust.
Tegeloo brought Texas, with the ulsters, and told how he had found the bird cowering in its battered cage, which had been tossed headlong into the middle of the cabin, where it, fortunately, lodged between the bedsteads, being wedged in so closely as to escape further harm. The poor parrot looked sick enough, and was so subdued he came at once to Hope's wrist, with none of his usual feints and caprices, nestling up to her in a satisfied manner, as he plaintively muttered, "Poor Texas! Poor little Texas!" in response to her caresses.
Then, after a little, came a new phrase his mistress had long been trying to teach him, but which, with the obstinacy of his kind, he would never repeat. It came very softly now, as he tilted about on her white wrist, and cocked his head around with a sidelong, upward glance, "DearHope!"
"Oh, hear!" she cried delighted. "Isn't that sweet of him? Dear Texas! Hope's pretty Texas! Was he nearly frightened to death in the storm?"
She forgot terror and surrounding discomforts for one minute, the next her heart stood still, as two sailors entered with a quantity of life-preservers, and amid rising clamor and confusion, the passengers began their preparations for departure by the boats. The storm's fury seemed to have spent itself, and the fiercer noises outside were no longer audible, only that steady chopping—chopping, that no one really understood. Perhaps this only intensified the heart-broken sobbings of the women and children, and the occasional groanings of strong men, who could no longer control their sense of helpless misery. Hope, sprang to her feet, her nerves giving way at last. "Oh, this is awful!" she muttered, turning her head wildly to left and right, like a creature suddenly caged. "I begin to feel the fire, Faith—don't you? It is stifling me!"
She was on the point of breaking into a hysterical shriek when a hand was laid upon her arm, and Lady Moreham said quickly,
"No, my child! It is only the closeness after a storm; not the fire. That is far away, and still smothered between walls in the hold. It may never break out, if they can get at it before it burns through to the air. They are working manfully, and will do everything to save us, and your brave father is at their head."
"Oh, if I could see papa! If I could be sure he is safe! He never thinks of himself where there is danger."
She was trembling all over, and Faith, catching her excitement, pressed closer, wide-eyed and shivering. Lady Moreham saw that, though they had been brave as mature women, so far, they were breaking down under the strain, unsupported by any older and stronger relative. The atmosphere was enervating here, and emotion is contagious. Glancing quickly around, she formed her resolution, and throwing an arm around each, said gently,
"Come! I have often heard you speak of the library. We can go there and be more quiet, and it will give us a better lookout on the forward deck. Won't you invite me to go there with you?"
"But papa—if he should look for us here?"
"I will send him a message. Ah, here's Mr. Allyne—have you come to tell us something?" for there was a desperate look in the young man's' face that startled her.
"No, only—good-by! They need more help below, and I am going down.You have these young ladies in charge, Madam?"
"Yes. And tell their father he will find the three of us in his own cabin when he needs us." Her eyes, sharp and imperative, questioned him—"Is there great danger?" But she did not speak.
He bowed gravely, and said, as if in response to her request. "I will tell him." Then, as Hope followed the lady, he gently intercepted her. "Please shake hands once more," he said, and with out a word she laid her icy palm to his.
He bowed over it respectfully.
"God bless you for the good, pure girl you are! Good-by."
He hurried out and Hope, dazed and dumb, followed the others. They found the little room, where they had passed so many homelike hours, sadly demoralized. One of the great windows was shivered to splinters, and through it projected a heavy spar, now safely wedged from further harm, and as they gazed out through the other great panes, it was upon a scene of intense desolation. The deck was quite empty, all the crew being busy below, but it was one mass of broken timbers, fallen sails, and all the debris of a half-wrecked vessel. But as the fresh air met their faces, it braced them to new courage, and each looked curiously about.
Above, the sky was already clearing and the ragged-edged clouds were rolling northwards, leaving clear spaces which rapidly enlarged. The sea, black and turbulent, still rolled heavily, but with diminishing motion, and its spray made everything damp about them. Turning on the lights, Lady Moreham said briskly, "We must have a blanket, or something, to shut out the storm. Where will I find one?"
"Right in our room—I'll get it," said Faith, feeling safer and better already in the home-like place, and soon the open window was well covered, the chairs wiped out and drawn close together, and Hope sank into one, Texas still clutching her wrist, with a long sigh of satisfaction.
"Itseemssafer here, anyhow!" she murmured. "If papa could only be with us!"
The lady smiled.
"And I was just thinking how glad I was that he is not here, but that I could be so certain he was just where he ought to be to insure the safety of us all. How proud you must be of him, tonight! He is a true, brave man, and I am proud to call him my friend. Did you know we were schoolmates together?"
Hope looked up quickly, interested in spite of herself.
"That is it, then? I felt sure there was something, but he always avoided our questions. Was it when you were a young lady."
"No, a little girl. We lived in the same neighborhood."
"You did? Why—but papa lived in America, near Boston."
"So did I."
"Then youareAmerican!" cried the girl, triumphantly.
The lady laughed a little.
"Have you guessed it? Yes, I was born on a small hill farm in Massachusetts, and when a wee child used to trudge, barefooted, across our pasture-lot to a little unpainted schoolhouse, on the cross-roads."
"You, Lady Moreham?" breathed Faith in amazement.
"Ah, yes, it was I," sighed the lady. "So memory tells me, at least, but I can scarcely believe that the happy, care-free little creature, who chased butterflies, and gathered the trailing arbutus in Spring, and waded through the gorgeous October leaves in Fall, was my weary self."
"And you really liked being—being—"
My lady laughed out at Hope's embarrassment in framing her question.
"Oh! Didn't I like it? I had two sisters and a brother. One sister was a baby, and when the rest of us had done our 'stints' for the day, we used to take her out with us in her little four-wheeled wagon father had made her, and play by the hour—oh, so happily! I used to play at being queen, I remember, and make crowns out of burdock burs, stuck together, setting them on very softly over my curls in the coronation scene, because they pricked me so. But in spite of the hurt I would persist in wearing them. I sometimes wonder, is all that we do in childhood but a foreshadowing of what is to follow? My crowns have always cut me cruelly, but pride has kept me wearing them."
She drew herself up quickly, as if she had been thinking aloud, and added,
"Your grandfather's farm adjoined ours, and your father and I were playmates, and great friends. We were seldom separated till later, when I was a strong, rosy-cheeked girl of sixteen and he a strapping young lad, with a hankering for the sea. Well, we went our ways—he to sail as cabin-boy in a merchantman, I to journey up to Boston and seek service with some nice family."
"Service!" murmured Hope, involuntarily.
"It sounds queer, doesn't it? Yes, that was what I expected to do, and I was proud to be able to help at home, for the little farm was not productive, and the 'lien' on it was heavy. But I did not 'work out,' after all—in that way—my sister, who was now married and living in Lynn, found a place for me in the factory there. Like Hannah, I often was seen sitting at the window binding shoes."
"Oh! In Lynn. No wonder you were so interested when we talked about it."
"You noticed, did you, Brighteyes? Well, there I worked for two years, and there I—married."
She stopped as if done with the subject, and the girls, half-forgetful of their peril, looked at her in blank disappointment. It is a long step from a dingy shoe-factory in a New England town to a lordly country-seat in Old England, and both had fondly hoped to have it bridged while this communicative mood was on. But the lips had closed sternly, and Lady Moreham, seemingly quite forgetful of her young auditors, was gazing far away. Faith ventured, at length, to jog her consciousness.
"You asked me, once, a good deal about Brookline—were you there too?"
The lady nodded, then turned and looked at her with a quizzical glance.
"Ah, child, never be so curious to hear a sad story! Every one has griefs enough to bear without appropriating other people's. Yes, we did live in Brookline for several happy years—my husband and I. Our home was the porter's lodge of one of those fine places you used to admire. We were both young, hopeful, and strong. He was well educated, but could not endure clerkly confinement, and thought himself fortunate to be so well housed and have such healthy work. He was born in England, and we used to laugh together because, in some vague way, which we scarcely cared to fully understand, my husband was distantly related to the nobility. That was the phrase—'related to the nobility'—how we used to make fun of it, and pretend to trace out the connection! Once, at Christmas, I presented him with a family tree, and a peerage-book. The latter was something I had written up myself, andsuchnonsense, but it made us fun for many weeks. We could laugh at anything in those days. Duncan really had no more idea of inheriting a title and estate at that time than I, a farm-bred girl, had myself. He was a thorough American, who loved his country, and because his parents had died and left him alone in the world, he was all the more helpful and self-reliant. How his eyes used to twinkle when we sat on our little porch, at evening, as he would say with a flourish, 'Yes, this is all well enough, Anna, but wait till you see our ancestral halls across the sea!' and then his laugh would ring out like the boy he was. But it is the unexpected that always happens. If we had counted on any such thing—"
"And after all it came true?" broke in Hope eagerly.
"Yes, it came true." Lady Moreham's voice sank to a sorrowful strain. "I shall never forget the day the news came! We had eaten our little supper—just the two of us, for we had no children,—and Duncan, after his custom, unfolded his newspaper to read, while I took the dishes from the table and washed them at the little white sink near by. I used to hear if there was any news worth the telling, and when he broke out excitedly, 'Why, Anna, listen to this!' I only turned silently, expecting to hear of some wonderful new invention, for that was a few years ago when the marvels of electricity were developing so rapidly, and Duncan was deeply interested in them. Instead, he read an advertisement, inserted by a London law firm, where his own name appeared with the usual promise that he would hear of something to his advantage, if he would write to their address.
"I went over to him and sat on the arm of his chair, as we discussed it, full of wonder and conjectures, and more in earnest over the fun of it than any possible advantage it might bring—for God knows, we were happy enough! We only wanted to be let alone."
She spoke with extreme bitterness, and the girls looked at her, astonished. It was difficult to believe any one could prefer plain comfort in a porter's lodge to a title and estates.
"But you wrote?" questioned Faith, eager to hear the whole.
"Of course. We were as foolish as all the rest of the world! We thought happiness and gold and honor the three Graces, instead of Faith, Hope, and Charity," smiling into the girls' excited faces.
"And isn't happiness?"—began Hope, but she shook her head.
"Not worldly happiness—no. It is too brief, too treacherous. If one learns to depend upon that, one is doomed to perpetual disappointment. I have long understood that contentment is better than what we call happiness—much better. Yes, we wrote, laughing together over the possibility that our ancestral home might be seeking us, but believing nothing of the kind. How we did joke over our united efforts at composing it! He was the scholar, but I suggested all sorts of long-stilted sentences to him, which he modified to suit himself. He used to think me bright in those days. When it was signed, addressed, and sealed, we looked into each other's eyes.
"'I wonder if we'll ever regret this?' said Duncan, serious for the first time. He was always more grave than I, and used often to curb my high spirits—who would think it now?
"'Fiddle-faddle! Regret a pot of money, or a Queen's commission asField-marshal?' I asked flippantly.
"'Yet the pot of money might not make us really better off, and the Queen's commission might take me away from you,' he said, and stooped to kiss me.
"I don't know what came over me, then. A sudden fear seemed to contract my heart. I caught him about the neck, declaring we could not be happier than we were.
"'Throw the letter into the fire, Duncan!' I cried. 'It may separate us, and I'd rather have you than all the world besides!' He held me close a minute, then laughed a little.
"What geese we are! How could anything separate us, if we don't let it? You know very well any advantage would cease to be one the minute it came between us. We will send the letter, but we will use our own judgment about whatever it brings us.'
"So it was sent, and—what is that? Tegeloo, what is it? are we to take to the boats, after all? Why are they shouting so?"
She rose, and the girls after her. Tegeloo, seemingly deprived of speech, was motioning wildly at the door leading to the saloon. They dashed past him into the roomful of people cheering, shouting, crying, praying, and kissing, in a perfect frenzy of relief.
Some one, with a face far blacker than the Hindu boy's, caught each girl by the hand.
"Girlies," cried a well-known voice. "We are safe—the fire is out!"Then turning quickly, "Friends, let's sing 'Old Hundred,'—hearty now!"
The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when, as with one impulse, all broke into the grand old measure. Nobody pitched the tune, nor started it—it started itself! Mrs. Campbell sang it on her knees, with streaming eyes and hair, the captain and his daughters sang it locked in each other's arms, and the Traveler, seeing Lady Moreham left momently alone, clasped her hand in brotherly fashion, and joined his fine bass to her uncultivated treble, never thinking of discords. So may the Redeemed some day sing the Doxology in Heavenly courts, safe not only from death, but better still, safe from the life we know of here!
When the "Amen," had died into silence the captain said, happily,
"Now, good people, get yourselves to bed as quick as you can. The storm is over, the fire is out, and though the poor old girl is so battered up she's lost her beauty, her heart's still in the right place—her engines are working all right, in spite of the cyclone! Now hustle, every one of you—breakfast won't be served till ten o'clock—and Heaven bless and keep us all!"
There was something indescribably disheartening in the looks of the dismasted "International" as the twins came forth, refreshed by several hours of welcome slumber, after the long agony of the past night. The carpenters were already hard at work cutting away the sad remnants of the graceful, tapering mizzen-mast, which had been one of the beauties of the comely steamer, and a considerable space had been cleared for the passengers over which awnings were stretched; but the approach to it was somewhat choked and difficult.
Faith was first to reach the deck, and as she approached, young Allyne stepped forward from behind a rubbish heap, and said eagerly,
"I'm glad to see you out, at last! It's a beautiful morning after the storm. Let me pilot you across these chips to that nice chair."
"Thank you," was Faith's rather stiff response. But he would not give her time to be cool and unfriendly.
"Would you ever believe it could have been so dreadful last night?" he rattled on. "But you were very brave, Miss Hosmer!"
"Was I?" asked Faith, almost overpowered by his friendliness.
"Yes, you and your sister both were, for the matter of that—and by the way, how is Texas this morning?"
Faith's eyes began to dance. She mistrusted he had taken her for her sister again and, following his glance, became sure of it; for Hope was now approaching, along with Dwight, and the instant Tom Allyne's eyes fell upon her he felt intuitively that she was the girl he had been really waiting for, and his quick, annoyed glance proved the fact to Faith. She did not feel so chagrined over it as she might, had she greatly cared for his liking, and answered briskly,
"You mean Andy, don't you? Texas is the parrot, and belongs to Hope.There she comes now—shall we go to her?"
Nothing loth, Mr. Allyne followed her lead, and, as he stood talking with the two, made a closer survey than ever before, resolving that he would not make this mistake again. Had he ever made it before? The question, suddenly occurring to his inner consciousness, rather startled him. He would not mind pouring his thoughts out to Hope, who was so frank and jolly, but he felt rather afraid of this other girl, whom he had once offended. Yet, the longer he compared the two, as he stood opposite in merry conversation, addressing first one, then the other, the more certain he felt that Hope was not the girl in whom he had confided a few evenings since. And if not, what a donkey he had made of himself!
He tried to remember just what had passed, and grew silent and uncomfortable as he made the effort. How was it Dwight never mixed the two? He began to feel that keen, observing eyes were pretty good things to have. He should certainly cultivate his own, in future! As this undercurrent of musings reached definite conclusion, he broke out, boyishly,
"I'll know you apart after this, or know the reason why!"
"And how?" asked Dwight.
"Well, how do you, my boy?" was the quick counter-question.
Thus caught, the boy flushed and grinned broadly.
"Oh, I don't have to tell," he objected, with a shake of the head.
They all naturally began to insist, however, and he at length yielded, with the outburst, "Well, if it makes anybody mad, I can't help it."
"Of course not!" laughed Allyne. "Personal remarks are bound to make somebody mad, but that's just what makes them spicy. Proceed, young man, proceed!"
"Well then," slowly, "just watch the two for a minute, and make them laugh—" Of course, at this, they with the others standing near, did break into laughter—"there! Can't you see? Hope shows all her teeth, and a big dimple in the corner of her mouth; Faith smiles just enough to show a little of hers, and there isn't any dimple. So, when I'm not sure, I just say something funny, and if the mouth is big and dimpled, I know it's Hope without any mistake. Now, I knew you'd be mad, but what on earth ails Faith?Shelooks madder than you do?"
It was a fact. Hope had drawn herself up, not half pleased to have the size of her mouth—which was a sensitive feature—so questioned; but Faith had turned entirely away with sudden coolness, miffed because she did not look jolly, and display a dimple like the special one, the possession of which she had always envied her sister. It was an exhibition of female weakness entirely unexpected by Tom Allyne, and for some reason pleased him wonderfully. He turned from one to the other, full of hypocritical glee, though the face he then bent upon Dwight was severe in the extreme.
"See here, sir! Don't you know better than to say such things? Why, you as much as insinuate that one or the other of these young ladies has a blemish! Now that—"
"See here!" broke out poor Dwight, not entirely sure who was most abusing him, "who set me up to saying what I did, anyhow? I think it's downright mean for you all to turn on a fellow so! You all promised not to be mad, and now see you!"
"You are right," said Faith, turning quickly. "I am ashamed of myself for minding such a trifle! But I do sometimes get tired of being reminded that Hope is so much nicer and jollier than I."
"And I that Faith is so much more refined and ladylike!" added the other. Then both broke into laughter, Hope's white teeth and deep dimple showing plainly, and Faith's half-sad sweetness veiling her merriment to a tamer expression.
"It would spoil everything if you were either of you one whit different," cried Allyne, with fervor. "And, Dwight, I want to thank you for letting me into your little secret. I can never be deceived again."
"Are you certain of that?" asked Mr. Carnegie, as he joined the group. "I wish I could be so sure! But come, let's drop personalities. I've been sent to ask you to join a reading-club—"
"A reading-club?" shouted everybody.
"Yes. It is Mrs. Poinsett's hour to read to Lady Moreham, and she kindly suggested our joining them. Would you like to?"
"Lady Moreham? How wonderful!" murmured Allyne, and the sisters exchanged meaning glances.
But Dwight looked dubious.
"I'd rather hear one of Quint's yarns," he remarked, frankly.
Quint was a good-natured sailor, with a broad saber cut on one cheek that would have ruined his looks for some, but made him only the more interesting to Dwight. Besides, he had a capacity for reeling off yarns, that was irresistible, and even Hope's charms paled before his rarer attractions.
The boy now went below to find the man, and the girls started with Carnegie for the main saloon. After a few steps the latter looked back over his shoulder, and saw Allyne gazing somewhat moodily after them.
"Aren't you coming?" he asked pleasantly, turning back.
"Am I wanted?" was returned quickly.
"Of course, if you like to go," laughed the young officer, and Allyne strode forward.
Their loitering had widened the space between them and the girls, and suddenly Tom Allyne began, in a low voice,
"Carnegie, I haven't had an opportunity before, so now I make haste to say that I thank you for showing me that a fellow need not be of the namby-pamby kind because he lets the stuff alone. I used to think that boys with any spirit must drink and carouse, occasionally, but I've learned better now. I watched you last night."
The other turned with a rapid movement.
"Watched me?"
"Yes, you were cool and brave. When the captain needed volunteers you worked like a Trojan, and never flinched. And I believe you knew the special danger too, as well as——"
"Sh-h!" Carnegie glanced about with an alarmed air. "Did you know too?"
"I began to suspect soon after we went to work, and a low word of the captain to his mate, which I, too, caught, convinced me. You see, we were packed close in there! It wasn't any too safe."
Chester Carnegie's eyes were upon him.
"And you praise me for bravery when you were there and knew it all?" he said. "I begin to think somebody else is no coward, either, Allyne!"
He held out his hand, and they clasped silently. Then the latter said, in a deprecating tone,
"Personal fear is not my weakness. I wonder, Carnegie, if these passengers will ever know how close that fire came to your consignment of ammunition, last night."
"No, never! How did you suspect my share in the matter?"
"You were the first to offer your services. You persisted in working at a spot from which the rest of us had been warned, and the captain allowed it. I knew there must be method in your madness."
"You were right; it was a personal duty, and I could not have done otherwise. But you had no such motive, Allyne, and yet, understanding the danger, as you evidently did, you stood to your work as close to me as you could get. I like a brave man!"
"Well, if it has wiped out old scores, Carnegie—"
"It has. But come—they are beckoning. I'll tell you something, however. After it was over, last night, and the captain and I were congratulating ourselves, he remarked, with a jerk of his thumb toward your grimy self, 'That young man's head is too cool to be muddled up with the devil's brew. I'm sorry about that!'"
The last words were whispered hurriedly, and there was no time to respond, but Allyne's face shone as the ladies greeted them, with merry reproaches for their laggardness, and soon all were seated, quietly listening to Mrs. Poinsett, who was an excellent reader. Faith was not so good a listener, that morning, however. It was an exquisite day, after the storm. The air was of a crystal purity and delicious coolness, the sea, rough enough to attract the gaze, yet not so rough as to distract the nerves, and the sky's soft blue was occasionally flecked with small, faint cloudlets, that seemed like distant flocks of sheep, grazing in heavenly meadows. Only the battered ship beneath them recalled the fury of last night's stormburst. But as the memory of those anxious hours swept over her she looked at Lady Moreham, and wondered that she should so have opened her heart in that time of waiting, for just now she seemed as stately and unapproachable as ever.
Then, too, it was so tantalizing that her story should have been broken off in the middle, and left there. Would they ever hear its close? It did not seem likely. Moved out of herself by the nearness of death, the titled dame had reverted to childish days, speaking her thoughts aloud. Probably nothing would induce her to speak again.
"However," thought Faith, "father knows and perhaps he'll tell us some day, when he gets a minute's leisure—that is, if he can be convinced that she would not care. What an honorable man he is! We would never have known a lisp from his lips."
But it was a busy time with the captain. Only a day or so out from Bombay, now, he was straining every nerve to restore the vessel to something like her normal condition before they should enter port, and it seemed to his daughters that they could scarcely get a daily greeting from him, even, in his intense absorption. But they could wait, for, once on shore, he would have more leisure, as the steamer would be laid up for repairs, and the really saddening thought, now, was that so soon these friends of a month must all separate, to go their various ways.
The Vanderhoff party intended soon to start for Poonah, Mr. Carnegie must take his men to Lucknow, the two attachés were to remain for the present at the Secretariat, the Windemeres would meet friends at Magpore, while the Traveler declared vaguely and laughingly that he would be "off to the jungles," in a day or two. Lady Moreham said little of her plans.
"I shall let circumstances govern me," she answered courteously to all questions, and no one ventured to interrogate her further.
The next two days were glowing, as to weather, and filled with intensest life. There were trunks to pack, loaned articles to hunt up, or return, neglected stitches to take, and a vast amount of friendly visiting to be crowded in.
On shipboard one fully appreciates the old adage that "Blessings brighten as they take their flight." Even the tiresome become interesting when we feel we may never see them again, while the hobbies, or crankiness of the singular become entirely bearable, when they are about to be lost sight of forever. As death brings out the virtues, and veils the defects, of our friends, so does the nearness of, possibly, eternal separation produce the same effect, on shipboard. We love those who have become dear to us with an almost clinging tenderness, and we grow tolerant to affectionateness even of those not specially agreeable.
Faith forgot that Dwight had sometimes been rude and Bess contrary; both girls now thoroughly realized that beneath her coolness and seeming superiority Lady Moreham carried a crushed and tender heart, and Hope knew that she should miss even Mrs. Windemere's pathetic, patient little voice.
As they finally steamed by the lighthouse, and fixed eager eyes upon the city of their destination, many of these were dimmed with regret and sadness. Even Mrs. Campbell, who had been very quiet of late, looked sober as she leaned against the bulwark, handsomer than ever in her plain traveling suit of tan, and Carnegie, between Lady Moreham and Faith, felt his heart fail him as he thought of the lonely, busy life before him for the next two years. And then? He turned to the girl with a smile that concealed only partially the quiver of his lips.
"Do you know, it is just thirty days since I first saw you, and it is difficult to believe that I have not known you always. I remember, you and Miss Hope were standing together, on deck, and I thought how marvelously alike you were, but I have never once mistaken one for the other—never!"
She glanced up, half timidly.
"I remember you said you should know us apart, but when I told Hope, she thought she could deceive you at any time."
"Well, she knows better now!" he returned meaningly.
"Why? Did she ever try it?"
"Yes, once." He laughed enjoyably.
"She did. And she never told me!"
"Certainly not, for she failed entirely. I thought she would want to keep it to herself, so I never betrayed her."
"That was nice of you, Mr. Carnegie!"
"Only commonly decent, it seems to me. And, you see, I have told now."
"Told what?" asked Hope, approaching, with something very like a scowl on her bright face. "I do wish, Faith, that you'd look better after that Andy of yours! I happened to drop my best veil within his reach, and before I could stop him he had torn it to shreds. Texas doesn't act that way."
"You shall have mine," said Faith, promptly. "Poor Andy! I can't help liking him all the more, because everybody is down on him. My veil is just like yours, dear, so take it, and I'll go without. I don't care much for veils, anyhow, and we can be different in so little a thing as that, I'm sure."
Hope gave her an odd look.
"If that was the only thing we are different in!" she said instantly. "I'll never be so good as you, no matter how hard I try. And it's no matter about the veil at all! Do you know, it is exactly a month since we left home? It seems years when I think of Debby and the old school-days, yet the hours have seemed to fly sometimes, too."
"That's the odd thing about voyaging," observed the Traveler, as he joined them. "It sends our past out of our minds with its novelties, making it seem far away, yet there are few lagging hours, and Time never stands still."
"Is that always true?" asked Lady Moreham, turning quickly. "I have not found it so."
He looked at her with a kindly smile. It had become subtly understood among a few that this aristocratic lady had a past, and not a happy past.
"I think it as true as any general statement," he responded. "But I can also understand that insistent memories could never take such a strong hold of one as during the enforced leisure of long trips by land, or water. It would be a severe punishment for the remorseful, to condemn them to a voyage around the Horn in an old-fashioned sailing vessel. I think they would be ready for confession and hanging by the time they landed! But there's compensation in every situation, and the unhappy traveler, while remembering too much, perhaps, will also learn to readjust himself, and so make the future easier. Reflection is a good thing only when it lights up the future as well as the past."
The lady smiled, with more lightness than was her wont, and let a hand drop gently upon the shoulder of the girl beside her. "With Faith to guide?" she asked; then, looking at the other sister, "And Hope to cheer?" Then, more seriously, "It is a good thought, but one that has only come to me lately."
A rattle of boyish feet, and Dwight was among them.
"Most there, aren't we?" he cried with boyish eagerness. Then, growing sober, "But what's the reason nice things always have a bad side, too? It's just horrid to have to leave you all! Why, I felt like crying even to say good-by to Quint, Huri, and Tegeloo."
"But you're not to start the good-byes up here yet," put in Carnegie, hurriedly. "We shall not really separate for a day or two, and there's no use in prolonging the agony."
He spoke with feeling, and a glance passed between the elders.
A moment later, as the young people strolled onwards together, at the call of Bess, to watch the state barge of some native prince as it sailed slowly by, its dusky crew shouting greetings. Lady Moreham, looking after them, said, slowly,
"How lovely youth is when it is lovely!"
"True, my lady, and there we see it at its best. Those girls are charming, and it need surprise no one if these fine young fellows seek them out, and hate to be separated. Carnegie seems of fine grain, and little Miss Faith is as modest as a violet. She is your favorite, I imagine?"
"Oh, I would not say that! I find myself very much attracted to both, but there is something about Faith—a sympathy and tenderness, perhaps,—that is soothing when one's heart is sore. Hope is wonderfully entertaining, and brightens you up, but Faith seems to understand without telling, and somehow makes you feel happier—more at peace with yourself. I wish they were both my own!"
He let his mild gaze rest upon her.
"Lady Moreham, I am not an inquisitive man, but several times I have been on the point of asking you a question." He could see that she shrank, but continued obliviously, "Have you any kinsman by the name of Duncan Glendower Moreham, from Kent, England?"
She turned with a gasp, white to the lips.
"Why?" she whispered with an effort, "Why?"
"Because," he returned, not looking at her, "I traveled and hunted with him one whole season, two years ago. I sometimes exchange letters with him, and have his address now. He seemed to me a restless, wretched man, trying to drown some mental suffering in physical activity. He gave no title with his name, and, like the rest of us, lived in the most absolute simplicity, but I noticed the crest on his linen, and in some books. I knew him to be an English peer."
With a visible effort the woman controlled herself.
"Yes," she said in a voice strange in her own ears, "Yes, I know him.Would—would you give me his address?"
He took out a card from his vest pocket, wrote a line or two, and handed it to her in silence. As she read it her face grew almost radiant with surprised delight.
"Here?" she murmured. "So near?"
She seemed incapable of further speech, and, seeing it, the gentleman said quickly,
"You will pardon my officiousness. He is here in India, not many miles out from Bombay, and I shall see him very soon. Am I to mention you? I might—" he hesitated for the right words—"I could only say the pleasantest things of you, and the most general, but I am his friend, whom he claims to like and respect. If I am meddling with what is none of my business—"
"No, no, you are all that is helpful and kind! Let me think—no, I won't think—I have thought too much, and sometimes first impulses are best. I will trust you fully. You have tact, you know the world. I feel that you have guessed out a great deal of what it is hard to bring myself to talk about. But this much I will say—the man you mention was—no, is—my husband! For the rest, go to my good friend, the captain; he will tell you all. Good-by, and thank you from my heart!"
They clasped hands silently—the two strangers whose life-threads had been permitted to cross, just now, for some divine purpose, then the woman, stirred to the depths, went to her stateroom, and the man stood still for a time, looking out to sea. "Life is a wonder," he mused, "a succession of surprises. When Duncan brought his men to the relief of a stranger, set upon and nearly overwhelmed by an angry Chinese mob, that day in Muen Yan's district, he did not imagine what might come of it to his own advantage. I felt, from the minute I heard Lady Moreham's name, that I had gotten hold of the other end of Duncan's mystery, and I have not watched her so closely for nothing, all this voyage. My misguided friend and his over-proud wife will meet more happily than they parted, or I am much mistaken. I must wire him the minute I touch land."
Just down the deck the girls were laughing merrily, as Hope, teased into it by her sister, who was curious to know why she had failed in personating herself, told the story with keen enjoyment of her own discomfiture.
"It was away back," she began, "as much as three weeks ago, and Faith had been real mean and shut herself up with a book. In fact, nobody seemed real nice and ready for fun, and I couldn't find Dwight to plan things, so I sat moping on deck when I saw Mr. Carnegie coming along, looking almost as glum as I, and the thought crossed my mind that we might mutually cheer each other—and then, like a flash, I determined to pretend to be Faith. I looked up in a sweet, meek way with a smile—"
"Like this—" interpolated Carnegie, with a smirk that sent them all into convulsions.
"I couldn't look like that if I tried!" indignantly. "And you mustn't interrupt."
"I was only illustrating. Picture stories always take better with children. But beg pardon! Go on."
"Humph! Well, he took my bait with alacrity," giving the young man a defiant look, "so I began to talk to him as soon as he had got settled in his chair. I asked him whether he preferred Longfellow, or Tennyson," with a laughing glance at her discomfited sister, who had a little weakness for displaying her knowledge of poetry. "I didn't dare go into any of those other fellows, like—oh, Keats, say, or—or—well any of 'em—but I knew about the 'Building of the Ship,' and there's lots of guessing about Browning anyhow, so I thought I might steer clear of snags, if I managed well. Mr. Carnegie seemed ready enough to talk about them both, but oh! what a dance he did lead me! He called me Miss Faith, right enough, but when he asked me to repeat again, in that charming manner I knew so well, those fine lines from Jean Ingelow that I had given him yesterday, I began to tremble. He seemed astonished when I asked vaguely—'What lines?' and remarked that he had never supposed me forgetful before. Then he began talking about Ibsen, and I gave up. 'Oh! for goodness' sake, stop!' I cried, 'I'm not Faith at all.' 'I knew it,' he said calmly, 'and thought I could soon make you own up. Now, aren't you ashamed of yourself?' And I was!"
"And yet tried the same game on me!" commented Allyne in a low tone, but with reproachful emphasis.
She turned a laughing face upon him.
"Oh, no, that was different. You deceived yourself. Would you have me go about setting everybody straight?"
"Not at all. All I ask is that you will set me straight."
"Indeed!" cried Hope, "but that is asking a good deal."
"I never expected it to look like this," remarked Faith in a dissatisfied tone, as they entered the carriage for their first explorations in Bombay, a day or so later.
She spoke to the air, perhaps, but her father answered the comment.
"Isn't it fine enough to please you, daughter?" as he took his seat opposite the two girls in a handsome victoria, that would not have disgraced the most aristocratic drive in London.
"Fine enough? It's too fine!" put in Hope with emphasis. "It's as Englishy as Portsmouth itself, so far. We expected to see coolies, and palanquins, and bungalows, and cobras, and—"
"Well, you need not hanker long after the last-named," laughed her father, "for there is a snake-charmer this minute, and I don't doubt he has a fine collection about him somewhere."
"In his boots, perhaps," suggested Faith slily, as they all turned to gaze at the dark-skinned fellow in dingy white turban and loin-cloth, who squatted on the sidewalk before one of those high modern buildings which had excited Faith's comment, a long pipe at his lips and a basket at his side, from which peeped an ugly flat head with darting tongue.
"Ugh!" she shuddered, turning another way, "I don't care for your cobras, Hope, and everybody knows that bungalows aren't to be found in city streets. But as for the coolies and palanquins, of course—"
"You have them both!" laughed the captain, pointing down the narrower street into which they had just entered.
All laughed with him, while the black bearers trotted by, as suddenly, from between the curtains of this box-like carriage, out popped a tennis cap, while a well-known voice shouted a boyish "Hello!" as a hand was waved in greeting.
"It's Dwight—Hello! Hello!" Hope shouted back, waving her white parasol vigorously. "Isn't he the greatest boy?"
"I wonder if he'll turn up on that bullock cart, too. He seems omnipresent!" laughed the captain, as they whirled by. "When are they off for Poonah?"
"I suppose to-day, but perhaps not till night," returned Faith.
"Did you ever see anything like that? If you call this Englishy, Hope."
"No, I don't. Things are beginning to look quite Indiany, since we left those fine new streets, I confess."
They were now slowly threading their way among the teeming crowds of a narrow place where it seemed as if the odd-looking houses upon each side had emptied all their occupants out before their doors. Men but half-clothed spread out their wares, or plied their trades, in full view of all, and children with no clothes at all paddled their bare black feet in the gutters, or sat cross-legged, rolling marbles over the paving stones. Presently, Faith pointed with a significant smile, and as they drove slowly by a teeming doorway, each gazed with astonished curiosity at the characteristic scene.
The central figure was a man in the barber's hands, who was just then calmly lathering his customer's face in the full gaze of all, while close by a straight, lithe, young Indian woman, with a bright-eyed baby sitting astride her hips, stopped to sell the two a handful of figs, from the fruit-tray balanced lightly above the gay cotton sari confining her dark locks.
"The men seem to have the best time of it here," remarked the girl in low tones. "The idea of that poor girl carrying so much about with her. I should think her baby was enough!"
"Yes, but that is better than being harnessed up with a donkey," said her father, bending forward to give the driver some instructions.
Faith looked at him with an astonished gaze.
"I never heard you speak of marriage like that before," she said reproachfully.
"Marriage?" He looked at her with a dazed expression, then broke into a hearty laugh. "So you thought my donkey was a husband? A queer mistake that! No, I meant the real thing—the four-legged donkey—and I literally mean that poor women are often used with donkeys to do the same kind of work."
"Shameful!" cried Hope indignantly.
"That is by no means the worst that woman has to bear in this country. I thank God my daughters came to a Christian land. A girl is of little account here, except to bear burdens, or wait on her lord and master. And when her husband dies she is to be deeply pitied. Married when but a small child, she goes into her husband's family to be cared for by his people, until old enough to be his wife in reality. Sometimes she is well treated, sometimes not. If he does not happen to fancy her as she grows older, her lot is little better than that of a slave, and she is beaten and abused by the other more favored women. But this is bliss compared with her condition should her husband die. Then, all her ornaments, which she loves as little children love glittering toys, are torn off, her head is shaved, she is made to look as hideous as possible, and cannot take part in any enjoyments or festivities whatever, but must run away and hide from every man, even her nearest of kin. But she is not only barred from every pleasure, but from all affection, as well. Her lord's death is laid at her door, and his family take every occasion to load her with reproaches, because if she had not been wicked in some other existence he would not have been lost to her now. It is not much wonder that the poor things used to be ready to die with him on the funeral pyre, for when they decided to do that, they were loaded with jewels and praises, everybody flattered them and told them that, because of their devotion, not only the husband, but all his relatives, would have better places in Paradise, and reign forever. So, intoxicated with all this notice, and delighted with her splendid attire, the benighted little creature, who never gets beyond childhood in intellect, felt she would rather have a short life and a merry one, and so often committed Suttee."
"And don't they do so now?" asked Hope.
"No, it is abolished by law—British law.
"But they burn their dead yet, don't they?" was Faith's question, as she listened with sympathetic shivers.
"Yes. Some day, when I get time we will go to the Ganges and see some of their strange burial ceremonies—that is, if you can stand it, daughter."
"Oh yes, but I do think there are some dreadful things in this world, papa!"
"True, darling, and there would have been more dreadful, if the blessed Son of God had not come to teach us better ways. Man, left to himself, is always a savage. God and good women, both, have helped him to be better."
He spoke reverently, touching the visor of his cap involuntarily. When he thought of good women, memory always recalled the wife he had loved, and his soul blessed her memory.
They had now left the new town far behind them, and were slowly passing between expressionless house walls, with soiled awnings stretched above the lane-like street. The whole population seemed to live out of doors, and the cooking, hammering, tailoring, baby-tending, and lounging, was all done at so close range that the horses could scarcely keep from stepping on the merchants, and the carriage was in danger of making a wreck of his stock of goods. The houses, which seemed only to serve as backgrounds to all this teeming life, were of all colors—red, green, orange, and blue—and between the queer, many-shaped roof-tops waved the feathery crowns of date trees, the glossy foliage of the fig, and the stately fronds of the palm—but these were of scanter growth just here, though what there were, swarmed with kites, crows, parakeets, and even squirrels, while dogs "by the million," as Hope remarked, and cattle, and monkeys, and goats, were on every spot where babies and larger children had left an inch of room.
As they penetrated further into the native portion of the city, Captain Hosmer called the girls' attention to the many shrines, where some one was always standing with clasped hands and bent head, engaged in prayers to Parvati, perhaps, or Vishnu—for the image in the shrine differed—and to the peculiar reverence which every Hindu shows to the cow, a sacred animal to them. The gentle creature seems actually one of the family, possibly prized even more than the children, for it furnishes them with food, drink and fuel and receives in return the first notice and care.
"The orthodox Hindu will feed his cow before he does himself," said the captain. "And as he does so, he will repeat a little invocation, and when he meets one on the road he will touch her sleek side and then his own forehead, that so her blessings may be upon his head."
"And let his daughters be treated worse than dogs," breathed Hope in deep disgust.
"Father," said Faith with sudden fervor. "I am ashamed of myself that I ever begrudged the little bit of missionary money I used to give at Sunday-school. If I could have realized how much these people need to be taught better, I would have given four times as much, and weighted it with prayers. Why, I think it is awful!"
"And yet this land is far advanced in decency and civilization compared with many," was the reply. "With the missionary, the trained nurse, and the railroad, India is in a fair way to become thoroughly enlightened before a half-century has rolled away. The trouble is that she clings so to her own cherished ideas of caste, and of worship. Personally the Hindostanee is a good fellow—gentle, charitable, and a loyal friend—but he is so priest-ridden, and so filled with superstitions and notions, that it is almost impossible to get any sense, far less any Christianity, into his pate. I have a large respect for those who stay here year by year, braving a climate that is enough to take all the life out of the strongest, and laboring with this prejudiced people, just because it is their duty. Folks oughtn't to begrudge them a few pennies, saved from candy or ribbons, my dear."
"No," said Faith, leaning back and closing her eyes a moment. "What a glare it is!" she murmured wearily. "The sun is so hot, and the light so white and blinding; then the houses are so dreadfully blue and pink, and the crows and people so black, and the dogs so greedy, and everything so noisy, it makes my head ache!"
"Itiswearing, daughter, and one can't stand too much of it at once." He gave another order, and they presently came into a wider street, that was almost like a viaduct for shelter, as awnings were stretched above it the whole length. There was scarcely any life here, and the high stone walls of wealthy homes shut them in, with only an occasional balcony, or latticed window, to break the monotony of their blank surfaces.
"Here live the native families of the highest caste," explained the captain, "and inside are beautiful courts, with flowers and fountains, where they lounge and live, as the lower classes do in the streets. But it is cooler here, if not so lively."
"Delicious!" murmured Faith enjoyingly, still resting her eyes where there was little to see.
They turned from this shaded way into one of the new streets and, as the carriage suddenly stopped with an exclamation from her father, she looked up to see Huri, Tegeloo, and a half-dozen other Mohammedans of the "International," bowing to the ground before them, their white teeth showing in their fine dark faces, full of joy and devotion. On Tegeloo's wrist perched Texas, while a little black head popped up from a fold of Huri's mantle, and both bird and monkey began a noisy greeting in their own tongues—which meant a vociferous "Hello!" from the former and a chuckling cry from the latter. Warned by past experience the girls had left their pets on shipboard, in care of these faithful servants, who now were evidently giving them an airing.
"How nice of you, Tegeloo!" cried Hope, stroking the parrot, who grunted with satisfaction, and informed her many times that he was still, "Poor Texas, pretty Texas!" nipping her finger gently as he sidled and snuggled, while Andy leaped to Faith's lap, and was so determined to stay that he had to be removed by force, soft-hearted Faith looking back at the crying baby with the expression of a mother bereft of her child.
"Andy got swell-head!" laughed Huri, as he stroked him into submission,"Andy like to ride in big carriage. He no walk!" at which resentfulAndy gave him a sounding slap that promptly ended his comments.