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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. 1 2 3 6 mmmm 1 Entbr « I i PIllCI Of ™ 81 ■< X. ,'0^'*' JAMES PAYN, AOTHOK or " TRB CANON'S WARD," " THE HEIR OP THE AOSt,*^ *j^\ "UNDER ONE ROOF," ETC., ETC. . ■)•?' r\ ^ ? *T r c* Smtbrbo aeeordinc to Act of the Parliaoutflt of Canada in the yMr one thoaMuid sUfbt hundreid and eighty-seven, by William Brycb, in tta* Ofic* of the inoittor of Agriculture. '^ s \ WILLIAM BRYGE. i 1 to THIS BOOK IS DBDIOATBD BY HIS FRIEND JAMES PAYN. ftK 1. A D n ON m. *FA] IV. oir ▼. THB ?L THB »1L THB vnj. WITE IX. CAFI X. LANI Zl. NDMI zn. PRE8 an. THB xiy. MR. XV. THE kvL LAND :vu. BESCl niL THB ( tix. THB ] XX. THE 1 m. VWITC m. TBB S ' I , i CONTENTS. - PnOLOOtnE — AT TBM ' ISTJtHffOSDCt •• %** L A DMFNITID 7AMILY ••• ••* «. IS n ON TKE RAMPABTB •M « »»• 18 HL 'FARBWRIiTi' .M ••• •^ mm S6 !▼. ON BOABD ... ••• ••• .mm ss y. THB PABSENOUB ••• •»* •«« 4t ?L THB A.CCUSATION ••• ■•• • •• 50 TIL THB THIEP ••• ••• ••« 61 ▼HI. WITH HER MASK OFP ... t«a •M 68 IX. CAPTAIN HEAD TO TUB BBSOtn ••• ••• 77 X. LAND ••• •m •■• 84 XI. NUMBER TWO ... ••• M •M 94 xn. PRESENTIMENTS ^ ••• •M 105 nil. THB GALE ..• ••• ••• ••• lis \vr. MR. RATES'S NEWS ^ ••• wmm 120 X¥. THE WRECK ... 9— ••• ••• 127 IVL LAND ^ •« ••• 137 vu. BESCUB BAT • •• ••• ■•• 144 rilL THB captain's BPEIOH ••• ••• •i'.* 150 Ilix. THB PTiBBISOm ... **« •»• •M 157 Ixx. THE RXPLOBATION »•• ^ ••• 164 ■ VIS1TOB8 «•• >•• «.• 174 ■n. TEB BONO ^ <«« «» «*• 189 ,> r Vlll Contents » /• CBAP. XXIIL XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXL XXXIL XXXIII. XXXIV. XX2V. XXXVI. XXXVII. xxxviii. XXXIX. xu •^ XLI. XLII. XLI 1 1. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. . XLVIII. XLIX. }*>' L. ▲ VOLUNTARY EXIT THE OOPPBR KETTLE ... .... ROYALTIES ... MASTER OONOLLY's NARRATIVE ... MASTER CONOLLY's NARRATIVE CONTINUED TO THE RESCUE MR. BATES FINDS HIS MASTER ... LET US KILL THE NIQOBR THE EXAMINATION WAS IT POSSIBLSl HALF-MAST HIGH THE BLOW-PIPB ... ... IN HOSPITAL THE EXECUTION I £fS ••• t«« ••• FAMILY TIBS ILL NEWS .«. ••* ... THR EXPEDITION THE INVESTITURE THE DERELZOr DEPARTURE ... ... ... HUMILIATIONS '' BURNING HER BOATS ... Jl MYoTBRT ••• •«• «■• THE REVELATION BREAKING IT THB SAORinOB .., AUNT SOPHIA'S SBOBBT ... '• EpILOOUB — THB FAIBT GODMOiaXB -••' ' ' '• ' 2« 2S oU 3d 3| 3J It wai the reast balcony iCt"\; A PRINCE OF THE BLOOD. I ■ I prologue. • AT THK ' INVKNTORIES/ It was a very hut liight at the luveDtions, which was the reason, or one of the leasons, which luade Mr. Arthur Forester and Miss Cicely Forester prefer sitting in the balcony of the Chinese department to walking about the >;i-oundB. Their chairs were very close together, and they were evidently on such intimate and familiar terms with oui' another, that if one had been informed that they bore tlie same name it was easy for even a bad hand at guessing to infer that they were brother and sister. It is easier, however, to guess than to guess right ', and as a matter |of fact they were first cousins. There is something, to my mind, very pleasant in that p olationship between two young persons of opposite sexes. >ince, in addition to its present advantages, it offers possibilities which nearer relationship does not admit of, md which, when one of the two parties, as in Miss Cicely's base, is twenty-one years of age and exceedingly pretty, |re apt to occur to the other, and, perhaps, even to both. To occur to one — the mere mental operation — is, indeed. Is has been said of guessing, very easy ; a great many Iccurrences of the same nature have probably happened to ^ost of us, whereas to occur, in the sense of realization and B 1 't 2 A Pbince of the Blood. actuuil fact, in not so common. There were several obstacles to the suggestion in question being carried out in the present case; to begin with — which rendered it unnecessary to dwell upon the rest — the young people had not a penny between them. This phrase, of course, is not to be taken literally. They must, in fact, have had sixty pence — for it was Wednesday and a half-crown night —to enable them to be at the Inventions, or, as some have lightly termed it, " The Flasheries," at all ; while they had had to pay an additional twelve pence apiece for their seats in the balcony. The very cigar which Mr. Arthur was smoking had certainly igost something — though I am not prepared to say it had been paid for by the consumer — more than a penny. The coin, indeed, ha i such a relative sense that some Algies and Adelas are said to have " nqt a penny between them " when they have ten thousand pounds. We call them "as poor as Job," but their case only resembles that patriarch's be ore the final catastrophe fell upon him, and when he stil' retained a little something, such as his camels. But A thur and Cicely (or Sissy, as he called her, perhaps to keej up the delusion that he only loved her in a brotherly v ay) had really nothing that could be called their own at ill, except a few debts. Their parents had moderately g« od incomes, which died with them, and large families, wh eh did not. It was necessary, therefore, that the girls sho ild be provided for, with more or less well-to-do husband., and that the boys should provide for themselves. There was no more thought of fortune-hunting in the for ner case than of greed in the latter; and they all thoroughly understood their positions. It is the fashion to accus ) young women of heartlessness who in love affairs manifef b any common-sense ; yet I am inclined to think that the love which is really genuine, or, at all events, that is worth much, has always a sub- stratum of that kind. There are young ladies who are ready enough to marry hiii! they please to call "the man! In th They get on practi< dilfgen hlosson sit in I shadow Whatn ing the yourself might jt put a b( Others," At the 'Invkntoriks.' S of thoir choice," thouirh they know ho has only sufHcieiit to maintain them during the honeymoon. I do not hlrtiue them — I am much too polite for timt, I hope ; but I pity them, and I also pity him. Sissy Forester was as affoctionate and tender-hearted a •'irl as ever said *' Yes " to a lover, hut she was not a fool. In this respect she had the advantage of Mr. Arthur. The youn'jf man, indeed, was clever enough ; if he did not get on at his profession — the Bar — it wuh only for want of practice. He had a ready wit ; he would have heen even diligent had there appeared the remotest ch;iuce of the blossom of his legal learning turning into fruit ; but to sit in lonely ohambers, poring over law books, without the shadow of 4 client crossing one's threshold, is weary work. What malces it so sad is, that there is no means of inform- ing the priesthood of Themis that you are thus sacritieing yourself upon her altar. So far as they are concerned you might just as well be enjoying yourself. If one could only put a board up over one's chambers, ** To Solicitors and Others," stating how long one had been at it, and for how many hours a day, it might attract some passing ''solor.'s'* attention, and so bring business ; but the, etiquette of the profession forbids this. Arthur's chambers, with half a clerk, cost his father a hundred a year, and he lived at home. • . > , :,. With these prospects he would have married Cicely Forester to-morrow, but having an uneasy suspicion that she was a very sensible girl, as well as a very charming one, he had never ventured to ask her to become his wife. There would have been no excuse, of course, for such an act of lunacy ; but there would Lave been a mitigation, for if he did not ask her himself, and pretty soon, he knew that somebody else would do so. It was not only the well- founded apprehension that so adorable a creature would find others to worship at her shrine that troubled him, but the existence of an actual suitor. This was a Mr. Dunlow, B 2 *' ' ^il 4 A Prince of the Bf.ood. a friend of Sissy's father, a man not, indeed, in his first yoiitli, but whose years could not he called dispro[)orti()Uato to her own; a worthy felU)W of good means, who had not y«t indeed proposed to her, but concprning whom it was woll understood that she '• had only to hold up her little finger" to bring him to her feet. JSlio had, as Arthur believed, no feeling warmor than regard for the geutleuian at present ; but the pale flame, Regard, is »,(mn fanned by circumstances into something stronger und brighter ; and all the circumstances were in his favour. Before Arthur's jealous eyes was present everywhere the somewhat, plump form of Mr. Robert Dunlow. He saw him now in the wavering band of the electric light, and in the dancing fountain, just as Sissy's mental vision would have seen him (though under a very different aspect) had she been really in love with him. Even while the young fellow was speak- ing to the girl, hir. thoughts would often stray to his rival, and render bitter the very cup of pleasure which was at his lips. It was this, perhaps, as well as the fact that he dai'ed not speak of what he would, that made Arthur Forpstev more silent in his cou<^in's company than elsowliere. *'How like life itself all this is. Sissy," he murmured,, after one of many pauses. "The music and the colour and the splendour last such a little time, and then everything appears more dark and blank by contrast." "Not to those who prefer N'ature to Art," was the quietl reply. "To my mind the moon yonder is preferable, at all! events for a permanency, to all these garish lights, nor is af brass band absolutely necessary to my existence." " You are very hard on me," he murmured gently, strivj ing in vain to meet her eyes, which were fixed on the fairf scene before her. "What have I said that is hard? Is it bec^ause I hav^ spoken the truth? " " Now you are still harder. You mean to imply that shrink fi-om looking facts in the face ? " fi infer ' ♦ despifl At the • Invkntories.' kitU not was itt\e t\vui- iinai* (\ \>y ; antl )lumi» In the [vncing 51V him really i speak- 16 rival, 18 at his [ve dared Foreatev irmwre*^'' lour and I erything the qwi«t| >le, at all| uor is tly, striv] the f aiv; iael havi ily that *' I congratulate you on your proraptnesfi in drawing im inference." "Thank you/' he answered bitterly; ''it is pleasant, iMH^ause so rare, to hear you admit that 1 can do anything. " "I have never doubted your alnlities, Artliur," sla* replied with tender gravity ; she knew that she was hurt- ing his feelings, and suft'ored more than he did himself from the keenness of her own words —she used them as the surgeon uses his knife, unwillingly, yet for the patient's Uowl. " What is the use of abilities whe/i there is no scope for them?" was his impatient rejoinder, which lost, however, some of its vehemence from the fact of its being delivei ^ utider his breath. " Heaven knows I have read hard enough and perseveringly enough too ; you don't l<'now what it is to ask for work and be denied it." " Whom Imve you asked 1 " she inquired, in a tone in which curiosity wa.n tut so distinctly maiked as a ceKciiu quiet irony. "Asked? Well, one can't go touting for briefs like a tiumercial traveller," he answered angrily ; " there is only otu^ way, they tell me, by which a man can get on now ;it the Bar who has no connection." ♦ What is that 1 " *' He muist marry an attt)rney's dnughtur! You would not advise me to do that, I suppose ? " The last words were uttered in a very low and gentle tone, and he cast a plaintive glance at her as he awaited her reply, which did not come immediately. " If T were in your place T would do anything, ant/t/iiny, uther than live a life of idleness," " But how can I help being idle ] " There was no answer save a little shrug of the shoulders, nt it was full of significance. " Von despise me, Sissy 1 " " i despise all idle young men," sbe , but m of ,r the fiered esolve nreatly petals i attered ,served. changed do "♦>^ e to say not gon« Ivould be ,o electric IV ubsencel see how hough th issible," 1 )ne know !', .!< t m • \ it ;, 10 A Prince of the Blood. :! your beauty fades (if, indeed, it can ever fade) and your youth departs." "It is not thaty* she put in quickly. " Can it be, then, that yoa doubt me %. Oh, Sissy, I will be faithful to you as long as I live. I promise you before heaven " ■. .."^^j'-Ci.^ -'^^^ ">..>/'.■ va . .i' >;■-...■" ,t . ,/', ' '■-'■'■: Again she interrupted him with earnest vehemence. " I do not doubt you, Arthur, but I will not accept your pi'omise. I wish you to be free. That must be our bar- gain, if bargain there is to be between us. We must both be free." "That is impossible, seeing one of us is already bound," he answered, bitterly. " I, at least, am yours. I have sworn it." " Such a contract can hardly be binding," she went on. with a forced smile, " without the consent of both parties." "1'hen you, on your pai-t, refuse to reciprocate my I trust?" rv " - , . - " T did not say that. But I will make no promise. Wo I must both be free." It was no wonder that he did not understand her. Wej are not so unconscious of our own weaknesses as it is thel fashion to assert, but we are often ignorant of how theyl strike other people. He was quite willing to undergo anyl inconveniences (and much more than inconveniences) fon any time, for his love's sake, but he disliked' the idea ofl going to India for other reasons than that he had giver her, though that, it was true, was the chief reasonl Arthur Forester was a product (and not a discreditabH one) of culture and high civilization, and he did not relisM exile. Better and higher natures than his own have nc shrunk from it, nor have thought of such an exodus exile at all, but from going to India without the promise his beloved assured to him he did shrink. And yet he wa not angry with Sissy because she had not given him he promise ; it was very difficult for him to be angry with he At upon tl passed with pi from the "Yes tinned it, for it "Whi At thk ' Inventories/ 11 ^er. We it is tlvel low theyl [ergo anyl [nces) fon idea ofl lad giveJ reasonl jreditablJ tot relisl| have no 5Xodus a| )romise [et he wa him be with m under anv circumstances, and her assurance that she did not intend to marry Mr. Dunlow had made him very grateful to her. He was also certain, it must be remem- bered, though she had not said so in so many words, that she loved him. They sat in silence for many moments ; presently Sissy exclaimed softly, '* There is godmamma." She drew back a little, not wishing to be recognized, and pointed over the balcony to an old lady going by on the path below in an armchair. Arthur's eyes listlessly followed the direction of her finger. ", , - < " Is she not beautiful ? Is she not magnificent ? ." asked Sissy with enthusiasm. *' She looks like a princess," assented the young man. > , " Do you think so 1 Now, if you knew all, that is very curious." " Indeed ! Is she really then a princess ? " " Among all the thousands that are in these gardens," said Sissy, ignoring this inquiry, which indeed was put half in jest, and still following the slow moving figure with her eyes, " there is none whose history has been such a romance as hers ; moreover she is the best of women ; her whole life, which I fear is fast coming to a close, is passed in doing good." • ' ^ *' Quite a fairy godmother, in short," he answered Ughtly. ** Why have you never told me about her 1 What is her story ? " At this simple question which followed so naturally upon the conversation which had preceded it, a change passed over the girl's face. It brightened up, not exactly with pleasure, but w^th the satisfaction that is derived from the sense of a difficulty smoothed away. " Yes ; you shall know her story. That is," she con- tinued gravely, " if she will give me permission to reveal it, for it is known only to a very few." •' " •' - ' ' " Why not tell it me yourself 1 If it is a lony; one, so ! ; i r i 1 '^ •"it I : 1 -I M I i ; I m i ! iHl i!Ht 12 A PRINC£ OF* THE BlOOD. much the better. We will come here every eveuiiig, and you sliall go on with it — this is the very place for it — like Scheherazade in the ' Arabian Nights.' " " No. It is no tale to be listened to lightly," she answered with gravity ; " you must read it with care and lay it to heart. It contains the only answer I can give you, Arthur, to the question you put to me a few minutes ago." , *i Are you serious i You may be sure that not a syllable will escape my attention ; but how shall I recognize your dear self in the story of another? I am not very good at a moral lesson," he added deprecatingly, *' especially if it takes the form of allegory." " There is no allegory in godmamma's ntory ; the lesson it teaches is siknple enough, and applies as much to me as to you." He looked amazed and puzzled, as well he mi;,;ht. "You must find the key of it for yourself. See. the fountain has leaped its last ; we mus^ be going home.' " Ah, if my home was but your home. Sissy dear, will you not promise V " No ; I will not promise," she answered firmly. " For both our sakes, Arthur, we must be free." The very next morning, for Miss Cicely was prompt in all she did, there arrived a MS. at Mr. Arthur Forester's chambers, in the Temple He received it, if not with the same rapture, with as much excitement as though it had been a brief ; it was a lengthy document, but occupied only a small space, being written in a neat but almost microscopic hand. Scrupulously clean, it bore tokens of much use, for it had had one constant reader; the same fingers had wrinkled it, the same eyes had pored over it and watered it with thoir tears, again and again. On the flap of the envelope were written in Cicely's hand the words, which might have been taken for a motto, but which her lover recognized as a pei'sonal monition. " I sympathize with her regrets." 'ven; bii good nati manner Jiead of tl weak and [was whisp been very ii A Disunited Family. 13 '! 1 3Uipt in >rester's ith the it had occupied almost ikens of te same over it On the id the >tto, but CHAPTER L , ,'.■■■• . • , ■ . f A DISUNITED FAMILY. %. On June the 13th, 1835, four persons were breakfastiiij< log ther in a private room at the ' George Hotel,' Ports- mouth. They were a family party consisting of a genik?- man and three ladies. The former, Mr. Ernest Norbury, was a i)erson of some note in the city, and of peculiar importance in the eyes of the East India Company, which was in the last days of its greatness. He had held more than one high post in India, and was now, somewhat to t ht* astonishment of his friends, who had assumed him to have shaken the pagoda tree with sufficient .skill upon ))revious 0(!casions to render further application to it unnecessary, about to fill another. He was .iboiit sixty years of age, short, but squarely built, with ii strong, intelligent face. His complexion, naturally pale, had not heen rendered swarthy by the tropic sun to which it had been exposed, and though his life had been by no means devoid of action, he was of corpulent habit, which added to the effect produced by a pompous and dictatorial manner. Miss Sophia, his sister and junior by five years, resembled him in figure, though she was much stouter, bit in no other respects. Her face was flat and florid ; she smiled whenever there was an excuse for smiling. Her enemies- - if she had any, which she had not — might have said that this was to show her teeth, which were very white and even ; but this was not the case : she smiled from pure good nature, and also sometimes to mitigate wrath. Hei- manner was hesitating, especially when addressing the head of the family ; the expression of her countenance was weak and undecisive, though by no means unpleasiug. It was whispered, but not Avidely believed, that she had once Iheeti very good-looking. The otlior two members of the P - t' Hi: V "A ! i! ^*i UmlKmmmimumMmn.miim ¥ ■n 14 A Prince of the Blood. 'i!l ■!i!!l' In party belonged to another generation. The elder of the two, Miss Eleanor, Mr. Norbury's daughter, was twenty- four years of age ; she was tall and slight and slim, and her complexion was pasty, but, like her father's (though she, too, had been to India), it had not been baked by the sun. Her eyes were of pale blue, and her manner for her age and sex exceedingly undemonstrative. She was of a reserved nature and spoke little, but when she did it was to the point ; she was one of those conscientious people who do not allow even their silence to be misunderstood. Miss Edith, Mr. Norbury's niece, was five years younger than her cousin, and, therefore, two years short of being of age. Though she was going to India, like her aunt, for the first time, she was darker than her uncle and cousin, who had lived there. Her complexion was naturally very delicate, but not having had a mother to look after it (for she had been left an orphan at a very early age), it had been somewhat bronzed by our summer suns — a circum- stance, however, which did not prevent her being exceedingly comely. Her eyes were grey, intermixed with hazel ; and her hair, which was very luxuriant, was of a deep brown. She had a fine colour and a very charming figure. Her dress was far simpler than that of her cousin, but very becoming. N-. body, however (of the male sex), could have thought of her dress while looking at Edith Norbury, and if he did so, it would only have been to make the general but private observation, "That girl would look well in anything." . < The expression of her changeful face was, nevertheless, just now by no means joyous ; she had a depressed air which struck one as incongruous and unsuitable in her. This depression was not unobserved by the others, but! except for an occasional squeeze of her hand from Aunt Sophia when opportunity offered itself for this expression of sympathy, it was ignored. Mr. Norbury was readingl his newspaper to himself and the rest were silent. The| A Disunited Family. 15 viands were plentiful, but it was an uncomfortable and unsociable meal. - ' • "The Ganges stuits to-uiorrow moi'nin>j; at daybreak," presently observed Mr. Norbury, in loud, authoritative tones, like those of a crier giving public notice. *' As everything has been satisfactorily arranged for us, there will be no need for us to go on board till the evening, in the cool."' The last words were suggested by his tropical experience. It is natural to the Anglo-Indian to do everything with reference to the temperature ; but, as a matter of fact, it was warm enough even at Portsmouth. The High-street, on which the windows of the * George ' looked down, was baking hot : the soldiers that pa&sed in their stiff stocks and close-fitting uniforms excited the pity of the civilians, as the sailor with his loose and low-necked garb aroused their envy. The trees on the ramparts at the end of the street moved not a leaf. The flags on the dwellings of the great military and naval authorities clung to their staffs as though they were themselves in " office ; " even the smaller bunting on the ships in harbour, caught sight of here and there through gaps in the houses or over their roofs, had not a flutter in them. Distant firing broke on the ear complainingly, as though it were too hot for drill. *• It is really too warm to do anything," remarked Aunt Sophia, fanning her ample self with a local guide-book. "I am going shopping," said Miss Eleanor. This was not merely a reproof to laziness, though the tone conveyed that moral lesson. It had a much more direct significance ; it implied that she must have a companion. "Would it not be better to wait till it gets a little cooler, my dear ? " remarked Aunt Sophia. " No doubt ; only, unfortunately, it is a law of nature that the higher the sun rise^ the warmer it gets. As for me, I am not made of sugar." :■!!: 11', ''i \: i ■ t i II I k ' < 16 A Prince of the Blood. To judge by the tone in which she spoke, she certainly was not. " Well, it is quite impossible that you can walk out alone, my dear, in a place like this — so military and naval," sighed Aunt Sophia. She cast an appealing glance at Edith ; but that young lady, who had already tinisbod her meal, which had been a very scanty one, and was sitting pensively at an open window, made no sign. It was. probable she had not even heard the conversation. Miss Eleanor curled her lip, which was by natui-e straight and very thin. .- >,,_^^ v ,-., '.i. , :- ~i. - ■- -■> " Come," she said, impatiently, " let us be ott'." The two ladies retired, and pre.sently reappeared with their bonnets on. Mr. Norbury was still behind his paper. Ids niece still at the window. "You are not coming with us, Edie, I suppose?" said Aunt Sophia cheerfully. The girl shook her head, *' Well, J must say it is rather warm for walking," as if in apology for the other's dumb refusal. "^ < , . " What nonsense ! " ejaculated Miss Eleanor. " If you think this warm, what will you think of India?" . , . v " I shall be dug out," said Aunt Sophia prophetically. It was a phrase she always used to express her feelings in a heated atmosphere ; but she used it now with quite pathetic despair. She looked forward to a residence in the gorgeous East with the utmost hoirov. " My dear," she had once said to Edith in coutidence, '• 1 would rathei' live in Whitechapel all my days than go to India. I shall melt .iway there to nothing, and you will have to remove the last of me with brown paper and a hot iron." She was serious, though she spoke in jest. "Circumstances over which she had no control," in the personage of her brother Ernest, were impelling her ; and in Edith's case she spoke (o sympathetic ears. Eleanor, on the other hand, ridiculed her apprehensions. She could hardly be said to make fun of them, for she had not in her nature the materials for fun, no her hun of life : tiger wi to imag her well without Some which V complete hand, ai thought presence her with over the which s( last he voice, ob anything lias not ] such omi articles i them for . "Than How feel with the which th strictly t very rev Norbmy glance to iind with his hat. ; as he wer as that. \ new bonn A Disunited Family. 17 fun, nor did she make light of them. On the contrary, her humour was to oxag<,'erHte to her aunt thr disagretiables of life in India. She discoursed upon the thui^ and the tiger with alTected familiarity, nnd raised the iomperature to imaginary degrees. As soiutl)ody Miid of her wlio knew her well, Eleanor Norbury had the griuinoss of a schoolboy without his light heart. Some minutes elapsed after the ladies had departed, which were passed by the occupauts of the apartment in complete silence. Edith, with her chin resting of. hor little hand, and her elbow tni the window ledge, sat dee[) in thought tand apparently unconscious of her companion's \ J^\^ presence ; not so, however, Mr. Norbury. He sat facing her with the newspaper still before him, but ever and anon, over the edge of it, he shot a furtive gbmce at his nie girl's reply was a strictly accurate one, her mt^aning seemed somehow the very reverse of that which lier s[)eech conveyed. Mr. Korbm'y looked at her steadily, as after a momentary glance towards him, she liad resumed her former position, and with a heavy frown and a smile that fitted it — took up his hat. "An obstinate wench," he murmured to himself as he went down-stairs. ** To have withstood such an offer as that, which, as she knew, m\ist have couif>rehendpd a new bonnet at least, and might even have run to jewellery, h\ hi Hi i - . :' » f ■ V t r \ ■ f: i^u jm ■f- i !; !■ il i ! '■ 18 A PiuN)jection to her marriage with her lover was in truth disparity of fortune, he, her guaidian, might take her money for himself, and then ('liarley would take h'T penniless and prove that he was no adventurer. This reasonable proposition, so far from finding favour in TTncle Ernest's eyes, made him what could only be de- scribed as furious. He had not only looked and spoken as she had never thought it possible he could look and speak, but had somehow left bohind him tlie impression that he had shown her his true face, with the mask off, foi- the first time. From that hour all confidence in Uncle Ernest was gone, and even the grounds on which her confidence in him had hitherto rested were gone with it. She did not forget, of course, his hospitality, nor the solicitude he had so long exhibited for her welfare; but they no longer seemed to have been dictated by duty. It was impossible, if he loved his dead brother as he had professed to do, that he could have behaved as he had done to that dead brother's child. That Edith's father had nevertheless be- lieved that he had loved him was certain ; he liad not only ■■ ' i On lUE Rampauts. 21 left his whole fortune in trust to hiin for hev beuetit, but her future until she should come of age entirely in his hands. He had the absolute disposal of her as regarded her place of residence ; and this right he was pushing to the uttermost by taking her with him to India. The reason of so much power being confided in him was, unhappily, the very reason which Uncle Ernest gave foi- his tlius exporting her. Her fatlier had been afraid that his daughter's fortune would attract adventurei-s ; and had, therefore, armed her guaidian with every weapon to de- fend her against them. He would have made her a ward in (Jhancery, but that he believed in his brother's judgment more than in that of the law ; nor, finally, had he been «;ontent with even these measures of precaution. Like one who keeps fast his prisoner with bolt and bar, and also puts him on his honour, her father had besought her to look on her uncle as a second parent, and even obtained a promise from her as he lay dying, that she would comport herself in all things to his brother Ernest's will ; and this was the bond that formed her firmest fetter. The lie v. John Nor bury, Rector of Midstead and Canon of ]Jo\vii- minster, had never been suspected of being a saint, but neither was he a man of the Avorld, in any sense. As the elder son of a wealthy father he had been always prosperous, quite independent of his Church preferment. His money had come to him not only without effort, but without even the full knowledge of how it came. Business would haVe been distasteful to him, no doubt, had he had any experi- ence of it ; but he had none. His younger brother, on the other hand, had shown gi-eat capacity for it, and the Canon had admired him accordingly, as we are apt to admire oui- own flesh and blood who distinguish themselves in matters out of our line. It was upon the whole no wonder that the Canon, in leaving this life, had confided his daughter and her affairs so absolutely to his brother's care. Filial love prevented her from resenting this fact, however much she im m ■i-W. ? 1 ' ■^'. i| t 'i : w 22 A Prince of the Blood. 1 1 II II \ regretted it, and she felt that, however mistaken he had been, he had done his best for her. But she did resent her uncle's conduct above measure, and while bowing to his authority for the sake of him who had delegated it, she felt that he had grossly abused it. To take her to India with him, not, as she was well con- vinced, because it was necessary or because he could not have safely bestowed her at home, but merely to separate her effectually from the man she loved, was an outrage. Such was Edith Norbury's position as regarded her Uncle Ernest — a state of things so grievous and intolerable that it made all other matters almost indifferent to her. Her relations with her cousin Eleanor were by no means what she would have wished them to be ; but they had suffered no change, as in her uncle's case, from good to ill. They had always been more or less uncomfortable — what diplomatists call * strained.' The cause of this was not very explicable to her. She was loth to accuse her cousin of jealousy, but she had certainly seemed to dislike the con- sideration with which her uncle had treated her. Eleanor would fain at first have given herself the airs of an elder sister, and when her- efforts in that direction were put down by her parent with a strong hand, their failure seemed to embitter her against her. Of late, she had by no means insisted upon tliis superiority of age, but had resented the attentions paid to Edith by their common friends, not hesitating to hint that they were the result of her wealth rather than her merit. ^ But where Edith felt her conduct the most keenly was with regard to Mr. Layton, of whom she knew Eleanor entertained a far better opinion than her father, and yet had taken the latter's part in the controversy concerning the young man. At one time, unconscious of the pleasure her praise had given Edith, she had praised him to her exceedingly ; but since he had declared his love for her cousin, she had set herself against him. When reminded On the Ramparts. 23 of her approval of him, she did not deny it ; and even con- fessed that it was his very desire to ally himself with Edith that set her against him. "He has no self-respect," she said ; " no man with proper pride, being in comparatively narrow circumstances, would aspire to the hand of one so wealthy as yourself, even if he really loved you." The poisonous sting in the tail of that speech was too much for Edith ; she could not trust herself to reply to it, and from the moment it was uttered, she felt that all which consti- tutes true friendship between her and her cousin was dead, if, indeed, it ever had an existence. Even Aunt Sophia, slow as she was to speak up, or out, about anything, when she heard those cruel words, had cried, •• For fshame, Eleanor I " but her niece had only added, " I was ac>kcd my opinion, and I have given it." ' " And it was with this girl for her companion, and witli Ernest Norbury as her host and master, that Edith was about to embark for India, for a residence of at least two years. Was ever heiress in so sad a plight? Mo.st girls went to India in search of a suitor- the motive, perhaps, which caused her cousin Eleanor to regard their exodus with such complacency — but she was about to bo carried thither avowedly to escape from one. "What pressure, it was only too probable, would be put upon her in the mean time ! What efforts would be made to detach her from her lover ; what risks lay even in the chapter of accidents ex- tending over so long a period ; and at the best, how unhappy among such domestic surroundings must be her sojourn in a foreign land. Portsmouth, or rather its next-door neighbour, Southsea, was not unknown to Ed;th Norbury. It was not far from Midstead, and had been a favovnite resort of the Canon's in the summer months. As a child she had played under those very trees upon the grassy rampart which she now beheld from the hotel window. It had been her custom, or her nurse's custom, to see the evening gun fired from 1 fe W''V'' 'tU r I 24 A Prince of,- the Blood. the neighbouring bastioix The fancy seized her to re-visit these spots once mqve. That Uncle Ernest would not approve of it was c§vtain. He disliked her going anywhere unaccompanied by Eleanor or Aunt Sophia ; but her appre- hension of inciyrring his displeasure was not just now very keen — it is even doubtful whether it did not give her some zest for tlvb enterprise. She put on her bonnet and started at once, for there was no knowing when her guardian might return. As foi- Eleanor she had gone shopping, and for her last day's shopping; and, notwithstanding the heat of the weather, her absence might be counted upon up to luncheon time at least. On the ramparts it was by compari.son cool, hut not a soul had sought their shade but herself, f have been told by competent authorities that Portsmouth is the best defended town, independent of natural position, in Europe ; but at the date of our story the Portsdown lines did not exist, save perhaps in the brain of some engineer, impor- tuning, and importuning in vain, an incredulous War Office. The old ramparts only, with their deep fosses, were there ; the drawbridges, the moats, the sluices, the subtei- ranean footways, cunningly devised to interpose by ser- pentine windings the massive earth to the progress of the cannon-ball. All these things were familiar to Edith. The sentries pacing here and there in the distance, the soldiers at drill on the Common, or guarding with flashing bayonets the drab-clothed convicts at their spade-work -all looked as it had looked to her in the old days. She thought she could discern the very house in the old- fashioned Jubilee Terrace where they used to lodge. As nature knows no change, whatever happens to us mortals, so it seemed that human affairs here went on like clock- work, no matter who lived or died. How often, with her father's hand tight clasped in hers, had she listened to the same dropping fire of musketry that now met her ear ; how often gazed at those truculent offenders in drab, half in pity, ties ; On the Ramparts. 26 pity, half in fear. The Canon had known all the authori- ties ; she had sat with him iu the Governor's pew in thv garrison chapel, amid a blue and scai-let congregation, the movements of the service accompaniod, to her delight and iiwe, with jingling of spurs and rattling of scabbards. Slio had played with the sword-knots of old generals, and wiili the cocked hats of admirals of the red, white, and blue. Often had her father taken her up the harbour in some ten- oared galley, lent to him by the liigh officials in the dock- yard, to visit the Victor^/, wliere Nelson died, or the biscuit manufactory which supplied the navy, but liad always one to spare, a very hot and hard one, for her dainty teeth ; or Porchester Castle, where the French prisont^rs were eon lined in the great Avar. She seemed to hear once more the measmed beat of the oars, and the shrill notes of command of the little midship- men who accompanied them. Yet how long ago it seemed, nevertheless, now dear papa wah dead. In those days she had thought it a drefidful thing to die, but now it almost seemed to her a more dreadful thing to live. To dwell in exile far from home, and separated from the only be:j)g .slie loved, was indeed a cruel fate. Walking very sloAvly, and musing in this sad fashion as she walked, sht< oame presently to her old friend, the evening gun, now free fiom its little ring of spectators. One individual only was standing near it — a bearded gentleman, apparently an invalid, for, in spite of the heat, he woie a cloak. JTe had climbed the parapet, and was gazing through a spy-glass out on Spithead, where the Ganges, as her uncle had in- formed her (indeed, it was the only vessel there), was lying at anchor. She gazed at it, too, through the embrasure with sorrowful eyes and a sinking heart. That, then, was to be her floating prison for three months, after which she was to be a captive and an exile for nearly two yeais more on shore, hundreds of miles from Charley. She was so buried in these sad reflections that she did not notice that 11 ''I 1 \ r ■ M i :■)>■ \i ■ m k\ Sti '■' li: ' " * i ' WTT 26 A PRIJSCE OF THE BlOOD. the stranger had slid off the parapet and approached her. He was a young man, very good-looking, and, if an invalid, showed no traces of it in his face. His hair was brown and curling, his gray eyes were large and soft, but with plenty of intelligence in them; he had no whiskers or moustache, which, perhaps, caused his beard to misbecome him — it somehow looked as if it ought to belong to an older man, " If you are trying to make out the Ganges he said, in low, respectful tones, '* perhaps you would like to use my glass." At the sound of liis voice Edith turned round and started — nay, trembled in every limb. Her nerves, ordin- arily strong enough, had been sorely tried of late, and her thoughts, fixed upon one object, took unconsciously a colour from it, which aii'ected all around her. She felt it was but fancy, yet there was something in the stranger's tone that reminded her of one who was no stranger, and which made her whole soul vibrate. - Unable to acknowledge his courtesy even by a word, she gazed at him with intense amazement. As if understanding the cause of her per- plexity, he smiled a reassuring smile. *' The hair," he said, " is the hair <^c Esau, but the voice is the voice of Jacob," and with his left hand he gave a tug at his beard, and oft" it came. The girl uttered a cry of delight. " Oh, Charley, Charley ! is it Charley? " r -^ ' , ** I think it is ; it seems so, doesn't it ? " he answered, with a tender smile, as he clasped her in his arms. ** I thought I would just come and say good-bye." , N! yi CHAPTER III. • FAREWELL.* * , ^ darling ! you darling 1 Let me go, Charley ; the 'V •' nas his eye upon us." ' «^u..d right; his business is to see that we are not • Farewell/ 27 nterrupted. His orders are to shoot all who have not the password * Faithful and True.' " "Oh, Charley, suppose my uncle should come by," she murmured timorously. "Then the sentry lias orders to fire low. No, my dar- ling ; your uncle has gone to the dockyard. I have just met him with his business face on. He believes I am still in Derbyshire." \ " How good of you to come so far, just for one last word from my lips, and " — here she smiled in the slyest and most bewitching manner conceivable — " and, the other thing." " I would have gon;.^ round the world for it,'.' he niur- mm'ed simply. " But how did you know you would meet me here?" " I did not know ; I only hoped. You told me that you used to love the old ramparts, 30 I guessed that you would revisit them if you could, and alone. Fortune, you see, has at last begun to favour ua. Perhaps she will do more." " Oh no, oh no ! " moaned the poor girl bitterly ; " she is against us. Even in sending you here— do not think me ungrateful, Charley — but even in that she is not kind. All that terrible farewell has now to come over again. I don't think I can bear it, Charley ; my heart will break." Her pietty face, looking up into his with hopeless yearning, looked piteous and pathetic indeed. "Oh, Charley, to part, to part, and not to meet again for two long years. In that time you will have forgotten your poor Edie." He smiled and shook his head incredulously, but it was evidently an effort to him to smile. The spectacle of her despair was terrible to him. ' _ " Of course, there is a short way out of all this, Edie," he said gravely, "and it is selfish of me not to take it. I could take you away with me to my sister's house, and before a month was over could call you my lawful wife. T need not say how happy, beyond all dreams of happiness, that would make me, and yet, as I have said, it is selfi.sli- .5 : ill (I:, i iFTT 28 A Prince of the Blood. i r ness that prevents me. You are not of age, and, though I am well convinced you know your own mind upon thc> matter, others will not think so. It will be said that I took advantage of your youth and inexperience to get your money when you come of age. Your uncle will say, * Did I not always tell you he was an »ulventurer ? ' and tho world will believe him. In two years' time I hope to be in a better position as to means. There will, at all events, bo then no such great disparity between us, and I need not say that all you have will be made your own, as surely as lawyers can make it. I know," he went on, in answer to her gesture of impatience, " that nothing of this seems to you of importance, but I must keep my honour untarnished for your sake. Then, again, there is your promise to yoiu* father, to obey your uncle in all things till you come of age. He obtained it, as I believe, under a false impression of his brother's character, and, was it possible for him to do so, he would now release you from it gladly. Still you gave it him." " On his death-bed," murmured the girl solemnly. " Yes ; that, of course, in your eyes makes it the more binding. Won Id it be right, I ask myself, to persuade you to set that sacred promise at naught, even to make you happy — to save yon from what I know must seem unmitigated wretchedness for Uvo long years. I ask this, I say, of mvi-elf, and not of you. . It would be cruel and cowardly to put the burthen of reply upon my darling," " Nevertlieless, dear, let me answer for myself," she put in gravely. " You are right, Charley ; I felt it in my heart — no, not in my heart. My heart. Heaven help me, is pleading the other way " " And mine, Heaven knows ! — and mine," he cried [lassionately. " Oh ! do not let us talk of it, or all is lost." Once more he took her in his arms and clasped her close. It was a dangerous moment. He felt the " Let us fly ! " ' rising to bis lips, and well understood that if. once tlioy Farewell.* 29 passed them she would not — could not — deny him. Lovo was strong in him, but duty, or what ho deemed was duty, was stronger. Tlie kiss he pressed upon her mouth, and which almost ruined all, Wii.s the seal of victory. Having i,'ained it, he would fain have mado tio more allusion to what it had cost him, nor retraced one st^p of that perilous way. Man-like he would have extractod his full of joy from the passing moment without a thought of the bitterness beyond ; but with the girl it was different. Though .she had made up her mind to bear them, she could not dismiss the miseries of the solitary and sunless future. "Two years — two years," she murmured ; " between now and then what may not happen, Charley?" "To be sure, what may not?" he replied, cheerfully, purposely mistaking her meaning. " There is no knowing what r'--f turn up to our advantage. Perhaps before twent' u- hours are over our heads the sky may clear." "Row can it clear, Charley? In twenty-four hours there will be leagues of sea between us, and with every succeeding hour more leagues. It is dreadful, it is hor- rible ! " She shuddered and shut hor eyes, as though the outlook she pictured was of a physical kind. He regarded her with a hesitating look, as though he had something to tell her, but doubted whether it would l)o wise to reveal it. "Two years," she went on; "we may both be dead, or, worse, one of us may be dead." " Faithful and true, living or dead," ho murmured, smil- ing. It was the refrain of a song they used to sing to- gether, and at the well-known words she smiled upon him with ineffable tenderne.ss. ' - "I shall remember that, bo sure," she said. " T shall be yours, and yours only, whether you live or die, until my life's end." " And I yours, Edie. But I say again let us hope for the best. 1 know what you ai'e thinking of — that line we used to read together, desci'ibing the \ain atid oommonplftce i ' !■;.; hi rnnh yi" t i! I*! '::; II ll[ iM! it > I! 111!.!! iiiii! 30 A Prince of the Blood. attempts at consolation, * And vae.int chaff well meant for grain.' Yet perhaps there may be some grain of hope for us. " "Of hopel" she put in eagerly. "Then you have some plan, some scheme. Oh, Charley, do not hido it from me. Give me some crumb of comfort." A look of alarm had crossed his face at her first words, but before she had done he had regained his composure. "Well, well, since you insist upon my telling it you- t hough the whole thing is uncertain and in the clouds— the fact is, my cousin, the Attorney-General, may possibly give me some work to do in Calcutta, which, though of a temporary kind, will be a good excuse for ray coming out to India and seeing how you are going on." " Oh, my darling, how delightful ! But wh;y have you kept this from me ? " " Well, for one thing, as I say, because the matter was not quite settled." "Then it is settled now. It is not in the clouds," she exclaimed, rapturously. " Oh ! when shall you be coming 1 If I only knew the date, that will be something to live for and to look forward to, to cast its sunshine through the mist and gloom of my existence." " It is the shadow, and not the sunshine, that projects it- self in that way, my darling," he answered, smiling, "but you must really not be so excited about it. That was one of the reasons which prevented my disclosing my little secret to you, I was afraid that you would build too much upon it, and show it by your manner. It would never do for Uncle Ernest to suspect just yet that I had any such plan in view. You must not suddenly throw off yom* woes, remember." " Throw off my woes, Charley," she murmured reproach- fully. " How little you guess their weight. It is true that what you have told me is a gleam of sunshine ! nay, for I must not be ungrateful, it gladdens my heart to its very core, but there is no fear of my spirits being toe high. And M Englar fitted V that Ic but thi "Pel as her he adde "In distant "Noi strated, our pio face is r " Becj she ans\ ijow Ion tny unci home, In " You most im] more kis "Aio " Peril cheerfull " Good He db effort, pr away. I instinct ^ on, and remind h( form her had been and dim \ mor^. SI ' Farewell/ 31 she cts it- "but was little much ver do such youi- nay, to its high. And when may I expect you? When do you sail from England?" she added, with access of interest that hardly fitted with the depression she had striven to palTxt. Again that look of alarm came over the young man's features, but this time accompanied by one of self-reproach. " Perhaps in a year's time," he said deliberately ; then. as her face fell from expectation to extreme despondency, he added, " Or perhaps even earlier." " In p, year's time," she murmured like a melancholy but distant echo. " Great Heavens ! what a year it will be ! " ** Now, really, Edie, this is not being grateful," he remon- strated, " nor even reasonable. One-half of the time of our probation has suddenly been lopped away, and your face is no brighter for it." " Because all that makes it bright is about to leave it," she answered simply. "We have been here — I know not how long, but it seems a moment — it may be hours. If iny uncle returns and finds me from home, or what he calls home, he will be full of suspicion." "You are right, my darling, as you always are. It is most important that he should suspect nothing. Now one more kiss, and then farewell." " A long farewell," she moaned desparingly. " Perhaps not so long as we think," he answered I'heerfully. " Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye." He disengaged himself from her clinging arms with an effort, pressed his lips to her forehead, and walked quickly away. He did not even turn his head, and her woman's instinct guessed the reason. He had already put his beard on, and he did not wish that her last look should not remind her of himself. As she gazed after his retreating form her tears began to fall for the first time. While he had been with her she could not afford to waste her time, and dim with weeping the sight that he would gladden no mor^. She watched hijn till he disappeared down the 11 ' t >'; . ,,.''hf I w i; : m 111 :12 A PlllNCK OF THE Br.ooD. nei;^'libouriiig bastion into the puradf jifroimcl, tiieii slowly ami sadly i*etniced hei- stops to th« hotel. The cloud upon her spirits that had lifted a little, desutfiidod aj^aiii ; the pain of [)aitin^ with her lover had, at all events for tlie present, done away with his j^ood news. 'L^htne was n«> fear of Uncle Ernest suspecting a hitoh in his plans from any alteration in his unhappy niece's maunjn-. ,, . ^ t I CHAPl'KR IV. ' ;;, 'Vi' •/ ^^ BOARD. , , » ', , . ' Thekk is nothing that .shows the amazing adaptuliility of the huutan mind to changed conditioub more than the philosophy with which it accepts life on board ship. The .idaptability of the body is generally, it is true, o\en greater, but iu this particular case the body, or a veiy iuj portant part of it, is, sti-ange to say, constr\ati\'e. It resents the change from land to sea exceedingly, II (u\ any civili/.eil being, much move one brought up, us i lie Ray ing goes, '* in the lap of luxury," «.'an voluntarily and with a light heart exchange terra Jirnui, with its safety and its comforts, for the horrors of the Ivcaviug deep, is simply in- «^\l>licable. Even Dr. Johnson, who was not very par- ticular, expi'esses a natural loathing at mai'ino arrange- ments. In his time, indeed, pas.senger vessels were very different from what they are now, or ev<;,-J from what the}' were at the date of our story. Bui. ;tcce[)tiug all the modern rubbish about ' floating palares ' and exquisite viands (which, nevertheless, nil taste as if tlie}' had been boiled in the same cloth), jind substituting • bowers ' foi* bad bertha, the fact still remains that one is " cabined, cribbed, coniined " in a manner that one would not put up with for twenty-four hours, much more for whole weeks at a time, on shore. 1 say nothing about being shaken about with such violence as in Jiny lesptctable city in the world in On Board. 33 uut visited by an earthquake would ensuie fur the victim the protection of the police, nor of being the spectator of 8uch behaviour in one's fellow-creiitures as is never seen uut of a hospital or spoken of in decent society. I leave uut of the question the ahuosi. inerudiM ) fact that pe)*sons who can aii'ord to escape it — not by liie sacritice of luilf their fortune, as one would suppose they would gladly do, but by the payment of a few extra pounds — will even Mibmit to live in the same cabin- -a dog-kennel — with a ^toor wretch thus afflicted for many days and nights, whereas, if you made any such proposition to thorn as regards travelling by land, they would take it as an insult, and knock you down. Apart from these unspeakable horrors, the difference between life on sea and life on shore is enormous — far greater than that between poverty and liches, or between sickness and health, upon the same plane ; and though, of course, some people absolutely like a sea voyage, as there are others who like wintering in the .\rctic regions or climbing hills, the comparative indif- ference with which the general public exchange the one for the other is a proof of the fitness of the human soul for j auy fate. To do her justice, Miss Eleanor Norbury was not in this respect to be mentioned among the common herd. Though it was not the first time she had gone by ship to India, I she looked forward to the voyage on board the Gangers j with anything but pleasure. She knew what the comforts of a cabin and the pleasures of a cuddy were even in calm weather. o . , " She had had enough of actiou and of motion, she KoUed to larboard, rolled to starboard, when the surge was seething, free," laud had she been left to her own choice, she would have ji-ocked on • ' springs in her carriage. She did not Ideceive herself with any of the smooth commonplaces about freedom of life at sea." She called it the freerloni of ji D I t !i d ■ 1^ ^ 34 A Prince of the Blood, ji 11 sr I i I liencoop, and she did not deceive other people. Indeed, in describing how matters would be to her fellow-voyagers who had not had her experience, she drew them — doubtless with good intentions, and to prevent unreasonable expecta- tions — even worse than they were — ** dipped her pencil in the hues of eclipse." The consequence of which was, that poor Aunt Sophia was half dead with fright before she left the packet-boat that took them out in the evening over a glassy sea to the Ganges. In Edith's case the evil auguries of her .ousin fell upon deaf ears. When we are in sorrow we are more adaptable than ever ; because we caie little what becomes of us. The troubles of the mind, save in the case of acute physical pain, over-ride and obliterate those of the body, and much more the apprehension of them. The little party were received on board with very unusual marks of respect; for Mr. Norbury's position "in the com- pany " was well known. He had made special application to go by the Ganges, which, as a rule, carried no passengers at all ; and every arrangement had been made for his com- fort and convenience. Captain Head, a florid, resolute- looking man, with iron-gray hair, and quiet, intelligent eyes, welcomed them in person. " I trust," he said, " Mr. Norbury, that your party will tind evei ytliing to their satisfaction ; we have no other ladies on board to divide our attentions with them." ** No other ladies, you say," answered the other quickly; ** no other gentlemen either, I hope. I thought that had been understood at the India House." The ca» ' an shrugged his shoulders and smiled, but not in a verj conciliatory manner. He did not like his passenger's tone. " I know nothing of any arrangement outside my ship," he said, with an emphasis that implied that over all inside he was master, and not to be dictated to even by a member of the council. " There are two gentlemen only with us beside yourself." "It's no matter," says Mr. Korbury, loftily, to which the ( SUgg( Norb Th( respec genia] and fi The c positic indeed She a nianne impres, though <^lomine lived i] tlie bes upon i Sophia, charme( patron ij (^onfiden against mind in Edith awakene She recc him, whi seemed t The party. tliirty-fiv \wy polii Mr. R and-tweni rather sh o On Board. 35 the captain replied with another smile that seemed to suggest that it was no matter whether it mattered to Mr. Norbury or not. Then he turned to the ladies, whom he had already respectfully saluted, and addressed to them a few words of genial courtesy. They were uttered with the simplicity and frankness of a sailor, but not without a certain dignity. The captain of an Indiaman in those days was in a position little inferior to that of a man-of-war, which, indeed, the Ganges herself might also have been termed. She carried guns, was of 600 tons burthen, and was manned by a crew of nearly 100 men. His manner impressed the ladies very differently. Miss Eleanor thought it was familiar, and even impertinent. Those rlomineering airs that belong to most Europeans who have lived in the East, and which, even in England, remain at the best dormant, had revived within her. She looked upon the captain as an uncovenanted person. Aunt Sophia, on the other hand, dazzled by his uniform, and charmed by his politeness, felt as though she was being patronized by royalty. His resolute countenance gave her confidence ; the sword by his side seemed to be a guarantee against pirates, a danger which had presented itself to her mind in vivid colours. Edith, whose beautiful but melancholy face had evidently awakened his interest, was greatly pleased with the captain. She recognized something paternal and benevolent about him, which she had been far from anticipating, and which seemed to whisper to her, "This man will be my friend." The officers of the ship were then introduced to the party. The first mate, Mr. Marston, a gentleman of tl.irty-five or so, and already inclining to baldness, tall, \ ery polite, but rather prim. Mr. Redmayne, the second mate, a young fellow of fivo- and-twenty, but looking even younger, very handsome, but rather shy. D 2 !|. ! 4 I'll If- l]f ' H' ! t I I. , ! *• r-| . • ; \\ 36 A Prince of the Blood. Mr. Bates, the third mate, much older than the other two, a squat, powerfully-built man, marked with 8mall-poz, and not looking like a gentleman at all. Mr. Doyle, the surgeon, a jovial, middle-aged Irishman, with eyes sparkling with good humom*, and a mouth which, even when not smiling, seemed always about to smile. At supper the little party was joined by one of the gentleman passengers — Mr. Ainsworth, a clergyman ; a stout, pale, elderly man, with a face totally hairless, but with the expression of a sheep. Without an invitation, ho favoured the company with a long, extempore grace, during the delivery of which Mr. Norbury's face was a study. "Who the deuce is he?" he whispered indig- nantly to the captain ; " not one of the company's chapli4^ns, surely." " I think not ; he is a protege of the secretary. Yo\i know his leaning. I believe he is a missionary; an inoffensive man enough." " But that is just what he isii't," put in Mr. Norbury ; "he is most offensive. The idea of an uncovenanted minister volunteering grace — and such a gi'ace." "Just so. He did it at dinner. He calls it asking a blessing. I must take an opportunity of telling him that I am chaplain on board my own ship. He won't do it again for some time, however, if I am not mistaken. It is coming on to blow, and gentlemen of that complexion and habit of body — eh ? " "I hope so, indeed," said Mr. Norbury, piously. At I present, at all events, Mr. Ainsworth was in possession of his health and full flow of conversation, which, however, f he addressed mostly to the ladies. He gave his especial attention — as was right and proper — to the eldest of thfll three; but it was but indifferently reciprocated. AuntI Sophia's mind was too much preoccupied with the noveltyl of her situation, her forebodings as to what was to happeol when the ship began to move for it was at present all On Board. 37 anchor and almost motionless — to listen to conversation, however edifying. Her attempts to do so were quite lamentable. "The whole question of the lost tribes," Mr. Ainsworth was remarking, after a long dissertation on the subject, "is intensely interesting. What do you think, Miss Norbury ? " " No doubt. Do you think they were lost going out to India?" hazarded Aunt Sophia. Edith, compelled to smile in spite of her troubles, had to explain that her relative was very nervous and appre- hensive about the sea. It was the captain's advice that the ladies should retire to their cabins before they began the voyage. " What do you say, Mr. Doyle? " he inquired, referring to the scientific authority. " I say ditto, sir," returned the other, with a rich Irish accent. '* I wish I could tell them, as the nui'ses tell the children — * Pretty dears, you will sleep without rocking.' But as that's impossible, it's better to sleep before the rocking begins." Aunt Sophia rose immediately, with a pale face, to act upon the prescription at once ; and Eleanor also withdrew to her cabin. Edith asked permission of the captain to go on deck. "The deck is yours, madam," was the gallant reply, " but I am afraid you will find us just for to-night in a. sad state of confusion." Edith had an idea that her uncle had made an objection, which was overruled. The captain gave her his arm up the cuddy stairs. Mr. Redmayne followed with rugs ; Mr. Doyle with a footstool. Doubtless had not the first and third mates been on duty they would have also volunteered their services. In two minutes she found herself in a comfortable arm-chair on deck, watching the prepai-ations for departure, and won for th? moment from the contem- 38 A Prince of the Blood. plation of her woes by the novelty and strangeness of the sce^ne. There was a pilot on the poop, who roared out to the chief mate what he had to say, like a candidate on a platform bent on making himself heard by the very last man on the skirts of his audience; the prim and polite chief mate, transformed into an angry brawler, repeated his orders to the boatswain; and the boatswain, incensed, as it seemed, at receiving them second hand, addressed the same inflammatory language, but with even greater emphasis, to the crew. Then there was a shuffling of naked feet upon the deck, and a number of men seized each a bar of wood and stuck them into the capstan, and then standing between the spokes and leaning upon them with heavy hands and brawny chests, seemed suddenly turned to stone. If an enchanter's wand had been waved which had changed tumult to silence, and action to tran- quillity, the transformation could not have been more com- plete. Then piercing the silence came the shrill note of a fiddle, and keeping time with their feet to its air, the sailors began to stamp and tramp round the capstan, which, with shriek on shriek, protested against the out- rage, till the anchor swung at the bows. Then the ropes began to rattle and the great sails to flap, and fill, and strain above, and the waves, as the huge ship cut her way through them, to swirl, and hiss, and foam below. Under any circumstances, the girl's mind would have been filled with the interest and excitement of the scene, which, even as it was, she could not watch unmoved ; but when the tumult was over, and the big ship began to speed upon her way before the freshening breeze, and the 'Fair Island,' looking doubly fair in the calm moonlight, to fade upon her sight, the thoughts which had^ been always present, like a dark undercurrent in a shallow lake, of what she was leaving behind her, began to gather strength and volume ; her hands dropped on her lap and her eyes ^lled with tears. Had any one on board that teeming ship i such with the \ ill an iiad J I lie v: "ll • ubin. iii coll even i her. "Th ■spirit V and br< >vtts not He r< iind loo \vith eq\ "You he said. "It >vrts her "I an bourse, a] iiJid that "Heai with a ge "In th hers, "bt narrowly sentiment! still hauk( stand once Jiave had n : lam On Board. 39 isucli cause for sorrow as she ? Others, indeed, had parted with those dearest to them, but it was not for years : after the voyage out and home they would see them again ; and ill any case it was their business to be going out. But she had no business. She was going into unnecessary exile — I lie victim of mere cruelty and caprice. "It is getting late, Edith ; it is time you went to your cabin." It was her uncle's voice which thus addressed her, iu cold and authoritative tones — more authoritative, nay even dictatorial, she thought, than he had wver used to her. / ■::>^-:'' ■^'■-""- -'/ '"' ■• " Thank you ; no, I prefer the deck at present." Her spirit was roused. She had obeyed him in grave matters, and brought wretchedness upon herself in so doing ; she >\ as not going to submit to petty tyranny. He removed the cigai- he was smoking from his mouth, and looked at her attentively. She returned his glance with equal steadiness. " You do not seem to me to be in a right frame of mind," he said. "It is possible you may not be the best judge of that," was her quiet reply. " I am the best judge at all events of what is the best course, and the only coui'se for you to take, Miss Edith, and that is — Submission." •' Heaven knows I have submitted," exclaimed the girl with a gesture of despair, " too far, too far." "In the letter," he said, ignoring those last words of hers, "but not in the spirit. I have watched you very narrowly since — since you have been in possession of my sentiments with regard to a certain subject ; and I see you still hanker after the forbidden thing. Now, pray under- stand once and for all, that you will never get it. I may have had some difficulty — there is no harm in confessing it now — in making matters safe while we were on shore and iu England. 1 could not well have locked you up, and I i^' ■ Hi M ^*j jirr 40 A Prince of the Blood. ' y. mW:V >l :,' your attractions might well have tempted your needy lovei- to some bold stroke." "He is a man of honour," said Edith haughtily. For the moment she felt inclined to tell him that that very day would have given her her freedom but for tliat fact. Mr. Norbury shrugged his shoulders. " Unhappily, he is also a man of straw, which is a fatal objection to him. That you have seen the last of him is quite certain. 1 dare say you thought it strange that J objected to your maid coming with you. Shall I tell you the reason 1 " "The matter i& luo jger of any consequence," she answered indifferently. " I suppose it was for cheapness." Under his ohagg / eyebrows his eyes flashed fire. "That is an insult, jfou know very well that that is not my way ; I have denied you nothing that money can purchase, unless, indeed, the gentleman upon whom you are wasting your affections comes under that head." She had been about to apologize to him for her uncalled- for sarcasm, but that sneer on his part froze every impulse of conciliation and left her marble. " No, miss, I dismissed your maid because I knew that persons in her rank of life ignore all disparities in love- making — save that of years — and sympathize — " "I do not take counsel of my lady's-maid. Uncle Ernest," interi'upted the girl with spirit. *' I aui glad to hear it. But, at all events, her presence would have had associations for you which would have i>een mischievous. It was for that reason and for your sake that I left her behind. I exhort and entreat you now, for your own sake, to cease from vain regrets. Tlie last sti'jiw that bound you to that unworthy young man lias now, believe me, been severed." " It will hold as long as life holds," she answered firmly. ** 1 have been very patient with you hitheyto. Edith. I have made allowance for your inexperience and impulsive Thk Passen(u<:r. 41 nature ; but you may try me too far. I am your uncle, but remember that I am also your guardian," " I know it well," she answered bitterly. •' You have taken advantage of your position to the uttermost." "What do you mean?" he cried, fire again flashing from his eyes. " Do you dare to impute — " he stopped, his passion arrested by her look of wonder. " It was very unpleasant to me to exert my authority," he atldod quietly " but I did my duty." " And I mine," she said. " What more is it you ask of me?" " Mr. Layton's letters — you havd four of them, I know. I don't want to read them, of course ; but I must see them destroyed with my own eyes." " That you never shall. I will die first." "Then you will die soon, for I will have them within twenty-four hours." With that he turned on his bf>el and left her very terrified but not subdued. She did not dis- like him, perhaps, more than she had done of late, but she was more .afraid of him. She had known that he had an iron hand, but she had never seen it without the velvet glove before. , >■ s , '•-"f^.r- ■ :■- f '.:. CHAPTER V. THE PASSRSOER. Edith obeyed her uncle in one thing at once ; she ran down to her cabin. Those letters he had spoken of were there, and though an hour ago such an idea would never have entered her mind, she thought him quite capable of possessing himself of them by fraud or even force. That she possessed some correspondence of her lover's was natxiral enough for him to take for granted, but how had he come to know that she had had four letters — exactiv four? Nobody knew it, as she had thought, except herself; H^.u-! '•{; 42 A Prince of the Blood. ■'Ill nobody to her knowledge had even seen them. They were kept in a secret place; she had often read them, it was true, but only when she was alone. She tried to think whether she had ever been interrupted in that occupation. She had a vague idea that on one occasion this had occurred, but she could not recall by whom. It must have been by one of three persons only, her maid Selina, her cousin Eleanor, or Aunt Sophia. Selina, she felt sure, would never have revealed the fact, for she sympathized heart and soul with her young mistress ; .so far her unch; had been right. Aunt So{)hia was equally to be trusted, not because she was a partisan, for she was not ; though she pitied her sorrows, she had scrupulously avoided taking sides with her, and she was not one to make mischief. If anybody had told of her secret treasure it must, then, have been Eleanor. Her cousin had not behaved kindly or even justly in the matter of Mr. Lay ton, but she shrank from thinking her capable of meanness and treachery. If it were so, her own position was even more deplorable than she had imagined it to be. It was terrible to be without friends, but how much worse would it be to be surrounded by enemies and spies. After all, the letters had come by post, and Mr. Norbury might possibly have taken note of their arrival ; even that, however, presupposed an amount of surveillance for which she was unprepared, and which alarmed her. Here were the letters safe enough. She took them from their hiding-place with the reverence of a priest who handles some frail and precious relic, and read them ovei' again in their order. The three first were full of happi- ness; the fourth, written after the happiness was threat- ened, was full of hope. In none of them was the writer importunate or pressing, as is the manner of lovers. At first, indeed, he had hesitated to accept her troth as bind- ing on herself. " You are so young and ignorant of the world," he said, " that it seems taking an unfair advantage III!: The Passenoer, 4B of you. i feel that 1 have no right to bind you with so long a chain. With me — who have nothing to lose in the interim —it is different. Let me be bound, not you." Some people may think that this was * magnificent,' but it was not ' love.' To Kdith it seemed love of r rare and chivalrous sort ; but she had declined Ids terms. He had warned her from the first that Mr. Norbury would not give his consent to their marriage ; that at the best they must needs wait till she came of age ; but that she was well content to wait for him. " I am yours, whether soon (»!• late," she wrote, and it was not in human nature that he should decline the sacrifice. Then came the time in which the two next letters were written — hours of blissful content, days "when it was always afternoon " — letters written and read in dreamland. Then the day when her uncle put his foot down to stamp love out — love which, like the sweet-smelling herb, yield's only the more fragrance for being crushed — and after it, and theii" forced separation, the fourth letter. It was this she held most precious because it applied to her present position and formed the guide to her future conduct. '' We are parted," it said, " but only as water is parted by the hand. No power on earth (!an prevent our meeting again if only we are true to each other. Whatever happens remember that every day brings you nearer to me and me nearer to you. You will do me the justice to say (to yoiu'self) that I have never striven to set you against your uncle ; I will not do it now, but in my opinion he will leave no stone unturned to effect his object. It is even possible that he will not always confine himself to per- suasion to win you over to his way of thinking ; tho thought of his being severe or unkind to you makes me shudder, but I fear that he is capable of such a change of (conduct. If I do him wrong I owe him an apology, and shall be rejoiced to make it." He had not done him wrong. Her uncle's behaviour to '!J ,^ ' 'WM ;i -1 (. R k :!l.,l> Mil I ii =•''11 |l; S;iSili illli »'if- 44 A Prince op thk Blood. iier that evening, im voice, his manner, his threatening words had proved her lover in the right ; thanks to him, she had been prepared for this change, though, even as it was, it alarmed and shocked her. Doubtless if Charley had known of her guardian's intention to carry her to India, his letter would have been more outspoken, but it was written previous to their knowledge of this plan, of which, indeed, they had had no suspicion until within a few days of its accomplishment. She had written to inform her lover of it, and doubtless, distrustful of any lettei- reaching her, his presence that morning had been his reply. Even without it, the letter she held in her hand would have strengthened ard supported her under her present trial; for "faithful and true, living or dead" was its burthen throughout; but with his last words ringing in her ears, his last looks — apt illustration of that loving text still visible to her mind's eye, it seemed as though it would have sustained her under very martyrdom. Uncle Ernest had been wise — after his false lights — to endeavour to wrest this prop and stay from her — that dear hand-writing would be a source from which she drew courage and content whenever she looked at it ; and neither threats nor cajolery should ever induce her to part with it. In the place of concealment where she had hitherto kept the letters, a secret drawer in her desk, she had no longer any confidence, for she felt that her uncle would have no scruples in employing any means to get possession of theih. WTiere, then, in her cabin could she conceal them? She had read Edgar Poe's story of the * Purloined Letter,' and remembered his direction that the most open place, as likely to be the least suspected, was the safest. In that case the envelope had been turned inside out and the missive left about, for any chance comer to take up. She shrank, however, from that notion of the chance comer — in the shape of the stewardess, for example — whom idle curiosity might prompt to examine this treasure, and, The Passenger. 45 uiorfover, there were four letters," and not one, to be liiddeii. She thought of disposing each in a secret place, so that if one or two should be stolen from her, the others would be loft ; but how could she endure the loss of one or two ? In the end she resolved to carry thenj about with her, and sewed them into her apparel. "All day long to fall and nse, upon her balmy bosom with not, alas ! her laughter — but her sighs." ' * ,' Then with a tolerably tranquil mind she sought her berth. She was one of those exceptional individuals who are born good sailors, and suffered no misery from the motion of the vessel. That Aunt Sophia in the next cabin was not so fortunate was made apparent to her by various groanings and complainings ; the prescription of the Irish doctor of going to sleep early had not, it seemed, been by any means successful with her, probably because she had been unable to put it into practice. She could do her aunt no good, she knew, even if she could have visited her, which, of course, she could not do, but the idea of that good lady's tortures made her feel very uncomfortable. Moreover, though not otherwise inconvenienced, the beating and bumping of the ship, and the other novel accompani- ments to her situation, kept her awake for some time. At last she fell into a heavy slumber. In the dead of the night she awoke with that unaccount- able suddenness and consciousness of something having happened, with which \^ are all familiar. The wind and the sea had risen, and with shrieks and tumult, unfamiliar to a landsman's ear, but amid them there seemed to be, or rather to have been, a sound more recognizable and commonplace, as though some one had stumbled against an aritcle of furniture in the cabin. Such a circumstance was impossible, since she had locked her door, and, indeed, one glance round the little room, dimly lighted from above, was sufficient to assure her that she was alone, and every- thing around h«r as she had left it. No doubt it had been li; : t iJlll! til 46 A Prince of the Blood. some sharp shock of the sea, which lias iniiumerabie ways of announcing its presence, from the gentle tap of tho schoolgirl, who, standing on tiptoe, can just lift the knocker, to the thundering summons of the tireman. Sln' must in future prepare herself for every description oF disturbance. Nevertheless, she did not easily fall asleep again. She lay in that sort of half-dreamy state which rejects tlio present and the future, and concerns itself with the past only. She was once more in the old cathedral town in which she had spent most of her youth. She walked again with her father in the water meadows that surrounded it, and heard in the distance the soft, melancholy chimes cleaving the summer air. She wandered alone in the cloisters, while the swelling anthem " shook the prophets blazoned on the panes " of the great eastern window ; she knelt in the stately fane and heard the sweet voices of the choristers talking (as her childish fancy had painted them) with God. Was all that past and done with (she had just sense enough to wonder), or was it, perhaps, at the judg- ment day, to be all gone over again] What becomes of our lives when we have lived them? They cannot be sur"ily as suits of clothes, which, having worn out, we discard and see no more of. Short as her existence had been, it had been divided, as most of our lives are, into different epochs. Her residence at her uncle's house in town seemed not only a new existence, but the experience of another person. If; at least, she was the same person who had passed through both, her identity was not recog- nizable. Though she knew that the latter phase had been passed in the world and the former out of it, the latter seemed less real, more like playing at life than when she was a child and did play at it ; though she saw so many more of her fellow-creatures in it, she felt more lonely. Her father had gone to heaven and left her, and there was no one to occupy his place. She seemed almost as in a The Pasrenoer. 47 strange land where the people were kind to her, in a certain superficial fashion, hut it was not that native land, every flower of which she had known so well and whne h^ ^. very few she had been beloved. Scenes of fashion ^ A before her half-shut eyes gay dresses, brilliantly- lit rooms, and crowded companies. Then one man, tall and comely ; less courtly than some others, perhaps, b\it more gracious and tender; again and again she saw him ; then when he was not by she saw liim. She was, aoraehow, no lonf.'oi- alone in the world. There was some one to care for her ; some one to love her, as her father had done, though in another way. Then he, too, was threatened with death, or was it herself that was threatened It was all one. There was cold and thick darkness all about hn-, when suddenly his voice was heard. r' *> was broad awake in an instant. The light of in ig, nay, of day, was flooding the little cabin. She kute.. in a moment where she was, and recognized the j)resent in all particulars. He was a hundred miles or so away from her, and the sea between them, and yet she had heard his voice. Something terrible, then, had happened to him. She had read of such things. How, in the moment of dissolution, the spirit of one who loves us is permitted for one fleeting instant to make its presence known to us, though far away, and in some vague manner Lo give its last farewell. >^ Edith Norbury was not deficient in common sense, but the perspiration gathered on her brow as this idea occurred to her. The daylight could not quench the superstitious terror, nor the sounds of life and motion that now pervaded the ship drown the recollection of that beloved voice. What it had said she knew not, but it ha 1 spoken, and there was no mistaking those well-loved and familiar tones. The impression was so strong and vivid, that it even re- moved the remembrance of the noise she had heard in the night, till she rose and began to dress. Then, indeed, it d ' *: ii I tft^l m I ill ill 11 it'." ii! t Ik' 48 A Prince of the Blood. recurred to her with redoubled strength and signiticance, for the four letters from her lover, which she had sewn into her garment, had, to her intense amazement, disap- peared. At first she imagined herself to be the victim of some delusion of the senses. She had not remembered, perhaps, where she had put them aright, and had only dreamt of changing their place of security, but on examining the secret drawer with feverish haste, she found it, as she expected, empty. Then, again, it struck her that the agitation and excitement of her mind might have in- duced her to walk in her sleep, and unconsciously remove the articles on which her waking thoughts had dwelt with such intensity. But the closest search failed to find them ; they were gone. Her ears, then, had not deceived her ; some one had entered her cabin in the night and stolen her treasures. Yet her door was locked, and the key still re- mained on the inside. As to the window, it was, of course, a mere bull's-eye, and looked on the sea. The mystery was inexplicable, and but for the noise she had heard, would, perhaps, have been associated in her mind with that equally mysterious voice ; but as it was, what bad happened was only too palpable. Whatever means had been adopted by the perpetrator, she had been robbed, and the sense of loss swallowed up her wonder at the means. "Whether her ancle had been the actual committer of the crime or not, though the fact of his being so would naturally have turned her dislike of him into disgust, it was clear to her that he was the real offender. Price! as the letters were to her, none but himself could atta^ any value to them. That he did so, she had his own words in proof the night before, coupled with the assurance that he meant to have them. The inference was clear and fair that he had got them now. As she stepped out of her cabin, intending to visit Aunt Sophia, she met the stewardess, who informed her that] that lady had had a disturbed night (a very euphonious j phrase, poor soul, for her actual experience), and had cost Tuk Passenger. 49 Miss Eleanor one, who had been in attendance upon her ; the two ladies had, tJierefore, given her instructions that they were not to be disturbed. As it gtill wanted some time to the breakfast hour, Edith went up on deck, and took her seat where she had sat the previous night. A very different view now pie- sented itself to her ; the ship was out of sight of land, and the wild water — for so it seemed to her, though there was but a slight breeze blowing — foamed and sparkled on all sides of her, while beyond lay the boundless blue. Under any other circumstances the lightness and freshness of the scene must needs have put life and spirit into her. But the face of nature, whether she smile or frown, affects us but little when the heart within us is heavy. We repay her callousness to our own sorrows with a like indifference. Presently her uncle came up to her. She looked up to him boldly and searchingly, but he did not shrink from her ;^az9. If he was conscious of having committed the base- ness of which she suspected him, he had schooled himself to conceal it. " I hope you have slept well, Edith ? " he said, with a fleeting smile. " But I need not ask ; you look as fresh as a daisy. Your aunt and cousin, I hear, have been by no means so fortunate." His tone was natural enough, and if his manner was a little embarrassed, so it had always been in these later days after their disagreement about Mr. Layton : if there was anything suspicious about his address, it was that he talked rather more quickly than usual, without giving her time to reply. ,' .-',. •* I am quite well, thank you," she said coldly. " That's well. I hope the sea breezes have given you a good appetite. There is the gong for breakfast ; let me give you my arm to the cuddy." The ship was pitching sufficieiltly to make the refusal of his offer a positive rudeness, but as she laid her hand upon his arm, her fingers seemed to shrink from grasping it. E K - 'A ,1 V 50 A Prince of the Blood. Her head swam round so, that if he had not clasped her close with his elbow she would have fallen. "Trust to me, who have my sea-lejrs on," he said, as he led her to the companion, where she gladly exchanged her hold of him for that of the banister. "Come," said the captain, speaking in his cheery voice from the breakfast-table, " here is one of our ladies, at least. Good morning. Miss Norbury. You know every one here, I think, save the latest addition to our company. Mr. Charles liayton. Miss Edith Norbury." Her lover, who was sitting at the table with the rest, rose up to greet her. ^-/v-:.v'r^ ■^-^.:- She was dimly conscious of hearing a frightful execration from her uncle, a high-pitched remonstrance from the cap- tain, and then the cabin swam round with her, and she remembered no more. . ,> , > ' v IV CHAPTER VT. THE ACCUSATION. 'I .' ; '' " Tt often takes them this way when it doesn't the other. No one, much less a fragile and delicate young creature like this, can go to sea for the first time without paying her footing in meal or in malt." ' v x' These were the words, uttered in an Hibernian accent, soft and strong (like the best Irish whisky), which fell upon Edith's ears as she regained consciousness. But it was not till afterwards, though she felt that they were kindly meant, that she had a clear perception of their motive and significance. Mr. Doyle knew well enough that her indisposition had been caused by some mental shock (at the nature of which he could only make a shrewd guess), and he had done his best to conceal the fact from the spectators. Fortunately, though his success in de- ceiving them was doubtful, they were, as it happened, only [live iu ni the invo JLaytoa h ■ table. Si [been expi jLayton a make up I which the ^aud the passed in [tit, if so s [a few seco I her lover's I acted as a "If yoi [continued "Thank [ stay wheri " Quite I observed t Her unc I in a tone o " It is t Mr. Norbtj \(ranye8, if It was ( [always leai had dictatt corroborati [planned be He had be( for the ex [ If the pilot [ his own a ! reason — he boat and r were their lOugh ental rewd from de- onlv The Accusation. 51 I live iu number. Besides the captain and Mr. Bates, and^ [the involuntary cause of the catastrophe, Mr. Charles Layton himself, there was no one as yet at the breakfast- I table. Save au interchange of looks, which, however, had been expressive enough — Mr. Norbury had glared at Mr. [Layton and then at the captain, like a tiger who cannot make up his mind which of two victims to devour first, to 1 which the captain had replied with indignant astonishment, ^ ' : ' .;-: .•'■->': "If you went to your cabin and lay down a bit?" [continued Mr. Doyle, tentatively. ' , " Thank you, no ; I am quite well now ; I would rather stay where I am," said Edith, with a forced smile. " Quite right, it's the breakfast that's the thing for her," I observed the accommodating doctor. Her uncle was about to object, but the captain interposed [ in a tone of authority : " It is the doctor who is master in a case of this kind, Mr. Norbury, and we must have no mutiny on board the kr'aw(/e*, if you please." ' „' . it was only the natural chivalry of a disposition which 1 always leant towards the weaker side, and the ladies, which I had dictated this speech ; but to Mr. Norbury' s ear it only I corroborated the conviction that the whole affair had been planned beforehand between the captain and Mr. Layton. He had been bribed to take ' that adventurer * out to India for the express purpose of prosecuting his forbidden suit. If the pilot had not left — and Layton had doubtless delayed his own appearance till he had done so, for that very reason — he would have put niece and daughter into his boat and returned to England ; but as it w&a, he felt that B 2 m m I ■■ I si '' II I « f ^J 1 -k 52 A Phince of the Blood. II 'i f^r the time he was powerless. The captain was master of the situation, and until they reached Calcutta could hardly be dismissed from the Company's service for conspiracy. Nor could Edith be locked up, with a sentry at the door of her cabin with orders to shoot any one who attempted to communicate with her without her uncle's permission. Language cbuld not have expressed his fury in any case, but the necessity which prudence enjoined on him to keep silence seemed almost dangerous to life. He took his seat at the table half -suffocated with rage and resentment, wliile the captain pressed the breakfast dainties en Edith's attention, and Mr. Charles Layton sipped his tea. There are certain explosives on which a change of temperature has a very disastrous effect, and the mere contemplation of the young barrister's coolness drove Mr. Norbury's temper, which was at a white heat, to the verge of bursting. The politest of bows and the gravest of smiles had been all the acknowledgment which Layton had given of Edith's presence. There had been only just so much of recognition in it as, to one who knew the position in which he stood with reference to her belongings, would have seemed be- coming. He had met her before, it seemed, but not under circumstances to encourage familiarity. Happily for their strained relations — a phrase which fell far short of de- scribing the state of tension of Mr. Norbury's mind — Mr. Ainsworth now made his appearance, and, knowing nothing of what had happened, relieved the strain by commonplace inquiries. How had Miss Norbury passed her first night on board ship) How were the other ladies 1 How was Mr. Layton himself, who had shown such suspicious prudence in his early retirement the previous evening! " Judging by the cheerfulness of your voice this morning, which I heard before I was stirring myself," he concluded, " I conjecture your fears were groundless." Up to that moment Edith had scarcely understood one word of what had been addressed to her, and had replied to Inl- The Accusation. 53 tivei'ything with the accurate but sententious brevity of an I automaton ; but with this reference to her lover, intelli- j gence, and with it recollection, returned to her. The events of the previous night, with what she had thought was the hallucination of the morning, the hearing of Charley's voice, at once returned to her. !• v v- ^;>. iv "' ^ ^^ i:\ So far, then, from its having been the last farewell of his departing spirit, it was his first * good-morrow ' on the deep ! Instead of being parted from her, he had been re- united to her ! What matter though they had stolen those dear memorials of him from their hiding-place, since he was here in person and needed no reminder. Her soul was so tilled with gratitude that it had no room for wonder. Here was her lover under the same roof, not as on land in a house from which he could be ejected ; not as a guest ; but as a tenant, with equal rights with those of her uncle him- self—and for the moment she was contented with that assur- ance without seeking to know how it had all come to pass. It is one of the few advantages that breakfast on ship- board possesses over the samo meal on shore, that people drop in and out without ceremony, and Edith found no difficulty in making her exit from the cuddy alone and resuming her old position on deck. Neither her uncle nor her lover followed her, much, no doubt, as each would have liked to have done so, and held private converse with her — though of a very different kind. The one, it was easy to guess, was yearning to pour out his heart before her> while the other was scarcely less impatient to give her a piece of his mind. Though wholly innocent of any such know- ledge, she could not conceal from herself that Mr. Norbury might natiu-ally enough conclude that she had been cogni- zant of Mr. Layton's being on board tlie Ganges, and have good ground for resentment on that account. Tne idea of such subtlety and dissimulation being imputed to her would, under other circumstances, have distressed her greatly j but her uncle's behaviour to her on the previous I; , .; .; 1 '; :i; if .^1 ^: ::Ji H i i1 ' is,- .ft * ' \'- Ji- i 54 A PUINCE OF THE BloOD. ill evening, and especially that theft of the letters, which it was impossible not to lay at his door, had aroused her just indignation. Without provocation, and believing her to be utterly defenceless and in his power, he had commenced hostilities against her ; and she would perhaps have felt . little compunction even if by any act of her own she had secured to herself the presence of this earnest and devoted ally. Her only uneasiness as to the matter was as respected Aunt Sophia, whose good opinion she valued much ; for the moment, however, it was impossible to clear herself in that good lady's eyes; in those of her cousin she was less solicitous to do so — first, because, after what had passed, any mention to her of Mr. Layton would have been distaste ful ; and, secondly, because she had a shrewd suspicion that Eleanor would not be willing to be convinced. Though she had hitherto submitted herself so obediently to her uncle's will, Edith had plenty of spirit, and it was now thoroughly aroused. Like a player who thinks he has the game for certain, her uncle had shown his cards too soon, and had even had the imprudence to let her know that he would stick at nothing in the means he took to wiu with them. As she sat so deep in thought that the stir and movement in the ship above and around her was almost unheard, she suddenly heard her uncle's voice. It was not addressing her, nor was he to be seen, so that at first it gave her no little alarm ; but presently she perceived that the sound came through a cabin skylight close beside her, The tones were low and full of suppressed passion, but so distinct that every word was audible. If the idea that she was playing the involuntary part of eavesdropper had occurred to Edith, which, truth to say, it did not, so intensely was her interest excited by what was going on I that she could not have stirred from her place. Her limbs I had suddenly become rigid : yet she could hardly have I likened herself to a statue, for a statue has many orgaD!f,| whereas she was all ear. m The Accusation. 55 " And now, sir, that we are alone together," said Mr. Norbury, "perhaps you may consider that the time has come for an explanation of your presence here." - * ' "Indeed," replied a quiet voice she knew, *' I am not aware that any such is owed you, Mr. Norbury." " I am not one to be trifled with, Mr. Layton, I do assure you," was the fierce rejoinder. " By whatever [disgraceful trick you have obtained a passage by this I ship " "You will keep a civil tongue in your head, or you will leave my cabin," interrupted a voice Edith did not know. [Sharp, stern, and incisive, it seemed to cut the other's .speech as with a knife. " You may bully your clerks in Jjeadenhall-street, Mr. Norbury, and you may bully your niggers in Hindostan, but you will not Imlly me. liet that be understood between us, if you please, if we are to speak together at all." There was silence for a moment or two, and then, as if some gesture of conciliation had been Imade by his adversary, the young man resumed in his [ordinary voice, *' As for my presence here, I might be well Icontent to refer you to the captain for its cause ; but, not to be discourteous, I will say at once that I am in Govern- [ment employment on special service." " J thought you were a barrister." '* Just so ; my mifision is a professional one." " Your practice is so extensive that it extends to llndial" ' ■ ' ^ * "It may do so, though there are circumstances which Imay compel me to disembark at the Cape." " In other words, you intend to dog the footsteps of my [niece wherever she goes ? " . Then came the short, sharp voice again. " Be so kind as to remember what T have just said. J [will endure no impertinence from any man." " Impertinence ! Surely it is pertinent enough that I should make inquiries of your intentions with regard to it I iUi i \\ t 56 A Prince of the Blood. a youug lady of whom I am the sole guardiai). and thi)| uncle." "A little more than kin and less than kind," was thel dry reply, "Yes, you have authority over her it isl certain, for you have pushed it to its utmost limits. Yoiil have none, however, over roe. I am here on my owuj business." " That is a — an evasion. If she were not on board tlie| Gavges yon would never have taken piissage in her." *' You have no riglit to discuss motive. I have nJ objection, however, to acknowledge that .'^o far yoii aiel correct. Miss Edith Norbury has promised to be mjl wife." ;. / « *' And I have absolutely forbidden her to be so." "Nay, that is beyond your powers. Yon may I'nvd forbidden her to marry me within a certain period, afteil which she becomes her own mistress. It is a mere mattej of time." " And in the mean while you do not think it dishonoiul able to persiiad her to set my authority at defiance anil to arrange with you a scheme — whether a modest anij maidenly one is the question " II ■ " Stop, sir ! " thundered the other. " Your opinioij upon that matter, valuable as it doubtless would when one considers the purity of its source, is uncallt for. Your niece, I may say at once, until she saw nil just now at the breakfast table, was no more aware thi j yourself of my presence on board the Ganges." Mr. Norbury gave a grunt of sullen acquiescence. had probably already come to the conclusion that hj niece's emotion on beholding her lover could hardly havj been feigned ; but it was not in his nature when his mai was off, as it was at present, to acknowledge anythin graciously, " Whether she was aware of it or not," he said, " yc will gain nothing l.y your audacity, sir, while the obje The Accusation. 57 the innocent object, as you would have me believe — of our persecution will suffer for it. 1 shall keep my niece n the strictest seclusion throughout the voyage." There was a pause, which the listener's imagination tilled up n right : the menace had strained the leash in Avhich Layton had held his temper to its utmost limit. '•You had best not threaten me, Mr. Norbury," lie [replied steadily, " and still less her, or I shall have to jjpeak some very plain truths to you." ' 1 fear no truth that you or any other man can speak, Isir. It is you wlio, if you knew the truth regarding my luiece, would have cause for regret. You are not playing jfor so high a stake as you imagine, sir. It is true that up to this time I have objected to your suit mainly on [the ground of inequality of position. I wished to put the jiuiitter in its least offensive form. You smile incredulously, but, on my honour, what I am about to state is the simple fact. Under no circumstances, I admit, would 1 have Huuctioned your engagement ; the step you have taken in thrusting your undesired presence upon us here was not necessary to make me resolute upon that point ; but, since vou have chosen to do so, it may save you more labour in vain to inform you that rumour has much overstated my piiece's fortune." ■ ■» ' • ,'■="', " As to that, sir, her fortune is no attraction to me ; [but I am quite aware, or at all events have a shrewd suspicion, that it is not what it was when it first came into I your hands." . - •:^.. - .. ? There was a crash of a chair thrown violently to the j ground by the stidden rising of the sitter. " What ! Do you dare to accuse me of misappropriation [of her property?" " I accuse you of nothing. Like yourself, I have no [desire to be offensive. Let us suppose there has been j a fall in the value of the securities you held in trust for her. Under such circumstances it occurs to you that, to i ■ u/ 58 A' Prince of the Blood. i if'! ' t I' Pi'li. I il 'i' m\ avoid — well, I will not say unpleasant inquiries, but - grumblings, it would be better that her husband should not be a man of business, certainly not a lawyer like myself. Upon the whole it strikes you as a good plau tu tak(^ her out to India ; in the first place to get rid of ute, in the second to get her married to somebody else not necessarily a nabob — I acquit you of any intention of disposing of her to the highest bidder — but to some one who will be satisfied as to money matters with the word uf a gentleman and a man of honour." " Pray go on, sir. It is fortunate for you that there is no witness here." " It is fortunate for one of us, no doubt, Mr. Norbury. As we are quite alone, however, it is possible to suggest to you that under the circumstances, from your own point of view, I may not be so bad a husband for your niece after aU." " I see. After having made the most libellous and infamous chai'ges which it is possible for you to invent, you are taking their proof for granted in order that you may compound a felony." " That is very neatly put. My suggestion, I admit, is quite open to that interpretation. If I had not looked at the matter all round I should be strongly inclined to take that very view of it myself. But I am thinking solely of what is best to be done to ensure the happiness of your niece. Under any circumstances, I fear I should never get her to prosecute you. Motives and feelings into which you are xitterly unable to enter, and for which, I confess, in this particular case 1 myself have but little sympathy, will plead for you to gain your cause. As her husband, it is true, I could compel the law to take its course, but I should put no such compulsion upon her. I shall tell her the truth. Yes, though I would gladly spai-e her what I know would give her unspeakable pain, I cannot keep her in ignorance of what has happened. 1 The Accusation. 50 I cannot be a party to your misbehaviour even for her sake ; but I give you my word that, tinless at her own instigation, r will take no steps to right her or to punish hor wrong- doer. All this, however, on condition that you lay the whole extent of your malversations before her and rae, and consent to our immediate marriage." " A very pretty baigain for a gentleman and a barrister- at-law to propose, upon my soul ! " cried the other, in a voice that, hoarse with fear and rage, endeavoured to simulate contempt. " No, Mr. Norbury, it is not pretty. It is a very ugly bargain, I admit, and the uglier the more we contemplate it. But upon the whole, and looking, I repeat, to your niece's interests only, one may say of it, though bad, that bad's the best." • • There was again a pause, longer than th( se which had preceded it. Edith's ear was straining for her uncle's reply. The proposition of her lover had commended itself to her without any drawbacks. Let Mr. Norbury keep her money, if he had really been so wicked a.s to take it; should he but consent to their marriage she would forgive him freely. It had not given her much pain, as Layton had supposed it would have done, to learn that she had i^een robbed of her property by the very hand that should l.Vve protected it. It was not like the revelation of a baseness in one whom we have reposed confidence, much less loved. All respect for her uncle had long died within her. Nothing remained but a certain sentimental regard for the authority which had been delegated to him. One would have thought that under the circumstances that^ too, would have died, since it was plain that the authority in question had, as it were, been obtained under faUe pretences, that is, upon the understanding that the dele- gate had been a just and honest man. Yet it was not so. Our habits of thought are not like the garments which we readily exchange for othei's as the temperature dictates, ) \M <■ I ■■. ^{1 ..I tin \ ' 60 A PRINCK OF THE BU)()D. li: it- r. This man was still her uncle and her guardian, and his consent to her lover's proposal, if not so aV)solutely essen- tial as it had seemed some hours ago, was a matter at least most expedient and desirable. Moreover, though she was almost certain that Layton's accusations — for such of oourso they w(re, whatever thin disguise he had thrown over them — were well grounded, she was not quite sure of it ; and Mr. Norbury's long-delayed rejoinder enlarged the chink of doubt. „ . - V. r " If I have let you say your say with unchecked tongue, Mr. Lay ton," he presently replied in quiet, resolute tones, " it was only thoroughly to understand the nature of the man with whom I had to deal. You have shown yourself as venomous as you are unprincipled. I despise your in- sinuations and defy you ; and I will take such measures, be assured, as will make all your pains and plans to thrust yourself upon my niece's society on board this ship un profitable." -; ', / : ' ", '• - I "And why not afterwards?" was the conteiuptuous reply. " Why was there any need to bring her here at. all, when the law would have protected her at home? When a young lady of fortune is in danger of persecution from an 'adventurer,' as you have been pleased to term me, there is a very certain way of putting her out of reach. Why did you not make your niece a ward in Chancery ? 1 will tell you — because, knowing what you had done, and suspecting that others knew it, you did not dare invoke the law." I ' • > V -j' . -'■' • •■? '* That is enough, sir ; 1 have done with you. If yon persist in your infamous pursuit of my ward the consr quences will be on your own head. I am not one t threaten in vain. When I meet an adder I avoid it if I cnn ; but if I cannot avoid it " "Just so, admitting for the sake of argument that 1 am invertebrate," interrupted Layton, scornfully, as the other hesitated, " what thenl" "Wh' There door slar HDtagoni i Upon was an a talk. O of the lo nnderstai scoundrel apt to b are separ members regards means th and still the mate] fortunate] oient to nr The hard principled much moi .steals ; it arpare ^t ever words of murder if cc Id be < of some h fortunate! no idea. The Thief. \ f 61 " Why, then I set my heol upon it ! " There was a contemptuous laugh, anl then the caHn door slammed ; the interview between these two uufliacbing antagonists was over. ^^- CHAPTER VII. THE THIEF. - ■ Upon the whole, though it troubled lier exoet'dingly, it was an advantage to Edith to have overheard that terrible talk. One of the things that gentlewomen (for the women of the lower ranks know it, alas ! only too well) can never understand is, that men of their own class can he absolute scoundrels. Even men who do not know the world are apt to believe that what are called the criminal classes are separated by some almost impassable gulf from the members of their own society and acquaintance. Save as regards the a(!tual commission of crime, this is by no means the case. There are many gentlemen of fashion, and still more of good commercial position, who have all the materials for criminality in their dispositions, only, fortunately for them, the temptation is very rarely suflS- oient to make them overstep the line of actual delinquency. The hard employer, the mean millionnaire, and the un- principled rake are in many cases as ripe for Newgate, and much more deserving of it, than the rascal in rags who steals ; it is only because it is their interest that they are a^'^are ranged on the .side of honesty. We probably -et every day on equal footing, and exchange pleasant words of reeting, witn men who are quite capable of murder if the thing was highly advantageous to them, and CO Id be done without risk. Of the desperate wickedness of some human hear*^s, the ordinary easy-going folks, who fortunately form th* majority of us, have, I am satisfied, no idea. They cannot understand how a gentleman in u f • I 62 A Prince of. the Blood. life;; m an''. i Pi I f ■ iif Hi' .1 ill i III :*■ Nf'^i ' broadcloth can be a ruliian, or an educated person on a level with the inhuman cur who skins cats alive, not from the lust of greed, but from that worst lust of all, the lovp of cruelty. Only now and then, in moments of unguard<3(l talk, do we catch lurid gleams of the real nature of such men, but the baleful fires are there under the smooth clay. Women never see the least glimpse of them. " I am quiin sure he could never do such a thing," would ho their calm rejoinder to any imputation of gross baseness (so long ;is it was not in connection with their own sex) made against any man of their own acquaintance ; you might as well try to persuade them that he was a black man. Even the information Edith had gathered from Layton's accusations (which she now believed to be well founded) did not convince her, as it would have convinced a man, that her uncle was a scoundrel. Her kinship with him, nay, even her father's trust in him, misplaced as she felt it to have been, fought against such utter condemnation. She pictured him as reckless, and even unscrupulous, but hardly as having robbed her ; or, perhaps, she did even think that, but with the slight store that one of her age and sex almost always does put upon mere money when it is her own, she minimized the crime till it was hardly more than an indiscretion. What gave her a far worse opinion of her uncle, and put her much more on hcv guard against him, was the threat expressed in his parting speech to her lover, " When I meet an adder I avoid it if I can j if not, I set my foot upon it." The tone in which those words were delivered still rans: in her ears, and she felt that they meant mischief. Being what she was, she had a hesitation in saying to herself, ** He will stick at nothing — nothing," but that was the tendency of her thought. So far, then, she was advan- taged by what she had heard, for to be forewarned is to ho forearmed. Though her fears fell far short of what they would have been had she understood the unscrupulous f ^: The Thief. 63 iiiiture of the man with whom she had to deal, they made lier look forward to her first meeting with her uncle with a shudder. She had, it is true, been absolved by her lover tiom all complicity in his scheme for becoming the coiu- piinion of her voyage. But, knowing what had passed between the two men, she could understand Mr. Norbury's feelings towards her would be far more hostile than thuy had hitherto bet-n. It was a great relief to her, therefore, when, in place of her uncle, whom she had expected, slie presently saw Aunt Sophia making her devious way to- wards her on the arm of the doctor. *' I've persuaded your aunt to come up on deck and get a breath of fresh air," explained Mr. Doyle, as he led his companion to a chair contiguous to Edith's ; " there's nothing like trying your sea-legs early." As in the case of the legs of childhood, it is possible, however, to try them too early, and poor Auut ISophia staggered into Tier chair as though those limbs hud not uiily been bandy, but boneless. " Oh, my dear," she moaned complainingly, " what a dreadful thing is shipboard ! If I could have foreseen one- tenth of the miseries it was to entail upon me, no per- suasions of your Uncle Ernest should have induced me to accompany them. If I must have gone to India I would rather have ridden on the top of an omnibus the whole way, by the overland route." Wretched as she was, Edith could not but smile at the alternative of travel thus presented to her. " But \uy dear aunt, you will soon get over the motion, bad as tiio pitching and tossing seems to you at first." " It is not that." put in Auut Sophia, with unwonted ii ritlition, *' though I shall certainly never get used to having my heels higher than my head every other moment. It is the sinking, the terrible down, down, down-dropping, which is so detestable. It seems a perfect miracle how w« ever come ap again, and I almost wish we didn't." ^ ,i:, ! ir ■]■.''->" :'! I ' I m 64 A Prince of the Blood. > M ','ii! Hi'"'' liii " My poor dear," said Eclith, coaxingly. " She will laugh at all that, will she not, Mr. Doyle, in a few days ? " "She'll think it one of the finest jokes that ever was cracked," corroborated the gentleman appealed to. •' Cracked I " exclaimed Aunt Sophia, turning upon the astonished surgeon with angry vehemence ! " you must bo cracked yourself to see any joke in such horrors. It is not only physical pain that they engender, they poison the whole moral system. I protest I don't care sixpence what becomes, not only of myself, but of all that used to be near and dear to me. They have had just the same effect upon my brother Ernest. He looks as though he could eat one, and throws his words at one as if they were bones to a dog." The surgeon had strolled away at the mention of Unclf Ernest, rightly concluding that if Aunt Sophia had not been * put out * by her sufferings, she would not have been so frank in his presence in alluding to her respected relative. Still, though she knew they were alone together, Edith shrank from speaking to her companion of her guardian. " I am afraid you have had a most unpleasant night's rest," she said, evasively. "Rest? People don't rest at sea — at least, not people who are Oh, good gracious ! now we are going down again. My dear, I seem hardly to have had one wink oi sleep." " I should have come and seen how you were this morning, had I been permitted to do so, but I was told that you did not wish to be disturbed." '• My dear, I never expressed any such wish. I was not in a condition to harbour a wish. I must say Eleanor was very kind, and looked in upon me more than once during the night." Aunt Sophia's tone was significant. It implied some astonishment at the kind behaviour of her elder niece, and also some suggestion of neglect on the part of the younger. " But your cabin door was locked, for I tried the handle, The Thief. 65 though very softly so as riot to disturb you, before I went to bed," observed Edith. ,5,^ ■, " Oh, I don't complain of you, my dear, far from it ; and, moreover, you could have done nothing for me, even if vou had come ; but as for the door being locked, our three cabins all communicate with one auother, you know ; the paiic4 of each partition slips back. Did not the stewardess tell you that ? " Edith had looked up with amazement. Jt was clear to her uow how her cabin had been entered during the night, and only too clear whose was the hand that had deprived her of her precious treasures. It must have been that of her cousin Eleanor. ^ " No, I did not know it," she answered with effort, *' or I should have certainly come to you as my cousin did." " I am sure you would ; but, as I have said, it would liave been no good. ' When lovely woman^toops to folly ' —no, of course I don't mean that, but when one is so mad as to go to sea, there is no remedy for the consequences. No one can help one, and one can't help oneself. Nelly meant to be very careful, no doubt, but, coming in and out to look after me, she made so much noise that she woke me out of the little sleep I had ; indeed, but that she assured me to the contrary, I thought that she had sliu '>aok the paitition and gone in to you. How pale you look, Edith I 1 hope you are not feeling as I do. Everything seems to bwim about except the ship ; there it is, sinking again ! oh dear, oh dear ! " Edith, who felt that Aunt Sophia's sufferings must have been severe, indeed, to have engendered this complaining and almost bitter spirit in one ordinarily so full of the milk of human kindness, strove her best to be sympathetic, but the sense of her cousin's treachery, the conviction that she was playing into her father's hands in so unworthy a manner, depressed her exceedingly. If her lover had not come to her rescue, how terrible would have been her m ' fi ■ \ ■ ' It '-- \ iVi :!■. ' 111''' M \\v !4' : '- I «1 1 , ! ; t ' 1 !, ; ; i '^ 1 '1 ,1* '! ':' Ft ' i-i ;"= ; 1! h.'JL I" ' h 15^; 3!?' m ' m f |:B.'i S"-* ii a 66 A Prince of the Bloo1>. position between two foes who should liave been her nearest friends, and with none but poor Aunt Sophia to lean upon. What a pair of unscrupulous enemies, too, dear Charlej had made for himself by his loving scheme ! "There are worse things than sea-sickness, dear Aunt Sophia," she murmured, in the anguish of her soul. "That I deny," was the irritable rejoinder. "If you only knew what it was you wouldn't say so. In my case it produces simple prostration ; and because I'm quiet and don't complain, you think little of it. But wait till you see your uncle. He is natrrrally, perhaps, rather a bilious subject, and its effect on nim is really most deplorable Talk of temper ! There is the less cause for him, too, for whereas we poor women are among strangers, he has unex pectedly found an old friend on board." " A friend ? " said Edith, scarcely able to believe her ears, for her mind at once reverted to her lover. " Did he say a friend ? " . ' ' "Yes, he did; though indeed I rather wondered at it, considering the difference in their positioxis ; the third mate, it seems, is a former acquaintance of his. I came upon them talking in the cuddy. 'I find Mr. Bates is an old friend of mine,' he said, as if in explanation of their famili- arity. Then he said, * We are discussing old times,' as much as to say my company was not wanted, and in a tone that was sharp enough to cut one's nose off. If it had not been for dear Dr. Doyle — though I don't see the use of a doctor on board ship, unless he can cure sea-sickness — 1 could never have climbed what they call the companion ladder, because I suppose no one can get up it alone. It't hard," added Aunt Sophia, with a little snuffle, "to be so snapped at, whon one feels on the verge of the grave." " Uncle P^rnest is very angry," explained Edith. " because he has discovered that Charley is on board." "Charley? Mr. Layton^ Good heavens ! " The good I lady's excitement was so intense that for the moment she I im at it, raate, upon an old famili- les, i^ii a tone lad not e of a ■less — 1 janion It'b be so Edith. ke ffood] The Thief. m jnt she forgot her woes. "Has he hid himself in the hold, as a stowaway, or what ? " " Of course not," returned Edith, with dignity ; " he is a passenger, which he has as much right to be as you or I ! " " Oh, my dear, pray don't misunderstand me. I'm sure I wisli he had the ship to himself, as far as that goes. He should have my place, I'm sure, and welcome. Oi)ly, how verv amazinff it is that he should be here. I call it tre- raendous ! It didn't astonish you so much, 1 suppose," she added with simplicity. " Yes, it di ?f ! n ' i 1 ; ^ (i 72 A Prince of the Bi.ood. 'f ^: :;|: !i N'l another rug direotly," he said to her politely, an'l then pro ceeded to place the wrap round the other two ladies, taking particular care and perhaps unnecessary time in tucking it up round Edith, who, it must be confessed, rewarded him with her sweetest smile. This brought a blush into his youthful cheek, which the conversation of the midshipmen's mess haJ long since ceased to evoke. It was perhaps his first essay as a squire of dames. " And what is your name, young gentleman ? " inquired Eleanor, in a patronizing tone. His pretence at being grown up was very offensive to her; she felt it was her duty to " sit upon him " and thereby reduce him to his proper dimensions. " My name is Lewis ConoUy." , "And how old are you?" ' . The boy's face flushed crimson ; his pride was wounded at beiug interrogated like a schoolboy, and in the presence of others. At tlie same time, there was a light in his eye that told of mischief. ' "I am in my sixteenth year," he answered, with the simplicity and meekness of a child. " HoW old are you 1 " Eleanor answered nothing, but the colour in her cheeks became even yet moi e unwholesome, as though its pastiness had gone sour. " Mr. Bates," she exclaimed. The third mate, who was leaning on the taffrail at some distance, came up at once. •' This young gentleman has been impertinent to me." "Indeed." The dark forbidding face grew sympatheti- cally grave, " What did he say ? " " 1 should think there was no need to go into details," I she answered haughtily. "I say again he has been I impertinent." • »^ -v^- "^ :^3 J^-^i •: i ' ** Go up to the masthead, sir, and stay there until I call I you down," cried the officer, glaring fiercely at the boy. Master Lewis Conolly looked him straight in the face,! giving him quite an angelic smile in exchange for his scowl, With her Mask off. 78 sainted (he was full of salutations, the polito.st little monkey on board the ship), and retired in the direction indicated. In a few seconds they beheld him climbing the rigging, not liko a cat, as midshipmen are figured, by any me.ins, but with the utmost deliberation. ' ' " "Oh, Eleanor, how could youl" remonstrated Aunt "He is a very impertinent young fellow," put in Mr. Bates, *' and wants a tight hand. To cool his heels up yonder for a couple of hours or so will do him all the good ill the world." " I call it most infamous and cowardly," cried Edith suddenly, with vehement indignation. "Of me, madam?" answered the officer, turning upon her with a very ugly smile. " No, sir, not of you — you have been merely unjust-^ but of the person who caused you to commit such an act of tyranny." "My cousin Edith unhappily knows nothing of dis- cipline," explained Eleanor, in apologetic tones. " She forgets that her own case is an exceptional one, and thinks that every one else should be spoilt and have their own way." Of this taunt Edith took no notice, and contented herself with observing very resolutely, " I shall lay the case before the captain." Mr. Bates glanced at Eleanor inquiringly. His look seemed to say, " "Will she really have the pluck to do that ? If so, the matter will become serious, and the burthen will be on your shoulders." Eleanor, on her part, was entertaining somewhat similar reflections. She wished to have the boy punished, but if the affair was to be investigated his crime would have to be stated, which might not only seem insignificant in itself, but was calculated to make her appear ridiculous. "I have no desire to make a fuss a.bout a trifle," shei A m L i. 74 A Prini>'E of thf BrooD. I Hi ^...IF' fell 'M ■•ih i :;ii i. wm :<1i!i' ^l.::i ^^ Kaid. Her f.oiie whs ungi^aciouH ami rHlnotant enough, hut the officer took it a« cancelling his sentence. ** Come down, you boy," ho shouted. Master Lewis Conolly detached one hand from the shrouds, saluted, and descended, with the same deliberation of movement, as he had gone up. *' Come here, sir," said Mr. Bates. He obeyed like an angel, but one who nevertheless was not provided with wings. ^ , "Thanks to this lady, sir," continued the ofticor, indi- cating Eleanor, '* you are pardoned this time." Master Lewis Conolly sahitod again, and turning his blue eyes gratefully on Edith, replied, "Thanlc you madam," and retired. The third mate alst» went his way, leaving the three ladieis in even a more embarrassing position as regarded their relations to one another than he had found them. ff silence had before been possible, to one of them at least it had now become unendurable. Eleanor Norbury's nat^ui^ was one of those that cannot accept defeat with grace, atul which persists in a bad cause with the same pertinacity ao though it were a good one. "You are doing what you can, Edith," she said in a voice trembling with passion, " to induce others to resist authority, as you have resisted it yourself. It will be baH for them, and sooner or later, T warn you, it will be bad for you." " Are you commissioned by any one to threaten me 1 " inquired Edith, dryly. " Of course not to threaten you ; but it is certainly my father's wish that you should understand that he is getting tired of a policy of conciliation." j *' He will not succeed in his object any better by a policy of theft." '* Of what ? " cried Eleanor, rising to her feet with a suppressed scream of rage. Wl'jil HKK iViASK OFF. 76 The inhittnt tltc tuHMi5tiug words liad ptisHfd hui- \i\^», Ivlith perceived their double meaning. She had referred Id the robbery of her letters only, but the roeollection ol' lifi- lover's talk with Mr. Norbury at once recurred to her. She beheld in her imagination an indiL,'nant daughter resenting a charge of dishonesty against her father. " I am referring," said £dith, in calmer tones than she would have thought it possible to use in such a matter, •' to the abstraction of my private letters from my cabin last night. From a conversation I had with my uncle yesterdivy evening I am inclined to think that they were purloined at his instigation." ' v " Your suspicion is quite correct ; I took tliem myself under his authority," replied Eleanor, boldly ; they are now in his possession." " Then he is a receiver of stolen goods." " You dare to say that ^ Then I am a thief, I sup po.se ? " " Most certainly, upon your own confession." *• Oh dear ! oh dear ! " murmured Aunt Sophia, " pirates themselves could be no worse than this." The observation might well have been taken in its literal sense, if theft on board ship is an act of piracy, but it was evident that the speaker only intended it meta phorieally, and as descriptive of the social imbroglio. " I am not sorry, Edith," continued her cousin after a pause, which, to judge by the movement of her throat, was occupied in swallowing, " that you have used this plainness of speech ; your insolence and audacity convince me that you understand your position. It is just as well too that you, Aunt Sophia, should understand it. My father's patience with his niece and ward is exhausted. Since fair raerais I mean since persuasion — with her has utterly failed, he is fully resolved to exert his authority. The day of disobedience is over, as she will find." A suspicion long existent in Edith's mind, but never iH" t r 1e A Prince of the Blood. U r 1 k i f entertained — always loyally, up to this time, put aside as ■~ groundioss and unworthy — suddenly became conviction. "You have read Mr. Ljiyton's letters, Eleanor," she exclaimed. Eleanor turned ghastly pale. " I have not," she mu^ » tered between hev teeth. '• That is a falsehood ; and because they were written out of the fulness of his heart to me, and not to you, you are full of jealousy and hatred." " Oh dear ! oh dear ! " moaned Aunt Sophia. The gallant Ganges had niade a dip more deep than usual, but it was not to that she referred, but to the social wreck that was taking place about her. Everything seemed going oVerboard, and she without a spar to cling to. " You will repent having said that, you — you hussy, as long as you live,"gasped Eleanor, almost speechless with fury. " Do not think you are going to have your way any more Since your spirit cannot be bent, it must be broken, and ' you need look to me for neither help nor mercy." " To you ! " echoed Edith, with cold scorn. " I must be destitute of help indeed before I look to such a source for succour." " You speak as if you were still in London, with troops of friends purchased by the rumour of your wealth. But you are now bound for a land where legitimate authority is something more than a mere sham ; and, in the mean time, on board this ship, you will find you are in fiim hands." The speaker suddenly grew dumb, and into her face there came a look of rancorous disappointment, such as her cousin ri;:;htly judged could have been evoked by one cause only. Edith's back was to the companion-ladder, so that she could not see who was approaching them, but in her kins woman's face she recognized the new-comer as in a mirror. " I am not, you see, so friendless as you supposed, Cousin Eleanor," she answered quietly. " Perhaps I ought to have told you that Mr. Layton was on board." ^•:f :lii;<' Captain Head to the Rescue. 77 ' CHAPTER IX. CAPTAIN HEAD TO THE RESCUE. .i.i< the records of battle, we sometimes come across the gi'aphic line, "The enemy broke aud flecl." This is gener- ally the result of sudden panic. If the phrase can be applied to a single individual, it exactly fitted the be^iiv- iour of Eleanor Norbury when she beheld Charles Lay ton standing before her. He had made no hostile demonstra- tion — quite the contrary ; he had lifted his hat with great politeness ; but she rose at once, and snatching up her skirts in her hand, as if to avoid the contamination of his touch, she rushed away, as Aunt Sophia would have ex- pressed it, ' down-stairs.' The latter stood her ground — or rather Hat where she was — from -^heer incapacity to do otherwise. For the last quarter of an hour she had been consumed with that emotion which ladies, in the marriage service, aro particularly required to avoid, 'amazement.' It had seemed to her that there was no longer room in her soul for any new surprise. But she was now fairly para- lyz'vd with astonishment. For a moment it did not occur to her that Mr. Lay ton must be a passenger on board the Ganges, like herself ; he appeared to have Lterally dropped t\om the clouds. It was not a case of nee Dens intersit. No interventioL short of this, she felt, could have saved Edith, and it had happened in the very nick of time. She knew Eleanor well, and therefore knew what good cause Edith had to fear her. She had recognized the fact that evil days indeed were in store for her favourite niece, and now that such a champion had so opportunely siepped in, Iter whole heart was stirred with joy. But it was a ' fear- ful joy.' While she welcomed the deliverer, she trembled at his audacity. Though her sympathies were altogether with Edith, she had by no means the courage of her opinions. JS^ow that she had got over her fii-st shock of ~ I 78 A PiUKCK uF THE Blood. im I «■> *7 |: -i- 1 ■ Wi Mmi ,■, . .'■ wonder, ahe wouid, despite the perils of locomotu)ii, iiave essayed lo follo\v Eleanor, quite as much from fear of hei- anger, as from an instinct that the two lovers would wish to be left alone, had not Mr. Layton, with a grave smile, motioned hor to remain. " Pray do not run away from us," he said. " Edith and I have no secrets from you, Miss Norbury." A judicious lemark enough, but one tiiat seemed to pooi Aunt Sophia, as indeed it was, not a little compromising It would be a greai point gained, as Layton felt, if he could get her to declare herself on Edith's side , but actual partisanship was beyond her powers ; iihe had not, in fact, the pluck foi it. The consciou.suess of her own weakness, could be rea,d in her troubled lace. "Oh, Ml-. Layton, how could you?" she murmured re- proachfully. '* And yet, though T know it's very wrong, 1 can't help feeling gh'd." *' Of course you are glad that Edith has found a pro- tector. None knows better than yourself how much she btood in need of one." •'That is veiy true," wiid Aunt iSophia, wituout suspect ing the extent of her own admission. ' But what can you do even now that you are here '/ It is useless to attemp' to withstand my brother ; he will stir up eveiybody on board the ship ujiain«L you, even that dear old «s»ptaiu." "But not thus dear young midshipman, put in Eddth, pai'enthetically. Her ;L;ood spirits iiud returned uo iier with amazing quickn«»s now that her lover wa.^ by her side. "My dear child, what is the good of a midshipman? How can he help you up At the mast-head 1 '' " I have reason to sup|Mj.st iiiat Mr. Norbury is nttw speaking with tlie captaui,' said Layton. *' Good heavta** ' What will be done to you i ' fxciaimed Aunt Sophia. " il« can't put you in irons, can he t " *' I don't tliink he can," answered the young man, smil- ing, of that Your ] to suit "Yo Aunt S where If the I his shi; At. " (ki\iin'] against my owi of a fr Xorburj ^>nemy— "No, bling ha not ask to do it, the first Mr. Lay "That Not so I had bee] upon ths position ' but reme " I lov "Ibei lest your If I have board th least kno simple a; ilf^ignin^ Captain Head to the Rescue. 70 ing. " Mr. Norbury will suggest , no doubt , some measure of that kind, but it will hardly be received with favour. Your brother's manner is a little too dictatoi'ial, 1 fancy, to suit Captain Head." " You do not know my brother, Mr. Layton," returned Aunt Sophia, in a frightened whisper. " He never forgives where he has been thwarted as you have tln\arted him. [f the poor cnptain ventures to take your part, he will lose his ship." At this prediction the young barrister laughed aloud. •'Captain Head can take care of liimself, T think, ewn against Mr. Noi 1>: ■ ' ; nor am 1 at all alarmed upou mv own account. But dear Edith stands in sore need of a friend of her own .sex. If you desert her. Miss Norbury, she will be isolated indeed ; if you go over to the enemy " " No, no," interrupted Aunt Sophia, clasping her trem- bling hands ; " I will never do that. But pray, pray, do not ask me to take sides with her openly. If I promised to do it, Eleanor would make me break my promise within. the tirst five minutes. You don't know what Eleanor is, Mr. Layton, when she gets you alone." "That is true," said Mr. Layton, with great gravity Not so much as a twinkle of his eye betrayed that there had been a time when he might have informed himself upon that point. " I would not put you in a painful position with respe(!t to your own belongings for the world, but remember that Edith also is your own flesh and blood." " I love her dearly," sighed Aunt Sophia, "I believe you do ; but T wish to put you on your guard. lest your respect for her should b»> impaired by calumny. If I have done anything amiss, which 1 deny, in condng on board this ship, the fault is wholly mine ; nor had she the least knowledge of my intention. She is as innocent iind simple as others whom we know of are unscrupulovis and If igning ; whenever you hear anything said against her, 1 ■I : H r! : : : w ■ » 80 A Prince of the Blood. IS i mil m !• I* ,« [fit do not ask you to contradict it, but only to say to yourself, 'This is a lie.' Give her all the comfort you can, and leave her defence to me. If anything should happen to me (Hush, dear" — this to Edith, whose hand he was holding in his own—" you must let me speak to your aunt now I have the chance — it may never occur again) — I say, dear Miss Norbury, if anything should happen to me, remember that this girl, your dead brother's child, has no friend on earth but you. You must advise her for the best from your own lv,*art, and not from the promptings of others." There was a half-articulate " I will " from A unt Sophia. She was sobbing. The picture thus dinwo of her niece's bereavement, and of the responsibility thereby imposed upon herself, had been too much for her. "I was sure that I could trust to your kind heart," said the young man, gratefully. " I will not detain you lon^jer, lest your remaining here should be construed into a more active alliance with us," He rose, and was about to oifer her his arm, when his eye caught that of tho young midshipman, who was watch ing the little group at some distance. "Mr. ConoUy," he said, "will you be kind enough to escort this lady to the cuddy ? " The young gentleman was at his side in a moment, with an earnest " Nothing will give me greater pleasure." " No, sir, not that lady — this one." The midshipman had offered his arm to Edith, and now transferred it to Aunt Sophia, quite politely, but with perhaps not the same alacrity that he had originally shown. " My dear boy, your arm is not a bit of use. You mus< let me hold on to you as I can," cried the nnliappy lady. Thoy staggered away together to the companion ladder She had begtin by taking his shoulder with one liand, to steady herself; the last thing they saw of her she was claspin be seer The involui done, f this m( planati( the saili be said " Yoi that I h fellow, another iog himi " Sorr why did to do? a I should was almc " I was revealed intention forfeited it." "That have offer "I do tempted t resisted t telling hei would ha-\ part, had of his ton giving it world, he i "Youd( Captain Head to the Rescue. 81 clasping his neck with both her arms, and nothing was to be peen of Master Lewis Conolly at all. The two young people looke'l jit one another and laughed involuntarily, which was the best thing they could have done, for it relieved the tension of their minds. Up to this moment, it must be remembered, not a word of ex- planation had passed between them, and even now, with the sailors passing to and fro about them, they could not be said to be alone. " Yon are not sovry to see me, love ? You are not angry that I have taken you by surprise?" murmured the young fellow. The voice that had been so bold in defending another had the accents of a dove now that he was defend- ing himself. " Sorry ! Oh no, not sorry, nor yet angry, Charley ; but why did you not tell me yesterday of what you proposed to do ? Then that parting would not have been so terrible ; I should have been spared twelve hours of a misery that was almost despair." " I was afraid to do so, Edie, lest your face should have revealed our secret. If your uncle had known of my intention to be your fellov-passenger, he would have forfeited his passage-money rather than have permitted it." "That is true, indeed," acknowledged Edith; "but you have offended him past all pardon." "I do not want his pardon." For one moment he was tempted to add, " though he may want yours ; " but he resisted the impulse. He would not pain the girl by teUing her of her uncle's dishonesty, though the revelation would have been so advantageous to him. Edith, on her part, had good grounds for guessing what was on the tip of his tongue, and the motive which prevented him from giving it utterance. Thus, which rarely happens in this world, he reaped the benefit of his chivalry. " You dear ! " ejaculated the young lady. A tribute to \A 'iill n f 82 A Pkini'e of the Blood. 1' •s h •■' r| t ': ll t. 1 M *■ 1 :i I his delicacy of feeling which her lover took for a mero natural outburst of Jift'ectiou. " I wish there were not so many people about," returned her lover yearningly. " Even at night I suppose they always have a watch on deck, confound them ! " " I hope so, indeed," said Edith, with an affectation of ignorance of his meaning that was simply bewitching. " You don't want to be run down, I suppose." " I dont want you to run me down," he replied comically, "thougli since I have had the pLasum of your uncle's acquaintance I am getting quite used to the operation Perhaps T ought to tell you, by the b}e, at once, that he and I have had a. In Ik together. If > has given me that piec;e of his mind which he has so long promised me. It i.x hotter that you should know the facts so far -he and I are now at daggers drawn." " Do not say that," she answered, with a little shiver. " It is sufficient to tell me that you have quarrelled." "That circumstance does n(^t aft'ect me in the least. Upon the whole, I am glad that he and I now thoroughly understand one another. My only fear is that it may affect you. It is possible that your uncle may persuade the captain to allow him to use compulsion with you, to make you a prisoner in your cabin ; but I don't think he will. I am not without some influence at my back, and 1 have still my own appeal to make to him. If it succeeds. or if the captain is the man I take him to be, nothing can prevent our enjoying one another's society on board the Gmiges. We sliall have weeks and weeks of uninterrupted happiness befoit> us. That is a great gain, in any casp. When we get to India, our position will doubtless be moi-e difficult, but by no means hopeless. In the mean time, my darling love, we shall be together. Hush ! That is tb^ captain's voice in your uncle's cabin, which is next to mine ; they are at it together hammer and tongs." They had been at it together some time. Hitherto, Cafiain Head to the Rescue. 8a however, tbey had been prudently talking in liushed tonea, while the conversation ou deck had prevented Kdith's attention being diawn to it, as on the former occasion. •' As to shutting up your niece, sir, in her cabin, on boaid my ship," cried the captain, angrily, "I should as soon think of giving you permission to put her in the hold. To be frank with you, I cannot conceive any one calling himself a gentleman proposing such a measure." Mr. Norbury's rejoinder was inaudible, but it probabl}' took the form of a threat, for the captain's voice pealed out again louder than ever. " You may make what repret>entations of my conduct you please, sir, to whom you please. I know my duty, which for one thing demands that I should afford pro tection to my lady passengers, and not to play into the hands of any domestic tyrant. If you want to bully your women folk, then stay ashore, sir." There were some inarticulate sounds in reply, words doubtless smothered in rage, which acted on the other as tlax on fire. " Repent it ! No, sir, I shall not repent it, whatever comes of it. And as for insolence, let me tell you that as captain of this ship 1 will brook such a term from no man. The love affair between your niece and this young gentle man is, it is true, none of my business, but if I hear of any compulsion being used towards her, there's a parson ou board, and, as sure as my name's Henry Head, he shall marry those young people in the tu'ldy.'" Then the cabin door was closed with a bang, as it had been closed before, and Mr. Norbury was left alone with s-uch cogitations as can be conjectured. *' How terrible it all is, Charlev,'" murmured Edith in a whisper. " Of what dreadful scenes have ] become the mihappy cause ! " "The innocent but not the unhappy cause, my darling. Why should you be unhappy 1 We shall now be at liberty G a i-#i ■■! tii,, t. 84 A Prince of the Blood. .:v., '^y i ! V i i- m I : mm $1' in- to do as we please, which will be charming. There can be only one thing better, that your uncle should tiy com pulsion, in which case wo shall be married in the cuddy." CHAPTEK X. LAND. Human affairs in general can be more or less calculated upon. The annuity companies look forward with well- grounded piiilosophy to the decease of theii- fellow-creatureo within a reasonable time. But, in the abstract, matteia are wholly different. The individual knows not what a day may bring forth, nor even one pregnant hour. To him " nothing comes with certainty except the unexpected." Within a space of time that seemed too short for their occurrence, circumstances had effected a complete houle- versement in the fortunes of Edith Norbury. The weary voyage that she had looked forward to with such appre- hension had been suddenly transformed into a pleasure trip. The end of it, of course, was to be proportionally dreaded; but that is the case with all human happiness. The most long-lived love contains in it from the first the germs of 'parting,' but the sense of it happily does not haunt us throughout our lives. A few hours of her lover's society had hitherto been all that fate had vouchsafed her, and even those had been trammelled with hindrances and prohibitions. Now there were whole weeks before her of unrestricted enjoyment. " Let us gather our roses while I we may," was the motto of these happy young people; and upon the whole it was a wise one. If the quarrel] between Edith and her people had been less complete, her position would have been far less enviable. The remark! of the Eastern executioner when racking his mother-in-law, ** Our relations are getting a little strained," did not apply to her case, for all connection between herself and them TT ■■• PI Land. 85 was cat off, as it were, " at the main," and for the present, at least, whatever future evil might come of it, this was the more convenient, since she lay under no necessity to conciliate them. Her uncle and Eleanor, being unable to make a prisoner of her, as they would certainly have done if they could, put her *in Coventry,' and a very agreeable residential spot she found it. She had now and then a stolen inter- view with Aunt Sophia, who wai^ however, unable to tell her what was going on in the enemy's camp. She was iierself * suspect,' or, to borrow a golden phrase, coined in the Reign of Terror, "suspected of being suspect," and (worse than boycotted) was at once denied the confidence of her own people, and forbidden to hold intercourse with their rebellious relative. With .sea-sickness superadded — for she never got over that from first to last — this poor lady's lot was certainly a most deplorable one. It may be said that she deserved it for not throwing in her lot where her sympathies were already enlisted, but heroism is not so easy to practise as to applaud. She had always been in her brother's hands, into which, as Mr. Layton suspected, her property, if she had had any, had already passed, and was as unfitted by nature as by circumstances to take a line of her own in any direction. Such persons deserve the pity of their fellow-creatures rather than their blame, yet they seldom get it, especially, as in Aunt Sophia's case, when they are of stout proportions. The misleading pro- verb, " Laugh and grow fat," robs them of half the sym- {)athy that is their due. She therefore stood, or rather sat, apart, while the other inmates of the Ganges ranged themselves on one side or the other in the family quarrel. The two lovers, thanks to Edith's gracious manners and good looks, had a great majority with them. Captain Head, as we know, had early declared for them. jVfr. Marston, though believing he held himself straight as a poplar in the calm atmosphere of duty, was swayed towards ? :- } ..^ ^■i 86 A PuI^'CE o'e THE Bhoob. ^'ii i tt!!|;f !: !' Ill Si's f ^''■:.V them in spite of himself. Mr. Redmayne was an open partisan of theirs, anrl in his wild enthusiastic way sug gested that Mr. NorVjury and his daughter should be put out at the Cape and left there. Mr. Ainsworth, as a man of peace, endeavoured to effect a reconciliation ; but find- ing his efforts resented by Mr. Norbury with much con- tempt, joined Edith's banner. " I cannot fight for you," he said to Mr. Lay ton ; "my cloth forbids it; but on the shortest notice I will marry you in the cuddy." The captain's threat had got about, and, like all jokes on shipboard, had been received with rapture. But it wab in the midshipmen's berth that Edith's cause was embraced with the greatest ardour. Master Lewis Conolly wa^ understood to hold himself in readiness to meet Mr. Norbury in mortal combat with any weapon that gentle- man might choose against his modest dirk ; Masters Arthur North and Frederic Taylor confined themselves to challenging (in imagination) the tyrant to fisticuffs with one arm tied behind them. The sailors, too, almost to a man, were for the young lady ; they toasted her charms in grog in the forecastle, and compared her favourably with the figure-head of theii- vessel, which they had hitherto be- lieved to be of unrivalled beauty. There are not many things with which a lady can propitiate the sailors on board the ship on which she is a passenger, but, on the other hand, if she is young and beautiful she is looked upon by the moi-e impressionable among them as a queen is on shore, and a giacious smile and a kind word from her go a long way ; of these Edith was naturally lavish. Moreover, when it came to subscriptions for the entertain- ment of Neptune and Company on the day when they crossed the line, she gave with a free hand, which no doubt contrasted favourably with the conduct of her cousin, who, like Mr. John Gilpin, though not indeed bent on pleasuio. " had a frugal mind." Edith's popularity was not, how ver, universal. It was Land. 87 m generally \mderstood that Mr. Norbury was a poison of groat influence with "John Company," and could do a great deal for a man if he had a mind that way. Even the sturdy British .sailor is not always blind to his own private advantage, and has bet-n known to make lovely woman herself svibordinate to it ; but the f»'W who were opposed to the young couple wero for the most part hangers-on of Mr. Bites, the third niatf. who, as we have seen, had from the first eitored into an alHnnco with his former patron. What the relations between himself an, >^ ^ Ji '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation «- 4- A^ \ \ «^ <>. 6^ %^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4'-y3 ■w f/j :\ 83 A Prince op the Blood. I » }■ unlike a man's, that home ties, even when they take the form of fetters, are essential to her. That Mr. Norbury and his daughter should have taken to 'the sulks' was a matter of great congratulation to Charley, who hailed the excommunication which they had pronounced upon Edith and himself as though it had been a *' Bless you, my children ! " uttered by Mr. Norbury, as 'heavy father,* with uplifted hands. Even if they had been his own flesh and blood their enmity would probably not have caused him the least inconvenience. Nay, had Mr. Norbury been not only his own uncle, but possessed of all the cardinal virtues instead of being, as he shrewdly sus- pected, a great rogue, ai.d had yet behaved harshly and unjustly towards himself^ he would probably have been well content to quaiTel with him. "If he be not fair to me," he would have said to himself, " what care I for his * warmth' and reputation for integrity in the city?" It is the privilege and perquisite of a man to shake himself free of the closest bonds of relationship when they gall him. ■ But Edith, though innocent oi its existence, secretly bewailed the gulf that yawned so widely between her and her belongings. Her disposition prompted her to live at peace with all her fellow-creatures, but " especially with those of her own household." She more than once had confided her regrets on this matter to Aunt Sophia, who had sympathized with them to the uttermost. That ex- cellent woman, through long habit of submission (for she had really by nature a good backbone of her own), had become^so dependent as to absolutely demand some sort of lattice-work to cling to — ("Miss Virginia Creeper" Mr. Layton used to call her, with reference to this parasitic tendency, though indeed she was no parasite) — otherwise, in spite of flouts and repulses, she would not have striven as she did to effect a reconciliation between those she f eaied and those she loved. Hitherto her endeavours had met with no success, but a time came when, somewhat unex y Land. 80 pectedly, her brother showed signs of yielding. It was the evening before the day on which it was expected that they would enter Simon's Bay, where the Ganges was to stop for a day or two, and every one who could get leave was going on shore. " "We shall sight land to-morrow, Sophia," said Mr. Norbury, with unwonted affability, "and Eleanor «ind I propose a little jaunt as far as Cape Town. It would give us pleasure to take you with us, for a day or two ashore would, I am sure, be a great relief to you, after all you have suffered ; but then, you see, there is Edith, whom we can hardly leave alone on shipboard." It struck Aunt Sophia for the moment that they had left her alone a good deal already, but that rebellious idea was characteristically dismissed from her mind as soon as it had entered it; it was of course a different thing, she reflected, to avoid her society, and to make it impossible by their absence for her to communicate with them at all. Though she had been forbidden to hold converse with her niece in general terms, occasional intercourse with her had been winked at (the fact being that Mr. Norbury had used his sister as an unconscious spy on Edith's actions), and it was only natural they should be unwilling to leave her without a femala companion. " Of course, I must stay with Edith," answered Aunt Sophia, with a little sigh, for the prospect of even a day or two upon terra Jirmat where, save under very unexceptional circumstances, there were no 'sinkings,' and where when the wind blows it only affects your garments, and not your legs, was very tempting to her. " Unless," put in Mr. Norbury, " Edith would condescend to make one of our party." " I am sure if you or Eleanor would ask her she would be only too pleased,'* said Aunt Sophia, eagerly. " I shall certainly not ask her," observed Eleanor sharply. " If my father chooses to put her in possession of his wishes • 1 ? f" 1 1 ' ' ^ '-nil i "'•: I'-. 90 A Prince op the Blood. ii ).: on the subject, and to have them disregarded, is another matter, which only concerns himself and his self-respect." Mr. Norbury glanced at his daughter in a very nn- paternal manner — indeed, much as he was wont to glance at his niece when he met her, as necessity compelled him to do at meals and on deck, with Mr. Charles Layton in her close vicinity. " Hold your tongue, miss, and keep your opinion till it's wanted," was his austere rejoinder. " No, Sophia, after what has passed between Edith and myself, it is impossible that I could run the risk of any rejection of my advances. I feel, indeed, that the present state of our relations with one another is depjorable, and should be glad to put an end to it, though that of course is an admission which it would be impossible to make to her. The only manner in which it can be arranged is through an intermediary. You can tell her if you like that, as the ship is calling at Simon's Town for fresh meat, and will stay there a couple of days, we propose to drive over to Cape Town. If she Will join us, no reference will be made to the subject of Mr. Layton, but it must be understood, of course, that that person does not intrude himself on our society. This message, though couched in much more gracious terms — as Mr. Norbury no doubt took it for granted it would be — was duly conveyed by Aunt Sophia to Edith, who in her turn laid the proposition before her lover. " You will do, my dear," he said, " exactly as you plea;- e about it ; but if your uncle thinks he is going to give me the slip by keeping you at Cape Town and letting the Ganges sail without you he is greatly mistaken." " I am quite sure he has no plan of that kind in view," put in Aunt Sophia, " for we are only to take luggage sufficient for a couple of days. You smile as if that might be a blind, Mr. Layton ; but you don't know Eleanor. Nothing, I am quite sure, would ever induce her to be permanently parted from her wardrobe." Land. 91 " Still, if Edith goes to Cape Town, so shall I," observed the young man, decisively. " I shall not in any way interfere with your family pai-ty ; but I only trust Mr. Norbury as far as I see him, and therefore I shall not let him out of my sight." Edith was willing enough to enter the door of reconcili- ation thus placed, as it were, ajar for her, while, upon the other hand, her apprehensions were calmed by her lover's precautions. Peace, or rather what was after all little better than an armed neutrality, was, metaphorically, sealed and signed that night between her and her relatives in the cuday. If it was not so good as being married there, it was, she tried to feel, better than that ignoring of eac^h other's existence which they had been wont to practise. To her sanguine disposition it seemed of happy augury that their subject of conversation— for of course all personal matters were eschewed — was the country they were about so soon to visit, the Cape of Good Hope. Eleanor, though she thought novels * frivolous,* was a great reader of travels, and discoursed of Cape Town and its climate and of the dimensions of Table Mountain with accurate severity. A.S a Minister * puts up * some member of the House to talk out an unwelcome measm*e, so her father had enjoined on her to make conversation in oi-der to avoid the intrusion of any embarrassing topic, and — like most reticent persons when thev do talk — she talked like a book. It was not very interesting, but a time was , coming, though close hidden in the cloud that shrouds our future, wherein Edith was glad to dwell upon it as being at least a memory void of offence. The captain was to stay on beard to superintend matters relating to the provisioning of the ship, but both the first and second mates were to be of Mr. Norbury's party in the Cape waggon the next day. Mr. Bates, on the other hand, was to stay in Simon's Town, where he had English, or, as suggested bv his shipmates, more likely native B ^' iJ i^ ! r ;^'i/^ f i., X'-\ I ^-! ! ' !i itnS 4;'i 92 A Prtncb of the Blood. .'# Sil'i relations. He was well acquainted with the place, and in- formed Mr. Layton where a horse could be hired to go to Cape Town. His manner of so doing was almost polite, and indeed the near approach of land seemed to have a more or less conciliating effect on everybody. It is probable that nobody but a pirate, or that Teredo navalis, the ships' bore, from which no passenger vessel can hope to be free, really relishes * blue water ' — the being out of sight of his natural element — for any length of time. When Aunt Sophia awoke in the morning she found herself for the first time for six weeks in a state of equi librium ; the Ganges had ceased its eternal game of pitch and toss, and was floating at anchor on Simon's Bay like a lake cygnet which had never so much as heard of * the art of sinking.' Never, as it seemed to her, had she seen such an enchanting prospect as presented itself from the deck : the wavelesc sea, the safe and solid hills, with the sun shining full upon them from a cloudless sky ; the little town, which, mellowed by distance, seemed a place to live and die in. Everything on board seemed to speak of holiday, and every one to be doing their level best to enjoy it. Even Mr, Bates had a grin on his face as he came up to congratulate her on the fair weather, and to point out the objects of interest — the fountain on the hill where the clothes were beirg washed and dried, and the admiral's abode, which stOv'>d out from its humbler neighbours surmounted by its hag. It seemed a lifetime since she had seen a house, or any hill that was not a wave. All that were bound for Caps Town, with the exception of Mr. Laytcn, were despatched in the first boat ; he would not embarrass Edith by his companionship, but at the same time was resolved that no trick should be played him ; if he could not actually keep them in sigjit he coultl follow them at a sufficiently short interval. ^ A smaller boat, with Mr. Bates and some seamen with leave of absence for the day, was to start immediately afterwards tiAND. 93 with him. The former gentleman had ah-eady, as he had informed him, secured him a riding-horse by messenger, and was giving him directions as to the road — which, however, it was almost impossible he could miss — ^while the boat was getting ready. " You will have the whole of to-morrow in Cape Town to yourself," he was saying, "for you can do the return journey easily in two hours, and we shall not sail till evening." At this mome. o one Brownrigg, a creature of Mr. Bates, who had of late been under punishment for intoxication, came up to the third mate and asked permission to go on shore. There was no particular privacy in the application, which, indeed, was made in an unnecessarily loud and somewhat impertinent tone, but Mr. Layton mechanically moved away from them a pace or two. As he did so he heard in a low but distinct whisper the words " Don't go ! " There was such a significant hush and caution in them that he repressed the exclamation of surprise that rose to his lips, and only looked about him. No one was very near him save Mr. Bates and the sailor, bat leaning over the taffrail at a little distance was Master Lewis ConoUy. Layton at once assumed the same position, for, though the telephone had not yet been invented, he was aware of the carrying powers which a piece of wood like the taffrail of a vessel possesses as regards sound. He leant over it, and looked down into the water as the midshipman was doing, but without taking any notice of him. " Well, you may leave, my man," said Mr. Bates, in a voice that was certainly intended to be heard, *' but if you go near the liquor store understand that it will be the worse for you." •* Don't go," murmured the warning voice again, more earnestly than before, " your life is in danger." " Now, Mr. Layton, the boat is ready, if you are," cried the mate. '*One moment, Mr. Bates. I have forgotten to take ,» 1 Vul 'i' im 94 A Pri>X'e of thk Blood. \<\i any money," exclaimed the barrister. He ran down to his cahin, apparently to pro«.*ure what is said to make the mare to go, and which he wouhl undoubtedly require for his equestrian trip ; but it seemed to be his custom, as among the natives of the Ea«t, to carry two purses ; h*- placed one of them in one pocket and one in the other, and they were pretty heavy ones, considering the short time he pro{K)sed to be away. The men in the boat were holding' on to the ship's side in waiting for him when he returned to the deck, and Master ConoUy, standing with his back to them, regarded him with a scared, reproachful look. " All right, Mr. Bates, I'm ready for you now," said Mr. Layton, with a significant look at the lad intended to reassure him. Though Le seemed to understand ii, it haii not, however, that effect. Leaning " on the tatf rail he watched Mr. Layton as he took his place in the stern, with an expression of unutterable woe. " Why, is not Mr. ConoUy coming with usi" exclaimed Layton, with a sudden impulse ; " you will give him leave, Mr. Bates, I'm sure ? " " I cannot, sir ; he is the midshipman on duty," returned the mate, curtly. " Shove off, men," and away they went. As they did so it seemed to Layton that Master Conolly's eyes travelled from his face to that of the sailor Brownrigg with a look of intense distrust and apprehension, as though the " Don't go, your life is in danger," had been supple- mented by that parting glance with "and, from that man." CHAPTER XL * NUMBEB TWO. Brownbigg was a turbulent, sullen-looking fellow enough, as Layton admitted to himself as he watched the man stretch to his oar ; but he had no cause to dread hi& enmity. There was only one man, indeed, on board ihe Number Two. 95 Ganges of whom he could say that ; but hU hostility, as he felt, was so bitter that it might well have made any one to whom his patronage extended his enemy. He knew, indeed, of no relation of the soi't existing between Mr. Norbury and the man in question ; but Mr. Bates was an ally of Mr. Norbury 's, and this fellow was one of his henchmen. It had not escaped Layton's observation tliat he had given the man leave to go on shore, in spite of his recent misbehaviour; whereas indulgence and forgiveness were not usually among Mr. Bates's weaknesses in dealing with his subordinates. The new-born civility of the third mate towards himself was also a little i^uspicious. He had understood from other sources that it was really difficult to obtain a mare or horse in Simon's Town, and yet Mr. Bates had secured one for him, notwithstanding that no less than six had been requisitioned for the waggon that conveyed the rest of the party. The similarity of the case with that of the horse of Troy, which the Trojans omitted to *' look in the mouth," or elsewhere, because it was a gift horse, struck him very forcibly. Perhaps this animal would turn out to be a buck-jumper ; but even so, he had been accustomed to ride from boyliood, and feared nothing that horse could do to him. When they reached shoro the boat was leached, und every man partook himself to such enjoyment as was to his taste and the little town afforded for him. At its unambitious inn, * The Clarence,' to which Mr. Bates himself convoyed him, he found hits promised steed, already saddled and in waiting for him. It did not look at all like a buck-jumper, nor in truth a jumper of any kind ; but he saw no reason why it should not carry him for the twenty miles or so that lay between him and Cape Town. A Hottentot or two, with the appearance of having breakfasted d. la fourchette, and very largely, were hanging about the yard. One of them offered to run I'Otside Layton's horse and show him the wj.y to Cape Town \n bM I ( ■J- .\'' ' i< ■■ ; /. *■'!■ ''\\' Vr-\ 'H'-v\ S '.'.[ ' r \'-\i\ 96 A Prince of the Blood. :»! i (■,., — a feat that, for one with such a pauuch, seemed abso lutely incredible, though the landlord assured him it could be accomplished ; but the young banister declined bib services. The road indeed, as he had been informed, was not a good one ; but as there was no other he could hardl) miss it, and in a few minutes he was on his way. The first ten miles between Simon's Bay and Cape Town, tliough no doubt they have tlieir charms for those wK . travel it fresh from the heaving deep, are very barren and uninteresting. At the date of Mr. Laytou's acquaintance with it the road was iiardly recognizable as such, especial 1}' where some stream from the mountains intersected its sandy track with its deep channel ; but as its wheel-marks showed where the waggon had preceded him he had no difficulty in finding his way. His progress was, ho'./ever, slow, for it was difficult to rouse his steed to a canter, and he arrived at the hotel some time after his predecessors, who had already lunched, and wete seeing the local lions. In this matter he was more fortunate than he knew, since his friends had already been so thoroughly put to the question as regarded home news by all the English so journers at the hotel that he himself almost escaped that fiery ordeal. There are few things more pathetic — and m(^re sub- versive, by the w&y, of the idea that home is wherever we ourselves happen to be — than the eager inquiries put to a new arrival from the old country by colonists (of the fii'st generation, at lep.st). "Can you tell me, sir," entreated an old gentleman who came upon Layton — looking at Table Mountain with an air of interest that at once cuu vinced him that he was a visitor, whereas he was merel)' wondering whether his beloved Edith had been provided with a quiet and sure-footed steed for that inevitable ex- pedition — "can you be so very good as to tell me" — and the tears seemed near his eyes as he spoke — " what horse has won the Derby 1 " i f. Number Two. 97 |)roviaeQ ible ex- it horst On Table Mountain, Edith seemed to Layton to be safe at least from abduction, which was his chief apprehension on her account, nor could he well follow the party, con- sidering the narrowness of the road, without at one point or another meeting them point blank, which would have been very embarrassing. The attractions of Rondebosch and Wynberg — the Richmonds of Cnpe Town — and the more intellectual temptations of its magniBcent public library, offered themselves to him in vain ; his mind was too anxious to admit of such distractions, and indeed he felt always more or less uneasy when he was not hanging about the court-yard, where the Cape waggon, fitted for horses and not for oxen, in which his beloved had arrived, seemed to give kim a solid guarantee that she had not been spirited away from him. In this yard he met, more than once, another individual, who also seemed upon the watch, and whose outline had appeared not unfamiliar to him. On the second occasion he recognized him for certain [ as the Hottentot who had offered to accompany him from Simon's Town, and who had now a[)parently performed I that trip for his own pleasure. Upon claiming acquaint- ance with him, however, this persevering native declined to admit his own identity ; as he denied it in Dutch indeed —a language of course unknown to his interlocutor — this would have gone for little to shake Layton* s conviction any way ; but, moreover, he was one of those persons who I do not forget faces, whether native or foreign. It was [certainly the same man, and his unexpected reappearance \ Iseemed to Layton to bode no good. His mind was full of japprehension, and at once jumped to the conclusion that Ithis fellow was a spy set to watch his movements on behalf of Mr. Norbury. This reflection did not tend to render his stay in Cape Town more pleasant ; there was nothing for ^t, however, but to remain and carry out his simple programme for the next twenty-four hours. Wherever Edith and her party went after their return «'■ !■! 98 A I'kjKce of thk Blood. r i: :! !i 1 i :: : I from Table Mountain, he followed, though ut a respectful distance, and the next afternoon, having seen them oD on their return journey, he prepared to take the same routt-. He had not ridden a hundred yards, howeve'", when he found his horse was dead lame, and had to return to tiip inn for another. How the Inment'ss had come about there was no explanation, the landlord corabalin^-^ tho view th.it it had been the work of the Hottentot on the ground th:.! he was in the enployment of the very man at Simon's Town to whom the horse belonged -an arguinent which only corroborated the suspicion Layton entertained, but which he thought it wiser to keep to himself. As it hap pened t};ere was no horse procurable for some time, and the one that was at last offered him was a sorry nag even by comparison with its predecessor. He had no choice, however, but to take it, for his time was getting very short, and he well knew the strictness and punctuality with which the captain's orJers were executed. Thou<^ii he had shown himself so well disposed to him it was qui'e {possible if he failed to appear at the landing-place at the appointed hour that the Ganges might sail without him. He therefore hustled his Rosinante along as well as hecoukl. The shades of evening were falling before he had ridden ten miles out from Cape Town, and he found a difficulty in oros.«;ing the first ravine or nullah. It was the only one, however, that was wooded on both sides, and he hoped by the help of an early moon to find the rest of the way easily enough. He had got through the water, and was climbing the dip into the road beyond, when he hoard something whizzing past his head, and, glancing back, per- ceived a native in the act of selecting a second spear from I quite a sheaf of them. What light there was was foiti nately behind his assailant, and threw out the outlines oil his figure clearly enough. Layton, thrusting his hand iiitd his pocket, drew forth a pistol and took a snap shot at the! most prominent portion of the enemy's frame. Then tlie| Number Two. 90 ,iiiiu» thing, only worse, liappfiried that occurrod to Mr. DeiiiJ, the archu'ohijjibt, in llie Imllud — A chunk of oM red .'•amlstoiit! hit. him in the Hlxloun-n, And hu Hniili-d a sii-kly sniiii' and curlrd up upun tlir Moor, And tho ri'st of the itioc<;t!din;^s intcresUid him no nioiv. Th») Trottoiitot ' curled np ' and fell, throwing his handn into the air an men do when Humuioned by the Biisiiranger Death. At> the Kanio instant a man with a crape mask over his features rushed out of the scrul) by the way.'.ide and struck at Layton with nome sharp instrument. The blow fell short, and only severed his rein, and before it could be rcjpeatcd Liiyton fired his second })istol point blank in tho face of this now assailant, and with the like reauU He dropped at his feet like a stone. It was neither the time nor place to gratify his curio, ity as to the identity of hi? f ' There might be more rutlians wiiere those came from in the nullah, and he had no other weapon with which to repel them ; so, striking his spurs into his horse, he galloped on. This, however, was that poor animal's last spurt ; before he had gone a mile further ho gave in, and neither force nor persuasion could get even a foot pace out of him ; he was foundered. Then Layton girded up his loins to run. He was by no means equipped for speed, for, beside his knapsack, which he now trans- ferred from his horse to his own back, he had his pistols to carry. Most persons under these circumstances, >iuce he had no more ammunition, would have discarded them ; but Layton was a lawyer, accustomed to consider the weight of evidence, and, on the whole, thought it wiser to retain them. His mind rapidly reviewed the situation. Of the identity of the Hottentot he was convinced, and he had a shrewd suspicion that his ally had been no other than the man Brownrigg ; the instrument with which he had been attacked had certainly been a ship's cutlass, which seemed, at all events, to point him out as a sailor ; while the warning words and glance of the young H i i -a 100 A Prince of the Blood. f, ' I midshipman made his suspicions trebly strong. Now if, as he believed, he had been the proposed victim of a conspiracy, its object — though it had failed in its immediat'^i intent, which had certainly been nothing less than, his murder — would be equally obtained by his detention in the colony in connection with a criminal trial. He resolved, therefore, to say nothing of what had occurred until, at all events, he was well on his way with Edith on board the Gavyes. The silence of the other two parties concerned in the adventure might be relied upon, and the effect of it as re- garded himself would only be to put him on his guard against those foes who were still alive, and whose un- scrupulousness was now only too manifest. Upon the whole, this determination did credit to his good sense and discernment. The only thing he wanted — a common thiug with men of his profession and too practical turn — was a little moonshine. The dusk had now almost turned to dark, and speed avails nothing, even to the swiftest, in such cases ; they may even be running the wrong way. He picked his way with his eyes on the ground, seeking in vain for the wheel-tracks. Suddenly on the quiet night there broke the thunder of I a ship's gun. On the one hand, it was a bad sign, for itj showed that Captain Head was getting very impatient; on the other, it was a good sign-post, for it pointed out to I him the direction in which to go. It seemed to him, as he I started off again at full speed, that he should never forget I that moment, nor could experience another so pregnant! with perils and anxieties. If he did not forget it, however, [ it was not because it was never to find its parallel. Presently the hills that had limited liis horizon opened I out ; the full moon swam forth in splendour, and he behelii| the great bay, with the Ganges on its bosom, and in the! foreground the boat's crew with their oars in the water,! and the coxswain standing up in the stem searching the] land for his belated passenger. ' i V; ill Number Two. 101 There were other eyes on board the ship itself, that were employed, and even more anxiously, on the same quest. The party from Cape To\vn had themselves arrived on board somewhat behind their time, and found the captain in a fume. He hn,d been consulting the seaman's oracle, the barometer, and it had counselled flight. In spite of the quiet look of things, the w^iud was rising, and pro- mised to be no mere capful ; on the other hand, it was a sou'wester, and favourable to the ship's course. Under these circumstances, to be kept hanging about in Simon's Ba} ior a single passenger was not to be endured by a commander witli a keen sense of duty. Mr. Layton was a great friend of his, but there are limits even to personal IVieudship ; and if the young man imagined that because he had a regard for him he would keep the Ganges waiting while he finislied a game of billiards in Cape Town, he would find himself dashedly mistaken. "Hang the fellow ! why don't he come?" exclaimed the captain, irascibly. " Can't say, sir," said Mr. Bates, who had himself come aboard with exemplary punctuality, even before his leave of absence had expired. " I suppose he is amusing himself somewhere." " I'll amuse him, and be dashed to him ! Fire a gun, Mr. Bates." In the hour of duty (and anger) one is apt to forget matters, save the one immediately in hand. The captain did not remember that the third mate and Layton were not ou very good terms, or notice that the explanation he had given of that gentleman's delay was not exactly one that would have been offered by a peacemaker. Edith was sitting by herself in an obscure corner of the deck, racked by anxieby and apprehension. She had passed a wretched couple of days ; for nothing is so dii^tasteful to us, when we do not relish them, as amusements, especially when partaken of in uncongenial company. Once or twice r'l" ! I- ' t f ■;■■<' 102 A Prince of the Blood. in Cape Town she had caught sight of Layton going out by himself, and designedly avoiding her. She knew the reason of it, of course, but it had distressed her, and she was longing to tell him so, passionately desirous to make up with loving words for their forced estrangement. The companionship of her relatives had brought her no comf oit ; she felt that it had effected no genuine reconciliation between them ; it had not even been a patching up. ]\lr. N^orbury, indeed, had spoken to her without barshness, and also, as it had seemed to her, with a certain ill-cou cealed air of triumph, as though her acceptance of his invitation had been the acknowledgment of her defeat; while Eleanor had not troubled herself to hide the con firmed dislike with which she regarded her ; and now, though she knew that Charley's intention was to follow them from Cape Town immediately, he had not yet arrived What could have delayed him ? had he lost his way, or met with some accident in one of those horrid nullahs ? How lonely and miserable she felt ! The report of the gun startled her from these reflections, but filled her with new alarms. In the agitation and confusion of her mind, it seemed to bode ill-tidings. ' "What is thr matter. Mr. Redmayne?" she inqiiir<^| hurriedly of the second mate, who happened to be passing " It is a signal to the boat," he answered gently. "The I captain is getting impatient, that is all." " But not a signal for its return, surely? He will never! let it come back without — that is, he would not leave anyj pa,ssenger behind and sail without him?" "Well, you see, Miss Norbury, the Ganges is not passenger ship, and indeed, if it were But there, 1| have no doubt Mr. Layton will turn up in time." The boat could be distinctly seen a few oars' ieugtiij Ft-oro the shore ; it was motionless sa ve for the rise and f.i!ll of the wave, and evidently in waiting for some one. VVitlil I he niirlshipman in charge and his passptigei-, there shoi'liij '1:1 Number Two. ^ 103 y out V the d she make The mfovt; liation . Mr. shness, ill-cou of his defeat ; ,he con td now. ) follow arrived r, or met I ] How the gu'i ith new mind, it I inquirprt | [passing «'The| 7ill never leave any lis not a| there, l| IS leugtM and fall , Witli Ire shn"W| have been eigat persons in all, whereas only six could be made out through the glasses. '• Who is in command of that boat, Mr. Bates? " inquired the captain angrily. •Mr. Lewis Conolly, sir." "Then why the deuce doesn't ho obey orders? Fire another gun, sir." Before the order could be obeyed a man was seen running down to the shore, the boat was pulled in, and he jumped into it, and it was under way in a moment. "There are only seven of them yet," muttered the captain. There was more chagrin than passion in his tone this time. "The boat's crew are all right, sir, I can make out six oars," observed Mr. Bates, complacently. " Yes, but not Mr. Layton. ^ call you to witness that I have given him an hour and a half to make up his lee- way, and I can do no more." Mr. Bates gave an assenting salute. He knew his captain well, and understood when a reply was required of him and when not. Mr. Norbury, who had drawn near to them, had not this advantage. He interposed with the praiseworthy intention of strengthening the hands of authority. " The public service must, of course, be attended to, and is to be preferred to all private considerations." "I don't want to be told my duty, sir," observed the captain, curtly, " by any dashed interfering landsman that ever was littered." Mr. Norbury turned very red, but remained silent under jtliis wholly unexpected rebuke, as the boat drew nearer and disclosed the fact beyond all doubt that there was no passenger. Then all traces of annoyance disappeared from his countenance. Mr. Bates and he interchanged a meau- |iDg and well-satisfied smile. Presently the captain moved away to where Edith was i! IB ' ! rH V 104 A Prince op the Blood. sitting. She had a pair of field-glasses in her hand, with which she was regardin? the approaching boat with the utmost intentness. " My dear Miss Norbury — I mean Miss Edith," he said hurriedly, " I am compelled with very great reluctance to set sail without Mr. Layton ; he is doubtless detained by some accident in Cape Town ; and rather than you should be left in a state of distress and doubt about him, I will strain my duty, for your sake, so far as to touch there, which I had not intended to do." Edith rose from her seat and involuntarily held out her hand, which the old felloW gallantly took. ^ '* I cannot express to you. Captain Head," she murmured with tears in her voice, "the obligation under which your kind intention has placed me. I shall never forget it to my dying day, but I am happy to say that any departure from your plans is unnecessary, so far as Mr. Layton is concerned ; he is rowing with the rest in the boat — I think you call it Number Two." " It is certain that he is not Number Two in somebody's estimation," returned the captain, as he took the glass from her. " By gad, you're right, Miss Edith, It seems that the eyes of love are sharper than those of a ship's watch. . . . Mr. Bates, Mr. Laytun is in the boat after all, I am glad to see. Who is the man that is missing ? " The answer was a long time coming, and when it did come it was delivered in a most lugubrious tone. " Well, sir, so far as I can make out, it's John Brownrigg who is left behind. " "A good thing too — the troublesome, drunken dog. Now got the boat on board, and be smart with it; and pipe all hands to make sail." / Presentiments 105 CHAPTER XII. PRESENTIMENTS. It was in accordance with the course of conduct on which Layton had determined that he had declined the seat offered to him by Conolly in the stern of . the boat, and volunteered to fill the place vacated by Brownrigg at the oar. It was certain that the midshipman would have been full of questions as to the reason of his friend's delay, which would have been difficult to parry in any case, and the more so since the thread of the matter was already in the young gentleman's hand. Except that he had left his foundered horse on the same road on which the dead bodies of Brownrigg and the Hottentot would presently be found, there was nothing whatever to connect Layton with their decease, and for the present, at all events, he felt it was the safer plan to keep what had happened to himself. Hence it was that for a few mifautes the hope that he had seen the last of the young lawyer had, as we know, bean raised in Mr. Norbury's breast, and the feat of it in that of the captain. To the latter no explanation of his delay was necessary ; a few apologetic words about the breaking down of his steed was taken by the good-natured but peppery old sailor as an excuse in full, and in the per- formance of his nautical duties (which were soon destined to be pressing enough) he would probably have forgotten all about the matter had it not been recalled to his atten- tion. With Edith, on the other hand, concealment was more difficult. Love is not only proverbially importunate, but " keen to track suggestion to its inmost cell." One reads of a " tell-tale glance," but an averted look or a want of promptness in reply equally well tells a man's secret, or at all events reveals that he has one, to the woman who loves him. In ten minutes Layton had put 'il m : u M i^; ¥■: '? b^^ n s ':.' ■« Pi' ifl i I *■■ !« : Il 1 fit k iii I i 106 A Prince ov the Blood. Edith in posseBsioa of his whole story with as great com- pleteness as any unwilling witness he had himself ever turned inside out in a court of justice. " Great heavens ! they meant to muider you ! " slie ex- claimed with horror. " If they didn't, they ' made believe ' in a manner that would have made their fortunes on any stage," returned the young man, dryly. " A spear between one's ear and one's head, and a cutlass aimed at one's cheek-bone " ■.•■ ,; " My father's brother — my own flesh and blood ! " in- terrupted the girl in accents of bitter loathing. Then he understood that she had not been referring to the actual perpetrators of the crime in question, but to him who had set them on. " Nay, nay, we have no right, my «lear, to jump to any such conclusion as that," he answered. •' It is evei) possible — though I confess I doubt it — that my money, and not my life, may have been the object of my assailant ; but at all events it is unfair to conclude without proof that your uncle had anything to do with the matter." • > ': She shook her head and moaned. " He had, he had. 1 1 am sure of it, Charley. I understand now what that air I of cruel triumph meant which he wore to-day and yester- day ; he thought that he had made sure that you and 1 1 would never meet again." "That is a great deal to gather from a look, I must say, I ray darling," said Lay ton remonstratingly ; "much as I can read in yours." In truth he was as fully convinced of Mr. Norbury'jj complicity in Brownrigg's crime as herself, but his profes sional instincts prevented him from taking it for granted upon mere suspicion, while he was naturally desirous t^ spare her what after all might be an unnecessary shock to I her feelings. Later on in the evening, however, he had,! for the first time during the last six-and-twenty hours, anj ! t 11 i t Vresentiments. 107 opportunity of speaking to young Conolly, the result of which settled his views upon the matter. •'Pray tell rae, sir, what happened to you on shore?" inquired the boy, earnestly. " I am sure you had some far worse adventure, though you would not speak about it just now, than losing your way oi" your horse." •' Let us take events in their order, my lad," returned the barrister. ** Tell me first how you came to give me that extraordinary warning yesterday morning, when Mr. Bates and Brownrigg were talking together : ' Don't go ; your life is in danger.* " ' -^ ' •;, i " Because I believed it to be so, Mr. Lay ton, and from those very men. Of course, 1 don't like Mr. Bates — liobody does, for that matter — or I should say, perhaps, that I am well aware he does not like me, which prejudices a fellow. Still, I feel well convinced that the third mate is a most unscrupulous scoundrel. He attracts to himself all the ruffians in the ship. Brownrigg, whom, 1 um thankful to say, we seem to have now got rid of, was about the worst. Do you think Mr. Bates would have given him leave, just out of 'punishment' too as he was, if he had not been a pal of his ? The night before last it was my duty to visit the fellow in the black-hole, as you would call it. It is not a pleasant place, but quite good enough for a man who has made a hog of himself, as he had. My impression is that Mr. Bates had given him an extra allowance or two of rum in return for some promise to do you an injury, for, drunk as he w^as, he kept mutter- ing something about the third mate and yourself which J could not understand. My appearance on my rounds no (1 ubt brought you to his recollection, as having been ways a friend to me. ' A deuced fine fellow, that 'long- shore friend of yours,' he murmured menacingly, ' but he'll never come on board the Ganges again.' 'Why not?' I inquired, carelessly. ' Why not ! ' he grunted. ' Be- cause Mr. Bates and I— eh, what are you talking about?' II- 1 i . •! 108 A Prince of the Blood. m i'. m He meant, of course, what was he talking about, and had he not better hold his tongue ; and nothing more could I get out of the brute. But, notwithstanding his muddled condition, I could not but think that he referred to some plot that was really being hatched against you, and I determined to let you know of it if I could. I had no chance of seeing you, however, till you came on deck next morning, and you know what occurred then : how Brown- rigg came up to the third mate and asked for leave and got it. That made me more suspicious of him than ever, since, if anything had been already agreed upon between them, to separate from one another was the very thing they would have done as a blind." "My dear lad, you have mistaken your profession, which should have been the same as my own," said Layton, smiling ; " the deduction was most just." " Indeed, sir, I thought it no laughing matter," returned the boy, evidently a little piqued at his communication being received o lightly. " I did really believe that your life was in danger." /'. t; i . ". 1 " And you did your best to save it," returned Layton, warmly. " You have behaved like a man, and deserve my fullest confidence as well as gratitude." . - Then he told him all that had happened. " Mr. Bates ought to be hung at the yard-arm," vas the midshipman's indignant comment. "No doubt that is a fate that should overtake more than one of us, if all had their dues," was the dry reply. " But to accuse a rulEan without proof is only to put him on his guard. We must not bark unless we can bite, my lad. I can trust you, I know, in great matters. Can I trust you in comparatively small ones — such as to hold your tongue, for instance ? " Layton felt that he could rely on the lad, but did not think it necessary to enlighten him as to the ' first causes ' of what had so nearly proved a catastrophe. It was better t^RESENTIMENTS. 109 to let him suppose that personal dislike had been the motive of Mr. Bates's intended crime rather than that a price (as he was convinced was the case) had been, as it were, put upon his head by Mr. Norbury. To have hinted at such an atrocity would have made it difficult for the impulsive young midshipman to behave with due respect to that gentleman, whereby he would certainly have made him his enemy. Moreover, he had scruples on Edith's account about disclosing to an outsider, however friendly, the full extent of her uncle's villainy. On the other hand, having received this corroboration of it, he thought there should be no such concealment of the matter'from Edith herself, if indeed there remained anything to conceal. After that expression of her own convictions upon the subject there could be no further pain for her in the way of revelation, and he felt that he ought no longer to argue against them. He did not forget the eagerness with which she had recently caught at the prospect of a reconciliation with her unscrupulous relative, and ttembled to think that she should ever again commit herself to his tender mercies. -"■-.••■,, . ■■ , v.; • ^...^-j"' ■■i"^J..'»r,-T. ■,■,.,,'':•;:„. Since the young barrister had returned to the ship, neither Mr. Norbury nor Eleanor had obtruded their attentions upon Edith. In her cousin's case, indeed, this was not surprising, since it had been obvious that what advances had hitherto proceeded from her had been made upon compulsion. Her uncle's avoidance of her, on the other hand, might naturally have resulted from apprehen- sion. Supposing him to be guilty of having prompted the late attempt upon Layton's life, he might well be alarmed lest the other might have escaped from the snare with some knowledge, or at least suspicion, of him who had set the springe. For all Mr. Norbury knew, Browniigg might not only have failed in his attempt, but have been captured and confessed. Ignorant of the position in which he stood as regarded his enemy, he might well have been afraid to f 1 ■ " t I , ! ^ i ■ \ v^M" ^ ! ' . -L u I'IJi' '^■' tv li'!; :,f El ,'t«'1 ■l/f'^''^ r"!| •r ! ' r 1:. 110 A Prince of the Blood. "■ ■ ii ojien his mouth. There was, therefore, no more hindmncu than before to Layton's conversing with Edith alone. A little drawing-room opening from the cuddy, intended for the use of the ladies, but rarely patronized by Eleanor, had been often used by the lovers as a try sting place in the evening, and tbey resorted to it now. In the daytime, and in bad weather, a re and-house on deck served the same romantic purpose, but it was more subject to incursions ; on the present occasion it would have been anything but a spot " for whispering lovers made," for the noise on deck was terrible. The .'^hip was flying before the wind, though with much less of sail than had been set a few hours ago, and the storm was increasing every moment . Even in the snug little drawing-room the two young people found it difficult to hear each other speak, which necessi tated their sitting close together on the sofa; while the frequent jolts and jars from the shock of the seas made an attitude which a chaperone would have called ' imprudent,' namely, their sitting with their arms round one another's waists, not only prudent but compulsory. Even in this position, so admirably adapted for * soft nothings/ they had to speak at the very top of their voices — a requirement which, perhaps, never enters into the ideas of lovers who go to sea. This was the more anomalous, as the subject of their talk deeply affected the character of other people ; but, on the other hand, there was no fear of eavesdroppers. Not a word could be heard on deck sa\e that which was uttered through the speaking-trumpet ; and matters were not much better below. " /''' v '. ' • • ' " - v = r " I have been talking to our young friend Conolly, my darling, and I am sorry to say he corroborates your vie\\ of my adventure with Brownrigg," said Layton. " It was a plot devised between him and Mr. Bates, it seems ; and as Mr. Bates has nothing to gain by my departure from this world, I am compelled to look behind him for the real culprit. While there was any doubt you will do me the v* i PltESKNTIMENTS. Ill justice to say that T gave your uncle the benetit of it ; but now I am afraid there is none." " I am convinced of it," said Edith sadly ; '• all is over between that man and me. If ray money was necessary to him he should have had it for the askinf,'. But that, it seems, is not sufficient. Worse than a highwayman, he does not say to me, * Your money or your life,' but * Your life' only." , - ; , . ■ - .. "Not yours, my darling. Even, he, let us >ope, would shiink from harming one so innocent as youreelf." '' And is not your life my life ?" she answered, reproach- fully. ** If he had taken you from me, what would life have left worth living for ? In any case, no ties of blood shall bind me any longer to one who is a murderer in his heart. I say again that I have done with him. Oh, would that I could think that he had done with us ! " "He has done his worst already, my pretty one, and indeed it was bad enough," said Layton reassuringly ; "but having missed his aim, he will be very careful not to attempt a second crime. For all he knows, the. man Rrownrigg may yet be alive to witness against him ; or. which would be the same thing in the end, to witness against his confederate. As for me, forewarned is fore- armed ; and be sure I am safe enough in any case. T shall make it my business before we land in India to collect such evidence against your uncle as, though it may fail to bring his attempt on my life home to him, will be sufficient, 1 flatter myself, to make him glad to get rid of me on my own terms — which will include the possession of his niece. T have friends in Calcutta who will receive you on landing ; and before a month has gone over our heads we shall be man and wife. That is not a prospect which should terrify you, my darling. Why do you tremble 1 Does the storm affright you?" " No, no ; it is not that," phe answered with a shudder. " I am filled with presentiments of evil." M .1, nrr 118 A Prince of the Blood. i , 4 "That is not like yourself, Edith. A terrible catastroplio indeed has threatened us ; but the cloud which held tho bolt has psssed over our heads, and now all will be sun shine. As soon as the captain is at liVierty to attend to anything but his ship, I shall lay the whole case l)efoi>' him in contidence ; he is an honest man and will see justice done. Once beneath his ffi«?is no harm can at all events happen to us on board the Ganges. Of course I wish thit we had not been so scrupulous while we were yet in England. Had we known your uncle for what he is, uf should have paid less heed to his authority. But out ot evil good has come ; his wickedness has driven us into each other's arms." If the young barrister's eloquence was not that of Demosthenes, he fulfilled that orator's precepts of suiting the action to the word and the word to the action. Cradled in his embrace, and rocked by the storm, Edith lay pale and silent ; her ejo.s regarded him with the tenderest affection, but were full of tears. "I wish that I could think with you, Charley,'* shp presently said. " I wish that I could feel that our mis- fortunes were ended, and not, as I fear, only beginning. I dare not even think of such happiness as you have pictured for us, and so soon. It seems more likely, some- how, that one of us should die and leave the other desolate." " Even then, my darling, we should belong to one another still," answered her lover, smiling. " * Faithful and true, living or dead,' as we used to sing together, you know. Come ; you are tired, and your nerves are overstrung to-night ; I must see you to your cabin.*' It would not have been easy for her to get there unaided by Layton's stalwart arm. The incidents that seem on land to happen to a drunken man, such as that of the floor rising up and striking him, actually do take place at sea during such a storm as was now raging over the Indian Ocean. She lay listening to it for hours ; not in terror of The Gale. lis it lik(? her ueighbour, Aunt Sophia, but oppressed with the sense of a less material danger. It was a spectre that refused to take a recognizable shape, but she never lost consciousness of its presence. To the dreadful diapason of the storm, the refrain of the old song quoted by her lover seemed constantly to adapt itself : , , v "Faithful and true, living or dead ;" ,» but not with the old meaning. Death was no longer that improbable alternative of which we speak with a light heart : its sombre and wide-spread wings seemed to eclin.se the sun of hope. , . ' ,' 1^ CHAPTER XIII. THE GALE. I WAS once the only layman in the company of a large circle of eminent doctors, who were discoursing, with that frankness which is usual to members of that calling when tliey get together, of the ills to which flesh is heir and of the little which science cao do to mitigate them. If Nature were but left to herself, they said, all would be well, or at all events ever so much better. It was the nostrums of the faculty — meaning, of course, those members of the faculty not present — which did half the mischief. I listened with amazement, regretting the amount I had .dis- bursed, to what as it now appeared was such little purpose, in doctors' fees. I thought of the woman in the Scriptures who had spent half her substance in physicians without being bettered by them, but rather the contrary. When we adjourned to the smoking room I found myself by the side of one of the wisest-looking of these gentlemen, whose very face, had I called him in in extremis, would have been a comfort to me, I'm sure, before I had listened I 114 A PllINCE OF THE BlOOD. £:ii; to the late general confes^iion ; and, encouraged by his affability, I ventured to rsk him privately whether the talk of his brethren, in which I noticed he alone had not joined, was to be taken literally or with a grain of salt. " A grain ! say rather with a bushel," was his contemptuous reply. " It is all very well to cry * stinking fish ' when there's nobody to hear you " (I bowed in mechanical acknowledgment of this compliment to ray personal import- ance, but he took no notice); " the fact is, however, Nature is by no means the cdma mater which she is described to be. She is much more like a stepmother. Suppose you are struck down by illness to-morrow, there are plenty of people who will be found to tell you that the best thing to be done is * to leave things to Nature,' but the simple fact is that what she's after is just this, sir — Nature wants to kill you.' This gentlem.an's novel view astonished me not less than that of his friends had done ; but upon consideration it seems at least the more correct of the two. It is the fashion to speak of Nature as beneficent, but in her sublimesi aspects — and it is as fair to take them as iiav..,trative of her character as to judge of man by his actions when he is mosl deeply moved — she is very far from benignant or even humane. When the elements, for example, throw off the mastery of man, and appear, as one might say, in their trne colours, these are not rose-colour, but lurid. Fire becomes the devouring element and water the devastating flood. There is no ruth nor mercj'' in either of them, nor is any to be found in that which works with both with such de- moniacal and malignant force that it has been personified in Holy Writ as the Prince of the Powers of the Air. A storm at sea to those exposed to its frantic violence is far from being the sublime spectacle which it afforcis to those who behold it from terra Jirma: it is only wind and wave, but it is wind and wave possessed of devils. Shore-going folks have a vague idea that a storm passes from the face of the deep almost like passion from the face of a man, or The Gall, 115 uous ivlien ,nical iport- ature to be. a are people e done is that I you; ss than ,tion it fashion blime=i^ e of h<.'v is most (r even off the ^eir tvne »econies ig flood. Is any to tuch de- •sonified ir. A is far to those d wave. >re-going the face man, or that at the most it endures, like a wet day on land, for twelve hours or so. They have no conception of a struggle between giant forces, prolonged it may be for weeks — au unequal contest, during which, though courage may still hold out in that unyielding fort, the soul, phy^^icai strength relaxes and fails as the lamp of hope grows dim. It is air experience which must be undergone to be understood, To' those who have only seen her fawning at their feet on the silver sands in summer-time, the tender mercies of the cruel sea are unintelligible. It was the fate of those on board the Ganges to experi- ence them to the uttermost. From the evening when she left Simon's Bay the tempest had not ceased to pour its fury upon her tenants for a single houj:; day and night seemed almost one to them, engulfed in the green walls of .sea, or only lifted out of them to meet the descending clouds. What occurred in vision to one of the most poetic of poets, and one who was never more at home than when at sea, had become their actual experience — " 'Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail ' ' ..', Are flickering in ribbons before the tierce gale ; ' ' ~ • ' • ', The good ship seems splitting : it creaks as a tree •; ^\ While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast Of the whirlwind that stripped it of branches is past. . ; • ,:', , ;i • • ' • • . , • . The heavy dead hulk ' ' _ ' ' ' ' '"' " ''■ On the living sea ixdls, au inanimate bulk." '-••'''■,• It would have been impossible on the fifth day of her troubles for a landsman to have recognized the gallant Ganges in her decrepit and shorn condition. On the second (lay it had become necessary to cut away the mizzen-mast, and on the third the main-mast ; and yet the wreck flew before the gale more swiftly far than with all her sails set I before a favouring wind. In what part of the Indian Ocean she now was no one on board could tell with certainty. It was only known that she had been driven hundreds of miles [out of her course, and was driving still ; more than twenty 1 2 w • 1 r, \ ■ ; ' , + i f; \ ■ i ■im 'W'''i III i ill' 116 A Prince of the Blood. men had been swept overboard, and there was no time to mourn them; the consciousness of their loss was mainly brought home to the survivors in the increased tax upon their physical energies. There was little sleep for any man and little food. As for the cabin passengers, they got what they could in their outstretched hands from the steward, regular meals being out of the question. What Aunt Sophia thought of the sea now might be conjectured, but she gave no expression to her views, and if she had they would have found no auditor. The yell of the wind drowned all sounds save those which itself made ; the roar of the maddened sea, the straining of the ship's timbers, or the bursting of a sail with an explosion like the crack of doom. The horseplay of a storm at sea is like that of our roughs at home — reckless, aimless, and malignant. There was not a lucid interval in all its madness — no lull wherein the watchers, who were no longer, alas ! the keepers of the storm fiend, could snatch an hour's repose. Some days were not, however, so bad as others. Then the three miserable women would crawl up from their stifling cabins to the round-house upon deck to look upon the fate that threatened them, which seemed less horrible than the imagination of it amid the darkness and chaos below. As in the great water-floods on land, the wildest and most savage animals will collect with the tamest upon the knolls and spurs that offer a temporary security, and forget the instincts of tooth and claw in their common peril, 80 was it with their human congeners on board the Gangei. Mr. Norbury and his daughter no longer kept aloof from Edith, and even met Mr. Layton without a scowl. On the other hand, there was no attempt at reconciliation. Con- sidering the short time which in all probability they had to live, it was not perhaps worth their while to make any overtures of friendship; while to confess to having com- mitted a wrong was foreign to their natures. Eleanor would sometimes make room for Edith by her side as she The Gale. 117 came staggering in to their common place of shelter, assisted by her lover ; and Mi;, Norbury would welcome her with a stony smile. He was not a coward, but his helpless- ness and want of occupation compelled him to brood upon the past, and perhaps the future, and it is probable that neither of them were cheerful subjects of contemplation. They were folks upon their death-beds whom the doctors had given up. Mr. Norbury had once put the question to the captain, "Do you think there is any hope for us?" and he had replied with significant brevity, " I do not," after which the man of business had placed a padlock on his lips. He had perhaps .so much to repent of that he knew net where to begin, or his nature, less reckless than indomitable, made him averse to 'hedge' even on the brink of ruin. As for Edith, she took her fate for granted without ask- ing. Most of her time was spent with Layton, and in his arms, yet not as earthly lovers. The presentiment that had oppressed her when they left Simon's Bay had now almost been accomplished, and was shared by both of them. They ptiight be united in the world where there was no giving in marriage, but not in this : their faithfulness was to be proved not in life but in death. It was the sense of what became her as a Christian woman that caused her to leave him occasionally to seek the companionship of her rela- tives J it gave them the opportunity of making friends with her, and at all events showed them that she, on her part, had no malice or hatred in her heart towards them. At such times Layton, having escorted her to the door of the round-house, would make his way as best he could to some part of the deck that offered comparative shelter, and wait there till she required his services to descend. His presence in the same place would, he was well aware, bo not only un- acceptable to the others, but would arouse those very feel- ings of hostility and bitterness which Edith would fain have allayed. So it was on a certain day less tempestuous than At 118 A Prince of the Blood. n t ' its predecessors, but with no more sun in the sky than in their hearts. * As the wreck — for the ship now hardly deserved a better name — drove before the gale, a mist drove with her, througli rents of which could be occasionally seen the great gray waves or dark green hollows which had so long formed their look-out. Aunt Sophia and Edith were alone in the round-house, but it was understood that Mr. Norbury and his daughter were about to join them. Layton, as usual, ensconced himself as best he could under the lee of the weather-bulwark and near the helm. There were two meii at the wheel, and My. Bates close to them occasionally issuing an order, or a caution, in stentorian to'nes. The ship still obeyed her helm, but only on great com- pulsion and in a half-hearted manner. It was all tlie helmsmen could do to keep her running before the wind in order to escape the terrific seas that were in chase of her. It was terrible to look at them ; yet they had a fascination for Layton which "he could not resist. Each was like a great wall of water which was about to overtake and pass through the ship. When it had gone by, sweeping all that was not fast along with it, it was with a sort of dull amaze- ment that he perceived that she still floated. There was a life-belt hanging over him — the last of some dozen that had been on board. He found himself wondering how it hung there like a lonely leaf in late November which ha* survived storm and rain, and also why, for such things had long been without their use. He had lost none of his physical powers, but, except when Edith was by, had become strangely apathetic, as men are wont to do who have lived for days face to face with death. Suddenly he heard a cry from Bates, louder than usual, and beheld a mountain of green water close upon them; the next moment he was drenched, breathless, and blinded. When he came to himself he became conscious that other hands be.side his own were clinging to the same ring in the bulk head. The Gale. 119 " What has happened, Mr. Bates ? " '• We are pooped, the round-house has been swept away," gasped his companion. 'The round-house!" His eyes fell upon the vacant space which it had occupied a moment before. "Great heavens ! where are the ladies ? " " Overboard," was the ghastly rejoinder. Layton snatched at the life-belt, and the next instant had leapt on the tafErail and into the sea. "The man is mad," murmured the other, but he leant over and sought for him with his eyes nevertheless. As if satisfied for the moment with the ruin it had wrought, the sea had lulled a little, and it was possible to mark the human speck for a moment pr two in that ocean of foam. Something -happened in that brief space known only to two human beings. Then, with a white face and a terror in his eyes which the strife of the elements had failed to evoke, Mr. Bates made his way below. As he did so a visjpn appeared painted out on the niist , and beheld only by the men at the wheel. A great shi}i without a rag of sail seemed to fly by them, not parallel to the Ganges, but at an angle with her. Her masts were standing, and there were men on her deck. It was incom prehensible that she should not only have survived such a gale but have suffered so little. The two spectators looked at one another in horror. "It is the Flying Dutchman," exclaimed one. His companion nodded and turned his quid in his cheek. . . "Then that will finish us." V" , The prophecy was about to be fulfilled* >; f. Uhl n -1 -4 (■■ / 120/ A Prince of the Blood. / / CHAPTER XIV. MR. BATES S NEWS. It was with some difficulty, notwithstanding his famili- arity with the route and his excellent sea-legs, that Mr. Bates found his way to the cuddy. The deck, for reasous of his own, quite unconnected with the state of aifairs there, was just now distasteful to him \ and besides, he had news to tell somebody. It may seem strange that under such conditions of peril it should have been so. To a landsman, under the same circumstances, the state of the vessel would have been the sole subject of interest, and the only news worth speaking of a change in the weather. But to a sailor, his ship is his home even when she has become a wreck, and life, until she sinks, goes on there for him with its aims and motives much as usual. In times even that look desperate he does not defer things of importancp till he gets to dry land and can 'consider matters, but, grasps the skirts of happy chance as they sweep by and looks to tiie main one. "I.T^ Bates's errand was to Mr. Norbury, at whose cabin door he knocked in a manner in which vehemence and caution were strangely mixed. It opened of course from the cuddy, which was vacant. No meal had been served there for many a day ; the broad bare table looked dark and cheer- less ; the place itself, from which every article of movable furniture had long been removed, or been broken where it stood, most dismal. There was little fear of interruption or of eavesdroppers ; but it was necessary to beat at the door v.'ith violence to overcome the tumult that reigned v«;ry where, and as he did so Mr. Bates kept an eye over - 1- shoulder. The door was locked, but that did not essarily imply that the tenant was within. It was Mr. .Norbury 's habit to lock his door when he was absont. On the othelr band, if elsewhere, where could he be? He was 'wm «-r Mr. Bates's News. 121 certainly not on deck, and cotild not therefore have been a witness to the catastrophe that had just occurred there. "Mr. Norbury," shouted the third mate through the key- hole; then, •* Norbury, Norbury." His voice thus reiterating the other's name in that Bohtaiy place had a gruesome sound, like that raised by one who, half superstitious and half sceptical, utters his own name in the dead of night alone, with the idea of rousing his familiar spirit. " Norbury, Norbury, let me in ; I have great and terrible news for you." "What news?" .. Mr. Bates started and turned round, then uttered a shrill cry of terror and staggered against the cabin door. Close behind him, clinging to the table with both hands and peering over it, was EJith Norbury, pale as the ghost he deemed her to be, her long hair streaming down her neck, her eyes fixed on his own with agonized inquiry. "You have terrible news, you say. What is it? My uncle is not in his cabin; he is in the round- house." The sweat broke out upon Mr. Bates's forehead. If this woman was really alive and was speaking truth, he had been calling on a dead man, and with what a purpose ! He had been striving to inform a spirit already in hell (for so the position occurred to him) that the girl whom he hated, and the man whom he feared and had tried to slay, were both swept from his path. The man was certainly gone, but the girl was standing before his own eyes. Gradually the true state of affairs began to dawn upon him, but it was a very different matter to tell it to the ear for which it had been first intended, and to tell it to this girl. A heart that is not to be touched by pity will sometimes be moved by the consciousness of the commission of a wrong. In Edith's presence the man trembled ; his remorse for the moment gave his voice the semblance of sympathy. 122 A Prince of the Blood. " If your uncle was in the round-house, Miss Edith, he has perished, for it has been swept away." " Great heavens ! And Eleanor T' " She has perished with him — I saw her washed over board with my own eyes." -* It is impossible, it is too horrible ! " answered the girl, vehemently. " How could you have seen them perish, when you came down here to speak to my uncle? I heard you calling to him : you said you had terrible news for him." It would have been difficult even for one who was more accustomed to speak the truth than the third mate to state matters as they had actually occurred. It would have been embarrassing enough to have to say, "When I witnessed the catastrophe which has occurred to your cousin I took her for you : it was the tidings of your death which I was about to communicate to Mr, Norbury," not, as it had seemed, with a superfluity of emotion. But unhappily there was so much more to say. " I have told you the simple fact. Miss Edith : I saw the round-house swept away with your cousin, but I did not know Mr. Norbury was within it. No, it is useless for you to go on deck." He seized her wrist as she was staggering towards the companion-ladder and detained her by main force. " I will not permit you to do it ; , it would be dangerous in the last, degree. There is no one there save those whom duty compels to be." '' Mr. Layton is there, I know." '* Not nowT He uttered the words with an intentional significance, yet without meaning to be brutal; it was easier to hint curtly at what had happened than to explain it in set terms of any kind. "Not noiol What, in Heaven's name, do you mean?" she gasped. " Where is he? " Mr. Bates was silent. It was a question, no doubt, very hard to answer ; but to the girl's searching and suspicious f ! ! 5 1 Mtt. Bates's News. 12:J glance there Heemed something more than embarrassment in his face. " What have you done with him ? " she exclaimed with a fierce light in her eyes, seizing the officer by his loose sailor neckerchief. " Murderer ! murderer ! Help ! Help ! " A door opened behind them and Aunt Sophia tottered out of her cabin, " Merciful Heaven ! " she cried, " what has happened r' Then perceiving Edith engaged in a frantic struggle with she knew not whom, she swelled with her feeble voice the girl's cries for assistance. Mr. Ainsworth and Lewis Conolly appeared simul- taneously — the former from his cabin, the latter flying down the companion-ladder like a ball, but alighting on his feet. At the sight of them Edith released her hold of the third nrte. "V t is the matter r' inquired the clergyman anxiously. " ■ .ou may well ask ! " panted Mr. Bates. With one hand clinging to the table, Edith pointed to him with the other. " That man is a murderer ! " she gasped ; " he has murdered my Charley ! " The midshipman flew at his throat like a bull-pup, while Bates struck at him furiously ; the paralysis which had seemed to seize him while in Edith's hands disappeared in the case of this new assailant. Mr. Ainsworth threw him- self between the two unequal combatants with a vigour wholly unexpected, and separated them by main force. "Shame upon you, to call yourselves Christian men," he exclaimed reprovingly, " yet tnus to fight upon the brink of the grave ! — Now, Mr. Bates, explain yourself." '* I have nothing to explain — the matter does not concern me at all," answered the third mate sullenly, " but I had some bad news to tell, and this young lady has confused the bearer of it with its cause." " That ;nan has murdered my Charley ! " reiterated Kdith. Her body quivered, and trembled as much with excitenient as with tTie rolling and pitohing of the ship, hnt 124 A Prince of the Blood. 3 * ft' the outstretched arm with which she denounced her enemy was stiff as steel. " There must be some mistake, Miss Edith," murmured the clei'gyman soothingly ; " Mr. Layton was alive and well ten minutes ago, when Mr. Conolly and I brought you two ladies from the round-house." "It is true enough, however, that he is dead," said the third mate curtly. '* But as to my having murdered him, as the young lady says, it is she, if anybody, who has done it." "What does the man mean? he must be mad!" exclaimed Mr. Ainsworth. " Well, this is how it happened : Mr. I^ayton'^hnd I were near the wheel when the wave came that pooped us. The round-house was swept away, and with it, as we both thought, Miss Edith yonder. Mr. Layton seeing - her go overboard (though I suppose it was Miss Eleanor) jumped on to the taffrail and leapt into the sea after her. That's the simple fact, and I don't see how I could have stopped him, or how it was my fault."" " Mr. Bates is right so far, my dear young lady," said the clergyman tenderly. " It behoves us, no matter how heavy may be our bereavement, to be just ; if our dear brother has been taken from us, we may be sure if in the realms of bliss his soul could be troubled by anything it would be so by an accusation made on his account against an innocent man." "What need had I to hurt him," muttered the third mate, "even if I had a wish to do it? I suppose such a sea as this is enough to drown any one without hittiug him over the head." Mr. Ainsworth threw a searching glance on the speaker which seemed to say, " This man doth protest too much," but his attention was suddenly called to Edith, who would have fallen to the ground had not the young midshipman caught her in kis arms. The blood had left her face, her eyes were closed, her limbs were rigid. ! i ' Mr. Bates's News. 125 "Hold her," he cried excitedly, ''while I run for Mr. Doyle." " No," exclaimed Aunt Sophia in an unwonted tone of authority. " Bring her into her cabin and leave her with me." Her woman's eyes perceived that her niece had only fainted, her woman's heart recognized at oncie that the presence of any one of whose sympathy the girl was not assured would on her coming to herself be most painful to her; she would be in the lowest depths of distress and despair in any case, and if her grief should not have way it might even be fatal to her. Under Aunt Sophia's guidance Mr. Ains worth and the young midshipman carried her tenderly into her cabin and placed her upon the narrow bed. It seemed like laying the poor girl's corpse in her coffin. ' " . > '" The third mate remained outside, irresolute and dis- concerted. Nothing had turned out as he had expected. There was no need for his remaining in the cuddy, yet he hesitated to go on deck, where his duties called him. Piesently the cabin door opened, and the two men came out. Conolly slowly made his way up the companion, without even looking at Mr. Bates. ,His step had lost its spiing, his young heart was heavy within him for Edith's sake. Mr. Ainsworth addressed the third mate in the tone of a judge who cross-exa,mines a witness : " You say that Mr. Layton jumped overboard 1 Did you see him afterwards 1 " " How could 11" was the sulky response. V : " I mean, did you see him sink, sir 1 " ' ^ "' f "Well, no, he had a life-belt on him, but I saw him drown." ,. , "A life-belt! How was that 1" " I suppose he thought that it might keep him up a bit. If he had been a sailor he would have known better : in such a sea it would only prolong his fate." I , 120 A PUINCK OF TIIK BlOUD. J * ; " Well, you havo brought bad news to that innocent girl — news that will wreck her life, if it is Heaven's will that «he or any of us should live to I'emeniber this day. Let me ask you to make amends for it in some small degi-eo. Do not tell her that Mr. Layton had a life-belt." " Very good ; though there would have been no harm, 1 should have thought, in her believing that ho juniped over- board after her." "It is not that, sir," an^wered Mr. Ainswoith angrily. " Can you not understand that it was for Iku*. and not for himself, that the brave fellow took that poor precaution I What I am afiaid of is that in her ignorance of sucli matters she might .still think that there is hope for hiiu, and not face the miserable fact at once." " Hope ! how can there be hope for him, when 1 saw him — at least as good as saw him — drown with my own eyes? How could a man live for five minutes in such a turmoil?" "Of course not — it is impossible," sighed Mr. Ainsworth to himself. " Heaven give her strength to bear her burthen!" - ' - ./* ' A midshipman looking like a drowned mouse came running down the companion. " You are wanted on deck. Mr. Bates," he cried with more excitement than respect. Then perceiving the clergyman, he added cheerfully, " The clouds are lifting and the gale has abated, sir. There is hope for us still, Mr. Marston thinks." "Thanks, my lad." Mr. Ainswott'i smiled and nodded gravely. "That will be hardly ;^ojd news to this poor girl. It would be better, perhtips. for her if she never woke to life again. God alone knows, however, what is the best for us." ■^r, fV The Wreck. 127 r,;.'« CHAPIEK XV. THK WRECK. Between Nature and humau iiiture there are many analogies. The seasons have in particular been largely drawn upon by poets and divines to illustr.ite the vicissi- tuiies of our own existence. As the earth has its winter, we are told, so has the human heart, and it will, if it waits long enough, find its spring-time. But Nature can always wait, which man cannot do, and during the process she sutlers nothing. In a drear-nighU'd Decembiii' Too happy, happy tret;, ' - Thy blanches ne'er remember \ .- ■ , 'J'lieir green fehcity. . ,• ^ , • ;• The frost cannot undo them, ^ , With its sleety whistle through them, Nor tho cold north wind prevent them from budding at their prima, But we, alas ! in our winter-time do remember, and " a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier tilings." If only we could be torpid till " the cold north winds" — the aching voids, the bitter and fruitless regrets — had blown over, life would be very different from what it is. When some poor woman, delicate and defenceless, but whom Fate, alas ! deals no more mercifully with on that account, is suddenly struck down by its brutal hand, and after a little while of unconsciousness wakes to life and hei- new and painful burden, we call it coming to herself agjiin,' whereas, in fact, she is herself no longer. Though life is left to her, the light of it has been taken away, and hence- forward she gropes her way in a world that has been made dark to her. It is the usual fashion of mankind to speak of the greatest sorrow that can happen to a woman — the loss of a long-loved husband — as lasting but a year and a day ; well would it be for many a widow if this were true. There are thousands who luver survive it, and if they 128 A ]?RINCE OF THE BlOOD. smile, smile only for their children's sake. We know infinitely less of the sorrows of our fellow-creatures than of their pleasures, and are impelled by various motives to ignore them, the meanest and most grovelling being the notion that in underrating human woe we are paying court to that Supreme Leing who, for some doubtless wise but inexplicable reason, permits its existence. As, however, in the administration of the knout in Russ'R, the executioner will sometimes defeat his own object and the law's, by a too brutal stroke, so Fate in its blind fury will sometimes kill outright, or numb, where it has meant to only maim, and this latter mistake it com- mitted in Edith Norbury's case. Days passed away after the fact of her lover's death had been communicated to her before the full capacity for pain returned to her — the shock of the news fell on her like a blow from a bludgeon and stunned her. Now and then she would awake from a sleep which seemed akin to death, and murmur, " Dead, dead!" or sometimes "Drowned, drowned 1" and then relapse into unconsciousness. Aunt Sophia never left her side, and tended her with unremitting gentleness. To htr, perhaps, this melancholy occupation was not without its advantages; it prevented her from dwelling on her own troubles, or on the perils which surrounded her. For neither her brother nor her niece Eleanor was it possible that she could have enter- tained a genuine affection ; she had for years loyally shut her eye < to their real character, but circumstances had of late cou- gelled her to behold them, not, indeed, as they really were, but in a very unfavourable light. She was obliged to acknowledge to herself that the one was harsh and hard, and the other malignant. There had been a time when Eleanor had been disposed to regard Charles Layton with something more than favour, and since he had declared his love for another she had done her best to thwart him, and had spoken of him with the most relent The Wreck. 129 less and bitter rancour. Still those she had lost were her near and almost only relatives, and Aunt Sophia's was one of those conventional natures with whom the ties of blood count for very much, independently of the worth or merits of her belongings. The shocking and suduen manner of their ' taking off ' affected her also extremely, and but foi- her thoughts being so much monopolized by her unhappy charge, they would naturally have dwelt; upon it. The catastrophe which had befallen Mr. Lay ton, who, had always been a favourite of hers, was also moat deplotable, though she felt it more deeply upon her niece's account than on her own. Henceforward all the affection of hei- credulous but honest nature was concentrated upon Edith. As to the danger which threatened them, and to which she had been hitherto keenly sensitive, she lost sight of it in the spectacle of the poor girl's misery. Moreover, though the outlook wa^ still very serious, the gale had at length given signs of weariness, the wind had greatly moderated, and the waves had shrunk to little above their normal size. Such an incident as that which had deprived her of her relatives, and swept off* the very place of shelter in which they sat as with a knife, could hardly be imagined :is one watched those hurrying but diminished crests. Strangely enough. Aunt ;^^ophia herself had been the cause of Edith's salvation, if the saving of the poor girl's life could indeed be set down as any benefit. After Laytou had left Edith and her aunt in the round-house, Mi-. Xorbury and Eleanor, though, as it hapjjened, unseen by him, had joined them. Then Aunt Sophia had been seized with sudden faintness, the result of many days' alarm and fatigue, and Edith, with young Conolly's assistance, had got her down into her cabin only a few minutes before the [tragedy on deck took place. The recurrence of such a catastrophe was, as has been now no longer to be feai'ed, but the condition of [affairs was ptill full of danger. The Oanyes was little I said. ! ; 1 i Mi * |;|. ■ \ ■ ■ll' 1 ; f :f, •, %yl 130 A Prince of the Blood. U:'t r, pi^ better than a wreck. A jury-mast had been set up with a few sails, and she answered wonderfully to her helm ; but she laboured heavily ; while the rain continued in such volume that it made every one almost as wet and wretched as the seas she had shipped had done before. For the first time since the commencement of the storm, the vessel resumed her proper course, from which she had been driven at great speed for many days. From the chart it appeared that she was hundreds of miles from the nearest land, and, of course, utterly unfit to cope with bad weather. Still, as the midshipman had said, there was now hope — for those to whom life still offered hopes. On Edith this cheering news had little influence, though she strove to be thankful for the sake of others. If the highest expectations of her companions should be realized and India should be reached in safety, what would that avail her 1 She would only be landed in a strange country, to which she had always been averse, without a friend save | the one that accompanied her, and to whom it would be a,s i distasteful as to herself. The best she had to look forward j to — if she oould be said to look forward to anything, for, alas, were not all her miserable thoughts centred in the! past? — was that her stay there should be as short a&\ possible. A tedious and melancholy return voyage theuj offered itself, full of wretched associations, and at the end! of it a home only in name^. The man she loved had left hh country for her sake, and, under a mistake that s( something designed by fate in sheer malignity, had perishedl in a \^ain attempt to save another whom he had imagiuedj to be herself. What a waste of love and heroism itj seemed ! What was the use of valour, and self-sacrifice,! and devotion, if such rewards were meted out to them 1 II was worse than if blind chance had done it j it almosi seemed that evil, and not good, was lord of all. Presently the rain ceased and the sun came out. white malice of the cruel sea was succeeded by its "couDtj The Wreck. 131 less smile." Like some treacherous tyrant who has a good-natured mood and is amazed that his late victims should have any remembrance of his late monstrous cruelties, it seemed to say, " Come, let bygones be bygones ; my late trespasses against you have left, I assure you, no revenge- ful feelings in my mind ; let us laugh and pjay together." Kor was the invitation declined. Man, so suspicious of his fellow-man, is credulous to the advances of Nature. In a few hours death and destruction —the loss of their comrades, the ruin of their floating- home — were by the majority of the crew of the Ganges almost forgotten; all hands went busily to work to throw open the ports and to dry and air the ship, to examine the provisions and the stores, and even to clean the small arms. They did this not only with alacrity but cheerfulness ; they could not resist the sunny smile of the sea and the warm kisses of the favouring wind. Even Aunt Sophia was wonderfully enlivened by them. " Dearest Edith," said she, " the air is so fresh and the sky so bright, surely it would do you good to come on deck." "On deck ! Oh, no," cried the poor girl with a shudder ; "let us remain here, I entreat you." To come on deck and gaze upon the sea seemed to her like an invitation to behold her lover's grave. Action, indeed, of any kind had become abhorrent to her. She j secretly entertained a sort of hope that by remaining where she was, which she knew to be unwholesome for her, she might pine away and die without the sin of suicide. Her state of mind was not at all understood by Aunt Sophia, though she thoroughly sympathized with her calamity— a icircumstance which often happens to those in sorrow : it is leasier to weep with those that weep than to hit upon the [springs of consolation. It would have been wiser for the [present to have avoided the subject of her niece's loss ; the ?ound was too fresh and tender to be touched upon ever lightly. But Aunt Sophia thought differently : had K ? f! t; " ! ■;■ I 1 ill HI ! i (I 132 A Prince of the Blood. their relations been reversed sLe would have found com- fort from discoursing upon it, and she judged Edith by herself. " He is not lost but gone before, ray darling," she would murmur gently ; but her well-meant endeavours at con- solation met ^ith no lesponse ; to the mind agonized by bereavement such conventional remedies are positive aggra- vations of calamity ; they seem to wrong by their ineffec- tualness and insignificance the memory which it holds so sacred, and to make -light of the loss which it deploies. Once she even ventured to repeat a phrase which had often passed Edith's lips as she lay half unconscious during her first hours of woe. "'Faithful and true, living or dead.' my darling, you are as much his pwn, and he yours, remember, as though he were still with you." But Edith shook her head with a look of pained displea- sure. The saying that had been wont to comfort her when j there was no present need for its application, was no con j solation now. It is doubtful whether under similar circum- stances there ever is much consolatioii in it. The widowei goes to his wife's grave and there weeps tears of blood; for, after all, whatever hateful change may have taken place in her, there she lies whom his soul loved. Ha cannot so easily picture her, under he knows not wliat altered conditions, in the skies, or keep his heart up witlij the thought of visiting her there. It is not that thej promise is uncertain, but that it is so difficult to picturtj its realization. The truth is that in very great calamities,! and unless the suffering soul is permeated by religiowj feeling, the world to come has as little interest for us the present world : both alike, for a time at least, seen dull, stale, and* unprofitable. The voice of prayer itself stifled upon the lips by the chill fingers of misery. To th desolate and bereaved lieart it seems that there is notliin left to be prayed for ; no, not even death itself. Such, i fact, was Edith Norbury's case ; and it was not to The Wreck. 133 m { com- ith by would Btt con- ized by 3 aggva- ine^ec- holds ?o ieploves. lad ohm ring ber or dead, le youvN jd displeiv- Y^Qv wlu'u as no coll- ar circuui- e widowev of blood; ave taken oved. He not wl^^^ that, tbe' to picturti calamiti*! ,y religion] it for us least, i'eei Iyer itseii L. Toti j-e is notbii ^f Such, not to wondered at, under such circumstances, that Aunt Sophia's cheering news of fine weather and progress fell upon deaf ears. It would have been neither good nor bad tidings to Edith had she been even told that the ship was in sight of port. This, however, the Ganges was very far from being. For the first time for many days the captain had been able to get an * observation,' by which he found their latitude to be 10 deg. 16 min. north. He also found means to try the current, which was setting to the E.N.E. at half a mile an hour. Their rate of sailing was necessarily very slow, and they were entirely out of the track of ships, only one of which, indeed (and that pronounced to be a phantom), they had set eyes on since they left Simon's Bay. On the other hand, they had a good store of pro- visions on board, notwithstanding that some of it had been spoilt by the rain and sea ; and the thoughts of the sailors, which had been directed to Davey's Locker with grave doubts as to the accommodation it would be likely to afford them, were turning lightly towards Calcutta. One night, however, the wind began to freshen, and though, even in the ship's crippled condition, Mr. Marston did not think so seriously of it as to arouse the captain, taking a few houis' rest after his prolonged exertions, there were signs of more trouble in store for thera. It was, however, far from being of the same kind. A little after midnight, and with heavy rain falling, the man on ith« look-out suddenly cried " Breakers ahead ! " and the jeall had hardly reached the officer on deck when the ship jitruck with terrific violence. Tlie horror and dismay were [universal, for such a contingency had never been antici- ,t©d. It seemed almost as likely that an iceberg should .ve loomed upon them out of the murk and mist. All ilow, save the two ladies, were on deck in five minutes, knd were thronging about the captain in an unusual anner, as though appealing to an authority whom they ''^«t^»d in a misfortune of which they had no experience, !. . : ifi hi m I'll '• ^ IKU 134 A Prince of the Blood. and in which they knew not how to act. Unhappily there was no remedy for their calamity but to wait for dawn, and in the mean time to prepare for the worst, which was only too certain to happen. The Ganges, which had sur- vived so much, it was now plain was doomed. Ever}' shock of the sea, from which she could no longer escape, caused her a damage more or less vital. In less than an hour the water was as high as the lower-deck hatchways ; and, moreover, she was heeling over to one side. The ammunition and provisions were therefore all brought up and placed unde: tarpaulins. The two remaining boats were hoisted c^'t, A' "^nlied with arms, food, and water, and kept under thb lee ci the ship to receive the crew when she should go tv pieces. Wh»n all was done that could be done in such e. ati 't x..^ ladies were sent for, as it was thought perilous for them to remain any longer below. Mr. Marston assisted Aunt Sophia up the companion-ladder, and Mr. Ainsworth took charge of Edith. Both ladies were in deep mourning, and their appearance excited not a little interest notwithstanding the emergency of the occasion. The scene in which they found themselves was a very strange one. Nearly one half of the vessel was already submerged ; but the quarter-deck, resting on the rocks, was almost clear of water, while the quarter-boards afforded some shelter from the sea and rain. Here the captain received them with great sympathy but perfect cheerful- ness, while the crew stood around him in enforced inaction. Aunt Sophia was so prostrated by fatigue and terror that she was only too thankful to sit down and shut her eyes to such sights around her as the dim light rendered visible : among which the most horrible were the black rocks show- ing through the white foam of the breakers. Her attitude. with clasped hands and closed lips — though, as she after- wards owned, she had the greatest difficulty to kisep herseli < from screaming — might well have been taken for one of resignation. Edith, on the other hand, looked around herj The Wreck. 135 with impassive calm. That indifference of despair pos* sessed her which surpasses in its outward manifestation , the highest heroism. Death was as free from terrors for her as life of hopes. The captain had feared the efiPect of the appearance of liis lady passengers upon the crew, and was not slow to take advantage of their Unexpected calmness and courage. He had intended to address his people on the course of conduct he expected from them, and this incident afforded him an admirable text. If such courageous behaviour was seen in women tenderly nurtured and unaccustomed to peril, what might not be expected of men and sailors like themselves? He did not attempt to make light of the cAlamity that had befallen them : it was certain that the Ganges would never float again, and it was probable that in a few hours she would go to pieces. Discipline and obedience to authority were the virtues which alone could assist them in such a strait. When similar misfortunes happened, he reminded them, they had been often rendered irremediable by license and despair. Let them at least meet their fate like men, and in their sane minds, without resort to the spirit-room. This brief discourse was received with a round of hearty cheei-s, which was repeated with even greater enthusiasm when the captain announced that two glas.ses of wine should be at once administered to every man, with a biscuit between them. I^ their wet and worn condition it was a refreshment greatly needed, and its effect was ex- cellent. No one, the authorities upon suicide tell us, tver shuffles off his mortal coil within two hours of a meal ; for though things are said to be "looked at through a glass darkly," exactly the reverse happens when the medium is a wine-glass. The poor souls on the deck of the Ganges j or I on what was left of it, needed all the encouragement they I could get as they waited through those weary hours, and longed like a sick man for the dawn. I i 'life: \.A 18» A Prince op the Blood. At last it came, and disclosed a small island some thru* miles away, with some larger ones much further off to the eastward. The two boats were immediately manned and oared and sent on shore with instructions to briiu' back an immediate report; while in the mean time, foi they were quite insufficient for the transport of the cr«w. and the ship might at any moment go to pieces, those whu were left on board applied themselves to the coustructiou of a raft. The work, though very difficult by reason of constant interruptions to it caused by the shocks and inun dations of the waves, was entered upon without the least confusion, and with as perfect discipline as theugh th(i vessel, instead of being a wreck upon rocks, liad been lyii^ at anchor at Spithead. The spectacle of this dutiful enthu- siasm aroused Edith from her lethargy. That sympathy with our fellow -creatures in their physical struggles against fate, which is felt even by the dullest and most selfish, won her for the moment from the contemplation of hor own misery. Her bruised heart began to beat once more in unison with human endeavour. As the captain stooptd over her as he passed by, to arrange a rug that had b««n thrown over her shoulders, she could not forbear m expression of admiration at the conduct of his crew. " That is partly your doing, Miss Edith," he answered pleasantly. " Where women show themselves heroines it u impossible for men to be cowards." **I am not brave, Captain Head," she answered withi faint sanile, " but I have (courage enough to hear the truth, In two words - can you tell me what is our real position?" "That will depend upon the report from the boats; but I have little doubt that we shall all get to land." "And what hind is iti I entreat you/' she added. reading reluctance on his face, " to tell me the worst."' "My dear young lady," he answered gently, "you lay I on me an unwelcome task. I know no more of that land than you do. It is not marked on the chart.' No human ] t^Ti ir:ryi^ Land. 137 thi-tt* M to mned briug i%, for cr«w. 30 who auction ison of d inun- xgh th«i 1 entlau- mpatlij lab, wou bor owu more ia lad )i*^ •bear a." iiiswered jines it i» jd with! tbe trutli. lositionV loats; but ne acltle^. brst. ' I «< you W I [tbatland fo buina« eyes, it may be, have ever se»n it beside our own. On the other hand, it may be inhabited by some sava^^e race j that, of course, would be a bad business for us." "And if not?" "Well, if not, I fear we must make up our minds to stay there tor some time, until we are in our turn dis- covered ; perhaps even for ever." " Our sentence is either death, in fact, or transportation for life 1" " It is something like it, I fear : but that is no reason why we should lose heart, my dear young lady." "Certainly not. Thanks, captain," was her cheerful reply. " A new life in a new land," she murmured to herself. It was a prospect, though without attractions, which at least appeared less repulsive to her than a new life in the old one. CHAPTER XVI. LAND. S'V ■ t ■» ■ . Man, it is said, is the creature of circumstances; bu not always so. The martyr in his flames, for example, is certainly independent of them ; so is the intending suicide ; and, generally, wo may say that they have less influence over us in proportion to our misfortunes. There are caries indeed when continuous loss and disappointment place the simplest of us in a higher position than any to which philosophy can attain ; when, in other words, we are so i miserable that we care not what befalls us. It is an <)ecuiTence of which nobody is envious, but it has a certain dignity, nevertheless, such as the bastard melancholy, I which it is still the fashion with some of us to assume, [Mpires to in vain. It was wonderful, even to herself, with what eqiianimity 1 1 ;'-.i 138 A Prince of the Blood. Edith contemplated the scene in which all those about her took so keen an interest. So long as the construction of the raft was in progress, occupation prevented the intrusion of discouragement; but when all was done and nothiii>,' remained but to await the return of the boats, without which the raft was almost useless, a profound depression succeeded to exertion ; the daylight was fast waning ; the sea was on the whole l^ss violent, but the structure on which it made its assaults was growing manifestly less able to resist them. At last a great cry of joy arose from all. It was only the sight of the boats that had parted from them a few hours before, that evoked it ; but, when in calamity, men are thankful for small mercies; or, rather, no mere} seems small to them ; when we listen iu our mute despair by the death-bed of our dear ones, one word, ay even a groan, is music. Aunt Sophia threw herself into Edith's arms, and strong men, moved by an overpowering impulse, shook hands with one another. Then all descended into the raft -a loose and shifting mass at the best — to which the ladies had to be secured by ropes. The pinnace was to take it in tow, and the jolly boat, until they had passed the reet, which lay behind them and the island, was to tow the pinnace. When all was ready, the boatswain sounded his whistle, and Captain Head, though loath to leave the ship, joined his crew. It wrung his heart to quit his vessel, and every one shared his sorrow in a less degree. Though in ruins, it was still their dwelling-place, and, in departing from it, they seemed to be saying good-bye for ever to all that mad^ what they called home. To the very last the old Ganges sheltered them by breaking the shocks of the sea, but not till they had got a few boat-lengths away from her did they fully appreciate the service she had thus afforded them. Every wave now broke over them, and the blinding spray hid not only the pinnace from the sight of those on the raft, but those on the raft from one another. Land. 139 As for the ladies, their relative positions of aunt and niece, (Oiaperon and charge, had become rev^drsed ; the elder lady, prostrated with terror, hid her face in the younger's lap, and clung round her waist, as the raft rose and fell upon the long rollers, or was dragged through the mist and foam that crested them. Edith, on the other hand, gazed steadily upon them with eyes that seemed not so much to defy as to invite them to do their worst, which, indeed, as it seemed to her, they had already dDue. Mr. Ainsworth and young Conolly did what they could to shield both ladies with a tarpaulin, thanks to which they were the only tenants on the raft who were not wetted to the skin. Notwithstanding that when they had once cleared the reef they found themselves in smoother water, their pro- gress was so slow that in order to reach the land before nightfall it became necessary to anchor the raft with a prapnel, and to transfer its occupants to the pinnace, by which at last, in batches, they were all landed. Their provisions had thus for the present to be left behind them ; wet, cold, hungry, on an unknown shore, life alone seemed left to them, and not much even of that ; yet the first act of these unhappy people was to shake hands and congratulate one another upon their common safety. A cheese, some biscuits, and a little water formed their supper ; and with the priming of a pistol they man- aged to kindle a fire, by which they dried their clothes, after which they lay down to sleep under such shelter as they could find. By the foresight of the officers, a little tent had been raised for the accommodation of the two ladies, into which they presently crept. A ship's lantern had been hung from the roof, and by its light they perceived that some bedding had been provided, with two chairs and a small looking-glass; this last a characteristic tribute from man to woman which drew a faint smile from Edith. "What amuses you, deart" murmured Aunt Sophia, ;m^ i-!a';sj t .t.; ;,u4 'VI 1 i 140 A Prince of the Blood. with a rueful glance at their surroundings. "I should never have thought you had it in you to smile." To external matters Edith was indeed wholly indifferent ; they had almost ceased to occupy a place in her mind. Ai she lay down to rest by Aunt Sophia's side her mind wai as far asunder from that of her companion as pol« frooj pole. The thoughts of the elder lady were fixed upon th« present and the future; on the woeful circumstances iu which she found herself placed, and on the scanty hopM ot deliverance. The absence of comforts, of society, and of all that had hitherto constituted existence for her appalUd her ; the roar of the angry waves seemed to bid her desp;iir of ever leaving that out-of-the-way sea-girt prison, The thoughts of the younger concerned themselves with th* past only. For her the cup of life seemed to contain no longer joy or sorrow, and the fabric and the fashion of it were therefore indifferent to her. The thunder of the surf spoke to her not of the loss to come, but of the loss that had already befallen her — it wjis the volley over her dead liero's grave. Notwithstanding the agitation of their minds and their adverse surroundings, there presently fell such dreamiest sleep upon them both as they had not experienced for week*. Edith woke in broad daylight and to almost unbroksD silence. In the distance alone was heard the whisper of the wave as it wooed the unwilling sand to its embrace. Though their tent had been pitched in a spot comparatively retired, the bustle and movement of so many persons making the best of strange qrarters, and the monotonous tread of the sentries who had been placed about their improvised camp, had been heard on all sides when they retired to rest. Not a voice, not a footstep, now gave token of human presence. "Edie, dear, are you awakoT' said Aunt Sophia ii tremulous tones. " Yes, dear." (it Land. 141 "I have been awake for hours, but did not like to disturb you. It is so very still, I am sure something ilreadful has happened. Is it possible that wo have been deserteiH" "Certainly not. Fate is very cruel, but the one crimo she cannot commit is to sliakethe loynlty of a noble heart." "True ; Cii]»tain Head, as you say, is too much of a man of honour to leave two defenceless women to shift for themselves because they were an encumbrance to him. Then, Mr. Ains worth, too— it would be very unlike a clergyman, would it not? And I am sure that charming littlp midshipman would never leave you." " My dear Sophy ! Wliat nonsense ! " " Of course I know it's nonsense ; it's the devotion of a child; but still he is devoted to you; and Mr. Marston and Mr. Redmayue, though they say very little -and indeed I wish I could hear them say anything just now — are officers and gentlemen. Still it is so very quiet. I ave been thinking all sorts of things. Suppose they have ^c-en all murdered by the savages." "What savages?" - iv t ' » . " Well, of course there are savages ; who ever heard of an undiscovered island — I heard Mr. Doyle say it was un- discovered — without savages? By the bye, there is good Mr. Doyle ! Don't be alarmed ; X don't mean to say I see him — I wish I could see anybody — I was merely reckoning up our friends." ** I say again," said Edith gravely, " friends do not desert us of their own free will, though Fate may snatch them away. Let us get up and look about us." Their toilet was not a prolonged one, they had no ex- tensive wardrobe to choose from, having indeed only the clotlies which, as the phrase goes, " they stood up in," and in which they had lain down. To men this may seem a small matter, but to the two ladies to whom such an ex- perience was unknown, it was significant enough of their f|IW..|i P- 142 A Prince op the Blood. new position. As Aunt Sophia surveyed herself in the little hand-glass she burst into tears. "What has happened?" inquired Edith with anxiety. "Nothing. I am thinking of what is going to happen. If we are to stay here, Heaven knows how long, what will become of ust I mean of our gowns. In a month they will be dowdy to the last degree. In two mouths they will be in rags." " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof," said Edith sententiously. " Yes, but they are not sufficient for the day. At least mine is not ; it is falling to pieces already : and where are we to get needles and thread ) My dear, have you such a thing about you as a pin)" "Yes." ' " Come, that's something," ejaculated Aunt Sophia. It is indeed a subject of satisfaction when, though in extreme straits, we find that we are not actually deprived of the necessaries of life. For the moment the conscious- ness of having repaired her clothes put the apprehension of savages out of this lady's mind ; it was a proof, too, that she did not in her heart believe that they had been deserted by unkind riaan. On issuing from the tent a most lovely view presented itself. The sapphire sky was without a cloud — the sea, though of a deeper blue, glittered with endless smiles. Soft, silvery sand was beneath their feet. Above them towered a precipitous hill, broken with a thousand crags, overgrown by flowery erf ers, and crested with fuU- foliaged trees. The air ^ . a mixture of freshness and sweetness such as they hud never experienced before ; to draw their breath was itself a luxury. " How very, very beautiful I " exclaimed Edith. " See how high the sun is in the heavens ; it must be midday." "Then where on earth are our people? " As if in answer to this appeal a human figure presented Land. 14S itself on one of the rocks above them, and took off his hat in salutation. It was Master Lewis Conolly, who, the next instant, sliding down what looked like a rope of flowers, presented himself before them. "You dear, good boy," cried Aunt Sojhia ecstatically. "I knew you would not be far away from us. Where is everybody else? And why are we thus left nil alone? " "The captain gave orders that you ladies were not to be disturbed," answered the youth respectfully. " I have been on sentry yonder over you fc * the last three hours, though danger could hardly have befallen you, since the island is quite uninhabited." " Then thfjy are gone ! " ejaculated Aunt Sophia, dis- tractedly. "What, our people? Well, most of them are on board the wreck. Mr. Ainsworth, however, is preparing break- fast for us yonder." He pointed to a thin line of smoke above a ridge of rocks which separated the little cove in which their tent was placed from the larger bay where the boats had landed, and which, in the darkness and con- fusion of the previous night, had seemed one with it. " I hope he is not toasting the cheese," murmured Aunt Sophia, from whose mind, agitated beyond its powers, all sense of proportion had vanished, and in which the appre- hension of one trouble only disappeared to give place to some new foreboding. "I am very hungry, but I don't think I could eat that cheese again." The young midshipman only replied by a good-humoured laugh, as he piloted the ladies to the spot in question. On their way Edith could not but remark with what judgment and solicitude, notwithstanding the disorder that had apparently reigned the previous evening, their own place of refuge had been selected. " Ladies' Bay," as it was afterwards called, was, indeed, admirably fitted for the purpose to which the captain had assigned it. The reef of rocks between it and the larger bay ran high enough to ■■'■ ' !■■ \Wi f- ■\* * r i ^ r^- . ' . i..^ 144 A Prince op the Blood. afford it perfect privacy, while at the same time communi- cation with it, by a passage close under the open cliff, was maintained in all conditions of the tide. It was curious, while gratefully acknowledging this kindly foresight of her fellow-creatures, how oitterly she resented the cruelty of fortune. Her own mind, like that of her companion, was, in truth, for the time, thrown oil its balance, though in a different fashion. The very kinl- ness which had been shown her on all hands increased th rebellious feeling which rises in the human heart — ai often highest in the most gentle — in the dark hour of bereavement ; the sufferings to which those fompanions to whose good offices she was so much indebted were exposed, seemed only another proof of the harshness and injustice of Fate. The force of circumstances could hardly liave had a stronger illustration ; for in matters of faith and feeling, Edith Norbury had been hitherto in no way different from tiie majority of those of her sex and position in life, who .accept the decrees of Providence with that facile submission which is paid to a limited monarchy whirh no one suspects of an arbitrary or unjust act. CHAPTER XVII. RESCUE BAY. Rescue Bay, as it was presently christened by common consent, in which the ladies now found themselves, presented a very different appearance from that which it had offered to their eyes twelve hours before. Not a trace of storm was to be seen on sea or shore ; the breeze, which blew from the land, onl^ just sufficed to spread the Union Jack which had already been planted on the summit of the wooden cliff, not so much in sign of sovereignty as to attract, with- out lo'^:^ of t'me, the attention of a pflpsirg vespel. if such Rescue Bay. 145 perchance should, like their own, be ever driven from her course into those unfrequented seas. The great expanse of glittering sand was already marked out into spaces for the reception of human tenants, or for the accommodation of stores, a goodly heap of which was already piled above high- water mark. Knots of men, as busy as bees, were drying powder in the sun or sitting under the shade of the rocks with which the sand was interspersed, clemming and polish- ing their small arms. It was noticeable that, notwithstanding this unusual in- dustry, every man now and then looked up from his occu- pation to gaze seawards, where operations were going on, on which, as they well knew, depended not only their hopes of future enfranchisement, but it might be even theii* means of subsistence. A hasty survey of the island had aheady been made, which, as has been said, had been found to be uninhabited ; but it still remained to be seen whether it ofFered any sustenance for luuuan life. Water, indeed, it possessed in plenty, for down the centre of the cliif there fell, with leaps and bounds, a silver stream of sufficient vohune to make its course visible through the sand until it leached the shore, where it emptied itself into a land-locked harbour. • The reef, in faet, on which the Ganges had come to grief formed a naturfil breakwater which, though extending to the shove in a westward direction, left on the east a suffi- ciently broad passage to have admitted her with safety in daylight in almost any weather ; while, once under its protection, she could have anchored in company with a dozen ships of the same size, shielded even from the east wind by a projecting pvomontory of the land. The question now on which so much was depending, was whether the ship could be got off, in which case it could possibly be towed into harbour and repaired. Tn the mean time, while the present fine weather lasted, every moment of daylight was utilized in bringing off h \.i ■Mr 14G A Prince of the Blood. i stores, provisions, and every article which could conduce to the general comfort and convenience. For this purpose, not only the boats, but also the raft, had been despatched to the reef and was now anchored on the sheltered side of it, and with the naked eye the men could be perceived making their way across the rocks that composed it, each with his burthen on his back, like ants on an ant-hill. It was a strange and stirring spectacle, and moved the two ladies much, though in a different manner. Edith gaiied upon it with admiration, which was not without a touch of cynicism. Where would be the use, was the re- flection that occurred to her, of all that industry and solicitude if the wanton wind should rise but for an hour, or the slumberous sea begin to yawn. To Aunt Sophia's eyes it seemed that success must needs crown such arduous efforts. She even ventured to picture herself once more in England, no longer the commonplace and conventional personage whose role she had hitherto been content to pl.ny. but a female Ulysses, on whose lips, as she detailed hei- wanderings and adventures, quite the best society would be eager to hang. The interest of this distant scene for the moment indeed made the two new-comers quite oblivious to the fact that Mr. Ainsworth was waiting for them, and his breakfast, in the foreground. He had kindled a fire on which some coffee was preparing, and spread out a little table-cloth on the sand, whereon potted meats, marmalade, and other con- diments were laid, :is for a picnic. "Where on earth did you get all these dainties?" exclaimed Aunt Sophia, as she warmly shook hands with him, her spirits already elevated, rising several degrees higher at the contemplation of a feast, which the air of the place rendered as welcome as it was unexpected. " My dear Edith, there are actually eggs ! " " The two surviving fowls, like all the rest of us, have been doing their duty," returned the chaplain, as pleased REsctJE Bay. 147 with the younger lady's grateful smile as by her companion's moi-e exuberant satisfaction. " It is to Mr. Marston that you are indebted for the sundries, and to Mr. Redmayne for the potted shrimps. Mr. Doyle contributed the mar- malade, but that is not to be put to his credit, for out of two pots which he brought ashore one broke in his pocket. Th3 captain himself supplied the coffee-pot and its con- tents, and your humble servant collected the sticks for the fire." '* But where, except the sticks, did it all come from, Mr. Ainsworth 1 " inquired Edith. " Is it possible that you gentlemen have been ransacking the Ganges for our com- fort, while we two sluggards were asleep ? " "While you were taking that rest which nature demanded, let us rather say, and which your courage and conduct, permit me to add, have nobly earned, some of the officers and a boat's crew made a trial trip to our old home, and picked up what they could. They are now laying her under contributions on a much more extended scale. The necessity of it is plain enough, but it goes sorely against the grain with our poor captain. He says that it seems to him like taking the money out of the pocket of a dead friend." " Does he think, then, there is no hope of the ship's ever being got off?" inquired Aunt Sophia, looking up from her egg as if it were addled. *• He cannot say that for certain till he has made a more particular survey of the wreck," said the chaplain evasively, at the same time bringing a telescope to bear upon the object in quastion. " He is now coming off in the jolly- boat, I see, and will no doubt bring us news of the matter. However it may be, dear ladies," he added gravely, " let us remember we have very much to be thankful for even as it is." "That is just what Bobinson Crusoe said, or was it the parrot 1 " observed Aunt Sophia. Nothing was further from L 2 '''•l:ii i'ljii^: us A Prince of the Blood. her thoughts than any disrespect to the chaplain, but the effect of the observation was disastrous. "In such a condition as our own, Miss Norbury," re- turned Mr. Ainsworth ^reprovingly, "believe me, that the virtue it behoves us most to practise is that of resignation to the will of Providence." • No doubt, no doubt ; but let us hope that things will not come to the worst," said Aunt Sophia naively. "Never say die, while there's a shot in the locker,'' observed Master Conolly, as he disposed of a sardine neatly pac^ked in a layer of marmalade, between a couple of sweet biscuits. It was a contribution apposite enough to the con- versation, but not on the whole calculated to allay irritation. A glance which the good chaplain happened to cast at Edith, however, put all indignation out of his mind. In that calm and unmoved face he read, as he thought, an absolute submission to the decree of Fate, and remember- ing what she had undergone, his heart found no room in it except for pity. A silence fell upon the little group as they watched the boat, wliich was bringing the judge and their sentence with it. It seemed to them that he stepped out of it with a certain slowness and dignity which — though dignity was by no means naturally wanting with him — spoke of disaster nobly faced ; it might, however, be the mere sense of responsibility which their position must in any case have entailed upon him. He came towards them with firm, resolute steps, and took off his cap to his fair guests with a cheerful smile. " I hope, Mr. Ainsworth, you have taken care that these ladies, who have been placed in your especial charge, have been well provided fori" " Indeed," said Aunt Sophia, " we have fared most luxuriously, Captain Head. My niece and I, indeed, have no words to thank you for the consideration and kindness with which we have been treated by everybody." " That is well, ladies. So it will be, I am confident, to I 1 Rescue Bat. 149 tht end, however long we may be fated to remain in our present quarters." "Then — then," quavered Aunt Sophia, "you think there is no hope " " Ag regards the ship, I regret to say, a few days — a f»w hours, if the wind should rise — will, in my opinion, see the last of her." " Oh, Captain Head, dear Captain Head, do you really mean that we shall never see home again 1 " " We are, dear madam, as Mr. Ainsworth here will tell you better than I," said the captain gently, " in the hands of God. He will do what seems best to Him and doubtless best for us. I do not ask you to give up hope, if hope is a comfort to you, but I think it would be better for us all to face the facts. I trust we shall all do what in us lies, like Englishmen and Englishwomen, for ourselves and one another ; but in my judgment, since you ask me, I think we shall never see old England more." At these words, which were delivered by the honest captain with a certain solemn simplicity that went home to the hearts of his hearers, Aunt Sophia covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. Edith instantly rose, and with a glance at the rest, which gentle and apologetic though .it was, forbade them to follow, led her agitated companion to her tent. The others stood looking at one another in consternation, as men, who are not by nature ' roughs,' are wont to do at the sight of a woman's tears. " What a fool's trick it was of mine," murmured the captain penitently, " to blurt out the truth like that." " You have nothing to reproach yourself with," returned the chaplain, confidently. "It is much better that she should know the worst at once, than delude herself with false hopes." There was an uncomfortable pause, and then the captain, lowering his voice, observed, " I was not thinking sO much 150 A Prince of the Blood. of the one that was working at the pumps, but of the other. Did you hear what that poor girl said when I told them that we should never seo old England more? She said, * Thank Heaven.' " " Yes, I heard her. I don't think, however, she quite knew what she was saying." "Driven out of her wits, eh, by my blundering speech? Well, the next time I have any bad news for her you shall break it yourself. Heaven knows I had rather go without my breakfast any day than she should have an ache in her little fingar. But since the mischief's done, and the coffee's here, you may pour me out a cup, Conolly." CHAPTER XVIII THE captain's SPEECH. . As when a railway train is rapidly emptied of it« luggage on a platform when the express is almost due behind it, so were the contents of the Ganges hurried over her sid? and into the boats. Not an hour of the calm weather, nor of daylight, was wasted; for it was well understood by all, that whatever seemed precious now would have a fancy value a few weeks hence, and might even make the difference of life or death. Though the -captain's resolution as regards the vessel was acknowledged to be a sound one, there was still a hope that, after all which was necessary to their immediate existence should be got out of her, her timbers might be made use of toj build another ship; but for this a long spell of finej -weather was indispensable, as the conveyance of anything | of size and weight across the reef was very difficult, and \ the prognostications of the barometer were far from fav(mrable. For the present, however, morning after] morning dawned in sunshine and with softest airs. i'Hi The Captain's Speech. 151 every evening saw the acquisitions from the ship immensely increased. To the more thoughtless and sanguine, it seemed that the stores thus accumulated would last for ever; they said to themselves with Robin.sou Crusoe, that never before were shipwrecked men so well provided ; but to those of better judgment it was plain, that unless the island itself could be made to yield them support, they would be in the position of men who live upon their principal, and that a day must needs come, and that at no distant date, when there would be nothing left to feed so many hungry mouths. The investigation of the capabilities of their place of exile were, however, for the time postponed for the work of salvage. The spectacle of so much industry amid a scene so fair was in itself exhilarating. If our first parents bad had some occupation in their idle hours in the Garden of Eden, besides loafing and spooning, it is probable that they would not have made such a fiasco of matters. Even the ladies, who might easily have pleaded exemption from the common toil, put Eve to shame in this respect, for instead of roaming over their lovely dwelling-place in search of fruit, they busied themselves in sorting out whatever articles required care and good keeping, and in storing them afresh in such places as the captain deemed desirable. This employment prevented their minds from dwelling upon their respective calamities, while the in- vigorating, though genial, climate restored both strength and spirit. The solicitude with which they were treated by almost all hands, had also its encouraging effect, and they often found themselves, to their own astonishment, discoursing of things around them, as though they had been the environments of ordinary life, rather than of an abnormal and exceptional position. As a rule Edith was the consoler ; or, rather, by avoiding all reference to their past, beguiled her companion's thoughts from it, Now and then, however, *'1 w 'i ^' I im 152 A Pkince of the Blood. Tr she would, as it were unawares, make some allusion to it, which revealed the sepulchre where her heart was buried. On such occasions it was the elder lady's part, not indeed to comfort her, for such a task she knew to be beyond her power, but to turn the lalk to other subjects. "I cannot help thinking, Aunt Sophia," said Edith, as the two ladies sat in their tent one evening comfortiu^ themselves with a cup of tea alter the labours of the day, "that this must be one of the Enchanted Isles that sailors believed in until within the last hundred years." " That must be before the geographical books began to bo published, I suppose 1 " '* Not at all. I remember in that old geography of De Lisle, which dear papa used to set such store on, the} were marked in a map as Basil and Asmuda. Even so late, he once told nie, as 1750, an island never before known, but covered with fields and woods, and very fertile, was seen in the Atlantic, and so strongly vouched for, that ships were sent from England to explore it." " I hope they will be sent to look for this one," sighed Aunt Sophia. '^ It is hardly likely, though the parallel holds good in other respects ; for De I>isle's notion was that it was the country of ghosts, and are we not here the ghosts of our former selves 1" " I must confess that we have very good appetites for ghosts," observed Aunt Sophia drily ; a rejoinder, simple and commonplace though it was, far more judicious and effective than any falling in with the other's mood would have been. It had, also, the advantage of being true. In their new abode their physical health was perfect ; in such a climate, indeed, there was little fear of its being other- wise, except through the monotony of their lives ; and of this, as it turned out, the castaways had not long to complain. It was the fifth evening after their (Usastei-, and every- Ill, |iwiWli|i|||i| The Capiain's Speech. 163 thing that could conduce to use and comfort had been tuken out of the vessel. On the next morning it wavs understood that the much more serious work of taking her to pieces was to be commenced. The men were in excellent apirits in anticipation of this, the first step towards esoajn' irom exile, though the carpenter had reported that thv bands of the ship had given signs of starting, and that it was unlikely she could hold together much longer. Tht ladies were still at thfiir tea, when suddenly the boatswain's vfiu»tl« sounded thrice. They knew it to be the signal foi- the assembly of the whole ship's company, and started up iu some alarm. Though not of course included in the summons, they immediately repaired to the larger bay, and ou their way were met by Master ConoUy, who, foreseeing their apprehensions, had come in haste to allay them. Some trouble, he explained, had arisen with one or tw(j of the m3n, who had helped themselves from one of the liquor casks, and the captain was about to address the ship's company upon the matter. In vain the young midshipman endeavoured to persuade liis fair companions to return to their tent ; their curiosity was too strong to be overcome, and he could only induce them to accept his escort — a protection which, as it turned out, was not altogether superfluous. Not one or two only, but a good many of the men, exhausted with their day's work, and urged by the natural liking which most seamen entertain for strong liquor, had taken advantage of the accidental breaking of a cask of rum, to drink freely, and luid become very noisy and elated. They gave, indeed, a mechanical obedience to the summons of the boatswain, but it was plain from their air and mannei- that they were in lio condition to listen to the voice of authority. The majority of the crew, however, who with them had formed a ring about the captain and his oflicers, maintained an attitude of respectful attention. Something ha»l already happened which was not iutelligible to the new-comers, but ( . I.: ; 'Jt 154 A Prince of the Blood. which could be partly guessed at by the attitude of the persons concerned. Close to the captain were three sailors, Mellor, Eudge, and Murdoch, looking very flushed, and to say truth, somewhat mutinous. They had borne by no means a good character on board the Ganges, so that it was not surprising that they should have misconducted themselves on shore. Yet the captain not only regarded them with such troubled and anxious looks, as were inexplicable to all acquainted with Ufs resolute and daunt- less character, but was addressing them in terms of con- sideration rather than remonstrance. "You have had a hard day's work and little to eat, and therefore there is much excuse for you. But I must say to you, as indeed I say to all, that there in nothing more dangerous to persons in our condition than indulgence in drink." "That's all gammon," interrupted Murdoch huskily; he was a huge man, beside whose giant form, with his large arms and hairy chest, even the captain's stalwart frame was dwarfed ; " since we are here we mean to enjoy our- selves, and we don't mean to be preached to neither, nor yet bully-ragged as though we were still on board of that cursed old hulk yonder." "That's so," and "So says I," growled the other two men, while a faint murmur of applause went up from a few others in different parts of the assembly which showed that they were not without their sympathizers. The majority, however, maintained a silence which was equally significant. They seemed only less amazed at thai) comrades' audacity than at the patience and toleratinr which it had been borne. "I am sorry," returned the captain, in firm bi luiet tones, which made themselves audible even to those who like the ladies and their conductor, stood on the very out skirts of the crowd, " that you should so speak of the oW ship which has been our home so long, and I hope, upon the whole, not an unhappy one." ^ff^^^ The Captain's Speech. 155 " Quite right, sir," " A good home," " Ay, and with a. good captain, too," went up from the now excited throng in ftll directions. The captain took off his cap, and the men began to cheer, but became instantly silent as he; recommenced. " I say I am sorry that any man who has sailed with mo should entertain such unpleasant recollections of his voyage, or of the 'cursed old hulk' as he calls it, which we are looking on yonder, it may be, for the last time." " We don't want no palaver ; we wants to enjoy our- selves, we wants rum," cried the mutineers, with drunken vehemence. " Let the captain speak." " Never mind black Murdoch, sir." "Three cheers for the old Ganges I" replied the crowd. "Rum is very good in its way, but we may have too much of it," observed the captain, with all the gentleness of a moralist, " and especially when, as in our case, men are cast ashore upon an unknown land, subject it may be to the attack of savages, at whose mercy our lives may be placed at any moment, and dependent for our slender chance of escape upon the efficiency and alertness of those on the watch for a passing sail. It would be hard to be deprived of aJ4 hope of seeing our own country again, with our wives and sweethearts, because some drunken scoundrel or another couldn't keep from the rum," " That's so ! " " Three cheers for our wives and little ! " " Home, sweet Home 1 " " You know what's best for us, captain ! " * I think I do; but as has been proved to me pietty clearly by the conduct of one or two of you here, whom I will not name, I am no longer your captain." " We kn' -v that fast enough, master," exclaimed Murdoch, triumphantly; **you are no master now, nor ever will be, yah ! " ♦* W«ll, that is ^ matte? entirely for our own co^isideiutiop^ 156 A Prince of the Blood. my men," contiaued the captain; "the most votes must carry it. It is quite true, since the Ganges is not a King's ship, that with the loss of her, I have lost command of you. You no longer owe me any obedience ; but that some one to hold supreme authority must be chosen by you, is certain, if we would live here for a day, without flying at each other's throats. Fix upon whom you will, so long as he be honest and sober, but when he is once chosen let his will be law. Even what has occurred to-night shows, I think, the necessity for such an arrangement, while to-morrow — well, for all we know, to-morroAV it may be too late to make it. Suppose an enemy attack us, with no one to give an order how to repulse him. Suppose a ship came in sight, and fifty men crowd into a l)oat where there is only space for ten, and we lose her ! " " Right, right, we'll choose you, captain, there's nobody but you to choose," came from all parts of the crowd. " Oh, yes, there are lots of others to choose from," con- tinued the captain smiling, "and whom you do choose must be elected in a proper manner. It won't do to shout for Jones to-day and for Smith to-morrow, and your decision, whatever it be, must be put down in writing. You will find a paper in yonder tent» with pen and ink all ready for you, and the chaplain to explain matters, and show where the mark must be put for those who are no scholars. Every one in the ship's company, officers and men, will find his name there, and every one will vote for whom he likes ; only remember tliis, that once recorded, it cannot be can- celled. Now go and choose your king," , , . • < ■ > , I s ■• ■ ( I ■• . The PLEi3ISCITE. 157 ■ S CHAPTER XIX. ,; i. V , - THE PLEBISCITE. ' The notion of a Plebiscite is always an attractive one to all communities. It was true that on the present occasion the matter was generally understood to have a foregone conclusion. The majority of the men were too much attached to their old captain, and had too great confideuce in him, to think of electing any one else to rule over them ; but still they were flattered by the idea of choosing for themselves. They crowded into the tent Avith alacrity, where Mr. Ains- worth was seated at the table with " the agreement," as it was simply called, but on which in trufh very much depended. It set forth the peculiarity of their position, and the necessity it involved of having some lawgiver and leader, against whose fiat there should be no appeal ; while it left to every man the power of giving his vote to any member of the ship's company ha pleased. The proceedings were not without a certain solemnity, for those who took part in it were tilled at least as much with the sense of their own importance as of that of tiie matter In hand ; nor was the ceremony by any means a brief one. Many of the sailors could not wi-ite, and most of them had to be separately instructed in the novel duty demanded of them ; while even the most accomplished took some time, with much leaning of their heads upon one side and screwing of their courage (and their mouths) to the sticking-place to execuue their autographs. At last, how- ever, all was done, though not before the fall of night had necessitated the use of torches in the tent, which cast their lurid glare upon a scene which was in truth eminently picturesque and striking. In the open air, on the other hand, there was still light sufficient for the conclusion of the proceedings, i :■ ■ ■ !* t. :■ .'J i ' ' . : H,' ^ 158 A Prince of the Blood. ii'.iu ■ rr The chaplain presently emerged from the tent bearing the document with its long file of signatures, and, followed by the whole of the ship's company, moved towards the spot where tho captain with his oflScers, or, rather, with those who had hitherto occupied that position on board the Ganges, awaited his approach. After a few v/ords of preface, Mr. Ainsworth stated that one other person only beside their late commander had been nominated for the post of president, or leader, and as the names of those who bad voted for the individual in question were but few, he sug- gested that it would be more convenient to read them out in the first place. ^ ,, ^ • .. . ,,, .,, > .. At this there was some applause, and not a little laughter of the sarcastic sort, which was instantly stilled at the sound of the captain's voice. "If, as I understand, my men," he said, "the great majority of you have decided to replace in my hands tho authority which I before possessed, it seems to me that it would be invidious, and, indeed, unfair, to those who have come to a contrary conclusion, that their names should be made public. I neither wish to know who they are, nor to know who it is that in their judgment has appeared to them pioferable to myself. I shall take it for granted that both he and they will acquiesce in the decision of their shipmates, as I should myself have done had the case been reversed ; and I hope no feeling of bitterness or disappoint- ment will remain in the breasts of any one of you." The simplicity and straightforwardness of this address went home to the hearts of its hearers, chiefly, perhaps, because the majority of them were themselves simple and straightforward. The reflection would have occurred to a more sophisticated community that a reference to the agree- ment itself would at any time put the captain in possession of th^ information of which he had so chivalrously declinod to avail himself ; but this idea presented itself neither to him nor them. A. round of cheers arose from the crowd The pLEBisciTii 150 as the captain took off his cap. It was a thing he rarely (lid, except at prayers, and was signiflcant of his being about to make an important communication. '' The first act of my new command," he said, "is to reinstate my friends and yours" (here he pointed to the oilicers who stood around him, and who, by their abstinence from voting, liad tacitly shown their acquiescence in the government of their chief) " in tlie same positions of authority which they have hitherto respectively occupied. Your vote of this evening evidently approves their re-appointment, and you will obey them, I feel sure, as cheerfully as you will obey me. *'-■:■-' ■-•■ ■ ; ■ « •■,': ■ : ■''■' Another hearty round of cheering here greeted the speaker ; his uUusion to their evident wishes (though it was probable they were unconscious of having entertained them) gratified them hugely; and, moreover, with one exception, they were well satisfied with their officers. As the captain looked round on the circle of approving laces, he perceived that enthusiasm for the new order of things had reached its acme, and that the moment had arrived for the crucial test of the obedience of his voluntary subjects. "The first order I have to give you men will, I know, be an unpopular one," he said, in a low but decisive tone; "but when I tell you that ir my opinion it is absolutely necessary, not only for the mu.ntenance of that authority you have just ratified, but for the safety of our lives, you will understand that it must be executed at once, and without a murmur. In the beautiful climate in which Providence has pleased to place us, it may be for the re- mainder of our days, strong drinks of any kind will be only necessary to us as a medicine. One of those liquor casks yonder will therefore be placed in the custody of Mr. Doyle. The rest you will break up at once, and in my presence." ' 'i . :v'- is An ominous silence ensued upon this mandate, followed by a murmur of unmistakable dissent. 160 A PRiNCE OF THE BlOOD. " Do you hear me ? " continued the captain, in a voice at least as ominous ; it was like the growl of a lion aroused from sleep. " I must have those spirit casks broken up." At first not a man stirred from his place : then out from the throng marched Matthew Murdoch. The effects of liquor were still very discernible in him, though he knew, as the saying is, "what he was about ; " there was less of audacity in his manner than there had been an liour- ago. Had he exchanged a word or two with those about hini an appeal, no doubt, for tbeir moral support, which vsas presumably accorded to him — before he once more con fronted the captain ; ' is all', though imntidertt enough, wa.s not so defiant ys heretofore; and there was something oi remonstrance, mingled with rebellion, in his husky tones. ''Look here, captain; right is right, but reason ib reason " " Stop ! " roared the captain, in a terrible voice, and looking round him with eyes from which all shrank on whom they fell. "Is this drunken dog, my men, your spokesman?" he inquired incredulously, i- v/"' ." ■ . • Not a sound was heard save the- breeze in the trees ainl the lapping of the sea upon tlie sand; then, after a pause, two replies broke forth, " Yos, he be." " Come out and join him, then, you skulking curs." Then Mellor and Rudge cnme out in a. shamefaced manner, and ranged themselves beside their ally, " Are there any more ?" The wind and the s^ea alone made answer. The moment, it was felt by all, was a supreme one, though few pictured to themselves its immense importance ; the ladies, whom it concerned most of all, the least. Aunt Sophia, indeed, w.is dumb with fe.ar ; she felt that matters were in a state «>f tension, which could only l"' relieved by some act of despotic authority upon, the one hand, or of lawless violence upon the other, but her alarm arose from that mere shrinking from the appeal to physi(!al 1 Eilll'..i The Plebiscite. 161 force which belongs to woman's nature ; she thought oeither of consequences nor of the opposing forces — the ignoble and the heroic — ^hich composed the spectacle before her, and whose collision, like that of two thunder- clouds, was about to evoke an explosion. For Edith, on the other hand, the scene had a dramatic interest, so powerful and absorbing that it left no room for apprehension. She had not believed that any incident of the life that was left to her could have so moved her. The reason of this, though she was unaware of the fact, was its absolute novelty. Her capacity for emotion had not, as she imagined, been destroyed ; her sympathies were as quick and tender as ever, but they could no longer be approached by the old road. No by-play of the drama escaped her. She noted the attitude of the captain, a statue of wrought- iron; his firm-set lips that repressed the pent-up tire within, and the eyes that betrayed it. She marked the ungainly but significant pose of the mutineer ; his giant arm advanced to accentuate his words, his huge hand trembling with hate and fear and liquor, and with every now and then a glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure of the presence of his supporters. ■ Warned by the continued silence that speech was ex- pected of him, he resumed his remonstrance. '* Reason is reason, says I, and it stands to reason that being our own masters with plenty of leisure and victuals, that we should no longer labour but enjoy ourselves. What we men wants " "You mean you men, you three," interrupted the captain. " Nay, it's what we all wants, only all have not the ^ pluck of Matthew Murdoch to say it ; we wants, since we are ashore, to taste the sweets of plenty. Now, there is nothing so sweet in life — save a lass — as good liquor ; and as to destroying all them casks, I tell you straight out it ihan't be don*." I ^ i lit li > 1 162 A Prince of the Blood. As he ended he touched, perhaps by accident, or to emphasize his argument, with his projected finger his commander's arm, which instantly, as if some powerful spring had released it, struck out from the shoulder like a catapult, and levelled him on the sand. There he lay, like an ox in the shambles, and almost as huge, bleeding from the slaughterer's axe, for the other's fist had caught him in the jaw, and had knocked out a tooth or two. ^v^ " When that mutinous dog comes to himself," thundered the captain, with a look of contempt at the prostrate hulk before him, "put him in irons. And now, my men, break up those spirit casks, and be quick about it." s Both orders were obeyed without a murmur ; the irons used in punishment had, as it happened, been brought from the Ganges, with the other resources of civilization, and were presently fitted to Murdoch's huge form by the carpenter, who was also sergeant at-arms ; while the men, in gangs, each under an officer, proceeded at once to break in the heads of the spirit casks, and empty their contents upon the sand. - ■ '' ' ' ' ^ \ft;- It was not one of those 'moral victories' of which so much is often made by the party which, according to the poor evidence of the senses, has unquestionably been beaten, but a substantial triumph of authority. Not until all was over was ' it fully understood by those most inter- ested in the struggle (and even then only by a vague sense of relief) how doubtful had been the issue ; if Murdoch had not laid his finger on the captain, the opportunity might have been wanting which had brought the "skirts of happy chance" within his grasp, but as it happened that one Jcnock-Jown blow had re-established his supremacy. Aunt Sophia had been a little shocked by it ; the appeal to brute force — notwithstanding the acknowledged admira- tion of the fair sex for the display of physical strength- had jarred upon her gentle nature. Do you not think, Editli," she said, as they returned (< ■^pp W4 The Plebiscite. 163 to their tent under the young midshipman's escort, " that it would be a gracious and proper thing in us to ask the captain to paidon that poor man ? " "I am not sure," was the quiet reply. "I bear, of course, no more ill-will against him than you do, but I should like to think about it a little before joining in such a request." " I wonder who it was that was put forward as the opposition candidate to the captain," observed Aunt Sophia, presently, " He particularly said that he did not want to know," remarked Edith, with a half-smile. " " ' ■ ' "^ "Quite right and very proper in him, my dear," replied the elder lady ; '* but, then, I do want to know. Mr. ConoUy, I see yow know ; come, tell us all about it?" The unfortunate youth looked not a little embarrassed ; if he could have got away from Aunt Sophia he would probably have done so, and parleyed with her from a distance, but her ample arm was hooked to his. He cast a glance of distress at Edith that seemed to say, "Pray observe that it is not m^/ fault ; I am obliged to tell her," ere he replied to her question. " I believe, Miss Norbury, that the other candidate for the men's suffrages was Mr. Bates. He had only a very small following; but that fellow Murdoch and the two others, Rudge and Mellor, were among them. It was in my opiuion the worst choice they could have made," added the young fellow, still glancing furtively at Edith's face, which had suddenly grown very grave and pale. " Mr. Bates is not a favourite of mine I'm sure," observed Aunt Sophia, "but we must remember, Mr. Conolly, it was not his fault that he was put in nomination.* As our good captain says, let bygones be bygones ; and don't you agree with me that it would be, so to speak, a pretty thing in dear Edith and myself, as well as acceptable to his friends, to get this poor man off his punishment." ■Uk t» M 2 164 A Prince of the Blood. U .it Master Conolly twiddled his cap, and hesitated, with his eyes fixed interrogatively on the younger lady. ** Of course, Murdoch will be glad to avail himself of your kind intorcessiou," he said, " but knowing the ill-con- ditioned set of fellows to which he belongs, I doubt whether they will like you a bit the better for it." " Moreover," put in Edith, with sharp decision, " I was once told by one very dear to lue, and who was kindness itself, that it was always a mistake to attempt to conciliate the base and cruel, since it only makes them think you are afraid of them ; and as I am not afraid either of Mr. Bates or his followers, any interference of mine on their behalf would produce a false impression." It was the first time that of her own free will Edith had referred to her lost lover, even indirectly, since his death and it was destined to be the last. Conolly, of course understood the reason of her bitterness against Mr. Bates but not so Aunt Sophia, who had never been made the con fidant of his conduct at Simon's Bay. She only under stood that her proposal for interfering with the course of justice on behalf of Matthew Murdoch had, like himself, been knocked on the head. , 'K CHAPTER XX. THE EXPLORATION. ■"!'.„ A -•, ; To any one who doubted of the necessity of there being a supreme head to the little band of exiles, a proof was evident on the very next morning, which showed the reef without the wreck; every vestige of the unfortunate Ganges had disappeared, and but for the captain's urgency in getting her emptied while wind and wave permitted, many lui article of comfort for which the term " worth its weight ^K^wmt^^WTW^ The Exploration. 165 in gold " would indeed have be>;n an inadequate expression, would have been lost with her. Violent as must have been the storm that thus took away all trace of her, little of it was felt within the land-locked harbour, while in 'Ladies' Bay,' as the spot in which its tenants were located was called, was only heard that muffled roar, which dwellers in London associate with distant traffic, and which like a lullaby soothes their slumbers. As Aunt Sophia and Edith looked to seaward and saw no ve£-ige of the object to which they had always been wont to first turn their eyes, they could hardly believe the evidence of their senses. Its disappearance had a very different, and even opposite, effect upon them, a fact of which both were con- scious ; the one was full of regrets, the other well content witli what had happened ; yet each for love's sake sympa- thized with the other, and embraced her without a word. The morning, though somewhat fresher than its fore- runners had been, was fine and bright, and the island had never looked so beautiful. Mr. Marston called upon the ladies early to inform them it was the captain's orders that a more commodious residence was that day to take the place of their tent, and to propose that while it was being run up, they should spend the day in exploring their place of exile. The superintendence of himself and his chief would be required in getting things ship-shape and in order in the larger bay, but the services of the second mate, Mr. Redraayne, and also those of Mr. ConoUy would be placed at their disposal. A couple of men would also be told off to carry their provisions, as well as to aid them in other respects ; the hills into which the island was broken being very steep, and progress, by reason of the luxuriance of vegetation, by no means easy. J • . ■ j. • ^ , This proposal was accepted with alacrity. The ladies were v6ry willing to emerge from the narrow limits of their present place of residence, and eager to explore the place that was in all probability to be their future home. A :iu,» m 166 A Prince of the Bi^ood. hasty survey of it, to make sure that it contained no other inhabitants but themselves, had been made on the first morning by some members of the crew, but with that excep- tion it was virgin ground. It was quite possible that the expedition they were about to make would be the first that had been undertaken in the island, a flowery wilderness whose beauties had perhaps never before gladdened the eye of mau. To Edith the prospect afforded even a greater satisfaction than to Aunt Sophia, who remarked with some surprise the pleasure that shone in her niece's face, in welcoming their escort ; she set it down to the enjoyment which she pro- mised herself in the society of Mr. Redmayne, a very hand- some and agreeable fellow. It was early days, of course, for Edith to be thinking seriously of any other man as a successor to her dead lover, but human nature was human nature, and it was only reasonable that she should appre- ciate the respectful and delicate attention paid her by the young officer ; after all, it was only a question of time and opportunity when the widowed heart of the young girl would seek consolation elsewhere, and in no circuuistances could opportunity be more favourable than in the present. So reasoned Aunt Sophia, not without a sigh, however, for the mutability of female affection, and a secret and complacent conviction that had the case been hers she would have proved more faithful, or, at all events, less pre- cipitate in transferring her allegiance. As a matter of fact, except so far as courtesy demanded, Edith gave no thought either to Mr. Redmayne or his attentions. Her pleasure, such as it was, arose from a precisely opposite cause, namely, frcm th6 utter novelty of the situation, which prevented her thoughts from dwelling upon the love, which for her meant loss of all, and had no sort of associa- tion with it. Except youth and good looks Mr. Redmayne and Charles Lay ton had little in common; but what similarity existed between them so far from attracting her towards the The Exploration. . . . 167 young officer, had the reverse effect. If any comparison ever suggested itself to her mind, he suffered by the con- trast. She freely acknowledged his good points, and was ffrateful to him for his politeness and good will ; but to have set him side by side with her Charley would have been cruel to the one, and little short of blasphemous as regarde 1 the other. Her position was that of an epicure, who is offered home-made Cura9oa, and who, while admit- ting it to be good of its kind, declines to admit the least comparison with the original. The case of young Conolly, whom not even Aunt Sophia could credit with any serious intentions, was altogether different. His society was always welcome to Edith, not on account of his obvious devotion to her, with which, indeed, if she had understood its depth, she would perhaps even have been displeased, but because he had been a favourite with Charley. She never spoke of her lover to the young midshipman, but her eyes often filled with ten- derness as she looked at the boy, who with the egotism of his age, imagined, no doubt, that she was not wholly indifferent to him upon his own account. The rules of seniority had not always given him satisfaction, but on the present occasion he was well pleased that they gave Aunt Sophia to the custody of , the second mate, and left Edith to his particular care. In neither case was the charge a sinecure. The island was of small extent — not more than twelve miles in circumference — but of most unequal formation ; except the sandy bays that fringed it, there was hardly a level spot to be found upon it ; it consisted of mountains and valleys, or rather of hills and dells, covered with the richest vegetation, and bright with the foliage of perpetual spring. The air, which, though warm, was fresh and in- vigorating, was laden with the perfume of ten thousand flowers; the trees that clothed the hills themselves bore blossoms of the most brilliant hue, while the climbing \ •■ ( 1C8 A Prince of the Blood. I plants which encircled their trunks, or which rooted in tlio shelving rocks, hung in ri(h festoons from the edge of every precipice, gave the idea of an eternal festival of nature. In the miniature defiles formed by the hills, this splen- dour of bud and bloom reached its acme ; the turf, watered by clear streams, was enamelled by flowers of such bright and varied hue that, as you approached it, it seemed as though you were about to tread on a carpet formed of precious stones. The blaze of colour would have been oppressive, but for the shadowy roof of the huge trees, which projected themselves on either side, and for the refreshing glimpses of the sea that were offered through their interlacing boughs. ^ . < Through this wilderness of beauty there was, of course, no pathway ; but the very difficulty of progress enhanced its pleasure. When a wild rose entangles our feet, it may seem as inconvenient as a common bramble, but the roses of this Eden had no thorns. The creepers that hung from rock and tree were, however, so numerous that it was im- possible to escape their bonds j the wayfarers were caught, as it were, in chaplets. On the other hand these assisted them in their ascents and descents ; they swung themselves up and down by ropes of flowers. Nothing that the imagination can conceive could be more wondrous than the spectacle of all this lavish beauty. It kept even the midshipman silent. Upon the summit of the second hill, where the Union Jack was flying, because it was the highest point of the island, the whole party halted as if by common consent. The view from this spot was panoramic, and less obstructed than elsewhere by trees. Upon all sides save one glittered the silver sea, without a break in its far-stretching splen- dour; on the north there were two groups of islands apparently about equi-distant from them, and from on« another. I mil I fi The Exploration. 1C9 *'Ij> it possible," murmured Aunt Sophia, carried out of her ordinary plane of thought by the entrancing scone, " that our eyes are the first to behold all this 1 " " * Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, ' ' And waste its sweetness on the desert air,' " remarked Mr. Redmayne, with the complacency of one who makes an apt quotation. Nevertheless it fell ilat. Edith remembered Johnson's depreciatory remarks upon 'the Elegy,' and for the first time agreed with him. The situation was indeed too poetic for so didactic an illustration. " It does not give me the notion of waste so much as of inexhaustible superabundance," she remarked. "Just so," returned the other, with eager agreement, " and a very pleasant notion, too. ' Surplusage is no error.' " To this second quotation there was no reply. Aunt Sophia felt for Mr. Redmayne ; it was clear to her that if left to carry on the conversation with Edith single- handed, it would not conduce to his interest as regarded the effacement of her former lover. She struck in there- fore to the rescue. "I am not quite sure, Edie, whether the presence of these islands adds a charm to the prospect, or the reverse. What do you think ? " " I think that they would be better away," was the decisive reply. She did not give her rea^.on. The fact was that they gave a vague impression ot continuity, of some connection with that world without, which she wished to have seen the last of, and to have done with. ^ "A very just expression," observed the second mate, " they would be much better away." "Why so?" inquired Aunt Sophia; she knew that there was danger to her plans in drawing him out, but her curiosity was too strong for her. " Because though we know there are no savages on this island, we cannot be so sure of that as regards its peighbours." Ill nil r 170 A Prince of the Blood. " Good heavens ! " exclaimed Aunt Sopliia, ** I under stood the captain to say they were uuinliabited." ** He hopes and believes they are so ; but time aU»ne can show it. It is sometimes a question with persor.s in our position, whether even foes are not bettor than no felKnv- creatures at all, but that is not our case, at all e\ uiits, for the present." " You meain that even foes may save us from starvation," observed Edith, ** in case the island does not prove to b(> self-supporting?" M/. Rodmayne nodded. The snbjoct was evidently a serious one with him, and, indeed, it h.ul much occupied the thoughts of the captain and his officers. "Beg pardon, miss," said one of the sjiilors, breaking a rather uncomt'ortable silence, '' but we found these pears and apples as we come along^ very, what you was pleatsed to call, self-supporting." " Pears and apples ! You don't mean to tell me that you have been eating those great brown and red fruits, ' exclaimed the officer, angrily, " uhat hung on the trees ? " " Well, yes, sir ; my mate j-ud me we finished \ip ;i goodish lot of them on the road," said the man. " Good heavens ! this may be very serious," mutterod ]\Ir. Eedmayne, in a tone of great concern. "We thought they was public property, like," explained the sailor, apologefically, " It is not that, my man," observed the officer, smiling in spite of himself ; " but you don't know what mischief you may not have done to yourselves. One of the first tasks Mr. Doyle has set himself to do," he added, turning to the ladies, "is to analyze the island fruits with a view to ascertaining their fitness for human food." " They are not immediately fatal to life, sir," remarked Conolly, drily, but with an air of great respect. " The fact is we ate half a dozen of them apiece at mess last night.' " The deuce you did ; that only shows, however, that they do not kill midshipmen." ■ r liiL The Exploration. 171 Despite that injurioua remark, this news of the experi- ment having been tried, on however vile a body, gave the speaker great satisfaction. •' If this be so, ladies," he added, cheerfully, " then one of our gravest causes for anxiety is removed ; with fruit and fish — for I take it for granted we shall find some means of catching fish — we need have at least no fear of want." "Then, sooner or later, some one is sure to find us," put in Aunt Sophia, " that is, of course " (with a glance at those specks in the distance), "I mean some European ship." *' Let us hope so," said Mr. Redraayno gently, " though if the worst came to the wor.st, and we were left to one another's society for ever " — (here he blushed and stam- mered) — ** I mean if we were exiles for life in this beautiful spot, it would not be so intolerable." He east a glance at Edith as he ended this little speech, but she took no notice of it, and turned to the young midshipman. " What do yon say, Mr. Conolly ? " "I could be very huppy here," he answered simply, "but I should like to see my mother again." "A very proper reply," said Edith, with a smile followea by a little sigh. "Come, let us go on." A spirit of thoughtfulness, if not of gloom, had fallen upon the little party, and with a view to recover their spirits, Mr. Redmayne proposed lunch ; the meal was spread in the next valley, where the sailors lit a fire, and prepared some tea for the ladies ; after which refreshment, Master Conolly was called upon for a song. Our young midship- man had a beautiful voice, and sang at once * Sweet Home ' with great simplicity and sweetness. A silence followed it, more significant than any applause could have been. The rough sailors were as much touched as their superiors, and tiie hearts of all the audience, save one, seemed to respond with an Amea. " . j-' " 172 A Prince of the Blood. As they turned to leave the spot, the midshipman's quick eye lit upon a white object among the flowers, to which he called Mr. Kedmayne's attention. He took it up, and examined the ground about it with great minuteness. "What new wonder have you discovered?" inquired Aunt Sophia. " No wonder, madam, but only a piece of information," was the grave reply. " We may now take it for granted that yonder islands are inhabited." "Why sol" " Because some weeks — or, perhaps, only some days ago — there has been held, close to where we are now sitting, another feast. Here are the traces of the fire, and here is a fish bone; we must return at once, if you please, and inform the captain." The news the excursionists brought back with them to Rescue Bay was so important that, not satisfied with their report. Captain Head himself repaired with Mr. Bedmayne to the spot where the discovery had been made. That a fire had been lit there was certain, buc haw long ago it was difficult to guess. In a less genial climate the period might have been ei 'iended to months, but so quick was Nature to reassert her5»€lf in that marvellous region, that it might only bMre included ae many days. Had the luncheon party ueen held a little later, indeed, there would have been no evidence of ' previous occupation at all, except the fish bone, which might itself have got there by other than human meau^ An osprey, for instaiacp. might have dropped it* prey. As things were, however, it was certain that there nad b«een other visitors, and that but lately, on the island than those •'ho at present occupied it. " I am glad it is a Jish bone," said the captai a, who was not ^rnhout some humour. " It might have beer, another sort of bone, and proved our neighbours vond'^r to be cannilmig. Even if they be cannibals, however, they will find us a tov^ lot," he added grimly. The Explora ion. 173 " Not all of us," observed the younger officer significantly. "Just so; tbv^re are two tender morsels you would say, one of whom might tempt even a white man. Well, well," he added kindly, perceiving the young man's look of con- fusion. "It's natural enough at your age that such matters should enter your thoughts, though if you will take my advice, you will dismiss them. I know the young iady u question, and she is not like other girls, who, I .ing missed their bird with one barrel, is ready to bring down another with a second. In any case, however, this is no time f - love-making ; our island is Uke heaven in more respects than one; there will be no marrying or giving in marriage in it for some time to come. In my judgmen+^^ we shall find it a very tight plact.." "You mean we shall not be long left in undisturbed possession of it, sir ? " . The captain nodded gravely. " If the Ganges had come ashore on the south yonder, it is my opinion we should have seen something of our neighbours before now. As it is, they know less of us than even we know of them ; but we may make each other's acquaintance any day." " At all events, sir, no matter how many they may be, we shall be able to give a good account of them." "No doubt, if matters should unhappily come to that pass; but all our efforts must be directed to keeping friends with them. If not f )r our own sake, for the sake of those whom we have in charge, and who are solely dependent upon us, it behoves us, if it be possible, to keep Uie peace. I look to you, Mr. Redmayne, to impress that necessity on all hands." " It shall be done, sir." The captain nodded approvingly; ho felt not a little pleased with himself as a diplomate. One of the most difficult things in the case of a ship's crew finding them- iislves in native company is to keep the men from giving any cause of offence ; and he felt that in what he had said ^' 174 A Prince of the Blood. to the second mate, he had offered the strongest induce- ment for doing his best to maintain amicable relations with their expected visitors. Ill t; 'i [li m ?■ l! CHAPTER XXI. VISITORS. Ip Mr. Redmayne alone nourished a secret passion for Edith, there was no lack of good will and even tenderness both for her and Aunt Sophia aD.ong the rest of the cast- aways. They were, on the whole, good specimens of Englishmen, and, with a few brutal exceptions, understood the silent appeal made to all that was best in them, by the presence of the two defenceless women. It is possible, had the reins of authority fallen into other hands, that the responsibility of what chance had thus imposed, would not have been so loyally acknowledged ; but as it was, it was pleasant to note not only the delicate attentions of the oflScers, but the willing services of the sailors, offered on all occasions to the two ladies as though by hosts to guests. The very first thought of the captain, as we have seen, had been to improve their place of residence ; and in a very few hours, the carpenter and his assistants had made a dwelling-house of wood, in place of the tent, but little inferior in solidity to those scamped and crazy edifices which the enterprising builder now * runs up ' in the suburbs of our metropohs. Its slightness was of no con- sequence, for not only was the site completely sheltered. but hardly any protection was needed against climatic influences. It required a fire-place only for cooking pur- poses, and there were no stairs. Coustrviction was thus comparatively easy, but a great deal of solicitude was ex- pended upon its external appearaace. Not otaiy about the » Visitors. 175 ample porch with which it was provided, but over the whole tenement creepers were carefully trained, which sprang up and flourished with such marvellous rapidity that in a very short time the hut of planks resembled a fairy bower. Within, the arrangements were really of a superior kind, everything that had adorned the best cabins, including of course their own, en board the Ganges^ having been laid under contribution for their new abode. The sitting-room was quite handsomely furnished with mirrors, pictures, and couches, nor was anything wanting to their comfort elsewhere that forethought could supply. Auut Sophia and Edith were far from belonging to that portion of their sex which take all kindness shown them by the other as a matter of course, or to be overpaid by a frigid smile. Their gentle hearts were touched by it. On Edith, if such a word can be used of one so naturally sympathetic, it had a very humanizing effect ; it made her feel that the terrible misfortune that had happened to her, nead not, as she had imagined, cut her off from her kind ; the lamp of her inner life had gone out, but still she was not 1 ft in darkness ; or, rather, her mental vision having got accustomed to what had seemed darkness, she became aware of a light, if of a somewhat dim and twilight kind, which struggled in to her from without. Love of the personal sort was dead within her and buried with her lost one in the deep ; but sympathy with her fellow-creatures survived, and made life once more seem worth the living. As for Aunt Sophia, whose honesty and good sense made her well aware that she had long lost those attractions which are generally associated with her sex, she had no words to express her sense of the consideration and kind- ness with which she was treated. " In your case, my dear Edith," she said, "it is no wonder with your youth and beauty that you should have such respect paid to you ; you appear, no doubt, to this industrious hive like a queen bee. to whom it is impossible to show too much devotion ; but 1 s j ■k^ t^ 176 A Prince of the Blood. *'i t 't for my part, I have nothing to recommend me but mj helplessness." ■ " • ■" " '-■ i ". .'" v^ - . ,, " It is that and that only, we may be sure," put in Edith quickly, " that makes these brave fellows indulge and spoil us both, as you and I would indulge and spoil a motherless child ; and I wish from my heart tliat we had some means of showing how deeply we feel their tenderness." She thought for a moment, and then added, " I think I have hit on a plan to prove our gratitude, though it can never repay the obligation it imposes on us. It is certain, my dear Sophy, that wholesome as this climate appears to be, there will be more or less of sickness amongst us ; acci- dents, too, it is probable will happen, even if there be not (which Heaven forbid) wounds received in active warfare with our unknown neighbours ; in any case some kind of hospital will be necessary. Why should we not fit up our fourth and largest room — for which we ourselves have no real need — as a sick ward, where we may nurse our benefactors in their hour of need ? " At this Aunt Sophia clapped her hands for joy. The proposition was one which suited not only with her feelings, but her capacity, for she was a first-rate nurse. It was necessary to communicate their design to the captain, who after some demur acceded, to the proposal : for some days they knew not what leisure meant, but their toil was of the pleasantest kind, since its object was the benefit of others. Under the surgeon's superintendence they selected from the ship's stores everything necessary for their purpose, and with their own fingers pulled enough lint to suffice for the casualties of a general engagement. That discovery of the fish-bone brought indeed the curse of labour upon all the dwellers in that isle of Eden. Not a moment was lost in putting the encampment, if such a term could be applied to what was no longer a mere assemblage of tents, but which included a wooden hut or two of some pretensions, into a state of defence. A barri II Visitors. 177 le curse I. Not such a \ mere hut or \ barri cade was erected between it and the sea, made by driving a double row of strong posts into the sand, interlaced with the branches of trees. The space between these rows wa& filled with logs of wood, stone, and sand, to render it solid. On the iuside a bank was raised, on which the men could stand and fire if attacked, with an opening left for one of the six-pounders which they had contrived to bring on shore. Two large swivels were also mounted upon rocks, enclosed within the line of fortification, so that they could be pointed in all directions ; and the breast-work was con- tinued round * Ladies' Bay,' riglit up the cliff foot. These preparations, intended to inspire confidence, had a directly opposite effect with Aunt Sophia. She already beheld their island home invaded by countless savages, with whom scalping was a pastime, and burning their enemies alive a festive celebration. Henceforth she could never be persuaded by her companion to explore any portion of the island without an escort, and rarely even to set foot outside the barricade. To Edith, on the contrary, this sense of impending peril was not altogether one of apprehension, and in truth had a certain charm of its own, which was due to its strangeness. Mr Doyle, who saw much of her at this period, once remarked that Miss Edith had a passion for novelty greater than any he had observed in her sex ; but the fact was that she hailed anything that was a distraction to her thoughts, even though it were anxiety itself. It is in this condition of our faculties, fortunately a rare one, that the mind is most accessible to new impressions. One morning, as the two ladies sat in the porch, Edith with paint-brush in hand, finishing a little watei-colour sketch of their rampart she had begun the day before, which Master Conolly had begged of her, and Aunt Sophia reading aloud from Walter Scott, the young midshipman came flying towards them through the passage that con- nt'cted the two bays. His face was flushed with excitement s 178 A PllLNCE OF THE BlOOD. illi ,>Si >. I |.l.i:^ -- - ■■■ 1 lit'::. ;: PPf' more than speed, his eyes sparkled, his voice trembled with the weight of his news, as he exclaimed, " Some one has come at last ! " " Some one ! " shrieked Aunt Sophia, dropping ' Quentin Durward ' from her lap. " Do you mean the savages?" He shook his head. "Great Heaven! Is it an English shipl" The poor lady's ecstasy was but short lived, for the lad shook his head again. , • . At the same time Edith uttered a deep sigh, which he mistook for one of regret. , *' I don't know what they are," he said ; " come and see with your own eyes." Edith rose at once to accompany him, and Aunt Sophia, rather than be left by herself, followed her example. As they rounded the rock, a singular spectacle presented itself. The whole ship's company had the attitude of a state of siege. Every man was at the post assigned to him, on the barricade or at the guns, with the exception of throe persons — the captain, Mr. Marston, and the Hindoo inter- preter, Gideon Ghorst— who were standing on the verge of the sea at a short distance — for it was high tide — the first with a white flag in his hand, the other two each with a branch of a tree, in token of amity. The reason for this strange demonstration was not far to seek. In the harbour, about fifty feet from the shore, were two large canoes kept in a state of rest by their paddles ; their con- struction was most curious and graceful. They were between thirty and forty feet long, hollowed apparently out of a single stem. A balance log at least twenty feet long, was carried by each at the extremity of two immensely long elastic outriggers, the whole presenting the appearance of excessive lightness and buoyancy. From stem to stern the canoes were filled with the most gorgeous flowers, heaped up in such profusion that they almost concealed their tenants. These consisted in each case of lux I Visitors. 179 nine jjersons, whose appearance was so extraordinary that it was little wonder that the midshipman had been unable to classify or describe them. With the exception of one individual, who, like a native of India, wore waistcloth and turban, they were all clothed in dazzling white ; their garments, without having the stiffness of the European cut, fitted almost as closely, so as to admit of the freest use of the limbs. Their arms only, and, as was presently seen, their legs below the knee, were bare. Round their fore- lieads were circlets of red flowers, and also around their waists, which, contrasting with the hue of their attire, shone like crowns and zones of fire. Mr. Redinayne, who had advanced to the ladies backwards for the first time in his life, his eyes being riveted on this amazing scene, iianded Aunt Sophia a field-glass. " What do you make of them. Miss Norbury ? " he in- quired excitedly. The lady's scrutiny was long and keen. " I think they are angels," presently she murmured, in awestruck tones, and passed on the glass to Edith. If grace of form constitute an angel, Aunt Sophia's diagnosis would have been correct. So far as the assisted eye could judge of these strange visitors, they were indeed glorious specimens of humanity. Their colour was a fine bronze, no darker than that of a European who has lived long in a sultry climate ; their hair was black, and very luxuriant, though so neatly arranged and confined in braids and plaits that it was difficult to judge of its length. No more feminine appearance was thereby imparted to them, however, than by the fillets worn by our street athletes; their forms — to judge by the two who were standing up and directing the rowers with their hands — were too majestic and suggestive of strength. Had the castaways been the savages whom they had presupposed their visitors would be, they might well have imagined that those they thus beheld were gods. N 2 •>'-„ 180 A Prince of the Blood. Astonishment, however, was by no means confined to one side. The eyes of the new comers ranged over the encamp- ment, the guns, and the little group of men on the shore, with the wildest surprise. J i ; jj . , ;•• • > ' Presently the captain, raising his voice so tliat it could be heard by both parties, directed the interpreter to address them in Malay, which was immediately done. Thereupon the native with the turban spoke a few hurried words with the man upstanding on his canoe, and then replied, *' Who are you, whom we find upon our ' Island of Flowers;' and are you at peace with us or at war?" Then the inter- preter, in obedience to the captain's orders, replied that they were unfortunate Englishmen who had lost their ship upon the reef, and that they were their friends. On this the two leaders interchanged a word or two, and without a moment of hesitation the canoes were paddled to shore. This was done with such rapidity that the captain was unable, as it had been his intention to do, to go into the water to meet them, a sign of confidence and conciliation in such cases. He instantly, however, pressed forward, stretching out his hand to one of the leaders. The latter took it daintily in his palm, and considered it with much attention, the others crowding round with expressions of wonder and delight. They had, as their companion the Malay explained, never seen a white man before, and the blue veins in his hands were what was exciting their surprise. .; . ^' The captain on this rolled up his sleeve to let them see that this specialty was not only local, whereupon they showed him their own arms, which were, in theur turn, also peculiar, being tattooed from the wrist to the shoulder, with every description of flowers. One of the two leaders had evidently a superiority over his fellow, for which it was difficult to account ; his manner was less dignified, and his curiosity and wonder more openly expressed; and on seeing the captain button his waistcoat, which happened Visitors. 181 to have come undone, he burst into a musical laugh, which w;is instantly echoed by the rest. His face was the most good-natured, though without weakness, it is possible to imagine, and his gentle and unsuspicious manners were , those of a child. This personage, as the Malay, who could speak a little English, gave them to understand, was Masiric, brother of King Taril, who ruled the neighbouring island. At a word from the captain, the rest of the officers came out of the encampment to be introduced to the visitors. They naturally held out their hands, which however the otherp declined, their curiosity in that direction having been sufficiently gratified. On being informed, however, that shaking hands was a proof of friendship, they entered upon that exercise with great enthusiasm, nor could they be easily induced to leave it off. It being breakfast-time, some tea and sweet biscuits were brought down for the strangers, who partook of the beverage with seeming enjoy- ment ; nor was it discovered till long after that they thought it the nastiest that had ever passed their lips. In every movement, look, and word, they were in short the pink of courtesy, and the most cordial relations were at once established between the two parties. As they sat upon the ground at their repast, Edith's curiosity to get a nearer view of them induced her, in company with Mr. Redmayne, to approach the group. No sooner did they catch sight of her than all with one accord uttered a cry of joy mingled with awe, and leaping to their feet rushed away to their canoes. From thence they presently returned, laden with flowers, and advancing towards her with every demonstration of respect, heaped them up at her feet, and then prostrated themselves on the sand. " What shall I say to them ? " she inquired eagerly of the interpreter. "What is it they take me for?" "They worship flowers," explained the Malay, "and they take you for their goddess." .^^n-^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I M ||Z2 IM 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 -< 6" — ► V2 ^ /a 'm ■c*! 'a /a oy, ^;> ^ /A Wj '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation 4 V •c^^^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^9> ■^ :\ \ \ ^ f^ #i 9>^ i/i 182 A Prince of the Blood. " And a very natural error to fall into, too," said Mr. Kedmayne, under his breath. CHAPTER XXIL THE SONG. ! It falls to the lot of very few of us to be worshipped even metaphorically ; and Etliih Norbury's position seemed to her a sufficiently embarrassing one ; but the fact was that under the circumstances she could hardly have gone wrong in whatever she did. Persons of the blood royal find it very easy to satisfy the requirements of their " obedient humble servants," awd a Divinity has of course still less difficulty in 3uch matters. It was natural to Edith to smile and look pleasant, and in so doing she fulfilled all that was expected of her. Moreover, as it so happened, these good people were in the most admirable cue for unquestioning de"otion. Deep hid in the * Isle of Flowers,' which it seemed was its native designation, was a rudo altar, to which at certain seasons, of which this was one, these children of nature came to pay their vows. Their offerings they had brought with them, and finding, as they imagined, the goddess in person to receive them, it seemed superfluous to seek her shrine. The situation had that sort of sublimity about it which is only one step removed from the ridiculous ; had Edith been a man, for example, and one of the captain's build, his appearance with so much floral decoration would have suggested to the irreverent and European mind a Jack-in-the-green; as it was, being a woman, and a very pretty one, she seemed, as she stood knee-deep in bud and blossom, even to her own countrymen, as at least a charming Queen of the May, and their evident admiration assisted the impression produced upon the visitors. ^w^fwin The Song. 183 Even Mr. Bates was pleased, because, as he explained to one of his henchmen, if these people didn': know a gii'l from a goddess, it was plain that they must be simple indeed, and that if the young woman only played her cards decently well she could get anything she wanted out of them, which would be to the benefit of the whole community. That she should hesitate to take advantage of their ignor- ance never entered into his mind, and indeed tor the present it was difficult, and, as the Malay suggested, would be exceedingly injudicious, to do otherwise, Edith herself was tortured with scruples ; the position thus involuntarily thmst upon her was not only like that of the Lady of Burleigh, " the burthen of an honour to which she was not born," and for which she felt wholly unfitted, but seemed also to savour of impiety. Aunt Sophia, however, joined with the captain in advising her at least to be silent. Perhaps she felt a secret pride in finding so near a relative promoted, though by mistake, to such an immense eleva- tion, while at the same time she experienced a little natural jealousy at having no share of these celestial honours. "They will very soon find out, my dear Edith, without your telling them, that you are no goddess," was her naive reply to her niece's scruples. At this Edith smiled — dis- pensed, as it seemed to them, one more ray to her enrap- tured worshippers — and withdrew as * divinely ' as she could to * Ladies' Bay,' followed by Master Conolly laden with her floral tributes ; just as some prima donna, who on returning from a gcene in which she has been over- whelmed by public favour, is obliged to call in assistance to carry her bouquets. While the visitors were being shown over the encamp- ment, every object of which awakened in them a new world of thought, the Malay in the intervals of interpreta- tion told the captain what he knew of their new friends. He himself — accoj'ding to his own account, one of the best and most trustworthy of mankind — had met, as good men bVi"'! I II 184 A Prince of the Blood. do, with great misfortunes. On a voynge from Canton to Amboyna his vessel had been driven far out of her course, and been ten months ago wrecked on tjlie neighbouring island, which was called Breda. Not a soul had been saved except himself ; but the people had proved very kind to him, as no doubt they would prove to the captain and his crew. So far, however, from being eU'eminate, as they might appear, the natives of Breda were a very powerful and warlike race, which they had need to be, since on its sister island, Amrac, there dwelt a savage and cruel people, with whom they were always at war. The island on which they now were, named Faybur (or Isle of Flowers), un- claimed by either and common to both, was seldom visited by the inhabitants of Breda, except, as on the present occasion, for devotional purposes, and by those of Amrac (who worshipped nothing) still more rarely. As to the possibilities of rescue, it was the Malay's opinion that the Ganges was the first European ship that had ever sailed these seas; on Faybur he had been given to understand that there were no trees fit for the construction of canoes, much more of any larger vessel ; and even in Breda the timber, though extraordinarily light and buoyant, was of a very perishable nature. This news had some satisfaction, but more of discourage- ment in it. It was probable that, from their present visitors and their friends, no evil was to be apprehended ; but there was no knowing what changes mi^ht arise from their common enemies on the other island ; while it seemed only too likely that where they were there they must be content to remain for the rest of their natural lives. The captain himself had no family ties, nor was his mind much fiven to sentiment; but this decree (for such it must needs prove, if the information of the Malay was correct) of perpetual separation from all that was familiar afPected him not a little. He felt, too — for his^ heart was kind— for those of his people who had wives and children, whose Ifi The Sono. m faces they were never to see more, and whose homes would be worse than desolate, becaube haunted by false hopes of their return. His pity was especially claimed by the two women (so unfitted by their bringing up to face such a calamity), whom Fate had committed to his charge, and for whose future, so full of peril, he had become responsible, fo make arrangements beyond the passing hour for them was impossible; truly, indeed, could it be said of them that they could not know what a day might bring forth. Not even the present could be relied upon, since for the captain — who had the prejudices, or perhaps it would be fairer to say the' experience, of his class — the very name of Malay was a symbol of bad faith. He had to take his description of the state of affairs for granted, not because 1° trusted in the man's word, but because there was no evidence to' be, procured from any other source. A circumstance at this moment occurred, which, to say the least of it, did not tend to increase his confidence in the go-between in question. The captain had besought him, in a few earnest words, on introducing the new arrivals into the camp, to say nothing of the nature of its armament ; to keep their visitors in ignorance of the existence of that last resource of civilization — powder and shot — was of the utmost importance ; and everything connected with fire- arms had been carefully put out of sight except the cannon, which could not be well disposed of, but whose presence I could easily be explained to such simple inquirers on the ground of decoration. Where all was novel, a brace of swivels, and another of six-pounders would excite neither [ more .nor less of curiosity than other objects the uses of whicb would be equally unintelligible to them ; and so, I indeed, it had turned out. The visitors had made the circuit of the camp, and gorged with undigested inform- ation as any young gentleman who goes up for a com- petitive examination at Burlington House, were about, with many signs of friendly satisfaction, to return to th«ir i : ,' rm II' lieii 186 A Prince op the Blood. canoe, when one of them discovered upon the sand a bullet. This object carelessly dropped and as carelessly left where it fell, or perhaps too small to attract an eye less keen than that of a savage, at once riveted his attention. The weight of it as contrasted with its minuteness awakened his wonder, and he instantly turned to the Malay for a soly- tion of the phenomenon. The explanation was short and swift, and seemed sufficient, for the native pushed his inquiries no farther; but, on the other hand, he hid the bullet in his robe, as the captain shrewdly suspected, for further investigation and inquiry. The Malay, had he chosen to do so, might have put an end to all discussion on the matter, by affecting to treat it as of no importance, and returning the bullet to its proper owner or even throw- ing it into the sea. It was evident he had wits and pre- sence of mind enough to have adopted this course, had he been so inclined ; and the fact that he had not done so was full of sinister significance. The possession of this little object would give him the key to a secret which he would have been otherwise unable to render intelligible to his companions. To reproach him with any such design was, however, out of the question ; not to quarrel with hiih and through him to conciliate the others as much as possible, was the only course open to the castaways. It was, then, with a heavy heart that the captain saw his visitors about to depart. On the one hand, it was a matter of great convenience, and one which did away with much necessary misconception, that an interpreter between the two parties had been found ; on the other, it placed in what might prove to be unworthy, or even hostile hands, a vast and irresponsible power. It was to be hoped, indeed, of a people apparently so genial and good-natured, that they would draw favourable conclusions for themselves of their new neighbours, but it was certain that their judgment was liable to be warped and perverted by the only personage who was in a position to speak with know- The Song. 187 ledge, and whose interests might prompt him to misrepre- sentation. A present of some kind was given to each visitor, nor was the Malay himself forgotten. Indeed, the captain showed no little diplomacy in giving bim one of precisely the same kind that was assigned to Prince Masiric, by which he wished not only to please its recipient but to arouse some jealousy in the breast of his Koyal Highness. Gifts, too, of various kinds, were forwarded to King Taril —a present of tea (which his Majesty, as it was afterwards discovered, took in pinches raw, in preference to the usual decoction), a jar of sugar-candy, a pound of the sweet biscuits which had given such pleasure to his subjects, and several yards of scai'let cloth. Laden with these treasures, and delighted with their amazing experiences, the visitors were stepping into their vessels, when from the * Ladies' Bay ' the voice jf Master Conolly singing a Scotch song was borne upon the evening breeze. The effect upon his native audience was most remp'kable. No exclamation of pleasure broke as before from their lips,. but "the hushed amaze of hand and eye" testified to their delight and wonder. Then, with ineffable softness, so as not to interrupt the strain, the word 'Deltis' passed from one to the other. The captain would have inquired of the Malay what this meant, but Masiric held up his finger for silence. A strange picture, indeed, in that exquisite frame of Nature's handiwork, was this band of enraptured savages, listening as though to a voice from heaven (and in truth it lacked neither sweet- ness nor pathos) to the song of the unseen lad : — *' Hame, hame, hame, oh hame fain wad I be, Oh hame, hame, liame, to ipy ain countrie ! When the flower is in the bud^ and the leaf is on the tree, The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie I Hame, hame, hame, oh hamo fain would I be, Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie I " m J mm 188 A Prince of the Blood. CHAPTER XXm. A VOLUNTARY EXIT. Not till the song had ceased did the attention of the visitors relax for one instant, and with its last note an answering thrill seemed to pervade their giant frames. Id Breda, explained the Malay, singing was utterly unknown ; nor did even any bird sing, save one they called the Deltis, which had a flute-like note, not unlike that of the young midshipman, and which, visiting them only at rare intervals, was held in a manner sacred. Masiric could hot be per- suaded that what he had heard was a melody produced by the human voice, so the captain ordered ConoUy to be sent for, to give in their presence another specimen of his powers. As a rule, midshipmen are not shy, and fortun- ately he was no exception to the rule, or the task might well have proved embarrassing. Moreover, not knowing what a sensation he had made already, he had no idea how much was expected of him. But whether by accident or design, he selected a song of a very different kind from its predecessor, 'Scots wha hae wi* Wallace bled,' which he gave with a great deal of vigour and feeling. The effect was even more striking than that of his previous effort, for the visitors as if roused to frenzy by the stirring strains, flew to their canoes, and snatching from them each a club — weapons they had hitherto kept concealed — per-l formed a sort of war dance in rhythmic measure. A more complete triumph was never achieved by singer ; nor, on the other hand, did ever success exact so severe a penalty. There was a hurried conversation with the Malay, and! then, on behalf of the visitors, he besought, as the greatest favour and strongest mark of friendship that could shown them, that the young midshipman should be allowed I to accompany them to Breda. The captain stood irresolute)! there might be great advantage in such an arrangement I tn agony determine dispositioi Her ^r her prote(, fain mad< latter wai risk of cl: those on v The misch rapid step to the sh pi-ostrated ^im I^HP A Voluntary Exit. 189 «! for the ship's company, but there was also danger to the envoy. "He shall not go unless he wi.<;.hes it himself," was the resolution arrived at, as he watched the colour come and go in the young fellow's cheek. Then he took him aside and spoke with him. " If you shrink from this undertaking, as well you may, my lad," he said kindly, " do not hesitate to say so ; it may, no doubt, be of great benefit to us, if by your singing you please the king as you have pleased his people ; but there is much risk in it, and jou have a mother at home to whom I am accountable for your safety, and of whom it behoves us both to think." "I will go, sir; but I should like to wish good-bye first to Miss Edith Norbury," was the lad's simply replv. Under other circumstances, such a request would certainly have provoked some ridicule from one so little given to sentiment as his commander, in whose eyes Master Lewis Conolly did not seem to have long emerged from the nursery. As things were, however, and considering the nature of the venture the boy was willing to make, his very youth gave seriousness to his appeal. As the captain was about to give him the desired permission, Edith her- self made her appearance from 'Ladies' Bay.' The news had already reached her of what had been proposed, and in itn agony of apprehension for the lad's safety, she had determined — reluctant as she was to interfere with the dispositions of authority — to make her protest. Her presence, as it happened, was welcome neither to her protegi nor to the captain. The former would have fain made his farewell out of sight of prying eyes; the latter was chagrined that she should have thus run the risk of cheapening herself by a second appearance before those on whom she had made so marvellous an impression. The mischief, however, if mischief it were, was done. With rapid step, flushed cheek, and eager eye, Edith ^me down to the shore, and as she did so, the visitors, as before, prostrated themselves on the sand. Of them she took no '"f? mU ■?'^li 190 A Prince of the Blood. laii notice (an undesigned piece of diplomacy which probably increased her reputation with them), but addressed herself at once to the captuin "Is it possible, Captain Head, that you are about to send this fatherless boy among a strange and it may be a barbarous people, without a single friend, or the means of making one, on the possible chance of benefit to those he leaves behind him 1 Let two of them — for I am speaking for my relative as well as for myself — the two on whoiu if evil falls will suffer the most from it, entreat of you to make no such sacrifice of a brave boy for our poor sakes; we are women, but we are not such cowards as to wish to be saved from danger at that cost." She spoke with exceeding earnestness and passion ; her theme not only elevated her usual style, but seemed to inspire her \ery frame with a dignity hitherto unknown to it. The visitor uttered a low cry of awe and deprecation at the sight of the ire of their goddess. "Madam," replied the captain quietly, "you do me wrong. This boy, as he will tell you, has received no orders from me to comply with our visitors' request. On the contrary, I have reminded him that he has a mother at home who, should we ever, God willing, return to our native land, will ask me, ' Where is my son 1 ' and woe be to me if I have to answer 'His blood is on my hands.' But if he himself is willing " " Oh, shame upon you ! " interrupted the g^rl with vehemence, ''you mean if he himself is brave enough to I lose his young life for our sakes, why should we hesitate to j take advantage of so much simplicity and courage?" The captain bit his lips and was silent. He was one of those men whose nature invincible byj fire and sword, shrinks from the sharpness of a woman's tongue. "The captain is quite right. Miss Edith," said the! young midshipman softly; "he has placed no compulsion ^im'l A VOLUNTAHY ExiT. 191 on me of any kind ; but he has offered me an opportunity of distinguishing myself such as tails to the lot of ftnv men of my age " — it was with difficulty Edith here rei)ressed a smile, in which, however, it would have been crjiel indeed to have indulged — '* anrl I am fully resolved to embrace it; T shall come back again, safe and sound, no doubt, but if I do not, you will think of me ns having done my duty, and — and — not forget me." The tears rushed to Edith's eyes, but remembering in whose presence she stood, and how important it was that she should exhibit no sign of weakness, she restiained them. She turned to the captain with an interrogating glance, but he shook his head. **I will say neither yes nor no, madam, in this matter ; it never was one of di.scipline or duty, and I wash my hands of it. You must just settle it your own way." "The wind is rising," said the Malay impatiently to Gideon Ghorst, "and our canoes are unfitted for rough weather ; we are anxious to be off, and my people here hope that nothing has occurred to prevent the fulfilment of your {)romise as regards this young gentleman." As he spoke, he threw at Conolly a glance of unmistak- able disfavour, which did not escape the captain's attention. "There has bean no promise," he answced coldly, when this speech was translated to him. " Now, madam, it is for you to decide." ^ "" , ^ • • '. ■<'• TherQ is nothing so popular with the crowd as an occasional self-abnegation of authority, and this deference on the part of their chief to Edith's opinion was extremely well received by the ship's com[)any. They quite under- stood the affair to be one out of the ordinary course, and to be settled by no ordinary rules. As for the visitors Edith's decision had only to be explained to them to be unhesitatingly accepted as law. "The issue. Captain Head, which you have placed in my feeble hands," she answered modestly, but in tones so 192 A Prince of the Blood. i i: distinct that all around her could hear, " is, I feel, far too momentous for them to deal with. I do not, however, shrink from the responsibilty you have imposed upon aie, Let Mr. Conolly go, since he wishes it ; but not utterly frit^ndless, or without the means of communicating with hh fellow-countrymen. Let our own interpreter bo his com panion ; as he is the only medium of intercourse between us and our neighbours, they will prize him for their own sakes ; and since whenever they vi^it us they must needs bring him with them, we shall always learn how our young envoy iares." This proposal was received by the whole ship's company with three ringing cheers, for while it possessed all the advantages for which they hoped for themselves, it mitigated the circumstances of the volunteer exile, whose youth appealed ^.o every heart, and for whom almost every one felt both gratitude and pity. To the Malay, however, the suggestion was very far from welcome. " The canoes are light," he murmured ia broken English, "and already overladen." " Our men need not go in the same canoe," returned the captain drily, " so no more risk will be run by one than the other. You will take both men or none — that is my last word." Some discussion followed between the Malay and his friends, whom he was obviously endeavouring to win over to his own views j but it was put an end to by the presence of mind of Edith, who addressing; the Prince Masiric by his own name (a circumstance which caused his royal knees to knock together), pointed with outstretched finger first to the midshipman and then to the interpreter, a gesture ih&t was instantly understood and its command complied with. In less than a minute the whole party, with its two additions, were afloat, and the canoes began to glide with amazing swiftness towards the harbour-mouth. The yo\mg midshipman was in the second of them, and kept his eye fixed upon the " lessening shore " with pathetie A VtJLlNTAHY K\rf. I'Jfl inTsistonne. Ho was li:n»riy moro tlmn ;i chiUi in ypais, iiixl snch a psivtinjr >\oiil(l linvc hren a snlfipieiitly trying' one to even tlie most :-(»as(tii»'(| sailor ; ii)eiil(» I'idilh iuu\ Aunt SopViia to wliivi*^ oyes tnavs tdiOi'tl tlioii- way as HM»y bohcM (he lns( (»f hiui, but the lad liiin<»'ir hotrayofi no synijit' iii of vcnkiu-ss Wlieii Ihr till! voiced jtfUen iin-olinitarily aroso iVoiu the shore, non- vcvint; tlu) <;ply t«» it in :i ihaiacUM isti • manner by singing averse from 'The F'are- well to Ayrshiiv ' : — •' Fi ii mis, that jKuliiiji tear iv.s«ave it, T)i<)n'.'}i 'ti^ fM^ak, but wept in silenct;. The harmony of liunmn nature, liowever, is never iiiiiverhah but lias always some hitch or jai- in it. ■' I hope we've seeii (he la^t of t/iof young whipper- Miapptu," was Mr. Bates's observation to his henchmaii, MatthoM Murdocli, as the canoe.s rounded the headiaml. "As he's so young and tender, 1 shouldu't be a bit sur- prised if the saviiges boiled and ate him." I ^l ih t k I i!i 1J)1. A Pkin'ck of ^41::' Blood. CHAPTER XXIV. THE COPPER KET'I'I.K. Days and weekti went by without ;uiy news of the yoiinjr niidshipniaii, or any i^econd visit from those to whom he ]iii.d so courageously intrusted liimself. Tliis siU?nee, thougli Aorv distressiui* td those who mourned his loss, and re proaelied thems(.'U'eii for having taken advai\tat,'o of lii> chivalrous ofl'ei-. was, however, explicable from natuni! causes. Of course, it might be th.at tlie inlonni criul design, l)ut more often vvitiiout any other aim l)eyond tb;it of graiifying their taste for duplicity; i)Ut the idea of theii' having played so tieieherous a part did not eommeiid iiselt to tlie sober judgmeut of the cafstain, though it (Xcited tli'' appiehensions of the ladies. I'ut while almost conviiu^rd that the lad stood in no peril from the hands x)f his iiu known hosts, ho Jiad more serious doubts than he caieil ^ express as to uhother he lad e\er reaclkd lliem. TIh' storuj, which the Malay had prelicted, must have ooui. ui before the frail canoes, swifi a- they were, eould pos^i^)l^ have got home, and they were quite unfitted to live in a lieavy sea. On th.- other hand, if they had su]'vi\ed the [)assage there was reason ei-ougii in the rough weatlioi ^aiat had since prevailed to account for their not havini; again attempted i: . Though the cistaways thought notluiu of it, and i.he wattn-s of the harbour, protocted by the coral reef, remained almost unruflied, there was wild work on the sea; and what the sea could do in those lalitudes llic crew of the sunk GangHs had good reason lo know. Every day from the look-oui station Edith Noruury gazed with anxious eyes upon the island, looking throu2;li the misty fo.im, more vague than ever, but which had ii"v. ;t"^-"'W -.vr PI The Cuppek Kettlr. 195 so strong a personal iutorest for her; Vuit .she gazed iu viiiu. Distret'->iiig, however, as were her tear.'-, lor ila- .saiety oi tlie Woy envoy, t-hey in «ome meuhiiro usurped the place of her former woe, and were prefemble ro it inas.iiucii MS they .admitted of a .solution. She was never lired o'i udking of 1 hf lad, and of hi* heroic .seli-siicrifice, and in the Jiopes of his return seemed to tind that tie to life whicii hatl hitherto been wantiiig to .her. Under othfi circuni- .stances, tiie signiJicancc of tliis change would not have escaped her couipiuiion's observation, nor, indeed, did it ultogetlior do so, since in aftei-days Sxie often i-ccalled the inipres. among the men, aud though there was no manifestation of discontent, there * w}is evidently a chord amiss in the general harmony that ' iiad hitherto prevailed. The truth was that there had beeu iiiore than one case ol' drunkenness in the «!amp, an offence iibder <»ther circmnstaiices (divial euongh, but which as matters stood was of Hie gi-eaiest. importance. For the question iovolved not. only theft, but what was even a more Jierious cinne, siiu-t; it implied a guilty o z i I 196 A Prince of the Blood. knowledge sliarod by iiiHuy — fraudiiknit conoealment. Either the strong liijuor in charge of the d»>otor had been slolen, or the destruction of (he liquor casks had not boon so ( omplete as was siipjDo.sed. The latter a Iteruative was the more probable, sinc,^ no liquor was misled from the stoii', while the drunkenness — thougii liiuited at pr,-! :uvavial>ly yV'-.w .imi lint', but, for the tir^il time for W('f,v>> ilif distui-baiHie ol \\w mm .«ii .wet' abatemeul; : tl»e chjuds to ibe noitii\\iii>l wiir hfling, and once more r»'vr;i I.N i i In- ir-laiul wjiirii lormeii ihe subject of so much intiTotr! s|»iMul,-'i(ion lo \\v\\ V.ww in the l)a}sit was now po- il)le to hnd saeiier, and descending from ti.e higfier ground, she took her way along thom in loniem }»lative mood. Hesidland nftei' headland was thus rounded. without her taking }>ai'tieulav note of anytJnng, l)u( y perceiNing that t^he ■m~. — ..ipi. 1.1.-1, "V'i]|;« The Copper Kettle. 197 was receding from and turning her Viack upon the neigii- liouring island. Having got so far she resolved to com- plete the round and retm-n to the camp, as she had not liitherto done, the other way, when a circumstance occurred (tt wliicli she thought little at the time, but which had \i> results. • Behind a projecting cliff, there lay one of those defiles, tilled with briglitness and colour from a thousand lloweis -though the sim was absent from it — of which the island }»ossessed so many. She was woudei-ing whether it might l)io\e a sliort cut to the camp, when she perceived a tlkin line of smoke wavering' among the trees. It startled but (lit! not alarm liei-. It could only pioceed of course from Miiiu lire kindled by members of the camp, and it struck lur (hat she would inquiro of them whether there were any ililliiMilties in the unknown route she was al>out to take. As .she turned up the chine, as it would have been called had it \)ven u})ou the English sea-coast, she suddenly came u}ion ;i little liollowin which half a dozen men were seated round a huge copper kettle. At hi-r approach tiu'y all jumped up with a quickness that seemed suggestive of something more tlian mere respect, and one of them came forward to meet liei'. It was Matthew Murdoch, the man who had been placed in irons on the appointment of the ca[)tain ti) his loiumand. Jlis h>ok was angi'y and even menacing, and lit' .stool between her and the rest, with his great arms akimbo, as if to stop tiie way. "1 am sorry to have di.sturlied you," she said gently, "liut I have walked farther tiian 1 intended, and thought this might be a nearer way home than that by which I liavi' eome." " Well, it isn't ; it's a longer way ; and let me tell you a vi'iy dangerous one," was the giuif reply. " A very dangerous one ? " • " lie nu'aus {»j-e('i])ict'S and that, miss, ' explained another sailor, stepping forward. \i 198 A Prince of the Blood. "No, he doesn't," growled Muidoch, "he means what he says, and she'll find it out if she comes much faithei." " Tush, tush," exclaimed the other man, " you mustn't mind him, miss ; but indeed it's not a safe ro:id to those who don't know it ; and you had better go back as you came. Edith thanked him in her usual quiet tones, and at one began to retrace her steps. Once only she ventured to lo>)k buck, and beheld both the men standing together where .slir had left them, with the blue smoke rising over their heads. Sho had, as she supposed, interrupted >ome outdoor festi\ itv, and thereby incurred the wrath of the under-bred fellow. There was no hanu done after all, nor did she nourish any resentment against him, but this unaccaslood or otherwise to make her quarrel his own. To the captain and his officers .she was conscious of being umli' a hundred obligations, for ^hich .she had not been uugrateiul; but it had never before been borne in upon hei-, liuw entirely dependent upon them were Aunt Sophia and her- self, even for those rights which in less exceptional com- munities are crommon and assured to all. It was a reflectiou she did not dwell upon, and which in a few minutes lost itti edge, but having once entered her mind it remained there; and though pierhaps uucoiiscibusly to hor.self had no duiibt a material effect upon Itet subse([vu;nt course of couduLt. 'iT-i The CorPEK Kettle. 199 once » look L'O silt' tivity, fellow. sU auy sial ^Ih- Liiiviour 1 SCO it in tlii^ ss, ami iistances weness iusult. what is ties 0' To the UIhV'V i-V ;i-iiteiuli lev, li^^^ land Uer- aal com- :eflectioii fs lost it!^ ■d tlune; xo tluiilii kdvict. Though well resolved to make no complaint of the uiaimor in which slie had been treated, albeit it had had in truth more of indignity, if not of iusult, in it than can be <,'!itbered by meie dt'sci iption, the incident itself had matle so strong an impiest,i(>n upon her that she related it, witli reservation, to Aunt Sophia, who in her turn related it to Mr. Marstou, " Yom- aunt tells me you hatl an adyeutiue this morn- ing," he obberxed to .Edith, wheji he, ^ne|^ her, later in tUt| «'ay. ''^-'y ''■"■■--. ■ - , ; ._, ... indeed it was not worth repeating," she said hurriedly, itst some imprudence of liis informant should get any of (he people into trouble. " It wa.s only that I came upon some of yom- sailors making tea, who were so good as to warn me not to come homo by a new way, as I had intended, and whereby I might have come to harm." "And where was it they were when you came upon them?" EJith described the place as well as she could, eulogized iheir choice of a locality for their picnic at once so beautilui ami so secluded, and dimly .conscious of mischief en- tleavoured to make matters as pleasant arid innocent as she could r,'r* , . • !. , . , d i ./[',,:.: " And liow do you know, IVIiss Edith, that the men \vere uiakiaij tea 1 " .-, • ,„ -. . ^ - .-. .' il. ,, :^. , " ^^'ell, I don't know it,'* she answered smiling : " they (lid not offer me any, it is true ; but as they had ;i lire lit, aiul a large kettle upon it, I concludtd as much," " And no doubt }ou arc right," returned the othcer care- l('s^-ly, ••Only it s emtd strange, that they should have iruubled themselves to take their kettle so far from home," The explanation allayed Edith's suspicions for the luunuint, but before nightfall a rumour from the camp leached her ears which lilled iier with consternation. It was said that in some secret spot on the farthest extremity ot the island, le authorities had discoveri»d certain p 1 mm h. wVBi V ' i'^S' 1^' ri'fllllB nflftB ), tin jj ||ffl; 111 ' ill! ml '9:1 200 A PlUNCE OF THE BloOJ). impJdiuents, inclutUuj^ a copper boiler, and a coil of met.il techiiically called the worm, u-cid in distillation; and th;!', the sainu had been employed in extriu'lin;jf from the Ti-ro( > (or, as Mr. Doyle more scientitically termed it, Dractom tenninalis) an anient spirit. Here, tht'n, w;is the mystti v exphiined of those late cases of intoxication wliich had sc pn/./led and alaimed the authorities, and l.dith Norbuiv hatl been the innocent cause of its solution. The tea parly. whit;h she had been so unfortunate as to interrupt, had been in fact a private still. >, , • - v ' "-.,. ,■_. : _ .-TV. !■.-•' ^ .. i •.: t'-l- ^ ■■■■■'■' CHAPTER XXV. v ;• • •• .• V . ■ " ' , ■ ' \ . ■'■■-' >. ..,.i .■(:,.' ■ ■■ ■ , ...■ '■ ; -^: - .-•?.-.U : . .;_, .^■-.■■, -...'■, ROYALTIES. ••,'/■.*■'•■■• ,/ One morning the ladies were startled at their break fas! hour by most unusual sound.s. The Ixjiit swain's whistl( foUowed by a hum of voices and a confused uproar such as is audible in the movement of any large number of persons, even on sand. There was also a sort of hollow muriuui. as though a baud of horn-blowers were practising on tluir instruments for the first time. This latter noi^ie coutiniuii after the others had ceased. The rampart that ran romul their ))ay instead of its solitary sentinel was now lined willi men, w lio, however, had placed them.selves out of sight of the sea. It seemed only too likely that the long-expeiled visit Irc^m their neighbours had taken the form of an invasion. While they sat in doubt, eager to know what Jia-I occiirred, but waiting for orders from the captain, who Iwitl bidden them in any such case to remain indoors till hv sii()uld s«'nd tl.em word what to do, an emissary arrivnl frtmi him in tluv person of j\lr, iJedmayne, His .Ma j( -sly (>. Breda he said had arrived, and was about to land. Jl<' J.;hI Royalties. 201 only bion/^ht five canoes with hiin, but a luau from tlie look-out ^latitMi had bi-ou^lit wniU that a. large fli/il tilN'il with arni'il men was in waitijjjy!: on the fui-ther ss-itle o\' thv. islanil. It was possible that Edith's presenee niiiiht prove dt' M'vvice, bill the matter \^as left euiirelv to lier own (ii>ereti(3n. She annouueed herself at once as reai\y to jlto, iiiid accompanied by Aunt Sophia and the second mate, she at once repaired to Keseue Buy. . ..,,..;. ^,■. . ; The spectacle that presented itself was even nioi-e strik inii' than on th" last occasion. From wheie the ladies stood they (rould see the whole camp in a posture of defence, although, beheld from without, its appearance was as jteaceful as usual. The men were lying down in the batteries, and not a niusket-barrcl peeped above the |i; '.ipet. The king's canoe, which was of great size, with a raised platform in the centie, was coming up the harbour, with two others on each side of it, the occupants of which splashed the water with their paddles, and flourished them a hove their heads in a graceful and dexterous fashion, while at the satne time they sounded conch shells, like mermen in attendance upon their sea-king. (hi the platform were two persons — one a little- over middle age, of colossal size with a dignified expression, of coimleniiiice, and the other a much younger n»aii, of slighter bnill, and with a face so bright and eager, and yet. withal, so gentle that it might have belonged to a chilli. The absence of beard and whiskers increased this aj)pearance of youth, so that until he rose and displayed his tigur<\ which was almost as tall as that of his companion, and ma aiticently proportioned, it would have been difficult to guess hi^ age. which was, in fac^t, nearly twonty->i.\. His hair was glossy black, and had a natural \>aw in it, (Mjually lemnved fiom the eris[) curl of the negro, and the straight hair cornmon to so many tribes of the Indian Archipehigo. Despite the alarm which the situation ius[>ired in Aunt ( ;•' + . ^.-. 202 A Pkinoe of the Blood. Sophia's bosom, her eye could not rest on so sp'a-inlid au example of man's outward beauty without approMil. ''Did you ever see such a magnificent young fellow?" she wliispeied in Editii's ear. "Ho looks like tlu- lacii/u Apollo that us^ed to stand in your p»or uncle's libiaiy." But Edith's attonlion was fixod on oven a luovo allrad ive object, of which she had just caught sight — name'y, the missing midshipman, \vY.v, hitl)orto, oksiiued by llu- raised }»latform, could now be seon waving his l^andkei' chief from the same oaftoe, in which tlie two interpreter- were also seated. ' . . . ' - - ,* . "Look, look, there is Mr. Conolly ! " hhe exclaimod How gliui excitedly.. > ,.. , .,.■ . ;.; .f ,, , -^ ..y' '., ,.', " The dear, dear boy ! " cried Aunt Sophia. T am !" and the tears stood in tlio eyos n{ both woinon. . At a word from the king, two men from the other oauoi ■^ leapt into the water, and nuide signs to the captain tliat h>- should suffer himself to be carried in their arms to t)io royal barge.; such a mode of locomotion — though it is called by our children * king coach' — is not voiy dignificil, but on understanding that its object was to place him on the same platform as the king, tb' leby implying au e<]uall\ exalted rank, he consented very readily; then his Majesty with much cnmplacenciy, like one who is exercising a now accomplishment, shook hands with the captain, and intro tluce«l him to hit, son. Prince Tarilam. The hitter, to tlu .ast.eck(mo>;5-vii;i^^^j,t;." n .'J.ififjr;' " The king, sir, I am bidden to say, harbours no thoughts of treachery. He is at war Avith his neighbours, and there- fore has been compelled to put to sea with an escort j-nflRoient to repel any attack that might be made on him, 204 A PltlNTF, OK TlfK r>r,<)OI\ hut coining Litlior with all tho sentiuuiiis of fritintlshi|>, lie thought it indelic.itf toalunri your pooplo by the oxhihitinii of such a foi'iiiidiible floet. Tiiey are at the buck of Hie islaml, it is true, but they are not neai' enougli to save his Majesty from violence, a contingency which nevci' so invuli as entered his inind, and lie regrets that any similar su^ picion should, nevertheless, hav*' mcurred to yo\i." T\w-v words, so nnchnract eristic of Miister TjPwis Conolly, wciv delivered with a dolihiaation wliicli, though caused by tlic dif'iiculty of translation, gave them a certain dignity. - - It was now the (!aj»taiii's turn to s[ieec]n*fy, a feat in which it must be confessed lie was less succ<'ssful than his royal visitor. ., •*:'" ■- ' • ■- - '■ :■ "Well, upon my soul, it was most uncommonly con- sidei'ate and deuced gentlemanly of the old gentleman," ho exclaimed with enthusiasm, " and you may tell him so for me." This eulogium, rendered, let us hope, less literally than the speech of the prince had l)een, was recei\ed by the monarch with great satisfaction. '^ ''^ ' " Never/' he said, " has the sweet voice of Delt is soundr.l more grateful to my eai-s." The captain bowed respect- fully, and in an aside with tlie midshipman, inquired wli.it on earth was meant by t/iaf? 1'hen Master Oonolly, with pur[)]e countentvnce, arising froiii a pressing tendency to mirth, reminded him that on account of hi« singing he bad been likened to the^ bird called deltis, the only one of tin) feathered tribe in Breda who could favour its inhabitants with a song. "But you do not sing in 'the Bredan language, my yonii<,' shaver, so how is it that these good folks understand you i '' Then the boy modestly explained that Prince Tarilam had taken a fancy to him on his iirst arrival on tho island, and ever since had passed .several hours daily iii his com- pany, acquiring from him, with the help of the interprtter, the English tongue, for which ho had shown a remarks Hie RuvAi.riKS. liU'i ndiiptability, wliil*- in so doiii*^ Hp hnd of n«H;es«i1,y ini|Knt<'d in him he (twes to the teaching of the king." "Well, well, T hope it may be so; at all events we must chnnee it," was the captain's conclusion ; whereujKjn he tormally invited the visitors to enter the camp. ..•.,<* ,..•, ;, Then, Master- Liewis C'onoUy calling to mind that there Avcre alrea. the axes which hunp tVoin the shouli|«'r.-> of I In* kins.' iiiii' liift son, intl which wore (he t'nsiirn^ nt ( hdi- foyal race The hiimllcs ut'ic (»V dmiiv, .iiid I hi- idiilcs o\ >hcll>. AkmuuI the \vi is: <»1' )he toniier vs.is itlsi» ii itraceh't <»|" polishoil l)oiu', which, t.lii.iii,'li «»f Mie .•-iiii|ih'«'i iiiuterial h\h\ cousLiuctiou, implied in its wemir the | n--( ^^oii of the ^I'PatesI honour as well ms of the lii-u'he.-,! i.ink : .1 combin iition of tile V^ictoria Cross aini the (;i\rii r. it was worn hIso by Prince Masij'i<', us coniinanilei in-cliief. -''>■ " T^nt I lio|jf« that brnufiftil l^rince 'r;irilHni hns got, t Im' boue, ' o'»' < rveJ Auui iSophia. .. - - .\- ^-i ^"*.', '^ ., " Ho has ono, but he is too uiodest to wear it," returneil the midshipman, " His view is that it is tho vtwai-d ol merit, and that there is no merit but only a fortunate ai'cLdent in being a king's son." "That is a very noble motive for a .savage." remarkeil Edith, in astonishment. "A savage I He is no more a s;ivai;'e than -well- 1 really know no ono who would not suffer by cn!nparis(»n with him," cried the boy, witli «;and is in n giojif niea.suie the reason of tlieiv ill-success. There is a sufficiency of game, if only one could bring it down, wliiuli Dr. liae, with liis oompauy of 'trappers' — Hudson's Day men — noviv foiled to do. Royalties. t>07 lightning. There was no Irck of h'n\\n to ;iim at, .ilboit tlu'V were not of a kind known to EuiopiMn npf-rtsmen ; iIkmi^Ii .songless, they were of t\\v most beautiful ami j,'orgeous colours — the uien i-alhxl thoiii tlyiug r.iinbows- - uiitl slid rather than flew througii the waria and lustrous air. It seemed **a 8in and a Hhaine," as xVunb Hophia said, to kill one, and all the more s(\ .since never having heeri molested i)y man, and not understanding his inventions, t't,|iccially gun})o\vder, they male no gr»ai iia.sto to got out of his reach. It would l)ave made ati habitne of Wimbledon siuile to s(^e the care with which 'c tirst mate handk-d his piece, watched his chance, atid i. .n took aim at a bird as hright and big as a peatock, that was leisurely passing over their heavls ; it N\a> very like a literal rendeiing of th<» iiicta[)hor, "a baiii door iJyiUg," and a barn door made more demonstrativi' bv lirilllaut advertiseuients ; but at all events he hit it, and down it came. ' - ' ■ '-ji ^"* • The flash of flie, the noise, and tlien the fall of the bird, created threu di,>tinct sensations in the visitors. Som<; stopped their ear.s some shut lluur eyes (the better, like Mr. .lustiee Stareleigh, to exercise theii judgment), and even the king suffered himself mile.] : ''You have not the least ex;igge<;aied matters," the Muile seemed to hiU, "but I should like to havt^ one or two things eluci- dated r('spe(!ting this aniaxing incident." The mitlshipman was at his side in :i moment ; but while the other lent his ear apparently to scientilic information, his gaze was tixed .1 u !■ ■I' li ih V- li'i t I' m » 208 A riUNCE OJ' TUK BluuJ). -^ ^- upon the spot which his companion had j^l^t left. Prosenliy ( 'ynolly also turned his eyes in the same direction, a.s a man always does do, sooner or lattn*, if the object of lii> discourse is visible. "I do b('li(5ve the Prince has been a^iiing- ((uestious icbont ug, and not about the musket at all," ejacnliitwl Aunt Sophia. "Perhaps he want:> to know whether it will kill people a.5 well as lirds," suid Edith, di'ily. "Oh, how wicked, oh, liow ct/^ you!" exclaimed lnf c.ompanion ; " 1 am sure the prince would not hurt a liy. Moreover, it can't he that, becaust' Mr. (.'r>nolly is >liikiiig his head, and very decidedly, too." • • "That may corroborate uiy view,'' persisted Kditli ; "W- Is teaching him the rudiments v)f the sixUi commandment." After a great deal of ^estui-o and interpretation, dnriii;.' whicji the kin>:' maintained an air of extreme gra\ ity and reflection, while Prince Mai-iric exldbitod his [o^Vcl^ of imitation of a nuisket shot itl^t as a child prev«4ents a walking .-stick and cries, " Pop, bang, lire I '- -tbi- visiu.n••^ ])egan to prepare for departure. The eajn.Jn and tlic (^tiicers held tlieiv hands out, wln^n, much lo the r astonisli- ment and a little to t;heir ala)'..M. tliey were treated to quit-e another form ol' salutation. F.ach of the vij^itors seizetl ids neighbour l)y the shouKler. the king holding the captain as in a vice, tlie [>rince seizing the mid-hipnian, and Masiric clutchin.; Mr. Marston wiih such hearty good will, that he left his mark on liiui for an hour .•ifterwa)«l> ; eveiy hsjf^t. in fact, was sinrilaily colUired by his g(iev*[) you, the higher is the estimation they have I'ornied of } our character." "His Majesty nnist tliiuk me an angel, then," murmured (he captain, rubbing his ar-iis, lie smil d. lu»we\t'r, villi Royalties. 200 nuich comp'aceiicy, as did all the rest, as in du'y bound. It was, ni jreovcr, a leiief to them to tind that this tenacious treatment, which Mi^s^'gested perpetual iraprij^on- ment, had, after all a friendly aim. Then, aioid blowing of conch shells and splabJiing of paddles, the king and liis suite departed. At the mouth of the harbour they delayed a little, while at a given signal the fleet, cont^isting of nior? than a hundred canoes, came swiftly up from beiow the island, and took their station behind the roval hariie. when the whole corte-ie left for honip. It was u spleii lid sight, and a method of royal conveyance at least as inipo iug as the gilt carriage and eiirlit cream-colr ured horses nsed on state occasions in onr own coinitry. * Till- two ladies would certainly not have gi'udged it their admiration, but for a circumstance which at the moment drt^w their attention to another quarter. "See, Ml-. Couollv lias not :.^:>ne," cried Edith, ea'vrlv, \v!u» ill (he confusion and crowd upon the beach had not hiilierto recognized the fact that tht; midshijtmai} had been lel't Inihind. "How glad I am they have not taken him li;K'k wii,h them. 'Hioug)! r,e has such a belief in -their good-will, I much pi\ fer to see him left with us.'" "They have left oiliu' persons behind ihem. too," ex- claimed Aunt Sopiiia, excitedly ; "yes, they certaiidy have. Tlu! prince himself, with two of his peopl% no doubt as !i v-tages and to show that theij- intentions are lionoural)le. Xow, I call that very nice of them. The idea of having Mich a. Prince 0} aiaiiing for our guest is delightful. And, only look, I protest, that that deal' boy, who knows how i dote on royalty, is bringing him to talk with us. My dear Judith, I feel all in a flutter." _ >/ ■■ ,1 V" I¥ ^ 210 A PiiiiNCE OF THE Blood. V >l ^M-'' J f' ' » > '.•' * CHAPTER XXVI. MASTI5H COXOLLY's NARUATIVK. ■f\ As the midshipinau and the young Prince of Breda apprciached the hidies, they couhl not help observing the contrast between them, wliich. indeed, considering that they were both favourable types, was as great as contrast could he. The one was a handsome English boy, fresh coloured and blue-eyed, with m roguisli (h-ollery in his face, that even the presence of authority couhl only mitiiTatc, and .which the nature of the undertaking .he had now on hand intensified to an unusual degree. The pinnce, on tin' other hand, who.se comeliness was of (juite anotlier kiii years. With this, however, was mingled no touch nf austerity; indeed, it was the tenderness of his looks, joiimi to a certain A\orsbipful awe as he drew near the youii^ lady, which was trying AFaster Lewis Conolly's gravity to Ihe utinost. * . '•Tiio Prince Tarilam wishes to have the honour of your acquaiutance, ladies," he observed sedately. The ladies bowed and held out iheir hands, which, to their astoni^ll- ment, he ra.ised respect f\illy to his lips. iSTo courtier could have surpassetl the grace aud ease of it, only he saluted the younger lady lirst, and perhaps retained her hand ;i second or two longer. , . . / V ; •. I •{■'.(; ^ i- *' Welcome," he said, '' to Faybiu-, and may you he happy with us," The speech, though so brief, was evidently rehearsed beforehand, and he looked at the midshipman when he had utteied it Avioh.the simplicity of a diild who seeks approval fro)ii his teacher. '•(,)iii((' right," (VNclaimed Oonolly. encouragingly. Then. in htwei- and more rapid tones, ho added. '' i was priming' his lloyal Idighncsh witiia lot of pretty speeches as we cairie Mastku Coxolt.y's Narhative. 211 .iloii'j; ill llic ciiioc, ;iir1 (hiit is lh(^ oii(> lie >;ol«'c(»'(l. Ho is so jolly green that .1 had not the hoait U) lh spirits to run away with him. whereas they required a tight hand. ''*^ow, tell me truly what the prince does say?" slif answered. "Well, 1 have t6ld hint that we have kU duties to do here^ except vou ladies, and that T am surti, when we ww itot at leisure to look after him, 3'ou will be so good as to do NO a little ; and especially that you will help him to learn English, which it is his great desire to master ; indeed. I have not exofrgorated matters. ]VIi<=s Edith, about his havinij the highest i-egavd for you; and T am sure" (this in a hasty parenthesis), " foi* your aunt also; and in spite ot all his strajige surroundings, you Avill find Prince Tarilam to be a thorough gentleman." "We are quite sure of that," said Aunt Sophia, an opinion evoked not less from the lad's own evident con viction, than from the demeanour of' the prince himself. His position was an exceptionally trying one, somethiiii; like that of tlie gentleman in the figure ' Pastorelle' in tlir old quadrille, who had tho utmost difficulty, while dancini; alone opp site two ladies and another man, not to look hko a fool ; nay, Tarilam had not even the relief of movement, but in stillness and silence had to endure the consciousness of being talked about by his thret* companions withoul understanding one word they said. Yet he never on tho one hand betrayed a trace of awkwardness, nor on the other, of a too great audacity, but remained the personifi cation of unembarrassed ease. His expression reminded one of those admirable specimens of gentleness amoqg the deaf and dumb, for whom as they listen in vain, but with a smile of patient intelligence, to the conversation of thoii i» 1 II' i Master Conolly's Naurative. 2in iiioic ftivoiived fellow-crealvures, few fail to feel a touch of tcndorness. V. 'J- '- ■ ■- • ■-'.. '•■> .. .^.4 . : For the present, his pjitienee was put to no further test, tor tho captain here sent to say that his guest's quarters wfM'o ready for his inspectioD, so, with a gi-ace Jiurl courtesy M'Won) setm out of a minuet, ho took his leave. :<• "That is the best hred young rnan that ever! saw," was Ainit Sophia's itMUiU-k as soon as he got out of earshot (ttiouu'h ihut didn't matter much), "and T do hope we )i*hall se<' a givJit dfal of him." As Edith took no notice of this ;ispin\tion, it may at lea -it be supposed that she had no obicftiou to oft'er to it. "I wonder where he gets his cloth's from?" continued Aunt Sophia, naiVely. At t-iis. both of her companions burst out laughing. '' If wo are to teach hiui English, you will have an excellent fippnrtunity of asking him that question, Sophy," observed Rdith. i" >*. '' ■•-;■ , '. , ■ ' .; - ,;-•; 'r,«. '"i--'*-!-- "But, my dear child, you mistake me; I don't want to know who is his tailor, biit where the material comes from and what it is, which, as an attire, becomes him so lulmirably." "J can tell you all about that, ladies," said the midshi[)- m;in, demurely, "not. of course, now, but some day when yon nmy happen to ask me to dinner, in order to have tho whole story of my adventures in Amrac." Thoir curiosity to learn that matter was, as the young rogue knew, extreme, and he received his invitation for tliat \-ery day accordingly. It was not the first tin e that !i(> h.ul partaken of the hospitality of the tenants of Ladies' Divy, Avhose house, indeed, save that of the captain, was the only one of dimensions sufficient for the entertainment of guests, and he not only esteemed the honovir very highly, hut thoroughly appreciated the superiority of the food h« got there over that of the midshipmen's mess. The freshest tisli tluit conld bo caught, the daintiest bird that could *bo snavod, was always reserved for the ladies' table. >vk; n If 21t A Prin(.:e (jk the Blooj).'/ It was, thpvefore, with the sense of having well (hind, and of being made much of, and of having deseived it, that the young gentleman |aoc(."Hled tliat itfternoon to narrate his story lo Ms hoste.»ises. or vjither — for he was somewhat in the pObitiou of Cauuing's knife-grinder, as to 'story' — to allow Avliat he had to tsll to be elicited from him by the gentle pressure of inquiry. - -■ . "In the very first place," observed Aunt Sophy, " wv aie wild to know what the prince was saying about us belore you introduced him, and what was the pro^ositioii at which you shook your head so positively? " v, " It is the Amrac custom, Miss Norbury, for every oin to choose for himself a personal friend, a ceremony which you saw take phice on the beacli just now j and he who is chosen becomes as a brother, to be loved, cherishe I, and protected by the other to his life's end ; and thi honour the Prince Tarilam proposed to himself to confer upon you." "Upon me?" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "Why, goodness gracious, this is the first time the man has ever set eye> upon me ■2 h-s " Once is surely quite enough, madam," returned the midshipman, demurely, " for any man to be impressed witli your merits, only as this ceremony involved some physical pain, and was also liable to misconstruction, I persuadeJ him to perform it by proxy." " Then who is to take care of my niece 1 " inquired Aunt Sophia, with a severity she found it ditlicuh to assume, tor | the c^mrhnaent that had been paid her was not displeasing, 'i^'^' Edith, madam, has been bespoken as a sister byi ■ vho on earth is INIajuba ? " ♦ - > - ' ?»'■-• ' i ': - * '' iv bu sure — that is because you would not let mej begin at the beginning. Majuba is the only daughter of King Taril, a most lovely young woman, and as good, I do assure von, as she is bnautiful."iA '^xM'i':* Masteu Coisoi.i.v's Xakhativk. 215 " You seem to havo a very wroat inpiarbfc into rliara^ler. youug gentlemiui," snid Aunt Sopln'a* '' iNFuy I msI: if you stoofl jToxy for Edith as yon rlid for me, and w.n-r pine-hod by this oxrolU'ut young person in lli ■ slionMcr'r' " She did just nip in<^ with licr tinpT and thumb.'' Mammororl th'^ youn^- jj^onthMnnn ; "it wms lilco hein^ vacoinittinl, only it stipnuHl phorter." " I nm afraid it Avas contnirion, ho-vvovor, that you loroived fiom it. and not piotcftion,'" ol^servcd Aunt Soph'a, with upl.fted finjrer. " Mr, "ntMhuityne Avas cer- tainly wro: ^, Edie, when he told us tliai. no mid.shijauau liad b;'en ev(>r seen to blnsh " : ' ? * . , " Mr. Rcdmayne has made up for it .^^ince he becani.' a imte, by blushing whenever a lady spealcs ( < > hira," retuiiuMl blaster Oonolly, contemptuously. > • '•And how old . is this Piinross Majuba?" inqniii^l Edith, smilin;^ in spite of lier-elf. "She is just four years younger than Prince Tarilani, iiiid very like him," replied the midshipnjan. '' She was imoommonly interested in you both, and Avould ba\o ootik; heri' to-day, but that it is coiiti'aryto eticjuetti' foi- a woman to accompany the king on a visit of ceremony." ''.Rut tell us all about everything in its ju'oper order." interrupted Aunt So])liia, imjtationtl}- : '' do let us persuade you— if only temporarily — to drop Miijulia." Master Conolly cast at Aunt So]»iiia a. look of .Icrp i-eproach — she had always hitherto lioen his }>est friend, find this desertion, and especi.ally the* i-a Hying of him ii; the presence of Edith, wounded him to tlie quick- and tlu;n commenced as follows : — ''When the canoe in which i wont away .appronchel Ainrac, there was a great surf, so that it seemed impossi lo tn luTid ; but .somehow the thing was done, aud I f und myself literally high and diy, for T was cariit d at onc(! upon men's shoulders, and in the midst of a grert eonc(mr?:e of people, to the king's house. F ottered him the pro.sents !' 2 J (5 A Princi: of ihe Blood. i-ent by the ca|)tniu, wliich he accepted very graciously, and at once began Ut eat the sweet biscuits and the tea. On the other lumd, I was regaled with sojiietlniiir hke toffee, only very di-y and hard, on a tortoise-sliell dish ; the Malay told me it was the highest coni[)linient that could be conferrei] upon me, so I pretended to enjoy it, while the scoundrel himiselt" was eating the most excellent cray-fish and dried tiu'tle, seived on plantain leaves. *' I did my best to pretend to like it, but it was liaid work, for I Mas very hungry. Eveiy one else, who \\as eating what plea.sed him, pretended to look on me wiiii envy, nor did the king himself — though he could hardly he enjoying the dried tea-leaves- observe that I was uoi worthy of »o much honour ; but directly the prince entertil the room, he seoi^ied to understand tlie whole situation ai a glance. He bade me, through the interpreter, piil tli precious fragments of haj-d-bake aside as if for futme um. and then caused me to be served with more agie. able, it more humble, food. " It struck one at once, somehow, that here was ai; intelligent and independent-minded fellow, not in thr lea.st a.fftjcted"' ])y forms and ceremonies. Though hi^ manner to his father was full of respect and duty, it seerned to me that the king looked up to him as to a. suptiidr mind. At all events he did whai he liked with hi> Majesty as with everybody else. After the meal was *)\vv. he took me into an adjoining room and introduced me lo his sister, the princess." " How WAS she dressed ? " inquired Aunt Sophia. "In white i-aiment, like an angel. Her attire was. in fact, of the same material as that you saw worn by ilit prince, only much fuller and longer; it is made of tjipp;!. I a substance beaten out of the bark of a .sort of mulbeiiy tree. F'very (me wears it, and it is always .sjtutless ; hull washing is extremely cheap in tJreda. '^Phe interpretcvs were not admitted to the princess'^ pi-eneuce ; so, thcu.li mtmm^ Master do.NoLhv's Naruative. i!l7 tlio :iuc] hei brothor talked together of coiu-*e, all my iiiterconvse with l)er was by signs. Yet, you have no i.lea hi)\v well we got on together." , •- -r •'Tinleeil we have a very good idea," said Kdith, 'aughing. •'It is all very well to laugli," continued the mirlshipuian, pivtcntlitig not to understand her, *M)ut thoagii I t'elb. (jnite sate in the ('oin{viny of theso two eharniiug [loi-sons, I liad no such coiitideiico in the people at large, and I cvpecially mistrusted the Malay." "We haxe not yet done with youi- princess," ol>-i(U'ved Aunt Sophia severely; "your interview seems to have Ueii very short. Did nothing else occur than what you have told us ? " "There was vtle dance which I forgot to mention," aid Master Conoliy, with simplicity, ' . "Oh, indeed, you danced with this young woman, did youi" / • .- "With the princess? Certaiidy not, madam. But, by way of entertaining me, as I suppose, a number of young ladies, her handmaidens, were summoned, and executed v.hat you might call a ballet." '• But what might i/on call it. sir," inquired Aunt Sophia. " Was it a l>allet^l " ' "I rather think it was," confessed the youth, demurely. 'They were all dressed in tlowers, and very pretty." "Very pretty," repeated Aunt Sophia, not like an echo, liiit severely. ' " " ■ r;. ••• ■ . ''I mean the flowers were very pretty," explained the young gentleman. " But I was very tired and sleepy and liMvdly looked at anything." . •• " He means he liad no eyes for any one else but the I'liiicess Majuba," observed Edith, smiling. " T don't know what he means," said Aunt Sophia ; " I only know he ought never to have gone to Amrac without sDinebody to take oare of him. Do you mean to say, sir, tlmt you were not asked to sing?" ••) 21S A Pkince uf the Bloou. hi-' "Oh, yes, I liad forgotten Xhat. The princess- 1 mean the prince- kept saying ' Deltis, Deltis,' and so I dier, even on turtle 8(i\ip. I was so tired and weary, that wheu the king came down and wanted more singing, I liad hardly strength to comply with his request, but made signs that I wanted to return to Fayhur to recover my voice. Whereupon he pointed u\> to the trees, and blew strongly with his mouth ; aiul, to indicate what would happen in Mich weather if the (anoes should venture out, he joined his iiands together, with the palms upwaids, and turning them the reverse way, signified that they would overset. Then he said, * Deltis,' indicating how 1 should employ tho lime, for a month or two, till the fair weatlior set in, and 1, on my part, resolutely shut my mouth and shook my hi-ad. "Then the prince came full of intelligenco and consider- ation, and smiles that seemed to take disa| pointment away h'om everybody, and took me by the hand to his own house. , "There I found the two interpreters, our own and the ^lalay, frtnn the latter of whom the prince had alieady learnt a fev/ words of Kiiglish, and we set to wo:k to ma he ourselves intelligibh' to one another. Never did I see so (juick a scholai'. In less than a week he knew at least lluee times as much of my language as I did (jf his, aiul Jong before I came away we dispensed with the interpreter altogether. The king, on the other hand, was rather a dunce at it, he said he was too old a dog to learn new tricks."' "My dear Mr. OonoUy, he surely never said t/tat," expcstailated Edith. "No, no, it was what he would have .said, 1 mean, if he coidd have siiid anything; but the prince and I got on famously." .fr'V'>^« J^f**: v-JK.'- '-.,}*,;/»<'/ ■^■v.V''^i;r^r.r-, - ■»., 220 A PlMNTK OV TEIE BlooD. .* 4 ''J t **And MMJu1)n?" (lemiuuk'd Aunt Hophin, inoxomMy; "was she noL al^(l :i |nif)il ?" *"To be .sure, J had tdrj^otteii ilmt ; wlieii I said Llial ; Lr ])rince was the ([uicktst Ncliolar I lia^l ever st-en, 1 f^hmihl Lave said the quifkesl male seliolar; the piincwss beat liiin into «ts." ' , ,. - " What imagery ! " inuri)iurul>t )OHt III 111 low tnn' b! Ana to talk. '^ t'riciiil. Cimollv. yon tiiiii 'iitU'iuaii, 81 ic \n:'> not iiii'y 1y, " how rere ship- :;OMco:il('il hcT' ilt OIU'C, i'»i(3ey (lOllV .70". nhbakf ' >. si le will ^xt day." t'V, whi<'li |iy. f van not "You have said that yoii mihti'U.sttnl the Malay," obsened Edith, after a pansf. " Why was that / ' •' Well, T can hardly say ; it is, perhaps, oniv a case of ' T lio not like thi'e, Dr. Fell,' but f^till T found out one thiuif from our own iuter[>retcM' during my tir.st day at Breda, that it was not on that island, as he told us, on which the Malay iiad been shipwrecked, but on Ararac, and that the peoph- ihere did not kill him, but j-ulfertid him to esc\pe to Bred.i, which is suspicious, as showing a fellow-feeling with tho refugee."' ■.,, . , ,,,,,.... , . '*The Amrae folks are very wicked, I suppose, theni " " A pack of murderers, ntUhing less." '• What a partisan »)ur young friend luus become,' (ilKsirved Aunt So})iiia. "I dare , say if tho truth were known, there are princes and princesses in Amrac quite as re!>|)eclable — to say the least ol' it — as in Breda." Master ConoUy shook his head, and in tones much mure >eric)us than he had hitherto used, assuiod his companions that this was not the case. " Fiom Amrac," he said, " there is everything to fear, a nation delighting in bloodshed, and Iwause no treaty can bind them, always at war with their neighbours." '"■■'■-'■ y, ■ '• And they might come over here some fine day," ob- served Aunt Sophia, apprehensively. " Well, any fine day — for they are not such good sailors :is the Breda folks. Yes. There is no fear, however, lint that we shall be able to give a good account of them," Miid the midshipman, drawing himself up to his full five feet. '-• . ' ., .-, fi . • ' . . s . .- Here a messenger came fiom the captain to summon Mi-. CouoUy, to relieve him from his duties for an hour or two ia the entertainmei.l of the prince ; whereupon he vanished at once. -:;••,. ^r^v ■■"':.i.:i- V'i^^ >.• ■'^'■,.^y- " Poor Captain Head finds conversation with his Royal Highness a little difficult, no doubt," observed Aunt Sophi;i. '• 1 should hardly think that, after Mr. Couolly's accou^it '1W» ft- A Pkinck of thio Blood. •^i-i.KJ. iil* of his* proficiency in English ; he mu«;t have undeirstood iiv. 1 fancy, a gTuat Jcal better (hau -wo thougia lie did.'' "Gracious g»^odnet^^i ! Do you really think so, Etlithl •What a horrible notion I What was that w^^ said about lii< clothes?" - ^^^.^^^:.r■>^«^' '/ :• * You mean what was that you said ? '' returned Edith. laughing. ■ ■; ■■'■'■''>'.'.■' ; ? :i? tv^M?? ■ ■ v- ''Dear, dear! it makes one ijuite hot to think of it I What a m'schiovous monkey that boy is.'' '"U.-i-. , The afternoon, though tine as usual, was somewliat oppressive, aud when it wns so it was the custom of the ladies to bathe in a sheltered cove at the extivmity of tht little bay. It was a reflection they had often made, thai though tlieir whole wardrobe had been safely landed, tlu articles which they hai heretofore b -en Mccustomed to sci most store l>y, such as then- dinner ami ball dresses, wcit now utti^rly UM^e^s, while th.'ir iii(ii<- lionu'ly gavnieiii^ were become of great value ; of tiic^c none were more use- ful than their bathing gear, wliicii enable 1 them to tuke a bath of the most enjoyable kind wlionevev the}' fel: in- clined for it. iildith was a tokial)lo proiiciei^t in natation. and, under the new conditions of the s.^a and air and sand, enjoyed it as she had never done befon, while her aunt watched her with envy from the shallows. Beside the live senses, there are various channels foi- the inJlux of hnnian happiness, not so common to all. lait which, nevertheless, many fooli> / de-pise or ignore, who have it iu their ].K)wer to use thejo. One of these is the art of swimming, the neglect of which ia an Mge of so-called ' culture ' and e lucatien, and one which prides it.^df on scpieozing all that is pleasant out of life to tlie la.-.t drop, both for man and woman, is inoKplicably n«^ lecttul by the lattei-. Ai tiio date of our titory, this was of course still move the case, b had bten her father's custom, hoAvevci- itself a. rare one at the time to spend at leasli w. monib <\ri\ year by (Im- sea-side, and there Edith bnd ac juiii'd this M('.'(ini[>lishntenl. t^mf Master Oonou-v's Xarii.vtivk (;o?;Ti2srED. ii2o Enjoyable as she had found it nt Ramsgato and 1 >over, it was ten timeK more so at Bre'la ; whoro tlie buoyancy of tlie soa, the purity of tbo air, tlie biilliincy of th( sl. On the present (X-casion, .she was disporting herself as usual, mne distance from the sliore, when a cr}' from Aunt i^ophia reached her; she laughingly replied that she was all liffht, and, to prove it. took anotlior stroke or two out to sea. Then the cry was repeated, and this time it struck her that there was smnething mmsual in it. It was noi the warning note of apprehension, but the shrill treble of agonized alarm. Hhe 1i)(>ked back and beheld her com- panion {standing -on the shore, and pointing with a vehenienoe tiiat also somehow signified despair, to some (ihject between her.self and the swimmer. Edith's eves folhnved the direction of her gaze, saw something twinkle in t]i,» water and then disappear. She knew It nt d. intleed. It wa- n:i-.-iiig Jiway, and .at po lime, indei'il, cnuUl slu- liavc cpnfvont«^d snoli n form <>' death as //nV- williout bwi-ror and a\"orsion. The most miserable .-luion'' iis wlio v< anis to bo " anvwliere. nnv- where out of the world," \v(»id (i e.sit. Xol even unconseiousne.^s;, wliidi -jciiei ally mitigati •> a shook (»r hori-cr .so iiif(">ii'^;' an 1 sudden, st(,'pped in to hei relief. The vit ility, that for afi instant had deserted In r frame, i-eturned to ii, and with il an (mly to,> acemacf understa!idin- ^ All this slie took in at a giamc as it w'(!re niechaniraliy but her whole power of llioughl was c-neent rated du ii'r unseen onomy. We are t')} ] ihai when siulden deitli l^}- hold upon us as when, for e\ani[)le, those lose conscious- ness who are abmit to drown that a vision of our pas; sweeps through the mind, and we seem to ]\\t\ our lif.' ir^ain at the vt-rv moment of iiuitrlu^' it ; l)ni liiis was im'. liie ca; e with i'dith Xorburv. ITer e\>s as she swam desperately shoi'eward, were lixcd with agonized intentnes^ on the sea. and her soid was monopolized l>y t!ie thoui;li of the hateful creature that was lying in wait ihercin \o rend her. Wiien sh(> should see that Itrow n llii rise airaiii. it would be the sign, she knew, that death in its most appalling form was close upon her. At present it was probable that tlie shark was not aware of her pi-oximity; he had, indeed, lieen swimming close in shore, and had sna|)p<'d at that not iinconseions To THE Rescue. 225 trifle Aunt Sophia, just as she ran out of his reach ; but it was to the last degree unlikely that having found bathers about, he would not be looking for more. Still there was hope, without which she could not have swum a stroke — that he might have gone elsewhere. Edith positively was not fifty yards from the sandj' beach, and was straining every nerve to reach it, when something close beside her rose out of the water, and side- ways witb a gleaming flash, made at her ; then she uttered one despaii'ing shriek and knew no more. , , , . CHAPTER XXVIII. TO THE RESCUE. %: . leonHinows Prince Tartlam had been right royally received by Captain Head ; entertained with the choicest pickled meats and other European delicacies, including champagne — which he had declined to swallow in an effervescing state upon tlie ground that living things were neither drunk nor eaten in Breda — and welcomed as hospitably as guest could be ; but conversation had flagged between his host and him. He could not use his newly -acquired tongue with others with the same freedom as with ConoUy, who under- stood his peculiar dithculties with it, and could help him out of them. He was dittident, too, as some of us, though not naturally shy, are apt to ha when talking to a Frenchman who is not our tutor ; and everything was so new and strange that the attention which it was so necessary to pay to his companion's speech was constantly being diverted elsewhere. So when he had delivered certain messages from the king, full of amity and concord, and these liad been reciprocated, both parties felt their conversational powers on the wane. 226 A Prince of the Blood. m ;^i " I can't be talking to this blessed prince all day about the greatness and goodness of his father," was the captain's impatient reflection, "so I'll get young Conolly to take him off my hands." ■• At the mention of the midshipman, the prince bright- tened up at once, as the face of the after-dinner guest is gladdened by the offer of an unexpected cigar, and the proposal that his young friend should take him round the camp was accepted with pleasure. Except that the sum- mons withdrew him from the society of the ladies, the midshipman was equally pleased to be his cicerone. There are few things more pleasant than to introduce a person, for whom^ne has a liking, to objects of interest, which, though familiar to ourselves, are unknown to them ; it is something like the sensation of telliug an excellent but well-known joke to a new audience. Everything in the prince's eyes was novel and amazing, down to the very grindstone on which the men's swords were sharpened. The glitter of their bayonets — for he had never seen any polished body, or the action of light upon it — delighted him. A small hatchet which Conolly gave him, and which he compared with his own axe of shell with quite a piteous sense of its inferiority, filled him with gratitude. His observation was ceaseless, and so keen, and even deep, that a superficial explanation did not serve his turn, and it was not always easy to satisfy his curiosity. Like Columbus, he had discovered a new world, but, unlike him, one much more marvellous and in a far higher stage of civilization than the one with which he was familiar. ' ' ►: ;' i Their walk extended beyond the camp, to the outworks of Ladies' Bay. " Why is there no sentinel here, as else- where 1 " inquired the prince, whose quick eye noticed what was absent as well as what was present. Conolly explained to him, that in order to afford greater privacy, the sentry was withdrawn when the ladies were bathing. *♦ Bathing I " he cried in his own dialect, *' Are they W- To THE RESCUri. ^'^ 227 bathing there] " From his tone, which was one of alarm, Conolly gathered there was something seriously amiss, but knew not what. "Tetmil, tetmil," exclaimed Tarilam ex- citedly. Conolly knew that this was the term in Breda for a shark, and his heart sank within him. Before he could reply, an agonized shriek broke from the shore, where, a quarter of a mile away, he suddenly caught sight of a figure in blue serge, wildly gesticulating. The next instant he was alone. Literally like an arrow from a bow, Tarilam had left his side, and was flying along the sands with a speed that almost outstripped the power of vision. Master Lewis Conolly was a good runner, and to leap from the rampart and follow his late companion was the work of a moment, but he might as well have matched himself against the wind. Aunt Sophia, almost .out of her mind with terror, was conscious only of something white flashing by her like a gigantic gull, and plunging into the sea. In truth, there was need of speed beyond what lies in the thews and sinews of ordinary men. Edith's shriek, and, perhaps, some mechanical beating of her arm through excessive terror, had momentarily frightened the shark — the most cowardly of all predatory creatures — and caused it to miss its aim ; when it turned to come at her again, with gleam- ing teeth and ravening maw, it found a less helpless foe. Almost as much at home in water as on land, and not unused to such combats, Tarilam awaited its rush, and at the moment of impact swerved aside, and buried his hatchet in the creature's head with a force that needed no second blow. Then, bearing up Edith's inanimate form with his left arm, and oaring himself with the other to the shore, he laid her at Aunt Sophia's feet, with the dumb delight of a retriever. • ;- - f-;^ :. r^" '£ i*^ The whole affair had happened within so short a space that Conolly only just leached the spot in time to aid in restoring the girl to consciousness, a task to which Miss r ' .1 i!l r f ^^8 A tlllNCE OF THE BlOOD. Norbury alone would have been quite unequal. Her nerves had by no means recovered the frightful shock to which they had been subjected, and, indeed, the spectacle of her niece's preserver, whose white garment was covered with blood from his dead foe, was not of a nature to restore them. Either fearing the effects of his appearance upon her, or by a delicate intuition recognizing that his further services could just then be dispensed with, the prince quietly re-entered the water, and busied himself in remov- ing the stalls of combat from his apparel. Edith came to her.sel:' wi . shudder, and looked about her like one who is doubtful of her own identity ; the truth was she could not un;^ ;rstnnd, vitli the recollection of tlie horrible fate that had £>eeiu^ u so certain and so imminent, how it had come to pass that she was still in life and unharmed. " That dear prince has saved you," sobbed Aunt Sophia, replying to her wondering look. " He has the swiftness of a deer and the courage of a lion ; no other human being could have done it." r " That is quite true," observed the young midshipman sorrowfully. "I was of no use at all." Edith held out her hand and smiled feebly. " I am sure you did what you could," she murmured. " Oh, yes, I ran like a snail," he answered sorrowfully; " now, perhaps, you will believe what I told you ladies of Prince Tai ilam. There are very few princes at home, I fancy, who would run like that to meet a shark in his native element." ; v , .. ,.: . ; . , > It might have been rejoined with some reason that such feats were out of the line of European piiuces, but neither lady was in the humour to throw cold water on the boy's enthusiasm, nor to detract, however indirectly, from the merits of his hero. " Tell me how it all happened," cried Edith, her eyes wandering gratefully to her unconscious preserver. % THE Rescue.* m 'om Master Conolly obeyed, describing with no little dramatic force, because with perfect naturalness, what had taken place ; then perceiving that Edith was greatly moved, and. appai'ently distressed by the narrative, he added with an attempt at jocularity, " I do hope that in future you ladies will be more careful where you bathe." " Bathe ! " cried Aunt Sophia, vehemently, " I doubt whether I shall ever dare again even to wash. The crea- ture came up to within a foot of me, my dear Edie, before it went off to you." Edith shuddered again, then murmui'ed with emotion, > ' . . " How can I ever tell him what I owe him 1 " " It is unnecessary," observed the midshipman con- fidently. ** One look of thanks, if I know him, will tell him all you feel. He thinks much less of what he has done, believe me, than we think of it. What is distressing him just now, on the other hand, is a matter that you will only smile at. Though the people of Breda are almost amphibious, they dislike above all things getting wet. A shower of rain, which fortunately seldom occurs, will keep the whole nation within-doors, and the prince, I will wager, was much less concerned about the shark than about getting his clothes wet in killing him." As Conolly completed his explanation, Tarilam, his attire dried in the soft air and sunshine, and freed from the stains of combat, came up with a quiet smile of congratulation. " I hope miss is not much worse," he said ; a sentence which it is probable was not altogether extempore j indeed, he had been repeating it to himself for some time by the sea-shore, like Demosthenes, before he ventured upon its deliverance in public. " I should have been dead but for your timely aid," said Edith, holding out her hand, which Tarilam took with great respect, and bowed over like a bronze Chesterfield. "I shall never forget that I owe you my life, prince." " I did nothing," said Tarilam, with a disclaiming wave 230 A Pkin■■ 234 A PuiNCE 01' THK Blood. I i • CHAPTER XXTX. ' ' , f UB. BATES FINDS HIS MASTEB. .^ ' ' It was amazing how soon, with the more cultured of his new friends at Faybur, and especially with the ladies, Prince Tarilam made himself at home. His very unlike- ness, because it consisted mainly in an excessive simplicity, facilitated assimilation, and made it as easy to get on with him as with a truthful child. In matters that were within their common cognizance, on the other hand, he exhibited an extraordinary natural sagacity, while every accession of knowledge added to his attractions as a companion. With the sailors, however, this was not altogether the case. They had the vjsual prejudice of their class which induces them to apply the term ' nigger ' — however obviously inapplicable — to all persons not born of Euixjpeun parents, and caus'^s them to be more sceptical even than the hereditary aristocrat of the nobility of nature. Some of them were jealous of the favour which the new comur enjoyed with their superiors, and some resented the stranger's marvellous physical gifts, which threw those of their best runners and swimmers and climbers completely into the shade. As time went on, however, and Tarilam's generous nature began to be recognized, these antagonistic sentiments remained only among those comparatively few with whom superiority of any kind, but especially that of moral worth, is always offensive. Even the two attendants that remained with him were treated for his sake with a civility which the captain's express commands would have otherwise failed to secure to them. It would have been hard, indeed, had it not been so, for they gave no trouble, and when not employed in ministering to the needs of their young master made themselves generally useful in a hundred ways. A small canoe had been left with them, and they taught m Mr. Batks kinds fiis Mastkr. 235 the men such arts of propelling it without stretcher or rowlock as seemed impossible till they therapelves had Ir'^-nt the accomplishment; they showed them how to c rish by novel methods, and how, when caught, to smoke them, so as to make provision for the future ; how to make rope as strong as cables out of the parasitic creepers, that hung like cobwebs from the trees ; bow to make mats and baskets ; and to express from certain fruits a sherbet which they would have pronounced excellent had it but a little rum in it. Nay, at the captain's request, these good-natured fellows even gave rudimentary lessons in the planting of yarns, though they thought it, in common with all other useful labour, very literally iiifra dig. and only suitable for women. ■ U this time, while the harbour at Faybur remained li mill-pond above the mill, and the little island basked in bunshine and soft airs, the open sea was so high and rough that all communication was cut off with Breda. The prince and his two attendants were as completely separated from their own belongings as though they had been exiles, and, so far as he was concerned, he became every day more naturalized, and familiar with his new surroundings. In old times he had had thoughts, which the traditions and superstitions of his people had forbidden him to encourage, of annexing Faybur to the paternal dominions ; and though it was now no longer in his power to do so, he found an attraction in it such as his native isle did not possess. He passed most of his time at what might be called the seminary in Ladies' Bay, where he showed an extraordinary facility in acquiring, like a child at a dame's school, not only the rudiments of the English tongue, but 'the three R's.' Hitherto his method of computation had been of the simplest; as many as one's eyes ; as many as a crow's toes ; as many as one's fingers. Both hands and one over made eleven, and was the limit of calculation. The feathers of a bird, the waves of the sea, 236 A Prikce of the Blood. and the number of stars in the firmament had all been for him just eleven. He could now tot up to millions, and if the achievement gave him no great advantage, he derived an immense satis- faction from the cui'riculum that carried him thither. Never had pupil more kindly teachers than had he in the two ladies; never had tutors a more eager or grateful pupil. His difficulties, though they were often absurd, were never laughed at, with one exception. He had a difficulty, as many of us have at home, though of a dif- ferent kind, with the letter A, which even his musical voice could never pronounce soft enough ; and it was a never- ending joke with his gentle preceptors that he always addressed one of them as Aunt Soapy. When he accompanied them in their rambles, like a Sand ford and Merton rolled into one, attended by two female Mr. Barlows, his education was still continued, so that he learnt as much out of school as in it ; and, what was rather significant, had it been worth any one's while to observe it, when he was not walking with the ladies he preferred to walk by himself. It would be interesting to know, could one have got to "the back of mind," what the thoughts of this singular being were occupied with on these occasions. It is certain that (in one sense, at least) he did not think much of his ancestors. Though the descendant of a long line of kings, their power seemed but paltry, their aims ignoble, and their ploits of little worth. Culture, indeed, had had an efEe on him very different from the result which it too often produces among our- selves ; he was not puffed up by his newly-acquired superi- ority over his own race, but rather depressed by the sense of what was lacking in them, and by his own inferiority to those about him ; he had escaped being a prig (if one can imagine a Breda prig), because he was not cultured beyond his wits. What he had acquired, vast as it was in com- parison with his previous knowledge, had but convinced IHP Mil. BATiCS FINDS HIS MasTKR. 237 him how mucli he had yet to learn. Yet there is reason to believe that his reflections were not all despondent. It is no evidence of vanity to V)e conscious of our own dormant powers, ^sop felt it in slavery, and Keats at the horse jobber's ; not that Tarilam was either philosopher or poet, but only that he felt himself fit for something beyond bestowing toffee on Royal favourites, or even distributing Orders of the Bone to merit; rious man-slayers. If his vague and simple aspiiations could have been put into words, they raijtrht have found appropriate expression in the poetic phruso, " Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay;" albeit that yet unwritten line was not more unknown to him than Europe was. He was con- ocious only that )>eyond the sea somewhere there was another world, peopled with beings of a higher nature than his own, and whose life was more worth living. It may be he was wrong; "the Avild joy.s of life," the dive through the "league-long rollers," and the coming up through the blue wave beyond it, the rush, dart in hand, through the air, on the ranks of the foe, the fray, and the feast, may be worth all our lacquer and gilding, but, if so, Tarilam erred in good company and from no ignoble instinct. Thus thoughtfully was he strolling one morning along the cliff top that looked towards Breda, and at a distance from the camp, which, considering the nature of the ground, would have taken an ordinary walker some time to cover, when he suddenly perceived Mr. Bates coming towards him. The figure of the third mate was, of course, familiar to him, but there was something in the movements of the mun that puzzled him. He was gesticulating violently ; holding up his hand as if to forbid his further advance, and shouting with discordant emphasis. " Stop," he cried, " you something nigger." Then came an oath such as Tarilam had sometimes heard from the sailors, but the meaning of which he could never understand, for swearing is a product of civilization, and was unknown ^■■r 238 A Prince ov the Blood. in Breda. "Keep where you are, I say; we don't want any prying savages hereabouts." Tarilam could perceive the man was angry, but had uo conception of the cause, nor did it give him any dis- quietude. What monopolized his attention was the strange ness of his gait — he lurched and swayed as he came on, and occasionally stumbled. If Tarilam had ever seen a horse with the staggers — but he had never even seen a horse, or evolved the idea of one out of the depths of his own con- scious*ess — it would have reminded him of Mr. Bates, but if he had ever seen a man attempting to walk when very drunk, a still more perfect parallel would have occurred to him. " BK, hi ! you ; stop, I say." By this time the two had met; and Mr. Bates, with a flushed face and protruding eyes, had placed himself straight — or as straight as he could — before him, so as efEectually to bar his progress. " Now just you go home again." " Go home," repeated the prince, with mild surprise. « Why should I go home ? " > - I "Well, there are a thousand reasons, but one will do. Because we don't want any blown-up-with-gunpowder niggers here. Now just bft off." Of the exact sense of the man's words, stammered and hiccoughed as they were, there might have been easily some doubt, but about the tone in which they were uttered there could be none at all. If Tarilam had been a dog which had been bidden to go home by a brutal and ill-tempered master, he could not have been addressed more insultingly. Into the bronzed cheek of the prince there suddenly came a vivid colour, and into his soft eyes a flash of flame, which had Mr. Bates been in his usual frame of mind — which was inclined to prudence — would have warned him of danger like a signal fire. But the third mate was in an abnormally heroic state, full of ire, and also of the courage called Dutch. " Look here," he stuttered, " you nigger, you'll have to go. mm^. Mr. Bat^s finds his Master. 2dd and if you make me speak again you'll not do it with a whole skin. It is bad enough that you and those other two dusky devils should be kept in camp, holding your heads up and thinking yourselves the equals of Christian men, not to mention of officers and gentlemen like myself, but that you should come peeping and prying out of bounds here is intolerable. Go home, I say." " No." The monosyllable was uttered gently, but with a determination which was unmistakable; and the speaker looked straight into the other's eyes as he said it. The quietness of expression in his face added, no doubt, to the temptation of its proximity, and Mr. Bates struck him on the mouth with the back of his hand. The next moment he was swaying in air, with a consciousness of space about him, and of a fall of about four hundred feet sheer upon a rocky beach. Mr. Bates's hair, in the absence of any barber, had grown long, and the other had seized him by it, as one takes a rabbit by the ears, and swung him off the cliff top. Face to face with the terrors of instant death, the drunken wretch was sobered in a moment ; his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and his limbs grew limp like those of a dead man on the gallows-tree, but all his senses were keen enough. ' t - , He heard a sudden voice a long way off cry, " Tarilam I Tarilam ! " in a tone of earnest entreaty, and he knew that the midshipman ConoUy was pleading for his life. Never did eavesdropper listen to a conversation not intended for his private ear with a greater attention than this gentleman ma per col paid to the subsequent dialogue. " Let him go, let him go," halloed the midshipman. Mr. Bates, when he heard that phrase, reflected with a pang upon the indefiniteness of the English tongue ; the prince might very well have taken the wovds as an encouragement to drop him, instead of pulling him up. " Don't kill him 1 spare him ! " shouted the midshipman, whose voice as it ^40 A Prince op the Blood. grew nearer unhappily became less distinct through want of breath. , t. . " He struck me," answered the prince irresolutely, and without turning his head. He seemed to be selecting the most jagged rock for the reception of the body of Mr. Bates, which was oscillating under his hand like a pendulum. "No man has ever struck Tarilara and lived to say so." "For my sake, for my sake," urged the midshipman, "I beseech you not to let him fall." -v - > , r ,^.' *, • " You are my chosen friend ; I can refuse you nothintj," murmured the prince, regretfully ; and with no more effort than it costs a sailor to heave the lead, he landed the third mate upon terra firma, where he lay, though he was not so inanimate as be looked, like a sack just dropped from a crane. " How did it happen ? Wha^ did he quarrel with you about ? " inquired ConoUy, hurrying up, and gazing with amazement on the prostrate mate. "I don't know," answered Tarilam, gloomily. "He wandered in his walk, and stumbled in his talk, and was angry, and then he gave me a blow. I shall feel it here," and he touched his mouth, " as long as I live." "It has not marked you," replied Conolly, naively — in the midshipmen's mess blows were not uncommon in those days, nor the demands of honour very exacting — " but you may depend upon it, he will never boast of it — will you, sir?" This appeal he made to Mr. Bates himself in answer to a glance of adhesion from that gentleman to the promise thus made on his behalf. " I will never, never boast of it," he murmured earnestly. " The prince may take his davey of that." Indeed, it was pretty clear that, as regards recent pro- ceedings, Mr. Bates had not very much to boast q/*, and might well be trusted to be silent for his own sake. "Come, let us go back to camp," said Conolly persuasively. With a quiet ge.sture of assent, Tarilam tui-ned away, I •p Let us kill the NiGGEit. 241 and without so much as a glance at Iiis still prostrate foe, began to retrace his steps. Mr. Bates's eyes, like those of a snake in the grass, followed him with an expression pf concentrated malignity, which also included his young preserver. -'• '', •"'■'■'''■y - -' • ■'■ " .• -'''■ '•' ^'^.:''^'- =■■"• . /-■>•'■-.:- " To-day for you, my friend.s," he muttered, between his teeth, " to-morrow for me." It would have been better for all parties, himself in- cluded, had Mr. Bates been permitted to obey the laws of gravity. It may be taken, as a rule, that the time which is given to an unmitigated scoundrel to repent himself in is passed in some occupation of quite another kind, and Mr. Bates was no exception to it. A bad man's life is like a bad novel ; the third volume is generally the worst part of it ; and there is little cause for regi-et if its conclusion is what the reviewers describe as * hurried.' . • ') :.: \l .. '■* CHAPTER XXX. LET US KILL THE NIGGER. Life in Faybur, though for the most part uneventful enough, did not run quite so smoothly with Captain Head and his officers as, thanks to their solicitude, it was made to do for the two ladies. That that private still, the existence of which Edith had so unconsciously betrayed to Mr. Marston, was from time to time at work somewhere, though its whereabouts — for the scene of its operations was easily shifted — had hitherto remained undiscovp»ca, was certain ; half-a-dozen cases of drunkenness hs-d come under the notice of the authorities, and given them great disquietude. Their anxiety would have been even greater had it not seemed pretty clear ihat the offence was con- fined to a few of the sailors only; not, as was rightly V--' -H . 4i!' ■■ ''fp I . ^v m 242 A Prince of the Blood. concluded, that every man Jack of them after so prolonged an abstinence would not have got drunk if he could, but th^t those who had so ingeniously invented the means of indulging themselves in that luxury took care to keep the secret to themselves. The wisdom of this reticence was unquestionable, for, as matters stood, it was difficult to punish even those who were manifestly guilty of the offence in question. "It is all very well," Messrs. Murdoch, Rudge, and Mellor would stutter, when accused of being intoxicated — and it was these three men who most frequently fell under that suspicion — " but how is it possible for a fellow to get drunk when every drop of liquor is under lock and key in the doctor's tent?" They continued to attribute their condition to the effect of the climate upon their respective systems, and except that there was a kettle missing, the uses of which it was not judicious for 'the court' to point out to the public at large, there was really no means of refuting this line of defence. The gravity of the danger, however, was fully recognized; and while each instance of delinquency was hushed up as much as possible, not a stone was left unturned to discover the root, of the mischief. Of all this the two ladies were blissfully ignorant, and though Edith, as we know, had her own views of the doubtful tenure on which authority existed in Faybur, the matter had of late months troubled her but little. One could not say that her thoughts were fixed elsewhere, but they had wandered with more or less persistency in another direction. The arrival of Prince Tarilam had very agree- ably broken the monotony of life in Ladies' Bay. It had from the first been a pleasure to teach liira, so far as she was competent to do so, those " Fairy Tales of Science " and " Long Results of Time," the simplest details of which had for him the attributes of a miracle and the attractions of magic. To note his mind expanding under the light of knowledge, like a flower in the sun, was a s|)ectacle most Let us Kill the Nigger. 243 interesting to her, while before long the advantage became not wholly on one side, but reciprocal, and she found herself listening almost as often to a tutor as talking to a pupil. However simple were the views of Tarilam they were original, and while as natural as those of a child appealing to his elders, were also as audacious. Untram- melled by custom and the restrictions imposed by educa- tion, he discussed with as much firmness as freedom the ways of fate and the mysteries of being. The simple but illogical faith of liis own people he had never accepted, but had hitherto been content with a contemptuous tolerance of it. The theology which he learned from Edith recom- mended itself to him in many ways, but by no means exhausted his spiritual curiosity. Aunt Sophia was often not less appalled by the boldness of his speculations than amazed by their intelligence. . On the other hand, there were reasons connected with Edith's antecedents — the blight that had fallen upon her happiness in the loss of her lover, and made a broken column of her young life — that prevented these * obstinate questionings ' from shocking her, and even to some extent recommended the interrogator. Not even in the old days, with Layton himself, had she discussed these matters with so much freedom and interest. After the employments of the day were over, some of which, too, he usually shared with the ladies, it was become a custom with the prince to join them at their evening meal; an officer or two, or the chaplain, would sometimes be of the party, and still more often Master OonoUy, who would contribute to the amusements of the evening by his gift of song. But at other times Tarilam would visit the ladies quite alone, and on such occasions Edith found his company most agreeable, because he was then more like himself, and would express his natural sentiments without that dread of ridicule which had already found its place in a breast that had hitherto been absolutely JM Mi ll kII^^^h HI i^^H ' SI I^^H HI S^aiS IH' ill iQI 244 A Prince of the Blood. fearless. One evening, when the three were occupied in the usual manner — the two ladies employed in needlework, and Tarilam fashioning some graceful ornament out of tortoiseshell, an art in which he was a proficient — their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a tumult with- out; there was a roar of voices and a rush of feet, and hardly had they risen from their chairs before the little cottage was surrounded by a mob of sailors and the parloui' windows, which, as usual, were wide open, filled by excited and furious faces. " What is the matter ? '* inquired Edith with quiet dis- tinctness. Her face was pale, but otherwise she exhibited no sign of fear. Aunt Sophia, on the other hand, was speechless with terror. It was the impression of both women that a mutiny had broken out. "Matter enough, miss," returned a voice she knew; it was that of William Dean, the gunner, a man who had always borne a good character, and behaved himself to her with great respect. ** Murder's the matter, and yonder stands the man who did it." He pointed to the prince, and as he did so a tumultuous and inarticulate cry of fury arose from those about him, " Kill him ! kill the nigger ! " "Make way then," interposed a brutal voice. "Don't talk, but do. Let me get a shot at him." And flushed with rage and liquor, the man Mellor, pistol in hand, here forced himself to the front, and levelled his weapon at Tarilam's head. Before he could pull the trigger Edith had stepped swiftly between them. "You vile coward," she cried. "Is there no man here who will see fair play and justice done 1 " "Justice! Yes; we'll see justice done," answered a shrill voice. "Let us take him to the same spot, lads, where he killed the mate, and serve him likewise." " What, without trial ^ " cried Edith vehemently. " Aie mmi^ Let us Kill the Nigger. 245 you savages, then, who have forgotten that you were once Englishmen 1 William Dean, Luke Norman, Robert Ray, as you are honest men, I charge you to stand by me ! " " We mean no harm to you, miss," returned the gunner, "but as for this here prince, as he calls himself, we must have life for life." • - , ■':; -i . *• And so you shall, if he has taken life. I'll stake my own that he is innocent. Look at him, men, and tell me if he wears a murderer's face." r Like a curtain that conceals some noble picture, she drew herself aside and showed him to them. Motionless as a statue he stood confronting them, with a sort of mild amazement in his face. The confusion of tongues had prevented his half-cultured ear from catching what was said, but he could perceive that the intruders were violently enraged, and against himself. It was his first experience (save one) of brutal passion in his new acquaintances, and it seemed to afford him all the in- terest of novelty. His eyes glanced from one to tlie other in dumb surprise, and then turned interrogatively to Edith. "Tarilam does not understand," he murmured, with a quiet smile. "They say you have committed a murder." "No." Never was charge so serious met by so phleg- matic a denial. There was no more waste of tone than of words about it. If he had been accused of leaving the door open, he could not have defended himself with greater indifference, or at the same time more convincingly. The shake of the head that accompanied the monosyllable in- tensified alike its force and its, sang froid. "If anything of the kind has happened," it seemed to say, " I do assure you it was not I that did it." Had his audience, indeed, been one capable of appreci- ating the value of evidence, the prince would have no longer been in danger; but the men were blind with ^.5 '■'• I mtm 246 A Prince of the Blood. passion, and, moreover, there were some among them less ooncerned to detect a culprit than to sacrifice a victim. " He is lying ! Kill the nigger ! kill him ! " arose again from all sides ; nor was it possible that a catastrophe could have been much longer averted had not a murmur from the fringe of the crowd announced the arrival of assistance. " Stand back, boys, here's the captain ! " It was not indeed the captain, but his avant courier, Master Conolly, who had run on ahead of him, and with drawn cutlass was in a moment scattering the crowd to left and right. The man Mellor, indeed, presented his pistol at him, but another sailor who stood by struck the barrel upwards and the weapon exploded in the air. The sound of it seemed to remind the rest of the serious- ness of their course of conduct and had a sobering efi'ect, which was greatly increased by the appearance of the cap- tain, followed by Mr. Redmayne, both armed to the teetli. " Who fired that pistol 1 " he inquired, in a tone sharp | and short as the shot itself. "John Mellor." / "Is any one hurt here?" The captain was looking into! the little parlour and 'counting heads' as he put the I question. . , "No, sir." " That's well, and especially well for John Mellor," was I the grim reply, "for if one hair of these ladies, or of the prince, their guest, had been injured, I would have shot him dead." Mr. Mellor vanished silently away, and the crowd began | to thin. "You mutinous scoundrels I" continued the captain. "What is it you want that you must needs raise this! tumult and disgrace yourselves in the eyes of our friend J and ally?" A murmur of discontent and menace ran through tbe| crowd. m^ Let us Kill the Nigger. 247 "He has committed murder." * ' " What, the prince ? Who says so ? Let the man that cau prove it stand forth. Would you commit murder your- selves by slaying a man without trial 1 That a foul crime has been done in our midst is only too true, but it cannot be wiped out by another. Come, all of you, to the officers' tent, and hear the matter sifted. Prince Tarilam, I must trouble you to come with us ; for though no assurance of yours is necessary to clear you in my eyes, this miserable suspicion must be stamped out." With a pained and wondering look, such as children wear who are witnesses to the quarrels of their seniors, Tarilam bowed assent. It had been brought home to him for the first time that these superior people, dowered with such gifts and attributes that had seemed to him little short of superhuman, could be as violent and irrational, when the humour seized them, as the natives of Amrac. As he took leave of the ladies he retained Edith's hand in his for a few seconds. "You stood between me and the short gun," he mur- mured with intense emotion. " But for you Tarilam would have been a dead man. He will never forget it." "I ran no risk," she would have answered, but with his usual swift and noiseless tread he was gone in a moment. Conolly and a couple of sailors who • ould be relied on were left behind as a guard for the ladies. What had happened they had yet to learn, but that such a precaution should have been deemed necessary to their safety was full of sombre significance. ■ '■-wii^.^' •)■«■■ 248 A Prince of thk Blood. CHAPTER XXXI. 41. • , THE EXAMINATION. The 'officers' quarters' in tlie camp at Faybur was a long narrow tent, furnished, not uncomfortably, witli the contents of half-a-dozen cabins. Everything, however, had this evening been moved away from the centre of the apartment, to make room for a certain something, which lay under a sheet on trestles, and at once, with a terrible fascination, attracted every eye. The feet standing out stark and stiff, and the veiled face showing sharply through its covering, presented the unmistakable lineaments of death. How is it, one wonders, that no sooner has the breath of life departed than the very form that contained it becomes new and strange to the eyes of the living! Heaven forbid that it may be no foretaste or analogue of the final separation from us of the soul. Young as he was, Tarilam had seen death in many forms, nor had it for him the awe and mystery that it possesses for more cultured minds ; but as he followed the captain's steps, he approached the silent shape with a certain air of reveren( e as well as interest that had its effect upon the beholders. Quietly and without crowd- ing, the majority of the castaways had entered the tent and were regarding his demeanour with keen attention. If the prince had really committed the murder, as one observed to the other, it could not have been the first bv many, or he could scarcely have " kept himself so cool the presence of his victim. Once only he showed s, of perturbation, when they reached the corpse, and the captain gently drew back the sheet and revealed the features of the first mate. Then Tarilam uttered the dead man's name, with infinite gentleness, and sighed profoundly. " I did not know it had been so good a friend of mine," he simply said. ^ mm The Examination. 249 "So good a friend of all of us," exclaimed the captain, vehemently. " A more dutiful officer and a more loyal messmate than Robert Marston never drew breath. My curse upon the cowardly hand that slew him." '• And mine," " And mine," cried several voices. There was something menacing — nay, almost bloodthirsty —in the ring of them, which seemed to remind the captain that there was less need to arouse the general indignation than to turn it into the proper channel. When he spoke again his voice took a graver and more judicial tone. "This poor fellow here, my friends, was as dear to me as to any one of you, and none can be more resolved than I to avenge him ; but, above all things, let us be just. We have no lawyers amongst us, but it will be possible, I hope, to get to the bottom of this matter without them ; and, in the first place, it behoves us to hear what those have to say who saw him first where he lay dead. As for me, I know nothing except from hearsay. Mr. Redmayne yonder brings me word that Mr. Marston has been picked up on the beach with his head battered in, and Mr. Doyle reports that he is dead. That is all that I know for certain, and all that nine-tenths of you can know, yet I find fifty men have taken upon themselves to lay the guilt at the door of a fellow-creature because .his skin is a trifle darker than their own. William Dean, you were one of those men. Now let us hear what accusation you bring against Prinno Tavilam, and on what grounds." The gunner stepped forward with an embarrassed air. i know othing, sir, but what I was told by my mates ; they said ohat the prince had done it to their certain k' wledge." Who said?" interrupted the captain, curtly; "let us have their names, if ou please." "Well, sir, there was Mellor for one." : .• ■■■ ' ' " Very good, let Mellor stand forth. You are the man who fired a pistol iut.t uow at Mr. ConoUy, to prove youy I 250 A Prince of the Blood. detestation of mm'der, I suppose. Well, what do you know about this other?" **The pistol went off of it« own head in my hand," growled Mellor. "I never meant to hurt the young gentleman ; it was that prince as we were after." " Why, what had he done V "Chucked Mr. Marston over theclitf." The sort of murmur which is called 'sensation,' mixed with a note of assent, here arose from the crowd. They had found a spokesman to justify their late proceedings at last. " You saw him do it, did you 1 " " No, I didn't, but Rudge and Murdoch, they saw him." " Let Rudge and Murdoch st.-^nd forth." The two men obeyed, Rudge willingly and even demon- stratively enough, Murdoch with less promptness. His face was white to the lips, and he kept it studiously averted from the spot where the dead man was lying. "Now tell us what you know, Rudge." " It was my afternoon off duty, and I was rambling about the island with Murdoch, and presently I got tired, and sat down to have a smoke, and Murdoch he went fiu^her on. I had not been two minutes alone, when I heard him cry out, * Rur'ge ! Rudge ! ' and I jumped up and ran to him. He was standing on the clift' top, pointing down below ; and I looked down and saw the body on the beach. * Burst my buttons,' says I, * why, if it ain't Mr. Marston/ "'Yes,' he cries, *some one has pitched him over the cliff J ' and he was shaking his head and flapping his hands, and very much put out about it was Murdoch." " But how did he know Mr. Marston had been pushed over the cliff?" inquired the captain. "Why might he not have fallen over?" "I suppose he never thought of that," said Rudge stolidly. . , The KXAMINATIOK. 2nl "That was it ; I never thought of that," eclioed Murdoch, replying to his mate's look of inquiry. His voice was hoarse and mechanical ; and when he had spoken his tongue flickered about his lips as though they were in need of moisture. "Now I should have thought that had been the most likely supposition to come into any man's mind, unless it was already running on something else," observed the captain reflectively. " Mr. Marston yonder," here he leant his head sideways towards his dead friend exactly as he would have done had he been alive, *' was not one to make enemies." " True for you, sir, that is so," was murmured on all sides. "Then why should the notion of any one's having done him a mischief have entere«linto your mind?" inquired the captain. " The ground was trodden all about as though a struggle had been going on," exclaimed Rudge, "and the grass on the brink of the hill cliff was torn away in tufts as though some one had clung there till he had been flung off." "I am speaking to Murdoch, not to you, Rudge," ex- claimed the captain sharply. " I suppose he has a tongue of his own in his head like the rest of us." If that was so, the person in question did not seem at all inclined to use it ; he stood silent, with his arms folded on his chest, his head sunk forward, and his eyes doggedly fixed upon the ground. The captain glanced from this unattractive object to his guest, who, with head erect and fine form drawn to its full height, presented indeed a strange contrast to it. " Now I want to know who it was that, having satisfied himself so easily that there was murder done here, went a step further, and laid it at the door of Prince Tarilam ?" " It was Mr. Bates, sir," said the gunner. *' Mr. Bates," exclaimed the captain, in astonishment. "Then why is not Mr. Bates himself here to say sol" •ipmcB 25^ A Prince of the ^looI). "He ain't very well, sir," observed Rudge; "he was took bad at the sight of Mr. Marston. But he told us with his own lips that the prince had done it, for he had almost served him the same trick himself, at the very same place, not three weeks ago." " Do you mean that he said the prince had tried to throw him over the cliff ? " ' " Yes, sir, he did, and that Mr. Conolly caught him at it." " Fetch Mr. Bates and Mr. Conolly here this moment." " Mr. Bates is ill in bed, sir." "Then bring him out of his bed. T don't move from this spot till this affair is sifted to the very bottom." As a legal investigation, the captain's method of pro- ceeding left much to be desired. It was as haphazard and inconsequent as it was informal ; but it was not altogether unadapted to the materials with which he had to deal ; while the personal interest, and even the bias, , he showed in the matter were far from being resented by his audience. The appearance of Matthew Murdoch, and the manner in which he had made his statement, had prejudiced them against him; but they were also preju- diced against Tarilam. There was so little logic in their mental composition that they did not understand that if one of the two * suspects ' was guilty the other must needs be innocent. Presently Mr. Bates appeared, led between two men, which gave him the air of being in custody. His face was ^ red and swollen, his eyes were unnaturally prominent and wandered round the tent as if in search of something. When they lit upon the dead man, however, he took no more notice of him than if he had been asleep. "It was Tarilam as did it," were his first words. The captain, without attention to the abrupt and volun" tary character of this statement, merely inquired, "How do you know that ? " , • The Examination. ^5^ ••Because he tried to kill me in the same way. He held me over the cliff top and would have dropped me, just as he dropped Mr. Marston, and on the very same point of rock. He knew the best place to do it." A murmur of indignation went round the tent. Here was evidence enough, indeed, and to the taste of the hearers. The captain turned mechanically to the prince, who gravely bowed his head. '•It is quite true that I meant to drop him," he quietly said. " He struck me." There was a low growl of anger and discontent. " He has confessed it ! " muttered a voice or two; and one man cried, " Hang him ! hang him ! " The captain held up his hand for silence. •• Why was I never told of this, Mr. Bates ? " ♦'Mr. Conolly asked me not to tell." *• Let us hear what Mr. Conolly has to say about it." The midshipman had by this time arrived, followed by the two ladies, for whom the crowd made way. They did not, however, push to the front, but shrank from the neighbourhood of the dead body j they had only just learnt the nature of the catastrophe which had caused the mob to invade their dwelling ; their distress on Mr. Marston's account was extreme, the elder lady was almost overwhelmed by it, and would willingly have remained within doors, but she could not permit her niece to come unattended, and Edith's interest in the livioi had over- borne her natural tremors. Conolly stepped forward and briefly stated what he knew of the rencontre between the prince and the third mate. It was quite true, he said, that he had kept silence upon the matter, but not more for the prince's sake than for that of Mr. Bates, who had committed an unprovoked assault upon him. The prince had resented it, no doubt, with unnecessary violence, but from what he (Conolly) knew of him, he was, he was persuaded, quite incapable 254 A Prince of the Bt.ood. 1 i of any such unprovoked and murderous outrage as was DOW laid to his charge. ' '; V. .- . -. The third mate seemed to take no notice of this observa- tion ; he moved his hands across his eyes, as though to sweep away some obstacle, and peered through the crowd in the direction of the ladies with anxious persistence. Edith was speaking eagerly, though in low tones, to Mr. Redmayne, who, in his turn, whispered a few words to the captain. " By all means. Let us hear what Mr. Doyle has to say upon the matter," answered the latter aloud. The surgeon, who had just removed from the captain's side to that of Mr. Bates, here answered to his name. " When was it that you first saw Mr. Marston at tlie footof theclifE?" . . ; " About an hour and a half ago, sir." " Was he then alive 1 " "No, sir. No man could have lived for one minute after such injuries as he had received. On the other hand, from the condition of the body he could not have been dead long. Half-an-hour at the most." ♦* You are confident of that," said the captain. " I am quite certain that he had cot been dead an hour." ♦* Miss Norbury," said the captain, " can you state with accuracy at what time Prince Tarilam came to your house this evening 1 " - Aunt Sophia strove to speak, but the situation was overpowering ; the knowledge that every eye was turned on her, but especially the spectacle of the dead man, who seemed to be awaiting, like the rest, in dumb expectancy, her momentous raply, was too much for her nerves. "I can answer that question," said Edith, in a firm and confident tone, "for it so happened that I remarked to my aunt upon the circumstance that Prince Tarilam had joined us earlier than usual. It was fuUy two houi's ago." " Did you look at your watch V 'i~- The Examination. 255 ) as was " My aunt did so." Here Aunt Sophia found her voice. " It is quite true, Captain Head ; it is exactly two hours and a half since the prince joined us." A murmur of satisfaction ran through the crowd. The watch that Miss Norbury held in her hand appealed to their senses as no mere verbal testimony would have done. " That circumstance, at all events, frees our guest from all suspicion of guilt in this matter," observed the captain. "I think it is due to him, Mr. Bates, that you should acknowledge as much." The third mate answered not a word. He was staring wildly at Edith with both his hands stretched out before him. " I never pushed him over," he cried. " He jumped over of himself. I can't help his dripping with water. Keep him off, I say ; keep him off ! " The intense terror of the man manifest in his face and eye and trembling limbs was shocking to witness, and communicated itself to those about him. They fled from him in all directions, and left him standing by the corpse. The surgeon only kept his place by his side. " Can any one explain the meaning of this 1 " inquired the captain in an awe-struck tone. " Is it possible that this unhappy man is confessing to having perpetrated the crime himself?" " No, sir," said Mr. Doyle, with an air of conviction. " It is fair to say that there is evidence enough that he was absent when the murder — for a murder I fear it was — was committed. Mr. Bates is suffering from an attack of delirium tremens." 256 A Prince of the Blood. CHAPTER XXXII. WAS IT POSSIBLE? Shocking as was the murder of Mr. Marston to his friend, the captain, it was hardly more terrible or sympto- matic of trouble to come than was the professional dictum pronounced by Mr. Doyle as respected the third mute. Delirium tremens is not a disease that is engendered by occasional excess, though even that would make the circumstance of the gravest significance, but by long and continuous drinking habits ; and these had been proved to exist in one of his own officers, a man in duty bound to set an example of sobriety, and especially to discover and expose the drunkenness which had so mysteriously crept into the camp. That the offence was closely connected with the assassination of the first mate there could now be little doubt. Mr. Marston had been very active in his endeavours to find out from whence the liquor came, and who supplied it, which had of late been demoralizing the men ; and it was only too probable that in some solitary expedition he had come upon the delinquents in the very act of distillation, and had fallen a victim to their violence. Edith herself, as we know, had been stopped and turned back for a similar reason ; and Tarilam had been treated in the like manner. In their case their object had not been detection, and therefore their lives had not been sacrificed by those they had involuntarily disturbed in their wrong-doing. Mr. Marston, an officer devoted to his duties and to be deterred by no menaces of personal violence, had perished at their lawless hands. So far the matter was clear, but as to who had been the actual miu-derers — for it was probable, unless the first mate had been taken at a disadvantage, which the signs of conflict about the fatal plat-e seemed to evidence, there were i >ore than one — it was by uo means certain. Was it Possible? 257 Appearances seemed to point to ^Murdoch and Rudge, but not more stron ly than to Mr. Bates himself, who, however, was freed from the consequence of his own con- fession (or what had looked very like it) by the testimony of* Mr. Doyle, in whose company he had walked from the camp when the surgeon was summoned to the scene of the murder. At that time the third mate was sober enough, and had appeared greatly moved at what had happened. Indeed, it was Mr. Doyle's impression that Bates had taken to liquor immediately on his return to camp in order to drown the remembrance of the spectacle he had just beheld. For the present, such were the doubts and difficulties that overhung the case, that the murderer of Mr. Marston remained unpunished, a thing itself of sombre import and evil augury. Mr. Bates, indeed, was deprived of his rank, and solemnly warned that on the next occasion of being found in a state of intoxication he should be soundly flogged ; but even this measure, however just and salutary, had danger in it, since it openly threw into the arms of the disaffected an ally to whom there still clung some relics of authority. If, then, circumstances gave rise to apprehension in a man so solid and "four-square to every wind that blew " as Captain Head, we may imagine how they alfocted the ladies. It was only too evident to them that Faybur had ceased to be that paradise in which, though cut off from home and friends, they had long resigned themselves to pass their lives. To Edith, indeed, the prospect had been even welcome, but neither Aunt Sophia nor herself had con- templated the possibility of such events as had lately taken place. The place was an Eden still, but not the same Eden to them as it had been before the ser{)ent had made known its presence. The stain of murder seemed to blotch the fairness of Nature herself ; the fumes of liquor to mingle with the perfumes of the air ; and the dark clouds 258 A Prince of the Blood. of insecurity to gather shape and volume in the azure sky. Only one or two were in all probability connected with the actual crime, but it was only too likely that others were cognizant of it, and it was no wonder that a certain distrust of their own people arose in the two women's minds. This was greatly intensified by the late behaviour of the sailors towards the prince ; Edith especially could not forget the spectacle of those furious faces at her window, or the cries with which they had demanded his innocent blood. They would have taken the life of the man to whom she owed her own, not only without scru[)le, but with eager and tumultuous joy. When she contrasted their bloodthirsty demeanour with the noble calm with which her guest had confronted it, the question, " Which was the savage? " could hardly fail to occur to her ; and it could have but one reply. The prince's behaviour in the tent had impressed her still more favourably. Some of the proceedings had necessarily been unintelligible to him, but he knew at least that the result of them would be a matter of life or death to him ; this, indeed, had been clear even to his two attendants, who directly he made his appearance had loyally pressed forward to protect his person. " Commit no violence," he had said to them in his own language. ** Whatever happens to me, if I am killed, tell the king, my father, not to »; -enge my death." And from that moment he had remained unmoved, like one who, though on the verge of the grave, has nothing to trouble him, his final dispositions having been made. Edith, who had learnt fi-om him sufficient of the Bredan tongue to understand what he had said, asked him the reason of it, since it was hardly to be expected that her efforts in the direction of religious culture could have taught him the sublime lesf^on of forgiveness of injuries. " I told my father rot to avenge my death," he said, " because I felt that if I was condemned to die, it would be Was it Possible? 259 done under a mistake." The explanation, though highly citdita})le, appeared, considering the simplicity of the s[ eaker, a little subtle ; there was, moreover, an expression in his face that was new to her ; for it conveyed for the first time the idea of concealment. " Was that your only reason T' she inquired. "No," was the quiet reply, *' I did not want war to occur on my account, since if it did so, it would set your people's faces against you, because you had been Tarilani's friend." "That was very good and thoughtful of you," said Ecllth, with gentle gravity and a blush, which she strove in vain to repress. Tarilam raised his eyebrows ; the precautions he had taken for her safety had occurred to him so naturally that he was wholly unconscious of their chivalry. " When things seemed going against you, prince, and the horrid men were shouting that you were guilty," said Aunt Sophia a little afterwards — she was curious about the young man's * views,' and given to sounding him when she got him alone — "did you feel no fear?" He smiled and shook his head disdainfully. *' But there would be nothing to be ashamed of if you did," she persisted ; " death has its terrors even for Chris- tian folk." ' He opened his large eyes in wonder. " When we die in Breda," he said, " there is no more trouble ; the Amrac people cannot reach us. The storm may rage upon the wate , but it does not wake us ; we sleep in peace." " But you would have been taken away from those who are dear to you — your father, for example." " It would not be for long ; my father is old, and would soon rejoin me." "AndMajuba?" * " Maj uba would grieve," he admitted gravely. " And would not Edith grieve also, don't you think 1 " 200 A Prince of the Blood. " Would it be worth her while 1 Who is Tarilam 1 " " It was woitli he • wliile to risk her Ufa for him when the sailor would have shot him," said Miss Norbury reproachfully. "Do you suppose I do not remember?" he answered plaintively. " I know a bey who had a tame sea-gull, that had broken its wing ; it got down to the water, and wouUl have been blown out to sea and died, had he not plunged in after it, though the bay was full of sharks. It was a generous instinct, but it was not worth while." ** But Edith likes you better than the boy his bird." "Do you really think so?" His eyes kindled with eager light. " Why, of course. Did you not save her life 1 " " Ah, yes," he sighed. " It was because she remembered that." The light went out from his face ; his voice took a tone of hopeless despondency, the meaning of which it was impossible for any woman to mistake. " My poor prince ! " murmured Aunt Sophia to herself sympathetically. Though a match-maker to the core, she shrank from having any hand in such an affair as this ; she was not particular about the eligibility of a 2>cirti, provided that he was * nice ' in himself, and Avould be likely to make a good husband. If everything else had promised well, she might even have been inclined to forgive a difference of race in a European, but the notion of an inhabitant of Breda, however princely and attractive, however chivalrous and unselfish, venturing to lift his eyes to Edith was a shock to her. She liked the prince, but it was out of the question that she could give him any assistance as a suitor, even if such help could have availed him, which she felt confident it could not. A girl that had loved Charles Layton would never listen to poor Tarilam : she did not say, even to herself, would never stoop to listen, for she was not without appreciation of his noble qualities; but Was it Possip.le? 20)1 the unlikeness of the two men was too pronounceil to iKliiiit of her picturing the possibility of tlie one being substitutod for tlie other. Slie did not understand that so far as tliit difference affected the matter at all, it weighed with Edith in Tavilam's favour. If there had been anything in him to remind her of her former lover in the faintest degree, she would not have admitted him to her intimacy. As it was, it never struck her that in so doing she was giving him a certain encouragement. He could never have found the pathway to her heart which Layton had trodden ; every step would have disinterred some dead regret ; but was it not possible that he might reach it by some road of his own ? He was like some untutored mathematical genius who attempts a problem in the schools by a method worked out by himself, less direct and less convenient, indeed, than the authorized one, but which, nevertheless, solves it. The consciousness of having done her best for him in the late fracas no doubt strengthened Edith's interest in the young fellow ; for if we are inclined to hate those we have injured, it is no less true that those we have benefited thereby establish a claim upon our affections. And yet if it had been suggested to Edith Norbury that she had even begun to entertain a tender passion for Prince Turilam, she would have denied the imputation with indignation, though not with the contempt which the idea had aroused in Aunt Sophia. ■••o-l 262 A Prince of thr Blood. I CHAPTER XXXIII. HALF-MAST HIGH. After the social storm wliich had threatened such damage to the little comgiunity of castaways, there ensued a calm in F.iybur. The murder of Mr. Marston, though its perpetrators remained undiscovered, produced a very deep effect ; and while it shocked the majority very literally, sobered tho mal(!onteuts. In the latter case, perhaps the fear of dif>covery induced good behaviour in the most of them, but, at all events, there was no further outbreak, either of drunkenness or insul)or(lination. The continuance of bad weather still prevented the other natives of Breda from visiting the island, but the two tliat had accompanied the prince had made themselves so pleasant and so useful as to afford the most lively hopes of concord between their fellow-countrymen and the ship's company. As to Tarilam himself, the falseness of the acrcusation against him having once been admitted, public feeling veered round in his fjivour, and his gentle and genial qualities being thus afforded a fair chance of appreciation, he became extremely popular. A few only held aloof from him ; the degraded mate and his three myrmidons, Mellor, Rudge, and Murdoch. " If the prince comes to harm through any act of your friends," the captain had informed Mr. Bates, with a vigour of language which modern type would be at a loss to re- produce, " and I fail for the second time in bringing the murder home to any one of you, as sure as my name is Henry Head I'll hang you all four" — a warning that had the happiest effect in putting all notion of pistolling the prince out of their minds ; as to attacking him without thc- arms, and in no greater disproportion of force than four to one, they had not so much as entertained the idea of it. Mr. Bates never saw Tarilam without a certain swimming ■ *' t ■ Half-mast High. 203 of the head, produced by the loi'ollection of bein^ held at arm's lengtli over the precipice whore a far worthier life than his own had found its end ; and the narrative of that experience, told with much personal feeling, if without dramatic artifice, had had a most wholesome effect upon his three friends. From the sentimental or *Paul-and-Virginia' point of view, the attractions of such an i«land as Faybur were manifest. It was quite the placo for two young lovers to dwell in, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," till they both died together on the same day in one another's arms; but it did not afford scope enough for the energies of upwards of a hundred British sailors. There was not enough work for them to do, and too little room for play. They took but limited interest in literature, chiefly from the fact that only a very few of them could read. Under Edith's auspices, Tarilam indeed had become a better scholar than almost any of them except the officers. No one wrote but the captain, who kept a journnl which he called a log, and which was wooden enough to merit its title. Conversation languished in the tents for want of a topic. Under these circumstances it was only natural that since a murdered man, whose assassin had never been discovered, was buried in the place, that his gliost should occasionally be seen. Ghosts are not seen in large towns, but in country places, where monotony and some poor substitute for im- agination beget them. With the trifling exception of the Phantom Ship, which has something professional about it to excuse its appearance, ghosts are only seen at sea under the most appropriate circumstances, i. e. in a dead calm. Captain Head felt it to be a bad sign that poor Mr. Marston did not rest in the grave which had been dug for him in the most beautiful spot in the whole island, but must needs walk all over it, and meet the very last men in the ship's company whom he would have chosen to consort with 2G4 A PllINCE OF THE BlOOD. during life. Mellor and Rudge had both seen him, and had liad fits in consequence. It was whispered tluit Murd()(!h was in the constant habit of seeing him, tlionuh he war very reticent upon the matter himself; and lluit Mr. Bates remained in his tent, as obstinately as Achilles, after nightfall, for fear of being addressed by his quondam bi'other otticer, albeit when in the flesh they had not boon on spealiing terms. If the vision had been confined to these s(!0undrels, they might have been welcome to it, but others had seen it, or thought they had seen it, and the wlioh; morale of the camp was getting endangered by the superstition. The captain, who suspected trick, ratlier encouraged testimony in order that he might get to the root of the mattei\ One evening Willian Dean a^kcd for a few words in private with him. The giumer was known to be a good fellow, though he had been cari'ied away by the late whirlwind of indignation aroused by Bates against the prince, and was by no means a liar — indeerl he ha