Sir Brook Fossbrooke Volume Ii Part 6

"Perfectly."

And they parted.

CHAPTER V. ON THE ISLAND

When, shortly after daybreak, the felucca rounded the point of the island, and stood in for the little bay of Maddalena, Lucy was roused from sleep by her maid with the tidings, "Give me the gla.s.s, quickly,"

cried she, as she rushed to the window, and after one rapid glance, which showed her the little craft gayly decked with the flag of England, she threw herself upon her bed, and sobbed in very happiness. In truth, there was in the long previous day's expectancy--in the conflict of her hope and fear--a tension that could only be relieved by tears.

How delightful it was to rally from that momentary gush of emotion, and feel so happy! To think so well of the world as to believe that all goes for the best in it, is a pleasant frame of mind to begin one's day with; to feel that though we have suffered anxiety, and all the tortures of deferred hope, it was good for us to know that everything was happening better for us than we could have planned it for ourselves, and that positively it was not so much by events we had been persecuted as by our own impatient reading of them. Something of all these sensations pa.s.sed through Lucy's mind as she hurried here and there to prepare for her guests, stopping at intervals to look out towards the sea, and wonder how little way the felucca made, and how persistently she seemed to cling to the selfsame spot.

Nor was she altogether unjust in this. The breeze had died away at sunrise; and in the interval before the land-wind should spring up there was almost a dead calm.

"Is she moving at all?" cried Lucy, to one of the sailors who lounged on the rocks beneath the window.

The man thought not. They had kept their course too far from sh.o.r.e, and were becalmed in consequence.

How could they have done so?--surely sailors ought to have known better!

and Tom, who was always boasting how he knew every current, and every eddy of wind, what was he about? It was a rude shock to that sweet optimism of a few moments back to have to own that here at least was something that might have been better.

"And what ought they to do, what can they do?" asked she, impatiently, of the sailor.

"Wait till towards noon, when the land-breeze freshens up, and beat."

"Beat means, go back and forward, scarcely gaining a mile an hour?"

The sailor smiled, and owned she was not far wrong.

"Which means that they may pa.s.s the day there," cried she, fretfully.

"They're not going to do it, anyhow," said the man; "they are lowering a boat, and going to row ash.o.r.e."

"Oh, how much better! and how long will it take them?"

"Two hours, if they 're good rowers; three, or even four, if they 're not."

"Come in and have a gla.s.s of wine," said she; "and you shall look through the telescope, and tell me how they row, and who are in the boat,--I mean how many are in it."

"What a fine gla.s.s! I can see them as if they were only a cable's length off. There's the Signorino Maso, your brother, at the bow oar; and then there's a sailor, and another sailor; and there's a signore, a large man,--_per Bacco_, he's the size of three,--at the stroke; and an old man, with white hair, and a cap with gold lace round it, steering; he has bright b.u.t.tons down his coat."

"Never mind _him_. What of the large man,--is he young?"

"He pulls like a young fellow! There now, he has thrown off his coat, and is going at it in earnest! Ah, he's no signore after all."

"How no signore?" asked she, hastily.

"None but a sailor could row as he does! A man must be bred to it to handle an oar in that fas.h.i.+on."

She took the gla.s.s impatiently from him, and tried to see the boat; but whether it was the unsteadiness of her hand, or that some dimness clouded her eyes, she could not catch the object, and turned away and left the room.

The land-wind freshened, and sent a strong sea against the boat, and it was not until late in the afternoon that the party landed, and, led by Tom, ascended the path to the cottage. At his loud shout of "Lucy," she came to the door looking very happy indeed, but more agitated than she well liked. "My sister, Colonel Cave," said Tom, as they came up; "and here's an old acquaintance, Lucy; but he's a major now. Sir Brook is away to England, and sent you all manner of loving messages."

"I have been watching your progress since early morning," said Lucy, "and, in truth, I scarcely thought you seemed to come nearer. It was a hard pull."

"All Trafford's fault," said Tom, laughing; "he would do more than his share, and kept the boat always dead against her rudder."

"That's not the judgment one of our boatmen here pa.s.sed on him," said Lucy; "he said it must be a sailor, and no signore, who was at the stroke oar."

"See what it is to have been educated at Eton," said Cave, slyly; "and yet there are people a.s.sail our public schools!"

Thus chatting and laughing, they entered the cottage, and were soon seated at table at a most comfortable little dinner.

"I will say," said Tom, in return for some compliment from the Colonel, "she is a capital housekeeper. I never had anything but limpets and sea-urchins to eat till she came, and now I feel like an alderman."

"When men a.s.sign us the humble office of providing for them, I remark they are never chary of their compliments," said Lucy, laughingly.

"Master Tom is willing to praise my cookery, though he says nothing of my companions.h.i.+p."

"It was such a brotherly speech," chimed in Cave.

"Well, it's jolly, certainly," said Tom, as he leaned back in his chair, "to sit here with that n.o.ble sea-view at our feet, and those grand old cliffs over us."

While Cave concurred, and strained his eyes to catch some object out seaward, Trafford, for almost the first time, found courage to address Lucy. He had asked something about whether she liked the island as well as that sweet cottage where first he saw her, and by this they were led to talk of that meeting, and of the long happy day they had pa.s.sed at Holy Island.

"How I 'd like to go back to it!" said Lucy, earnestly.

"To the time, or to the place? To which would you wish to go back?"

"To the Nest," said Lucy, blus.h.i.+ng slightly; "they were about the happiest days I ever knew, and dear papa was with us then."

"And is it not possible that you may all meet together there one of these days? He'll not remain at the Cape, will he?"

"I was forgetting that you knew him," said she, warmly; "you met papa since I saw you last: he wrote about you, and told how kindly and tenderly you had nursed him on his voyage."

"Oh, did he? Did he indeed speak of me?" cried Trafford, with intense emotion.

"He not only spoke warmly about his affection for you, but he showed pain and jealousy when he thought that some newer friends had robbed him of you--but perhaps you forget the Cape and all about it."

Trafford's face became crimson, and what answer he might have made to this speech there is no knowing, when Tom cried out, "We are going to have our coffee and cigar on the rocks, Lucy, but you will come with us."

"Of course; I have had three long days of my own company, and am quite wearied of it."

In the little cleft to which they repaired, a small stream divided the s.p.a.ce, leaving only room for two people on the rocks at either side; and after some little jesting as to who was to have the coffee-pot, and who the brandy-flask, Tom and Cave nestled in one corner, while Lucy and Trafford, with more caution as to proximity, seated themselves on the rock opposite.

"We were talking about the Cape, Major Trafford, I think," said Lucy, determined to bring him back to the dreaded theme.

"Were we? I think not; I think we were remembering all the pleasant days beside the Shannon."