The Twa Miss Dawsons Part 17

"Patience, courage, cheerfulness, they saw in him, and they saw nothing else. For the souls and spirits of these men were in his hands, as well as their bodies, and if his courage and cheerfulness had failed in their sight, alas! for them.

"But they did not fail. And even in his solitary hours--in the night when he watched that they might sleep--and in his long, and toilsome, and often vain wanderings over the frozen land and sea in search of the food that began to fail before the end came--surely he was not left to even a momentary sense of desertion and discouragement, to a brave man an experience more terrible than death!

"That was known only to G.o.d and him, for strength came equal to his day, as far as they could see who leaned on him and trusted him through all.

He did not fail them.

"And when, after months had gone by, the band who had left them, and turned as they believed their laces homeward, came back to the s.h.i.+p broken and discouraged with all they had pa.s.sed through, he gave them a brother's welcome, and gladly shared with them the little that was left of food and fire and comfort, and doubled his cares and labours for their sakes.

"As time went on, death came to some, and the rest waited, hardly hoping to escape his call. But the greater number won through at last. They had to leave their good s.h.i.+p ice bound still, and then they took their way, through many toilsome days, over that wide desolation of ice and snow, going slowly and painfully because of the sick and the maimed among them, till at last they came to the open sea. Then trusting themselves to their boats, broken and patched, and scarcely seaworthy by this time, they sailed on for many days, making southward as the great fields of floating ice opened to let them through,--and still oh, after the sea was clear, till they came to land where Christian people received them kindly, and here they rested for a while.

"And one day they sailed out on the sea to meet a great s.h.i.+p that came sailing up from the south, and over this s.h.i.+p the flag of their country was flying; and as they drew near, one looked down on their little boat and said, 'Is this Doctor Kane?' And then, of course, their troubles were over, and soon they were safe at home."

No one spoke for a little while. Phemie brought in the lights, and then Jean laid down her knitting, and came to the table to make the tea.

After that Mr Dawson went to his own room, and Hugh lay musing or dreaming on the rug till it was time for him to go to bed. It was when Jean went to say good-night to her father before she went to bed that he spoke to her.

"You will be making a sailor of the lad--with all that foolish singing and talk about heroes and sea kings. What on earth has set you off on that tack? The sea! the sea! and nothing but the sea! His father would be ill-pleased, I can tell you; for Hugh is a clever lad, and he has other views for him."

Jean had nothing to say for herself, and took her father's rebuke humbly and in silence. She had not thought for a moment of influencing the lad towards the life of a sailor; and when she had taken a minute to consider the matter, she was quite sure that no harm had been done, and so she a.s.sured her father.

"I would send the lad home, rather than run the risk," said he with some vexation.

"Yes, it would be better," said Jean. "But there is no risk. Hugh is older than his years, and he has taken his bent already, or I am much mistaken. Whether it will be according to his father's will, I cannot say; but there is no danger of his turning his thoughts to the sea. He might like to visit strange countries, if the way were open to him; and with opportunity he might become a great naturalist, for his knowledge of all natural objects and his delight in them is wonderful."

To this Mr Dawson had nothing to say. And indeed it was not about Hugh that he was at that moment troubling himself; but his trouble was not to be spoken about to Jean, and with rather a gruff good-night he let her go. But he could not put his trouble out of his thoughts. It had been there before, though he had almost forgotten it for a while.

"The sea! the sea! and ay the sea!" repeated he discontentedly. "What can have come to the la.s.sie? She has no one on the sea to vex her heart about, unless indeed--she may fancy--that her brother is there," and the shadow that always came with thoughts of his son, fell darkly on his face. "Or--unless--but that can hardly be. There is no one, and she has sense. And yet--her brother--"

He rose, sick with the intolerable pain that a vivid remembrance of his loss always awakened, and there came to him suddenly a thought of Elsie Calderwood and her brother, the handsome mate of the "John Seaton," now almost a year at sea. He sank into his chair again, as if some one had struck him a blow.

"That would be terrible!" said he, putting the thought from him with an angry pang.

The remembrance of Captain Harefield's admiration, and the indifference with which his daughter had received it came back to him. Could there have been any thing besides the good sense for which her aunt gave her credit to account for her indifference? Could it be possible that young Calderwood could be in her thoughts?

He wearied himself thinking about it, long after the fire had gone out on the hearth, and he believed that he had convinced himself that his sudden fear was unreasonable and foolish. It could not be true.

"But true or not, I must keep my patience. It might have ended differently with--the other,--if I had taken a different way with him.

I see that now. I might have led him, though I could not drive him; and I fancy that would be true of his sister as well."

He went to his room with a heavy heart, but it grew lighter in the morning. He had been letting his fancy and his fears run away with his judgment, he thought, when he came into the breakfast-room, to find Jean and the lame boy interested and merry over a last year's birds' nest which Jean in her early walk had found in the wood. It was birds and birds' nests that made the subject of conversation this morning, and Mr Dawson might well express his wonder that a lad, born and brought up in a great town, should have so much to say about them. Jean suggested the idea of his having played truant whiles, to advance his knowledge in this direction, and the lad only answered with a shrug which was half a confession. His holidays, at least, had all been spent in the fields and woods even in the winter-time.

"And if I could have my own way, all my days should be spent--in the woods and fields," said he gravely, as if it were rather a sore subject with him.

Mr Dawson left the two considering the matter as though nothing of greater interest than birds and birds' nests existed for either of them.

"A far safer subject than the dangers of the sea," said he as he went his way.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A DISCOVERY.

In the beginning of April May came home--"bonnier than ever," as Jean told her father, as she met him at the door. He laughed when he heard her say it, but he agreed with her, and told her so when a day or two had pa.s.sed.

He could hardly make it clear to himself, nor could Jean, in what she was different from her former self. It was because she was growing to be more like her mother as she grew older, he said. And Jean by and by came to the conclusion that something had happened to her sister while she was away--something to make her hopeful and happy, and at the same time graver and more thoughtful; yet she was very merry and sweet, and it was oh! so pleasant to have her home again. They made holidays of these first days of her home coming, and Jean was able to forget, or put aside, her sad and anxious thoughts for a while.

But there came a day when she well knew they would not be forgotten or put aside.

"May," said she one morning, "let us go down to the Tangle Stanes to-day. This is the tenth, ye ken."

"Well, let us go. It is a bonny day. But what about the tenth. I don't know what you mean."

"Have you forgotten? The 'John Seaton' sailed on the tenth," said Jean gravely.

May's colour changed a little. So did Jean's. But while May reddened, Jean grew pale.

"Have they heard bad news? Surely it is time that they were coming home again," said May.

"They might have been home before this time. But the voyage is often longer. I don't think there is any anxiety as yet."

"Well--we can go down to the Tangle Stanes. And will Hugh come too? I see the pony is brought round."

But they could not go at once, for Jean heard her father's voice calling her, and went to his room. As she did not return immediately, May and the lad set off together.

"Jean will come to the Tangle Stanes. I will wait for her there. And you can go on by yourself, Hugh, and meet us there afterwards." And a message to this effect was left for Miss Dawson.

Jean found her father sitting with an open letter in his hand. He made a movement as though he meant to give it to her, but withdrew it again saying,--

"I fancy it was only meant for my eye. I have a surprise for you, Jean.

Mr Manners, the university professor I told you about, writes, offering a visit. He does not say when, but soon--as soon as may be."

"Mr Manners! I did not know that you had asked him, papa."

"Oh, yes! I asked him in a general way, as I did others--if he should ever be in this part of the country. But he is coming for a particular reason, it seems."

"Papa! Not for May?" said Jean sitting down suddenly.

"Well--it looks like it, though how you should have guessed it is queer enough. It never came into my mind, often as I saw them together. Is it from any thing your sister has said?"

"May has said nothing to me--nothing."

"I acknowledge that I am surprised. I should not have supposed that he was at all the man to be taken with a girl like May. If it had been you now--"

"Are you pleased, papa? Will you let him come? And would you give him May?"

"May must decide that for herself. All that he asks now is my leave to come and speak for himself. He does not wish any thing to be said to her till he says it himself."

"And will you let him come?" asked Jean gravely.

"Well, I think he has a right to be heard. Yes, I think we must let him come."