CHAPTER XIX.
The moon had somewhat declined by the time that Charles Tyrrell left the manor house; but she was still high enough in the sky to show him every object as he went along; and a lingering unwillingness to quit the place of his birth and of his youth, without taking one last look at the dwelling in which his mother still was, and in which, perhaps, the body of his father still lay, led him back into the park, which, indeed, afforded as short a way as any other, to the spot whither his steps were bent. He knew, indeed, that he must not suffer himself to be seen; for though he did not think that any of the servants would betray him, yet imprudence might do as much as treachery, and he therefore resolved merely to stand under the shadow of the wood, near the spot where the buckwheat was laid out for the young pheasants, and to be able to tell his mother, when he wrote, that he had come to gaze up at her windows, and speak an unheard farewell ere he went.
He accomplished his intention in safety; the house was all closed, and the only lights that were seen, streamed through the chinks of the window-shutters in his mother's room. He gazed up thereat for some time, and then praying God to bless and protect her, he turned upon his steps, and proceeded along the path to the spot which we have before mentioned, where the walk separated into two. There he paused, and hesitated.
He had a strong inclination, indeed, to visit the garden-gate, near which his father had been murdered, and to ponder over that bloody spot, as if it could give any tidings of the real assassin. He knew, however, that every moment was precious, and that there might be various arrangements to make before he went on board the ship which was to convey him to a foreign country. He therefore refrained, and turned upon the other path, which led to the end of the lady-walk, as it was called, and crossing it, brought the passenger by a small neat stile into the open fields beyond.
We have before described that walk of fine and sweeping beech-trees planted on one side of the broad gravel, and bending down like a penthouse over it, but yet leaving a beautiful view over the fields on the other side. The moon was shining clear upon the country beyond, and had so far declined as to pour its light under the branches of the beech-trees, and as Charles Tyrrell approached the extreme end, and still stood under the shadow, he saw that the walk was not entirely solitary, for about halfway down appeared the figure of a man walking slowly up toward him. Who it was he could not distinguish, at that distance, but he perceived that the arms were crossed upon the chest, and the head bent down, as if the eyes were fixed upon the ground. After advancing for about a hundred yards toward him, the figure stopped, and gazed out upon the moonlight; then clasped his hands together, and advanced again in a meditative manner. As it came closer, Charles recognised the figure of Mr. Driesen, and thought to himself:--
"I suppose he has come to attend the funeral, for surely even his cool nonchalance would not permit him to stay in the house all this time after my father's death. However, he has acted in a friendly manner by me in all this sad business, and also about Lucy, so that, perhaps, he might stay, thinking he could be of use."
The cause of Mr. Driesen's stay was, not long after, explained to Charles Tyrrell, for the will, which had been drawn up sometime before his return from college, was found in the drawer of the library-table, and conveyed to Mr. Driesen everything except the entailed estates, and the jointure of Lady Tyrrell. Besides an immense property in land and money which thus fell to him, all the plate, the furniture, the books, the cattle, the horses of Harbury-park were his also, and nothing but the bare walls of the house remained to the young heir or his mother.
Charles Tyrrell did not know this at the time, though he learned it before that night was over; and he only looked upon Mr. Driesen as one whose principles, or rather want of principles, he could not approve, but who often acted kindly and justly from natural goodness of feeling.
Driesen gradually approached, unconscious that any one was near; but notwithstanding the good fortune which had befallen him, his whole air was melancholy, his whole carriage dejected, and as he turned again near the spot where Charles Tyrrell stood, the latter heard him utter a deep, long-drawn sigh. When he was nearly at the other end of the walk, which, as we have said, was of great length, Charles crossed it, suddenly passed over the stile, and took his way into the fields.
Turning short to the right, before he reached Harbury-hill, at the distance of about three miles from the park, he entered the woods which surrounded the dwelling of Captain Long; but, avoiding that house, he followed the left-hand path, which kept close to the edge of the wood, till it brought him into one of those long ravines, which, as we have said, ran down here and there to the seashore.
Following this, he was soon upon the beach, and walking rapidly on, under the cliffs, so as to be as much in shade as possible, he reached the house of good John Hailes, the fisherman, and knocked gently at the door.
"Who is there?" said a voice from within, without opening the door. "What do you want, at this time of night?"
"It is I, Hailes. It is I," said Charles Tyrrell "Let me in, quick."
The door was immediately opened, and closed as soon as Charles Tyrrell had entered. He now found himself once more in the fisherman's cottage, surrounded by the family group that he had left there, but with the sad absence of the mother.
"Thank you, Hailes, thank you," he said, shaking the honest fisherman by the hand, "thank you for all that you have done for me. But, indeed, indeed, I am grieved that your wife should put herself in such circumstances, on my account."
"You are out, you are out!" said Hailes, "and that's quite enough. Here you are a free man upon the seashore, and they'll not keep her in above a day. My neighbour's wife'll take care of the babies, and I'm sure the ladies up at the house will be kind to them. But I thought Master Morrison was coming with you."
"He will be here in a short time, Hailes, I trust," replied Charles Tyrrell; "he is only waiting for Miss Effingham."
"Ay, I thought how it would be," said Hailes; "I thought she would not let you go alone. But none of us'll be obliged to stay in foreign parts long."
"Why, my poor fellow, what chance is there of your returning?" said Charles Tyrrell. "I'm afraid you do not understand the law upon that matter. You'll be looked upon quite as guilty as the other, for in such cases the law makes no distinction. But has there been no inquiry made yet? Has there been no examination into the affair; if not, why have you not both of you, got away sooner?"
"Why, as to this business," replied Hailes, "there has been no inquiry at all yet, and I could get away when I liked; but then, you see, they're watching him there like cats, about that smuggling business. They well know I had nothing to do with it, and could pay nothing if they were to skin me; but they think if they can once get him into the exchequer they'll squeeze him till he's as dry as the skin of a dog-fish; so he cannot walk a step without having some ill-looking fellow at his heels in a minute, and he dare not put out his boat for fear of their being after him."
"And where is Miss Longly?" demanded Charles Tyrrell. "I wish to God we could persuade Morrison, before we go, to think differently of her conduct."
"She has gone back to her father," said Hailes; "whenever he heard the word that that scoundrel spoke when he was dying, he took her back again with all his heart; and as for Master Morrison, if he would not take her back too, and be fonder of her than ever, he's not worth having her, I say."
"Why, what did he tell you, then?" said Charles Tyrrell, "that must have been after I left you. From her own story, and the artless manner in which she told it, I am perfectly sure that her motive was innocent, though her conduct was certainly imprudent. But what did he say? for, when I left you, he seemed quite dead, and he had certainly said nothing before."
"Ay, ay, but he came to life twice before we got him to old Jimmy Harrison's cottage, and he vowed upon his life and soul, as he was a dying man, that she was quite innocent."
"Yes, I heard him say that, beforehand," replied Charles Tyrrell; "but that would not be enough to satisfy Morrison, I fear."
"Ay, ay, but he told more of the story," continued Hailes. "He said that her coming to meet him was not at all to go off with him, as he wanted to make her, but because he had proved to her, that he could ruin her father at a word, having got an insight, while he was staying there, into all that Captain Long was doing in the smuggling line. He acknowledged that he wrote to her, to meet him in the wood, at the top of the hill, if she would save her father from ruin, and told her that, if she came, he would show her how she might completely screen him. The way which he proposed to her to do, when she did meet him, was to go off with him to Guernsey to marry him though he would never have married her, if he had once got her there, I doubt. But, however, she would not go, and when he tried to force her, she screamed, and brought the other young officer to help her, who wouldn't consent to any such work."
"That I heard from the officer himself," said Charles Tyrrell; "and if we can but get Morrison to believe this, all will be well. I wish she were here herself, that he might see her when he comes."
"Why, you see," said Hailes, "that would be easy done, for if Longly knew that you were here, he'd come down himself, I know, if he could; for Master Morrison told both of us, yesterday, when he came down here to speak to my wife about going up to the prison, that when he had given you leave to tell all you had seen, you said you would rather die than say one word to get us into trouble, so he is bound to do anything that you choose to tell him."
"We'll make an effort for it, however," said Charles Tyrrell. "It is very late. Do you think if I were to send we should find them still up?"
"That you would," replied Hailes, "that you would; for Longly said he would not go to bed, till I sent up my boy Jim here, to tell him that you were safe."
"Well, then, my good boy," said Charles Tyrrell laying his hand on the boy's head, "run up, as fast as you can, to Mr. Longly's, tell him that I am here, and that I wish very much he would come down and speak with me, bringing his daughter with him. If he can't come himself, see if Miss Longly can come. She'll not be afraid to come through the wood with you."
"Oh no, that she won't," said the boy. "I suppose I'm not to tell anybody else but Captain Longly, that you are here?"
"On no account, whatever," replied Charles Tyrrell; and the boy's father added, "Keep a sharp look out, that you're not watched, Jim, and be as fast as you can."
The boy then went away, and when the door was closed behind him, Charles Tyrrell sat down upon the edge of the bed on which he had spent so many a painful and weary hour: but the conversation between him and Hailes was not continuously resumed. The youngest of the children, who had been awake when the young gentleman arrived, had now fallen asleep as it sat, and the father lifted it to the bed, and laid it thereon, without even rousing it from its slumbers.
For nearly an hour then, Charles and his companion sat without speaking, in the silent gloom of expectation. Nothing was heard but the low sighing of the wind along the sea, and the dash of the waves upon the shore, and nothing interrupted the stillness but a single broken question, and an answer as brief as possible.
At length, somewhat after one o'clock in the morning, there came a gentle tap at the door, and Hailes, looking out at the cottage-window, said,
"There's a woman, so I may open the door."
The moment it was opened, Hannah Longly glided in with the boy, and advanced joyfully toward Charles Tyrrell. All the little coquetry of her manner and appearance was gone, and anxiety, grief, and suffering, had given a higher, and more intellectual character to a countenance which had always been beautiful.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you free, Sir Charles," she said, "and so is my father, to hear that you are so. He told me to say, that he dare not come down, as there are people constantly watching him, but that you might tell me anything you had to say, and only to lay your commands upon him, and they should be obeyed."
"Why, to tell you the truth, Miss Longly," replied Charles Tyrrell, "it was you I wanted to speak to more than him. Will you forgive me, for interfering a little with your affairs?"
"I am sure you never do so, but in kindness, Sir Charles," she replied, "and as I am very unhappy, and have no one but my poor father, who takes any interest in me, I shall thank you most deeply for any counsel and assistance."
"Well, then," replied Charles Tyrrell, "to say the truth, I sent to seek you, because my friend Everard Morrison, will be here very speedily, and I do wish to see you on happy terms, once more before I go."
Hannah blushed a good deal, and seemed very much embarrassed.
"Indeed," she said, "I'm afraid I cannot wait--I ought to go very soon--indeed, I ought. I did not know he was coming," and evidently in great agitation, she burst into tears.
Charles Tyrrell took her hand kindly, saying,
"Come, come, do not be agitated my dear young lady. We are all, at this moment, placed in circumstances of an extraordinary and trying kind, and we must not attempt to act, or even to think as we would in the smooth intercourse of ordinary life."
"Oh, but you do not know, Sir Charles," she said, "or you would not wish me to stay. You do not know that he sent a letter, proposing to me, and after I had unfortunately written back what I thought was right, came all this terrible business and my father's anger with me, and then Mr. Morrison sent me a cold and cutting letter, telling me that, as circumstances were altered, he set me quite free of all engagements to him--you do not know all this, or I'm sure you would not wish me to stay."
"I do know it all," replied Charles, "and yet I wish you to stay very much, Miss Longly. Everard still loves you dearly, and if I am not mistaken, so you do him."
She cast down her eyes, but replied nothing, and Charles Tyrrell went on,
"I must not have you throw away your happiness for the want of a little explanation. You will acknowledge, I am sure, that your conduct, unexplained, might well seem strange and wrong."
"Oh, some part of it was certainly wrong," she said; "I did what was very wrong. I coquetted with that base young man, when I really loved another. I let vanity and foolishness get the better of me, Sir Charles, and bitterly have I been punished. But I never entertained a thought of doing any real evil, and when I went down to meet him, it was with the thought of doing what was my duty, and what was right alone; for by that time, I had learned to hate him, and to despise myself for ever having given him any encouragement. My father would not hear me, when I wanted to explain, and I was always afraid of mentioning to anybody else what was the pretence on which he lured me there, for fear of betraying my father's secrets."
"Well then," replied Charles Tyrrell, "for your own sake and for Everard's, take a strong resolution; explain all this to him that you have explained to me. By means that you do not know, I can confirm every word that you say. Cast away pride, Miss Longly; remember that your happiness and his are both at stake, and that happiness, once cast away, is seldom--very seldom, if ever, regained."
"Ay, that is what I fear," replied Hannah, "I fear that it never can be regained. Do you think, then, that he is unhappy, Sir Charles?"
"I am sure of it," replied Charles; "I have seen it, and, I know it, Miss Longly. I know that he is not only unhappy, but will be unhappy throughout his whole life, if you do not candidly and kindly remove the serious cause for unhappiness that he has, by explaining to him the conduct of one whom he still sincerely loves."
"Oh, if I thought he really loved me, and was unhappy," replied Hannah Longly, "I would do anything to make him happy. I would tell him all. I would lay open to him my whole heart."
"That is all that is necessary," answered Charles Tyrrell. "Stay then till he comes, and then tell him all. Let him see that you do love him; make him understand that you have never loved anybody else."
"But how could I begin," she said; "oh, I could never begin. He will come and look cold, and take no notice of me, and I should die of shame and grief."
"No, no," replied Charles Tyrrell, "he will do no such thing. But at all events let me begin the conversation with him. When they come, you go into the next room. You shall hear every word I say, and will find that I do not do anything to lower you, or to wound your pride."
"Oh, never mind pride," cried Hannah Longly; "never mind pride. I have no pride now, Sir Charles Tyrrell. I once, indeed, had too much, and very weak pride it must have been; for a fortnight's sorrow has crushed it all entirely. Say anything you think fit, I know you will say what is right, and neither fear to humble me nor to wound my pride. Only let him know that I am innocent of any evil or any evil intent, and that though for a single day I have acted foolishly, yet it was with no intent of doing harm, and was soon repented of."
"Hark," said Hailes, before she had well done, "I hear a step upon the shingles. Jim, run round into the other room, where it is dark, and look out of the window. I don't like to take out the board if I can help it, for then the light streams out, and some of those fellows on watch at the top of the cliff may see and wonder what we are doing at this time of night."
The boy obeyed and returned in a minute, while the step was still distinctly heard moving slowly along upon the loose stones.
"It is a man in a wrap rascal," said the boy, "and I think he has got a cutlass under it, from what I see. But he's not coming near here, and is walking away to the eastward."
"That's awkward," said Hailes, "for that is just the way they're coming."
A long and anxious pause succeeded, and not a word was spoken by any one; each listening attentively long after the sound of the steps had died away. Nothing farther was heard for some time, however, and Hailes, after going into the next room to look out, returned, saying, that the beach was then all clear.
"The moon is just going down," he said, "which is all the better for us. But I hope this young lady won't be long, for before an hour's over, we ought to be afloat."
"Who do you take with you in the boat?" demanded Charles Tyrrell.
"Nobody," said Hailes. "You must lend a hand yourself, sir. I dare not trust anybody, unless I'm forced to it; for though the folks next door are just like ourselves, you know, yet they are not quite ourselves either."
A moment after, quick steps were heard upon the beach, and then came a quick tap at the door. Hannah Longly darted into the next room like lightning, and in another instant, Lucy Effingham, pale, agitated, and fatigued, was in Charles Tyrrell's arms. She shed no tears, however, though there were the traces of many upon her cheeks; but the only words she could speak, were,
"Oh, Charles, I hope I am not doing wrong!"
She had been followed into the cottage, by Morrison, and the maid-servant, whose bewildered look evidently showed, that, notwithstanding all Mrs. Effingham's care, she was not fully prepared for the situation in which she was placed.
"We have been delayed for half an hour," said Morrison, "fearing to pass a man who kept walking up and down upon the beach just opposite the path where we were coming down. Luckily, Miss Effingham saw him before he had seen us, and we waited till he went away round the point."
"You are terrified, my Lucy," said Charles. "I think we had better go off as soon as possible. You will feel yourself more in security, when you are on board the ship."
"I shall never feel myself in security," replied Lucy, "till we have safely landed in France. You are going there direct, Charles, are you not?"
"No, miss," replied Hailes, "we must go first to Guernsey where the ship's going; but not because she's going there either, for she would go anywhere we liked; but at Guernsey, you see, we're just as safe as if we were in France, and my brother, poor Bill, has a number of friends there, and so has Captain Long, for the matter of that. But however we must go to get passports, or letters of license, or whatever they call them, to go into France, or we should risk being made prisoners, you know. The captain of of the ship, indeed, has a letter[[1] of license for Bourdeaux, where he often gets a good cargo of claret wine."
Charles Tyrrell whispered a word or two to Lucy, which brought the colour again into her cheeks; but she looked at him with the full, confiding glance of love, and replied at once,
"Oh, Charles, I have no fear on earth in those respects. I would trust myself anywhere--everywhere with you. I have not a doubt--I have not a hesitation. But we had better make haste, had we not, for I thought I saw the day beginning to dawn?"
"There is one thing, however," said Charles Tyrrell, "which I have to do before we go. Morrison, it concerns you. In the first place, you must beg my mother to take especial care of Hailes's wife and family, and to see that they want none of those comforts which they would have had, if he had remained to supply them by his industry. In the next place, Morrison, let me speak one word of yourself."
"Oh, there is no fear of me," replied Morrison, with a smile, mistaking his meaning. "I am a lawyer, you know, Tyrrell, and accustomed to tricks of all kinds; so that I have taken such precautions as quite to secure myself. They can prove nothing against me."
"You mistake me, Everard," replied his friend. "It is a matter of even greater importance I wish to speak of. It is a matter on which depends your happiness for life."
Morrison made a sign, as if he would have stopped him, and turned away his head, but Charles Tyrrell continued, without heeding the distaste he evinced for the subject.
"Nay, nay, Morrison," he said, "you have shown me great and disinterested friendship--you have rendered me a most important service, and so also must I act to you. Let me ask you one question, Morrison."
"What is it?" said Morrison: "but, indeed, Tyrrell, arguments upon such subjects as you are going to speak of, are of no use. My line of conduct is determined on."
"Determined then, I fear, for your own unhappiness," replied Charles Tyrrell; "but, however, my question is this: If a person whom you dearly love, should do some act, which you, without knowing all the circumstances, were to judge wrong, and you were thereupon, to treat a person who loves you, harshly and unkindly, what would be your conduct afterward, on discovering that that person had acted with the best and highest motives, and on the purest and most straightforward views?"
"Were such a case applicable to me," replied Morrison, "I would take her to my heart at once, or rather fall upon my knees and beseech her to pardon me. But such, however, cannot be the case with me; even her own father, Tyrrell, even her own father----"
"Judged of her as wrongly as you did, Morrison," replied Charles Tyrrell.
Lucy had looked on with interest, and with that peculiar talent which women so eminently possess for discovering, almost by intuition, the particulars of everything that relates to love, she had formed a very accurate idea of the principal circumstances to which Charles Tyrrell alluded. Charles, who saw her face full of intelligence as he spoke, whispered a word or two to her, and without reply, she glided into the next room, while he went on still addressing Morrison.
"I think, Everard," he said, "that you know me well enough, to be sure that no consideration on earth--no mistaking kindness--no weak view of removing dissension would induce me to say one word that is not strictly consonant with truth. I now tell you, and pledge you my word of honour, partly from my own personal knowledge--partly from what Hailes, here present, has told me, that you have been entirely mistaken and deceived, in regard to the behaviour of Miss Longly, and here she is to answer for herself at once. It is my full opinion, Everard, that you owe her an apology, for she has suffered much, and greatly for that in which she was not all in fault."
While he was speaking, the voice of Lucy Effingham was heard persuading, though with great difficulty, Hannah Longly to come forth from the other room. She succeeded, however, in leading her out, half clinging to her for support--half-drawing back in shame and apprehension.
The moment he saw her, Morrison's feelings were not, indeed, changed, because it was with those very feelings that he had to struggle, in doing what he believed to be a duty to himself--but all those feeling revived in full force, at the sight of her he loved so much, and he advanced at once immediately toward her, for no eloquence that Charles Tyrrell could have used at that moment, would have been half so efficacious in pleading the cause of Hannah Longly, as the young lawyer's own heart. He held out his hand to her, and Hannah, with many a deep blush, put hers in his.
"What is this mistake, Hannah," he said, "which has deceived both your father and me, and made me very unhappy?"
"My father is undeceived now," said Hannah, "and so would you, too, if you had listened to me."
Hannah Longly seemed to feel that she had regained her power, and perhaps, there was a little inclination in her heart to use it, in order to punish her lover, even for doubting her. But her heart had been chastened by adversity; and though she might have triumphed a little in former days, under such circumstances, she now checked even the inclination to do so, and determined to be happy herself, in the reconciliation which she was sure would take place, and to make him so, too, as far as she could.
Morrison, however, felt that he was in some degree, put upon his trial, and of course, began his defence.
"I was told, Hannah," he said, "and told even by your father, that you had gone out secretly and alone, to meet one of the most profligate and worthless of men, a man who degraded the character of an officer in the navy, to become a spy as well as an informer, to betray the very person of whose hospitality he partook, and whom you well knew, at the time you saw him, dared not set his foot within your father's doors--that you went out to meet him, I say."
"But, why did I go out to meet him?" demanded Hannah, eagerly; "did they tell you that? No, Everard, because even at that time, my father would not hear me; even when I did send him word, he would not believe me till he heard it from the man's own mouth. But the reason I did go was because he wrote to me, to say, that there was only one means of saving my father from being utterly ruined by what he called extents from the Exchequer, which I had often heard my father too speak of with apprehension. He said that there was only one means to save him, and that if I would come out to meet him at the place he mentioned, he would tell me what that means was. I was foolish to believe him, I acknowledge; but I saw by what had taken place on the very day I got his note, by poor William Hailes, and all the rest, being dragged away to prison, how much power he had to do harm when he liked it; and I did go to meet him, I acknowledge: but when he told me that the only means to save my father, was to go with him to Guernsey, to be married to him there"--she looked steadily in the young lawyer's face for a moment, and then added--"when he told me this, I thought of Everard Morrison; and I refused to go, let the consequences to me and mine be what they would--I may have been foolish, Everard, I know I have been silly and weak in many things, but in this, at least, I do not think I was in the wrong."
Morrison threw his arms round her, and kissed her cheek.
"I have done you wrong, Hannah," he said, "I have done you wrong--I want no confirmation of your story but your own word. I believe you fully, and I beg your pardon for ever having doubted you."
"You-may have confirmation enough, Master Morrison," said Hailes, "for I heard that young scoundrel acknowledge the whole of the story, just before he----"
Charles Tyrrell held up his finger, quickly exclaiming, "Hush!" and Hailes remembering that neither Hannah herself--nor Lucy--nor the maid, were acquainted with the facts to which he was about to allude, paused abruptly, only adding, "well I heard him acknowledge it, every word, that's enough, and so did Captain Longly."
"And I heard a portion of it, though not the whole," said Charles Tyrrell, "from the officer of the cutter, who told me that if it had not been for his interposition, that young scoundrel would have forced her down to the boat."
"And I," added Hannah, "can produce the letter which he wrote to me, if you are at all incredulous, Everard, a letter that he dare not deny."
"He'll not deny or acknowledge anything more," muttered Hailes to himself; and Everard replied,
"I am not at all incredulous, dear Hannah, I believe every word you speak, and I will try to make amends for ever having doubted you."
There now came a momentary pause, and Hailes looked at Charles Tyrrell, saying--
"I think we had better be getting under weigh, sir. We have lost a good deal of time, and the ship is lying to for you."
As he spoke, the poor fellow turned his eyes upon his children, the one still sleeping on the bed, the other as much awake as ever; and then, going into the inner room, to kiss the infant that was in its cradle, he came out with his eyes somewhat red. He then stooped down and spoke a few words in a low tone to his eldest boy, kissed his forehead, and prayed God to bless him.
The boy, who seemed to understand it all, was drowned in tears; but he spoke calmly to his father, saying:--
"I would rather have gone with you, father; but if I can help my mother, of course I will stay."
"Who's to take care of the others, Jem," said his father, "till your mother comes back? Look to them well, Jem, and be a good boy; and I'll very soon come back to you, or you shall come to me. Now stay here every one, while I and Mr., that is Sir Charles Tyrrell, go and get the boat fully afloat."
Charles accompanied him at once. The moon had gone down when they issued forth upon the beach; the sun had not risen, and though there were some slight gray streaks upon the horizon's edge toward the east, the world was all in darkness; for a haze prevented even the stars from being seen, so that it was in vain Charles and his companion gazed out on either side along the beach, to ascertain if it were now solitary. They found the boat very nearly afloat, and seeing that a slight effort was all that was required to launch it into the waves, they returned immediately for Lucy and the maid.
The small packages which they had brought with them, with some different articles of dress belonging to Charles Tyrrell, which Everard Morrison had had the forethought to prepare and send to the cottage, were first brought down and thrown into the boat, and then pressing Morrison's hand Charles Tyrrell bade him good-by, and left him to escort Hannah at once to her own home, without waiting at the cottage, lest the departure of the boat should attract attention, and the cottage be searched.
Lucy had been very much agitated in parting with her mother; but, perhaps, the most agitating moment of all had now arrived, when she had to quit her native land, to bid adieu to every former scene and association--to break the tie between herself and all that she had loved and cherished in the former portion of her existence; to begin a new and unknown state of being, with clouds of the darkest hue and most threatening character in every part of the sky. Though she did not weep, she trembled violently as Charles Tyrrell led her down to the beach.
Her maid was very much agitated, too; but the woman was blessed with one of those minds which have the consolation of trifles, and a packet missing, for which she had to run back to the cottage, was an inestimable benefit to her.
When they reached the margin of the sea, Charles took Lucy in his arms like a child, and carried her through the water to the boat. Hailes performed the same office for the maid, and then the good fisherman lingered for a moment, once more to kiss and call a blessing on his boy.
But a sound that he heard upon the beach caused him to cut his farewell short. It was that of a quick step coming along the shingles and the form of a man was clearly discerned, running with all speed toward them. The fisherman run into the water to the boat as fast as possible, and he and Charles Tyrrell using their united strength to push her off, she was afloat in a moment. The boy had run back to the cottage, but the man who had been seen approaching came up at full speed, shouting:--
"Boat, ahoy! boat, ahoy! I want to go off to the ship."
"Perhaps he really does," said Charles Tyrrell.
"Push off, push off," said Hailes in a low voice, and with an agitated manner; but, then immediately shouted in a louder tone, "I will take you when I come back again;" but still, while the boat got rapidly out to sea, he looked back toward the shore, and then much to the surprise of Charles Tyrrell, said, "He's not coming--he's not coming!"
"He's not coming!" echoed Charles Tyrrell. "What do you mean, Hailes? he would be drowned."
Hailes made no answer, and Charles Tyrrell applied himself to comfort and support his fair Lucy. Agitation, terror, and sorrow had by this time completely overpowered her, and while Charles supported her with his arm, and held her hand in his, she leaned her head upon his bosom, and for several minutes indulged in silent tears. The sea, however, was by no means rough; the gray of the morning was changing into purple; the haze which had obscured the sky cleared away, and a bright star was seen walking in beauty before the coming sun.
"Look, dear Lucy, look!" said Charles Tyrrell, pointing to the star on which she turned her dewy eyes at his bidding, "surely that is hope."