Volume Three—Chapter Fifteen.
Sir Gordon Gets out of Temper.
“Don’t—pray don’t look so agitated, dear, mother,” whispered Julia, as they left the cabin one morning, after an announcement by the captain that before many hours had passed, a new phase in the long voyage would take place, for they would see land.
The news spread like lightning among the passengers, and was received with eager delight by those who had been cooped up gazing at sea and sky for months.
“I will try and be calm,” said Mrs Hallam; “but it seems at times more than I can bear. Think, Julie; only a few more hours and we shall see him again.”
Julia’s fair young face contracted, and there was a strange fluttering about her heart. Mingled feelings troubled her. She was angry with herself that she did not share her mother’s joy; and, strive how she would, she could not help feeling regret that the voyage was so near its end, and that they were to make a fresh plunge in life.
She had trembled and shrunk from the journey when it was first decided upon. There was so much of the unknown to encounter, and she had been so happy and contented in the simple home, that, unlike most young people of her age, novelty possessed for her few charms. But the voyage had proved, after the first few dreary days, one long succession of pleasant hours. Every one had been so kind—Mrs Otway almost loving, Captain Otway frank and manly, and—she coloured slightly as she thought of it all—Lieutenant Eaton so gentle and attentive to her every wish.
Yes, for months he had been ready to hurry to her side, to wait upon her, to read aloud, turn over her music, and join in the duets with an agreeable, manly voice. Yes, it had all been very, very pleasant; the only dark spots in the sunshine, the only clouds being that Sir Gordon had grown more testy and ready to say harsh things, and Mr Bayle had become strangely cold and distant—so changed. He who had been always so warm and frank looked at her gravely; the old playful manner had completely gone, and the change troubled her young breast sorely.
That morning, when Mrs Hallam took her old place by the bulwarks to gaze away into the distance, out of which the land she sought was to rise, Julia came to a determination, and, waiting her opportunity, she watched till Bayle had taken his place where he sat and read, and Sir Gordon was in his usual seat.
For, on ship-board, the nature of the vessel’s management seems to communicate itself to the passengers. As they have special berths, so do they adopt special seats at the cabin table, and, when on deck, go by custom to regular places after their morning walk beneath the breeze-filled sails.
Sir Gordon was in his seat, and Tom Porter on his way with a cigar and light, when Julia intercepted him, took them from him, and walked up to Sir Gordon.
“Hullo!” he said shortly. “You?”
“Yes! I’ve brought you your cigar and light.”
She held them out, and the old man took them, and lit the cheroot with all the careful dallying of an old smoker.
“Thankye,” he said shortly; but Julia did not leave him, only stood looking down at the wrinkles of age and annoyance in the well-bred face.
“Well!” he said, “what are you waiting for, my child?” His voice was a little softer as the wreaths of smoke rose in the soft southern air.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, looking at him wistfully.
“Sit down, then. Ah, there’s no chair, and—where is our gay young officer to fetch one?”
Julia did not answer, but gazed up in his face as she seated herself upon the deck by his low lounge chair.
“Why do you speak to me so unkindly?” she said, with a naïve innocency of manner that made the old man wince and cease smoking.
“Unkindly?” he said at last.
“Yes,” said Julia. “You have been so different. You are not speaking to me now as you used.”
The old man frowned, looked from the upturned face at his side to where Mrs Hallam was gazing out to sea, and back again.
“Because I’m growing old and am chilly, and pettish, and jealous, my dear,” he said at last warmly. “Julia!” he cried searchingly, “tell me; do you love this Lieutenant Eaton?”
The girl’s face grew crimson, and her eyes flashed a look of resentment as she rose quickly to her feet.
“No, no! don’t go, my dear,” he cried; but it was too late even if the words could have stayed her. Julia was walking swiftly away, and Lieutenant Eaton, who was coming back from a morning parade of the company, increased his pace on seeing Julia, but she turned aside and walked towards Bayle.
“Yes, but if I had not just spoken to her,” muttered Sir Gordon, “she would have stopped. Well, it is only natural, and I had no business to speak—no business to trouble myself about her. Tom Porter says the old maid is bitterly mad about it, and declares the poor child is going to wreck her life as her mother did. The old cat! How dare she think such a thing! The impudence! Wishes the ship may be wrecked first and that we may all be drowned. Ah! you’re there, are you, sir?”
“Yes, Sir Gordon. Another cheroot?”
“Can’t you see I haven’t smoked this, fool? Here, give me a light!”
Tom Porter’s mahogany face did not change as he produced a piece of tinder and held it for his testy master to ignite his cigar.
“Thank ye, Tom,” said Sir Gordon, changing his tone. “Here, don’t go away. What did that woman say?”
“Thisbe, Sir Gordon?”
“Yes; you know whom I mean. About Miss Hallam?”
“Wished we might all be wrecked and drowned before it came off.”
“Before what came off?”
“A wedding with Lieutenant Eaton, Sir Gordon.”
“Why?”
“Principally because she says he’s so handsome, Sir Gordon. She hates handsome men.”
“Humph! That’s why she’s so fond of you, Tom Porter.”
“Which she ain’t, Sir Gordon,” said Tom Porter dolefully.
“You had been talking about weddings then?”
“Well, just a little, Sir Gordon,” said Tom Porter, not a muscle of whose countenance moved. “I just said how nice it was to see two young folks so fond of each other.”
“As whom?”
“As the Lufftenant and Miss Jooly, Sir Gordon; and that it would be just as nice for two middle-aged folks who had kept it all in store.”
“And is she going to marry you, then, when we get to port?”
“No: Sir Gordon; it’s all over. She ain’t the marrying sort.”
“Humph! Marry a black woman, then, to spite her, and then ask her to come and see your wife.”
“No, Sir Gordon, beggin’ your pardon, sir; I’ve been in the wrong, when I ought to have took you for an example. It’s all over, and I’m settled down thorough. I have seen but one woman as I thought I’d like to splice.”
“And that was Mrs Hallam’s old maid?”
“Yes, Sir Gordon.”
“Why? She isn’t handsome.”
“Not outside, Sir Gordon; and I don’t rightly know why I took to her, unless it was that she seemed so right down like—such a stick-to-you-through-fair-weather-and-foul sort of woman. But it’s all over now, Sir Gordon. Things won’t turn out as one likes, and it’s of no use to try.”
“You’re right, Tom Porter; you’re a better philosopher than your master. There: that will do. When shall we see land?”
“Morrow morning, Sir Gordon. Daybreak; not afore. Any orders ’bout the shore?”
“Orders? What are we to do when we get there? Tom Porter, if you could tell me what we are to do, I’d give you a hundred pounds. There, give me a light, my cheroot’s out again!”