CHAPTER II.—NEW-YEAR'S DAY.
I awoke, after my short sleep, in the gray dawn, to find the world astir already, the great sea before my window spreading far away, calm and glistening as a lake, and the sun shining cheerily in the pale blue of the morning sky. The people without, in their holiday attire, seemed happy and hopeful; but for me, alas! there was not much of either hope or happiness. I began to think very seriously of the future. Yes; I must leave East Craig, and try in Edinburgh or Glasgow, or, who knew, even in London! to earn a livelihood for Lilian and myself. I could surely sew, or work, for the bread we both needed. My bonny Lilian unconsciously added to my sorrows on that bright, sad morning of the new year, by the way she lisped her little prayer for 'dear father;' but I managed, for her sake, to be strong and brave again, and came down-stairs with a smiling face.
'I'm wishin' ye a happy new year, ma'am!' blurted out Jeanie, the lassie from a cottage hard by, who performed the rougher household duties of our modest household for such wages as content a girl of thirteen. Oh, but it was hard, to preserve a steady demeanour, and acknowledge Jeanie's well-meant greeting, and sit down to breakfast with little Lilian in her black frock beside me, and—— A knocking at the door, quick and strong. The heavy tread too of a man's impatient foot upon the shingly path that led up from the wicket of the narrow garden. My visitors, I need not say, were few, and I knew none who were likely to come thus early. 'I can see no one now!' I cried apprehensively to Jeanie, as that active lass bustled forward to answer the peremptory summons.
'Not even me!' answered a voice, the sound of which made me tremble and grow white, as they told me later, to my very lips, while the door burst open, and with dilated eyes I gazed as on a vision. Yes; the tall, bronzed, bearded man who rushed into the room and caught me to his heart, and kissed me and the bairnie again and again, was Archie, my Archie, my dear goodman that I had believed to be dead and cold, far off beneath the measureless waters of the Pacific.
'And you thought me dead, did you?' said Archie, when, feeling safe in his strong arms, I had sobbed out some portion of my short and simple story. 'No wonder, for the Good Intent was cast away, but luckily without loss of life, on the Van Ruyter Islands, so called from some early Dutch navigator; and being out of the track of ordinary ships, we wrecked folks had trouble enough to keep alive on shell-fish and sea-fowls' eggs, until we were rescued by an American whaler. Many's the night, Alice, love, that as the wind moaned around the wave-worn rock, I have knelt and prayed, with the bright stars of the Southern Cross shining overhead, that God's mercy would lead me back to my wife and child; and here at last I am!—We are rich now,' said Archie later, when we could talk more calmly, and the first transport of my half-incredulous joy was spent; 'for poor Uncle Scott, who is dead, left me heir of all he had, land, cattle, and money; but the land is the best of it; and if you do not fear to follow me so far, Alice, we will settle in Australia.'
'Gladly and thankfully,' I answered him; and had Australia been a land of cold and barrenness, instead of one of warmth and plenty, I would have followed him cheerfully to the very ends of the earth. As it is, we are all happy and healthy in Queensland, and it is there that I write these lines; and Lilian and I, I need scarcely say, wear black no more, and can look back smilingly to the day, now long ago, when all our joy and happiness came to us with the glad New Year.
[SONG OF THE CARILLONEUR.]
Ring out, my bells, in accents clear;
Ring soft and sweet,
And take a message true and dear
To hearts that beat.
Soothe the soul with sorrow aching;
Cheer the life when all's forsaking;
Sing of joy to hearts now breaking;
Ring on, my bells!
Ring out, my bells, across the plain;
Ring wild and free,
And wake the echoes back again
To melody.
O'er the mountains waft my dreaming,
Where the sunset glory's streaming,
Where the purple vines are gleaming;
Ring out, my bells!
Ring out, my bells; ring full and strong.
My soul, to-day,
Upon inspiring notes of song
Would float away.
From the gray old minster sending
Tones that, in such concord blending,
Tell of harmonies unending;
Ring out, my bells!
Ring out upon the listening air
Your silver spell;
Ring out the music quaint and rare
I love so well:
Hope to every faint one bringing,
Peace on earth for ever ringing,
And of Love eternal singing;
Ring on, my bells!
H. K. W.
Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.