Letters connected the Coldstreams with the outer world, and not unfrequently the chief commissioner lent newspapers to read. Oscar knew when a fair young queen ascended the throne which this worthy descendant of Alfred still fills. He received from Mark Lawrence the glad news that after years of loneliness his home was to be brightened by the presence of a wife. The chaplain’s former disappointment had been in itself ablessing, for without it he would have been linked to one who would not have made him happy.
With one scene in the life of the Coldstreams, about eight years after their arrival in the Andaman Islands, my little story concludes.
“There is a vessel in the offing, my Oscar,” said Io one morning; “shall we go down and see the arrivals?”
Oscar was just putting the last touches to a beautiful water-colour picture which was to be a birthday present to Io; but he rose at once, put down his brush, and prepared to accompany his wife.
“Formerly,” observed Oscar, “it was with sadness that we saw new-comers arriving; now hope counterbalances pity. We look upon prisoners coming to the Andaman Islands less as sinners to be punished than as souls that may be saved.”
“But these are not prisoners; they come in the commissioner’s yacht. There are nice white English faces,” exclaimed Io joyfully, quickening her pace, “and one is a lady! O Oscar, Oscar!” she continued in the excitement of pleasure, “I am certain that yonder is Mark Lawrence, and she who leans on his arm must be his wife!”
Oscar hurried on so fast at the word that Io had to run to keep up with his pace. Here was a great and unexpected pleasure indeed! In a few minutes the friends who had deemed that they were parted for ever as regards this world were greeting each other with cordial delight.
“You never thought—I never thought of my being appointed chaplain to the troops in the Andaman Islands!” cried Mark, after having with pleasure and pride introduced his young wife. “Why, Coldstream, the climate of the place must suit you, for you look little changed after so many years of residence, only more strong and a little more sunburnt.” Lawrence might have added, “and a great deal more happy,” for Coldstream’s fine countenance now wore an expression of peace.
And Io was blooming still, not a silver thread in the auburn hair, not a wrinkle of care on the white smooth brow. The water-lily had again opened its chalice to the sunshine, and was smiling in the light which came from heaven, and was reflected by very many objects around her.
That day was one of the happiest which the Coldstreams had ever known. No stranger seeing the group that sat eagerly chatting over old days would have dreamed that the one gentleman was a chaplain, the other a convict. Oscar himself was the only one to whose mind came the recollection of his great crime; in his heart of hearts was written, “Jesus Christ came to save sinners, of whom I am chief.”