"Undoubtedly so, if we are enabled to conquer the inclination to dislike and despise them," said Harold.
The conversation then took another turn. "If I can in the least, judge of character by face, I think that there is one of our fellow-passengers whom we shall like," observed Harold, glancing in the direction of a lady, past middle age, who—clad in deep mourning—was sitting on the other side of the deck, engaged in reading.
"What a beautiful chastened expression is hers!" exclaimed Robin. "That is a face that can never grow old; it has the stamp of heaven's loveliness on it. Do you know who the lady is?"
"One of our people," replied Harold Hartley. "I was so much struck by her gentle meek dignity when Captain Gump spoke to her in his rough way about her luggage; her mildness made me inquire about her. 'Mrs. Evendale' is marked on her boxes, and I understand that the lady is the widow of a missionary, and that she is going out to take charge of some orphanage in South India."
"I shall try to sit next to her at table," said Robin; "one could fancy Mary of Nazareth like our fellow-passenger, allowing for the difference of costume, and the veil over the dark braided hair, and the simple drapery of her dress, makes even that difference less striking. The lady looks like one chastened by deep sorrow—sorrow borne in calm faith; one who has trod a thorny path, but with heaven's brightness upon it."
"My informant told me that Mrs. Evendale is not only widowed but bereaved of her children," said Harold. "She received the tidings of the death of one son by a fearful accident, when she was closing the eyes of the other."
"I wish that I could be as a son to her," said kind-hearted Robin. "Mrs. Evendale reminds me a little of our mother in expression, though not in feature and colouring. Our mother was so fair, and Mrs. Evendale looks like a daughter of Italy. Perhaps this fellow-traveller, such a contrast to the other, may not have been sent to us by chance."
A sudden puff of wind blew away from Mrs. Evendale a packet of papers which she had placed on the seat beside her, and sent them careering over the deck. Robin sprang up and gave chase to the fluttering leaves, glad of the opportunity of doing some slight service to the widow who interested him so much.
When the youth had picked up the last paper, he courteously carried all back to their owner. The lady thanked him in a voice which was melodious as music. Thus began an intercourse between the elder and younger traveller, which was to be fraught with consequences to both, which,—could they have been foreseen,—would have sent a strange thrill through their hearts. They now met for the first time, but they were only to be parted by—but we must not anticipate the rest of the story.