"Forgive me! It must sound so heartless. But if you knew what this is to me—after years of utter hopelessness!"
"I think I do know; and you could never be heartless," Jean answered.
To Evelyn, a little later, she murmured—"So this is what has been the matter with you lately—not poor Miss Moggridge, after all!" and Evelyn offered no protest.
A small tug, with a large steamer in tow, could not be expected to advance rapidly; and the "Bristol" had drifted far out of her course; but the sea being now comparatively smooth, the Captain preferred to make his own port. Passengers, eager to be on land, were disposed to grumble; yet the delay involved was not very great. There was no longer any question of danger; only of patience. People might eat and drink and enjoy themselves, so far as certain physical sensations permitted.
It was growing dusky, when late in the afternoon, they reached the Newhaven harbour. An eager crowd of battered and weather-beaten voyagers pressed across the gangway, anxious to reach firm ground. Evelyn, clinging to Jem's arm, seemed to care little whether she were on deck or on land; and Jem could scarcely turn his mind to aught else beside Evelyn. Still they did not forget Jean, and if she stood apart, she was at once beckoned near.
After crossing the gangway, however, while in the midst of a dense crowd, Jean was forcibly separated from her companions, and hustled backward. She had little spirit to struggle; and though not much liking to find herself alone, she could hardly be called nervous. When able to move forward again, she looked about in vain for Evelyn and Jem. Had they gone on, forgetfully? Jean smiled at the idea; yet a forlorn wave swept over her, not for the first time that day. The contrast between their happiness and what might be in store for herself was almost too painful.
In the growing darkness, and in the throng, she still failed to catch a glimpse of her companions. Jean began to feel uncomfortable.
Then she found somebody by her side—somebody well covered with a large foreign-looking cloak, and wearing a rough-weather cap, pulled low over his eyes. She had a glimpse of a brown-moustached face. And an ungloved hand, well sunburnt, touched her courteously, to draw attention; while an odd gruff voice, not unfamiliar in its intonation, said—
"Pardon me! Miss Trevelyan—? Mr. Trevelyan has gone on, and he desires me to bring you to the hotel."
"Rather curious!" Jean thought; but the manner was unmistakably that of a gentleman, and Jean submitted. "A friend of Jem's!" she conjectured.