Three months had passed; Hubert's illness had been blessed to him: by the aid of crutches he moved about again, and frequently encountered his old companions; some of them had visited him in hospital, and there was a rumour in the regiment that Captain Goodwin had "gone religious." It caused some profane mirth amongst his comrades—the companions of his former life—and he felt ashamed to meet them. However, at last he did so, and it was when they came around him, and so warmly welcomed him back again, and expressed their hope that he would soon be restored to perfect health, that he told them, with a holy boldness, that he regretted his past life, and could never be one of their number again, unless they gave up their evil ways and walked with him in the path of holiness. As might have been expected, the confession on the part of Hubert was received, for the most part, with laughter and derision; but his heart was set upon the thing he sought, and from the hour he received the rebuff he determined, if possible, to commence a work amongst his reckless companions. The same spirit of earnestness and devotion which had helped Hubert in worldly advancement, marked his efforts now. He had partaken of heavenly things, and, like a true disciple, could not bear the thought of any soul perishing; so, leaning upon his crutches, with his torn Bible in his hand, he went as often as his strength would allow, and his own soul grew in grace as he told God's love to sinners to his comrades. Hubert did not labour very long at his new work; his wounds had been too severe to allow of his continuing in the army, and before another three months had passed, an order came for him to return to England.
At first the idea of going back to his own country was not welcome; indeed, India seemed to be his home more than England did, and as he turned to the nurse, who still attended him, he said—
"Nurse, I shall not go to England. How can I go with this poor useless leg? I had better stay here."
"But, Captain, your leg is not useless; the doctor says you may some day be able to walk with a stick."
"Does he? It will be very long first, I fear. No, I think I shall not go home; no one will know me, for it is not as though I went home all right."
"Bless you, sir," replied the nurse, "plenty will know you—your mother will, for one. I remember when our Tom ran away and went to sea, and was gone ten years, and we never heard a word about him; well, all at once, home he came, and the moment we caught sight of him at the garden gate, though he had grown from a boy to a stout man, we all cried out, 'Here's poor Tom.' We had never heard a word about his coming, or anything, yet we knew him, and all ran out to meet him. I remember it well; and how poor mother threw her arms round his neck and kissed him, and called him her darling, and I can't tell you what; then how she stood and cried, and scolded him for running away, and never writing; and then how she took up her apron to wipe away her tears, and then kissed and hugged him again. I never shall forget it. Poor mother! She and Tom are in heaven now. I watched beside them both, and though my heart nearly broke when I lost them, I had rather have them where they are than enduring the trials of this life."
"Did your brother die soon after he returned, then?" inquired Hubert.
"He only lived three years after he came home, for he had been very much beaten about, and his health was quite broken. Poor mother died six months before he did. The year after they died I married, and came out here, and I have seen some trouble. I buried three little children one after another, and then I buried my husband. They all lie just out there, under that large tree in the corner of the burial-ground. I was ordered home, but I could not leave the spot where they were lying, so gave up my passage to England, and have stayed here ever since. I have only one wish, and that is to be buried just out there beside them. It is sixteen years since my husband died; and the first time you can get so far just go and see how nicely I keep his and the children's graves."
Hubert was interested in the woman's story; her patient devotion and affection won his heart, and he took the first opportunity of visiting the graves of her loved ones, and as he gazed upon the well-kept mounds before him, his thoughts sped over the ocean to a distant land, and he saw the village churchyard, with the grassy hillocks beneath which lay the remains of many members of his family, and lifting up his heart in prayer to God for humility and strength, he determined to bid farewell to India, and return to the fold from which he had wandered.
It was soon known that Hubert was going to England, and many ready hands and hearts assisted him in preparing to go. All his little property was collected, several presents were given him, and many a regret was expressed at his leaving; all of which made it harder to go than he had anticipated, and he felt, as the time drew near, more and more sorry to leave. But there was no alternative; so he decided to sail in the first vessel that left Calcutta after he arrived there. The doctor, to whom Hubert had communicated his intention, came to him one evening and told him that, as he was at liberty to choose his own vessel, he could not do better than make his passage over the seas in the Arctic. "She is a splendid ship," said the doctor, "and the captain is a religious man. I know him well. You will not be annoyed with riotous conduct in his vessel, and will have no cause to complain of the manner in which he observes the Sabbath."