"Ah, that will be the ship, then," replied Hubert; "but did you ever sail in it?"
"Yes, twice to the Cape of Good Hope and back; and I can assure you that I have been in many a church and have not heard the service with such comfort as I heard it in that ship. Our beautiful Liturgy was read with such deep earnestness and pathos that I thought then, and I have thought ever since, that out on the ocean, with dangers around us, is the fittest place for those grand prayers to be breathed; for as I joined and as I listened, I thought I could see Christ beside me walking upon the sea, and my soul seemed carried up higher into heaven than it had ever been before."
"That was beautiful!" exclaimed Hubert; "I always like to hear you talk like that, doctor, it makes me feel something of the same kind. I shall like that ship; when will she sail?"
"I scarcely know, but it will not be long. She has been lying at Calcutta some time, and I should think is about returning to England; she has not gone, I know, because Lieutenant White told me last night that he intended sending a box to England by her. By the way, he can, perhaps, tell us when she will sail."
It was found, upon inquiry, that the Arctic would set sail in about ten days; so Hubert bade farewell as soon as he could to his friends, and, accompanied by the doctor, was in a few days on his way to Calcutta. He bore the fatigue of the journey better than he had expected, though he was very much exhausted, and was heartily glad when he reached the ship, and lay down to rest in his cabin. The doctor stayed all night, and then the next morning they took leave of each other, promising to continue the friendship which, to Hubert at least, had been such a blessing. Hubert did not at first feel all he had lost when the doctor left, for his mind was somewhat occupied in arranging his cabin, so as to be as comfortable as possible on the voyage; but this, of course, had an end, and a consciousness came over him that he was friendless on the wide world amongst strangers. At first he thought it would be better to keep so, and not leave his cabin at all, for, if he went on deck, the remarks or sympathy of the other passengers would be very annoying. They might pity him, and be kind and attentive to him in his weakness, but it would only make him feel more keenly the calamity which had fallen on him in the full vigour of his manhood; and then, as his thoughts rushed back, and he saw himself but a few months before so full of health and activity, he forgot the great blessing that had accompanied his illness, and his heart murmured and rebelled. A dark cloud seemed to have fallen over Hubert: for three days he maintained a gloomy silence in his cabin; and the sailor that waited upon him told his shipmates that it was a pity his honour had chosen the sea for a grave, for unless he changed he would, in his honest opinion, die before they were far out of the bay. "Tell him so, Ben, for you know it ain't lucky to have a death on board," said one of the sailors. However, Ben said nothing to Hubert, for in his own mind he began to think that the soldier had a sorrow, which would perhaps wear away in time; and the sailor was not wrong. It was a dark hour in Hubert's life—a weak yielding of the flesh; and who can wonder? In the short time that had passed since he had given up his evil ways, how much instruction and counsel he had received from the kind friend who had brought him to the vessel; and the kind nurse, so full of sympathy towards him, knowing all about him, had helped to buoy up his spirits when they were sinking, and by them the struggle between his old and his new nature had been lightened. How Hubert missed those two friends now! He never thought he could have cared for them half so much. In the gloomy thoughts that had come over him, he would have given much for one of them to have been near; but he was alone, and his nature warred with his spirit, and his bosom refused to be comforted. Many times he wished he could return to India, and reproached himself for having left: there, at least, there was some one that cared for him; now, where was he? Out on the sea, without a friend; and, perhaps, in the distant land to which he was going he might find himself friendless still. Friendless! the thought bowed him very low: but God knew the storm that was beating upon the heart of the returning wanderer, and the powerful hand of Omnipotence tempered the hurricane; for, like the distant sound of help, in the lull of the tempest, the words came suddenly into his mind—"I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee."
"Ah!" said Hubert, starting, and pointing upwards as he spoke, "Gracious God, I have a friend in Thee;" then, clasping his hands together, he prayed an earnest prayer that God would pardon the sin of his murmuring, help him to overcome the evil nature in his heart, and make him more holy.
Hubert's peace of mind returned as soon as he had poured out his grief in prayer, and Ben the sailor told his shipmates that they need not fear now, for his honour had taken a turn, and was quite cheerful-like. The evening of another day was closing, and Hubert came upon deck, amongst the other passengers, to take a last look of the land where the best years of his life had been passed, and where nearly all the remembered associations of his existence were centred.
The home of his boyhood, in that lovely English valley, had come before him in memory's brightest colours, as he lay sick and wounded in the hospital; and he thought of it too when he set out for England, but he could remember nothing at all of it, as he stood by the side of the vessel, looking back upon his manhood's home—the field of his fame. It was true that he had there strayed further from the right path, and sunk deeper into sin; that, if India had been the scene of his fame, it had also been the scene of his guilt; but then his heart whispered that it was there too he had mourned and repented, and if a deep sigh escaped his bosom, as he watched the last shadow of his Indian home fade from his view, it was because he was leaving it for ever.
Long after the last look had been taken, Hubert sat still upon deck, and was roused from his thoughtfulness by the words—
"Will you accept my arm, Captain, to your cabin? it is getting late."