"Well, the philosophy of that I neither argue nor dispute: what do you say to it?"
Hubert smiled, and, taking from his pocket his "torn Bible," he said, "Here we have a high authority for the fact that suffering purifies the heart. Now, whatever effect it may have upon the outward appearance, it most certainly leaves its impress within—leaves many a deep scar upon the heart: and we know that it leaves furrows on the brow; yet what a blessing suffering is!—it is often the last effort that God makes to reclaim the reckless sinner. When all other efforts have failed, and nothing seems effectual in bringing down man's proud heart, the Almighty smites that He may bless. I know it, for I have experienced it all; I have felt both the scourge and the blessing."
Hubert added this latter part because he feared lest his friend should think him presumptuous; but the stranger added, "Captain Goodwin, I am sure you must have felt a good deal of what you have often talked about, and I would give much to be always as thoroughly settled in these matters as you are. What you say, I feel to be all perfectly true. Here," he said, placing his hand upon his heart, "it is all right But here," and he touched his forehead, "there are other thoughts. But if God spare me, I will come to you again when my business in Portugal is done, and then we will talk over these matters more fully. The world has been a wide one to me, but I have only a few friends in it, and am tired of rambling about it, so I shall return to England and come near to you."
"Do," said Hubert; "and may God spare you, and me too. I shall be glad indeed to see you; the heart grows better by communion, and I think somehow that there is many a kindred feeling between us; at any rate, our voyage has been rendered pleasant by our having met, and it will be a source of pleasure to me, in many a sad hour that I feel will yet befall me, to look forward to our meeting again."
This, and much more, formed the matter for conversation between Hubert and his friend; and when the day had closed, and night drew on, they passed an hour together by Hubert's lamp; for the heart which had unburdened itself seemed to have twined its tendrils more firmly round the wounded soldier.
CHAPTER X.
THE WANDERER'S RETURN.
Lead, kindly light, amid the evening gloom,
Lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on!—Keble.
Nearer and nearer drew the vessel homeward. Hubert and his friend had that morning kept below; there was a little luggage on a table upon the deck, and two or three people were standing near it; some of the sailors were evidently busy about one of the boats, but a casual observer could not have perceived that anything unusual was going on. Many, nearly all in the vessel, were gladdening their eyes with the first glimpse they were having of Europe; and as the coast of Portugal became more distinct, many hearts burst out with joy, for they were nearing home.