Just as Miss Martin was sipping her tea, and finding relief at last in the steadiness of the great vessel at anchor, handsome Arabella Meredith came bustling in, in travelling trim, with a light cloak over her arm.
"Oh, Dulcie," she said, "we find that we leave for Granada at once. We do not do it from Malaga; but only join the boat again there. It is an affair of three nights. I'm sorry you will miss it; but, of course, Aunt Mary cannot be left all that time, and before she has got over her sea-sickness. Good-bye; we'll tell you all about it when we meet. I daresay you'll manage to join a shore-going party here and at Malaga, and you'll have the boat nice and quiet. Everybody's off on shore for Granada."
She was gone. There was trampling and calling overhead. The agent who arranged the shore excursions was marshalling his recruits. People were rushing down for wraps and hand-bags; all was hurry and confusion. Mrs. Meredith just ran in to kiss her sister and warn Dulcie to look well after her. Then she, too, disappeared, and Dulcie was left biting her lips to keep back the tears. She realised that Miss Martin could not be left for so long, and that before she had recovered the tossing in the Atlantic. But to miss Granada! Oh! it did seem hard when she was so near, and Aunt Mary had promised to pay the expenses of the trip for her.
Miss Martin settled to sleep, the sleep of exhausted nature. Dulcie went on deck to find the huge boat almost empty. Even those passengers who had not cared for the fatigues of the Granada expedition had gone to spend the day ashore. The steamer was not to leave the anchorage till seven o'clock that night, and then only steam gently under lee of the shore to Malaga.
Dulcie's was a happy nature; despite the keenness of her disappointment, the beauty of the scene before her eyes did much to chase sorrow away. Was she not looking upon one of the grand sights of the world? Was not that the lion-faced rock she had longed to see? And oh, how glorious were those solemn African mountains! and what an exquisite view she had of the wonderful harbour, the town climbing up the steep heights, and the white Moorish city crowning one of the low hills! There was Algeciras; she recognised it from its position, but she longed to know more of her surroundings. Oh, if Mr. Carlyon were but here, what interesting things he would tell her!
Dulcie felt her cheek suddenly glow, and she leaned over the rail, looking down into the water and growing dreamy. How was it that it was always that face which came between her and the page of her book when she read, or intruded itself into her visions, waking and sleeping, at night? Why was it that the thought of missing that companionship on the Granada trip was the real trouble to her, though she scarcely dared admit it? What was Mr. Carlyon to her?
He had only been three weeks in the hotel with them at Funchal; he had come from the Cape, and it was rumoured that he had made a fortune there. He was evidently a great traveller. He seemed acquainted with every land under the sun. His thin face was very brown; and the dark hair was silvered at the temples, though the fine silky moustache was still quite black. He was tall and well-knit in figure, with regular features and very penetrating eyes of a rather dark blue; a handsome and distinguished-looking man, said to belong to a good old family. But he had lived a life of travel and adventure, and had known hard times. If he had made his fortune now, at the age of forty or under, he had known plenty of buffeting about in his earlier life.
"I wonder if he will come back engaged to Arabella?" mused Dulcie; "I know the people, at the hotel talked about it. He was so much with us. Does Arabella care for him? He attracts her. That very gentle chivalrous way he has with all women is so different from what one meets with generally in these days. Oh, I do hope, if it is to be, that she really cares. I think he is a man who would give everything without reserve, if once he loved. And she? Oh, it is not for me to judge; perhaps I am a little jealous. Sometimes she seems to have so much—more than she can use. But I must not let myself think unworthy thoughts. I have had a lovely time. A winter of sunshine and happiness, and now this wonderful trip home. To let things be spoiled for me, just because he has gone with them and I am left behind! Oh, that would be ridiculous! ungrateful! horrid!"
That day was like a dream to Dulcie.—p. 322.