Needless to remark, his apology came rather too late. At every turn of the companion-ladder, at every open door, Billy lived in whining anticipation of meeting what he called "the man in the boots," and for the remainder of the voyage he was figuratively a mill-stone, round Helen's neck.
They had an uneventful passage down the Mediterranean, halting at Malta for lace, oranges, and canaries; they passed Cape Bon, then the coast of Spain, and the snow-capped Sierra Nevada. The Home boys had never beheld snow till now, and were easily induced to believe, that what they beheld was pounded sugar, and languished at the mountains with greedy eyes, as long as they remained in sight. On a certain Sunday afternoon in April the Palestine arrived in the Victoria Docks, London. Numerous expectant friends came swarming on board, all eagerness and expectation, but there was no one to welcome Helen,—no face among that friendly crowd was seeking hers. Being a Sunday, there was, of course, some difficulty about cabs and trains, and the docks were very remote from the fashionable quarter where her aunt Julia resided: so she swallowed her disappointment and made excuses to herself. However, Mrs. Home, who had been met by her brother, insisted upon personally conducting her to her journey's end. First they went by rail above ground, then by rail under ground, finally by cab, and after a long drive, the travellers drew up at Mrs. Platt's rather pinched-looking mansion in Upper Cream Street. A man-servant answered the bell, flung wide the door with a jerk, and stood upon the threshold in dignified amazement on beholding two cabs, heavily laden with baggage.
Was Mrs. Platt at home?
"No, ma'am. She and the young ladies have gone to afternoon church; but Miss Denis is expected."
Rather a tepid reception, Mrs. Home thought, with a secret thrill of indignation. Much, much, she wished that she could have taken Helen with her there and then. She hugged her vigorously, as did also Tom and Billy; and telling her, that she would come and see her very soon, she re-entered her cab, and with her brother, children, and luggage, was presently rattled away. Helen felt as she stood on the steps, and watched those familiar trunks, turning a corner,—that her last link with the Andamans, and all her recent life, was now broken.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A POOR RELATION.
"Oh, she is rich in beauty, only poor!"
Romeo and Juliet.
"You had better have your big box kept in the back hall—it will scarcely be worth while to take it upstairs, and it might only rub the paper off the wall."