“Well, I only hope that you’ll have a long life together without no kind of quarrels between you, nor troubles after these, my lad,” said Obed, stroking the dog’s head as Towzer lay beside his chair. “You’ve begun to make friendship the way it’d ought to be made, an’ as it’s grown older it’d ought to be of a kind that aint common in this part o’ the world, so far as I’ve had opportunity to jedge.”
“I hope so, too,” responded Touchtone, soberly. Yes, and he believed it. His “old head on young shoulders” for one moment pictured in flashing succession years to come at Gerald’s side, himself his best friend ever, to companion and care for him. Or, would the future bring differences, quarrels, a breaking apart for them, and only thorns from this now newly planted vineyard, as happened to so many other pairs of friends in this strange world? Only fate knew, and only time could decide.
Bed-hour came. Philip proposed to hold to his lounge; so it was more comfortably made up for rest, under Mrs. Probasco’s care, than before. Obed was to start for Chantico after the early breakfast. At first Philip decided that it was best he should go with him; but he concluded to curb his impatience and not be absent all day from Gerald. The letters and telegrams lay ready to be forwarded; Obed understood precisely what he was to do.
They said good-night. Philip lay awake a half hour or so. He was restless. Uncertainty after uncertainty and step by step of the unsolved equation of Gerald’s and his situation filled his brain. He thought and planned, and heard the wind that had all at once risen blow furiously about the house. His final thought was that it had begun to rain pretty hard.
But his dismay and that of the Probascos when they met the next morning cannot briefly be described. A great gale was raging. The sea was a wild, mad, terrible creature, heaving itself in black tumult in the drenching and cold storm. The channel between the island and vanished coast was a raging body of water that no ordinary boat could safely hope to traverse. It was not a storm, but an equinoctial tempest.
Obed, with as much regret as honesty, declared he could not think of attempting a passage to Chantico. Letters, telegrams, every sort of communication, must wait until the elements were lulled.
“Another day lost!” cried Philip to himself, impatiently. He walked up and down Gerald’s room in chafing, impotent anxiety. Gerald was so much better that Mrs. Probasco declared danger of further illness ended. He roved languidly about the house with the farmer’s wife, in more contentment than Philip had hoped the boy could be kept in. But it made his own concern come home to him heavily. Obed and he counseled and watched the sea and storm. There was nothing else to do. The gale’s fury increased in the afternoon, and, worse still, the coming of the early and deep darkness of the evening found it undiminished in violence.