CHAPTER XII.
THE STORY OF ESTELLE.
“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair,
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields
And thinking of the days that are no more.”
Tennyson.
Balmy, bright, and beautiful broke the succeeding morning. Every passenger as he came on deck looked astern to see what had become of the Champion. She still kept her usual distance, dogging the Pontiac with the persistency of a fate. Captain Crane said nothing, but it was noticeable that he puffed away at his cigar with increased vigor.
Mr. Vance encountered the Berwicks once more on the hurricane deck and interchanged greetings. Little Clara recognized her friend of the day before, and, jumping from Hattie’s lap, ran and pulled his coat, looking up in his face, and pouting her lips for a kiss.
“I fancy I see two marked traits in your little girl, already,” said Vance to the mother, after he had saluted the child; “she is strong in the affections, and has a will-power that shows itself in self-control.”