And the whole party went off down the drive. Another week, and Frank Maynard, Kate, and the children were in London. Jane, the nurse, had also accompanied them to London, she having expressed her willingness to accompany her master and mistress to the end of the world. But Kate confided her private opinion to Frank that the fact of Evan deciding also to go with them to Australia exercised a not inconsiderable influence in her decision. Mr. and Mrs. Holl would have wished Evan to stay at home to assist his father in the business; but Evan, although much struck with the dignity and comfort of the position of John Holl, Dust Contractor, refused to leave Frank; and neither John nor Sarah would say a word to shake his fidelity. He took up his abode, however, with his father and mother up to the time for sailing. Prescott had taken lodgings for the party at Kensington, met them at the station, and went home with them. Frank and Kate were both in high spirits, for Kate had written to Mrs. Drake, saying that she had not wished to weary her by telling her how badly things had gone with them since the time of the stoppage of the “Great Indian Bank,” but that Frank had been for two years down in Yorkshire, learning railway work, and that they had now made up their minds to emigrate to Australia, where they had a friend who would be enabled to push them. She concluded by asking Mrs. Drake if she would advance them two or three hundred pounds. The reply came by return of post, gently upbraiding Kate for not having written before to say how they were situated, and enclosing a cheque from Mr. Drake for five hundred pounds. The next day Teddy himself came up. He was as full of fun and life as ever. Sarah, he said, would have come too; but she could not leave her baby, who was only a month old, but she, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Drake, sent every kind message.
Frank had at once consulted the papers, and had found that the “Tasmania,” a first-class packet, would sail in ten days for Melbourne. A passage was at once taken for the whole party, and for the next week Frank and Kate, accompanied by Teddy, had an immense deal of work to get through.
Kate was quite another woman now. She had never shown before her husband how anxious she was, but the strain had told upon her severely. Now, however, it was over, and with the hope of a bright future before her, she almost regained her former cheerful brightness during the ten days of their stay in London. Formerly she had dreaded the thought of emigrating. It had all seemed so vague and dim, and the chance of ever returning had been so slight; but now there was every hope of success, and as Kate was taking all she loved with her, she would not have fretted had she known they were never to return.
At last the day of sailing arrived. Prescott and Teddy Drake went on board at the docks, and remained with them until the pilot went ashore at the Downs. Very hearty were the adieux and good wishes; but Kate kissed her cousin, and her husband’s faithful friend, with scarce a tear in her eye; and, with Charley held up in her arms, and her husband standing with his arm round her, watched the boat until its occupants were no longer distinguishable.
“Now, Frank,” she said, as she turned away from the bulwark after the last wave of her handkerchief; “we are fairly off at last, and I’ve got you all to myself for the next five months. I suppose I ought to be very miserable at leaving England, but it has treated me so badly lately that I am not so sorry as I ought to be. You keep hold of me, Charley; the vessel is beginning to roll a little, and you will be down if you don’t mind. Here, Frank, you take him up; I will go and see after Jane and baby. I do not expect she is such a good sailor as I am, and I must look after baby for the next day or two. I feel very happy; don’t you, husband?”
“Very, darling; and I have every reason to do so. The past has been a sort of bad dream, Katie; we mustn’t think any more of it. Now, dear, you go down, and I will light my pipe, and look after Charley.”
CHAPTER XIII
NOT GUILTY!
Captain Bradshaw had now been down at Torquay for nearly two months. The haughty coldness with which Alice Heathcote had for some time treated the invalid boy, after his refusal of the prayer she had made him on her knees, had now worn off. He was evidently sinking fast, and Alice’s offended pride faded into pity at the sight of his worn looks and failing strength. The invalid had for some time talked but little, and tears often came up into his eyes as he sat silent and abstracted. One day, especially, after he had received a letter from London, he sat more silent even than usual, and looked several times wistfully across at Alice, who had palpably been crying, for a short note from Prescott had told her the same news which James had heard in a letter from Evan.
At last he spoke. “Alice,” he said, softly, “I do not think I shall live very long: would you mind kissing me?”