"COALS OF FIRE."
BY dint of persevering inquiries made through the agency of his once guardian, Mr. Rackstraw, John had ascertained at what time the Sea Bird was likely to arrive in port. It wanted but a few days of this date when the final touches were put to the preparation of Tincroft House. And then John announced to Sarah that the time was come for them to take their journey to London.
"It will not matter, my dear, if we should have to wait a week before the ship gets in," said he; "but it won't do to be a day too late!"
So places were taken in the Trotbury coach—for the London and Trotbury and Smashum line was not open then—and two days afterwards they were on the road. That same evening they had ensconced themselves in a private boarding-house in the City, having first of all made arrangements for extra rooms for the expected homeward-bound ones.
They had not to wait many days. The winds and waves were propitious; and as they sat at breakfast on the fourth morning after their departure from home, news came that the ship—having coming up from Gravesend on the previous day—was then in the—docks. No time was to be lost, therefore. But hurried as were their movements that morning, we must precede the Tincrofts some short space of time, and take our station on the quarter-deck of the Sea Bird.
There, pacing to and fro, with slow and feeble steps, and clad in rough but warm sea-going garments, was a tall man, of well-built and once powerful frame, viewing with a kind of languid interest the busy scene around him. He was pale, what part of his face was not concealed by the thick dark beard he wore; and he looked pensive, not to say sorrowful.
By this sick man's side, and waiting on him as it seemed with anxious watchfulness, was a tall, slight young woman, whom it was natural to suppose was his daughter. A flush of health intensified the brunette hue of her cheeks and forehead, and added to the general loveliness of her countenance as it beamed forth under the warm and closely-fitting bonnet which partly concealed her dark brown hair. But the great charm of her countenance at that time was expressed in the loving, trusting, earnest, half-sad and half-hopeful gaze she fixed on her companion.
"This is London, Helen; what do you think of it?" said the invalid, gravely.
"I don't like it, father," the girl returned, with a shudder. "But it is not all like this—ships and water, piers and warehouses—I suppose?"
"No, there are streets and churches, and public buildings—but it all amounts to much the same thing, houses and men here and there and everywhere."