They stood gazing at the grey and distant land, when the evening was falling. They were faint for want of food; but they knew it not, for the faintness was mingled with the sickness of the heart, and in spite of the glowing happy future Mrs Hallam tried to paint, a strange sense of desolation and despair seemed to overmaster her, and all her fortitude was needed to save her from bursting into a violent fit of sobbing.
On and on with the water rushing beneath them, as they leaned upon the bulwarks, gazing still at the fast receding shore. There had been a great deal of noisy bustle going on around; but so wrapt were they in their own feelings that sailors and passengers, officers and men, passed and repassed unheeded. They were in a little world of their own, blind to all beside, so that it was with quite a start that Mrs Hallam heard, for the second time, a voice say:
“Surely, ladies, you must be cold. Will you allow me to fetch shawls from the cabin?”
The first time these words were spoken, neither Mrs Hallam nor Julia moved; but, on their being repeated, they turned quickly round, to find that Thisbe had gone below, and that where she had been seated upon her box an officer in undress uniform was standing, cap in hand.
“I thank you, no,” said Mrs Hallam coldly, as she returned the bow. “Julie, it is time we went below.”
The officer drew back as mother and daughter swept slowly by towards the cabin stairs, and remained motionless even after they had disappeared.
He was roused from his waking dream by a hearty clap on the shoulders.
“What’s the matter, Phil?” said a bluff voice, and a heavy-featured officer of about forty looked at him in a half-amused manner.
“Matter? Matter? Nothing; nothing at all.”
“Bah! don’t tell me. The old game, Phil. Is she nice-looking?”