“And is that distant shore Spain?” said Julia wonderingly, as she gazed at the faint grey line at which every eye and glass was being directed.
“Yes, Julie,” said Mrs Hallam more cheerfully, “sunny Spain.”
“And it seems just now that we were gazing at dear old England,” said Julia, with a sigh.
“Yes,” said Mrs Hallam, grasping her hand with feverish energy, “but now we are so many hundred miles nearer to him who is waiting our coming, Julie. Let us count the miles as he is counting the minutes before he can take his darling to his heart. Julie, my child, we must put the past behind us; it is the future for which we must live.”
“Forget the past?” said Julia mournfully. “It was such a happy time.”
“For you, Julie, but for me one long agonising time of waiting.”
“Dearest mother,” whispered Julia, pressing her hand, and speaking quickly, “I know—I know, and I will try so hard not to be selfish.”
They had turned to the bulwarks the moment they came on deck, and, without casting a look round, had glanced at the distant coast, and then mentally plunged their eyes into the cloud ahead, beyond which stood Robert Hallam awaiting their coming.
“I had the pleasure of speaking to you before the storm, ladies,” said a voice, and as they turned quickly, it was to find Lieutenant Eaton, cap in hand, smiling, and slightly flushed.
Mrs Hallam bowed.