“Things are terribly black against me, but I will say no more now. Only the body was not found until two days after I sailed, and it is believed that I was a fugitive from justice. That makes matters worse. Ilda, I could have loved you, but, ah! I fear this will be our last interview on earth. Your father is sailing by this ship, and taking you and my little love Matty with him.”
She threw herself in his arms now, and wept till it verily seemed her heart would break. Then he kissed her tenderly, and led her back to her seat.
“Brighter times may come,” he said. “There is ever sunshine behind the clouds. Good-bye, darling, good-bye—and may every blessing fall on your life and make you happy. Say good-bye to the child for me; I dare not see her again.”
She half rose and held out her arms towards him, but he was gone. The door was closed, and she threw herself now on the sofa in an agony of grief.
The ship sailed next day. Reginald could not see her depart. He and one man had gone to the distant hill. They had taken luncheon with them, and the sun had almost set before they returned to camp.
“Have they gone?” was the first question when he entered the barrack-hall.
“They have gone.”
That was all that Dickson said.
“But come, my friend, cheer up. No one here believes you guilty. All are friends around you, and if, as I believe you to be, you are innocent, my advice is this: Pray to the Father; pray without ceasing, and He will bend down His ear and take you out of your troubles. Remember those beautiful lines you have oftentimes heard me sing:
“‘God is our comfort and our strength,
In straits a present aid;
Therefore although the earth remove,
We will not be afraid.’