"By-the-by, I did see, or fancied I saw, Edward," rejoined Caroline, who, at the news of her father having been in danger, had left the breakfast-table, unable to keep away from him, even that short distance, but neither she, nor either of the others, connecting her cousin with Mr. Hamilton's words, and not quite understanding why he should have so interrupted the most interesting subject. "He has gone to see Ellen, I suppose, and so we have missed him. Was he your companion, papa? How and where did you meet him?"
"Let him answer for himself!" replied Mr. Hamilton, still determinately hiding his feelings under a tone and manner of jest, and leaving his wife's side for a moment, he drew Edward from the recess of the window, where all this time he had been standing quite unobserved, and led him forward.
"Good heavens! Edward, what have you been about?" exclaimed Miss Harcourt, and her exclamation was echoed by Caroline and Emmeline, while Mrs. Hamilton gazed at him in bewildered alarm. He was deadly pale, with every appearance of exhaustion, and a most disfiguring patch on his left brow, which he had tried in vain to hide with his hair.
"You have been fighting."
"Only with the elements, Miss Harcourt, and they have rather tired me, that is all; I shall be well in a day or two. Don't look so terrified, dear aunt," he answered, with the same attempt at jest as his uncle, and throwing himself lightly on an ottoman by Mrs. Hamilton, he laid his head very quietly on her lap.
"Fighting—and with the elements? Arthur, dearest Arthur, for pity's sake tell me the whole truth at once; it can not be—"
"And why should it not, my beloved?" (there was no attempt at jest now). "He to whom your care has preserved a sister—whom your indulgent love has given courage to resolve that error shall be conquered, and he will become all we can wish him—whom you took to your heart and home when motherless—God has mercifully made the instrument of saving your husband from a watery grave, and giving back their father to your children!"
"To be associated in your heart with other thoughts than those of ingratitude, and cruelty, and sin! Oh, aunt Emmeline, I can not thank God enough for permitting me this great mercy," were the only words poor Edward could speak, when the first intensity of his aunt's emotion was in some degree conquered, and she could look in his young face, though her eyes were almost blinded with tears, and putting back the bright hair which the rain and spray had so uncurled, as to lay heavy and damp upon his pale forehead, she imprinted a long, silent kiss upon it, and looking alternately at him and her husband, seemed powerless to realize any other thought.
Mr. Hamilton briefly, but most eloquently, narrated the events of the previous night, dwelling only sufficiently on his imminent peril, to evince the real importance of Edward's extraordinary exertions, not to harrow the feelings of his listeners more than need be. That the young officer's determined opposition to the almost angrily expressed opinions of Captain Harvey and old Collins as to the better landing-place, had saved them from the effects of the huge wave, which had burst like a water-spout a minute after they had all leaped in safety on shore, almost overwhelming the projecting sand to which Collins had wished to direct the boat, and so proving at once Edward's far superior nautical knowledge, for had they steered there, the frail bark must inevitably have been upset, and its crew washed by the receding torrent back to sea. Harvey and Collins acknowledged their error at once, and looked eagerly for Edward to say so to him, but he had vanished the moment they had achieved a safe landing, to Mr. Hamilton's annoyance, for he had not the least suspicion who he was, and only longed to express, if he could not otherwise evince his gratitude, Collins and Grey refusing the smallest credit, declaring that if it had not been for this young stranger officer, of whom they knew nothing, not even his name, not a man would have stirred; that for any fisherman or mere ordinary sailor to have guided the boat to and from the sinking vessel, in such a sea, was so impossible, that no one would have attempted it; old Collins ending, with the superstition of his class, by a declaration, that his disappearance convinced his already more than suspicion, that it was some good angel in a boy's likeness; for Arthur Hamilton would never have been permitted so to perish: an explanation, Mr. Hamilton added, laughingly, that might suit his Emmy, but was rather too fanciful for him. However, his young preserver was nowhere to be found, but, to his extreme astonishment, and no little relief (for now that he was so near home, his anxiety to hear of all, especially Ellen, whom he scarcely dared hope to find alive, became insupportable), Mr. Howard suddenly stood before him, grasping both his hands, without the power, for a minute or two, to speak. Mr. Hamilton overwhelmed him with questions, scarcely giving him time to answer one before he asked another. They had nearly reached the hotel, when Captain Harvey's bluff voice was heard exclaiming—
"Here he is, Mr. Hamilton; he is too exhausted to escape our thanks and blessings now. What could the youngster have tried to hide himself for?"