"This land of ours will call you again, I feel sure, my daughter; whether I am here to see it or not. One day you will return to work for our people once more."
Hester had pleaded for a promise that he should come on a visit to Pinkthorpe, knowing well that her father and mother would honour the noble Eurasian gentleman; but Mr. Morpeth shook his head, smiling sadly. "No, my child, my visit to England would be thirty years too late now." But still Hester would not hear of being robbed of all hope that it might still be one of the happy events which the future had in store for her. Colonel and Mrs. Fellowes were to be home for good the following year, so that the strong link forged with these friends was not long to be severed.
There was one true friend whose hand Hester would fain have grasped, one pair of frank eyes into which she would have wished to look once more before she finally left this place of mingled memories; but Mark Cheveril had made no sign. He evidently did not desire to meet Alfred Rayner's wife again after all that had come and gone. She did not wonder that he felt so, but the knowledge of his kind offices to her dead husband would always be graven on her heart, and she had wished just once to put her hand in his and whisper her thanks.
A few minutes before the last bell rang her wish was realised, for she caught sight of her trusty comrade coming up the ladder. He came forward to greet her with grave earnest courtesy. There was not time for many words. The last bell was about to ring, and all, except intending passengers, were ordered to leave the ship. Colonel and Mrs. Fellowes made their farewells with looks of encompassing affection. Then Hester turned to Mark, who stood pale and repressed, a sad smile on his lips.
"I only wish I were going to Pinkthorpe too," he said. "But we shall meet there some day, I hope," he added, gazing at her wan face.
"So you will come, even after all?" she murmured. "Till then, Mark, I will keep my thanks for all your kindness, and for all your loving care of him—I have heard—Mr. Morpeth told me," she whispered, laying her hand in his.
In another moment he was gone, and was hurrying down the ladder to join the Massulah boat.
Hester stood watching the rocking craft which carried her friends across the surf. The newly risen sun was shedding its golden light on the great rolling waters of the Bay of Bengal, and on the noble buildings skirting the shore which were glittering like fabled marble palaces under its bright rays. Beyond stretched vistas of stately trees all tinged by the glow, intersected by many a winding road and leafy compound where the scattered denizens of Madras camped during their exile. Many spots were dear and familiar to Hester. Now the vision of the desolate house in Clive's Road rose before her; the early days which seemed to promise as bright and fair as the golden dawn. Then the shattered hopes, the wrecked life, all passed in procession before her dimmed eyes as the familiar shores receded from her view, like the vanishing wake of the great steamer's track as it ploughed its way through the glistening waters.