There had never before been such a ship as the Rufus Stevens. The Siddons yard, in that springtime, had hummed with her making; such a hammering and sawing as there had been, such a chipping and shaving, and boring and fitting, the clever old place never saw before. The keel was of solid, seasoned, toughened oak, as surely fitted, as strongly braced as old Rufus' spine had been. And to this grew the ribs, powerful, graceful, bent cunningly, to waste the impact of the sea, and to give space to her cargo. Then the beams went in to brace the frame; mighty, weighty, strong beams of live-oak that was like iron; beams that had been nursed and molded and cut to fit by shrewd joiners. Live-oak had been Charles's highest demand; live-oak that had been felled in proper time and seasoned in the sun and rain and wind. The stem was made of it—a great cutting stem that would throw the seas lightly apart; the stern-post was of it, and also the transoms, aprons, knight-heads, hawse-timbers, and keelson; and it was all clean and without defects. And, when she had been launched, how the workmen swarmed in her; how her masts reared when set in place; how wide and smooth and clean her deck was! What enormous yards and sails!
Anthony thought of all these things as he watched her, once more headed south and east, with the Delaware capes on either side, and the ocean under her foot. And madame stood by his side. Oh, no, no longer mademoiselle. She was his wife now; and she stood by his side, tall, beautiful, with fine brave eyes; and her hand was upon his arm; and she, too, watched the ship.
"She sails like a hawk," said Anthony. "And Corkery is a master that'll take advantage of it. With wind and weather, she'll dock in Calcutta in ninety days."
And they watched her head away for the Far East, sail over sail, her bow cutting the water and piling it white about her; and they were still watching as she winged away into the depths beyond the ocean's curve.
"God send her safe!" said madame softly. "And God send her back again."
And Anthony patted the hand that rested upon his arm; and there was the deep friendship of one comrade for another in the look he gave her; and there was in it, too, the love of a man for the dear woman he had greatly desired.
"She will return," said Anthony. "She will return many, many times."
"Why are you so sure?" she said; and she smiled.
"When you are with me, my senses seem keyed to unusual things," he said. "I see joy and peace coming down the wind, and there's a wonderful singing from far-off places."