Loveday's history

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

I had to go at last. As we rode down the overgrown avenue I looked backed and saw her standing in the door. She waved her hand, and then the trees closed in, and I never saw her again.

I heard afterward that she died, after all, before poor old Martha. But she was ready to go, and it was a blessed release. How little I guessed, when I used to look at our house at Dartford and speculate as to the rooms I was not allowed to enter, that my old friend and teacher was pining away her young life in one of them. They meant it for mercy, and I dare say ran a great risk in keeping her where they did, but it was a doubtful mercy, after all.

[CHAPTER XIII.]

"EXILED, AND YET AT HOME."

WE rode all that night, and in the morning we found ourselves in a small seaport town, or rather fishing village, for it was little more. There was but scant time for me to observe it. There was a low-lying fog, and we could not even see the edge of the water in the dull twilight. A breeze sprung up with the sun, however, the fog lifted like a curtain, and showed a tolerably-sized vessel lying off shore.

"There she is, thank Heaven!" said our conductor. "But we must waste no time. It will not do to lose this breeze."

We rode straight to the water's edge, where our conductor made a signal. A boat put off from the ship, and in a few minutes we found ourselves on board.

What a strange, desolate thing it seemed to watch the shore of England fading away, and think that in all likelihood, I should never see it again. In truth, we came near to never seeing any shore again, for the breeze increased to a gale, and for some time we were in a good deal of danger. But our ship was stout, and the Dutch are bold and skillful sailors, and so it came to pass that on the fifth morning after leaving England, I opened my eyes, and, looking at the tiny window, I caught sight of a low-lying bit of green.

I was not many minutes in arranging my dress and joining my uncle on deck. What a strange scene it was! We were sailing on what seemed a great inland lake, shifting our course every five minutes. All about, now near at hand, now on the far horizon, were long lines of high green banks, over which peeped, now and then, the top of a tree, or a fantastical church steeple, with a fish-shaped weather-vane. The sky was clear, and a fresh, pleasant breeze was blowing; but the water was still rough from last night's storm, and seemed, even to my inexperienced eye, to be full of currents and eddies.