The young man came forward laughing, and Graeme submitted to be led away. The little lady left on the deck seemed very much inclined to resent the unceremonious disposal of so important a person, as she was always made to feel herself to be. But she took a look into the face of her new friend and thought better of it. His face was a good one, frank and kindly, and Rose suffered herself to be lifted up and placed upon his knee, and when Graeme came back again, after a brisk walk of fifteen minutes, she found the little one, usually so fretful and “ill to do with,” laughing merrily in the stranger’s arms. She would have taken her, but Rose was pleased to stay.
“You are the very first stranger that ever she was willing to go to,” said she, gratefully. Looking up, she did not wonder at Rosie’s fancy for the face that smiled down upon her.
“I ought to feel myself highly honoured,” said he.
“I think we’ll give him the benefit of little Missy’s preference,” said Captain Armstrong, who had been watching Graeme with a little amused anxiety since her walk was ended. The colour that the exercise had given her was fast fading from her face, till her very lips grew white with the deadly sickness that was coming over her.
“You had best go to the cabin a wee while. You must give up, I think,” said he.
Graeme rose languidly.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Come Rosie.”
“Leave the little one with me,” said Mr Ruthven. And that was the last Graeme saw of Rosie for the next twelve hours, for she was not to escape the misery that had fallen so heavily upon the rest, and very wearily the day passed. It passed, however, at last, and the next, which was calm and bright as heart could wish, saw them all on deck again. They came with dizzy heads and uncertain steps it is true, but the sea air soon brought colour to their cheeks, and strength to their limbs, and their sea life fairly began.
But alas! for Janet. The third day, and the tenth found her still in her berth, altogether unable to stand up against the power that held her. In vain she struggled against it. The “Steadfast’s” slightest motion was sufficient to overpower her quite, till at last she made no effort to rise, but lay there, disgusted with herself and all the world. On the calmest and fairest days they would prevail on her to be helped up to the deck, and there amid shawls and pillows she would sit, enduring one degree less of misery than she did in the close cabin below.
“It was just a judgment upon her,” she said, “to let her see what a poor conceited body she was. She, that had been making muckle o’ herself, as though the Lord couldna take care o’ the bairns without her help.”