“Why, Mr. White, you here? Are you going? I’m so glad.”
It was a tall young girl, and at the sound of her voice Herbert dropped Louie’s hand, and with a “God bless you; good-by,” lost himself in the crowd nearest the young girl.
When Louie next saw him he was on the wharf, waving his hat first to her and then to a group of three who were presumably Mr. Le Barron and his sisters. Herbert had not presented her to them, nor to the doctor, who was to be more attentive to her because of the presentation.
CHAPTER XX.
ON THE OTHER SIDE
The voyage was a short one, but to Louie it seemed an eternity. The weather was very rough, and almost with the first beat of the engine as the ship left the wharf Mrs. Grey succumbed to sea-sickness and never left her state-room during the voyage. A part of the time she was delirious, and raved of her dead husband and her home in Merivale, begging Louie to take her back there to die, or stop the ship, whose rolling and pitching was killing her. Nearly all the second-class passengers were ill except Louie, who, with a mighty will, withstood the sickness and ministered to her mother night and day until her strength gave way, and the young doctor whom Herbert knew found her lying insensible on the floor when he came to see her mother. It made no difference to him whether his patients were first or second-class; and if it had, Louie’s face and helplessness would have enlisted his sympathy. He knew nothing of her acquaintance with Herbert, although he had exchanged a few words with that young man as he left the vessel. She was a stranger in trouble, and he cared for her till she was able to resume her post at her mother’s side. As the voyage neared its end, and the sea became smoother, Louie hoped her mother would improve. But she seemed to have no life left and was as helpless as a child.
“Oh, what shall I do when we get there?” Louie often asked herself; and when at last the tug from the great ship was sailing slowly into port, there was not on board so forlorn and hopeless a creature as the young girl who stood looking wistfully at the shore and the people upon it, some waiting for expected friends, and some of them the custom-house officers, waiting to pounce upon their prey the moment they landed.
It was these Louie dreaded, not knowing what she had to expect or how to cope with them. She had nothing dutiable, but she knew there must be a delay before she could get her baggage. And what, meantime, should she do with her mother, who could scarcely hold up her head, and was taking little heed of what was passing around her?
“God help me,” she whispered as she went to her mother and said, “Mother, we are at the landing. Can you walk?”
“No,” came faintly from the sick woman. “You go and leave me here to die.”
At this point an officer, who chanced to be near, said to Louie: