But there was a Refuge to which she could flee, a Covert from the tempest which now beat upon her head, a Rock on which she might safely build her hopes. This thought it was
that kept her calm; a feeling rather than a thought. It was the impulse of her soul, a part of her life, to trust and be still; she had trusted long; and confidence did not forsake her now. That was her strength indeed.
“You were with him when he landed?” said she, presently, after sitting for some little space with hands clasped and head bent down.
“I was! he bore it well; those things are easily managed by sailors.”
He did not tell her, for he could not trust himself, the scene on board the Erratic, when he took his leave of the ship. He had been carried out on the quarter-deck on his couch, to say farewell to his men; there he had thanked them for their zealous services, their obedience, their orderly conduct, during the three years they had been together, and bade them all go on, though he was taken from them, to serve their Queen and their country as nobly as before. Then, calling up the crew of the second cutter, who had been with him on shore on that eventful night at Halifax, he thanked each for his undaunted bravery in the moment of danger which they had shared together; for their concern for his safety, and their ardor for his rescue, saying, that he believed it was to their promptness in assisting him that he owed what little life was left him, as, perhaps, but for their ready aid, he might have been buried under the ruins of the fire, and never seen his country again. And now he charged them all to live sober, steady, honorable lives, to strive to do their duty, and mind what the chaplain taught them, “And so farewell, my lads; God bless you all! and if we never meet again here, may we all reach the shores above, where there is no more sea.”
They tried to give him the hearty cheers which he had once longed to hear, but it would not do. The cheer broke down into one universal sob; and brave, strong men, whose hearts might have been thought as tough as the oak planks on which they trod, turned aside to conceal their tears, or leaned against the bulwarks for support, as they wept like children. They loved
him well, those gallant fellows, and they knew that he was going home to his young wife, from whom he had parted on his wedding-day, only to die! and they mourned not only for him, but for her, whose gentle beauty, in the short glimpses they had had of her, had been strongly impressed on their romantic fancies.
“But if I am to be even a week at Southsea,” said Hilary, presently, “what is to become of my sisters? they are too young to be left there quite alone.”
“I thought of that,” said her companion, eagerly, “and so did your brother; and we proposed—only perhaps, it would worry you to talk about it now”—leaving off abruptly.
“Oh, no! indeed, their comfort is my first duty; I wish I could think of any thing; my mind is not very steady; but it is not like our old home now; it would have been nothing to leave them at the Vicarage.”