“We know that the ship was telegraphed as having been seen in the Channel; we have heard that they were passengers in her, and nothing has been heard or seen of her since the night of the storm.”
“There is no certainty in all that,” reiterated the other; “they may not have come in that vessel; if they did, some of them may have escaped. We cannot tell.”
Mr Stuart looked so cold and so sternly immovable as he said this, while carelessly turning over some papers, that Kenneth, who had come prepared to reveal all, resolved to keep his secret, believing that there was no pity left in his father’s breast.
As he lay awake and sorrowing that night he heard his father’s step pacing to and fro incessantly during the whole night, and hoped that the loss he had in all probability sustained would break up the ice; but next morning at breakfast he was as cold as ever. He looked very pale, indeed, but he was sterner and even more irascible than usual in regard to the merest trifles, so Kenneth’s resolution not to confide in his father was confirmed.
Chapter Twelve.
The Bu’ster wills to accomplish Mischief, and gets into Trouble.
“At sea.”—How differently do human beings regard that phrase! To one it arouses feelings akin to rapture; to another it is suggestive of heavings and horror. To him whose physical condition is easily and disagreeably affected by aquatic motion, “at sea” savours of bad smells and misery. To him who sings of the intensity of his love for “a ride on the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,” “at sea” sounds like the sweet ringing of a silver bell floating towards him, as if from afar, fraught with the fragrance and melody of distant climes—such as coral isles, icy mountains, and golden sands.
Let us regard the phrase in its pleasant aspect just now, good reader.