Her face was once more turned towards that dear home, to which she had bidden adieu in the morning; as she then imagined, for ever—“England”—she cried, stretching her arms towards the dusky shore. “Dear England! The winds and waves forbid our leaving you. Welcome,—oh, welcome, once more.”
As they neared the beach, the stormy clouds parted in rifted masses; and the deep blue heavens, studded here and there with a pale star, gleamed lovingly down upon them; the rain ceased its pitiless pelting, the very elements seemed to smile upon their return.
The pilot boat had been reported during the day as lost, and the beach was crowded with anxious men and women to hail its return. The wives and children of her crew pressed forward to meet them with joyful acclamations; and Flora’s depressed spirits rose with the excitement of the scene.
“Hold fast your baby, Mrs. Lyndsay, while the boat clears the surf,” cried Palmer. “I’ll warrant that you both get a fresh ducking.”
As he spoke, the noble boat cut like an arrow through the line of formidable breakers which thundered on the beach; the foam flew in feathery volumes high above their heads, drenching them with a misty shower; the keel grated upon the shingles, and a strong arm lifted Flora once more upon her native land.
Benumbed and cramped with their long immersion in salt water, her limbs had lost the power of motion, and Lyndsay and old Kitson carried her between them up the steps which led from the beach to the top of the cliffs, and deposited her safely on the sofa in the little parlour of her deserted home.
CHAPTER XV.
ONCE MORE AT HOME.
A cheerful fire was blazing in the grate; the fragrant tea was smoking on the well-covered table, and dear and familiar voices rang in her ears, as sisters and friends crowded about Flora to offer their services, and congratulate her on her safe return.