"Philip!" exclaimed Edward, grasping his hand, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice trembled with emotion; "my dear, my gallant deliverer!—what an awful fate have you saved us from! If I had lost my child, how valueless would have been my own preservation! To you, under Heaven, I owe both: how can I express my gratitude?"
"Oh, speak not thus to me, dear sir; I but did my duty, and am I not already more than repaid? But how is Miss Douglas?"
"Miss Douglas!" said Edward; "cold and formal indeed! Why not Catherine?—your Catherine? Have you not earned a right to call her yours?"
Philip trembled, and turned pale; and then, when the warm blood, rushing to his cheeks again, flushed them with emotion, he exclaimed—
"Oh, Mr Douglas! My whole efforts, since we parted, have been to smother feelings and wishes which your words have again called into life."
"And long may they live, my dear Philip!—my dear son I hope soon to call you. I will no longer strive against fate. You have saved Catherine's life; and, if you still retain her love, you have a grateful father's full and free permission to avail yourself of it. For the rest, we will trust to Providence, and to the exertions of your own active and energetic spirit."
"Mr Douglas," said Philip, "your kindness overpowers me. I would risk a thousand lives, if I had them, for such a recompense; but I must not take advantage of your excited feelings to obtain a boon, however dear to me, which your prudence would deny. The same obstacles remain which at first existed. I am still poor and friendless; the obscurity of my birth has not been cleared up; and, circumstanced as I am at present, ought I to avail myself of an accidental advantage, and of your too generous appreciation of it, to fetter the free choice of your daughter, who probably may now see those obstacles with far different eyes than in her early days?"
"Better times may come, Philip; and, in the meanwhile, my daughter's dowery will be sufficient to afford you both all the comforts, though not the luxuries of life; your own energy and industry must do the rest. But you must consult Catherine on the subject—gain her consent; mine you have, without further condition, already."
After a consultation with his officers, the captain of the Recovery deemed it expedient to put into the Cape; and the ship's course was accordingly altered. The wind continuing fair and steady, on the evening of the fourth day from the disaster, she was close in with the coast; and the breeze dying away, and a thick fog coming on, she was hove to for the night. The next morning the fog still continued; nothing was to be seen of the land, though every eye was strained to penetrate the gloom, till at last the glad cry was heard from the mast-head, "High land ahead, sir! Close aboard of us!" All eyes were now turned upwards; and there, frowning above the bank of fog, appeared the dark outline of the Table-land. The fog soon cleared off; and, in an hour or two, the ship rounded Green Point, and came to an anchor in Table Bay. After Edward Douglas and the rest of the passengers were landed at Cape Town, Philip, being second officer and idler, obtained leave of absence for a couple of days, and went on shore to join his friends. The boarding-houses were all crowded; for there were several ships in the roads, one of which, full of passengers from Bengal, had arrived the day after the Recovery; but Edward Douglas had contrived to secure accommodation for Philip in the same house with himself. Several passengers by the newly-arrived ship had taken up their quarters there; and among them a fine-looking, elderly man, a General Fortescue, of the Bengal army. This gentleman happened, on his first arrival, to be shown into the room where Philip and Edward Douglas were conversing together. They both rose at his entrance, and he returned the salutation of the latter with the free and unembarrassed air of a man of the world; but, when he turned to Philip, he started, and gazed at him for some moments with a look so fixed and earnest as to call the colour into his cheek.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, at length—"excuse my involuntary rudeness. Your features awakened recollections of other times, and of long-lost and dearly-loved friends; and, for the moment, my thoughts wandered into forgetfulness of the courtesy due to a stranger."