CHAPTER XX.
THREE SONGS.
Captain Cary had been three weeks in Seaton, and was to sail in two days for New York, where the Halcyon was sold, taking Dick Rowan with him. From New York, Dick was to sail immediately, on a three years’ voyage, in the Edith Yorke. The captain did not say definitely what his own plans were, perhaps did not know them himself. “I did think of settling down on shore,” he said to Mrs. Yorke. “But one person doesn’t make a home, and all my people are dead. I’d half a mind to ask Rowan to take me as a passenger. He has a splendid ship.”
They were all in the garden that last evening but one. Edith sat on a bench beside Melicent, and looked intently at Dick Rowan, who was talking with Clara and Mrs. Yorke. She was thinking over all his goodness, all his affection for her, studying his personal beauty, his frank, bright face and athletic form, and trying to excite in herself some enthusiasm regarding him. Carl stood near, listening to, but not joining in, the conversation. She compared the two young men. Their height, their form, were very nearly the same; but Carl had the proud and measured tread of one bred to the parlor and the promenade, Dick the free and springing step of the mountaineer. This was distinctive, yet each had moods like the other. On the deck of his own ship, the sailor trod like a king; and the man of the world could bound as lightly up a steep, or vault as lightly over an obstacle, as though his life had been spent in athletic sports. Dick Rowan’s eyes sparkled like the ripples of
his own blue sea, and looked at people, not through them; Carl’s careless glance could become piercing and keen as a two-edged blade. It was useless to compare them, the one as direct and transparent as a child, the other noble, indeed, yet subtle, as one aware of the world’s ways, and guarded at every point.
“I must be very hard and cold,” Edith thought, finding herself unmoved, in spite of her efforts. “Or, perhaps, it may be because I have always known and been sure of him.”
Looking her way, Dick met that steady gaze, and flushed with pleasure. If the expression was grave and regretful, what then? Were they not about to part? He led Mrs. Yorke to her, and the others followed, to make arrangements “for a sail they were to have the next day.”
“You had better wear dresses that wetting will not hurt,” Dick said; “for you will be likely to get a little scud-water in your laps.”
“And, pray, what is scud-water?” Mrs. Yorke asked.