The next day or two were passed in such a whirl of excitement, what with the exhilarating feeling of travelling on the top of a coach for the first time in his life, and being whirled up to London by four horses in a few hours, and then the wonderful things which, even in his brief visit, he saw there, and then the long journey to Liverpool, and the sight of the docks and the ship he was to sail in, for in those early days of the nineteenth century no steamer had as yet crossed the Atlantic. All this so occupied Jack’s time and thoughts that though that vision of Charlie stretched pale and insensible at home haunted him from time to time, still he had no leisure to dwell on it. But when on Monday Mr. Leslie, having seen him on board, took leave of him, and Jack was left alone among a crowd of strangers, with nothing to do for five or six weeks but watch the sea and sky, then the thought of Charlie would not be banished, and his anxiety to know how he was became intense. Luckily Jack turned out at first a bad sailor, and the physical tortures of sea-sickness counteracted the mental suffering he was enduring, which, with so little to divert his mind, might have ended in an attack of brain fever. When he was well enough to leave his berth, he made friends with the captain and one or two of the passengers, who took a fancy to this fine, good-looking young man, who certainly looked exceedingly unlike a shepherd in the suit Mr. Leslie had bought him at a London tailor’s. His new friends lent him books, and he derived both pleasure and benefit from conversing with them, but yet, though he read and studied hard during the voyage, it was a terrible time to him, and no landsman ever rejoiced more at the sight of land than Jack did when they sighted the American coast. He always looked back on that voyage as a dreadful nightmare, for all through he had been haunted by the terrible fear, almost too terrible to put into words, lest he should be guilty of the sin of Cain.
His first act on landing was to inquire when he could have a letter from England, and finding three weeks hence was the earliest time he could hope to receive one, for the ship he had come by had just brought a mail, he made up his mind to dismiss the subject as much as possible, and wait as patiently as he could for the letter which would colour his whole life.
His new occupation, upon which he entered at once, was far more congenial than sheep-washing or shearing, and the entirely new life he led and the new country he was living in, with its strange customs and foreign people, all helped to give a fresh stimulus to Jack’s mind, and if it had not been for the shadow cast over his life by the memory of the events which had been the immediate cause of his coming hither, his first few weeks in New York would have ranked among some of the happiest in his life. As it was, they slipped by far more quickly than he had thought possible, and at last he heard the news that the English mail had arrived, and he bent his steps to the post-office to ask if there were any letters for him.
How Jack’s heart thumped as he stood watching the clerk diving into some pigeon-holes in search of his letters; he fancied the people in the office must have heard its wild beatings.
Yes, there were two letters; the first Jack saw at a glance was from Mr. Leslie, the other was directed by Fairy. The paper on which the letter was written—there were no envelopes in those days—was not black-edged, and that, though he dare not lay much stress upon it, was, perhaps, a hopeful sign, but yet, as he broke the wafer, he was still in such fear and trembling lest its contents should be unfavourable, that he dared not open it until he was safe in his own lodgings, where no curious eyes could watch his behaviour as he read his fate.
It was indeed well no curious eyes were able to pry into Jack’s humble room, his castle as he liked to call it, for, poor as it was, it was his own, paid for out of his earnings, for when he came to the end of the long crossed sheet he buried his face in his hands, and his great strong frame shook with his sobs.
The letter, though directed by Fairy, was from Mrs. Shelley, and ran as follows:—
“My dearest Jack,—Thank God, I have good news for you. Charlie is quite well again, and is following the sheep to-day for the first time, or he would have written to you himself, but since he went off this morning, Mr. Leslie has been to tell me this letter must be posted to-day.
“It is a month since you went away; it seems years to me, Jack, but if you are happy in your new life I shall not complain. Charlie began to get better very soon after you started; he recovered consciousness that very morning, and though he was very ill for a week or more, he was not in danger after the Sunday. How I wished I could have let you know, but there was no means of getting a letter to you before this one, and I am afraid you must have suffered terribly from suspense, fearing the worst, and not daring to hope for good news. Strange to say, Charlie remembers nothing whatever about his accident; all he knows is he wanted Fairy to dance with him, and that you were angry; all the rest is a blank; he had not the least idea of what really happened.
“Your father had to get an under-shepherd for a month, but he has left to-day, and Charlie is to take your place, and is very proud of his position. No one will ever take your place at home, though, so if you hear people say no one is missed in this world, their place is soon filled up, don’t believe it, my son; your place in your mother’s heart will never be filled except by yourself, and I miss you at every turn. Fairy misses you too; she is more at the rectory now than ever, for there is no one to help her with her lessons here. She sends her love to you, and will write next month. And now, my boy, I must say good-bye, for your father has come in on purpose to add a few lines to this. God ever bless and keep you is the constant prayer of your loving mother,