‘That is the Church of St. Nicholas, at Newcastle-on-Tyne,’ said Alice, pointing to a photograph upon the cabin wall; ‘and that,’ said she, pointing to another photograph, ‘is our home at Jesmond.’
I arose to look at them, and whilst I looked, Alice talked of Newcastle-on-Tyne, and of the scenery of Jesmond Dene, and of Gosforth and the Town Moor. Her pleasant gentle speech brought her mother into the subject, and some while before the luncheon bell was rung in the saloon I had recovered my composure.
When the bell rang, we stepped forth. Alice took my arm. Her mother made a movement as though to support her; they exchanged a look, and Mrs. Lee passed out alone. Sweet as a blessing from loved lips, grateful as slumber after hours of pain, was this girl’s sympathy to me. The pressure of her arm on mine extinguished the sense of loneliness in my heart. Her companionship supported me. It enabled me to face the ordeal of that crowded table without shrinking, and I loved her for guessing that this would be the effect of her taking my arm and walking with me to our seats.
The chair which the head steward pointed to placed me between the mother and daughter. As I seated myself, Mrs. Lee whispered in my ear:
‘Alice has fallen in love with you. I am truly thankful. You will be just such a companion as I would choose for her. But she is very emotional, and her health—but you can see what her health is. We must endeavour to protect her against any excitement that is likely to react upon her.’
I was unable to reply to this speech, owing to Alice on the other side asking me some question that demanded an instant answer, and when I had responded, my attention was occupied in bowing and in murmuring responses to the greetings of the people at the table.
It was a bright and cheerful scene. The long centre table was handsomely furnished with good things, and the whole surface of it was as radiant as a prism with the glitter of crystal and decanters and plate. The ship rolled steadily, and the movement was without inconvenience. Her canvas supported her. Had she been a steamer she would have rolled most of the articles off the table, so high was the sea. Through the skylight glass you saw the swollen white sails rising into a dingy blue sky, across which large rolls of cloud were journeying. The captain occupied the head of the table, and when our eyes met he gave me a low bow, but called no salutation. At the foot of the table sat the first officer, Mr. Harris. He too gave me a bow—but it was an odd one. The passengers looked at me, some of them, almost continuously, yet with a certain furtiveness. But my veil and the having Alice by my side gave me all needful courage to bear a scrutiny that otherwise I should have found too distressing for endurance.
Yet I could not wonder that I was stared at. The mere circumstance of my appearing in a veil heightened me as a mystery in the eyes of the people. Who was I? Nobody knew. I was a woman that had been strangely met with at sea, and found to be without memory, unable to give myself, or my home, or my country a name. And then piquancy was added to the mystery by Sir Frederick Thompson’s discovery that I was a Calthorpe. He might be mistaken, but he might be right also; and to suppose me a Calthorpe, or, in other words, a person of far loftier social claims than anyone could pretend to on board that ship, was to create for me an interest which certainly nobody could have found had it been suspected that I was merely a poor passenger on board the French brig, or the wife of the captain, or the sister of his nephew the waiter.
Sir Frederick Thompson sat opposite me. He was for ever directing his eyes at my face, and often he would purse up his mouth into an expression which was the same as saying that the longer he looked the more he was convinced. But my veil kept him off, as I believe it kept others off. People stared, but they seemed to hesitate to accost me through that gossamer screen, which scarcely gave them a sight of my eyes.
As Mrs. Webber sat on my side of the table some distance down, she was unable to speak to me, for which I was thankful. From time to time she stretched her neck to catch a view of me, but I was careful not to see her for fear of her obliging me to raise my veil in answer. Some handsome girls were sitting at the bottom of the table near the chief officer; they were showily dressed, and their gowns fitted them exquisitely. One of them I supposed had been Mr. McEwan’s beautiful singer of the preceding evening. They could not see too much of me, I thought. Indeed their eyes were so often upon me that after a little I found myself looking at them eagerly, with a tremulous hope that at some time in our lives we had met, and that they would be able to suggest something to my memory, I whispered this hope to Alice; she glanced at them and said: