Before embarking, however, I made the acquaintance of Mr. Owen, the surgeon of the ship. He had occasion to be in the West End of London, and Mrs. Burke asked him to call. I viewed him with considerable curiosity, for it was not only he was to be my medical adviser—I could not but reflect that I was to be locked up in a small ship with this man for very many months, with no other change of society than Captain and Mrs. Burke. I was pleasantly disappointed in him. I had figured a yellow, long-faced, melancholy man, with a countenance ploughed by frequent secret weeping, and furrowed by pitiful memories and night thoughts black as Dr. Young's. Instead there entered the room briskly, with a sideways bow cleverly executed whilst in motion, the right arm advanced, a short, plump figure of a man in a coat cut in something of a clerical style, short legs, and a face that would have been reasonably full but for its long aquiline nose, and contraction of lineaments due to a big bush of hair standing out stiff in minute curls over either ear. Otherwise he was bald.
My father was extremely polite to him. He stayed an hour and partook of some slight refreshment. He stared at me very earnestly, felt my pulse, considered me generally with polite professional attention, and, after he had put certain questions, said to my father with significant gravity:
'You may console yourself, sir, for the temporary loss of your daughter; I do not scruple to say that in sending her on this voyage you will be saving her life. I believe I can recognise her case, and strongly share the opinion of those who prescribe a long residence on board ship upon the ocean.'
My father's face lighted up: nothing I believe could have heartened him more at the moment than this assurance. Mr. Moore took Mr. Owen by the hand and said:
'We shall be trusting her to you, sir; she is very dear to me. We should be man and wife but for her health.'
'All that my anxious attention can give her she shall have,' said Mr. Owen, bowing over my lover's hand.
Yet he did not stay his hour without letting us see, poor fellow, that in the depths of his heart he was a grieving man. He said nothing; no reference was made to his affliction: but in certain pauses the pain of memory would enter his face like a shadow, and sometimes he would sigh tremulously as one in sorrow sighs in sleep, scarcely knowing you saw, that he did so.
When he was gone, my father said to Mr. Moore that his spirits felt as light again now that he had seen what sort of man it was who would have charge of my health.
'Taking all sides of it,' he said, 'I don't think we could have done better. Marie goes with an old nurse who loves her as her own child; Mr. Owen seems a kind-hearted, experienced, practical man. I hope he understands that our appreciation of his kindness will not be restricted to bare thanks on the return of the vessel. The more I see of Burke, the better I like him. He is an honest, experienced seaman from crown to heel, and in saying that I am allowing him all the virtues. No; the arrangements are wholly to my satisfaction and my mind is at rest. It will be like a long yachting trip for Marie: she will have a fine ship under her, and all the seclusion and comfort of a yacht combined with the safety of ample tonnage. I am satisfied. It was a cruel difficulty; we have had to meet it; it is well met, and now, Marie, there is nothing to do but wait. Have patience. The months will swiftly roll by—then you will return to us, a healthy, fine young woman, full of life and colour and vigour, instead of——' His voice broke off in a sob and he turned his head away. I ran to him and he held me.
On April 2 we went down to Gravesend. Mr. Moore accompanied us. Captain Burke had telegraphed that the 'Lady Emma' was lying off that town and would tow to sea in the afternoon of the 2nd. We arrived at Gravesend at about twelve o'clock and drove to a hotel. All my luggage had been sent on board the ship in the docks. Mrs. Burke waited for us in a room overlooking the river; here she had ordered luncheon to be served. She seemed hearty and happy: kissed me, and curtseyed to my father and Mr. Moore, and taking me to the window said: