The music ceased in the distance; the tinkling of bells, announcing the half-hour past ten, came stealing across the water, and was echoed by five ringing strokes upon the bell on the “Meteor’s” quarter-deck.
Half-past ten! Was Dolly sleeping now? Had her grief and her tears wearied her into repose? How long, how very long, it seemed since he saw her last! The time was to be counted in hours, but it appeared days and weeks to him.
He leaned with his arms upon the poop rails, and stood lost in thought. A question asked in a soft voice made him turn.
“Do all those lights there belong to ships?”
The speaker was the widow to whom Holdsworth’s attention had been several times attracted during the day by the air of sadness her face wore, and her devotion to her bright-haired little boy, whose sweet wondering eyes, as he cast them round, had reminded him of Dolly’s, and drawn his heart to him.
“Yes, they belong to ships at anchor like ours.”
“How beautiful is this night! I have left my boy asleep and stolen from the cabin to breathe the fresh air.”
“I daresay the dear little fellow sleeps well after the excitement he has gone through. I noticed that his wondering eyes were very busy when we were in the river.”
Hearing this, she grew frank and cordial at once. Her woman’s heart was as sure of him as if she had known him all his life.
“Did you notice my child? I should have thought you were too much occupied. He was tired out, God bless him! when I put him to bed; too tired even to say his prayers. He has no father now to love him, so I must give him a double share of my love.”