Chapter Seven.
We must now return to Eversden. Months had passed by since Roger and Stephen had sailed from Bristol, and no news had been received of them. At length one day Mr Battiscombe made his appearance, having ridden over from Langton Park, and desired to have a word with the Colonel alone. He looked graver and sadder than usual.
“I bring you news,” he said, “and I beg you to break it to my friend Willoughby. Our two sons, as you know, sailed in the Dolphin. The owners write me word that so long a time has elapsed since they heard of her without receiving tidings of her, that they are compelled to give her up as lost. She had not been heard of at any of the ports up the Mediterranean. It is within the pale of possibility that the lads may have escaped, yet surely we should have heard.”
“God’s will be done,” said Mr Willoughby when he heard the account. “I will not give up all hope of their return, though what has happened to them it is indeed hard to guess; still there are chances by which they may have effected their escape.”
Though he could not at all times hide his grief, yet he bore up remarkably well. The only person in the family who would not consent to believe that Roger and Stephen were lost was Alice Tufnell.
“If it had been known that the Dolphin had gone down, and there was one survivor who could report that all the rest had perished, we might then believe that the ship had foundered,” she said, talking to Madam Pauline. “Who can tell but that the Dolphin may have been driven on the shore of some unknown island, whence the crew have been hitherto unable to escape? I have read of many such adventures. The ocean is very wide, and perhaps Roger and Stephen are even now living the lives of castaways, and engaged, may be, in building a vessel in which they will some day return home. If I were a man I should like to fit out a ship and go in search of them.”
“My dear, such undertakings appear very easy to the imagination, but practically the matter is very different,” answered Madam Pauline. “It would be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. Supposing that the two dear lads are still alive, you would not know in what direction to go. You might sail about the ocean for years and visit every known and unknown island, and yet not find them. We must have patience and simply trust in God’s mercy to bring them back if He had thought fit to save their lives.”
When, however, not only month after month, but year after year went by, and the young men did not make their appearance, even Alice began to lose hope of seeing them. She spoke of them less frequently than formerly, though a shadow of sadness occasionally crossed her fair brow, but yet little had occurred to draw out the character of Alice Tufnell. She was determined and energetic, zealous in all she undertook; at the same time she was gentle and affectionate to those who had befriended her, with her sweet and loving disposition and sweet temper. Her voice was sweet and musical, and Madam Pauline and the Colonel delighted in hearing her singing. She was now about seventeen, her figure of moderate height, well rounded and graceful, while her countenance exhibited the serene and joyous spirit which dwelt within. She frequently accompanied the Colonel on a small pony, which had been Roger’s, on his walks about the country. Sometimes she attended Madam Pauline, who, however, did not often extend her perambulations beyond the grounds or the neighbouring village. Why it was she had scarcely been able to say, but, when not engaged, Alice frequently made her way across the Downs to the top of the cliff, sometimes descending to Ben Rullock’s cottage, not that she often found the old man at home, as he was generally out fishing, or gone away to Lyme, or some other place on the coast, to do commissions for the villages. Sometimes she would sit in Roger’s favourite nook, at others would pace up and down on the cliffs, gazing out over the ocean, now blue and calm, and sparkling in the sunlight, now of a leaden hue, covered with foaming seas which came roaring up on the beach with a thundering sound. Of course she more frequently came when the wind was light and the water calm, and she could sit and gaze at them with satisfaction.