“What—what is yonder object? Is it a phantom of the brain or a reality?” she exclaimed, rising from her seat, and pointing towards the south-west. “See, there—there at the very spot where that beautiful ship first appeared, which the cruel ocean dashed to fragments on these rocks of Shetland, floats her counterpart. Can it be her—the ‘Saint Cecilia’ herself? Is all that has passed for these long years a dream? No, no; it has been too real, too palpable, too full of pain, and sorrow, and hope deferred, to be a dream. Yet, what is that?—a ship, come to mock me, as others have done; first to raise my hopes that my long-lost son is on board, and again as bitterly to disappoint them.”
“Yes, cousin; that is a ship, and a very fine ship, too; a British man-of-war, I judge, by the ensign which floats proudly at her peak,” said a voice behind her.
Hilda turned quickly round, and an angry frown rose on her brow as she saw Lawrence Brindister, who had entered just as she had discovered the strange ship. He shuffled up to the window, with a peculiar gait partly caused by the size of his shoes. His appearance, as he advanced in age, had become more grotesque. He wore a gay-flowered waistcoat, with knee breeches, and huge silver buckles on his shoes. His coat, which was much too large for his now shrunken figure, was trimmed with gold lace in a style already long gone out of fashion. His grey eyes looked larger and rounder than ever, while his hair, which had become perfectly white, was cropped short, and stood on end like the quills of an irritated porcupine.
“Why comes she here, I wonder?” he continued. “Once upon a time, I would have gone to ascertain, but my old arms can now scarcely paddle a boat across the voe, and were I to attempt to go, and the tide catch me, I might be swept helplessly out to sea. It might not be a bad ending for the puir auld daft bodie, you’ll be saying, cousin, and a wonder it had never happened before. But I’ve some work to do before that time, Hilda. ‘The prince will hae his ain again! The prince will hae his ain again!’ and before long too, let me tell you, cousin.”
“Lawrence, what is the import of those words?” exclaimed Hilda, vehemently, grasping his arm as she spoke; “for years past you have uttered them. I adjure you, tell me what you mean.”
“Cousin, I am but a puir fule,” answered Lawrence, looking calmly into her face; “fules speak mony things without meaning, ye ken.”
Hilda looked steadfastly in his face, and he returned her gaze with an expression so unmoved and idiotic, that she saw it was hopeless to expect a satisfactory reply.
They were standing close to the window as she turned from him; her glance once more ranged over the ocean. Again she stopped and gazed; Lawrence watched the direction of her eyes.
“Ha, ha, cousin! you have discovered the other craft, have you? Who comes in her, think you? Guests are expected at the castle, I understand, and some at the cottage, if so you choose to designate my friend Rolf Morton’s abode; sages learned in the law coming to investigate a knotty subject, to unravel a long-continued mystery.”
“I understand you not,” answered Hilda, still continuing to watch the two vessels. The latter-mentioned one was a cutter or smack, such as was employed in the summer months to keep up the communication between the islands and the ports of Aberdeen and Leith. She had come apparently from Lerwick, and was now observed to be steering directly for Lunnasting, while the corvette kept in the offing, and was, as far as could be seen, about to enter Eastling Sound from the east, or to pass it by altogether. The smack had got a favourable slant of wind, and rapidly approached.