Don Hernan’s barge was in readiness at the landing-place, where Sandy Redland stood ready to receive the keys. As she left the castle, she looked, as old Davie Cheyne afterwards remarked, “more like Mary Queen of Scots, or some other great lady, going to execution, than a bride accompanying her husband to his home.” As she was about to step into the boat she took Bertha’s hand.
“Dear nurse and cousin,” she whispered, “you know I loved you more than any other human being, but I dare not show it lest my feelings should run riot with me. Farewell! The future is all obscure and uncertain. I dare not talk of when we may meet again.”
Don Hernan took her hand and helped her into the boat. The word was given to shove off—the oars were dipped into the water—when down from the castle gate rushed Lawrence Brindister, followed closely by Surly Grind.
“Ha! ha!” he exclaimed, in a hoarse, angry voice. “Fare-thee-well, cousin Hilda—fare-thee-well! though you would leave your kinsman without saying as much to him. And you, Don Hernan, fare-thee-well, too. You think you have wedded with the heiress of Lunnasting. It’s a pleasant dream to believe that you will some day be master of those lordly towers. Dream on as you please, but know the truth: ‘The prince will hae his ain again! the prince will hae his ain again!’”
These words he continued singing at the top of his voice, pointing derisively at the boat as long as she continued in sight.
Don Hernan urged the crew to give way, and with lusty strokes they sent the boat flying through the water, till she was far out of hearing of Lawrence’s voice. Hilda sank back in her husband’s arms, and hid her eyes while she was passing under the walls of the dwelling she believed that she was leaving for ever. With shouts of welcome the Spanish crew received their captain’s bride. Scarcely had she stepped on board than the anchor, which had been hove short, was run up to the bows, the sails were let fall, and, with a light breeze from the westward, the corvette stood out of Eastling Sound.
Rolf Morton was on board as pilot. He bowed to Hilda, but his duty in attending to the steering of the ship prevented his speaking. As she looked at him, she felt that he was the last link which yet united her with the past, and she almost dreaded the moment that he would have to leave the ship. “Yet, after all, from what do I sever myself?” she thought. “From associations only. Begone all such recollections. Let me enjoy the delightful present, and the no less happy future I trust.”
No day could have been more beautiful in any latitude than that on which the “Saint Cecilia” sailed from Shetland. The sea was smooth, just broken with a slight ripple, which glittered brightly in the rays of the sun as the ship slipped quickly through it with a gentle breeze abeam. The arrangements, also, which Hilda’s husband had made below for her accommodation were perfect. He, too, was kind and courteous in the extreme; and had she been a princess, the officers could not have treated her with greater respect. Over and over again she said to herself, “I should indeed be ungrateful if I am not happy.”
Having given a good offing to the Out Skerries, so as to avoid the dangers near Feltar, the corvette stood to the northward, it being the intention of the captain to round the northern end of Shetland, and by that course to enter the Atlantic. Rolf Morton’s boat was towing astern, and he agreed to remain on board to see the ship clear of the land. The weather was beautiful, the sea was smooth, the wind was light, and there was every prospect of a pleasant commencement of a voyage, as he finally wished her God-speed.
Soon after Rolf Morton had left the corvette, the wind, after veering about for a short time, had got round to the southward, so that she was able to haul up to the southward of west. This appeared a great advantage gained, as it enabled her to keep exactly on her proper course. How short-sighted truly are mortals in discovering what is really to their advantage! The sun sunk in an angry glow of ruddy hue which suffused the whole eastern sky, and cast an ensanguined tint on the foaming crests of the fast-rising waves. Then, as if it had gone to hurry on the storm, there rushed up from the dark bank of clouds numerous detached masses, which flew rapidly across the sky, one chasing the other in their headlong speed.