Chapter Eleven.
Bells were ringing; bonfires blazing throughout England. The battle of Waterloo had been fought. Peace, broken by the return of Napoleon from Elba, was restored; and the great agitator of Europe was a captive on board a British man-of-war, about to sail for Saint Helena. Though the nation was rejoicing, the hearts of many of all ranks, who had lost loved ones on the field of battle, were mourning.
Jessie Flamank was not alone in her sorrow. She was resigned; but time had not assuaged it, nor lessened her tender love for Ralph’s memory. She had, of late, ample work, as several ladies in the neighbourhood who had heard her history were in the habit of sending for her to assist in making dresses for their families. Among them was a Mrs Chandos, whose husband, Colonel Chandos, had just returned home wounded from Waterloo, in which battle their only son had fallen.
The bereaved mother, while arranging the mourning for her little girls, spoke of him to Jessie, adding, with tears in her eyes, “His younger brother perished on board the Falcon, five years ago, in the Indian Ocean.”
Jessie naturally became deeply interested in the poor lady, and could not help telling her that her intended husband was an officer in the same ship.
“We long hoped against hope that some might have escaped, and that our son might be among the number,” said Mrs Chandos; “but now we know that we have lost both our brave boys.”
“All things are possible with God, ma’am; He orders all for the best; we should trust Him,” answered Jessie, gently.
Scarcely had she reached home, when a young sailor, whom she at once recognised as Peter Puddle, hurried up to the door.
“Oh, Miss Flamank, I am so glad to find you!” he exclaimed eagerly; “I have been twice to the house, and was afraid that you had left it. May I come in?”