Washed Ashore; Or, The Tower of Stormount Bay

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Oh! that is a mere fancy of Margery’s,” answered Stephen, in a tone which showed great indifference to the subject. “It is a hundred to one that Jack is alive, in the first place, and equally unlikely that I should stumble on him, even if he is. The captain does not think so, or he would go out himself, or send out, I should think.”

“As to that I do not know, but I do know that you ought to tell Margery; at least, I know that I would, if I had made up my mind as you seem to have done.”

“You had better go, then, instead of me, if you think so favourably of the little girl’s wild scheme,” said Stephen, in a sneering tone, which somewhat tried Charley’s temper.

“She has not asked me,” he answered; “it would make them all very happy if Jack was to be found, and I should think no trouble too great if I could bring him back, that is all I say.”

“Oh! you are very generous,” sneered Stephen who would have been very glad to please Margery if he could have done so without any risk or trouble to himself.

There are a good many people in the world of similar character: the test of love or friendship is the amount of self-sacrifice which a person is ready to make for the object of his regard. Stephen had at length, at Charley’s instigation, to confess to Margery that he had no intention of becoming a sailor for the sake of trying to find Jack. Her countenance expressed as much scorn as its sweetness would allow, as she answered, “Oh! I feared that you did not care for him, and am certain that you do not care for me. Here is the book you were polite enough to lend me, and I suppose that you will not very often come over to the Tower, as we shall have no longer that subject to talk about.”

Stephen could say nothing, but looked very sheepish, and soon afterwards ordered his horse and rode homewards.

The next morning the family assembled in the breakfast-room for prayers; but Margery, usually the first on foot, had not made her appearance. She slept in a little room on the first floor, with a window looking out over the sea; it was prettily papered, and had white dimity curtains, and everything in it looked fresh and nice, like herself. Charley ran up and knocked at the door, but got no answer; then Becky went to the room, the door was not locked and her heart sank with an undefined alarm when she found the room empty. She scarcely dared to return to the breakfast-room to tell Captain and Mrs Askew, fearful of the effect the announcement might have on her mistress. She hunted about the room. The little girl had slept in the bed, but neither her night things nor her day clothing were there. Several other articles appeared to have been removed from the room. Becky had an observant eye, and quickly discovered this; otherwise she might have supposed that she had merely gone out unobserved to take a morning walk. As to her having gone away of her own accord, without saying anything to her father and mother, or allowing even a suspicion that any plan was running in her head, that was so unlike dear little, loving, tender-hearted Miss Margery that Becky dismissed the notion as altogether improbable; but then again, how could anybody have got into the house to carry her off? Poor Becky, with grief and perplexity, would have sat down on the bed and cried her eyes out, but she felt conscious that the so doing would not assist in discovering what had become of Margery; so at length, mustering courage for announcing what she would, she told Tom, rather have cut out her tongue than have had to do, she slowly returned to the breakfast-room. Her prolonged absence had produced some anxiety, and she met Mrs Askew coming to see what was the matter. Becky’s face alarmed her.

“Is my child ill? is she dead? oh! speak—speak—tell me the worst!” she exclaimed.

“Oh! don’t take on so, marm, Miss Margery isn’t ill, and she isn’t dead, that I know on; but, oh dear! marm, she isn’t there,” she answered, bursting into tears. It is needless further to describe the sorrow and consternation which everybody in the house felt when this fact became known, and very soon it was ascertained to be a fact, for, hunting high and hunting low, not a trace of dear little Margery could be discovered.