She touched the bell, and next minute she was seated before a tall mirror, at each side of which burned a star of candles, and her maid was dressing her hair.

"Mary," she said, as she rose and smoothed out the folds of her blue silk dress, "do I look my best?"

"Oh, Miss Keane, you look 'most like a fairy--the low-bodied blue, and the pink camellia in your hair. You are so beautiful that if _I_ were a knight I should come for you with a chariot and six, and carry you away to my castle, and have a real live dragon o' purpose to guard you--I would really, miss."

"Do you think, Mary, I could act well?"

"Oh, Miss Keane, how you do talk! Actors is low. Miss Gerty, always look your best; but acting--no, no, miss, I won't have she."

And Mary tossed her head regardless of grammar.

Mary was a little Ess.e.x maid that Miss Keane had had for years, and had succeeded in spoiling, as children are spoiled.

"Ah dear," said the girl, "and to think that to-morrow is Jack's coming o' age, and he won't be here! You don't mind _me_ a-callin' of him Jack, does ye, Miss Gerty? Heigh-ho! didn't he used to chuck me under the chin just, the dear, bright boy? 'Mary,' he says once, 'when I comes of age I means to marry you right off the reel.' And I took him in my arms and kissed him on what Tim would call the spur o' the moment. Then Jack ups with a gla.s.s o' ale--it were in the kitching, miss--and he jumps on to a chair and draws his navy dirk. 'Here's the way,' he cries, 'that they tosses cans in the service. And I'll give you a toast,' he says. 'I drinks

'To the wind that blows, And the ship that goes, And the girl as loves a sailor, Hip, hip, hooray!'

But run away, Miss Gerty. Only _no_ acting, mind. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish poor Jack would come."

"Ah, Jack, my bo'," cried Tom, meeting his friend on the quarter-deck just after divisions, "let me congratulate you. You've come of age this very morning. Tip us your flipper, Jack. Why, you don't look very gay over it after all. Feeling old, I daresay--farewell to youth and that sort of game. Never mind; I'm going to see the surgeon presently. Old M'Hearty is a splendid fellow, and he'll find an excuse for splicing the main-brace, you may be sure. Why, Jack, on such an eventful occasion all hands should rejoice. Ah, here comes the doctor!--Doctor, this is Jack's birthday, and he's come of age, and--"

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Tom, I shall not survive this battle."_ Page 26.]

"Sail in sight, sir!"

It was a hail from the mast-head--a bold and st.u.r.dy shout that was heard from bowsprit to binnacle by all hands on deck, and that even penetrated to the ward-room, causing every officer there to spring from his seat and hurry on deck.

The captain, Sir Sidney Salt, came slowly forth from his cabin. A daring sailor was Sir Sidney as ever braved gale or faced a foe. Hardly over the middle height, with clean shaven face and faultless cue, his age might have been anything from thirty to forty; but in those mild blue eyes of his no one, it was said, had ever seen a wrathful look, not even when engaged hand-to-hand in a combat to the death on the blood-slippery battle-deck of a French man-o'-war.

"Run aloft, Mr. Mackenzie," he said now, "and see what you make of her."

In five minutes' time, or even less, young Grant Mackenzie stood once more on the quarter-deck, and the drum was beating to arms.

No one would break with a loud word the hushed and solemn silence that fell upon the ship after the men, stripped to the waist, had stood to their guns; and as barefooted boys pa.s.sed from group to group, scattering the sawdust that each one knew might soon be wet with his own or a comrade's life-blood, many an eye was turned skywards, and many a lip was seen to move in prayer.

Jack and Tom stood together. The former was pale as death. "Tom," he whispered, "I had a terrible dream last night. I shall not survive this battle; I do not wish to. Tell her, Tom, tell Gerty I died sword in hand, and that, false as she is, my last thoughts were--"

"Stand by the larboard guns!"

Jack and Tom flew to their quarters, and in the terrible fight that followed neither love itself nor thoughts of home, except in the minds of the wounded and dying that were borne below, could find a place.

CHAPTER III.

AN INTERRUPTED PROPOSAL.

"None without hope e'er loved the brightest fair, But love can hope when reason would despair."

Perhaps never was youthful maiden less prepared to listen to the addresses of a would-be wooer than was Gerty Keane when she entered the tartan boudoir that evening at Grantley Hall. She was little more than a child even now, only lately turned seventeen; and before Jack went away to sea--now two years and a month ago--I believe that most of the love-making between them had been conducted through the media of bon-bons and an occasional wild flower, though it ended with farewell tears, a lock of bonnie hair, and a miniature, both of which Jack had taken away with him, and, like a true lover, worn next his heart ever since the parting.

Gerty's cheeks were flushed to-night, her eyes shone, her very lips were rosier than usual.

Sir Digby Auld sprang up as nimbly as his figure would permit, and advanced to meet the girl with outstretched hands. The baronet was verging on forty, but dressed in the height of youthful fashion; he was a trifle pompous, and he was likewise a trifle podgy.

As a shopkeeper or clerk there would have been nothing very attractive about Digby, but as a baronet he was somewhat of a success. There was nothing, however, in his fair, soft, round face or washed-out blue eyes calculated to influence the tender pa.s.sion in one of the opposite s.e.x; only he was excessively good-natured, and it is very nice of a baronet to be excessively good-natured and condescending, especially when everybody knows he may become a lord as soon as another n.o.ble lord chooses to die. Everybody knew also of Sir Digby's pa.s.sion for Gerty Keane, and for this very reason used to say sneering and ill-natured things behind the baronet's back; for people were not a whit better in those "good old times" than they are now.

Whenever Sir Digby sailed into a drawing-room that happened to possess a sprinkling of marriageable girls of various ages, from sixteen to--say sixty, he sailed into an ocean of smiles; but if Gerty were there, he appeared to notice no one else in the room. Whenever Sir Digby sailed out again, their tongues began to wag, both male and female tongues, but particularly the latter.

But on the particular evening when Sir Digby Auld solicited an interview with Gerty, he had dressed with more than his usual care, and wore his softest, oiliest smile.

"O Gerty," he cried, "I'm _de_lighted beyond measure! How beautiful you look to-night! No star in all the firmament half so radiant as your eyes; no rose that ever bloomed could rival the blush on your cheek!"

Sir Digby had practised this little speech for half-an-hour in front of the gla.s.s while waiting for Gerty.

The girl didn't seem to hear him; or if she did, she did not heed. He led her pa.s.sive to a seat, and drew his own chair nearer to hers than ever he had sat before.

There was a sad kind of expression in Gerty's face, and a far-away look in her bonnie blue eyes.

If Mary, her maid, had only held her silly tongue, Gerty might have been almost happy now. But Mary hadn't held her tongue, but conjured up Jack, and he was before her mental eyes at this very moment just as she had seen him last, the young and handsome lieutenant, going away to fight for king and country with a heart burning with courage and valour, yet filled with love for her--and with hope. Ah yes! that was the worst of it. They were not betrothed, and yet--and yet when he returned and found her engaged to another, it would break his heart. Yes, that was simply what it would do. What was Sir Digby saying? Oh, he had been talking for ten minutes and more, yet not one word had she heard. Nor had she even turned towards him. She did so at last, blushing and embarra.s.sed at what she deemed the rudeness of her inattention.

Digby misinterpreted her.

"Yes, yes," he cried rapturously; "I read my happy fate in those dear downcast eyes and in that tell-tale blush. You love me, Gerty; you love me, all unworthy as I am. Then behold I throw myself at your feet."

Sir Digby was preparing to suit the action to his words; but this was not so easy to do as might be imagined, for this gay Lothario had lately suffered from a slight rheumatic stiffness of the joints. He had already bent one knee painfully, and it had emitted a disagreeable crack which certainly tended to dispel a portion of the romance from the situation, when st.u.r.dy footsteps were heard outside, and next moment the round, rosy face of Richards, of the firm of Griffin, Keane, and Co., appeared smiling in the doorway.

Gerty sprang up, leaving her lover to recover the perpendicular as best he might. She rushed towards the old man and fairly hugged him.

"Confound it all!" muttered Sir Digby.

"I'm afraid," said Richards, "I've interrupted--"

"Oh, don't mention it, dear, dear Mr. Richards. What Sir Digby was about to tell me wasn't of the slightest consequence. That is, you know, I mean--it will keep."

Sir Digby Auld bit his lip.

Richards nodded to him.

"I've such news for you, Gerty dear. A long, long letter from Bermuda.

Jack's ship--"

"Oh, do sit down and tell me all.--Sir Digby, you will forgive us, won't you? You're so good! Sit near us and hear it all.--Yes, Mr. Richards; I'm listening."

That she was. What a glad look in her face! what a happy smile! With lips half parted and eyes which shone with an interest intense, she never took her gaze from Mr. Richards' beaming countenance till he had finished speaking.