"Then the Lord says, `Let not your heart be troubled,' and tells you to believe in G.o.d and Himself."

At the second verse Slagg remarked that it would be a sad, sad thing if the mansion prepared, among the many mansions, for his friend were to be left empty.

"But how am I to get to it, Jim; how am I ever to find the way?"

"Just what the disciple named Thomas asked--an' he _was_ a very doubting follower of Jesus, like too many of us. The Master said to him what He says to you and me, `_I_ am the way and the truth and the life; no one cometh unto the Father but by _me_.'"

At the ninth verse the sailor-missionary said, "Jesus is G.o.d, you see, so we're safe to trust Him," and, at the thirteenth verse, "Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name that will I do," he said. "Now, we have asked Jesus to save you, and He will do it, by His Holy Spirit, as He has saved me--has saved millions in time past, and will save millions more in time to come. Why, you see, in the sixteenth verse He tells you He will pray the Father to send you a Comforter, who will stay with you for ever. Has He not reason then for beginnin' with `let not your heart be troubled'? And that same Comforter, the Holy Spirit, is to `teach us all things,' so, you see, every difficulty is taken out of our way.

`Arise, let us go hence.' Now, my old messmate, I have arisen. Will you not arise and go with me, both of us looking unto Jesus?"

"I _will_--G.o.d helping me!" cried the sick man, literally arising from his couch and raising both arms to heaven.

"There, now--thank the Lord; but you must lie down again and keep quiet," said Jim, gently and kindly forcing his friend backward.

Stumps did not resist. He closed his eyes, and the restful feeling that had suddenly arisen in his heart when he said the momentous words, "_I will_," coupled with exhaustion, resulted almost instantaneously in a quiet slumber.

"When did he eat last?" asked Slagg of the old woman, in a low voice, for he had been taught, or had learned intuitively, that few things are more disheartening in a sick-room than a whisper.

"This morning he breakfasted at six, but it was on'y a hap'orth o' bread and a drink o' cold water."

"And how dare you starve your lodger in that way?" demanded Slagg, leading the astonished woman into the pa.s.sage and closing the door.

"Don't you know that starving a man is equal to murdering him, and that you'll be liable to be hung if he dies? There, take this half-sov, and be off to the nearest shop, an' buy--let me see--sa.s.sengers and steaks and--oh, _you_ know better than me what a sick man wants. Get along with you, and be back sharp. Stay! where are your matches? Ah! Any coals? Good, now away with you and fetch a doctor too, else I'll fetch a policeman, you bolster of bones."

Thus ordered, threatened, and adjured, the landlady, half-amused, and more than half-frightened at the visitor's gushing energy, hurried from the house, while Slagg returned to the miserable room, and did his best to render it less miserable by kindling a splendid fire.

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add, that a breakfast soon filled that room with delicious odour, such as had not been felt in that lowly neighbourhood for many years; that Stumps, after a refreshing sleep, partook of the feast with relish; that Jim Slagg also partook of it--of most of it, indeed--and enjoyed it to the full; that the old landlady was invited to "fall to," and did fall to with alacrity; that the domestic cat also managed to fall to, surrept.i.tiously, without invitation, and not the less enjoyably on that account; that a miserable semi-featherless but unconquerable canary in a cage in the window took care that it was not forgotten; and that several street boys, smelling the viands from afar, came round the outer door, became clamorous, and were not sent empty away.

It may, however, be advisable to add, that Stumps did not die; that joy of heart, good feeding, and--perhaps--the doctor, brought him round, and that he afterwards went to the country to spend the period of convalescence in the cottage by the roadside, with Slagg's mother.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

IN WHICH THE STORY FINDS A "FAULT," AND THE ELECTRICAL CURRENT ENDS.

Now, it is not in the nature of things that man, in his present state, should attain to full satisfaction. He may, indeed he should, attain to contentment, but as long as there are higher and better things within his reach, he must of necessity remain in some degree unsatisfied.

Some such idea must have been pa.s.sing through Robin Wright's brain one fine morning, as he slowly paced the deck of a small schooner with his friend Sam Shipton, for he suddenly broke a prolonged silence with the following remark:--

"I don't know how it is, Sam, but although I am surrounded with everything that should make a fellow happy, I'm--I'm _not_ happy. In fact, I'm as miserable as it is possible to be!"

"Come now, Robin, don't exaggerate," said Sam in a remonstrative tone.

"Hyperbole is very objectionable, especially in young men. You know that if you were tied to a huge gridiron over a slow fire, you would be more miserable than you are at present."

Robin smiled and admitted the truth of this, but nevertheless reiterated his a.s.sertion that he was decidedly unhappy.

This conversation, we may remark, took place on board of Sam Shipton's yacht, off the west coast of Scotland, several years after the events narrated in the previous chapter.

"Well, now, it is strange," said Sam, with an earnestly sympathetic air and tone of voice, but with the faintest possible twinkle in the extreme corner of one of his eyes. "Let me see--everything, as you justly remark, ought to make you happy here. The weather, to begin with-- people always begin with the weather, you know--is splendid, though there is a thundery look about the horizon to the west'ard. Then our yacht, the Gleam, is a perfect duck, both as to her sea-going and sailing qualities, and Captain James Slagg is a perfect seaman, while Stumps is a superlative steward and cook. Our time is our own, and the world before us where to choose. Then, as to our companionship, what female society could be more agreeable than that of my wife Madge, and her bosom friend Letta, who, since she has grown up, has become one of the most beautiful, fascinating, charming,--but why go on, when, in the language of the poet, `adequate words is wantin'!' And Letta's mother is second only to herself. Then as to the men, could there be found anywhere finer fellows than uncle Rik and Ebenezer Smith, and Frank Hedley--to say nothing of myself and our splendid little boy Sammy? I can't understand it, Robin. You're not ill, are you?"

"Ill? no. Never was better in my life."

"Well, then, what is it? Be confidential, my boy. The witching hour of sunrise is fitted for confidential communications. You're not in love, are--"

"Hush, Sam! the skylight is open. Come forward to the bows. Yes, Sam, I _am_ in love."

"Well, Robin, I can't pretend ignorance, for I know it--at least I have seen it."

"Seen it!" echoed Robin, "how is that? I have never by word or look given the slightest indication to any one, of the state of my feelings."

"True, Robin, as regards words, but there are other modes of indication, as must be well-known to a celebrated electrician like yourself. The fact is, my dear boy, that you and Letta have been rubbing your intellects together for so many years, that you have electrified each other--the one positively, the other negatively; and even a Manx cat with an absent mind and no tail could hardly fail to observe the telegraphic communication which you have established by means of that admirable duplex instrument, a pair of eyes."

"You distress me very much, Sam," returned Robin, seriously. "I a.s.sure you I have never consciously done anything of the sort, and I have never opened my lips to Letta on the subject--I dare not."

"I believe you as to your consciousness; but, to be serious, Robin, why should being in love make you miserable?"

"Because it makes me doubt whether Letta cares for me."

"Nonsense, Robin. Take my advice, put an end to your doubts, and make sure of your ground by taking heart and proposing to Letta."

"I dare not, Sam. It is all very well for a fine manly fellow like you to give such advice, but I am such a poor, miserable sort of--"

"Hallo, fa.s.ser!" cried a merry voice at that moment, "how red de sun am!"

The owner of the voice--a mere chip of a child, in perfect miniature middy costume--ran up to its father and was hoisted on his shoulder.

"Yes, the sun is very red, like your own face, Sammy, my boy, to say nothing of cousin Robin's. Where is mamma?"

The question was answered by mamma herself, our old friend Madge Mayland, coming up the companion-hatch,--tall, dark, beautiful, like the spirit of departed night. She was followed by Letta,--graceful, fair, sunny, like the spirit of the coming morn.

"Sunbeam, ahoy!" came up through the cabin skylight at that moment, like the sonorous voice of Neptune.

"Well, grunkle Rik, w'at is it?" shouted Sammy, in silvery tones, from his father's shoulder.

"Grunkle" was the outcome of various efforts made to teach Sammy to call the old captain grand-uncle.

"Where have you stowed away my hair-brush, you rascal?" cried the voice of thunder.

"It's under my bunk, grunkle; I was bracking yous boots with it."

The thunder subsided in tempestuous mutterings, and Sammy, feeling that he had begun the day well, struggled out of his father's arms and went careering round the deck into every possible position of danger. He kept them all lively until Stumps caught him and extinguished him, for a time, with breakfast.

"Uncle Rik," said Sam, while that meal was being discussed in the snuggest little cabin that could be imagined, "did you hear of the extraordinary manner in which a whale was caught by a telegraph cable lately?"

"No, I didn't, Sam, an' what's more, I wouldn't believe it if I did."

"It is true, nevertheless," said Sam, breaking his fifth egg--sea breezes being appetising.

"How did it happen, Sam?" asked Madge.