The night grew chill, and after a little more talk the older gentleman went in, but the younger one continued pacing up and down near the lake, till the rosy dawn had begun to light up the summits.

It was in the month of February, a beautiful bright morning; brilliant sunshine flooded the Rock of Gibraltar, and made the sea of a dazzling blueness, whilst overhead the sky was unclouded.

A young lady who stood in a little terraced garden in front of a house perched on the side of the "Rock" was gazing out on the expanse of sea which lay before her, and seemed for the moment oblivious of two children who were playing near her, and just then loudly claiming her attention. She was their governess, and had the charge of them while their parents were in India.

The house they lived in was the property of Mr. Somerset, who was a Gibraltarian by birth, and it was the children's home at present. Being delicate, the climate of Gibraltar was thought better for them than the mists of England. Major and Mrs. Somerset were shortly expected home for a time on furlough, and there was great excitement at this prospect.

"Nory, Nory, you don't hear what I am saying! When will mamma come? You always say 'soon,' but what does 'soon' mean? Nory, you don't hear me,"

and the governess's dress was pulled.

This roused her from her reverie, and like one waking from a dream she turned round. "What did you say, dear? Oh, yes, about your mother. Well, I am expecting a letter every mail. I should think she might arrive almost any time; they were to arrive in Malta last Monday, and now it is Wednesday. And that reminds me, children, run and get on your things, we have just time for a walk before your French mistress comes."

[Sidenote: At Gibraltar]

"Oh, do let us go to the market, Nory, it is so long since we went there. It is so stupid always going up the 'Rock,' and you are always looking out to sea, and don't hear us when we talk to you. I know you don't, for when I told you that lovely story about the Brownies, the other day, you just said 'yes' and 'no' in the wrong places, and I knew you were not attending," said sharp little Ethel, who was not easily put off.

"Oh, Nory, see the monkeys," cried the little boy, "they are down near the sentry box, and one of them is carrying off a piece of bread."

"They are very tame, aren't they, Nory?" asked Ethel. "The soldiers leave bread out for them on purpose, Maria says."

"Yes, but you know I don't care for them, Ethel. They gave me such a fright last year they came down to pay a visit, and I discovered one in the bathroom. But run to Maria, and ask her to get you ready quickly, and I will take you to the market."

In great glee the happy little children quickly donned their things, and were soon walking beside their governess towards the gay scene of bargaining and traffic.

Here Moors are sitting cross-legged, with their piles of bright yellow and red slippers turned up at the toe, and calling out in loud harsh voices, "babouchas, babouchas," while the wealthier of them, dressed in their rich Oriental dress, are selling bra.s.s trays and ornaments.

The scene is full of gaiety and life, and it is with difficulty that the young governess drags the children away. But now fresh delights begin: they are in the narrow streets where all the Moorish shops with their tempting array of goods attract the childish eye--sweets of all sorts, cocoanut, egg sweets, almond sweets, pine-nut sweets, and the lovely pink and golden "Turkish delight," dear to every child's heart.

"Oh, Nory!" in pleading tones, and "Nory" knows that piteous appeal well, and is weak-minded enough to buy some of the transparent amber-like substance, which is at all events very wholesome. The sun was so powerful that it was quite pleasant on their return to sit in the little terraced garden and take their lunch before lesson-time, and while their governess sipped her tea, the children drank their goat's milk, and ate bread and quince jelly.

The warm February sun shone down on her, but she heeded it not; a pa.s.sage in Mrs. Somerset's letter, which had just been handed to her, haunted her, and she read again and again: she could get no farther. "I believe it is very likely we shall take the next ship that touches here, it is the _Minerva_ from Tasmania. They say it is a hospital ship, but I cannot wait for another, I hunger so for a sight of the children."

The young governess was none other than Norah Wylie. She had never ceased following her husband's movements with the greatest, most painful interest. She knew he had lately gone to Tasmania; suppose he should return in that very ship? More unlikely things had happened. She was at times very weary of her continual monotonous round, though she had been fortunate enough to have got a very exceptional engagement, and had been with Mrs. Somerset's children almost ever since she and her husband had parted.

As Norah sat and knitted, looking out to sea and wondering where her husband was, he, at the very moment, was pacing up and down the deck of the _Minerva_. They had so far had a prosperous journey, fair winds, and a calm sea. Some of the invalids were improving, and even able to come to table, for sea air is a wonderful life-giver. But there were others who would never see England. It was a day of intense heat in the Red Sea, and even at that early season of the year there was not a breath of air.

Amongst those who had been carried up out of the stifling cabin was one whose appearance arrested Captain Wylie's attention, as he took his const.i.tutional in the lightest of light flannels. He could not but be struck by the appearance of the young man. He had never seen him before, but he looked so fragile that the young officer's kind heart went out to him. He was lying in an uncomfortable position, his head all twisted and half off the limp cabin pillow.

Something in the young face, so pathetic in its youth, with the ravages of disease visible in the hectic cheek, and harsh, rasping cough, touched the strong young officer. He stooped down and put his hand on the young lad's forehead; it was cold and clammy. Was he dying?

Mrs. Cameron had come over and was standing beside him. She ran down and brought up the doctor, explaining the young man's state.

[Sidenote: The Doctor's Verdict]

"He will pa.s.s away in one of these fainting fits," said the tired man as he followed her. He was kind in his way, but overwhelmed with work.

"This may revive him for the time being," he went on as they ascended the cabin stairs, "but he cannot live long. I do feel for that young fellow, he is so patient. You never hear a word of complaint."

By this time they had reached the sick man. "Here, my good fellow, try and take this," said the doctor, as Eva Cameron gently raised the young head on her arm. The large dark eyes were gratefully raised to the doctor's face, and a slight tinge of colour came to the pale lips.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "NOW I AM GOING TO FAN YOU," SHE SAID.]

"Now I am going to fan you," said Mrs. Cameron, as she sat beside him.

Now and then she sprinkled lavender water on his head and hands.

"Thank you," he said; "how nice that is! Would you sing to me? I heard you singing the other day."

Eva softly sang a Tasmanian air which was wild and sweet.

"Will you do me a favour?" asked the young man. "Please sing me one of the dear old psalms. I am Scotch, and at times yearn for them, you would hardly believe how much."

She sang:

"G.o.d is our refuge and our strength, In straits a present aid: Therefore, although the earth remove, We will not be afraid."

As she sang tears rolled down the wan cheek, but a look of perfect peace came over the pale face. She went on:

"A river is, whose streams do glad The city of our G.o.d, The holy place, wherein the Lord Most High hath His abode."

He was asleep, the wan young cheek leaning on his hand in a child-like att.i.tude of repose. Eva sat and watched him, her heart full of pity. She did not move, but sat fanning him. Soon Mr. Cameron and Captain Wylie joined her; as they approached she put her finger on her lips to inspire silence.

She had no idea what the words of the dear old psalm had been to the young Highlander--like water to a parched soul, bringing back memories of childhood, wooded glens, heather-clad hills, rippling burns, and above all the old grey kirk where the Scotch laddie used to sit beside his mother--that dear mother in whom his whole soul was wrapped up--and join l.u.s.tily in the psalms.

The dinner-bell rang unheeded--somehow not one of the three could leave him.

"How lovely!" he said at last, opening and fixing his eyes on Eva. "I think G.o.d sent you to me."

"Ay, laddie," said the old Scotchman, taking the wasted hand in his, "but it seems to me you know the One who 'sticketh closer than a brother'? I see the 'peace of G.o.d' in your face."

"Ah, you are from my part of the country," said the lad joyfully, trying to raise himself, but sinking back exhausted. "I know it in your voice, it's just music to me. How good G.o.d has been to me!"

They were all too much touched by his words to answer him, and Eva could only bend over him and smooth his brow.

"Now mother will have some one to tell her about me," he added, turning to Mrs. Cameron, and grasping her hand. Then, as strength came back in some measure to the wasted frame, he went on in broken sentences to tell how he had been clerk in a big mercantile house in Hobart, how he had been invalided and lying in the hospital there for weeks. "But I have saved money," he added joyfully, "she need not feel herself a burden on my sister any more; my sister is married to a poor Scotch minister, and she lives with them, or was to, till I came home. Now that will never be. Oh, if I could just have seen her!"

"But you will see her again, laddie," said the old man. "Remember our own dear poet Bonar's words:

"Where the child shall find his mother, Where the mother finds the child, Where dear families shall gather That were scattered o'er the wild; Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest."

"Thank you," said the dying lad. "I think I could sleep." His eyes were closing, when a harsh loud voice with a foreign accent was heard near.

[Sidenote: "I say I will!"]

"I say I will, and who shall hinder me?"

"Hush, there is a dying man here!" It was the doctor who spoke. A sick-looking, but violent man, who had been reclining in a deck chair not far off, was having a tussle with a doctor, and another man who seemed his valet.