"Indeed you should come down, sir," the man was saying, "there is quite a dew falling."

"You want to make out that I am dying, I suppose, but I have plenty of strength, I can tell you, and will be ordered by no one!"

"Well, then, you will hasten your end, I tell you so plainly," said the doctor sternly.

The man's face altered as he spoke, a kind of fear came over him, as he rose to follow the doctor without a word. As he pa.s.sed near the young Highlander, he glanced at him and shuddered, "He's young to die, and have done with everything."

"He would tell you he is just going to begin with everything," said Mr.

Cameron, who had heard the words, and came forward just then. "Doctor, I suppose we need not move him," he added, glancing at the dying lad, "you see he is going fast."

"No, nothing can harm him now, poor young fellow. I will go and speak to the captain--will you help Mr. Grossman to his cabin?"

As they reached the state-room door, Mr. Cameron said, "Friend, when your time comes, may you too know the peace that is filling the heart of yon lad."

"He is believing in a lie, I fear," said the other.

"And yet, when you were in pain the other day, I heard you call loudly, 'G.o.d help me!'"

"Oh, well, I suppose it is a kind of instinct--a habit one gets into, like any other exclamation."

"I think not," said the old man. "I believe that in your inmost, soul is a conviction that there is a G.o.d. Don't you remember hearing that Voltaire, with almost his last breath, said, 'Et pourtant, il y a un Dieu!'"

Returning on deck, Mr. Cameron took his watch beside the young Highlander. There was no return of consciousness, and very soon the happy spirit freed itself from its earthly tenement without a struggle.

Next morning they consigned all that was mortal of him to the deep, in sure and certain hope that he shall rise again. G.o.d knows where to find His own, whether in the quiet leafy "G.o.d's acre," or in the depths of the sea.

The year was advancing. It was towards the end of February. At Gibraltar great excitement prevailed in the house perched on the side of the "Rock." Major Somerset and his wife were expected! Norah paused suddenly to look out over the blue expanse of sea, to-day ruffled with a slight breeze--and then exclaimed:

"Children! children! come, a steamer with the British flag is coming in!

Hurry and get on your things."

There was no need for urging them to haste--the outdoor wrappings were on in no time, and they ran down to the landing-stage just as the ship had cast anchor. Numerous boats were already making their way out to her. They soon learnt that the ship was from Malta, though she was not the _Minerva_ they had expected.

How Norah's heart beat as she eagerly, breathlessly, watched the pa.s.sengers descend the ladder and take their places in the different boats. A keen breeze had got up, and even in the harbour there were waves already.

[Sidenote: "There is Mamma!"]

"There is mamma!" exclaimed little Ethel--"see her, Nory, in the white hat! Oh, my pretty mamma!" she exclaimed, dancing with glee as the boat came nearer and nearer.

Then came exclamations, hugs and kisses, intermingled with the quick vivacious chattering of the boatmen bargaining over their fares. A perfect Babel of sound! Several pa.s.sengers were landing--so a harvest was being reaped by these small craft.

The children clung to their parents, and Norah followed behind, feeling a little lonely, and out of it all--would there ever come a time of joy for her--a time when she too would be welcoming a dear one?--or should she just have to go on living the life of an outsider in other people's lives--having no joys or sorrows of her own, she who might have been so blessed and so happy? How long those five years had seemed, a lifetime in themselves, since she had last heard her husband's voice! Well, he had not come, that was clear.

That evening as Norah was preparing to go to bed, a knock came to her door, and Mrs. Somerset came in.

"I thought I might come in, Norah dear; I wanted to tell you how pleased my husband and I are with the improvement in the children, they look so well, and are so much more obedient. You have managed them very well, and we are very grateful," and Mrs. Somerset bent forward and kissed her. "Now, dear, we want you to accept a small present from us--it is very commonplace--but there is little variety where we are stationed."

Norah undid the cedar box put into her hand and drew out a most lovely gold bracelet of Indian workmanship.

"Oh, how very good of you, it is far too pretty!" she exclaimed, returning Mrs. Somerset's embrace. "But, indeed, I have only done my duty by the children: they are very good, and I love them dearly."

"Well, dear, I hope you will long remain with them--and yet--I cannot wish it for your sake, for I wish a greater happiness for you. You remember when you first came to me, telling me your history, Norah, and begging me never to refer to it? Well, I have never done so, but to-night I must break my promise, as I think I ought to tell you that I have actually met Captain Wylie, though he did not know who I was."

Norah's colour came and went; she said nothing, only fixed her eyes on Mrs. Somerset in speechless attention, while a tremor ran through her being.

"Now, dear, listen to me; I believe you will see him in Gibraltar very soon. You know we were to have come here in the _Minerva_, which is actually in port in Malta now, but as she is detained there for some slight repairs, we did not wait for her. I went on board the _Minerva_ with my husband, who had business with the captain--and there he was.

The captain introduced us. When he heard I was a native of the 'Rock,'

he became quite eager, and asked me many questions about the different families living there, and told me he intended staying a few days here on his way to England. He was standing looking so sad when we came on board, looking out to sea, and he brightened up so when he spoke of Gibraltar. But, dear child, don't cry, you should rejoice."

For Norah had broken down and was weeping bitterly, uncontrollably. She could not speak, she only raised Mrs. Somerset's hand to her lips. The latter saw she was best alone, and was wise enough to leave her.

"Oh Edgar! Edgar!" was the cry of her heart. "Shall I ever really see you? Can you forgive me?"

Just about the same time as Norah Wylie was weeping in her room, her heart torn asunder with hopes and fears, her husband was again pacing the deck of the _Minerva_. They had sailed from Malta the previous day, but owing to fogs, which had checked their progress, were hardly out of sight of land.

Captain Wylie's thoughts as he pa.s.sed up and down were evidently of a serious nature. For the first time in his life he had began to think seriously of religious things. Ever since the death of the young Highlander, Kenneth McGregor, he had had deep heart-searchings. Besides, another event had occurred that had cast a shadow over the whole ship, so sudden and so awful had it been.

[Sidenote: "In Spite of the Doctor"]

Mr. Grossman had made a wonderful recovery. Contrary to all explanations, he was apparently almost well. It was his constant boast that he had recovered "in spite of the doctor."

One evening dinner was going on, and Herr Grossman, who was still on diet, and did not take all the courses, got up and declared that he would go on deck. It was misty and raining a little. He sent for his great coat and umbrella, and as his valet helped him on with his coat, the doctor called out to him:

"Don't stay up long in the damp."

"Oh, I'll be down directly," he had answered. "I've no wish to lay myself up again."

The company at table fell into talk, and it was some time before they dispersed.

"It is time Mr. Grossman was down," said the doctor; "did you see him, steward?"

"I saw him near an hour ago, sir, he stopped on his way up to light his cigar at the tinder lamp on the stairs."

The doctor went up, but no Herr Grossman was to be seen. He and others hunted all over the ship. At last a sort of panic prevailed. Where was he? What had happened? The ship was stopped and boats lowered. Captain Wylie was one of those who volunteered to go with the search party.

Clouds of mist hung over the sea, and although lanterns were held aloft, nothing was visible.

The search was in vain. No one ever knew precisely what had happened, nor would know. Whether a sudden giddiness seized him, or whether he leaned too far forward, misled by the fog which makes things look so different; certain it is that he had disappeared--not even his umbrella was found.

No one slept that night; a great awe had settled down over the whole ship.

The next day a furious gale sprang up. Captain Wylie, who was an old sailor, crawled up on deck; he was used to roughing it, and the waves dashing over him as they swept the deck had an invigorating effect.

"We ought to be in this afternoon," shouted the captain, as he pa.s.sed, "but the propeller has come to grief; you see we are not moving, and hard enough it will be to fix the other in in such weather," and he looked anxiously around. The wind almost blew his words away.

Captain Wylie then perceived that they were in the trough of the sea, helplessly tossed about, while the waves were mounting high, and any moment the engine fires might be extinguished. Should that happen, indeed they would be in a bad strait.

With difficulty he made his way to where the men were vainly trying to fix the monster screw. Each time they thought they had it in place, the heavy sea shifted it, and the men were knocked down in their attempts.