Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/293

5, 1863.] for the wedding. Patience was of opinion that it would be unnecessary for her Henry to go to sea again. His little property would go far to maintain them; and he could no doubt obtain occupation in the dockyards. There was a very charming little house just vacated that she was confident would exactly suit such a couple as that of which she hoped soon to constitute the better half. Of course Captain Harry would agree with her. On that point she never felt any doubt. Of course the statement of that person that he should claim his “wife” on the day of his arrival was an amatory exaggeration. Sundry forms as well ecclesiastical as civil must be complied with. But the day was to be postponed for as short a time as possible. So Patience had every hope that before the lapse of a month at most she would be a happy bride.

Her visits to her point of observation at the abbey now became more frequent. Every speck that broke the line of the horizon was watched with the intensest interest. At last the long watch was rewarded. On a sunny afternoon in June a brig was descried making for Filby, which knowing ones declared to be the Camilla. Patience watched it—I beg pardon—watched her growing and growing, her white sails scarcely bowed by the gentle summer breeze. Patience did not wish to exhibit before the loungers of the hill-top the excitement which she could not repress. From the roof of her father’s house, she could see the advancing brig. Thither she repaired in company with an old telescope of her father’s, and glued her eyes on the sea. The Camilla sailed on till she was within some mile and a half of the shore. The sheets of canvas suddenly rose in thick folds. The brig hove-to under—but perhaps Patience was not learned in the terminology of rigging; it is her emotions which are being described; there is therefore no obligation that the technical details of the heave-to should be given. But let none think this omission is the result of the author’s ignorance. Of course not. Well, the Camilla hove-to. There was great signalling between the brig and the shore. Dates were given. The state of the tide was told. It may be presumed that Harborough should have known that on such a day he could not enter Filby harbour at such an hour. But it may also be presumed that he was anxious to hear news of folks at home as soon as possible. The peace of Patience’s mind did not depend only on the signal of “All Well.” By the help of the big telescope she could distinctly see her Henry commanding on his deck. His tall stalwart figure was easily distinguished among the rest; and if only Miss Gale had been as severely educated as are many of the young ladies of the present day, she might have quoted:

Not that it would have added to her happiness. That was now supreme. There was Henry, safe and sound. The good girl thanked God for this mercy vouchsafed to her, and a joyful tear impeded the use of the glass. But what was this? The canvas curtains were dropping again, and filling with the lazy wind. The tide would not allow of the Camilla’s coming into Filby till the next morning. Patience liked her friend all the better because he would not leave his ship and his men, even for her. Still, she had half-expected to see a boat put off from the brig; she had thought that she might hold her treasure in her arms that very day. It would be more tantalising to wait those eight or ten hours, than it had been to wait long months. To see him, and see him sail out of her sight! For the Camilla was moving seaward. It was evident that she was going to stand off for the night. Smaller and smaller grew the moving figures on the deck. Then there was nothing to be seen but hull and sail. The sun set behind the hills. The Camilla was nothing but a darker shadow against the dark bank of eastern clouds.

Patience came down into the house.

“Mother dear, I think I shall go to bed. I must be up very early, you know. They can be in by six o’clock; and I should like to watch them from the down.”

So the happy girl shut herself up with her thoughts—that night the pleasantest possible companions. The profile portrait met with little attention. The image suggested by the telescope was far more satisfactory. The letters were turned over once again, and confided to their resting-place with a happy kiss. Of course Patience could not sleep. She lay in a dreamy reverie, her thoughts wandering backwards and forwards between that brig at sea and the outlines and the noises of her room and the night. The rumble of each rare vehicle seemed very loud. The cries of revelling sailors seemed shriller than on other nights. The sea surely sounded more harshly than it did an hour ago. The low grating murmur of the calm seemed to have given place to the quicker, angrier noise of taller breakers. And hark! What was that? The shutter, too loosely fastened back to the wall, banged suddenly on the window-post, and shook the little panes. The wind was rising. But it was hardly likely to be much. It was so still at sunset. And perhaps it would bring in the Camilla all the more quickly. Patience dozed. She was unconscious for an hour and a half or two hours, and then was roused again. There was more noise now. The wind was shrieking up the street, and the roar of the sea was deep and loud. The girl sprung from her bed, and looked from the window. The night was very dark. The roaring of the gale was enough to drown every sound of passers by. But the street was deserted; more deserted than the streets of a seaport usually are, even in the dead of night. The men of Filby were all down at the port.

Patience grew very white. A strange terror numbed her limbs. Then she went to the door of her parents’ room, and, as she walked gently in, she said:

“Mother, do you hear the wind?”

“Hush! my child; don’t wake your father. I hear. We must be still and wait, dear. Let us hope the best. Is it very wild outside?”

“Mother, I am going out; I shall—”

“Out, child? you cannot! You must—”

“No, mother, I cannot wait. Hark! Peggy