Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II.. Lever Charles James
there was nothing but a question of money in the way,” broke in Tom, boldly, “I don’t see how beggars like ourselves could start very strong objections. That a man’s poverty should separate him from us would be a little too absurd; but there ‘s more than that in it. You have got into some scrape or other. I don’t want to force a confidence – I don’t want to hear about it. It’s enough for me that you are not a free man.”
“If I can satisfy you that this is not the case – ”
“It won’t do to satisfy me,” said Tom, with a strong emphasis on the last word.
“I mean, if I can show that nothing unworthy, nothing dishonorable, attaches to me.”
“I don’t suspect all that would suffice. It’s not a question of your integrity or your honor. It’s the simple matter whether when professing to care for one woman you made love to another?”
“If I can disprove that. It ‘s a long story – ”
“Then, for Heaven’s sake, don’t tell it to me.”
“Let me, at least, show that it is not fair to shun me.”
There was such a tone of sorrow in his voice as he spoke that Tom turned at once towards him, and said: “If you can make all this affair straight – I mean, if it be clear that there was no more in it than such a passing levity that better men than either of us have now and then fallen into – I don’t see why you may not come back with me.”
“Oh, Tom, if you really will let me!”
“Remember, however, you come at your own peril. I tell you frankly, if your explanation should fail to satisfy the one who has to hear it, it fails with me too, – do you understand me?”
“I think I do,” said Trafford, with dignity.
“It’s as well that we should make no mistake; and now you are free to accept my invitation or to refuse it. What do you say?”
“I say, yes. I go back with you.”
“I’ll go and see, then, if Cave will join us,” said Tom, turning hastily away, and very eager to conceal the agitation he was suffering, and of which he was heartily ashamed.
Cave accepted the project with delight, – he wanted to see the island, – but, more still, he wanted to see that Lucy Lendrick of whom Sir Brook had spoken so rapturously. “I suppose,” whispered he in Tom’s ear, “you know all about Trafford. You ‘ve heard that he has been cut out of the estate, and been left with nothing but his pay?”
Tom nodded assent.
“He’s not a fellow to sail under false colors, but he might still have some delicacy in telling about it – ”
“He has told me all,” said Tom, dryly.
“There was a scrape, too, – not very serious, I hope, – in Ireland.”
“He has told me of that also,” said Tom. “When shall you be ready? Will four o’clock suit you?”
“Perfectly.”
And they parted.
CHAPTER V. ON THE ISLAND
When, shortly after daybreak, the felucca rounded the point of the island, and stood in for the little bay of Maddalena, Lucy was roused from sleep by her maid with the tidings, “Give me the glass, quickly,” cried she, as she rushed to the window, and after one rapid glance, which showed her the little craft gayly decked with the flag of England, she threw herself upon her bed, and sobbed in very happiness. In truth, there was in the long previous day’s expectancy – in the conflict of her hope and fear – a tension that could only be relieved by tears.
How delightful it was to rally from that momentary gush of emotion, and feel so happy! To think so well of the world as to believe that all goes for the best in it, is a pleasant frame of mind to begin one’s day with; to feel that though we have suffered anxiety, and all the tortures of deferred hope, it was good for us to know that everything was happening better for us than we could have planned it for ourselves, and that positively it was not so much by events we had been persecuted as by our own impatient reading of them. Something of all these sensations passed through Lucy’s mind as she hurried here and there to prepare for her guests, stopping at intervals to look out towards the sea, and wonder how little way the felucca made, and how persistently she seemed to cling to the selfsame spot.
Nor was she altogether unjust in this. The breeze had died away at sunrise; and in the interval before the land-wind should spring up there was almost a dead calm.
“Is she moving at all?” cried Lucy, to one of the sailors who lounged on the rocks beneath the window.
The man thought not. They had kept their course too far from shore, and were becalmed in consequence.
How could they have done so? – surely sailors ought to have known better! and Tom, who was always boasting how he knew every current, and every eddy of wind, what was he about? It was a rude shock to that sweet optimism of a few moments back to have to own that here at least was something that might have been better.
“And what ought they to do, what can they do?” asked she, impatiently, of the sailor.
“Wait till towards noon, when the land-breeze freshens up, and beat.”
“Beat means, go back and forward, scarcely gaining a mile an hour?”
The sailor smiled, and owned she was not far wrong.
“Which means that they may pass the day there,” cried she, fretfully.
“They’re not going to do it, anyhow,” said the man; “they are lowering a boat, and going to row ashore.”
“Oh, how much better! and how long will it take them?”
“Two hours, if they ‘re good rowers; three, or even four, if they ‘re not.”
“Come in and have a glass of wine,” said she; “and you shall look through the telescope, and tell me how they row, and who are in the boat, – I mean how many are in it.”
“What a fine glass! I can see them as if they were only a cable’s length off. There’s the Signorino Maso, your brother, at the bow oar; and then there’s a sailor, and another sailor; and there’s a signore, a large man, —per Bacco, he’s the size of three, – at the stroke; and an old man, with white hair, and a cap with gold lace round it, steering; he has bright buttons down his coat.”
“Never mind him. What of the large man, – is he young?”
“He pulls like a young fellow! There now, he has thrown off his coat, and is going at it in earnest! Ah, he’s no signore after all.”
“How no signore?” asked she, hastily.
“None but a sailor could row as he does! A man must be bred to it to handle an oar in that fashion.”
She took the glass impatiently from him, and tried to see the boat; but whether it was the unsteadiness of her hand, or that some dimness clouded her eyes, she could not catch the object, and turned away and left the room.
The land-wind freshened, and sent a strong sea against the boat, and it was not until late in the afternoon that the party landed, and, led by Tom, ascended the path to the cottage. At his loud shout of “Lucy,” she came to the door looking very happy indeed, but more agitated than she well liked. “My sister, Colonel Cave,” said Tom, as they came up; “and here’s an old acquaintance, Lucy; but he’s a major now. Sir Brook is away to England, and sent you all manner of loving messages.”
“I have been watching your progress since early morning,” said Lucy, “and, in truth, I scarcely thought you seemed to come nearer. It was a hard pull.”
“All Trafford’s fault,” said Tom, laughing; “he would do more than his share, and kept the boat always dead against her rudder.”
“That’s not the judgment one of our boatmen here passed on him,” said