CHAPTER II.
"HE NEVER SAID HE LOVED ME."
"The feast was over in Branksome Tower, And the ladye had gone to her secret bower.
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The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight and page and household squire Loitered through the lofty hall, Or crowded around the ample fire."--SCOTT.
"Look your best, and act your best." That was all the letter said, andit was signed "Your affectionate father, Henry Keane."
It was the eve of a great party, to be held next day at Grantley Hall,in honour of the coming of age of the only son of General GrantMackenzie, about a month after the incident described in last chapter.
Gerty sat alone in her room, just as the shadows of this beautifulevening in spring were beginning to deepen into night. She held theletter crumpled in her hand.
"Poor Jack!" she mentally observed. "His coming of age, and he not here!What a mockery! And dear Flora too. Oh, if she were but aware thathardly anything in this great house belongs to her father--allmortgaged, or nearly all. It is well, perhaps, she is kept in the dark.Her proud heart would be crushed in the dust if she but knew even apart. But poor Jack--is it possible, I wonder? he _might_ come. Oh, whatjoy just to see his dear old face again once in a way! But ah, dear me!it may be better not. Besides, Jack never said he loved me. Oh, but hedoes. It is mean of me to compound with my feelings. No; I shall facethe whole position. Father never asked me to marry Sir Digby Auld. Nay,he knows his daughter's spirit too well. For the love I bear father Iwould do anything, so long as no command were issued. Poor Jack! Poorfather!--well, and I may add, poor Sir Digby! He is so good and gentle.Ah me! my life's bark seems drifting into unknown seas, and all isdarkness and mist. What can I do but drift? Oh yes, I can hope. I am soyoung, and Jack is not old. We shall both forget; I am sure we shall.Moore says--
'There's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.'
The poet is right. But then it does not last. In the unknown seas intowhich my bark is drifting all will be brightness and sunshine. Digbywill be always kind, and father will be happy and gay. The people willlove him, dear lonesome father! Away from the bustle and din and fogs ofLondon, his life will enter a new lease. And Jack will visit us often,and together he and I will laugh over our childhood's amours. Digby istoo good to be jealous. I wonder if Jack will marry; I had never thoughtof that. Oh dear, oh dear! my victory over self will not be such an easyone as I had imagined. I hope Jack won't marry that hateful Gordon girl,nor any of those simpering Symonses. But, after all, what does it matterto me whom Jack marries? I begin to think I am very mean after all; Ihate myself. Positively I--"
"Come in."
"Sir Digby has called, Miss Keane, and desires to see you for a moment.He is in the tartan boudoir."
"Tell him, Smith, that I am sorry I cannot leave my room--that I have aheadache--that--stay, Smith, stay. Say that I shall be down in a fewminutes."
"Yes, Miss Gertrude."
"It is best over," she murmured to herself as Smith left.
She touched the bell, and next minute she was seated before a tallmirror, at each side of which burned a star of candles, and her maid wasdressing her hair.
"Mary," she said, as she rose and smoothed out the folds of her bluesilk dress, "do I look my best?"
"Oh, Miss Keane, you look 'most like a fairy--the low-bodied blue, andthe pink camellia in your hair. You are so beautiful that if _I_ were aknight I should come for you with a chariot and six, and carry you awayto my castle, and have a real live dragon o' purpose to guard you--Iwould really, miss."
"Do you think, Mary, I could act well?"
"Oh, Miss Keane, how you do talk! Actors is low. Miss Gerty, always lookyour best; but acting--no, no, miss, I won't have she."
And Mary tossed her head regardless of grammar.
Mary was a little Essex maid that Miss Keane had had for years, and hadsucceeded in spoiling, as children are spoiled.
"Ah dear," said the girl, "and to think that to-morrow is Jack's comingo' age, and he won't be here! You don't mind _me_ a-callin' of him Jack,does ye, Miss Gerty? Heigh-ho! didn't he used to chuck me under the chinjust, the dear, bright boy? 'Mary,' he says once, 'when I comes of age Imeans to marry you right off the reel.' And I took him in my arms andkissed him on what Tim would call the spur o' the moment. Then Jack upswith a glass o' ale--it were in the kitching, miss--and he jumps on to achair and draws his navy dirk. 'Here's the way,' he cries, 'that theytosses cans in the service. And I'll give you a toast,' he says. 'Idrinks
'To the wind that blows, And the ship that goes, And the girl as loves a sailor, Hip, hip, hooray!'
But run away, Miss Gerty. Only _no_ acting, mind. Oh dear, oh dear! Iwish poor Jack would come."
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"Ah, Jack, my bo'," cried Tom, meeting his friend on the quarter-deckjust after divisions, "let me congratulate you. You've come of age thisvery morning. Tip us your flipper, Jack. Why, you don't look very gayover it after all. Feeling old, I daresay--farewell to youth and thatsort of game. Never mind; I'm going to see the surgeon presently. OldM'Hearty is a splendid fellow, and he'll find an excuse for splicing themain-brace, you may be sure. Why, Jack, on such an eventful occasion allhands should rejoice. Ah, here comes the doctor!--Doctor, this is Jack'sbirthday, and he's come of age, and--"
_"Tom, I shall not survive this battle."_ Page 26.]
"Sail in sight, sir!"
It was a hail from the mast-head--a bold and sturdy shout that was heardfrom bowsprit to binnacle by all hands on deck, and that even penetratedto the ward-room, causing every officer there to spring from his seatand hurry on deck.
The captain, Sir Sidney Salt, came slowly forth from his cabin. A daringsailor was Sir Sidney as ever braved gale or faced a foe. Hardly overthe middle height, with clean shaven face and faultless cue, his agemight have been anything from thirty to forty; but in those mild blueeyes of his no one, it was said, had ever seen a wrathful look, not evenwhen engaged hand-to-hand in a combat to the death on the blood-slipperybattle-deck of a French man-o'-war.
"Run aloft, Mr. Mackenzie," he said now, "and see what you make ofher."
In five minutes' time, or even less, young Grant Mackenzie stood oncemore on the quarter-deck, and the drum was beating to arms.
No one would break with a loud word the hushed and solemn silence thatfell upon the ship after the men, stripped to the waist, had stood totheir guns; and as barefooted boys passed from group to group,scattering the sawdust that each one knew might soon be wet with his ownor a comrade's life-blood, many an eye was turned skywards, and many alip was seen to move in prayer.
Jack and Tom stood together. The former was pale as death. "Tom," hewhispered, "I had a terrible dream last night. I shall not survive thisbattle; I do not wish to. Tell her, Tom, tell Gerty I died sword inhand, and that, false as she is, my last thoughts were--"
"Stand by the larboard guns!"
Jack and Tom flew to their quarters, and in the terrible fight thatfollowed neither love itself nor thoughts of home, except in the mindsof the wounded and dying that were borne below, could find a place.