begin, my good ship _M--_ hadarrived at Portsmouth after a long commission of cruising along theshores of Eastern Africa and round India.
At luncheon the day after we came in, our chief engineer said, in hisquiet, stoical manner,--
"My wife is coming to-day by the three train."
"What!" cried somebody. "And you are not going to meet her at thestation, after so long an absence?"
"No, I'm not," was the answer. "The fact is, I've a very great horrorof anything approaching what people call a scene. Now if I had gone tomeet my wife, the poor thing, overcome by her feelings, would be sure tofaint in my arms or something. So I've sent my assistant to meet her.She isn't likely to faint in little Jones's arms."
On the same principle, the reader must excuse me if I omit describingthe scene of the meeting and reunion at Grayling House. I will not eventell of the tears that were shed, tears of joy and anxiety long pent up,of the hearty handshakes, of the whispered words and half-spokensentences of welcome, for all this can be better imagined than told.
It was three days, at least, before the old house settled down again toanything like solid order, and conversation became less spasmodic incharacter.
Old Peter, who, of course, was quite one of the family, was probably thelast to settle down, owing perhaps to the fact that he listened withwonder and astonishment to the conversation at table, and to the talesthe wanderers had to tell, about the wonders they had seen, and theadventures they had come through. More than once, indeed, he had letfall a plate, and he had actually filled up Effie's cup on the secondmorning from the water-bottle instead of the teapot. That same day,when he found Leonard and Douglas in the garden by themselves, hetreated them to the following morsel of edification.
"Oh, laddies!" he said, "it's a wondrous warld we live in, whether wedwall upo' the dry lan' or gang doon to the sea in ships. But few, uncofew, hae come through what ye've come through. And what brocht ye back,think ye? What else but prayer, prayer, prayer? Your father prayed,and your lady mither prayed, and Miss Effie prayed, and poor auld Peterprayed, and--and thare ye are. And yonder is Grayling Ha', and allaroond us is the bonnie estate o' Glen Lyle, its hills and dells, andmoors and fields, and woods and waters, a' oor ain again. And themuckle pike ploupin' aboot [ploupin', _Scottice_--plunging] as ifnaething had ever ailed him. Verily, verily, we've a lot to be thankfu'for!"
"Well, bless you, Peter, dear old friend, for your prayers, and long mayyou live to pray. But tell me, Peter, for I forgot to ask mother, whathas become of Zella the gipsy girl?"
"Oh! hae they no tauld you? It's a year ago come Whitsunday since theycam' for her."
"Who?"
"Who? who but the Faas of her ain tribe, and bonnily they decked her, ina muslin gown o' gowden-spangled white, and they put roses and ferns inher dark hair, and a croon upon her head, and it's wondrous beautifulshe looked. Ay, ye may stare, but Zella is queen o' the gipsies, and nodoubt ye'll see her ere lang."
He turned sharp round towards Douglas as he spoke.
"I dinna doubt, sir," he said, "but that the gipsy queen will come toyour weddin'."
Now Douglas's face was, from exposure to sun and weather, of a sort ofdignified brick-dust hue. One would have thought it impossible for sucha face to blush, but deeper in colour it really got as he laughinglyreplied to the garrulous old Peter.
"My wedding, Peter! Why, my dear old friend, you've been dreaming."
"Och, mon!" said Peter, with a sly wink. "I can see as far through amillstone as the miller himself. But I'm off, there's the bell. It'sthat auld limmer of a cook, she keeps ring, ring, ringing for me a' daylang, with `Peter, do this' and `Peter, do that.' Sorrow tak' her!Ring, ring, ring; there it goes again. Comin', comin,' comin'."
"Strange old man!" said Douglas.
"That he is," said Leonard, "but yet how leal and true he has been toour family."
A day or two after this the old family carriage was had out--and astately and ancient-looking affair it was, hung on monster leatherstraps, which permitted it to swing about like a hammock, while insideit was as snug and soft as a feather bed--the carriage was got out, andaccompanied by a phaeton, in which rode the younger folks, a visit wasmade to the gipsy camp in a far-off forest.
A horseman had been sent the day before with a note to her graciousmajesty Queen Zella to apprise her of their coming, so that after adelightful drive on this lovely spring day they arrived at theencampment, safe and merry, and were received in state.
The gipsies were arrayed in their very best, and the queen was a sightto see, and indeed she really did look charming.
"Oh!" she said to Mr Lyle, "I was pleased to be with you in yourcottage by the sea, and pleased to be at bonnie Glen Lyle, but the brownblood is strong within me. I was _born to wander_, and here I am wildand free as the birds that sing so sweetly on the trees to-day.
"Oh!" she continued, turning to our heroes, "it is not altogetherbecause the sun is shining so brightly that their notes are so joyous.They sing thus madly because _you_ have returned."
Verily the queen knew how to pay a pretty compliment.
"And," she added, "you have been happy. Oh! you must have been happy.Every one must be happy at sea. I dreamt you had met Captain Bland."
"Your majesty has dreamt a strange dream, and a true one, for we did.He saved our lives. But, alas! he is no more. For just two days afterhe left us we saw a fire at sea. We bore down towards the burning ship.It was Bland's barque. There was no sign of life on board. All wassilent except for the rush of the flames and the crackling of theburning wood. And I fear no one was saved."
The conversation was somewhat saddened for a time by Leonard's recital,but what hearts could long remain sad in the fair, fresh scene, amid thegreenery of trees, the wild melody of birds, and the soft springsunshine?
"Man was made to mourn." No, great poet, no; I will not have it. Manwas made to be glad and to rejoice with everything that is glad andrejoiceth around him on this fair earth of ours.
"Tell me not in mournful numbers Life is but an empty dream, For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are _not_ what they seem.
"Life is real; life is earnest, And the grave is not its goal. Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul."
If there be anything in this world more lovely than a ship under fullsail on a summer's sea, I have yet to learn what it is. Look at the_Gloaming Star_ yonder as she goes proudly bowing and curtseyingwestward over the Atlantic waves. A thing of beauty, a thing of lifealmost. Let us glance on board for a moment. How white the decks!almost as white as the beard of her commander Captain Blunt. Herwoodworks are polished, her brass shines like yellow gold, the men areneat and tidy, and every rope is coiled and in its place on deck.Yonder on the quarter-deck sits Effie beside her brother's friend. Herbrother's friend? Yes, but Effie's husband now!
And Leonard himself is at the wheel.
Let us quietly drop the curtain then, while--
"The western sea is all aglow, And the day is well-nigh done, And almost on the western wave Now rests the broad bright sun."
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