But though Evelyn was growing in grace day by day, she way not growing in bodily strength. Indeed, as the summer went on she seemed to get weaker instead of stronger. The troubles with her cousin Donald had been so sudden and unexpected that she had not recovered from the effects of it.
Evelyn never, so far as I knew, mentioned her cousin's name in her father's presence, and only once did she name him to me when she asked me if I knew whether anything had been heard of him. But I noticed how anxiously she asked for the newspapers every day, and with trembling fingers turned over the pages.
There had been an account of the theft in The Times the same week that it happened, and Evelyn was continually expecting to read that Donald Trafford had been apprehended. But there was no further notice of it in the newspapers, and one day Sir William told me that his nephew had evidently made his escape to some foreign land, and he did not think that he would ever be heard of again.
As the summer passed away, and the days became shorter and the nights cooler, Evelyn became no stronger. She had a troublesome cough which kept her awake at night, and she looked pale and fragile.
Sir William was anxious about her, and had many consultations with the doctors. At last it was agreed that the best thing possible for her would be to leave England for a time and spend the winter abroad.
The doctors said that the warmer climate would be good for Evelyn's health, and Sir William felt that the excitement and pleasure of travelling would turn his daughter's thoughts from her trouble and disappointment with Donald.
"And where do you think we are going, May?" said Evelyn, when she told me with great joy what her father had decided.
"I don't know, Evelyn," I said. "I thought perhaps it would be to Menton on the French Riviera, or perhaps somewhere in Italy."
"Oh no," said Evelyn, "nowhere so ordinary as that! Guess again."
But I could not guess. So she told me with great delight that Sir William's plan was to go down the Mediterranean to Egypt, and then, if she was well enough, to go on in the early spring to Jerusalem.
"To Jerusalem? Oh, Evelyn," I said, "you will enjoy that."
"Yes, and so will you, May," she said. "I know how you long to go there. I was as glad for you as for myself, when papa told me."
"Oh, Evelyn," I said, "do you mean to say that I'm going too? I never dreamed of that."
"Of course you're going," she said indignantly. "Do you think I could do without you? Oh, May, isn't it delightful."
It seemed to me far too good and too wonderful to be true. To go to Jerusalem, the city which our Lord loved and over which He wept; to see the hillsides where He so often sat, and to tread the mountain paths on which His feet had so often walked -- this seemed far too great a joy ever to be mine.
But there was little time to sit and dream over it, for we were plunged into all the bustle and confusion which a departure from home for a long time causes in large households as well as in small ones.
We were to start in three weeks' time, for Sir William was anxious that we should get the sea voyage over before the weather became colder and more unsettled. He kindly gave me leave to go to the Manor House at Branston for a few days, to say goodbye to my sister Maggie before being parted from her for so long. I would never have thought of asking for a holiday at this busy time, but Sir William proposed it himself, and was good enough to say, when I began to suggest difficulties, that he would insist on my going whether I liked it or not.
It was indeed a pleasure for me to see my dear Maggie again, and the three sisters were kindness itself to me. But they did not at all like the idea of my going to Jerusalem. Indeed, at first, they even wanted me to throw up my employment because of having to go abroad. However, when they saw that it was no use trying to persuade me to do this, and that I was looking forward to the proposed journey as a most delightful and pleasant thing, they all united in trying to warn me of the consequences.
Miss Jane had an ancient book, describing the adventures and narrow escapes of some travellers in Palestine many years ago. She brought this book out from her bookcase and read all the most alarming passages for my edification, until poor Maggie was frightened and clung to me, and said she would never let me go.
I assured them that travelling in Palestine in those days was a different thing, and that now the dangers were much less, and the difficulties not nearly so numerous. But Miss Jane did nothing but shake her head mournfully, and say she would indeed be thankful if I came back alive. Miss Hannah and Miss Louisa actually shed tears at the thought of the perils I was about to undergo. However, I comforted them by promising to write often, and I told them that I would give them an account of all my adventures, though I did not think they would be so exciting or remarkable as those of the gentlemen in Miss Jane's book.
When I returned to Alliston Hall I found that all necessary preparations were made for the journey. Sir William had travelled a great deal when he was a young man, and he was looking forward with pleasure to taking Evelyn to some of the places which he had visited many years before.
At length the last night came when everything was packed, and we had nothing to do but to sit at the window and talk of the journey before us.
I was feeling the reaction, which so often comes after the excitement of preparations for a journey, and was almost wishing that, after all, we were not going so far away. Who could tell whether we would all return? Who could tell whether I would ever see my young sister again?
At this moment the door was opened and a letter was brought in which had come by the evening post. The letter was from Miss Lilla Irvine to say how much she would think of us while we were travelling, and how often she would turn the text, which she enclosed, into a prayer on our behalf.
"What is the text, I wonder?" said Evelyn, as she put down the letter. "Oh, I see, there are two cards in the envelope. One for you, and one for me."
She handed me mine, and the text seemed an answer to my fears: The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth, and even for evermore.
Chapter Twelve
WE LEFT England and began our exciting journey at the end of October. Evelyn improved in health and spirits from the moment that we started, and Sir William was thoroughly happy in witnessing the enjoyment of his daughter. I need hardly say what a treat this journey was to me. I had never been out of England before, and therefore everything abroad was new and strange to me, and I felt as if I was having a pleasant and delightful dream.
We spent some time in Paris, and went to all the places of interest both in and near the city. From Paris we went to Turin, where we rested for more than a week before undertaking the long and tedious journey from Turin to Brindisi in the south of Italy. We arrived at Brindisi late on Saturday night, and were all tired and worn out, and exceedingly glad to get to our journey's end.
We stayed at an hotel near the sea, such a curious place with bare stone floors and whitewashed walls, and only as much furniture in the large rooms as was absolutely essential.
The next morning I awoke early and went to my window and looked out. It seemed a perfect fairyland to me. The harbour was as still as a lake, and covered with the reflection of the ships and boats with their pretty lateen sails. And beyond the harbour there was the blue Adriatic Sea sparkling in the morning sunshine.
It looked unlike Sunday, for work was going on just as on any other day. The people of Brindisi were buying and selling and hurrying along as though it was the busiest day in the week.
I took my Bible and sat a little distance from the window, and had a quiet time alone before Clemence came to say that Evelyn was dressed and was going downstairs for breakfast.
We were to go on board the steamer that night, as it was to leave early the next morning. But Sir William arranged that during the day we would stay quietly at the hotel.
The weather had been cold when we were at Turin, but we found a great change of climate at Brindisi. The sky was a deep, unclouded blue, and the su
nshine was so hot that we found it difficult to keep cool. Evelyn and I discovered a seat on the flat roof of the hotel where we were shaded from the hot sun and could read together quietly. We read aloud the Psalm for the day, Psalm 122, verse by verse. It was with a wonderfully strange feeling that we read those words: "Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem."
"May," said Evelyn, "can you believe that verse is really true of us?"
When we had finished our reading, Sir William came out to us and persuaded us to venture out of the shady corner in which we had been sitting, and walk to the other end of the roof to look at the view from there.
To our surprise we found that we were not alone on the roof. An English gentleman was leaning over the parapet with a book in his hand, looking towards the sea. He turned round as we came up, and slipped his book into his pocket. I fancied that it was a Bible.
The gentleman soon got into conversation about Brindisi and its surroundings, and he pointed out several objects of interest in the neighbourhood. He was not a very young man, though I fancied that he looked older than he really was. There was something in his face, when it was at rest, which made me think that he had been through a great deal of trouble. And yet when he smiled his whole face was lighted up in a moment, and he looked perfectly different. He was not exactly a handsome man, and yet his was a face which, having once seen, you could never forget, and which you could not help liking. That was my first impression of Mr. Stanley, so far as I can now remember.
Sir William was charmed with him, and said afterwards that he had seldom met such a well-read, sensible man. We sat together on the roof, and Evelyn and I acted the part of listeners, while the two gentlemen talked.
"You are going to Jerusalem, I think," said Mr. Stanley, as Sir William was unfolding his plans to him. "I have been there several times."
This led to many inquiries on Sir William's part about the accommodation and the sights to be found in Jerusalem. But Evelyn and I wondered how Mr. Stanley knew that we were going to Jerusalem. Could he have heard us reading that Psalm, and saying that it was soon to be true of us?
"I am afraid you ladies will be disappointed in Jerusalem," said Mr. Stanley, turning to us. "You must remember that though it is still 'beautiful for situation,' as the Bible says, yet Jerusalem is no longer 'the joy of the whole earth.' It is, indeed, beautiful at a distance, and everyone is charmed who sees it for the first time. But when you go inside the walls, and know it well, you cannot help but feel depressed and saddened."
"But there are brighter days coming for Jerusalem," I ventured to say.
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Stanley, "Jerusalem will be a hundredfold more than she ever was before -- the City of the Great King."
But Sir William always regarded the study of prophecy as a mixture of presumption and romance, and he quickly led the conversation into a different channel. But I longed to hear what Mr. Stanley's views were about the return of the Jews and the restoration of Jerusalem.
That evening we went on board the Peninsular and Oriental Company steamer which was to take us to Alexandria. There were a great many first-class passengers, and we had some difficulty in obtaining a cabin to ourselves. At length Sir William managed to secure a small one for Evelyn and me, in which there were only two berths.
There were not many passengers present at dinner. Mr. Stanley was there, and a few others whom we had seen in the hotel at Brindisi, but most of the people came on board as we were going to bed. They had just arrived by the late train from Turin, and had secured their cabins beforehand by telegraphing to the captain.
Evelyn and I were undressing when we heard a voice outside the cabin door which we were almost sure we knew. It was a lady's voice, and she was giving orders to the stewardess in an imperious tone with regard to the arrangement of her cabin.
"That sounds like Lady Eldridge," said Evelyn to me. "It's exactly like her voice!"
Clemence went at this moment to get some hot water, and returned with the information that it was indeed Lady Eldridge, and that she had taken the next cabin to ours.
"Oh dear," said Evelyn, "I wonder where she's going. I hope not to Cairo. I remember she often spends the winter there. Well, we shall hear in the morning."
As Lady Eldridge's voice had been the last thing we heard at night, so it was the first thing that we heard in the morning. She had brought no maid with her, and as she was utterly unable to do anything for herself, she was constantly calling the poor stewardess who had already more work than she could get through, to help her in the various stages of her dressing.
"Oh dear," said Evelyn, as Lady Eldridge's voice was heard again and again, "I do hope she's not going to Cairo. We must find out at once."
We met Lady Eldridge at breakfast. She professed herself delighted beyond measure at meeting Sir William and Evelyn, and wished to know where they were going, and for how long she would have the wonderful pleasure of travelling in their company.
'"It is such trying work travelling alone, my dear," she said to Evelyn, "and I am naturally nervous. It is really quite miraculous my meeting you. Sir William, I feel sure you will not refuse to take me under your care."
Sir William bowed, and said he would be glad to help Lady Eldridge in any way he could. But I did not think he seemed particularly glad of the addition to our party, for that is what Lady Eldridge, from that moment, considered herself to be. She turned over all responsibility about her baggage to Sir William, and she used Clemence as freely as if she had been her own maid.
'But," said Lady Eldridge, as we were finishing breakfast, "you have never yet told me where you are going, Evelyn, my dear."
Evelyn was about to answer, when to my surprise Sir William prevented her.
"Our plans are not yet formed, Lady Eldridge," he said firmly. "I am going to consider this morning what our tour will be, and then I shall be able to let you know."
"Oh, you must come to Cairo," said Lady Eldridge. "There is no place like Cairo in the winter. The climate is simply perfect, my dear," she said, turning to Evelyn. "Now, Sir William, you must decide to stay at least three months at Cairo, and then we can all spend the winter together. Now come, I think that is a capital plan."
Sir William smiled and said he would consider the matter, but explained that there were many other places that he wished to visit and he could not make up his mind hastily.
We did not see much of Lady Eldridge after breakfast, for she remained in the saloon the whole day reading a French novel, and seemed to think us extraordinary girls because we chose to go on deck.
Evelyn and I found a sheltered seat where the cold wind did not reach us, and here we sat with our books and our work until the evening. The steamer had started early in the morning, and though a fresh breeze was blowing, the sea was not uncomfortably rough, and we were beginning to think that sea voyages were not half so disagreeable and uncomfortable as people made them out to be.
Sir William paced up and down the deck with Mr. Stanley nearly all the morning, discussing his future plans. Every now and then they stopped to examine a map or a guidebook, and at length they sat down on a seat where Sir William took a pencil from his pocket and wrote notes at Mr. Stanley's dictation.
"I wonder what papa has decided," said Evelyn. "I wish he would come and tell us. I'm sure he doesn't want to go to Cairo now that Lady Eldridge is going there. Did you notice that he wouldn't let me say where we were going?"
When Sir William had finished writing, he and Mr. Stanley came towards us and Sir William told us to our great joy that we were not staying in Cairo for a few days as originally planned, but were going at once to Jerusalem. Mr. Stanley had told him that there was a clean, comfortable hotel there, and that the climate in December and January was generally beautiful.
"So I think we will stop in Jerusalem a month or two," said Sir William, "and then decide where we go next. What do you say to that, Evelyn?"
"Oh, papa," said Evelyn, "it's just what I wanted. I am longing to
get to Jerusalem."
"Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem," said Mr. Stanley with a smile. And then we were sure that he had heard us reading the Psalm!
At sunset the wind became strong. The ship rolled heavily, and the passengers were glad to go to their cabins. It was a dreadful night. I shall never forget it. Every hour the storm became more terrible. I had never thought that a storm at sea could be so dreadful. The waves were beating over our heads, and every now and then the cabin was lit up by a livid flash of lightning, which was followed almost immediately by a terrible clap of thunder.
Every two or three minutes we heard the crash of breaking crockery; and the broken cups, and jugs, and glasses were thrown backwards and forwards on the floor as the ship pitched and tossed.
I wonder why so many people have such peaceful ideas of the Mediterranean -- after reading the Bible accounts of various voyages. Often during that dreadful night we thought of Saint Paul in the storm, probably in this very part of the sea. And we could so perfectly picture that scene in Jonah's life when the sailors, unwilling to cast him overboard, made a last mighty effort to bring the ship to land, but because of the wind and the waves they were not able to manage it.
"Oh, May," said Evelyn, as I crept to her side when the storm was at its height, "what a comfort it is to know we're safe in the Lord, isn't it?"
"Yes," I said, "I cannot think how anyone dare travel, and go through all the perils by land and water, without knowing that."
"I would not have known it if we had come a year ago," said Evelyn. "Oh, May, I would have been terribly frightened then."
We did not sleep once the whole night, and very long the hours seemed to us.
At about three o'clock in the morning we heard Lady Eldridge's voice crying for help. She was calling first for Clemence and then for the stewardess, but their cabins were at the other end of the saloon and neither of them heard her.
"What can she want?" said Evelyn.
I put on my dressing-gown and managed to go as far as the door of Lady Eldridge's cabin.
"Just look here, Miss Lindsay," she said when she saw me. "The porthole has sprung open, and water has come onto my bed. Do go and call the stewardess, and tell her to bring me clean linen and blankets."