W.H.G. Kingston (continued 7)

He did not wish just then to ask the question in public. He had no doubts, however, when the young man stated that he had been carried off some time before from his home by the lugger’s crew, and kept a prisoner on board ever since, being compelled to do duty when at sea, but being shut down in the hold whenever she was in port or might have an opportunity of making his escape.

“This was my only chance, sir, so I made a dash for it, and knocked down the fellows who tried to stop me, as I had a hundred times rather serve aboard a man-of-war than remain with such rascally lawless fellows.”

“You did very right,” said De Vere, “and you will find it to your advantage.”

Before the day was over three large ships had been boarded, one of which had picked up a ship’s crew of twenty men at sea. It seemed hard for the poor fellows after the dangers they had gone through not to return to their friends on shore; but necessity has no law. The greater number were sent on board the corvette, which, with several of the ship’s crew, fully made up her complement.

As Headland was eager to get to sea, he was glad thus to avoid the necessity of having to touch at Plymouth, where it would have required great vigilance to prevent some of the lately pressed men from escaping.

Chapter Forty Three.

Better than a Tonic.

The Thisbe had doubled the Cape.

On opening his sealed orders, Captain Headland found that he was to proceed to the Eastern Seas, and to give notice of the commencement of hostilities to any ships-of-war or merchantmen he could fall in with.

The Thisbe had touched at Rio to obtain water and provisions, and had since made the best of her way eastward.

Little did Sir Ralph suppose when he had got Headland appointed to a ship destined for this service, that he was going to a part of the world in which he was so much interested.

Headland, as soon as he had opened the orders, determined, as far as was compatible with his duty, to visit every English settlement, and to make inquiries which might tend to elucidate the mystery of his birth. Although upwards of twenty years had passed since he had been put on board the merchantman by his supposed father, the circumstance, he thought, might still be recollected by some of the inhabitants, and if so, he might be able to trace his parents. His heart beat high with hope; Harry was sanguine of success.

“I am sure if you can find your parents you will have no more cause to be ashamed of them than they will have of you,” he said, “and find them you will, I am very certain. I cannot help feeling that we were providentially sent out to these seas for that very object.”

“At all events, we may make use of the opportunity to obtain it,” said Headland, smiling.

Harry had taken the first opportunity of speaking to the young fisherman who had volunteered from the lugger, and, ascertaining that he was no other than Jacob Halliburt, had treated him with all the kindness which, in their relative positions, he was able to show.

“Do your duty, Halliburt,” he said, “and I can answer for it that Captain Headland will endeavour to promote your interests, and give you a higher rating as soon as possible. I will write by the first chance, to give your friends notice of your safety, and you can do the same, and let them know what I have said.”

“I am much obliged to you for your kindness,” answered Jacob. “I knew, sir, when I saw you, that you must be Lieutenant Castleton who was at Texford, and I was thankful to think that I had to serve under you. If it had not been for that, I should have been heart-sick to return home to help poor father, for he must be sorely missing me.” Harry was able to assure Jacob that his father’s spirits were wonderfully kept up, and that he hoped Ned Brown would stick by him, and help him during his absence.

“And mother, sir, does she bear up as well as father?” asked Jacob. Harry, who had seen the dame just before he left home, was able to give a good account of her.

Jacob longed to ask after May, but he felt tongue-tied, and could not bring himself to pronounce her name. Harry was surprised at his silence. Jacob merely remarked that he hoped the family at Downside were also well.

“The ladies were sorry when they heard of your being carried off.”

“Thank you, Mr Castleton, thank you,” said Jacob. “I will try and do as you tell me, and though I could not have brought myself to leave father of my own accord, it may be my coming aboard here won’t be so bad for me after all.”

Harry was still under the belief that Jacob was May’s brother, and Jacob had said nothing to undeceive him. Jacob at the same time had not the slightest suspicion that his lieutenant was engaged to marry the being on whom his own honest affections were so hopelessly set.

It was observed by his messmates that Jacob Halliburt was a great favourite with the captain and first lieutenant, but as he was a well-behaved man, and did his duty thoroughly, this was easily accounted for, as no particular favour was shown him of which others could be jealous.

Harry would often gladly have talked with Jacob about Hurlston and his family, but the etiquette of a man of war prevented him from doing so. He thus remained in ignorance of a circumstance which would have greatly raised his hopes of overcoming his father’s objection to his marriage with May, for all the time he had supposed that Sir Ralph believed May to be, as he did, Dame Halliburt’s daughter, and had been surprised that he had not spoken more strongly on the subject. His only other supposition was that Sir Ralph had made no enquiries as to May’s parentage, and took it for granted that she was the orphan child of some friends of his cousins, whom they had charitably adopted.

The Thisbe continued her course day after day over the world of waters. Though a constant look-out had been kept, no prizes had been made, and no enemy’s cruisers encountered. Both the captain and officers hoped before long to find some work either to bring them credit or prize money.

Light and baffling winds had of late detained the Thisbe, when, having got somewhat out of her course, Saint Ann, one of the Seychelle Islands, was sighted. Captain Headland stood in for the Mahé Roads, in the hopes that some of the enemy’s privateers or merchantmen might be anchored there, and might be cut out without detaining him long.

The opportunity must not be lost. The wind favoured them, for, instead of blowing off-shore as it generally does, the sea-breeze carried them swiftly towards the harbour.

Eager eyes were on the look-out. A large ship was discovered at anchor without her foremast. From her appearance she would evidently be a prize worth taking; but whether or not she was too strongly armed to allow the Thisbe to make the attempt was the question. As she could not move, Captain Headland stood in close enough to ascertain this, and determined, should her size give him a fair hope of conquest, to attack her.

The cables were ranged with springs ready for anchoring, and the ship cleared for action. All on board eagerly hoped that they might have work to do, and every telescope was turned towards the stranger.

The Thisbe had hoisted French colours, that her expected antagonist might not take the alarm, and run on shore to avoid her.

It was at length ascertained that the stranger was a flush deck ship, and ten guns were counted on the only side visible. Though she was apparently larger than the Thisbe, and more heavily armed, Captain Headland no longer hesitated, while the master volunteered to take the ship in among the numerous shoals which guarded the entrance of the harbour. Taking his station on the fore-yardarm, guided by the colour of the water, he gave directions to the helmsman how to steer.

The stranger remained quietly at anchor, apparently not suspecting the character of her visitor.

Harry was amused, as he went from gun to gun, to hear the remarks of some of the men who saw the French flag flying at the peak of the corvette.

“I thought our craft was an English ship, and we British tars, and now I see we be turned into mounseers,” said one, cocking his eye at the tricoloured flag.

“If we be, my boy, we will show yonder ship that the mounseers can fight their guns as well as British tars for once in a way,” remarked another who stood near him.

“Never you fear, mate, that gay-coloured flag will come down fast enough before we open fire.”

The last speaker was right—the moment to which all were looking forward was approaching. Every man was at his station. Not a word was now spoken except by the master as he issued his orders from the yardarm.

The stranger gave no signs that she was aware of the approach of an enemy.

“We will run alongside and carry her by boarding; it will save our anchoring, and we shall not injure her spars—an important object, as I hope we may have to carry her off to sea,” observed the captain to his first lieutenant.

The Thisbe was now within 200 yards of the stranger’s bows, when the master gave notice that there was a shoal ahead extending on either hand, while on shore a battery was seen commanding the passage, and several smaller vessels at anchor under it.

Headland instantly gave the order to anchor. The crew swarmed aloft to hand sails, the French colours was hauled down, and the English run up at the peak. At the same moment the stranger opened a hot fire from the whole of her broadside.

“Fire,” cried Captain Headland, and the Thisbe returned the warm salute she had received.

The battery on shore and the small vessels at the same time began peppering away at her.

Broadsides were exchanged with great rapidity between the combatants. The firing calming the light wind which had been blowing, the two ships were soon shrouded in a canopy of smoke. The English crew redoubled their efforts. Several had been struck, yet two only lay dead on her deck.

The Frenchman’s fire, however, at length began to slacken, and in little more than a quarter of an hour down came the tricoloured flag, loud cheers bursting from the throats of the Thisbe’s crew. A boat was instantly sent under the command of the second lieutenant to take possession of the prize, but as he was pulling alongside the Frenchmen were seen lowering their boats, in which a considerable number made their escape to the shore.

The battery continued firing, and Captain Headland directed Harry to land with a boat’s crew and silence it. Jacob accompanied him. The smaller vessels meantime cut their cables, some running on shore, and others endeavouring to make their escape through the intricate passages, where the English ship could not follow them.

Harry, ordering his men to give way, pulled rapidly for the beach, exposed to a hot fire of musketry in addition to that from the heavy guns in the battery. Forming his men, he led the way up the steep bank.

The battery had been rapidly thrown up, and offered no insuperable impediment. Sword in hand he leaped over the parapet, followed closely by Jacob and the rest of his men.

At the same moment a bullet struck him on the shoulder, and a tall French officer, supported by a party of his men, was on the point of cutting him down as he fell forward, when Jacob, with uplifted cutlass, saved him from the blow, returning it with such interest that his assailant fell back wounded among his men.

At this juncture a number of the French who had landed from the ship entered the fort to assist its defenders, and attacked the small party of English who had accompanied Harry. Jacob threw himself across the body of his lieutenant, and defended him bravely from the attacks of the French, who attempted to bayonet him as he lay on the ground. The remainder of the boat’s crew springing over the entrenchments now came to Jacob’s support. The garrison fought bravely, and disputed every inch of ground. Jacob’s great object, however, was to protect Harry, and as soon as the Frenchmen had given way, springing back, he lifted Harry on his shoulders, and leaping over the entrenchments, carried him down to the boat.

In the meantime, Headland suspecting that the fort was stronger than he had at first supposed, despatched another boat to Harry’s assistance. The men sent in her landed just as a party of Frenchmen had come round the hill, and were on the point of intercepting Jacob, who was hurrying down with his burden, regardless of the shot whistling by him.

The Frenchmen on seeing this took to flight, while the last party of English climbing the hill threw themselves into the fort, and quickly cleared it of its defenders. The French flag was hauled down by the young midshipman who had led the second party, and that of England hoisted in its stead.

No further opposition was made, the French seeking shelter in the neighbouring woods, where they were not likely to be followed. A few had been cut down while defending the fort, while others, unable to make their escape, were taken prisoners.

The fort was found to contain six guns landed from the ship, as also a furnace for heating shot.

As soon as the Frenchmen had disappeared, one of the boats was sent back with the wounded lieutenant, and two of the men who had also been hurt.

Jacob carried Harry up the side, evidently considering that it was his duty to attend on him till he had placed him in the surgeon’s hands.

No time was lost in getting the captured vessel ready for sea, while the guns belonging to her, which had been in the fort, were brought on board. A new mast was found on the beach, ready to be towed off. It was soon got on board and stepped, and in a couple of days the Concord, a fine new sloop of 22 guns, was following the Thisbe out of the roads.

The command had of necessity been given to Lieutenant De Vere, as Harry was unable to assume it.

The surgeon looked grave when he spoke to the captain about him.

“We must keep a careful watch over him, for he has a good deal of fever, and in these warm latitudes it is somewhat a serious matter.”

Harry had expressed a wish to have Jacob Halliburt to attend on him, and as it was necessary that some one should be constantly at his side, Jacob was appointed to that duty.

It would have been impossible to have found a more tender nurse, and no one could have attended more carefully to the directions given by the surgeon.

The fever the surgeon dreaded, however, came on, and for several days Harry was delirious. Often the name of “May” was on his lips, and Jacob, as he listened, discovered that his lieutenant loved her.

Several days went by, and Harry appeared to get worse. On his return to consciousness he felt how completely his strength had deserted him, and though the doctor tried to keep up his spirits by telling him that he would get better in time, so great was his weakness that he felt himself to be dying. He was anxious not to alarm his friend Headland; but as Jacob stood by his bedside, he told him what he believed would be the case.

“And I hope, my good fellow, that you will be able to return to your home, and if you do, I wish you to bear a message to your father and mother, and to your sister. I know that she no longer lives with them, and has become fit to occupy a different station in life; but you, I doubt not, love her notwithstanding as much as ever. Tell your parents how much I esteem them, and say to your sister that my love is unchangeable, that my dying thoughts were of her, my last prayers for her welfare. I have done what I could to secure it, and have left her all the property I possess. Mr Shallard, the lawyer at Morbury, will enable her to obtain possession of it.”

“Miss May my sister!” exclaimed Jacob in a tone which aroused Harry’s attention. “I will tell her what you say, sir, if my eyes are ever blessed by seeing her again, but she is not father and mother’s child. Father found her on board a wreck when she was a little child, and though she is now a grown young lady, she does not mind still calling them as she did when she lived with us, and that’s made you fancy she is their daughter.”

This answer of Jacob’s had a wonderful effect on Harry. He asked question after question, entirely forgetting the weakness of which he had been complaining. Jacob gave him a full account of the way May had been preserved, how she had been brought up by his parents, and how the Miss Pembertons had invited her to come and live with them.

At length the doctor coming into the cabin put an end to the conversation.

From that moment Harry began to recover. It seemed to him at once that the great difficulty which he had dreaded was removed, and, ready as he had been to marry May although she was a fisherman’s daughter, he was not the less gratified to hear that she was in all probability of gentle birth although her parents were unknown. How he had not learned this before surprised him. He could only, as was really the case, fancy that the Miss Pembertons and May herself supposed him to be aware of the truth, and had therefore not alluded to it. He thought over all his conversations with May; he recollected that they had generally spoken of the future rather than of the past, by which alone he could account for her silence on the subject.

“How remarkable it is,” he thought, “that my beloved May and Headland should be placed in precisely similar situations, both ignorant of their parents, and yet enjoying the position in life in which they were evidently born.”

Headland was as much surprised as his friend when he heard the account Harry gave him.

“It must indeed be satisfactory news to you, Harry, and I am grateful to young Halliburt for giving it you, as it is the physic you wanted, and has done more than all the doctor’s tonics in bringing you round.”

Harry, indeed, after this rapidly got well, and before the ship with her prize arrived in Calcutta, he was able to return to his duty.

Chapter Forty Four.

A Chase.

The active little Thisbe had been for some time at sea, and had already performed her duty of giving notice of the recommencement of hostilities at the different stations, and to the men-of-war and merchantmen she met with.

Her captain, aided by Harry, had made all the enquiries he could relating to the circumstance in which he was so deeply interested, but without any satisfactory result.

Harry had heard in Calcutta of his uncle, Mr Ranald Castleton, who had gone to Penang soon after its establishment as the seat of government of the British possessions in the Straits of Malacca. He had, however, sailed for England some years before, during the previous war, and the ship had, it was supposed, either been lost or captured by the enemy, as she had not afterwards been heard of. Those who had known him were either dead or had returned home, and Harry could obtain no certain information, except the fact that he had had a wife and children, but that they were supposed to have perished with him.

Still neither Harry nor Headland gave up hopes of gaining the information they wished for.

Harry had, as he promised, kept his eye on Jacob, who, greatly to his satisfaction, had been made a petty officer. As he was becoming a thorough seaman, and read and wrote better than most of the men in the ship, the captain promised, should a vacancy occur, to give him an acting warrant as boatswain or gunner.

The Thisbe had been more than a year on the station. Harry had received no letters from home. How he longed to hear from May and Julia. He thought that both would certainly have written. His mother, too, ought not to have forgotten him; but in those days, when no regular post was established, letters were frequently a long time on their way. He had written several times to Julia, and not less often, as may be supposed, to May. He had enclosed his letters to her to the Miss Pembertons. He suspected she would wish him to do so, and also that they would have a better prospect of reaching her. He told her the satisfaction he felt at discovering that she was not, as he had supposed, Adam Halliburt’s daughter, but in all probability his equal in birth, and that thus the great obstacle in obtaining his father’s sanction to his marriage no longer existed.

He sent messages to Adam and the dame, assuring them that he would look after Jacob’s interests, and he enclosed at different times letters from Jacob himself to his father and mother. Jacob’s letters chiefly contained praises of Lieutenant Castleton and his captain. Though for his father’s sake he regretted having been forced from his home, he was well content with his life, and spoke with enthusiasm of the strange countries and people he had visited, and of his prospects of advancement in the service.

The Thisbe had once more got free of the Straits of Malacca.

Having run down the coast of Sumatra, and touched at Bencoolen, was standing across the Indian Ocean, when towards sunset a large ship was descried from the mast-head, to the south-west. At the distance she was away it was impossible to say whether she was an enemy or friend, whether ship-of-war or merchantman. At all events the captain determined to overhaul her, and made all sail in chase. The great point was to get near enough to keep her in sight during the night, so as to follow her should she alter her course. When the sun went down she was still standing as at first seen, and had not apparently discovered that she was chased.

The night was clear, the sea smooth, and the graceful corvette, with all sail set below and aloft, made good way through the water, and was fast coming up with the chase. The captain’s intention, however, was not to approach too near till daylight, for should she prove an enemy’s man-of-war of much superior force, the Thisbe would have to trust to her heels to keep out of her way, though should she be of a size which he might without undue rashness attack, the captain’s intention was to bring her to action, well knowing that he would be ably supported by his officers and crew.

But few of the watch below turned in, every spyglass on board being turned towards the chase. There were various opinions as to her character, some believing her to be a man-of-war, others a French or Dutch merchantman, and from the course she was steering it was believed she had come through the Straits of Sunda. The dawn of day which might settle the question was anxiously looked for.

At length a ruddy glow appeared in the eastern horizon, gradually extending over the sky, and suffusing a wide expanse of the calm ocean with a bright pink hue, and tinging the loftier sails of the stranger, while to the west the surface of the water still remained of a dark purple tint.

“She has hoisted English colours,” exclaimed Harry, who had his glass fixed on the chase.

A general exclamation of disappointment escaped those who heard him.

“That is no proof that she is English,” observed the captain. “The cut of her sails is English, and though she is a large ship, she is no man-of-war, of that I am certain. We will speak her at all events, and settle the point.”

The stranger was seen to be making all sail; royals were set, and studding sails rigged out, but in a slow way, which confirmed Headland’s opinion of her being a merchantman. This showed that her commander had no inclination to await the coming up of the corvette, of whose nationality, however, he might have had doubts.

Although the chase had now every sail set she could carry, the corvette still gained on her.

“Those heavy tea-chests require a strong breeze to drive them through the water,” observed the master to Harry. “I rather think, too, we shall have one before long. I don’t quite like the look of the sky, and we are not far off the hurricane season.”

The crew were piped for breakfast, and the officers who could be spared from the deck went below. De Vere had been attacked by fever at Bencoolen, and was in his cabin. The master remained in charge of the deck.

Breakfast was hurried over.

When Harry and the captain returned on deck a marked change had taken place in the weather. Dark clouds were gathering in the northern horizon, and fitful gusts of wind came sweeping over the ocean, stirring up its hitherto calm surface, and sending the spoon-drift flying rapidly over it. Still the chase kept her canvas set, having altered her course more to the southward.

“They hope that we shall get the wind first, and be compelled to shorten sail, and that she will thus have a better chance of again getting ahead of us,” observed the master.

Still the corvette carried on. The captain had his eye to windward, however, prepared to give the order to shorten sail. She had come up fast with the chase, which she at length got within range of her guns. A bow-chaser was run out, and a shot fired. The stranger paid no attention to it. A few more minutes were allowed to elapse, when another shot was fired with the same result as at first. On this Headland ordered the English flag to be hauled down, and that of France substituted. No sooner was this done than the stranger, hauling down the red ensign, hoisted the tricoloured flag.

“I thought so,” exclaimed Headland, “shorten sail.”

The studding sails were rigged in, the royals handed. Again the British flag was hoisted instead of that of France, and a shot fired. On this the stranger took in her studding sails and loftier canvas, and, as the Thisbe ranged up alongside, fired a broadside.

The Thisbe’s crew returned it with interest, and before the enemy could again fire they delivered a second broadside, which cut away some of her standing and running rigging, and caused other damage. The stranger again fired, but after receiving a few more broadsides, evidently finding that she had no hope of escaping from her active antagonist, she hauled down her colours.

The wind had during the action been increasing, and the sea getting up, it was necessary to take possession of her without delay, as unless her canvas was speedily reduced, in all probability her masts would be carried over the side.

Harry volunteered to go on board, and a boat being lowered, accompanied by Jacob and seven other men, he pulled alongside.

He had just gained her deck, and was receiving the sword of the officer in command, when the gale which had long been threatening struck the two ships. The Thisbe’s crew having secured their guns were swarming aloft to take in her canvas.

The deck of the prize presented a scene of the greatest confusion. Several of her men lay dead, some were endeavouring to secure the guns, a few had gone aloft to take in sail, but the greater number were running about not knowing what to do. Harry ordered his men to let go everything. The topgallant-sails, which were still set, were in an instant torn into ribbons, the foretopsail was blown out of the bolt ropes, and the mizzen-mast, which had been wounded, was carried over the side, and the prize lay a helpless wreck amid the raging seas which threatened every instant her destruction.

Chapter Forty Five.

A Reverse.

We must return to Texford. Julia had kept to her resolution of not going up to London.

She had soon a reason for remaining in the country, which even her father could not oppose. Algernon had joined a volunteer regiment formed in the country, and the exposure to which he was subjected rapidly tended to increase the pulmonary complaint from which he had long suffered. He was soon confined almost entirely to the house, except when the weather allowed him to be drawn about the grounds in a wheel-chair.

Julia watched over him with the most affectionate solicitude, and all that medical skill could accomplish was done to arrest the fatal malady, but in vain.

Lady Castleton came back from London to assist in watching over him, and she was soon, with a breaking heart, compelled to write to Sir Ralph to tell him that she feared that their eldest son’s days were rapidly drawing to a close. He thought that she was over anxious, and he, absorbed as usual in politics, delayed his journey.

Algernon still retained the pride of the family which had always animated him, and though aware of the fatal character of the complaint from which he was suffering, he was as anxious as ever to prevent his sister from contracting a marriage with a man of unknown birth like Headland.

He had desired to be wheeled out to a sunny spot where he could enjoy a view of the lake. Having sent the servant away to the other side to gather water-lilies, he broached the subject to Julia. He could not, however, have chosen a more inappropriate locality, for it was here that Headland had first declared his love, and she had accepted him.

“My dear sister,” he began, “I may or may not recover from this complaint, but, at all events, it would be a great satisfaction to me to know that you had given up all ideas of marrying Captain Headland. It was a most unfortunate thought of Harry’s to invite him here. Though he may be a very fine fellow, our brother ought to have known that a man of his birth could not be welcome at Texford, and I must say it would have been wiser in you had you inquired who he was before you allowed your fancy to be captivated by him.”

A fit of coughing prevented Algernon from continuing his remarks.

Julia felt deeply grieved. She was afraid of irritating him by replying as her feelings prompted.

“My dear brother,” she answered, “we will not discuss the subject, but believe me I will endeavour to seek for guidance, and trust that I shall be led aright in the matter.”

“But what you think right our father and I may consider very wrong,” exclaimed Algernon, petulantly. “You ought to promise to discard the fellow at once when you know how we object to your marrying him.”

“I have promised our father not to marry Captain Headland without his sanction, and let me entreat you to rest satisfied with that,” answered Julia, looking out anxiously for the return of the servant.

“But I want to be satisfied that you never will marry him,” exclaimed Algernon. “It is still more important, as Harry has taken it into his head to fall in love with this pretty little protégé of our cousins, and he is such a determined fellow that I should not be surprised if he marries her notwithstanding all opposition.”

“I am not surprised that Harry should have fallen in love with her, for she is a lovely girl, and every time I have seen her I have admired her more and more: her love and devotion to our poor cousins is most admirable; but still even she would not consent to marry Harry without our father’s permission, and would not, I think, act in direct opposition to our parents.”

“Whether he does or does not, that will not alter your position with regard to Headland,” said Algernon, returning to the subject from which Julia had hoped to escape. “Harry would raise his wife to his own station; you will be lowered by marrying a man like Headland.”

“That is impossible,” exclaimed Julia, indignantly. “I should be raised to the station which he has gained by his courage and gallantry; no lady in the land could be degraded by marrying him. I did not wish to say this to you, Algernon,” she added, seeing the flush of anger rising on his pale brow.

“I see how it will be,” he said, after he had recovered from another fit of coughing, “you will prove as obstinate as Harry.”

Fortunately the servant returned with the flowers, which the poor invalid let drop by his side after looking at them for a moment. Julia signed to the man to wheel her brother home, for she felt very anxious at the change she had observed since they left the house. He with difficulty reached his room, but never again left it.

Julia, who, since Harry went away, had frequently ridden over to Downside, wrote to Miss Jane, sending the carriage, and asking her to come to Texford. Notwithstanding the neglect with which she and her sister had been treated, sympathising with Julia and Lady Castleton in their grief, she immediately complied. She did her utmost to comfort her cousins, while she faithfully delivered the Gospel message to poor Algernon, wondering that he should be so utterly ignorant of its tenor and object.

Lady Castleton again wrote to Sir Ralph, but when he arrived Algernon had ceased to breathe.

Miss Jane had returned to Downside in the morning. Brave as she was, she did not wish to encounter Sir Ralph. Sir Ralph exhibited no overwhelming grief at the loss of his eldest son; his thoughts seemed immediately to centre on Harry.

“We must write and have him home at once,” he said to Lady Castleton. “I will get him into parliament, and with his nautical experience, he will be able to make a figure on all naval matters, and if he follows my advice, he must inevitably become a leading man. I hope he will have got over his foolish fancy for that pretty girl at our cousins. He must be kept out of her way, and we must take care that he does not come to Texford. You and Julia must do your best to amuse him in London as soon as he arrives. I have written to Fancourt, and he will arrange about his coming home at the Admiralty.”

Julia was still able to remain at Texford after Algernon’s death, as neither she nor her mother could mix in London society. Feeling sure that Harry would prove restive, and not willingly enter into his father’s plans, she did not look forward to his arrival with the satisfaction she might otherwise have done. In her heart she could not wish him to give up May, whom she herself already loved with the affection of a sister.

She had one day ridden over to Downside soon after Algernon’s death, when, the post arriving, a letter was put into Miss Jane’s hands. As she read it, the expression of her countenance changed; it first appeared as if she was about to give way to tears, and then assumed a firm and determined look.

“I must not conceal the contents of this letter from you, Julia, nor can I from Mary and May.”

May, turning pale, gazed anxiously at Miss Jane; the thought that the letter had reference to Harry crossed her mind. She gasped for breath.

“What is it, Jane?” asked Miss Mary, in a calm tone. “From whom is the letter?”

“From Mr Shallard; he writes that the M— bank, in which most of our property is invested, has failed, and he fears that but a small portion will be saved.”

“Oh, how terrible,” exclaimed Julia.

“Not terrible, dear Julia,” said Miss Mary, “though trying. I grieve for others more than for ourselves,” and she turned her sightless orbs towards May. “It will be very sad to have to give up Downside; and oh, dear May, it is sadder still to think that you will be so ill provided for.”

“Oh, do not grieve for me, dear ladies,” exclaimed May, going to Miss Mary’s side, and taking her hand. “Perhaps you will not be compelled to leave Downside. I will work for you with heart and hand; if you have to dismiss your servants, I will serve you instead. I can attend to the house, and to the garden too; surely you will then be able to live on here.”

“My dear, dear child,” exclaimed Miss Mary, “I am sure you will do all you can, but you would soon overtax your strength. We must take time to consider what may be necessary to do.”

“I am sure our dear May will not fail us. As you say, Mary, we must take time to consider, and, at all events, we must be resigned to God’s will,” said Miss Jane.

“Oh, how I wish that I could help you,” exclaimed Julia. “Surely papa will be ready to assist you, his nearest relatives, and I am confident that mamma will gladly do so.”

“We feel grateful to you, Julia, for your sympathy, but we must not expect assistance from others. Mr Shallard says that our property is not entirely gone. As I am thankful to say that we have lived within our income, we may have enough to support us in our old age, without relying on charity,” answered Miss Jane, with a slight tinge of pride in the tone of her voice.

Julia was at length compelled to return to Texford. She was struck with the appearance of cheerfulness which May maintained, while she did everything she could think of to cheer the spirits of her friends.

On her return home, Julia told her mother what had occurred.

“I fear that Sir Ralph will not even offer to assist our cousins; however I will write to him, and suggest the propriety of his doing so.”

Her mother’s answer did not give Julia any strong hopes that she would be successful.

Lady Castleton herself drove over to condole with her cousins. They received her in their usual manner, and not till she introduced the subject did they speak of their loss.

“We are much obliged to you for your sympathy,” answered Miss Jane, “but we do not contemplate leaving Downside for the present. We have dismissed our servants with the exception of our faithful attendant, Susan, who insists on remaining, and though we may be occasionally pinched, it is only what our poorer neighbours constantly are, and we should be ashamed not to bear it as well as they do.”

“My good cousins, you are indeed wonderful women,” exclaimed Lady Castleton. “I suspect that had such a misfortune happened to us, we should have broken down completely.”

“You see we know in whom we trust, and He supports us,” remarked Miss Mary. “You would find the same support were you to seek it.”

Lady Castleton did not quite comprehend her cousin’s remark. Her heart, however, was softened by her son’s loss, and feeling compassion for her cousins, she frequently drove over to see them, and sent presents of fruit and vegetables, believing that she was thus affording them all the assistance in her power. It did not occur to her to limit her own expenses, and thus have the power of offering them more substantial aid. Julia, however, was anxious to do so, but her own allowance was small, and she found that she had saved so little that she was ashamed to offer it, especially as she doubted whether her cousins would accept the gift.

May carried out her intentions as far as she could. Miss Jane would not let her work as hard as she wished, and she herself and Susan attended to the household affairs, while they left May to take charge of Miss Mary.

May, with the numerous duties which now employed her time, was unable to get down as frequently as formerly to see Dame Halliburt and Adam, though the dame never passed Downside on her rounds without leaving a dish of fish for the ladies’ acceptance.

When May, at Miss Jane’s desire, expostulated with her, the good woman replied—

“Tell them it’s they do Adam and me a favour, and it’s no loss to us, for Adam generally catches more fish than we can sell, and if we were to send them a dish every day for the next hundred years, we could never repay them what we owe; so just beg them, with our respects, never to say another word about the matter.”

As may be supposed, this constant supply was really very welcome, and contributed to keep down Miss Jane’s weekly bills. Thus, although their means were greatly straitened, the ladies still hoped to pay the rent of their pretty cottage.

Their lives were spent in a daily routine of duty. Miss Jane visited the poor as she had been accustomed to do, although she had much less to give them than formerly, and May took her daily walks with Miss Mary, and read to her as much as usual, finding time notwithstanding for her other duties.

As soon as Sir Ralph returned to Texford, Lady Castleton and Julia spoke to him about their cousins’ loss of property, and expressed their wish that some means could be taken to increase their now very limited income. Sir Ralph listened to them with more attention than they had expected.

“You are both very kind and charitable ladies,” he remarked, in a tone they did not like. “I will ride over and call on our cousins.”

“Let me accompany you, papa,” said Julia. “I can take a stroll with May in the garden, while you are discussing business matters with the elder ladies.”

“I do not wish you to be on intimate terms with that young person,” answered Sir Ralph; “and as my visit will be on business, I must beg to be favoured with your company when I ride elsewhere.”

Julia felt grieved at her father’s reply.

Sir Ralph rode to Downside. Miss Jane received him with her usual frank and kind manner. She hoped that Algernon’s death might have softened his heart. He sat and talked for some time, addressing Jane and Miss Mary, but, except the formal bow which he gave on entering, not noticing May, though he now and then turned an involuntary glance at her—a tribute to her beauty.

At length he said—

“I must confess, my good cousins, I came over to have a little conversation on business, and if you will afford me your attention in private for a few minutes, I will explain my object.”

“We have no secrets from our dear May,” answered Miss Jane.

“That may be,” said the baronet, “but I wish to address myself to you alone.”

May rose as he spoke, and left the room.

“I have no doubt you have ample reasons for the regard you entertain for that young person,” he began in his most bland tone. “She may be very estimable, and her beauty is, I own, of a high order.”

“It is the least of her excellences, Sir Ralph,” observed Miss Jane, resolved to meet the baronet in his own style.

“That may be,” he answered, with a bow; “it is the quality, however, which has probably attracted my son Harry. You must be aware, my good cousins, however much he may fancy himself in love, I naturally object to his marrying a person of unknown birth and destitute of fortune. I objected when he was my second son, and since he has become my heir, I am doubly opposed to the match, as I wish him to marry a lady of rank and fortune who will contribute to his advancement in life. I am thus candid, that you may understand my motive for the offer I have come to make.”

“We are happy to listen to anything you may have to say, Sir Ralph,” answered Miss Jane, bowing, “though I cannot promise that we shall be ready to accept your offer.”

“You will at all events hear it before you decide, my good cousin. Not to keep you longer in suspense, I will at once place you in possession of my intentions. You have, I understand, lost a considerable amount of your property, which, if I am rightly informed, you had left by will to the young person of whom we have been speaking. Now, I am willing to make up your loss to you so that you may leave her as well provided for as you intended, on condition that she signs an agreement not to marry Harry, and to refuse ever again to see him. He is somewhat of a headstrong character, and it is the only security I can have that he will not on his return to England induce her to become his wife.”

“Is that the offer you have to make?” asked Miss Jane, in a tone of mingled surprise and anger. “I speak for myself and my sister. We certainly cannot accept it, and I am very certain that nothing would induce our dear May to sign such an agreement. She has already refused to marry Harry should you and Lady Castleton withhold your consent. She did so, confident of Harry’s love—in the belief that you would in time relent. But you might as well plunge a dagger in her breast as ask her to abandon the hope which now supports her of some day becoming his wife. I beg, therefore, that you will not expect us to make so cruel a proposal.”

“Very well, my good cousins. I must take other means of preventing Harry from marrying the girl, and you will lose the advantage I have offered,” answered the baronet.

“We at all events shall have the consciousness of having acted rightly,” observed Miss Jane.

Sir Ralph, who was courteous under all circumstances, rose as he spoke, and gracefully putting out his hand, bowed low and quitted the room.

“Abominable,” exclaimed Miss Jane, “he must have formed a strange opinion of us.”

“He holds, I fear, a low opinion of his fellow-creatures generally,” said Miss Mary, “and the sooner we try to forget what he has said, the better.”

The ladies agreed not to let May know of Sir Ralph’s insulting offer as they justly considered it. Miss Jane’s only fear was, that he might, under the belief that she would be induced to consent, make it to May herself. She determined to be on the watch to prevent him, if possible, from doing so.

He did not, however, again appear at Downside. The great event which occurred to break the monotony of their lives was the arrival of a packet from the East containing Harry’s enclosure to May. With what eagerness and delight she read it, what pleasure she felt in being able to give one from Jacob to the dame. May’s heart throbbed as she read Harry’s account of the capture of the French ship. Her woman’s heart was gratified too, when he told her how completely he had loved her for herself alone, and that he had only just discovered that she was not, as he had supposed, a fisherman’s daughter, but might some day be found to be as well-born as himself.

“I cannot help hoping that such will prove to be the case, and then the only bar to our happiness will be removed, dearest May,” he wrote. Other letters came describing the voyage of the Thisbe through the Indian Seas, and then month after month passed by and no more were received. The roses began to fade from May’s cheeks, even the Miss Pembertons became anxious. Neither had Julia nor any of his family heard from him.

Julia told them that Sir Ralph had obtained permission for Harry to return home, and that possibly being on his voyage he had thought it unnecessary to write; but this would not account for the long interval between his last letter and the time when he could have received the Admiralty’s orders.

Whenever Julia went to Downside, she had to give the same answer—“no news from Harry.”

Sir Ralph himself had become anxious, and made frequent visits to the Admiralty to hear whether his son had been heard of. The only information he could gain was that the Thisbe had been sent to the Indian Archipelago and had not returned to Calcutta.

At length news was received that she had arrived after encountering a terrific hurricane, and that she had captured a prize, in which one of her officers and several of her men had been lost.

“But the officer’s name,” asked Sir Ralph of the clerk who was giving him the information.

“I shall find it shortly, sir. Yes, as I feared, it is Lieutenant Castleton.” Sir Ralph staggered out of the Admiralty. At the door he encountered General Sampson.

“I have just come to enquire about my gallant friend, Captain Headland, and your boy Harry,” exclaimed the old soldier, taking the baronet’s hand. “Why, you look pale, Sir Ralph, what is the matter?”

“He has gone, lost in a hurricane,” answered Sir Ralph, with a groan. “I do not believe it; cannot be the case; he would swim through fifty hurricanes,” exclaimed the petulant old general. “The clerks here never have the rights of the story. Come back with me, we will have a look at the despatches. We manage things better at the War Office, I flatter myself.”

“The account was very circumstantial though,” said Sir Ralph, with a sigh. “I wish I could believe there was a mistake.”

“Of course there is a mistake, very sure of it. Come along, and we will soon set it to rights.”

The general dragged Sir Ralph back into the building. The clerk looked somewhat offended at the general’s address.

“I understand that you have told Sir Ralph Castleton that his son is lost. You should be more exact, sir, in the information you give. Just let me see the despatch.”

The clerk hesitated, on which the general desired his name to be taken in to the secretary. He was admitted, and the despatch placed in his hand. His countenance fell.

“Still I do not see that it is certain,” he observed. “The ship was not seen to go down, and if she had, some of the people may have been saved: people often are saved from sinking ships, and there is no proof positive that she did sink. Though the Thisbe may have been in danger, and I am sure if Captain Headland says she was, it must have been of no ordinary character, that is no reason that the prize might not have weathered the hurricane. He speaks of her, I see, as a recapture, and in all probability an Indiaman, and those hulking tea-chests will float when a man-of-war will go down.”

“I trust, general, you are right,” observed the secretary: “I will not fail to inform Sir Ralph directly we receive further information.”

Notwithstanding all the general had said, Sir Ralph felt so greatly dispirited, that, writing to Lady Castleton, he gave her no hopes of Harry’s having escaped.

Unable to speak, she placed the letter in her daughter’s hands. As Julia’s glance fell on the name of the Thisbe, and the words “all the people are lost,” a sickening sensation came over, and her eyes refused to convey to her mind the meaning of the letter. It was dropping from her trembling hands when, by a great effort, she recovered herself, and at length was able to decipher the writing. She read on. The Thisbe and Headland were safe. Poor Harry was lost. She blamed herself for selfishly feeling that this was a relief. Then May, crushed by the agony of her grief, rose before her.

“This blow, sweet creature, will break her heart,” she thought.

“Oh, mother, this is very very sad,” she said aloud, “can it be true?”

“Your father speaks as if he had no hopes; he would have expressed himself differently had he entertained any.”

“Mother, I must go and break this sad news to our cousins and that poor girl; it might kill her were she to hear of it suddenly.”

“Grief never kills in that way, though it may by slow degrees,” said Lady Castleton, with a deep sigh. “It will, however, be kind in you to do as you propose; will you drive or ride over to Downside?”

Julia determined to ride; the air and exercise would nerve her for the trying interview.

Why had not Headland written though? probably he had been prevented by his professional duties.

Attended by the old coachman who generally accompanied her with one of the carriage horses, she reached Downside. May hurried out to meet her. Julia could scarcely restrain her agitation, or keep back her tears, as May, with an inquiring glance, led her into the drawing-room where Miss Mary and Miss Jane were seated.

“What has happened?” asked May, in an agitated voice, taking Julia’s hand, who sank into a chair.

“I will speak to cousin Jane first,” said Julia, as she rose. Unable longer to restrain her feelings, she threw her arms round May’s neck, and burst into tears.

“What has happened?” exclaimed May, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Oh tell me, has Harry been wounded? is he in danger?”

Julia’s sobs prevented her from replying. Miss Jane believing the worst, led May to the sofa as if she considered that Julia’s information most concerned her.

“We must all live prepared to say ‘thy will be done,’” said Miss Jane, seating herself by May’s side, and taking her in her arms.

The colour forsook May’s cheek, and she gazed at her with a glance that showed she was unable to comprehend what was said.

“Where is Harry? is he ill?” she gasped out.

Julia feeling that it would be best at once to speak, told May the contents of Sir Ralph’s letter.

“Let me see it,” she said at length.

Julia, who had brought it, put it into her hands.

“I cannot, I will not believe that he is lost,” she exclaimed; “your father himself is not certain. He will come back, I know he will, and he must never, never go to sea again. How cruel in those who have thus written to say that he is lost when they cannot know it;” and poor May laughed hysterically.

Julia forgot her own grief in attending to her. Miss Jane did her utmost to restore her to herself. She succeeded at length, and May was able to speak calmly of the contents of the letter. She even inspired Miss Jane with the hope that Harry and his ship had escaped destruction.

Julia rode back to Texford with her own mind greatly relieved. May had borne the intelligence much better than she had expected, and she trusted that her father had too readily believed the report of Harry’s loss. She resolved, at all events, not to credit it till she had heard directly from Captain Headland, and she fully believed that she should ere long receive intelligence from him, which would either contradict the report altogether, or strengthen their hopes that Harry, though he might have been in danger, had escaped.

Week after week went by and still no letter arrived from Headland. Julia frequently went over to Downside, and was surprised to find May so calm and cheerful, attending regularly to her various duties. She was paler, it is true, than usual—no longer was there the beaming smile on her countenance, nor did she ever give way to that joyous laugh which seldom failed to inspire those who heard it. Sometimes Julia was almost inclined to doubt whether May could be so much attached to her brother as she had supposed, but then if his name was mentioned there came an expression on her countenance which at once convinced her that the young girl loved him with a devotion as true as ever woman felt for man.

The report of Lieutenant Castleton’s death soon got abroad in the neighbourhood of Texford, and Dame Halliburt being among the first to hear it, feeling naturally anxious about Jacob, hastened up to Texford to ascertain its truth. She found Mr Groocock in his office. He could only assure her that nothing had been said about Jacob, that he knew Miss Julia entertained the idea that Mr Harry was still alive. Since Sam’s death she had become more anxious and nervous than was her wont, and she made up her mind that Jacob must have accompanied Mr Harry, and that if he was lost her son was lost also. She expressed her fears to others, though she endeavoured to restrain her feelings in the presence of May to avoid wounding her: for the same reason she appeared to be more cheerful than she really felt when talking to Adam, who, accustomed all his life to the dangers of the sea, did not allow himself to be influenced by the reports he heard, and declared that Jacob was just as likely to come back again safe and sound as ever.

Still it was generally believed among the Hurlston people that Lieutenant Castleton and Jacob Halliburt had been lost at sea, and sometimes it was reported that the Thisbe herself had gone down with her gallant commander, Captain Headland, and all hands.

Chapter Forty Six.

A French Professor.

Miles Gaffin had long been absent from Hurlston, though he still retained possession of the mill, which was kept going under charge of Dusty Dick. The lugger, however, had not again made her appearance, and it was supposed by some that she had been lost, but others asserted, and among them Adam Halliburt, that during the war time she had plenty to do in procuring information from France, as well as in carrying it to that country from England, for Jacob had told his father of the papers Gaffin had shown him, and Adam saw no reason why he should keep the matter secret. If such had been Gaffin’s occupation, it for some reason or other came to an end; probably both parties found that he could not be trusted, and he, to avoid being hung or shot as a spy, thought it wise to abandon it, and to betake himself once more to smuggling.

He again appeared one morning at his mill. No one knew whether he had arrived by land or by water. It might have been supposed from his manner, when some grist was brought to be ground, that he had never been absent.

“He will soon be at his old tricks again,” observed Adam, when he heard of his arrival. “He has come here for no good.”

The observation was repeated by the dame to Mr Groocock.

“I will tell you what it is, he won’t be here long at all events. His lease is up in a few months, and though the law won’t let us turn him out, it cannot compel us to keep him there longer than we like,” observed the steward. “He will cease at Michaelmas to be the tenant of Hurlston Mill, and if we cannot get a more honest man to take it, it will certainly be hard to find a greater rogue. I have never been quite satisfied in my mind that he had not something to do with the attack on Mr Harry.”

Gaffin soon made himself acquainted with all that had been going on in the neighbourhood. Harry’s supposed death which he heard as an undoubted fact, gave him great satisfaction.

“As there is no longer a rival in the case, my son may now have a better chance than formerly,” he said to himself. “I will write and get the fellow back; girls don’t wear the willow all their lives, and though she may mope and sigh for a time, she will be ready enough to take a presentable young fellow when he offers himself.”

Miles had been left in France, where he was among those who had been detained when the war broke out. His father, however, knew that he should have no difficulty in getting him back. Meantime, he found him useful in obtaining and transmitting information, though the young man ran no small risk. He had, in the meantime, in his own opinion, become a polished gentleman, with all the graces and airs of a Frenchman.

Gaffin accordingly wrote for his son to return, though a considerable time elapsed before he was able to get on board the lugger which had put in to receive him. At last, he one morning made his appearance at the mill. The lugger had not come empty, her cargo having been landed during the night, and stowed away in the vaults. It was not long before Gaffin found an opportunity for re-opening his favourite project. It was evident that he had private information relating to May, but of what nature even his son dared not ask, although his curiosity was more excited than his enterprise. Gaffin now spoke with the more vehemence, having been so long frustrated in his purpose, and he hinted that nothing must now be allowed to stand in his way. Young Miles was startled by his violent language, and felt the courage oozing out at his palms. He declared that he did not want to run the chance of putting his head in a noose for any girl alive, whatever her fortune, but his father’s taunts, as well as the glowing pictures which he drew, stimulated him to make another venture. The plan arranged by the smuggler and his son need not be described.

Young Miles appeared so completely changed in appearance and manners that there was little risk of his being recognised by the inhabitants of Hurlston.

The day after his interview with his father, a post-chaise which had come from the neighbouring town, drove up to the Texford Arms. A Frenchman descended from it. He stated that he was a Royalist who had been some little time in the country, and that he wished to take lodgings in the village, his object being to give instruction in French to the families in the neighbourhood. He was told that there were no lodgings, but that he could be accommodated at the inn. Saying that he wished to be quiet, he persisted in searching for them, and after many enquiries he found that Mrs Brown, whose son sailed as mate of the Nancy, could take him in. She had a neat little room looking out on the sea, with which he was perfectly satisfied, and at once had his portmanteau removed to it. His name he told her was Jules Malin. She was afraid he would not like her English cooking, but he assured her that he should be perfectly contented with anything she could provide, for that in making his escape from France he had been inured to so many hardships, he found himself in a perfect paradise in her quiet cottage.

He seemed somewhat disappointed on hearing that there were but few families in the neighbourhood likely to take advantage of his instruction. Some of the better class of farmers might wish their daughters to learn French. There was also, Mrs Brown said, a young lady at Downside who might be willing to take lessons, and possibly Miss Castleton, at Texford, might also become a pupil, although, having had a French governess she probably understood the language.

Monsieur Malin set out at once with a packet of cards and called on several of the farmers. His terms were very moderate, and they were glad of the opportunity of having their daughters instructed in French. Miss Castleton, at Texford, after speaking a short time to him, asked him whether he was not a German, and on his assuring her that he was not, she informed him that as she did not admire either his pronunciation or idiom, she could not recommend him as a master.

Not in anyway abashed, he made a low bow, and shortly afterwards appeared at Downside. Miss Jane received him very politely, and begging him to be seated in the dining-room, said she would take counsel with her sister on the subject.

“As May has never had the opportunity of speaking to French people, although she, I doubt not, understands French thoroughly, it will be a pity not to give her the advantage of receiving instruction,” she observed to Miss Mary.

May was grateful to her friends for their kind intentions, and was perfectly ready to take lessons. The young Frenchman seemed highly pleased, and was ready to begin at once.

Miss Jane was present. He behaved with great respect, though May was somewhat astonished the way he set about giving instruction, for he seemed to understand nothing about grammar, and she suspected that his pronunciation was far from correct.

“He may nevertheless be of assistance to you,” said Miss Jane, after he had gone, “and as I promised to let him come to-morrow, we will see how he then gets on.”

And so it came about that the audacious Miles again found himself in the presence of innocent May. He was so elated by the success of his first lesson that he could with difficulty maintain his assumed character, and more than once he inadvertently dropped the French accent and addressed his pupil in English. May’s suspicions were gradually aroused, and as he grew more familiar in tone she attentively examined his countenance. Suddenly recognition seemed to flash upon her, and rising quickly she darted out of the room.

“I have been and made a mess of it again,” he muttered to himself, “still I will try and calm the old lady if she says anything, and set matters to rights.”

Miss Jane was not so easily deceived. May told her her suspicions. She entered with a stern brow, and the sum she had promised to pay for the lessons in her hand.

“I do not enquire who you are, but I have to inform you that the young lady does not wish to receive further lessons, nor do we desire again to see you here,” she said, giving the money.

The pretended French master endeavoured to expostulate, but Miss Jane only pointed significantly to the door.

At last, finding that he was not listened to, he took his hat with an ill grace which further betrayed him, and hurried out of the house.

The next day he called intending to apologise, but Miss Jane refused to admit him.

“But will not Miss Halliburt see me just for one minute?” he asked, offering Susan half-a-guinea. “They don’t pay you very high wages here, I guess.”

“Take yourself off, Master Gaffin, and your money too,” exclaimed Susan, indignantly, putting her hands behind her back. “Do you fancy we don’t know you with all your pretended French airs and gibberish. Let me advise you not to show your face inside those gates again.”

Miles sneaked off without attempting to reply. Recovering his audacity on his return to his lodgings he for several days made attempts to see May, who, fearing to meet him out-of-doors, was kept a prisoner within the grounds.

Miles, foiled in his plan, determined to consult his father, but, not wishing to be seen near the mill in daylight, he took a stroll on the Downs, intending to make his way there at dusk.

He had gone some distance, when suddenly the tall figure of Mad Sal, rising as it seemed out of the earth, stood before him. He started back and would have hurried away, recollecting her appearance when he had assisted in the outrage on Jacob Halliburt.

Though others might not have recognised him, she, it was evident, did so, from the way she addressed him.

“What have you done with the hapless lad I saw you bear away over the salt sea, salt sea?” she exclaimed. “I have waited long, but in vain, for his return. Have you sent him wandering far from home and country, or is he fathoms deep beneath the salt sea, salt sea?”

“I don’t know of whom you speak, old dame,” answered Miles, mustering up his courage. “I am a stranger here, and know none of the people. You mistake me for some one else.”

“I take you for the son of the miller of Hurlston,” she exclaimed, laughing loudly. “Go and tell him that I have watched his doings. I know his goings out and his comings in, and ere long the ministers of justice will track him down, and consign him to the fate he so richly merits.”

“What have I to do with the miller of Hurlston? He would be a bold man who would speak to him in that way,” answered Miles, trembling with fear.

“It’s false, it’s false,” shouted the old woman. “You are even now on your way to him. I saw you leave his door not many nights ago, when you thought no one was near. Go, tell him to beware of the fate which will ere long overtake him. Go, I say, go,” and she waved her staff wildly round, compelling Miles to retreat before her. He, at last, having nothing with which to defend himself, and not daring to seize the staff whirled about his head, turned round and fled across the heath followed by the shouts and shrieks of the unhappy creature who seemed to triumph in his discomfiture. He did not stop till he got out of her sight, when sitting down to rest, he tried to recover himself before venturing to enter the mill.

Miles Gaffin listened to his son’s account with a contemptuous sneer on his lips. Another subject was at that moment occupying his thoughts. He had just received notice from Sir Ralph’s steward to quit the mill the day his lease expired.

“It is old Groocock’s doing,” he told his son. “Sir Ralph takes no charge of such matters, though I should expect no favour from his hands. We are old foes, and though he does not know me, I know him. I would be revenged on him, and I would burn Texford over his head without compunction, had I not good reason for preserving the place. Had you succeeded with Maiden May as she is called, the way would have been smoother. Fool as you are, you can keep counsel. Now listen. The Lively will be here again ere long with all her old crew, and a few other bold fellows we have picked up of late. We will make sharp work of it—first embark all the goods stored here, then with a strong hand push on to Texford, take my revenge on Sir Ralph and his chattering old steward, then set fire to the mill, and get on board the lugger before half-a-dozen men can collect to oppose us. I think I may trust you meantime with another piece of work. You shall have half-a-dozen fellows, and you can surround Downside, and may bring on board either of the ladies you like. As the girl is supposed to be hard-hearted, you may secure one of the old ones; I leave that to you.”

“Trust me for the one I’ll lay my hands on,” answered Miles. “If you will give me the men, you may depend that I will not let her slip this time.”

“Well, I think you have got sense enough to do that, and the Lively will not be here many hours before our plan has been carried out, and we are away from Hurlston.”

Chapter Forty Seven.

A Warning Voice.

Poor Maiden May, as her loving friends still delighted to call her, waited day after day, anxious at not receiving a contradiction of the report of Harry’s loss. True it is that “hope deferred maketh the heart-sick;” her cheeks lost their bloom, her step its elastic tread; still she performed her wonted duties, her voice was as melodious as ever when she read to Miss Mary, and she endeavoured, as she led her about, to speak with cheerfulness, and to describe, as she used to do when a young girl, the progress of the vegetation in the garden, the fresh flowers blooming, and the birds and insects as they flitted about among the trees and bushes. How eagerly she looked out for the arrival of the postman at his accustomed hour of passing the house, and her heart sank with disappointment as day after day he went by with no letter for Downside.

Julia, too, surrounded by the luxuries of Texford, was not less to be pitied than May. She, too, was waiting in expectation of receiving a letter, and no letter came. Sir Ralph was angry at her objecting to come up to London, and he informed her that he intended inviting several gentlemen of fortune and position to the Hall, adding, “now understand, Julia, should you receive an offer of which I approve, I must insist on your accepting it. I am resolved never to sanction your marriage with the man who so presumptuously aspired to your hand, and as I shall take care to convince him of this, he will abandon any hopes he may have entertained. As, in consequence of the death of your poor brother, the baronetcy will cease to exist, I am doubly anxious to see Texford possessed by a man of family, who will take our name, and be able, from his wealth, to obtain the title.”

Still Julia did not despair. She felt that no one was more worthy to become the possessor of Texford than Headland, or was more likely, from his merits, to win the title her father wished his son-in-law to obtain.

One morning May saw the postman approaching to put a letter into her hand; it bore only an English postmark, and was addressed to Miss Pemberton. It was from Mr Shallard. He hoped to have the honour of calling on the ladies the following day on a matter of business connected with their ward, as he might venture to call her. They wondered, naturally, what he could have to communicate; it could scarcely be that he had made any discovery regarding her birth, he would have said so had such been the case.

May tried to overcome any curiosity she might have felt, indeed one subject only could interest her. Was he likely to bring her tidings of Harry?

He came at the appointed hour.

“I fear that the matter which has brought me here must prove painful to that young lady,” and he bowed to May, “and, at the same time, to those who have her interest at heart, it cannot fail, in other respects, to be gratifying. Before Lieutenant Castleton went abroad he executed a will, in which he left the whole of his property in trust to you two ladies and myself for the benefit of that young lady, whom I have been very careful to designate in a way which may preclude any mistake, though from the rough notes he drew up, I found that he was under the idea that she was the daughter of Adam and Betsy Halliburt. As Sir Ralph is convinced of the death of his son, I have proved the will, and as the money is invested in the Funds, your signatures only are required to obtain the dividends, when the amount, which I calculate to be about 500 a year, including that arising from the Texford property, will be paid over.”

“Oh, he is not dead, I cannot receive it,” cried May, in a tone of grief which went to her hearers’ hearts, as, hiding her face in her hands, she sank back in her chair, and would have fallen, had not Miss Jane and the lawyer sprung to her assistance.

“I deeply grieve to have wounded your feelings,” said Mr Shallard.

“Oh, do not tell me he is dead, do not,” cried May again.

“My dear young lady, had not his father been convinced of the fact, I should not have ventured to interfere in the matter. He, I trust, may have received wrong information, and I hope Lieutenant Castleton may really be alive, and that he may bestow his fortune on you in a far more satisfactory manner. I have only taken a precautionary step in case the will should be disputed.”

The lawyer knew enough of the female heart to be aware that his remarks were more likely to be beneficial to the interesting young girl than any expressions of condolence he could have uttered.

May looked up with a smile of hope.

“Yes, he will come back, I am sure he will. No one saw the ship go down.”

The lawyer, however, induced Miss Jane to accompany him to the dining-room, and to sign the necessary papers, observing—

“I trust the young gentleman may appear, but it is always right in these cases to be on the safe side. If he reappears, I am sure he will be much obliged to us for acting as he would have wished had he been lost.”

Miss Jane took the opportunity of mentioning to Mr Shallard the arrival of young Miles Gaffin in disguise at Hurlston. The lawyer listened to all she said.

“I will have the gentleman looked after,” he answered. “Information has been laid against the father, and he, in all probability, will be implicated. If it can be proved that he assisted in carrying off young Halliburt, we can lay hands on him at once. If his father gets an intimation of our intentions, we shall require a strong force, as he has a number of desperate fellows at his back, and would certainly protect his son, and endeavour to rescue him.”

“But if so, do you think that we here are safe from his atrocious designs. It never occurred to me before,” said Miss Jane, in some trepidation, as the idea entered her mind, “that he may possibly make some rash attempt upon this house. It is not easy to fathom his motives, but there must be something behind which we do not yet understand.”

“I cannot say that I think you are quite safe,” observed the lawyer. “If I have your authority for stating that you dread an attack from the smugglers, I will apply for a body of revenue officers to be sent to Hurlston, and as we have a body of sea-fencibles at Morbury, I will get my friend, Captain Shirley, to send over a few to support them. A ruffian, such as this Gaffin undoubtedly is, must no longer be allowed to continue his career if the law can lay hands on him.”

The arrangement Mr Shallard proposed greatly relieved Miss Jane’s mind. She had not mentioned her fears either to her sister or to May, and probably they weighed more on her mind on that account.

Mr Groocock had, in the meantime, received authority from Sir Ralph to use force in expelling Miles Gaffin from the mill should he refuse to give it up, and the steward had taken steps effectually to execute his orders. He also had applied for the assistance of the military to carry them out.

The day was approaching when Gaffin’s lease of the mill would terminate.

Mr Groocock thought he had kept his arrangements secret, or he would scarcely have ventured to ride about the country by himself.

Gaffin was now constantly at the mill, and the steward knowing the man’s desperate character, might justly have feared that he would revenge himself on his head. He was one evening returning home later than usual on his steady cob, when passing through a copse not far from the Texford gate, his horse pricked up its ears, and moved to the other side of the road, as if wishing to avoid an object it had discovered. Never since he bestrode it had it been guilty of shying.

“What is the matter, old steady?” he said, patting his steed’s neck.

Suddenly the question was answered by the appearance of mad Sal’s tall figure emerging from the copse.

“Old man,” she said, “I come to warn you that danger threatens your life. You are kind and generous to those in distress. You have cared for and pitied me while others mocked and scorned me, and refused the bread I asked. He who has turned me from his doors with curses and scorn when I asked a crust at his hands, is plotting the destruction of you and those you serve. He thinks that he has been unobserved, but I have dodged his footsteps when he knew not I was near. I have been within the walls of his abode when, had he discovered my presence, he would have strangled me without compunction. I tell you this, lest you think the poor mad creature, as people call her, is talking folly; but I charge you, as you value your own life, and the honour and the liberty of those you serve, to let the officers of justice lay hands on him before he has done the mischief he contemplates. I leave your master to his doom. From me he deserves no favour, but for his hapless wife and daughter I feel as woman feels for woman, as they, too, have lost him they love in the cruel salt sea, salt sea. Be warned, old man, be warned.”

Before even the steward could speak mad Sal had retreated within the shelter of the copse. He had, as she acknowledged, compassionated her forlorn condition, assisted her with food and money; indeed, through his means, and that of other charitable people in the neighbourhood, she had been enabled to exist. He was, therefore, convinced that she had not warned him without cause, though he wished that she had given him more exact information on which to proceed.

He hurried home determined to communicate with Mr Shallard the next morning, and to obtain a sufficient guard at once for Texford, in case Gaffin should really venture to attack it.

Each morning May rose with the hopes that a letter would come from Harry, and not till the postman had passed did her fond heart grow sick again with hope deferred.

The usual hour of his coming had arrived, and as she heard his step on the gravel walk she hastened out to meet him. He held a letter in his hand. It was directed to Miss Pemberton. She gazed at the handwriting.

“Yes, yes it is from him, he is alive,” she exclaimed, with an hysterical cry as she sprang up the steps, and flew into the drawing-room.

Fortunately Miss Jane made her appearance with the required sum to pay the postman.

“Read, read,” cried May, standing trembling in every limb as she gave the letter to Miss Jane, who, tearing it open, handed one to her, directed “to my beloved Maiden May.” Her eyes swimming with tears of joy, she could with difficulty decipher the words. Yet she saw that Harry was alive and well, and in England.

“He would be at Downside the next day, or in two days at furthest. He had met with many adventures. He knew that she must have been anxious at his not writing, but it had been impossible. He had been wrecked, and lived long on a desert island, and finally made his escape on board a slow sailing merchantman, which, after running many risks of capture, had safely reached England. What he considered the best news he had to communicate was the discovery not only of the person who would serve as the missing link by which his friend, Captain Headland, hoped to trace his father; but of that father himself, who was thoroughly prepared to acknowledge his friend as his long lost son. There is some mystery about him,” he added, “but he is so evidently a man of refinement and education, that I am sure there is nothing of which my friend will have cause to be ashamed; I suspect, indeed, that he is a man of title, or the heir to a title, which he, perhaps, may have reason to think will be disputed. I am delighted, too, to find that the Thisbe has been ordered home, and her arrival is every day looked for, so that I hope Headland’s long cherished wish will be accomplished, and he will find that he belongs to a family to which even my father cannot object. And I trust, too, dearest, that this happy event will soften my father’s heart, and that he will no longer object to our union.”

Much more Harry said to the same effect. May, indeed, had full reason to believe that he loved her as devotedly as ever.

Chapter Forty Eight.

Saved from the Wreck.

We must return to Harry and Jacob on board the prize. The young lieutenant well knew the dangerous position in which the ship, now under his command, was placed. All that he could then do was to keep her before the wind, and to try and take in the remainder of the canvas. Few of the Frenchmen seemed inclined to exert themselves, appearing utterly indifferent to their fate. Harry urged the French officer to induce his men to work, for their own sakes as well as his; but he shrugged his shoulders, and declared that he had lost all command over them.

On the ship flew, the hurricane every instant increasing in fury. The topgallant-masts were quickly carried away, and the canvas which had not been taken in was soon flying in shreds, which lashed themselves round and round the yards.

To clear away the wreck of the masts was no small danger. Jacob and two of his companions going aloft accomplished the task. A few of the French crew were shamed into assisting them.

The ship required all his energies and attention, and he had scarcely time to look round to see what had become of the Thisbe. When he did so, he could only just see her dimly far away astern. He knew, however, that if possible Headland would follow and endeavour to lend him the assistance he might require.

Harry now found that the prize was the Culloden, an English ship homeward-bound, which had been captured by a French privateer, and was on her way to the Mauritius. Her officers, with most of the English crew, had been removed on board the privateer.

There was no time, however, at present to visit the passengers who had been left, as all his attention was required on deck. He had at first hoped that the threatened gale would prove of an ordinary character, but it was soon evident that it was to prove a hurricane. Every moment it increased in fury, while the sea got up its white-crested billows, hissing and roaring on either side as the ship clove her way through them.

He had had no time to disarm the French crew, and he could not help fearing that they would rise on him, and retake the ship. As long, however, as the Thisbe was in sight they would not make the attempt.

Fortunately there were several Lascars who had before belonged to the ship, and they were more likely to side with him than with the French. The knowledge of this probably kept the latter in order.

Harry’s difficulties were increased by discovering that the Thisbe was no longer in sight. To bring the ship to the wind, and wait for her was impossible. His only chance of safety consisted in running before it.

The French officer was a young sub-lieutenant, evidently not much of a seaman. Harry pointed out the danger in which the ship was placed, and demanded his word not to attempt to retake her.

“If you give it I will trust you, and you shall be at liberty, but if not, I must be under the necessity of placing you in confinement,” he added.

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and replied, “that he would comply with the English officer’s request, though he could not be answerable for his men.”

“I will look after them,” said Harry, and, calling Jacob, told him to keep an eye on the French crew.

He sent for the Lascar boatswain, and obtained his assurance that he and his men would remain faithful to the English. This gave him rather more confidence.

The cabin-steward, who was among the English prisoners, came to announce that dinner was ready. Leaving two of his best men at the helm, and inviting the French officer to accompany him, Harry hurried into the cuddy to snatch a few mouthfuls of food.

The passengers, who were all civilians, crowded round him eagerly asking questions. They had kept below, afraid of the risk on deck from the spars or blocks falling from aloft. They expressed their satisfaction at the recapture of the ship, not appearing to be aware of the danger she was in. Harry, taking them aside, told them that he must depend upon their assistance should the French crew attempt to retake the ship.

“Very little chance of that,” was the answer.

“It is as well to be cautious, however,” he observed.

He was told that there was another passenger ill in his cabin, out of which he had not made his appearance for several days. Harry, however, unwilling to remain longer than was absolutely necessary from the deck, could not then visit him.

The Culloden drove before the hurricane which now blew from one quarter, now from another. Harry had no one on whom he could depend for keeping a correct reckoning. The binnacle had been knocked away, and the other compasses on board were out of order. It was impossible to ascertain in what direction the ship was driving. The Thisbe was nowhere to be seen. A leak was sprung, the pumps were manned, but the water gained on them. The French crew threatened to mutiny, and were with difficulty prevented from breaking into the spirit-room. By the strictest vigilance were they alone kept in order. The Lascars, however, who had belonged to the ship, remained faithful, and readily obeyed Harry’s commands. Day after day went by, the hurricane rather increased than lessened. The masts went by the board, and the Culloden remained a helpless wreck on the stormy ocean. The sea through which she was driving was but little known, but numberless dangers, many of them as uncertain, were marked in the chart. In spite of his anxieties, however, Harry kept up his spirits. He could venture to take but brief intervals of rest, but he could rely on Jacob who took his place when he was below. By great exertions a jury-mast was secured to the stump of the foremast, and a sail was set which kept the ship before the wind, and prevented her from being pooped. Still, should danger appear ahead, it would be insufficient to enable her to avoid it. Several days had passed, the gale had decreased, but the ship was still running on before it. The night was very dark, Harry was on deck. He hoped on the return of daylight to get an after jury-mast rigged, and to heave the ship too. All hands were at the pumps. By keeping them going alone, they well knew, could the ship be prevented from foundering. Suddenly there came a cry from forward of “Breakers ahead.” It was followed by a terrific crashing, rending sound. The next sea lifted the ship to strike with greater force. Several of the passengers who rushed from the cabin, and many of the terrified crew, were carried away by the following sea which swept with resistless force over the deck. Harry and Jacob, with the rest of the Englishmen, clung to the stauncheons and bulwarks, and escaped. The ship still drove on till she became firmly fixed in the rocks. Land could dimly be discerned over the starboard quarter at no great distance, but a foaming mass of water intervened. Some of the Frenchmen and Lascars on discovering it began to lower a boat. Harry in vain ordered them to desist. Before she had got a dozen yards from the ship, the boat and all in her were engulphed. No other boat remained. Still Harry hoped from the way the ship remained fixed that she would hold together should the sea go down, and that in the morning he might be able to establish a communication with the shore.

Finding that nothing more could be done on deck, he made his way to the cuddy to offer such consolation as he could to the passengers.

They thanked him for his exertions, aware that it was from no fault of his the ship had been wrecked.

He went to the cabin of the invalid gentleman. The occupant was sitting up dressed.

“What, wrecked again!” he exclaimed, as Harry appeared. “Is the death I have so often escaped about to overtake me at last?”

“I hope not,” answered Harry, and he expressed his expectation of being able to reach the shore in the morning.

“I ought to be grateful to you, sir, and will endeavour to feel so,” said the invalid. “But bereavements and numberless misfortunes have made me indifferent to life.”

On his return on deck, hoping that the island might be inhabited, Harry ordered a gun to be fired, and blue lights to be burned. As the latter blazed up they cast a lurid glare over the ship and the wild rocky shore, tinging the sheets of spray which still flew over the deck, though the wind had gone down and the sea had much subsided. For a considerable time no answer was returned to these signals. At length a light was seen, and presently a fire blazed up on a spot directly opposite the ship. Still it seemed impossible to carry a rope across the seething cauldron which intervened. Jacob volunteered to make the attempt. Harry, though unwilling to let him risk his life could not refuse his offer.

The fire threw sufficient light on the rocks to enable him to see his way. Fastening a line round his body he lowered himself down and made for the nearest rock. Now the sea appeared to be carrying him away, now he bravely breasted it, till at length the rock was gained. Next instant a sea washed over it, but he clung fast, and as soon as it had passed, he sprang forward and reached the next. Sometimes he was hidden altogether from sight, then again the glare of the blue light showed him still either tightly clinging to a rock, or making his way onwards.