Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II.

“Nor have you seen him, as I have, the nurse beside the sick-bed, so gentle, so thoughtful, – a very woman in tenderness; and all that after a day of labor that would have borne down the strongest and the stoutest. And who is he that takes the world in such good part, and thinks so hopefully of his fellow-men? The man of all his time who has been most betrayed, most cheated, whose trust has been most often abused, whose benefits have been oftenest paid back in ingratitude. It is possible enough he may not be the man to guide one to wealth and fortune; but to whatever condition of life he leads, of one thing I am certain, there will be no better teacher of the spirit and temper to enjoy it; there will be none who will grace any rank – the highest or the humblest – with a more manly dignity.”

“It was knowing all this of him,” said Cave, “that impelled me to associate myself with any enterprise he belonged to. I felt that if success were to be won by persistent industry and determination, his would do it, and that his noble character gave a guarantee for fair dealing better than all the parchments lawyers could engross.”

“From what I have seen of life, I ‘d not say that success attends such men as he is,” said Tom. “The world would be, perhaps, too good if it were so.”

Silence now fell upon the party, and the three men smoked on for some time without a word. At last Tom, rising from the bench where he had been seated, said, “Take my advice; keep to your soldiering, and have nothing to do with this concern here. You sail on Saturday next, and by Sunday evening, if you can forget that there is such an island as Sardinia, and such poor devils on it as ourselves, it will be all the better for you.”

“I am sorry to see you so depressed, Lendrick,” said Cave.

“I ‘m not so low as you suspect; but I’d be far lower if I thought that others were going to share our ill-fortunes.”

Though the speech had no direct reference to Trafford, it chanced that their eyes met as he spoke, and Trafford’s face flushed to a deep crimson as he felt the application of the words.

“Come here, Tom,” said he, passing his arm within Len-drick’s, and leading him off the terrace into a little copse of wild hollies at the foot of it. “Let me have one word with you.” They walked on some seconds without a word, and when Trafford spoke his voice trembled with agitation. “I don’t know,” muttered he, “if Sir Brook has told you of the change in my fortunes, – that I am passed over in the entail by my father, and am, so to say, a beggar.”

Lendrick nodded, but said nothing.

“I have got debts, too, which, if not paid by my family, will compel me to sell out, – has he told you this?”

“Yes; I think he said so.”

“Like the kind, good fellow he is,” continued Trafford, “he thinks he can do something with my people, – talk my father over, and induce my mother to take my side. I ‘m afraid I know them better, and that they ‘re not sorry to be rid of me at last. It is, however, just possible – I will not say more, but just possible – that he may succeed in making some sort of terms for me before they cut me off altogether. I have no claim whatever, for I have spent already the portion that should have come to me as a younger son. I must be frank with you, Tom. There ‘s no use in trying to make my case seem better than it is.” He paused, and appeared to expect that the other would say something; but Tom smoked on and made no sign whatever.

“And it comes to this,” said Trafford, drawing a long breath and making a mighty effort, “I shall either have some small pittance or other, – and small it must be, – or be regularly cleaned out without a shilling.”

A slight, very slight, motion of Tom’s shoulders showed that he had heard him.

“If the worst is to befall me,” said Traflford, with more energy than he had shown before, “I ‘ll no more be a burden to you than to any other of my friends. You shall hear little more of me; but if fortune is going to give me her last chance, will you give me one also?”

“What do you mean?” said Tom, curtly.

“I mean,” stammered out Trafford, whose color came and went with agitation as he spoke, – “I mean, shall I have your leave – that is, may I go over to Maddalena? – may I – O Tom,” burst he out at last, “you know well what hope my heart clings to.”

“If there was nothing but a question of money in the way,” broke in Tom, boldly, “I don’t see how beggars like ourselves could start very strong objections. That a man’s poverty should separate him from us would be a little too absurd; but there ‘s more than that in it. You have got into some scrape or other. I don’t want to force a confidence – I don’t want to hear about it. It’s enough for me that you are not a free man.”

“If I can satisfy you that this is not the case – ”

“It won’t do to satisfy me,” said Tom, with a strong emphasis on the last word.

“I mean, if I can show that nothing unworthy, nothing dishonorable, attaches to me.”

“I don’t suspect all that would suffice. It’s not a question of your integrity or your honor. It’s the simple matter whether when professing to care for one woman you made love to another?”

“If I can disprove that. It ‘s a long story – ”

“Then, for Heaven’s sake, don’t tell it to me.”

“Let me, at least, show that it is not fair to shun me.”

There was such a tone of sorrow in his voice as he spoke that Tom turned at once towards him, and said: “If you can make all this affair straight – I mean, if it be clear that there was no more in it than such a passing levity that better men than either of us have now and then fallen into – I don’t see why you may not come back with me.”

“Oh, Tom, if you really will let me!”

“Remember, however, you come at your own peril. I tell you frankly, if your explanation should fail to satisfy the one who has to hear it, it fails with me too, – do you understand me?”

“I think I do,” said Trafford, with dignity.

“It’s as well that we should make no mistake; and now you are free to accept my invitation or to refuse it. What do you say?”

“I say, yes. I go back with you.”

“I’ll go and see, then, if Cave will join us,” said Tom, turning hastily away, and very eager to conceal the agitation he was suffering, and of which he was heartily ashamed.

Cave accepted the project with delight, – he wanted to see the island, – but, more still, he wanted to see that Lucy Lendrick of whom Sir Brook had spoken so rapturously. “I suppose,” whispered he in Tom’s ear, “you know all about Trafford. You ‘ve heard that he has been cut out of the estate, and been left with nothing but his pay?”

Tom nodded assent.

“He’s not a fellow to sail under false colors, but he might still have some delicacy in telling about it – ”

“He has told me all,” said Tom, dryly.

“There was a scrape, too, – not very serious, I hope, – in Ireland.”

“He has told me of that also,” said Tom. “When shall you be ready? Will four o’clock suit you?”

“Perfectly.”

And they parted.

CHAPTER V. ON THE ISLAND

When, shortly after daybreak, the felucca rounded the point of the island, and stood in for the little bay of Maddalena, Lucy was roused from sleep by her maid with the tidings, “Give me the glass, quickly,” cried she, as she rushed to the window, and after one rapid glance, which showed her the little craft gayly decked with the flag of England, she threw herself upon her bed, and sobbed in very happiness. In truth, there was in the long previous day’s expectancy – in the conflict of her hope and fear – a tension that could only be relieved by tears.

How delightful it was to rally from that momentary gush of emotion, and feel so happy! To think so well of the world as to believe that all goes for the best in it, is a pleasant frame of mind to begin one’s day with; to feel that though we have suffered anxiety, and all the tortures of deferred hope, it was good for us to know that everything was happening better for us than we could have planned it for ourselves, and that positively it was not so much by events we had been persecuted as by our own impatient reading of them. Something of all these sensations passed through Lucy’s mind as she hurried here and there to prepare for her guests, stopping at intervals to look out towards the sea, and wonder how little way the felucca made, and how persistently she seemed to cling to the selfsame spot.

Nor was she altogether unjust in this. The breeze had died away at sunrise; and in the interval before the land-wind should spring up there was almost a dead calm.

“Is she moving at all?” cried Lucy, to one of the sailors who lounged on the rocks beneath the window.

The man thought not. They had kept their course too far from shore, and were becalmed in consequence.

How could they have done so? – surely sailors ought to have known better! and Tom, who was always boasting how he knew every current, and every eddy of wind, what was he about? It was a rude shock to that sweet optimism of a few moments back to have to own that here at least was something that might have been better.

“And what ought they to do, what can they do?” asked she, impatiently, of the sailor.

“Wait till towards noon, when the land-breeze freshens up, and beat.”

“Beat means, go back and forward, scarcely gaining a mile an hour?”