Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II.

The sailor smiled, and owned she was not far wrong.

“Which means that they may pass the day there,” cried she, fretfully.

“They’re not going to do it, anyhow,” said the man; “they are lowering a boat, and going to row ashore.”

“Oh, how much better! and how long will it take them?”

“Two hours, if they ‘re good rowers; three, or even four, if they ‘re not.”

“Come in and have a glass of wine,” said she; “and you shall look through the telescope, and tell me how they row, and who are in the boat, – I mean how many are in it.”

“What a fine glass! I can see them as if they were only a cable’s length off. There’s the Signorino Maso, your brother, at the bow oar; and then there’s a sailor, and another sailor; and there’s a signore, a large man, —per Bacco, he’s the size of three, – at the stroke; and an old man, with white hair, and a cap with gold lace round it, steering; he has bright buttons down his coat.”

“Never mind him. What of the large man, – is he young?”

“He pulls like a young fellow! There now, he has thrown off his coat, and is going at it in earnest! Ah, he’s no signore after all.”

“How no signore?” asked she, hastily.

“None but a sailor could row as he does! A man must be bred to it to handle an oar in that fashion.”

She took the glass impatiently from him, and tried to see the boat; but whether it was the unsteadiness of her hand, or that some dimness clouded her eyes, she could not catch the object, and turned away and left the room.

The land-wind freshened, and sent a strong sea against the boat, and it was not until late in the afternoon that the party landed, and, led by Tom, ascended the path to the cottage. At his loud shout of “Lucy,” she came to the door looking very happy indeed, but more agitated than she well liked. “My sister, Colonel Cave,” said Tom, as they came up; “and here’s an old acquaintance, Lucy; but he’s a major now. Sir Brook is away to England, and sent you all manner of loving messages.”

“I have been watching your progress since early morning,” said Lucy, “and, in truth, I scarcely thought you seemed to come nearer. It was a hard pull.”

“All Trafford’s fault,” said Tom, laughing; “he would do more than his share, and kept the boat always dead against her rudder.”

“That’s not the judgment one of our boatmen here passed on him,” said Lucy; “he said it must be a sailor, and no signore, who was at the stroke oar.”

“See what it is to have been educated at Eton,” said Cave, slyly; “and yet there are people assail our public schools!”

Thus chatting and laughing, they entered the cottage, and were soon seated at table at a most comfortable little dinner.

“I will say,” said Tom, in return for some compliment from the Colonel, “she is a capital housekeeper. I never had anything but limpets and sea-urchins to eat till she came, and now I feel like an alderman.”

“When men assign us the humble office of providing for them, I remark they are never chary of their compliments,” said Lucy, laughingly. “Master Tom is willing to praise my cookery, though he says nothing of my companionship.”

“It was such a brotherly speech,” chimed in Cave.

“Well, it’s jolly, certainly,” said Tom, as he leaned back in his chair, “to sit here with that noble sea-view at our feet, and those grand old cliffs over us.”

While Cave concurred, and strained his eyes to catch some object out seaward, Trafford, for almost the first time, found courage to address Lucy. He had asked something about whether she liked the island as well as that sweet cottage where first he saw her, and by this they were led to talk of that meeting, and of the long happy day they had passed at Holy Island.

“How I ‘d like to go back to it!” said Lucy, earnestly.

“To the time, or to the place? To which would you wish to go back?”

“To the Nest,” said Lucy, blushing slightly; “they were about the happiest days I ever knew, and dear papa was with us then.”

“And is it not possible that you may all meet together there one of these days? He’ll not remain at the Cape, will he?”

“I was forgetting that you knew him,” said she, warmly; “you met papa since I saw you last: he wrote about you, and told how kindly and tenderly you had nursed him on his voyage.”

“Oh, did he? Did he indeed speak of me?” cried Trafford, with intense emotion.

“He not only spoke warmly about his affection for you, but he showed pain and jealousy when he thought that some newer friends had robbed him of you – but perhaps you forget the Cape and all about it.”

Trafford’s face became crimson, and what answer he might have made to this speech there is no knowing, when Tom cried out, “We are going to have our coffee and cigar on the rocks, Lucy, but you will come with us.”

“Of course; I have had three long days of my own company, and am quite wearied of it.”

In the little cleft to which they repaired, a small stream divided the space, leaving only room for two people on the rocks at either side; and after some little jesting as to who was to have the coffee-pot, and who the brandy-flask, Tom and Cave nestled in one corner, while Lucy and Trafford, with more caution as to proximity, seated themselves on the rock opposite.

“We were talking about the Cape, Major Trafford, I think,” said Lucy, determined to bring him back to the dreaded theme.

“Were we? I think not; I think we were remembering all the pleasant days beside the Shannon.”

“If you please, more sugar and no brandy; and now for the Cape.”

“I ‘ll just hand them the coffee,” said he, rising and crossing over to the others.

“Won’t she let you smoke, Trafford?” said Tom, seeing the unlighted cigar in the other’s fingers; “come over here, then, and escape the tyranny.”

“I was just saying,” cried Cave, “I wish our Government would establish a protectorate, as they call it, over these islands, and send us out here to garrison them; I call this downright paradise.”

“You may smoke, Major Trafford,” said Lucy, as he returned; “I am very tolerant about tobacco.”

“I don’t care for it – at least not now.”

“You’d rather tell me about the Cape,” said she, with a sly laugh. “Well, I ‘m all attention.”

“There’s really nothing to tell,” said he, in confusion. “Your father will have told you already what a routine sort of thing life is, – always meeting the same people, – made ever more uniform by their official stations. It’s always the Governor, and the Chief-Justice, and the Bishop, and the Attorney-General.”

“But they have wives and daughters?”

“Yes; but official people’s wives and daughters are always of the same pattern. They are only females of the species.”

“So that you were terribly bored?”

“Just so, – terribly bored.”

“What a boon from heaven it must have been then to have met the Sewells!” said she, with a well-put-on carelessness.

“Oh, your father mentioned the Sewells, did he?” asked Trafford, eagerly.

“I should think he did mention them! Why, they were the people he was so jealous of. He said that you were constantly with him till they came, – his companion, in fact, – and that he grieved heavily over your desertion of him.”