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 V, I
 
 A PEINCE OF THE BLOOD, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
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 gcfo poijcls ni 6berg i^ibrarg. 
 
 Scheherezade : A London Night's Entertainment. By Flor- 
 ence Warden. 3 vols. 
 The Nun's Curse. By Mrs. Riddell. 3 vols. 
 A Modern Magician. By Fitzgerald Molloy. 3 vols. 
 The Twin Soul. 2 vols. 
 
 Her Two Millions. By William Westall. 3 vols. 
 Through Green Glasses. By F. M. Allen. 1 vol. 
 A Secret Inheritance. By B. L. Farjeon. 3 vols. 
 A Modern Circe. By the Author of " Molly Bawn." 3 vols. 
 Logic Town. By Sarah Tytler. 3 vols. 
 This Man's Wife. By G. M. Fenn. 3 vols. 
 
 WARD AND DOWKEY, Publishers, London.
 
 A PRINCE OF THE BLOOD. 
 
 a, Hofaci. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES PAYX, 
 
 ArXHOE OF 
 
 ' LOST SLE MASSrS'GBEED," " THE HEIE OF THE AGES, 
 
 "by PEOXY," ETC. 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WARD AXD DOWNEY, 
 
 12, YOEK STEEET, COYEXT GAKDEX 
 
 1888. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 Richard Clay and Sons, 
 bread street hill, london, 
 
 /, Suffolk.
 
 TO 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 BY HIS FKIEXD 
 
 JAMES PAYK.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/princeofbloodnov01payn
 
 
 
 
 CONTEXTS OF VOLUME I, 
 
 LT) 
 
 I. 
 
 PROLOGUE— AT THE ' INVENTORIES ' 
 A DISUNITED FAMILY 
 
 1 
 ... 23 
 
 II. 
 
 ON THE RAMPARTS 
 
 ... 33 
 
 "J 
 
 III. 
 IV. 
 
 'farewell' 
 
 OX BOARD ... 
 
 ... 49 
 ... 59 
 
 ff 
 
 V. 
 
 3:^he passenger 
 
 ... 76 
 
 ^4 
 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 
 THE ACCUSATION 
 THE THIEF ... 
 
 ... 92 
 ... 112 
 
 >^ 
 
 VIII. 
 
 WITH HER MASK OFF 
 
 ... 126 
 
 
 i IX, 
 X. 
 
 XL 
 
 CAPTAIN HEAD TO THE RESCUE 
 
 LAND 
 
 NUMBER TWO 
 
 ... 142 
 ... 155 
 ... 175 
 
 
 XII. 
 
 PRESENTIMENTS 
 
 ... 194 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE GALE 
 
 ... 210 
 
 ■-." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 MR. BATES's NEWS 
 
 ... 223 
 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE WRECK ... 
 
 ... 236 
 
 - 
 
 XVI. 
 
 LAND 
 
 ... 256
 
 A PEINCE OF THE BLOOD, 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 AT THE ' IXVEXTOEIES.' 
 
 It was a very hot night at the Inventions, 
 which was the reason, or one of the reasons, 
 which made Mr. Arthur Forester and Miss 
 Cicely Forester prefer sitting in the balcony 
 of the Chinese department to walking about 
 the grounds. Their chairs were very close 
 together, and they were evidently on such 
 intimate and familiar terms with one another, 
 that if one had been informed that they bore 
 the same name it was easy for even a bad 
 hand at guessing to infer that they were 
 brother and sister. It is easier, however, to 
 guess than to guess right ; and as a matter of 
 fact they were first cousins. 
 
 VOL.1. B
 
 2 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 There is something, to my mind, very- 
 pleasant in that relationship between two 
 young persons of opposite sexes, since, in 
 addition to its present advantages, it offers 
 possibilities which nearer relationship does not 
 admit of, and which, when one of the two 
 parties, as in Miss Cicely's case, is twenty-one 
 years of age and exceedingly pretty, are apt to 
 occur to the other, and, perhaps, even to both. 
 
 To occur to one — the mere mental operation 
 — is, indeed, as has been said of guessing, very 
 easy ; a great many occurrences of the same 
 nature have probably happened to most of us, 
 whereas to occur, in the sense of realization 
 and actual fact, is not so common. There 
 were several obstacles to the suggestion in 
 question being carried out in the present case ; 
 to begin with — which rendered it unnecessary 
 to dwell upon the rest — the young people had 
 not a penny betw^een them. This phrase, of 
 course, is not to be taken literally. They 
 must, in fact, have had sixty pence — for it was 
 Wednesday and a half-crown night — to enable 
 them to be at the Inventions, or, as some have 
 lightly termed it, " The Flasheries," at all ;
 
 At the * Inventories.' 3 
 
 while they Lad had to pay an additional twelve 
 pence apiece for their seats in the balcony. 
 The very cigar which Mr. Arthur was smoking 
 had certainly cost something — though I am 
 not prepared to say it had been paid for by 
 the consumer — more than a penny. The coin, 
 indeed, has such a relative sense that some 
 Algies and Adelas are said to have '' not a 
 penny between them" when they have ten 
 thousand pounds. AVe call them "as poor as 
 Job/' but their case only resembles that 
 patriarch's before the final catastrophe fell 
 upon him, and when he still retained a little 
 something, such as his camels. But Arthur 
 and Cicely (or Sissy, as he called her, perhaps 
 to keep up the delusion that he only loved 
 her in a brotherly way) had really nothing 
 that could be called their own at all, except a 
 few debts. Their parents had moderately 
 good incomes, which died with them, and 
 large families, which did not. It was neces- 
 sary, therefore, that the girls should be 
 provided for, with more or less well-to-do 
 husbands, and that the boys should j^rovide 
 for themselves. There was no more thought 
 
 B 2
 
 4 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 of fortune-liunting in the former case than of 
 greed in the latter ; and they all thoroughly 
 understood their positions. 
 
 It is the fashion to accuse young women of 
 lieartlessness who in love affairs manifest 
 any common-sense ; yet I am inclined to 
 think that the love w^hich is really genuine, 
 or, at all events, that is worth much, has 
 always a substratum of that kind. There are 
 young ladies who are ready enough to marry 
 him they please to call " the man of their 
 choice," though they know he has only suffi- 
 cient to maintain them during the honey- 
 moon. I do not blame them — I am much too 
 polite for that, I hope ; but I pity them, and 
 I also pity Mm. 
 
 Sissy Forester was as affectionate and 
 tender-hearted a girl as ever said " Yes " to a 
 lover, but she was not a fool. In this respect 
 she had the advantage of Mr. Arthur. The 
 young man, indeed, was clever enough ; if he 
 did not get on at his profession — the Bar — it 
 was only for want of practice. He had a 
 ready wit ; he would have been even diligent 
 had there appeared the remotest chance of the
 
 At the ' Inventories/ 5 
 
 blossom of liis legal learning turning into 
 fruit; but to sit in lonely chambers, poring 
 over law books, without the shadow of a 
 client crossing one's threshold, is weary work. 
 What makes it so sad is, that there is no means 
 of informing the priesthood of Themis that 
 you are thus sacrificing yourself upon her 
 altar. So far as they are concerned you might 
 just as well be enjoying yourself. If one 
 could only put a board up over one's chambers, 
 " To Solicitors and Others," stating how Ions: 
 one had been at it, and for how many hours 
 a day,4t might attract some passing " sulor.'s " 
 attention, and so bring business ; but- the 
 etiquette of the profession forbids this. Arthur's 
 chambers, with half a clerk, cost his father a 
 hundred a year, and he lived at home. 
 
 With these prospects he would have married 
 Cicely Forester to-morrow, but having an 
 uneasy suspicion that she was a very sensible 
 girl, as well as a very charming one, he had 
 never ventured to ask her to become his wife. 
 There would have been no excuse, of course, 
 for such an act of lunacy ; but there would 
 have been a mitisfation, for if he did not ask
 
 6 A PHINCE OF THE BlOOD. 
 
 her himself, and pretty soon, he knew that 
 somebody else would do so. It was not only 
 the well-founded apprehension that so adorable 
 a creature would find others to worship at her 
 shrine that troubled him, but the existence of 
 an actual suitor. This was a Mr. Dunlow, a 
 friend of Sissy's father, a man not, indeed, in 
 his first youth, but whose years could not be 
 called disproportionate to her own ; a worthy 
 fellow of good means, who had not yet indeed 
 proposed to her, but concerning whom it was 
 well understood that she " had only to hold 
 up her little finger " to bring him to her feet. 
 She had, as Arthur believed, no feeling warmer 
 than regard for the gentleman at present ; 
 but the pale flame. Regard, is soon fanned by 
 circumstances into something stronger and 
 brighter; and all the circumstances were in 
 his favour. Before Arthur's jealous eyes was 
 present everywhere the somewhat plump form 
 of Mr. Robert Dunlow. He saw him now in 
 the wavering band of the electric light, and in 
 the dancing fountain, just as Sissy's mental 
 vision would have seen him (though under a 
 very different aspect) had she been really in
 
 At the ' IxvEXTOPJEs/ 7 
 
 love with liirn. Even wliile tlie young fellow 
 was speaking to the girl, liis thoughts would 
 often stray to his rival, and render bitter the 
 very cup of pleasure which was at his lips. 
 It was this, perhaps, as well as the fact that 
 he dared not speak of what he would, that 
 made Arthur Forester more silent in his 
 cousin's company than elsewhere. 
 
 "How like life itself all this is, Sissy," he 
 murmured, after one of many pauses. " The 
 music and the colour and the splendour last 
 such a little time, and then everything appears 
 more dark and blank by contrast." 
 
 " Not to those wdio prefer Nature to 
 Art," was the quiet reply. " To my mind the 
 moon yonder is preferable, at all events for a 
 permanency, to all these garish lights, nor 
 is a brass band absolutely necessary to my 
 existence." 
 
 " You are very hard on me," he murmured 
 gently, striving in vain to meet her eyes, 
 which w^ere fixed on the fairy scene before her. 
 
 " What have I said that is hard ? Is it 
 because I have spoken the truth 1 " 
 
 '* Now you are still harder. You mean to
 
 8 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 imply that I slirink from looking facts in the 
 face ? " 
 
 " I congratulate you on your promptness in 
 drawing an inference." 
 
 "Thank you," he answered bitterly; "it is 
 pleasant, because so rare, to hear you admit 
 that I can do anything." 
 
 " I have never doubted your abilities, 
 Arthur," she replied with tender gravity ; she 
 knew that she was hurtino; his feelinofs, and 
 sufifered more than he did himself from the 
 keenness of her own w^ords — she used them 
 as the surgeon uses his knife, unwillingly, yet 
 for the patient's good. 
 
 " What is the use of abilities when there is 
 no scope for them ? " was his impatient re- 
 joinder, which lost, however, some of its vehem- 
 ence from the fact of its being delivered under 
 his breath. " Heaven knows I have read 
 hard enough and perseveringly enough too ; 
 you don't know what it is to ask for work and 
 be denied it." 
 
 " Whom have you asked ? " she inquired, in 
 a tone in which curiosity was not so distinctly 
 marked as a certain quiet irony.
 
 At the ' IXVENTOETES.' 9 
 
 " Asked ? "Well, ODe can't go touting for 
 briefs like a commercial traveller," lie answered 
 angrily; "there is only one way, they tell 
 me, by wliicli a man can get on now at the 
 Bar who has no connection." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 '' He must marry an attorney's daughter ! 
 You would not advise me to do that, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 The last words were uttered in a very low 
 and gentle tone, and he cast a plaintive glance 
 at her as he awaited her reply, which did not 
 come iijimediately . 
 
 " If I were in your place I would do anything, 
 anytldng, rather than live a life of idleness." 
 
 " But how can I help being idle ? " 
 
 There was no answer save a little shrug of 
 the shoulders, but it was full of significance. 
 
 '' You despise me, Sissy ? '*' 
 
 '•' I despise all idle young men." 
 
 Her voice was steady, but her face was 
 deadly pale, and the hand which rested on 
 the rail in front of her trembled in its little 
 glove. 
 
 The vounor man flushed to his forehead, half
 
 10 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 rose from his seat, and then sat clown aaain. 
 There was a crowd of people all around them, 
 and he could scarcely leave her there alone ; 
 they had no suspicion, of course, of what was 
 passing in his mind ; they thought he had 
 only risen to draw the coflfee-cup which was 
 on the table nearer to him ; but his soul was 
 consumed with anger, and shame, and love. 
 It was a balcony scene of a very different 
 kind from the one in ' Eomeo and Juliet.' 
 
 " To taunt me with idleness. Sissy, when it 
 is no fault of mine," he muttered betw^een his 
 teeth, "is most cruel and unkind." 
 
 " Cruel if you will," she answ^ered huskily 
 (turning on him a reproachful glance which 
 seemed to say, " Cruel, indeed, it is, but not 
 to you alone"); '^ cruel if you will, but not 
 unkind, nay, 'cruel only to be kind.'" 
 
 There was a long pause. The fairy fountain 
 rose and fell, and blusbed and paled, and rose 
 and fell again ; the myriad lights twinkled 
 from the trees and from the sward, and from 
 the stream beneath them ; the music grew and 
 failed, and died and rose and died again, but of 
 none of these things did this unhappy pair
 
 At the ' Ixventories/ 11 
 
 take note, but communed with their own sad 
 hearts in silence. 
 
 " What \vould you have me do ? " at last 
 he murmured hoarsely. 
 
 "Your duty. Is it fitting, is it manly, that you 
 should ask a girl for counsel in such a matter ? " 
 
 " Since you w^ere so free wdth your blame, I 
 thought perhaps you might have some advice 
 to give me,*' he answ^ered reproachfully. 
 
 " As to the blame, I beg pardon, I had no 
 right to blame you." 
 
 ''Do not say that, dear Sissy, do not say 
 that,i'^he murmured pleadingly. '' Whatever 
 you tell me to do, I will do it." 
 
 " That is to say, you would shift your 
 responsibilities to my shoulders," w^as the in- 
 dignant reply. " You are not a child, Arthur ; 
 you surely know what is right and w^hat is 
 wronor without beins^ told." 
 
 " But it is not a question of right only. 
 Listen to me, pray listen to me, Sissy," for she 
 had moved her head impatiently, " I have had 
 an appointment offered me in India, a very 
 small thing, but still something. Do you 
 know of it ? "
 
 12 A Pe-ince of the Blood. 
 
 "Yes, I know of it." 
 
 "And yet you have never spoken of it to 
 me?" 
 
 "Nor you to me." 
 
 " Oil, but that is so different. If I accept 
 this appointment, which may or may not lead 
 to something better — something worth having 
 — it cannot come for years." 
 
 "Does something worth having, a compe- 
 tence I suppose you call it, generally come to 
 young gentlemen of twenty- eight ? Or do 
 you think your merits demand the special 
 intervention of Providence in your favour ? " 
 
 " But if I took this post should I not lose 
 you. Sissy ? " 
 
 " I was not aware that you had ever won me." 
 
 " That is true ; I have never dared to ask 
 you to be my wife. How could I, being 
 penniless ? " 
 
 " How indeed ? " 
 
 " Yet I love you with all my heart and 
 soul. I would give my life to make you 
 happy. To be with you, except for the thought 
 of parting from you, is Heaven itself; but 
 that thought is always intruding. I am like
 
 At the ' IXVENTORIES.' 13 
 
 one in a blissful dream, who is nevertheless 
 conscious that he is dreaming, and will sooner 
 or later awaken to misery. Even at my worst 
 — when I am most despondent — I worship 3-011. 
 
 'The desire of the moth for the star, 
 
 Of the night for the morrow ; 
 The devotion of something afar 
 From the' sphere of my sorrow ' 
 
 then fills all my being ; at my best — but that 
 is only dreaming." 
 
 The girl kept her face averted from her 
 lover, but she did not interrupt him ; once 
 she had striven to do so, but her tonoTie had 
 refused to do its office ; the temptation of 
 listening to those passionate words, it might 
 be for the last time, had been too strong for 
 her. She had suffered herself for the moment, 
 despite prudence and a fixed resolve to the 
 contrary, to be carried away by it. She was 
 greatly agitated. The rose in her bosom 
 shook and lost its petals ; they dropped upon 
 her lap, and one would have fluttered to the 
 ground, but her companion caught it un- 
 observed. Her eyes were wet wdth tears. 
 
 " Sissy, dear/' went on the young man in a
 
 14 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 changed voice, *'I have done with protesta- 
 tions ; if you do not believe that I love you 
 truly, it is useless for me to say any more. 
 Only if you ask me why it is I have not gone 
 to India, it is because I felt that in so doing 
 I should be leaving you to another." 
 
 She shook her head decisively. 
 
 " What ? " His face lit up with a bright- 
 ness no electric flame could rival. ''Will you 
 promise that in my absence you will not 
 marry Mr. Dunlow ? " 
 
 " I shall never marry Mr. Dunlow." 
 
 " Thank Heaven for that." It was pretty 
 to see how, since the girl had said it, he took 
 her word as though the thing were an accom- 
 plished fact. " And is it possible," he went 
 on breathlessly, " that for all that time — one 
 knows not how long it may be — you will wait 
 for me ? " 
 
 It was not because Cicely had not made up 
 her mind upon the matter that she hesitated 
 to reply. She was very much in love with 
 Arthur, but by no means prepared to cast all 
 prudence to the winds ; if once a promise 
 passed her lips, it became a law of her being,
 
 At the * Inventoktes/ 15 
 
 which made her less hasty than some young 
 women can afford to be in saying " Yes." 
 Moreover, though she admired and respected 
 Arthur (for, indeed, she could not otherwise 
 have loved him), she had no great confidence 
 in the stability of his character. Under the 
 conditions of life to which he had been accus- 
 tomed there was no fault to find with him. 
 He was a wholesome-minded, generous, affec- 
 tionate young fellow. But to hard work, 
 discomfort, and self-dependence he had been 
 unaccustomed ; nor, though he had met with 
 ill-success, had he known what it was to suffer 
 from it materially. 
 
 That he had said nothing beyond the truth 
 when speaking of his devotion to her, she was 
 well convinced ; but she thought it possible, 
 nay, probable, that the thought of winning 
 her would not be able to support him under 
 circumstances such as he was only too likely 
 to meet with in the new life which had been 
 proposed to him. What if, after a year or 
 two, he should return to England, a failure, as 
 poor as ever, with even less hope of getting 
 on in his profession than at present, and yet
 
 16 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 bound to marry a penniless girl. She was 
 thinking of him far more than of herself ; but 
 she thought of herself too — of the wreck that 
 would thus be made of both their lives. If 
 he succeeded, in however small a way, she 
 would be well content ; and however long a 
 time he took about it, she was willing to wait 
 for him. She knew herself to be true as steel. 
 But with that alternative of wretchedness for 
 both of them before her eyes, she was resolute 
 not to say "Yes." On the other hand, how 
 should she persuade him to take the only 
 course that offered for his good without giving 
 him the assurance of her fidelity. 
 
 " You have not answered my question, 
 Sissy," resumed the young man importu- 
 nately. " I have told you how I love you ; 
 you have only to say one little word, and 
 from that moment I have something to live 
 for, something to hope for, something to work 
 for. I know it is very selfish of me to ask 
 you to say it, to ask you to wait for years — 
 perhaps for many years — for an absent man, 
 while your beauty fades (if, indeed, it can 
 ever fade) and your youth departs."
 
 At the 'Inventories.' 17 
 
 "It is not that'' she put in quickly. 
 
 " Can it be, then, that you doubt me ? Oh, 
 Sissy, I will be faithful to you as long as I 
 live. I promise you before heaven " 
 
 Again she interrupted him with earnest 
 vehemence. *' I do not doubt you, Arthur, 
 but I will not accept your promise. I wish 
 you to be free. That must be our bargain, 
 if barp'ain there is to be between us. We 
 
 o 
 
 must both be free." 
 
 *' That is impossible, seeing one of us is 
 already bound," he answered, bitterly. *' I, 
 at least, am yours. I have sworn it." 
 
 " Such a contract can hardly be binding," 
 she went on, with a forced smile, *' without 
 the consent of both parties." 
 
 " Then you, on your part, refuse to recip- 
 rocate my trust ? " 
 
 "I did not say that. But I will make no 
 promise. We must both be free." 
 
 It was no wonder that he did not under- 
 stand her. We are not so unconscious of our 
 own weaknesses as it is the fashion to assert, 
 but we are often ignorant of how they strike 
 
 other people. He was quite willing to 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 undergo any inconveniences (and much more 
 than inconveniences) for any time, for his 
 love's sake, but he disliked the idea of going to 
 India for other reasons than that he had given 
 her, though that, it was true, was the chief 
 reason. Arthur Forester was a product (and 
 not a discreditable one) of culture and high 
 civilization, and he did not relish exile. Better 
 and higher natures than his own have not 
 shrunk from it, nor have thought of such an 
 exodus as exile at all, but from going to 
 India without the promise of his beloved 
 assured to him he did shrink. And yet he 
 was not angry with Sissy because she had not 
 given him her promise ; it was very difficult 
 for him to be angry with her under any cir- 
 cumstances, and her assurance that she did 
 not intend to marry Mr. Dunlow had made 
 him very grateful to her. He was also 
 certain, it must be remembered, though she 
 had not said so in so many words, that she 
 loved him. 
 
 They sat in silence for many moments ; 
 presently Sissy exclaimed softly, " There is 
 godmamma." She drew back a little, not
 
 At the ' Ixventories.' 19 
 
 wishing to be recognized, and pointed over 
 the balcony to an old lady going by on the 
 path below in an armchair. Arthur's eyes 
 listlessly followed the direction of her finger. 
 
 " Is she not beautiful ? Is she not magnifi- 
 cent ? " asked Sissy with enthusiasm. 
 
 "She looks like a princess," assented the 
 young man. 
 
 " Do you think so ? Now, if you knew all 
 that is very curious." 
 
 " Indeed ! Is she really then a princess ? " 
 
 "Amonsf all the thousands that are in 
 these^gardens," said Sissy, ignoring this in- 
 quiry, which indeed was put half in jest, and 
 still following the slow moving figure with 
 her eyes, " there is none whose history has 
 been such a romance as hers ; moreover she 
 is the best of women ; her whole life, which I 
 fear is fast coming to a close, is passed in 
 doino^ o-ood." 
 
 " Quite a fairy godmother, in short," he 
 answered lightly. " Why have you never 
 told me about her ? What is her story ? " 
 
 At this simple question which followed so 
 naturally upon the conversation which had 
 
 C 2
 
 20 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 preceded it, a change passed over the girl's 
 face. It brightened up, not exactly with 
 pleasure, but with the satisfaction that is 
 derived from the sense of a difficulty smoothed 
 away. 
 
 "Yes ; you shall know her story. That 
 is," she continued gravely, " if she will give 
 me permission to reveal it, for it is known 
 only to a very few." 
 
 " Why not tell it me yourself ? If it is 
 a long one, so much the better. We will 
 come here every evening, and you shall go 
 on with it — this is the very place for it — like 
 Scheherazade in the ' Arabian Nidits.' " 
 
 o 
 
 *' No. It is no tale to be listened to lightly," 
 she answered with gravity; "you must read 
 it with care and lay it to heart. It contains 
 the only answer I can give you, Arthur, to the 
 question you put to me a few minutes ago." 
 
 " Are you serious ? You may be sure that 
 not a S3^11able will escape my attention ; but 
 how shall I recognize your dear self in the story 
 of another ? I am not very good at a moral 
 lesson," he added deprecatingly, *' especially 
 if it takes the form of allegory."
 
 At the ' Inventories.' 21 
 
 "There is no allegory in godmamma's 
 story ; the lesson it teaches is simple enough, 
 and applies as much to me as to you." 
 
 He looked amazed and puzzled, as well he 
 might. 
 
 " You must find the key of it for yourself. 
 See, the fountain has leaped its last ; we must 
 be going home." 
 
 " Ah, if my home was but your home. 
 Sissy dear, will you not promise ? " 
 
 " Xo ; I will not promise," she answered 
 firmly. " For both our sakes, Arthur, we 
 must be free." 
 
 The very next morning, for Miss Cicely was 
 prompt in all she did, there arrived a MS. 
 at Mr. Arthur Forester's chambers, in the 
 Temple. He received it, if not with the same 
 rapture, with as much excitement as though 
 it had been a brief; it was a lengthy docu- 
 ment, but occupied only a small space, being 
 written in a neat, but almost microscopic 
 hand. Scrupulously clean, it bore tokens of 
 much use, for it had had one constant reader ; 
 the same fingers had wrinkled it, the same 
 eyes had pored over it and watered it with
 
 22 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 their tears, again and again. On the flap of 
 the envelope were written in Cicely's hand 
 these words, which might have been taken for 
 a motto, but w^hich her lover recognized as a 
 personal monition. 
 
 " I sympathize with her regrets."
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A DISUNITED FAMILY. 
 
 Ox June the 13th, 1835, four persons were 
 breakfasting together in a private room at 
 the ' George Hotel,' Portsmouth. They were 
 a family party consisting of a gentleman and 
 three ladies. The former, Mr. Ernest Norbury, 
 was a person of some note in the city, and of 
 peculiar importance in the eyes of the East 
 India Company, which was in the last days of 
 its greatness. He had held more than one 
 high post in India, and was now, somewhat 
 to the astonishment of his friends, who had 
 assumed him to have shaken the pagoda tree 
 with sufficient skill upon previous occasions 
 to render further application to it unnecessary, 
 about to fill another. He was about sixty 
 years of age, short, but squarely built, with 
 a strong, intelligent face. His complexion,
 
 24 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 naturally pale, had not been rendered swarthy 
 by the tropic sun to which it had been ex- 
 posed, and though his life had been by no 
 means devoid of action, he was of corpulent 
 habit, which added to the effect produced by 
 a pompous and dictatorial manner. 
 
 Miss Sophia, his sister and junior by five 
 years, resembled him in figure, though she w^as 
 much stouter, but in no other respects. Her 
 face was flat and florid ; she smiled whenever 
 there was an excuse for smiling. Her enemies 
 — if she had any, wdiich she had not — might 
 have said that this w^as to show her teeth, 
 which were very white and even ; but this 
 was not the case : she smiled from pure good 
 nature, and also sometimes to mitigate wrath. 
 Her manner was hesitating, especially when 
 addressing the head of the family ; the ex- 
 pression of her countenance was weak and 
 undecisive, though by no means unpleasing. 
 It was whispered, but not widely believed, 
 that she had once been very good looking. 
 The other two members of the party belonged 
 to another generation. The elder of the two. 
 Miss Eleanor, Mr. Norbury's daughter, was
 
 A Disunited Family. 
 
 'ZO 
 
 twenty-four years of age ; she was tall and 
 slight and slim, and her complexion was 
 pasty, but, like her father's (though she, too, 
 had been to India), it had not been baked by 
 the sun. Her eyes were of pale blue, and 
 her manner for her age and sex exceedingly 
 undemonstrative. She was of a reserved 
 nature and spoke little, but when she did 
 it was to the point; she was one of those 
 conscientious people who do not allow even 
 their silence to be misunderstood. 
 
 Miss Edith, Mr. Xorbury's niece, was five 
 years yonnger than her cousin, and, therefore, 
 two years short of beinor of aQ;e. Though she 
 was croino; to India, like her aunt, for the first 
 time, she was darker than her uncle and 
 cousin, who had lived there. Her complexion 
 was naturally very delicate, but not having 
 had a mother to look after it (for she had 
 been left an orphan at a very early age), it 
 had been somewhat bronzed by our summer 
 suns — a circumstance, however, which did not 
 prevent her being exceedingly comely. Her 
 eyes were gray, intermixed with hazel ; and 
 her hair, which was very luxuriant, was of a
 
 26 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 deep brown. She had a fine colour and a 
 very charming figure. Her dress was far 
 simpler than that of her cousin, but very 
 becoming. Nobody, however (of the male 
 sex), could have thought of her dress while 
 looking at Edith Norbury, and if he did so, it 
 would only have been to make the general 
 but private observation, *' That girl would look 
 well in anything." 
 
 The expression of her changeful face was, 
 nevertheless, just now by no means joyous ; 
 she had a depressed air which struck one 
 as incongruous and unsuitable in her. This 
 depression was not unobserved by the others, 
 but except for an occasional squeeze of her 
 hand from Aunt Sophia when opportunity 
 off'ered itself for this expression of sympathy, 
 it was ignored. Mr. Norbury was reading his 
 newspaper to himself and the rest were silent. 
 The viands were plentiful, but it was an 
 uncomfortable and unsociable meal. 
 
 **The Ganges starts to-morrow morning at 
 daybreak," presently observed Mr. Norbury, 
 in loud, authoritative tones, like those of a 
 crier giving public notice. "As everything
 
 A Disunited Family. 27 
 
 has been satisfactorily arranged for us, there 
 will be no need for us to go on board till the 
 evening, in the cool." 
 
 The last words were suggested by his 
 tropical experience. It is natural to the 
 Anglo-Indian to do everything with reference 
 to the temperature ; but, as a matter of fact, 
 it w^as warm enouo^h even at Portsmouth. 
 
 The His^h-street, on which the windows of 
 the ' Georo^e ' looked down, was bakingr hot : 
 the soldiers that passed in their stiff stocks and 
 close-fitting uniforms excited the pity of the 
 civiliansras the sailor with his loose and low- 
 necked garb aroused their envy. The trees on 
 the ramparts at the end of the street moved 
 not a leaf. The flags on the dwellings of the 
 great military and naval authorities clung to 
 their staffs as though they were themselves 
 in "office"; even the smaller bunting on the 
 ships in harbour, caught sight of here and 
 there through gaps in the houses or over their 
 roofs, had not a flutter in them. Distant 
 firing broke on the ear complainingly, as 
 though it were too hot for drill. 
 
 "It is really too warm to do anything,"
 
 28 A Ppjnoe of the Blood. 
 
 remarked Aunt Sophia, fanning her ample self 
 with a local guide-book. 
 
 *' I am going shopping," said Miss Eleanor. 
 
 This was not merely a reproof to laziness, 
 though the tone conveyed that moral lesson. 
 It had a much more direct significance ; it 
 implied that she must have a companion. 
 
 " Would it not be better to wait till it 
 gets a little cooler, my dear ? " remarked Aunt 
 8ophia. 
 
 " No doubt ; only, unfortunately, it is a law 
 of nature that the higher the sun rises the 
 warmer it gets. As for me, I am not made 
 of sugar." 
 
 To judge by the tone in which she spoke, 
 she certainly was not. 
 
 " Well, it is quite impossible that you can 
 walk out alone, my dear, in a place like this — 
 so military and naval," sighed Aunt Sophia. 
 She cast an appealing glance at Edith ; but 
 that young lady, who had already finished her 
 meal, which had been a very scanty one, and 
 was sitting pensively at an open window, 
 made no sign. It was probable she had not 
 even heard the conversation. Miss Eleanor
 
 A Disunited Family. 29 
 
 curled her lip, which was by nature straight 
 and very thin. 
 
 *' Come," she said, impatiently, ^' let us be 
 off." 
 
 The two ladies retired, and presently reap- 
 peared with their bonnets on. Mr. Norbury 
 was still behind his paper, his niece still at 
 the window. 
 
 "You are not coming with us, Edie, I 
 suppose ? " said Aunt Sophia cheerfully. The 
 girl shook her head. " Well, I must say it is 
 rather warm for walking," as if in aj)ology for 
 the other^^dumb refusal. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " ejaculated Miss Eleanor. 
 " If you think this warm, what will you think 
 of India ? " 
 
 " I shall be dug out," said Aunt Sophia 
 prophetically. It was a phrase she always 
 used to express her feelings in a heated 
 atmosphere ; but she used it now with ^quite 
 pathetic despair. She looked forward to a 
 residence in the gorgeous East with the 
 utmost horror. " My dear," she had once 
 said to Edith in confidence, " I would rather 
 live in Whitechapel all my days than go to
 
 30 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 India. I shall melt away there to nothing, 
 and you will have to remove the last of me 
 with brown paper and a hot iron." She was 
 serious, though she spoke in jest. '' Circum- 
 stances over which she had no control," in 
 the personage of her brother Ernest, w^ere 
 impelling her ; and in Edith's case she spoke 
 to sympathetic ears. Eleanor, on the other 
 hand, ridiculed her apprehensions. She could 
 hardly be said to make fun of them, for she 
 had not in her nature the materials for fun, 
 nor did she make light of them. On the 
 contrary, her humour was to exaggerate to 
 her aunt the disagfreeables of life in India. 
 She discoursed upon the thug and the tiger 
 with affected familiarity, and raised the 
 temperature to imaginary degrees. As some- 
 body said of her who knew her well, Eleanor 
 Norbury had the grimness of a schoolboy 
 without his light heart. 
 
 Some minutes elapsed after the ladies had 
 departed, which were passed by the occupants 
 of the apartment in complete silence. Edith, 
 with her chin resting on her little hand, and 
 her elbow on the window ledge, sat deep in
 
 A Disunited Family. 31 
 
 thouglit and apparently unconscious of lier 
 companion's presence ; not so, however, Mr. 
 Korbuiy. He sat facing her with the news- 
 paper still before him, but ever and anon 
 over the eds^e of it, he shot a furtive g-lance 
 at his niece, which seemed to give him any- 
 thing but satisfaction. At last he rose, and 
 in a bland and studiously conciliatory voice, 
 observed, " Is your outfit complete ? Edith, 
 is there anything, any comfort or luxury, 
 which my forethought has not provided ? 
 There is plenty of time to rectify any such 
 omission, and if Portsmouth contains the 
 article or articles in question, I will make it 
 my business to procure them for you." 
 
 " Thank you, uncle ; no, I have everything 
 I require." How feeble are words, as a vehicle 
 of expression, compared with the voice that 
 speaks them, or with the manner in which 
 they are delivered. Though the girl's reply 
 was a strictly accurate one, her meaning 
 seemed somehow the very reverse of that 
 which her speech conveyed. Mr. Norbury 
 looked at her steadily, as after a momentary 
 glance towards him, she had resumed her
 
 32 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 former position, and witli a heavy frown and 
 a smile that fitted it — took up his hat. " An 
 obstinate wench," he murmured to himself as 
 he w^ent down-stairs. " To have withstood 
 such an offer as that, which, as she knew, 
 must have comprehended a new- bonnet at 
 least, and might even have run to jew^ellery, 
 shows in a woman quite an unparalleled 
 amount of pigheadedness. — Tush ! she's in 
 the sulks, that's what she's in. Well, w^ell, 
 like Madeira she'll be better for going round 
 the Cape. A sea voyage and a couple of 
 years in India will w^ean her from her folly. 
 Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they 
 say. In that case, Mr. Charles Layton, she 
 wdll adore you, for I shall take care she never 
 sees your face again."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ox THE RAMPARTS. 
 
 As soon as Edith Norbuiy found herself 
 alone, she uttered a deep sigh of relief. The 
 temperature without and within was hotter 
 than ever, but the oppression which had 
 weighed upon her almost to suffocation was 
 withdrawn. For the first time since she had 
 left her room that morning she felt free to 
 look and move as she pleased. ''The breath 
 of man," science tells us, "is deadly to his 
 fellow-creatures ; " but hardly less so, under 
 certain circumstances, is his presence. In the 
 same room with her Uncle Ernest, Edith 
 Norbury experienced much the same sensa- 
 tions as some very intelligent and bright-eyed 
 bird who finds himself in the same compart- 
 ment with a snake. Let him be ever so 
 fascinating in his manner, he would end, she 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 34 A PftlNCE OF THE BlOOD. 
 
 was convinced, by destroying lier. His flatter- 
 ing speeches, his ofl'ers of costly gifts were 
 only so many acts of lubrication, intended to 
 make the swallowing her the easier. If 
 asked for an explanation of her apprehension, 
 she would have found it diflicult to give one. 
 It was not Ernest Norbury's nature to be 
 demonstratively kind to any one, but to 
 Edith he had been always both generous and 
 gracious. He had put himself out of the way, 
 in fact, to be agreeable to her, nor was it his 
 fault so much as his misfortune that the efl'ort 
 had been very perceptible. As a host — and 
 she had lived in his house for the three years 
 which had elapsed since her father's death had 
 left her orphaned — she had had nothing to 
 complain of him. His table was liberal ; his 
 carriag:e had been as much at her own service 
 as at that of his daughter, or of his sister, 
 who resided with him. As a kinsman, he not 
 only made no difference between those ladies 
 and herself, but made much more ' fuss ' with 
 her than with either of them ; his enemies 
 said because she was an heiress, but that 
 seemed hardly probable, since he was a man
 
 Ox THE EaMPAPvTS. 35 
 
 of means himself, and had, therefore, not the 
 weighty reason for that worship of wealth in 
 another which bows down most heads so low. 
 In no domestic relation to her it was certain 
 could Uncle Ernest be considered as an ogre. 
 He was also, however, her guardian, and had 
 absolutely and decisively forbidden her to 
 marry the man of her choice. 
 
 For one of her age and sex Edith Norbury 
 had a strong sense of justice, and she some- 
 times asked herself was it fair, for this one 
 action, cruel and unreasonable though it was 
 of him, that she should ignore all her uncle's 
 previous good conduct towards her, and im- 
 pute to him she scarce knew what, of evil, but 
 something which filled her involuntarily — nay, 
 against her will — with a vague loathiug and 
 terror ? With Mr. Charles Layton, barrister- 
 at-law, she was without doubt very much in 
 love. Before she met him her later life, not- 
 withstanding she was still so young, had been 
 as a dull, monotonous sea, while ever since it 
 had been lit with smiles and sunshine ; and 
 now that his presence was forbidden it had 
 not only become dull again, but gray and cold, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 without the least gleam of light in the horizon. 
 Uncle Ernest, doubtless, did not quite believe 
 that matters were so bad as this with her, but 
 she had done her best to convince him of it. 
 She had assured him with all the eloquence of 
 nature's pleading, that the happiness of her life 
 depended on her engagement, and he had been 
 deaf to her tears and prayers. He had given, 
 of course, his reasons, or rather his reason, for 
 his cruel conduct, and that had seemed to her 
 a wholly inadequate one. 
 
 Mr. Layton, he said, was a needy man, 
 whereas she was an heiress. He was making, 
 however, a gradually increasing income at 
 the law, and was certainly both diligent and 
 clever, and he had some expectations, though 
 of an uncertain kind. Under these circum- 
 stances it had been infamous of Uncle Ernest 
 to call him an adventurer, yet that was the 
 term which, in a long and painful interview 
 with his niece, he had applied to her lover. 
 Perhaps this plain speaking, even more than 
 her uncle's bare refusal of her petition, was 
 at the bottom of her chano-ed feelino^s tov»^ards 
 him. The man who could call Charles Layton
 
 Ox THE Ramparts. 37 
 
 an adventurer seemed to her capable of saying, 
 yes, and doing anything. Stung by indigna- 
 tion and despair, she had told Uncle Ernest 
 that if his only objection to her marriage with 
 her lover was in truth disparity of fortune, he, 
 her guardian, might take her money for him- 
 self, and then Charley would take her penniless 
 and prove that he was no adventurer. 
 
 This reasonable proposition, so far from 
 finding favour in Uncle Ernest's eyes, made 
 him what could only be described as furious. 
 He had not only looked and spoken as she had 
 never thought it possible he could look and 
 speak, but had somehow left behind him the 
 impression that he had shown her his true face, 
 with the mask oft, for the first time. From 
 that hour all confidence in Uncle Ernest was 
 gone, and even the grounds on which her con- 
 fidence in him had hitherto rested were gone 
 with it. She did not forget, of course, his 
 hospitality, nor the solicitude he had so long 
 exhibited for her welfare ; but they no longer 
 seemed to have been dictated by duty. It 
 was impossible, if he loved his dead brother as 
 he had professed to do, that he could have
 
 38 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 behaved as he had done to that dead brother's 
 child. That Edith's lather had nevertheless 
 believed that he had loved him was certain ; 
 he had not only left his whole fortune in trust 
 to him for her benefit, but her future until 
 she should come of age entirely in his hands. 
 He had the absolute disposal of her as regarded 
 her place of residence ; and this right he was 
 pushing to the uttermost by taking her with 
 him to India. 
 
 The reason of so much power being confided 
 in him was, unhappily, the very reason which 
 Uncle Ernest gave for his thus exporting her. 
 Her father had been afraid that his daughter's 
 fortune would attract adventurers ; and had, 
 therefore, arm.ed her guardian with every 
 weapon to defend her against them. He 
 would have made her a ward in Chancery, 
 but that he believed in his brother's judgment 
 more than in that of the law ; nor, finally, had 
 he been content with even these measures of 
 precaution. Like one who keeps fast his 
 prisoner with bolt and bar, and also puts him 
 on his honour, her father had besought her to 
 look on her uncle as a second parent, and even
 
 Ox THE Eamparts. 39 
 
 obtained a promise from her as he lay dying, 
 that she would comport herself in all things 
 to his brother Ernest's will ; and this was the 
 bond that formed her firmest fetter. The Eev. 
 John Norbury, Rector of Midstead and Canon 
 of Dowminster, had never been suspected of 
 being a saint, but neither was he a man of the 
 world, in any sense. As the elder son of a 
 wealthy father he had been always prosperous, 
 quite independent of his Church preferment. 
 His money had come to him not only without 
 effort, but^without even the full knowledge of 
 how it came. Business would have been dis- 
 tasteful to him, no doubt, had he had any 
 experience of it ; but he had none. His 
 younger brother, on the other hand, had 
 shown great capacity for it, and the Canon 
 had admired him accordingly, as we are apt 
 to admire our own flesh and blood who dis- 
 tinguish themselves in matters out of our 
 line. It was upon the whole no wonder that 
 the Canon, in leaving this life, had confided 
 his daughter and her affairs so absolutely to 
 his brother's care. Filial love prevented her 
 from resentino' this fact, however much she
 
 40 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 regretted it, and she felt that however mis- 
 taken he had been, he had done his best for 
 her. But she did resent her uncle's conduct 
 above measure, and while bowing to his 
 authority for the sake of him who had dele- 
 gated it, she felt that he had grossly abused it. 
 
 To take her to India with him, not, as she 
 was well convinced, because it was necessary 
 or because he could not have safely be- 
 stowed her at home, but merely to separate 
 her effectually from the man she loved, was 
 an outrage. 
 
 Such was Edith Norbury's position as re- 
 garded her Uncle Ernest — a state of things 
 so grievous and intolerable that it made all 
 other matters almost indifferent to her. Her 
 relations with her cousin Eleanor were by no 
 means what she would have wished them to 
 be; but they had suffered no change, as in 
 her uncle's case, from good to ill. They had 
 always been more or less uncomfortable — 
 what diplomatists call * strained.' The cause 
 of this was not very explicable to her. She 
 was loth to accuse her cousin of jealousy, but 
 she had certainlv seemed to dislike the con-
 
 Ox THE Eampakts. 41 
 
 sideratioii witli which her uncle had treated 
 her. Eleanor would fain at first have given 
 herself the airs of an elder sister, and when 
 her efforts in that direction were put down by 
 her parent with a strong hand, their failure 
 seemed to embitter her against her. Of late, 
 she had by no means insisted upon this su- 
 periority of age, but had resented the atten- 
 tions paid to Edith by their common friends, 
 not hesitating to hint that they were the 
 result of her wealth rather than her merit. 
 But where Edith felt her conduct the most 
 keenly was with regard to Mr. Layton, of 
 whom she knew Eleanor entertained a far 
 better opinion than her father, and yet had 
 taken the latter's part in the controversy con- 
 cerning the young man. At one time, uncon- 
 scious of the pleasure her praise had given 
 Edith, she had praised him to her exceed- 
 ingly ; but since he had declared his love for 
 her cousin, she had set herself against him. 
 When reminded of her approval of him, she 
 did not deny it ; and even confessed that it 
 was his very desire to ally himself with Edith 
 that set her against him. ^' He has no self-
 
 42 A PPtlNCE OF THE ElOOD. 
 
 respect," slie said ; " no man with proper 
 pride, being in comparatively narrow circum- 
 stances, would aspire to the hand of one so 
 wealthy as yourself, even if he really loved 
 you." The poisonous sting in the tail of that 
 speech was too much for Edith ; she could not 
 trust herself to reply to it, and from the 
 moment it was uttered, she felt that all which 
 constitutes true friendship between her and 
 her cousin was dead, if, indeed, it ever had 
 an existence. Even Aunt Sophia, slow as she 
 was to speak up, or out, about anything, when 
 she heard those cruel words, had cried, " For 
 shame, Eleanor ! " but her niece had only 
 added, '' I was asked my opinion, and I have 
 given it." 
 
 And it was with this girl for her com- 
 panion, and with Ernest Norbury as her host 
 and master, that Edith was about to embark 
 for India, for a residence of at least two 
 years. Was ever heiress in so sad a plight ? 
 Most girls went to India in search of a suitor 
 — the motive, perhaps, which caused her 
 cousin Eleanor to reo^ard their exodus with 
 such complacency — but she was about to be
 
 On the Ramparts. 43- 
 
 carried tMtlier avowedly to escape from one. 
 What pressure, it was only too probable, 
 would be put upon her in the mean time ! 
 What efforts would be made to detach her 
 from her lover ; what risks lay even in the 
 chapter of accidents extending over so long 
 a period ; and at the best, how unhappy 
 among such domestic surroundings must be 
 her sojourn in a foreign land ! 
 
 Portsmouth, or rather its next-door neigh- 
 bour, Southsea, was not unknown to Edith 
 
 Norbury. It was not far from Midstead, and 
 
 had been a favourite resort of the Canon's in 
 the summer months. As a child she had played 
 under those very trees upon the grassy ram- 
 part which she now beheld from the hotel 
 window. It had been her custom, or her 
 nurse's custom, to see the evening gun fired 
 from the neighbouring bastion. The fancy 
 seized her to revisit these spots once more. 
 That Uncle Ernest would not approve of it 
 was certain. He disliked her going anywhere 
 unaccompanied by Eleanor or Aunt Sophia ; 
 but her apprehension of incurring his dis- 
 pleasure was not just now very keen — it is
 
 44 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 even doubtful whether it did not give her 
 some zest for the enterprise. 
 
 She put on her bonnet and started at once, 
 for there was no knowing when her guardian 
 might return. As for Eleanor, she had gone 
 shopping, and for her last day's shopping ; 
 and, notwithstanding the heat of the weather, 
 her absence might be counted upon up to 
 luncheon time at least. On the ramparts it 
 was by comparison cool, but not a soul had 
 sought their shade but herself. I have been 
 told by competent authorities that Portsmouth 
 is the best defended town, independent of 
 natural position, in Europe ; but at the date 
 of our story the Portsdown lines did not exist, 
 save perhaps in the brain of some engineer, 
 importuning, and importuning in vain, an in- 
 credulous War Office. The old ramparts only, 
 with their deep fosses, were there ; the draw- 
 bridges, the moats, the -sluices, the subter- 
 ranean footways, cunningly devised to inter- 
 pose by serpentine windings the massive earth 
 to the progress of the cannon-ball. All these 
 things were familiar to Edith. The sentries 
 pacing here and there in the distance, the
 
 Ox THE Kampakts. 45 
 
 soldiers at drill on the Common, or guarding 
 with flashing bayonets the drab-clothed con- 
 victs at their spade-work — all looked as it 
 had looked to her in the old days. She 
 thought she could discern the very house in 
 the old-fashioned Jubilee-Terrace where they 
 used to lodo'e. As nature knows no chano;e, 
 whatever hapj)ens to us mortals, so it seemed 
 that human affairs here went on like clock- 
 work, no matter who lived or died. How 
 often, with her father's hand tight clasped in 
 hers, had she listened to the same dropping 
 fire of musketry that now met her ear ; how 
 often gazed at those truculent offenders in 
 drab, half in pity, half in fear. The Canon 
 had known all the authorities ; she had sat 
 with him in the Governor's pew in the gar- 
 rison chapel, amid a blue and scarlet congre- 
 gation, the movements of the service accom- 
 panied, to her delight and awe, with jingling 
 of spurs and rattling of scabbards. She had 
 played with the sword-knots of old generals, 
 and with the cocked hats of admirals of the 
 red, white, and blue. Often had her father 
 taken her up the harbour in some ten-oared
 
 46 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 galley, lent to him by the high officials in 
 the dockyard, to visit the Victory, where 
 Nelson died, or the biscuit manufactory which 
 supplied the navy, but had always one to 
 spare, a very hot and hard one, for her dainty 
 teeth ; or Porchester Castle, where the French 
 prisoners were confined in the great war. 
 
 She seemed to hear once more the measured 
 beat of the oars, and the shrill notes of com- 
 mand of the little midshipmen who accom- 
 panied them. Yet how long ago it seemed, 
 nevertheless, now dear papa was dead. In 
 those days she had thought it a dreadful 
 thing to die, but now it almost seemed to 
 her a more dreadful thing to live. To dwell 
 in exile far from home, and separated from 
 the only being she loved, was indeed a cruel 
 fate. Walking very slowly, and musing in 
 this sad fashion as she walked, she came 
 presently to her old friend, the evening gun, 
 now free from its little ring of spectators. 
 One individual only was standing near it — 
 a bearded gentleman, apparently an invalid, 
 for, in spite of the heat, he wore a cloak. 
 He had climbed the parapet, and was gazing
 
 Ox THE Eamparts. 47 
 
 througli a spy-glass out on SjDitliead, where 
 the Ganges, as her uucle had informed her 
 (indeed, it was the only vessel there), was 
 lying at anchor. She gazed at it, too, through 
 the embrasure with sorrowful eyes and a sink- 
 inoj heart. That, then, was to be her floatino- 
 prison for three months, after which she was 
 to be a captive and an exile for nearly two 
 years more on shore, hundreds of miles from 
 Charley. She was so buried in these sad 
 reflections that she did not notice that the 
 ■stranger had slid ofi* the panipet and approached 
 her. He was a young man, very good-looking, 
 and, if an invalid, showed no traces of it in 
 his face. His hair was brown and curlino;, his 
 gray eyes were large and soft, but with plenty 
 of intelligence in them ; he had no whiskers 
 •or moustache, which, perha]3s, caused his beard 
 to misbecome him — it somehow looked as if it 
 ouQ-ht to belons: to an older man. 
 
 " K you are trying to make out the Ganges,'' 
 he said, in low, respectful tones, " perhaps you 
 would like to use my glass." At the sound of 
 his voice Edith turned round and started — 
 nay, trembled in every limb. Her nerves,
 
 48 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 ordinarily strong enough, had been sorely 
 tried of late, and her thoughts, fixed upon one 
 object, took unconsciously a colour from it, 
 which affected all around her. She felt it was 
 but fancy, yet there was something in the 
 stranger's tone that reminded her of one who 
 was no stranger, and w^hich made her whole 
 soul vibrate. Unable to acknowledge his 
 courtesy even by a word, she gazed at him 
 with intense amazement. As if understanding 
 the cause of her perplexity, he smiled a re- 
 assuring smile. " The hair," he said, " is the 
 hair of Esau, but the voice is the voice of 
 Jacob," and with his left hand he gave a tug 
 at his beard, and off it came. The girl uttered 
 a cry of delight. " Oh, Charley, Charley ! is 
 it Charley?" 
 
 " I think it is ; it seems so, doesn't it ? " he 
 answered, with a tender smile, as he clasped 
 her in his arms. '^ I thought I would just 
 come and say good-bye."
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 ' FAREWELL.' 
 
 " You darling ! you darling ! Let me go, 
 Charley ; tlie sentinel has his eye upon us." 
 
 " Quite right ; his business is to see that we 
 are not interrupted. His orders are to shoot 
 all who have not the password — ' Faithful and 
 True.' " 
 
 " Oh, Charley, suppose my uncle should 
 come by," she murmured timorously. 
 
 " Then the sentry has orders to fire low. 
 No, my darling ; your uncle has gone to the 
 dockyard. I have just met him with his 
 business face on. He believes I am still in 
 Derbyshire." 
 
 " How good of you to come so far just for 
 one last word from my lips, and " — here she 
 smiled in the slyest and most bewitching 
 manner conceivable — " and, the other thing." 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 " I would have gone round tlie world for 
 it/' he murmured simply. 
 
 " But how did you know you would meet 
 me here ? " 
 
 " I did not know ; I only hoped. You told 
 me that you used to love the old ramparts, so 
 I guessed that you would revisit them if you 
 could, and alone. Fortune, you see, has at 
 last begun to favour us. Perhaps she will do 
 more." 
 
 " Oh no, oh no ! " moaned the poor girl 
 bitterly ; " she is against us. Even in send- 
 ing you here — do not think me ungrateful, 
 Charley — but even in that she is not kind. 
 All that terrible farewell has now to come over 
 again. I don't think I can bear it, Charley ; 
 my heart will break." Her pretty face, look- 
 ing up into his with hopeless yearning, looked 
 piteous and pathetic indeed. '* Oh, Charley, 
 to part, to part, and not to meet again for 
 two long years. In that time you will have 
 forgotten your poor Edie." 
 
 He smiled and shook his head incredulously, 
 but it was evidently an eflfort to him to smile. 
 The spectacle of her despair was terrible to him.
 
 ' Farewell.' 51 
 
 " Of course, there is a short way out of all 
 this, Edie," he said gravely, " and it is selfish 
 of me not to take it. I could take you away 
 with me to my sister's house, and before a 
 month was over could call you my lawful wife. 
 I need not say how happy, beyond all dreams 
 of happiness, that would make me, and yet, 
 as I have said, it is selfishness that prevents 
 me. You are not of age, and, though I am 
 well convinced you know your own mind 
 upon the matter, others will not think so. It 
 will be said.4hat I took advantage of your youth 
 and inexperience to get your money when 
 you come of age. Your uncle will say, ' Did I 
 not always tell you he was an adventurer?' 
 and the world will believe him. In two years' 
 time I hope to be in a better position as to 
 means. There will, at all events, be then no 
 such great disparity between us, and I need 
 not say that all you have will be made your 
 own, as surely as lawyers can make it. I koow," 
 he went on, in answer to her gesture of im- 
 patience, " that nothing of this seems to you of 
 importance, but I must keep my honour un- 
 tarnished for your sake. Then, again, there is 
 
 E 2 
 
 vNiVERSfn Of
 
 52 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 your promise to your father, to obey your 
 uncle in all things till you come of age. He 
 obtained it, as I believe, under a false impres- 
 sion of his brother's character, and, was it 
 possible for him to do so, he would now release 
 you from it gladly. Still, you gave it him." 
 
 " On his death-bed," murmured the girl 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Yes ; that, of course, in your eyes makes 
 it the more binding. Would it be right, I 
 ask myself, to persuade you to set that sacred 
 promise at naught, even to make you happy — 
 to save you from what I know must seem 
 unmitigated wretchedness for two long years ? 
 I ask this, I say, of myself, and not of you. 
 It would be cruel and cowardly to put the 
 burthen of reply upon my darling." 
 
 " Nevertheless, dear, let me answer for 
 myself," she put in gravely. " You are right, 
 Charley ; I felt it in my heart — no, not in my 
 heart. My heart, Heaven help me, is plead- 
 ing the other way " 
 
 " And mine, Heaven knows ! — and mine," 
 he cried passionately. " Oh ! do not let us 
 talk of it, or all is lost."
 
 'Faeewell/ 53 
 
 Once more he took her in his arms and 
 clasped her close. It was a dangerous moment. 
 He felt the " Let us fly ! " rising to his lips, 
 and well understood that if once they passed 
 them she would not — could not — deny him. 
 Love was strong in him, but duty, or what he 
 deemed was duty, was stronger. The kiss he 
 pressed upon her mouth, and which almost 
 ruined all, was the seal of victory. Having 
 gained it, he would fain have made no more 
 allusion to what it had cost him, nor retraced 
 one step of-- that perilous way. Man-like he 
 would have extracted his full of joy from the 
 passing moment without a thought of the 
 bitterness beyond ; but with the girl it was 
 different. Though she had made up her mind 
 to bear them, she could not dismiss the 
 miseries of the solitary and sunless future. 
 
 " Two years — two years," she murmured ; 
 ''' between now and then what may not 
 happen, Charley ? " 
 
 "To be sure, what may not ? " he replied, 
 cheerfully, purposely mistaking her meaning. 
 " There is no knowing what may turn up to 
 our advantage. Perhaps before twenty-four
 
 54 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 hours are over our heads the sky may 
 clear." 
 
 " How can it clear, Charley ? In twenty- 
 four hours there will be leagues of sea between 
 us, and with every succeeding hour more 
 leagues. It is dreadful, it is horrible ! " She 
 shuddered and shut her eyes,' as though the 
 outlook she pictured was of a physical kind. 
 He regarded her with a hesitating look, as 
 though he had something to tell her, but 
 doubted whether it would be wise to reveal it. 
 *'Two years," she went on ; " we may both be 
 dead, or, worse, one of us may be dead." 
 
 " Faithful and true, living or dead," he 
 murmured, smilino-. It was the refrain of a 
 song they used to sing together, and at the 
 well-known words she smiled upon him with 
 ineffable tenderness. 
 
 " I shall remember that, be sure," she said. 
 " I shall be yours, and yours only, whether 
 you live or die, until my life's end." 
 
 '' And I yours, Edie. But I say again let 
 us hope for the best. I know what you are 
 thinkino- of — that line w^e used to read to- 
 gether, describing the vain and commonplace
 
 ' Farewell/ 55 
 
 attempts at consolation, 'And vacant chaff 
 well meant for grain/ Yet perhaps there 
 may be some grain of hope for us." 
 
 "Of hope ? '' she put in eagerly. " Then 
 you have some plan, some scheme. Oh, 
 Charley, do not hide it from me. Give me 
 some crumb of comfort." 
 
 A look of alarm had crossed his face at her 
 first words, but before she had done he had 
 regained his composure. " Well, well, since 
 you insist upon my telling it you — though the 
 whole thin^ is uncertain and in the clouds — 
 the fact is, my cousin, the Attorney-General, 
 may possibly give me some work to do in 
 Calcutta, which, though of a temporary kind, 
 will be a good excuse for my coming out to 
 India and seeing how you are going on." 
 
 " Oh, my darling, how delightful ! But 
 why have you kept this from me ? " 
 
 " Well, for one thing, as I say, because the 
 matter was not quite settled." 
 
 " Then it is settled now. It is not in the 
 clouds," she exclaimed, rapturously. " Oh ! 
 when shall you be coming ? If I only knew 
 the date, that will be something; to live for
 
 56 A PiiixcE OF THE Blood. 
 
 and to look forward to, to cast its sunshine 
 through the mist and gloom of my existence." 
 
 "It is the shadow, and not the sunshine, 
 that projects itself in that way, my darling," 
 lie answered, smiling, " but you must really 
 not be so excited about it. That was one of 
 the reasons which prevented my disclosing 
 my little secret to you. I was afraid that 
 you would build too much upon it, and show 
 it by your manner. It would never do for 
 Uncle Ernest to suspect just yet that I had 
 any such plan in view. You must not sud- 
 denly throw off your woes, remember." 
 
 " Throw off my woes, Charley," she mur- 
 mured reproachfully. " How little you guess 
 their weight. It is true that what you have 
 told me is a gleam of sunshine ; nay, for 
 I must not be ungrateful, it gladdens my 
 heart to its very core, but there is no fear 
 of my spirits being too high. And when 
 may I expect you ? When do you sail from 
 England ? " she added, with access of interest 
 that hardly fitted with the depression she 
 had striven to paint. Again that look of 
 alarm came over the voung man's features,
 
 'Farewell/ 57 
 
 but tliis time accompanied by one of self- 
 reproach. 
 
 " Perhaps in a year's time," he said delibe- 
 rately ; then, as her face fell from expectation 
 to extreme despondency, he added, " Or per- 
 haps even earlier." 
 
 *' In a year's time," she murmured like 
 a melancholy but distant echo. " Great 
 Heavens ! what a year it will be ! '^ 
 
 " Now, really, Edie, this is not being grate- 
 ful,'" he remonstrated, '' nor even reasonable. 
 One-half of_the time of our probation has 
 suddenly been lopped away, and your face is 
 no brighter for it." 
 
 " Because all that makes it brig^ht is about 
 to leave it," she answered simply. '' We 
 have been here — I know not how long, but 
 it seems a moment — it may be hours. If my 
 uncle returns and finds me from home, or what 
 he calls home, he will be full of suspicion." 
 
 " You are right, my darling, as }'ou always 
 are. It is most important that he should 
 suspect nothing. Now one more kiss, and 
 then farewell." 
 
 " A long farewell," she moaned despairingly.
 
 58 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 " Perhaps not so long as we think," he 
 answered cheerfully. 
 
 " Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye." 
 He disenoraojed himself from her clino:inor 
 arms with an effort, pressed his lips to her 
 forehead, and walked quickly away. He did 
 not even turn his head, and her woman's in- 
 stinct guessed the reason. He had already put 
 his beard on, and he did not wish that her last 
 look should not remind her of himself. As 
 she gazed after his retreating form her tears 
 beo-an to fall for the first time. While he had 
 been with her she could not afford to waste 
 her time, and dim with weeping the sight 
 that he would gladden no more. She watched 
 him till he disappeared down the neighbour- 
 ing bastion into the parade ground, then slowly 
 and sadly retraced her steps to the hotel. 
 The cloud upon her spirits that had lifted a 
 little, descended again ; the pain of parting 
 with her lover had, at all events for the 
 present, done away with his good news. There 
 was no fear of Uncle Ernest suspecting a hitch 
 in his plans from any alteration in his un- 
 happy niece's manner.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 ox BOARD. 
 
 There is nothing that shows the amazing 
 adaptability of the human mind to changed 
 conditions more than the philosophy with 
 w^hich it accepts life on board ship. The 
 adaptability of the body is generally, it is true, 
 even greater, but in this particular case the 
 body, or a very important part of it, is, strange 
 to say, conservative. It resents the change 
 from land to sea exceedingly. How^ any civil- 
 ized being, much more one brought up, as the 
 saying goes, "in the lap of luxury," can 
 voluntarily and with a light heart exchange 
 terra firnia, with its safety and its comforts,, 
 for the horrors of the heaving deep, is simply 
 inexplicable. Even Dr. Johnson, w^ho was not 
 very particular, expresses a natural loathing
 
 60 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 lit marine arrangements. In his time, indeed, 
 passenger vessels were very different from 
 wliat they are now, or even from what they 
 were at the date of our story. But accejDt- 
 ins: all the modern rubbish about 'floatinor 
 palaces ' and exquisite viands (which, neverthe- 
 less, all taste as if they had been boiled in 
 the same cloth), and substituting ' bowers ' for 
 bad berths, the fact still remains that one is 
 ^'cabined, cribbed, confined" in a manner 
 that one would not put up with for twenty- 
 four hours, much more for whole weeks at a 
 time, on shore. I say nothing about being 
 shaken about with such violence as iu any 
 respectable city in the world not visited by 
 an earthquake would ensure for the victim the 
 protection of the police, nor of being the spec- 
 tator of such behaviour in one's fellow-creatures 
 as is never seen out of a hospital or spoken of 
 in decent society. I leave out of the question 
 the almost incredible fact that persons who 
 can afford to escape it — not by the sacrifice of 
 half their fortune, as one would suppose they 
 would gladly do, but by the payment of a few 
 ■extra pounds — will even submit to live in
 
 On Board. 61 
 
 the same cabin — a dog-kennel — with a poor 
 wretch thus afflicted for many days and nights, 
 w^hereas, if you made any such proposition 
 to them as regards travelling by land, they 
 w^ould take it as an insult, and knock you 
 down. Apart from these unspeakable horrors, 
 the difference between life on sea and life 
 on shore is enormous — far greater than that 
 between poverty and riches, or between sick- 
 ness and health upon the same plane ; and 
 though, of course, some people absolutely like 
 a sea voyage, as there are others w^ho like 
 winterinor in the Arctic reg^ions or climbino; 
 hills, the comparative indifference with which 
 the general public exchange the one for the 
 other is a proof of the fitness of the human 
 soul for any fate. 
 
 To do her justice, Miss Eleanor Xorbury 
 was not in this respect to be mentioned among 
 the common herd. Though it was not the 
 first time she had gone by ship to India, she 
 looked forward to the voyage on board the 
 Ganges with anything but pleasure. She knew 
 what the comforts of a cabin and the pleasures 
 of a cuddy were even in calm weather.
 
 62 A Peixce of the Blood. 
 
 " She had had enough of action and of motion, she 
 Rolled to larboard, rolled to starboard, when the surge 
 was seething free," 
 
 and had she been left to her own choice, 
 she would have rocked on ' C ' sprmgs in her 
 carriage. She did not deceive herself with 
 any of the smooth commonplaces about ''free- 
 dom of life at sea." She called it the freedom 
 of a hencoop, and she did not deceive other 
 people. Indeed, in describiug how matters 
 would be to her fellow-voyagers who had not 
 had her experience, she drew them — doubt- 
 less with good intentions, and to prevent 
 unreasonable expectations — even worse than 
 they were — " dipped her pencil in the hues 
 of eclipse." The consequence of which was, 
 that poor Aunt Sophia was half dead wdth 
 fright before she left the packet-boat that 
 took them out in the evening over a glassy 
 sea to the Ganges. In Edith's case the evil 
 auguries of her cousin fell upon deaf ears. 
 When we are in sorrow we are more adapt- 
 able than ever, because we care little what 
 becomes of us. The troubles of the mind, 
 save in the case of acute physical pain, over-
 
 On Board. 63 
 
 ride and obliterate those of tlie body, and 
 much more the apprehension of them. The 
 little party were received on board with very 
 tinusual marks of respect ; for Mr. Norbury's 
 position " in the company " was well known. 
 He had made special application to go by the 
 Ganges, which, as a rule, carried no passengers 
 at all ; and every arrangement had been made 
 for his comfort and convenience. Captain 
 Head, a florid, resolute-looking man, with 
 iron-gray hair, and quiet, intelligent eyes, 
 welcomed them in person. " I trust," he said, 
 **Mr. Norbury, that your party will find 
 everything to their satisfaction ; we have no 
 other ladies on board to divide our attentions 
 with them." 
 
 " No other ladies, you say," answered the 
 other quickly; ''no other gentlemen either, I 
 hope. I thought that had been understood at 
 the India House." 
 
 The captain shrugged his shoulders and 
 smiled, but not in a very conciliatory manner. 
 He did not like his passenger's tone. "I 
 know nothing of any arrangement outside my 
 ship," he said, with an emphasis that implied
 
 64 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 that over all inside he was master, and not 
 to be dictated to even by a member of the 
 council. ''There are two gentlemen only 
 with as beside yourself." 
 
 " It's no matter," says Mr. Norbury, loftily, 
 to which the captain replied with another smile 
 that seemed to suggest that it was no matter 
 whether it mattered to Mr. Norbury or not. 
 
 Then he turned to the ladies, whom he had 
 already respectfully saluted, and addressed 
 to them a few words of genial courtesy. 
 They were uttered with the simplicity and 
 frankness of a sailor, but not without a certain 
 dignity. The captain of an Indiaman in those 
 days was in a position little inferior to that of 
 a man-of-war, which, indeed, the Ganrjcs her- 
 self mio'ht also have been termed. She car- 
 ried guns, was of 600 tons burthen, and was 
 manned by a crew of nearly 100 men. His 
 manner impressed the ladies very differently. 
 Miss Eleanor thoug^ht it was familiar, and 
 even impertinent. Those domineering airs 
 that belong to most Europeans who have lived 
 in the East, and which, even in England, 
 remain at the best dormant, had revived
 
 Ox Board. 65 
 
 within lier. She looked upon the captain as 
 xxn uncovenanted person. Aunt Sophia, on 
 the other hand, dazzled by his uniform, and 
 charmed by liis politeness, felt as though she 
 was being patronized by royalty. His resolute 
 €0untenance gave her confidence ; the sword 
 by his side seemed to be a guarantee against 
 pirates, a danger which had presented itself 
 to her mind in vivid colours. 
 
 Edith, whose beautiful Ijut melancholy face 
 had evidently awakened his interest, was 
 greatly pleased with the captain. She recog- 
 nized something paternal and benevolent 
 about him, which she had been far from anti- 
 €ipating, and which seemed to whisper to her, 
 " This man will be my friend." 
 
 The officers of the ship were then intro- 
 duced to the party. The first mate, Mr. 
 Marston, a gentleman of thirty-five or so, and 
 already inclining to baldness, tall, very polite, 
 but rather prim. 
 
 Mr. Eedmayne, the second mate, a young 
 fellow of five-and-tweuty, but looking even 
 younger, very handsome, but rather shy. 
 Mr. Bates, the third mate, much older than 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 tne other two, a squat, powerfully-built man, 
 marked witli small-pox, and not looking like 
 a gentleman at all. 
 
 Mr. Doyle, the surgeon, a jovial, middle- 
 aged Irishman, with eyes sparkling with good 
 humour, and a mouth which, even when not 
 smiling, seemed always about to smile. 
 
 At supper the little party was joined by 
 oue of the gentleman passengers — Mr. Ains- 
 worth, a clergyman ; a stout, pale, elderly 
 man, with a face totally hairless, but with the 
 expression of a sheep. AVithout an invitation, 
 he favoured the company with a long, extem- 
 pore grace, during the delivery of which Mr. 
 Norbury's face was a study. " Who the deuce is 
 he ? " he whispered indignantly to the captain ; 
 ''not one of the company's chaplains, surely." 
 
 " I think not ; he is a protegi of the secre- 
 tary. You know his leaning. I believe he 
 is a missionary ; an inoffensive man enough." 
 
 " But that is just what he isn't," put in Mr. 
 Norbury ; "he is most offensive. The idea 
 of an uncovenanted minister volunteering 
 grace — and such a grace." 
 
 " Just so. He did it at dinner. He calls
 
 On Board. Q7 
 
 it asking a blessing. I must take an oppor- 
 tunity of telling him that I am chaplain on 
 board my own ship. He won't do it again 
 for some time, however, if I am not mistaken. 
 It is comino^ on to blow, and o^entlemen of 
 that complexion and habit of body — eh ? " 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," said Mr. Norbury, 
 piously. At present, at all events, Mr. Ains- 
 worth was in possession of his health and full 
 flow of conversation, which, however, he 
 addressed mostly to the ladies. He gave his 
 especial attention — as was right and proper — 
 to the eldest of the three ; but it was but 
 indifferently reciprocated. Aunt So23hia's mind 
 was too much preoccupied with the novelty 
 of her situation, her forebodings as to what 
 was to happen when the ship began to move 
 — for it was at present at anchor and almost 
 motionless — to listen to conversation, however 
 edifying. Her attempts to do so were quite 
 lamentable. 
 
 "The whole question of the lost tribes," 
 Mr. Ainsworth was remarking, after a long 
 dissertation on the subject, "is intensely inter- 
 esting. AYhat do you think. Miss Norbury ? " 
 
 F 2
 
 68 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 " No doubt. Do you think they were lost 
 goiug out to India ? " hazarded Aunt Sophia. 
 
 Edith, compelled to smile in spite of her 
 troubles, had to explain that her relative was 
 very nervous and apprehensive about the sea. 
 
 It was the captain's advice that the ladies 
 should retire to their cabins before they began 
 the voyage. " What do you say, Mr. Doyle ? " 
 he inquired, referring to the scientific authority. 
 
 " I say, ditto, sir," returned the other, with 
 a rich Irish accent. " I wish I could tell 
 them, as the nurses tell the children — ' Pretty 
 dears, you will sleep without rocking.' But 
 as that's impossible, it's better to sleep before 
 the rocking begins." 
 
 Aunt Sophia rose immediately, with a pale 
 face, to act upon the prescription at once ; and 
 Eleanor also withdrew to her cabin. Edith 
 asked permission of the captain to go on deck. 
 
 "The deck is yours, madam," was the 
 gallant reply, "but I am afraid you will 
 find us just for to-night in a sad state of 
 confusion." 
 
 Edith had an idea that her uncle had made 
 an objection, which was overruled. The cap-
 
 On Board. 69 
 
 tain gave her liis arm up the cuddy stairs. 
 Mr. Eedmayne followed with rugs ; Mr. Doyle 
 with a footstool. Doubtless had not the first 
 and third mates been on duty they would 
 have also volunteered their services. In two 
 minutes she found herself in a comfortable 
 armchair on deck, watching the preparations 
 for departure, and won for the moment from 
 the contemplation of her woes by the novelty 
 and strang^eness of the scene. There was a 
 pilot on the poop, who roared out to the 
 chief mate^4iat he had to say, like a candi- 
 date on a platform bent on making himself 
 heard by the very last man on the skirts of 
 his audience ; the prim and polite chief mate, 
 transformed into an angry brawler, repeated 
 his orders to the boatswain ; and the boat- 
 swain, iu censed, as it seemed, at receiving 
 them second hand, addressed the same in- 
 flammatorv lang-uagje, but with even o-reater 
 emphasis, to the crew. Then there was a 
 shuffling of naked feet upon the deck, and 
 a number of men seized each a bar of wood 
 and stuck them into the capstan, and then 
 standing between the spokes and leaning upon
 
 70 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 tliem witli heavy hands and brawny chests, 
 seemed suddenly turned to stone. If an en- 
 chanter's wand had been waved which had 
 chano:ed tumult to silence, and action to 
 tranquillity, the transformation could not 
 have been more complete. Then piercing the 
 silence came the shrill note of a fiddle, and 
 keeping time with their feet to its air, the 
 sailors began to stamp and tramp round the 
 capstan, which, with shriek on shriek, pro- 
 tested against the outrage, till the anchor 
 swung at the bows. Then the ropes began 
 to rattle and the great sails to flap, and fill 
 and strain above, and the waves, as the huge 
 ship cut her way through them, to swirl, and 
 hiss, and foam below. 
 
 Under any circumstances, the girl's mind 
 would have been filled with the interest and 
 excitement of the scene, which, even as it was, 
 she could not watch unmoved ; but when the 
 tumult was over, and the big ship began to 
 speed upon her way before the freshening 
 breeze, and the ' Fair Island,' looking doubly 
 fair in the calm moonlight, to fade upon her 
 sight, the thoughts which had been always
 
 On Board. 71 
 
 present, like a dark undercurrent in a shallow 
 lake, of what she was leaving behind her, 
 began to gather strength and volume ; her 
 hands dropped on her lap and her eyes filled 
 with tears. Had any one on board that teem- 
 ing ship such cause for sorrow as she ? Others, 
 indeed, had parted with those dearest to them, 
 but it was not for years ; after the voyage 
 out and home they would see them again ; 
 and in any case it was their business to be 
 going out. But she had no business. She 
 was going into unnecessary exile — the victim 
 of mere cruelty and caprice. 
 
 ''It is getting late, Edith; it is time you 
 went to your cabin." It was her uncle's voice 
 which thus addressed her, in cold and authori- 
 tative tones — more authoritative, nay even 
 dictatorial, she thought, than he had ever 
 used to her. 
 
 " Thank you ; no, I prefer the deck at 
 present." Her spirit was roused. She had 
 obeyed him in grave matters, and brought 
 wretchedness upon herself in so doing ; she 
 was not going to submit to petty tyranny. 
 
 He removed the cisfar he was smokiiigf
 
 72 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 from his mouth, and looked at her atten- 
 tively. She retm^ned his glance with equal 
 steadiness. 
 
 " You do not seem to me to be in a riorht 
 frame of mind," he said. 
 
 "It is possible you may not be best judge 
 of that," was her quiet reply. 
 
 " I am the best judge at all events of what 
 is the best course, and the only course for you 
 to take, Miss Edith, and that is — Submission." 
 
 " Heaven knows, I have submitted," ex- 
 claimed the girl with a gesture of despair, 
 " too far, too far." 
 
 " In the letter," he said, ignoring those last 
 words of hers, " but not in the spirit. I have 
 watched you very narrowly since — since you 
 have been in possession of my sentiments 
 with regard to a certain subject ; and I see 
 you still hanker after the forbidden thing. 
 Now, pray understand once and for all, that 
 you will never get it. I may have had some 
 difficulty — there is no harm in confessing it 
 now — in makins; matters safe while we were 
 on shore and in England. I could not well 
 have locked you up, and your attractions
 
 Ox Board. 73: 
 
 might well have tempted your needy lover to 
 some l3old stroke." 
 
 ''He is a man of honour," said Edith 
 haughtily. For the moment she felt inclined 
 to tell him that that very day would have 
 given her her freedom but for that fact. 
 
 Mr. Norbury shruo^aed his shoulders. 
 
 " Unhappily, he is also a man of straw, 
 which is a fatal objection to him. That you 
 have seen the last of him is quite certain. 
 I dare say you thouodit it strano;e that I 
 objected to^-your maid coming with you. 
 Shall I tell you the reason ? " 
 
 " The matter is no long^er of anv conse- 
 quence," she answered indifferently. " I sup- 
 pose it was for cheapness." 
 
 Under his shaggy eyebrows his eyes flashed 
 fire. 
 
 "That is an insult. You know very well that 
 that is not my way ; I have denied you no- 
 thing that money can jDurchase, unless, indeed, 
 the gentleman upon whom you are wasting 
 your afi"ections comes under that head." 
 
 She had been about to apologize to him for 
 her uncalled-for sarcasm, but that sneer on
 
 74 A Peixce of the Blood. 
 
 his part froze every impulse of conciliation and 
 left lier marble. 
 
 ''No, miss, I dismissed your maid because I 
 knew that persons in lier rank of life ignore all 
 disparities in love-making — save that of years 
 — and sympathize — '^ 
 
 "I do not take counsel of my lady's maid, 
 Uncle Ernest," interrupted the girl with spirit. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. But, at all events, 
 her presence would have had associations for 
 you which would have been mischievous. It 
 was for that reason and for your sake that I 
 left her behind. I exhort and entreat you 
 now, for your own sake, to cease from vain 
 regrets. The last straw that bound you to 
 that unworthy young man has now, believe 
 me, been severed." 
 
 " It will hold as long as life holds," she 
 answered firmly. 
 
 " I have been very patient with you, hitherto, 
 Edith. I have made allowance for your inex- 
 perience and impulsive nature ; but you may 
 try me too far. I am your uncle, but remember 
 that I am also your guardian." 
 
 " I know it well," she answered bitterly.
 
 On Board. 75 
 
 *'You have taken advantage of your position 
 to the uttermost." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he cried, fire again 
 flashing from his eyes. "Do you dare to 
 
 impute " he stopped, his passion arrested 
 
 by her look of wonder. " It was very un- 
 pleasant to me to exert my authority," he 
 added quietly, "but I did my duty." 
 
 " And I mine," she said. " AYhat more is 
 it you ask of me ? " 
 
 " Mr. Lay ton's letters — you have four of 
 them, I know. I don't want to read them, of 
 course ; but I must see them destroyed with 
 my own eyes." 
 
 " That you never shall. I will die first." 
 
 " Then you will die soon, for I will have 
 them within twenty-four hours." With that 
 he turned on his heel and left her very 
 terrified but not subdued. She did not dislike 
 him, perhaps, more than she had done of late, 
 but she was more afraid of him. She had 
 known that he had an iron hand, but she had 
 never seen it without the velvet glove before.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PASSENGER. 
 
 Edith obeyed her uncle in one thing at once ; 
 she ran down to her cabin. Those letters he 
 had spoken of were there, and though an hour 
 ag-o sucli an idea would never have entered her 
 mind, she thought him quite capable of possess- 
 ing himself of them by fraud or even force. 
 That she possessed some correspondence of her 
 lover's was natural enough for him to take for 
 granted, but how had he come to know that 
 she had had four letters — exactly four ? No- 
 body knew it, as she had thought, except her- 
 self ; nobody to her knowledge had even seen 
 them. They were kept in a secret place ; she 
 had often read them, it was true, but only 
 when she was alone. She tried to think 
 whether she had ever been interrupted in that 
 occupation. She had a vague idea that on one 
 occasion this had occurred, but she could not
 
 The Passengee. 77 
 
 recall by whom. It must have been by one of 
 three persons only, her maid Selina, her cousin 
 Eleanor, or Aunt Sophia. Selina, she felt sure, 
 would never have revealed the fact, for she 
 sympathized heart and soul with her young 
 mistress ; so far her uncle had been right. 
 Aunt Sophia was equally to be trusted, not 
 because she was a partisan, for she was not ; 
 though she pitied her sorrows, she had scrupul- 
 ously avoided taking sides with her, and she 
 was not one to make mischief. If anybody had 
 told of her -secret treasure it must, then, have 
 been Eleanor. Her cousin had not behaved 
 kindly or even justly in the matter of Mr. 
 Layton, but she shrank from thinking lier 
 capable of meanness and treachery. If it were 
 so, her own position was even more deplorable 
 than she had imagined it to be. It was terrible 
 to be without friends, but how much worse 
 would it be to be surrounded by enemies and 
 spies. After all, the letters had come by j^ost, 
 and Mr. Norbury might possibly have taken 
 note of their arrival ; even that, liowever, pre- 
 supposed an amount of surveillance for which 
 she was unprepared, and which alarmed her.
 
 78 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 Here were tlie letters safe enough. She 
 took them from their hiding-place with the 
 reverence of a priest who handles some frail 
 and precious relic, and read them over again in 
 their order. The three first were full of happi- 
 ness ; the fourth, written after the happiness 
 was threatened, was full of hope. In none of 
 them was the writer importunate or pressing, 
 as is the manner of lovers. At first, indeed, he 
 had hesitated to accept her troth as binding on 
 herself. "You are so young and ignorant of 
 the world," he said, '' that it seems taking an 
 unfair advantage of you. I feel that I have no 
 right to bind you with so long a chain. With 
 nie — who have nothing to lose in the interim 
 — it is diiferent. Let me be bound, not you." 
 Some people may think that this was ' magni- 
 ficent,' but it was not 'love.' To Edith it 
 seemed love of a rare and chivalrous sort ; but 
 she had declined his terms. He had warned 
 her from the first that Mr. Norbury would not 
 give his consent to their marriage ; that at the 
 best they must needs w^ait till she came of age ; 
 but that she was well content to wait for him. 
 " I am yours, whether soon or late," she wrote,
 
 The Passexger. 79 
 
 and it was not in human nature that he shoukl 
 decline the sacrifice. 
 
 Then came the time in whicli the two next 
 letters were written — hours of blissful content, 
 days ''when it was always afternoon" — letters 
 written and read in dreamland. Then the day 
 when her uncle put his foot down to stamp 
 love out — love which, like the sweet-smelling 
 herb, yields onlv the more fraoTance for being; 
 crushed — and after it, and their forced separa- 
 tion, the fourth letter. It was this she held 
 most precious because it applied to her pre- 
 sent position and formed the guide to her 
 future conduct. " We are parted," it said, 
 "but only as water is parted by the hand. 
 No power on earth can prevent our meet- 
 ino; ao'ain if onlv we are true to each other. 
 Whatever happens remember that every day 
 brings you nearer to me and me nearer to you. 
 You will do me the justice to say (to yourself) 
 that I have never striven to set you against 
 your uncle , I will not do it now, but in my 
 opinion he will leave no stone unturned to 
 eifect his object. It is even possible that he 
 will not always confine himself to persuasion
 
 so A Ppjxce of the Blood. 
 
 to win you over to his way of thinking ; the 
 thought of his being severe or unkind to you 
 makes me shudder, but I fear that he is capable 
 of such a change of conduct. If I do him 
 wrong I owe hiai an apology, and shall be 
 rejoiced to make it." 
 
 He had not done him wrong. Her uncle's 
 behaviour to her that evening, his voice, 
 his manner, his threatening words had proved 
 her lover in the right ; thanks to him, she 
 had been prepared for this change, though, 
 even as it was, it alarmed and shocked her. 
 Doubtless if Charley had known of her guar- 
 dian's intention to carry her to India, his letter 
 would have been more outspoken, but it was 
 written previous to their knowledge of this 
 plan, of which, indeed, they had had no sus- 
 picion until within a few days of its accom- 
 plishment. She had written to inform her 
 lover of it, and doubtless, distrustful of any 
 letter reaching her, his presence that morning 
 had been his reply. Even without it, the letter 
 she held in her hand would have strengthened 
 and supported her under her present trial ; for 
 "faithful and true, living or dead" was its
 
 The PassengePw. STl 
 
 burthen througliout ; but with his last words 
 ringing in her ears, his last looks — apt illustra- 
 tion of that loving text — still visible to her 
 mind's eye, it seemed as though it would have 
 sustained her under very martyrdom. Uncle 
 Ernest had been wise — after his false lights — 
 to endeavour to wrest this prop and stay from 
 her — that dear hand-writino; would be a source 
 from which she drew courage and content 
 whenever she looked at it ; and neither threats 
 nor cajolery should ever induce her to part 
 
 with it. — 
 
 In the place of concealment where she had 
 hitherto kept the letters, a secret drawer in 
 her desk, she had no longer any confidence, 
 for she felt that her uncle would have no 
 scruples in employing any means to get pos- 
 session of them. Where, then, in her cabin 
 could she conceal them ? She had read Edg^ar 
 Poe's story of ' The Purloined Letter,' and re- 
 membered his direction that the most open 
 place, as likely to be the least suspected, was 
 the safest. In that case the envelope had been 
 turned inside out and the missive left about, 
 for any chance comer to take up. She shrank, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 however, from that notion of the chance comer 
 — in the shape of the stewardess, for example 
 — whom idle curiosity might prompt to ex- 
 amine this treasure, and, moreover, there were 
 four letters, and not one, to be hidden. She 
 thought of disposing each in a secret place, 
 so that if one or tw^o should be stolen from 
 her, the others would be left ; but how could 
 she endure the loss of one or two ? In the 
 end she resolved to carry them about with her, 
 and sewed them into her apparel. "All day 
 long to fall and rise, upon her balmy bosom 
 with — not, alas ! her laughter — but her sighs." 
 Then with a tolerably tranquil mind she 
 sought her berth. She was one of those ex- 
 ceptional individuals who are born good sailors, 
 and suffered no misery from the motion of the 
 vessel. That Aunt Sophia in the next cabin 
 was not so fortunate was made apparent to 
 her by various groanings and complainings ; the 
 prescription of the Irish doctor of going to sleep 
 early had not, it seemed, been by any means 
 successful with her, probably because she had 
 been unable to put it into practice. She could 
 do her aunt no good, she knew, even if she
 
 The Passexger. 83 
 
 could have visited lier, which, of course, she 
 could not do, but the idea of that good Lady's 
 tortures niade her feel very uncomfortable. 
 Moreover, thouo:h not otherwise inconveni- 
 enced, the beating and bumping of the ship, 
 and the other novel accompaniments to her 
 situation, kept her awake for some time. At 
 last she fell into a heavy slumber. 
 
 In the dead of the night she awoke with that 
 unaccountable suddenness and consciousness of 
 something having happened, with which we 
 are all familiar. The wind and the sea had 
 risen, and with shrieks and tumult, unfamiliar 
 to a landsman's ear, but amid them there 
 seemed to be, or rather to have been, a sound 
 more recognizable and commonplace, as though 
 some one had stumbled against an article of 
 furniture in the cabin. Such a circumstance 
 was impossible, since she had locked her door, 
 and, indeed, one glance round the little room, 
 dimly lighted from above, was sufficient to 
 assure her that she was alone, and everything 
 around her as she had left it. Xo doubt it 
 had been some sharp shock of the sea, which 
 has innumerable ways of announcing its 
 
 G 2
 
 84 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 presence, from the gentle tap of the school-girl, 
 who, standing on tiptoe, can just lift the 
 knocker, to the thundering summons of the 
 fireman. She must in future prepare herself 
 for every description of disturbance. 
 
 Nevertheless, she did not easily fall asleep 
 ao-ain. She lay in that sort of half- dreamy 
 state which rejects the present and the future, 
 and concerns itself with the past only. She was 
 once more in the old cathedral town in which 
 she had spent most of her youth. She walked 
 ao-ain with her father in the water meadows 
 that surrounded it, and heard in the distance 
 the soft, melancholy chimes cleaving the 
 summer air. She wandered alone in the 
 cloisters, while the swelling anthem "shook 
 the prophets blazoned on the panes" of the 
 great eastern window ; she knelt in the stately 
 fane and heard the sweet voices of the 
 choristers talking (as her childish fancy had 
 painted them) with God. Was all that past 
 and done with (she had just sense enough 
 to wonder), or was it, perhaps, at the judg- 
 ment day, to be all gone over again ? What 
 becomes of our lives when we have lived
 
 The Passenger. 85 
 
 them 1 They cannot be surely as suits of 
 clothes, which, having worn out, we discard 
 and see no more of. Short as her existence 
 had been, it had been divided, as most of 
 our lives are, into different epochs. Her 
 residence at her uncle's house in town seemed 
 not only a new existence, but the experience 
 of another person. If, at least, she w^as the 
 same person who had passed through both, her 
 identity was not recognizable. Though she 
 knew that the latter phase had been passed 
 in the worhl and the former out of it, the 
 latter seemed less real, more like playing at 
 life than when she was a child and did play 
 at it ; though she saw so many more of her 
 fellow-creatures in it, she felt more Ion el v. 
 Her father had gone to heaven and left her, 
 and there was no one to occupy his place. 
 She seemed almost as in a strano-e land where 
 the people w^ere kind to her, in a certain 
 superficial fashion, but it was not that native 
 land, every flower of which she had known 
 so well, and where by a very few she had 
 been beloved. Scenes of fashion passed before 
 her half-shut eyes — gay dresses, brilliantly-lit
 
 86 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 rooms, and crowded companies. Then one 
 man, tall and comely ; less courtly than some 
 others, perhaps, but more gracious and tender ; 
 acrain and ag;ain she saw him ; then when he 
 was not by she saw him. She w^as, somehow, 
 no longer alone in the world. There was 
 some one to care for her ; some one to love 
 her, as her father had done, though in another 
 way. Then he, too, was threatened with 
 death, or was it herself that was threatened? 
 It was all one. There was cold and thick 
 darkness all about her, when suddenly his 
 voice was heard. 
 
 She was broad awake in an instant. The 
 light of morning, nay, of day, was flooding 
 the little cabin. She knew in a moment 
 where she was, and recognized the present 
 in all particulars. He was a hundred miles 
 away or so from her, and the sea between 
 them, and yet she had heard his voice. 
 Something terrible, then, had happened to 
 him. She had read of such things. How, 
 in the moment of dissolution, the spirit of 
 one who loves us is permitted for one fleet- 
 ing instant to make its presence known to us,
 
 The Passenger. 87 
 
 thoiigli far away, and in some vague manner 
 to give its last farewell. 
 
 Edith Norbury was not deficient in common 
 sense, but the perspiration gathered on her 
 brow as this idea occurred to her. The day- 
 light could not quench the superstitious terror, 
 nor the sounds of life and motion that now 
 pervaded the ship drown the recollection of 
 that beloved voice. ^Yhat it had said she 
 knew not, but it had spoken, and there was no 
 mistaking those well-loved and familiar tones. 
 The impression was so strong and vivid, that 
 it even removed the remembrance of the noise 
 she had heard in the night, till she rose and 
 began to dress. Then, indeed, it recurred to 
 her with redoubled strength and significance, 
 for the four letters from her lover, which she 
 had sewn into her garment, had, to her in- 
 tense amazement, disappeared. At first she 
 imagined herself to be the victim of some 
 delusion of the senses. She had not remem- 
 bered, perhaps, where she had • put them 
 aright, and had only dreamt of changing their 
 place of security, but on examining the secret 
 drawer with feverish haste, she found it, as she
 
 88 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 expected, empty. Then, again, it struck her 
 that the agitation and excitement of her mind 
 might have induced her to walk in her sleep, 
 and unconsciously remove the articles on which 
 her wakino; thoughts had dwelt with such 
 intensity. But the closest search failed to 
 find them ; they w^ere gone. Her ears, then, 
 had not deceived her ; some one had entered 
 her cabin in the night and stolen her treasures. 
 Yet her door was locked, and the key still 
 remained on the inside. As to the window, 
 it was, of course, a mere bull's-eye, and looked 
 on the sea. The mystery was inexplicable, 
 and but for the noise she had heard, would, 
 perhaps, have been associated in her mind 
 with that equally mysterious voice ; but as it 
 was, what had happened was only too palpable. 
 Whatever means had been adopted by the 
 perpetrator, she had been robbed, and the 
 sense of loss swallowed up her wonder at the 
 means. Whether her uncle had been the 
 actual committor of the crime or not, thougfh 
 the fact of his being so would naturally have 
 turned her dislike of him into disgust, it was 
 clear to her that he was the real offender. 
 Priceless as the letters were to her, none but
 
 The Passenger. 89 
 
 himself could attach any value to them. That 
 he did so, she had his own words in proof the 
 night before, coupled \Yith the assurance that 
 he meant to have them. The inference was 
 clear and fair that he had got them now. 
 
 As she stepped out of her cabin, intending 
 to visit Aunt Sophia, she met the stewardess, 
 who informed her that that lady had had a dis- 
 turbed night (a very euphonious phrase, poor 
 soul, for her actual experience), and had cost 
 Miss Eleanor one who had been in attendance 
 upon her ; the two ladies had, therefore, given 
 her instructions that they were not to be 
 disturbed. 
 
 As it still wanted some time to the breakfast 
 hour, Edith went up on deck, and took her 
 seat where she had sat the previous night. A 
 very different view now 2)resented itself to 
 her ; the ship was out of sight of land, and 
 the wild water — for so it seemed to her, 
 though there was but a slight breeze blowing 
 — foamed and sparkled on all sides of her, 
 while beyond lay the boundless blue. Under 
 any other circumstances the lightness and 
 freshness of the scene must needs have put 
 life and spirit into her. But the face of
 
 90 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 nature, whether she smile or frown, affects us 
 but little when the heart within us is heavy. 
 We repay her callousness to our own sorrows 
 with a like indifference. 
 
 Presently her uncle came up to her. She 
 looked up to him boldly and searchingly, but 
 he did not shrink from her gaze. If he was 
 conscious of having committed the baseuess of 
 which she suspected him, he had schooled 
 himself to conceal it. 
 
 " I hope you have slept well, Edith ? " he 
 said, with a fleeting smile. " But I need not 
 ask ; you look as fresh as a daisy. Your aunt 
 and cousin, I hear, have been by no means 
 so fortunate." His tone was natural enough, 
 and if his manner was a little embarrassed, so 
 it had always been in these later days after 
 their disagreement about Mr. Lay ton — if there 
 was anything suspicious about his address, it 
 was that he talked rather more quickly than 
 usual, without giving her time to reply. 
 
 ''I am quite well, thank you," she said 
 coldly. 
 
 " That's well. I hope the sea breezes have 
 given you a good appetite. There is the gong
 
 The Passenger. 91 
 
 for breakfast ; let me give you my arm to the 
 cuddy." 
 
 The ship was pitching sufficiently to make 
 the refusal of his offer a positive rudeness, but 
 as she laid her hand upon his arm, her fingers 
 seemed to shrink from grasping it. Her head 
 swam round so, that if he had not clasped her 
 close with his elbow she would have fallen. 
 
 ''Trust to me, who have my sea-legs on," 
 he said, as he led her to the companion, where 
 she gladly exchanged her hold of him for that 
 of the banister. 
 
 *' Come," said the captain, speaking in his 
 cheery voice from the breakfast-table, '' here 
 is one of our ladies, at least. Good morning. 
 Miss Norbury. You know every one here, I 
 think, save the latest addition to our company. 
 Mr. Charles Layton, Miss Edith Norbury." 
 Her lover, who was sitting at the table with 
 the rest, rose up to greet her. 
 
 She was dimly conscious of hearing a fright- 
 ful execration from her uncle, a high-pitched 
 remonstrance from the captain, and then the 
 cabin swam round with her, and she remem- 
 bered no more.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ACCUSATION. 
 
 " It often takes them this way when it 
 doesn't the other. No one, much less a fragile 
 and delicate young creature like this, can go 
 to sea for the first time without paying her 
 footing in meal or in malt." 
 
 These were the words, uttered in an Hiber- 
 nian accent, soft and strong (like the best 
 Irish whisky), which fell upon Edith's ears as 
 she regained consciousness. But it was not 
 till afterwards, though she felt that they were 
 kindly meant, that she had a clear perception 
 of their motive and sio^nificance. Mr. Dovle 
 knew well enough that her indisposition had 
 been caused by some mental shock (at the 
 nature of which he could only make a shrewd 
 guess), and he had done his best to conceal 
 the fact from the spectators. Fortunately,
 
 The Accusation. 93 
 
 thougli liis success in deceiving them was 
 doubtful, they were, as it happened, only ^ve 
 in number. Besides the captain and Mr. 
 Bates, and the involuntary cause of the catas- 
 trophe, Mr. Charles Lay ton himself, there was 
 no one as yet at the breakfast-table. Save an 
 interchange of looks, which, however, had been 
 expressive enough — Mr. Norbury had glared 
 at Mr. Layton and then tit the captain, like a 
 tiger who cannot make up his mind which of 
 two victims to devour first, to which the cap- 
 tain had repiied with indignant astonishment, 
 and the young barrister with quiet scorn — 
 nothing had passed in the mean time between 
 them. Edith's fainting fit, if so short a seizure 
 could be so called, had only lasted a few 
 seconds ; perhaps there was an inner conscious- 
 ness of her lover's presence, even in that over- 
 turn of mind, which acted as a restorative. 
 
 " If you went to your cabin and laid down 
 a bit ? " continued Mr. Doyle, tentatively. 
 
 " Thank you, no ; I am quite well now ; I 
 would rather stay where I am," said Edith, 
 with a forced smile. 
 
 " Quite right, it's the breakfast that's the
 
 94 A Pjrixce of the Blood. 
 
 thino^ for lier," observed the accommodatino: 
 doctor. 
 
 Her uncle was about to object, but the cap- 
 tain interposed in a tone of authority : 
 
 ''It is the doctor who is master in a case 
 of this kind, Mr. Xorbury, and we must 
 have no mutiny on board the Ganges^ if you 
 please/' 
 
 It was only the natural chivalry of a 
 disposition which always leant towards the 
 weaker side, and the ladies, which had dic- 
 tated this speech ; but to Mr. Norbury's ear 
 it only corroborated the conviction that the 
 whole affair had been planned beforehand 
 between the captain and Mr. Layton. He 
 had been bribed to take ' that adventurer ' 
 out to India for the express purpose of prose- 
 cuting his forbidden suit. If the pilot had 
 not left — and Layton had doubtless delayed 
 his own appearance till he had done so, for 
 that very reason — he would have put niece 
 and daughter into his boat and returned to 
 England ; but as it was, he felt that for the 
 time he was powerless. The captain was 
 master of the situation, and until they reached
 
 The Accusation. 95 
 
 Calcutta could hardly be dismissed from the 
 Company's service for conspiracy. 
 
 Nor could Editli be locked up, with a sentry 
 at the door of her cabin with orders to shoot 
 any one who attempted to communicate with 
 her without her uncle's permission. Language 
 could not have expressed his fury in any case, 
 but the necessity which prudence enjoined on 
 him to keep silence seemed almost dangerous 
 to life. He took his seat at the table half- 
 suffocated with rage and resentment, while 
 the captainr pressed the breakfast dainties on 
 Edith's attention, and Mr. Charles Layton 
 sipped his tea. There are certain explosives 
 on which a change of temperature has a very 
 disastrous effect, and the mere contemplation 
 of the young barrister's coolness drove Mr. 
 Norbury's temper, which was at a white heat, 
 to the vero;e of bursting;. 
 
 The politest of bows and the gravest of 
 smiles had been all the acknowledgment 
 which Layton had given of Edith's presence. 
 There had been only just so much of recog- 
 nition in it as, to one who knew the posi- 
 tion in which he stood with reference to her
 
 96 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 belonmnors, would have seemed becominof. He 
 had met her before, it seemed, but not under 
 circumstances to encourage familiarity. Hap- 
 pily for their strained relations — a phrase 
 which fell far short of describing the state 
 of tension of Mr. Norbury's mind — Mr. Ains- 
 worth now made his appearance, and, knowing 
 nothing of what had happened, relieved the 
 strain by commonplace inquiries. How had 
 Miss .Norbury passed her first night on board 
 ship ? How were the other ladies ? How 
 was Mr. Layton himself, who had shown such 
 suspicious prudence in his early retirement 
 the previous eveuing ? "Judging by the 
 cheerfulness of your voice this morning, which 
 I heard before I was stirring, myself," he 
 concluded, " I conjecture your fears were 
 groundless." 
 
 Up to that moment Edith had scarcely 
 understood one word of what had been 
 addressed to her, and had replied to every- 
 thing with the accurate but sententious brevity 
 of an automaton ; but with this reference to 
 her lover, intelligence, and with it recollection, 
 returned to her. The events of the previous
 
 The Accusation. 97 
 
 nia'ht, witli what slie had tlioiio:ht was the 
 halhicination of the morning, the hearing of 
 Charley's voice, at once returned to her. 
 
 So far, then, from its having been the last 
 farewell of his departing spirit, it was his first 
 * good-morrow ' on the deep ! Instead of 
 being parted from her, he had been reunited 
 to her ! What matter though they had stolen 
 those dear memorials of him from their hiding- 
 place, since he was here in person and needed 
 no reminder. Her soul was so filled with 
 gratitude ^that it had no room for wonder. 
 Here was her lover under the same roof, not 
 as on land in a house from which he could 
 be ejected ; not as a guest ; but as a tenant, 
 with equal rights with those of her uncle 
 himself — and for the moment she was con- 
 tented with that assurance without seeking 
 to know how it had all come to pass. 
 
 It is one of the few advantages that break- 
 fast on shipboard possesses over the same meal 
 on shore, that people drop in and out without 
 ceremony, and Edith found no difficulty in 
 making her exit from the cuddy alone and 
 resuming her old position on deck. Xeither 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A Pkixce of the Blood. 
 
 her uncle nor her lover followed her, much, 
 no doubt, as each would have liked to have 
 done so, and held private converse with her 
 — though of a very different kind. The one, 
 it was easy to guess, was yearning to pour 
 out his heart before her, while the other was 
 scarcely less impatient to give her a piece of 
 his mind. Though wholly innocent of any 
 such knowledge, she could not conceal from 
 herself that IVIr. Norbury might naturally 
 enouo'h conclude that she had been coonizant 
 of Mr. Lay ton's being on board the Gauf/es, 
 and have good ground for resentment on that 
 account. The idea of such subtlety and dis- 
 simulation being imputed to her would, under 
 other circumstances, have distressed her 
 greatly ; but her uncle's behaviour to her on 
 the previous evening, and especially that theft 
 of the letters, wliich it was impossible not to 
 lay at his door, had aroused her just indigna- 
 tion. Without provocation, and believing her 
 to be utterly defenceless and in his power, he 
 had commenced hostilities against her ; and 
 she would perhaps have felt little compunction 
 even if by any act of her own she had secured
 
 The Accusation. 99 
 
 to herself tlie presence of this earnest and 
 devoted ally. Her only uneasiness as to the 
 matter was as respected Aunt Sophia, whose 
 good opinion she valued much ; for the 
 moment, however, it was impossible to clear 
 herself in that orood ladv's eves : in those of 
 her cousin she was less solicitous to do so — 
 first, because, after what had passed, any 
 mention to her of Mr. Layton would have 
 been distasteful ; and, secondly, because she 
 had a shrewd suspicion that Eleanor would 
 not be willing: to be convinced. 
 
 Though she had hitherto submitted herself 
 so obediently to her uncle's will, Edith had 
 plenty of spirit, and it was now thoroughly 
 aroused. Like a player who thinks he has 
 the game for certain, her uncle had shown 
 his cards too soon, and had even had the 
 imprudence to let her know that he would 
 stick at nothing in the means he took to win 
 with them. As she sat so deep in thought 
 that the stir and movement in the ship above 
 and around her was almost unheard, she 
 suddenly heard her uncle's voice. It was not 
 addressing her, nor was he to be seen, so that 
 
 H 2
 
 100 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 at first it gave lier no little alarm ; but pre- 
 sently she perceived that the sound came 
 through a cabin skylight close beside her. 
 The tones were low and full of suppressed 
 passion, but so distinct that every word was 
 audible. If the idea that she was playing the 
 involuntary part of eavesdropper had occurred 
 to Edith, which, truth to say, it did not, so 
 intensely was her interest excited by what was 
 going on that she could not have stirred from 
 her place. Her limbs had suddenly become 
 rigid ; yet she could hardly have likened her- 
 self to a statue, for a statue has many organs, 
 whereas she was all ear. 
 
 " And now, sir, that we are alone together," 
 said Mr. Norbury, " perhaps you may consider 
 that the time has come for an explanation of 
 your presence here." 
 
 " Indeed," replied a quiet voice she knew, 
 *' I am not aware that any such is owed you, 
 Mr. Norbury." 
 
 ''I am not one to be trifled with, Mr. 
 Lay ton, I do assure you," was the fierce re- 
 joinder. " By whatever disgraceful trick you 
 have obtained a passage by this ship "
 
 The Accusation. 101 
 
 *' You will keep a civil tongue in your head, 
 or you will leave my cabin," interrupted a 
 voice Edith did not know. Sharp, stern, and 
 incisive, it seemed to cut the other's speech as 
 with a knife. "You may bully your clerks 
 in Leadenhall-street, Mr. Norbury, and you 
 may bully your niggers in Hindostan, but you 
 will not bully me. Let that be understood 
 between us, if you please, if we are to speak 
 to2fether at all." There was silence for a 
 moment or two, and then, as if some gesture 
 of conciliation had been made by his adver- 
 sary, the young man resumed in his ordinary 
 voice, "As for my presence here, I might be 
 well content to refer you to the captain for 
 its cause ; but, not to be discourteous, I will 
 say at once that I am in Government employ- 
 ment on special service." 
 
 " I thought you were a barrister." 
 " Just so ; my mission is a professional one." 
 " Your practice is so extensive that it 
 extends to India ? " 
 
 "It may do so, though there are circum- 
 stances which may compel me to disembark 
 at the Cape."
 
 102 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 " In other words, you intend to dog the 
 footsteps of my niece wherever she goes ? " 
 
 Then came the short, sharp voice again. 
 
 ''Be so kind as to remember wliat I have 
 just said. I will endure no impertinence from 
 any man." 
 
 " Impertinence ! Surely it is pertinent 
 enough that I should make inquiries of your 
 intentions with regard to a young lady of 
 whom I am the sole guardian and the uncle." 
 
 " A little more than kin and less than 
 kind," was the dry reply. "Yes, you have 
 authority over her it is certain, for you have 
 pushed it to its utmost limits. You have 
 none, however, over me. I am here on my 
 own business." 
 
 " That is a — an evasion. If she were not 
 on board the Ganges you would never have 
 taken passage in her." 
 
 " You have no rig-ht to discuss motive. I 
 
 o 
 
 have no objection, however, to acknowledge 
 that so far you are correct. Miss Edith 
 Norbury has promised to be my wife." 
 
 "And I have absolutely forbidden her to 
 be so."
 
 The Accusation. 103 
 
 " Nay, that is beyond your powers. You 
 may have forbidden her to marry me within 
 a certain period, after which she becomes her 
 own mistress. It is a mere matter of time." 
 
 "And in the meanwhile you do not think 
 it dishonourable to persuade her to set my 
 authority at defiance and to arrange with you 
 a scheme — whether a modest and maidenly 
 one is a question " 
 
 " Stop, sir ! " thundered the other. " Your 
 opinion upon that matter, valuable as it 
 doubtless ^wbuld be, when one considers the 
 purity of its source, is uncalled for. Your 
 niece, I may say at once, until she saw me 
 just now at the breakfast table, was no more 
 aware than yourself of my presence on board 
 the Gangesr 
 
 Mr. Norbury gave a grunt of sullen acquies- 
 cence. He had probably already come to the 
 conclusion that his niece's emotion on behold- 
 ing her lover could hardly have been feigned ; 
 but it was not in his nature when his mask 
 was off, as it was at present, to acknowledge 
 anything graciously. 
 
 "Whether she was aware of it or not," he
 
 104 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 said, "you will gain nothing by your audacity, 
 sir, wliile the object — the innocent object, as 
 you would have me believe — of your perse- 
 cution will suffer for it. I shall keep my 
 niece in the strictest seclusion throughout 
 the voyage." 
 
 There was a pause, which the listener's 
 imagination filled up aright : the menace had 
 strained the leash in which Lay ton had held 
 his temper to its utmost limit. 
 
 *' You had best not threaten me, Mr. 
 Norbury," he replied steadily, " and still less 
 her, or I shall have to speak some very plain 
 truths to you." 
 
 " I fear no truth that you or any other man 
 can speak, sir. It is you who, if you knew 
 the truth regarding my niece, would have 
 cause for regret. You are not playing for 
 so high a stake as you imagine, sir. It is 
 true that up to this time I have objected to 
 your suit mainly on the ground of inequality 
 of position. I wished to put the matter in 
 its least offensive form. You smile incredu- 
 lously, but, on my honour, what I am about 
 to state is the simple fact. Under no circum-
 
 The Accusatiox. 105 
 
 stances, I admit, would I have sanctioned 
 your engagement ; the step you have taken 
 in thrusting your undesirecl presence upon us 
 here was not necessary to make me resolute 
 upon that point ; but. since you have chosen, 
 to do so, it may save you more labour in vain, 
 to inform you that rumour has much over- 
 stated my niece's fortune." 
 
 ''As to that, sir, her fortune is no attraction 
 to me ; but I am quite aware, or at all events 
 have a shrewd suspicion, that it is not what 
 it was when it first came into your hands." 
 
 There was a crash of a chair thrown violently 
 to the ground by the sudden rising of the 
 sitter. 
 
 " What ! Do you dare to accuse me of 
 misappropriation of her property ? " 
 
 " I accuse you of nothing. Like yourself, 
 I have no desire to be offensive. Let us 
 suppose there has been a fall in the value 
 of the securities you held in trust for her. 
 Under such circumstances it occurs to you 
 that, to avoid — well, I will not say unpleasant 
 inquiries, but — grumblings, it would be better 
 that her husband should not be a man of
 
 106 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 business, certainly not a lawyer like myself. 
 Upon the whole it strikes you as a good plan 
 to take her out to India ; in the first place to 
 get rid of me, in the second to get her married 
 to somebody else — not necessarily a nabob — I 
 acquit you of any intention of disposing of 
 her to the hio^hest bidder — but to some one 
 who will be satisfied as to money matters 
 w^itli the word of a gentleman and a man of 
 honour." 
 
 " Pray go on, sir. It is fortunate for you 
 that there is no witness here." 
 
 ''It is fortunate for one of us, no doubt, Mr. 
 Norbury. As we are quite alone, however, it 
 is possible to suggest to you that under the 
 circumstances, from your own point of view, 
 I may not be so bad a husband for your niece 
 after all." 
 
 '' I see. After having made the most 
 libellous and infamous charges which it is 
 possible for you to invent, you are taking 
 their proof for granted in order that you may 
 compound a felony." 
 
 " That is very neatly put. My suggestion, 
 I admit, is quite open to that interpretation.
 
 The Accusation. 107 
 
 If I had not looked at the matter all round I 
 should be strongly inclined to take that very 
 view of it myself. But I am thinking solely 
 of what is best to be done to ensure the happi- 
 ness of your niece. Under any circumstances, 
 I fear I should never get her to prosecute you. 
 Motives and feelings into which you are utterly 
 unable to enter, and for which, I confess, in 
 this particular case I myself have but little 
 sympathy, will plead for you to gain your 
 cause. As her husband, it is true, I could 
 compel the law to take its course, but I should 
 put no such compulsion upon her. I shall 
 tell her the truth. Yes, though I would 
 gladly spare her what I know would give her 
 unspeakable pain, I cannot keep her in ignor- 
 ance of what has happened. I cannot be a 
 party to your misbehaviour even for her sake ; 
 but I give you my word that, unless at her 
 own instigation, I will take no steps to right 
 her or to punish her wrong-doer. All this, 
 however, on condition that you lay the whole 
 extent of your malversations before her and 
 me, and consent to our immediate marriage." 
 "A very pretty bargain for a gentleman
 
 108 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 and a barrister-at-law to propose, upon my 
 soul ! " cried the other, in a voice that, hoarse 
 with fear and rage, endeavoured to simulate 
 contempt. 
 
 "No, Mr. Norbury, it is not pretty. It is 
 a very ugly bargain, I admit, and the uglier 
 the more we contemplate it. But upon the 
 whole, and looking, I repeat, to your niece's 
 interests only, one may say of it, though bad, 
 that bad's the best." 
 
 There was again a pause, longer than those 
 which had preceded it. Edith's ear was 
 straining for her uncle's reply. The proposi- 
 tion of her lover had commended itself to her 
 without any drawbacks. Let Mr. Norbury 
 keep her money, if he had really been so 
 wicked as to take it ; should he but consent 
 to their marriage she would forgive him freely. 
 It had not given her much pain, as Layton 
 had supposed it would have done, to learn 
 that she had been robbed of her property by 
 the very hand that should have protected it. 
 It was not like the revelation of a baseness in 
 one whom we have reposed confidence, much 
 less loved. All respect for her uncle had long
 
 The Acccsatiox. 109 
 
 died within lier. Nothing remained but a 
 certain sentimental regard for the authority 
 which had been delegated to him. One would 
 have thought that under the circumstances 
 that, too, would have died, since it was plain 
 that the authority in question had, as it were, 
 been obtained under false pretences, that is, 
 upon the understanding that the delegate had 
 been a just and honest man. Yet it was not 
 so. Our habits of thoug-ht are not like the 
 garments which we readily exchange for others 
 as the temperature dictates. This man was 
 still her uncle and her g;uardian, and his con- 
 sent to her lover's proposal, if not so absolutely 
 essential as it had seemed some hours ao^o, was 
 a matter at least most expedient and desirable. 
 Moreover, though she was almost certain that 
 Lay ton's accusations — for such of course they 
 were, whatever thin disguise he had thrown 
 over them — were well grounded, she was not 
 quite sure of it ; and Mr. Xorbury's long- 
 delayed rejoinder enlarged the chink of 
 doubt. 
 
 " If I have let you say your say with un- 
 checked tongue, Mr. Layton," he presently
 
 110 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 replied in quiet, resolute tones, '' it was only 
 thoroughly to understand the nature of the 
 man with whom I had to deal. You have 
 shown yourself as venomous as you are un- 
 principled. I despise your insinuations and 
 defy you ; and I will take such measures, be 
 assured, as will make all your pains and plans 
 to thrust yourself upon my niece's society on 
 board this ship unprofitable." 
 
 ''And why not afterwards?" was the con- 
 temptuous reply. '' Why was there any need 
 to bring her here at all, when the law would 
 have protected her at home ? When a young 
 lady of fortune is in danger of persecution 
 from an ' adventurer,' as you have been pleased 
 to term me, there is a very certain way of 
 putting her out of reach. Why did you not 
 make your niece a ward in Chancery ? I wdll 
 tell you — because, knowing what you had 
 done, and suspecting that others knew it, 
 you did not dare invoke the law." 
 
 " That is enough, sir ; I have done with 
 you. If you persist in your infamous pursuit 
 of my ward the consequences will be on your 
 own head. I am not one to threaten in vain.
 
 The x\ccusatiox. Ill 
 
 When I meet an adder I avoid it if I can ; 
 
 but if I cannot avoid it " 
 
 '' Just so, admitting for the sake of argument 
 th'it I am invertebrate," interrupted Lay ton, 
 scornfully, as the otlier hesitated, " what 
 then ? " 
 
 " Why, then I set my heel upon it ! " 
 There was a contemptuous laugh, and then 
 the cabin door slammed ; the interview be- 
 tween these two untiinching; antag-onists was 
 over.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE THIEF. 
 
 Upon the whole, though it troubled her 
 exceedingly, it was an advantage to Edith to 
 have overheard that terrible talk. One of the 
 things that gentlewomen (for the women of 
 the lower ranks know it, alas ! only too well) 
 can never understand is, that men of their 
 own class can be absolute scoundrels. Even 
 men who do not know the world are apt to 
 believe that what are called the criminal 
 classes are separated by some almost impass- 
 able gulf from the members of their own 
 society and acquaintance. Save as regards 
 the actual commission of crime, this is by no 
 means the case. There are many gentlemen 
 of fashion, and still more of good commercial 
 position, who have all the materials for crimin- 
 ality in their dispositions, only, fortunately
 
 The Thief. 113 
 
 for them, tlie temptation is very rarely suffi- 
 cient to make them overstep the line of actual 
 delinquency. The hard employer, the mean 
 millionnaire, and the unprincipled rake are in 
 many cases as ripe for Newgate, and much 
 more deserving of it, than the rascal in rags 
 who steals ; it is only because it is their 
 interest that they are apparently ranged on 
 the side of honesty. We probably meet 
 every day on equal footing, and exchange 
 pleasant words of greeting, with men who are 
 quite capable of murder if the thing was 
 highly advantageous to them, and could be 
 done without risk. Of the desperate wicked- 
 ness of some human hearts, the ordinary easy- 
 going folks, who fortunately form the majority 
 of us, have, I am satisfied, no idea. They 
 cannot understand how a gentleman in broad- 
 cloth can be a ruffian, or an educated person 
 on a level with the inhuman cur who skins 
 cats alive, not from the lust of greed, but 
 from that worst lust of all, the love of cruelty. 
 Only now and then, in moments of unguarded 
 talk, do we catch lurid gleams of the real 
 nature of such men, but the baleful fires are 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 there under the smooth clay. Women never 
 see the least glimpse of them. " I am quite 
 sure he could never do such a thing " would 
 be their calm rejoinder to any imputation of 
 gross baseness (so long as it was not in con- 
 nection with their own sex) made against any 
 man of their own acquaintance ; you might as 
 well try to persuade them that he was a black 
 man. 
 
 Even the information Edith had gathered 
 from Layton's accusations (which she now 
 believed to be well founded) did not convince 
 her, as it would have convinced a man, that 
 her uncle was a scoundrel. Her kinship with 
 him, nay, even her fathers trust in him, 
 misplaced as she felt it to have been, fought 
 against such utter condemnation. She pictured 
 him as reckless, and even unscrupulous, but 
 hardly as having robbed her ; or, perhaps, she 
 did even think that, but with the slight store 
 that one of her age and sex almost always 
 does put upon mere money when it is her 
 own, she minimized the crime till it was 
 hardly more than an indiscretion. What 
 gave her a far worse opinion of her uncle, and
 
 The Thief. 115 
 
 put lier much more on her guard against him, 
 was the threat expressed in his parting speech 
 to her lover, " When I meet an adder I avoid 
 it if I can ; if not, I set my foot upon it." 
 
 The tone in which those words were de- 
 livered still rang in her ears, and she felt that 
 they meant mischief. Being what she was, 
 she had a hesitation in saying to herself, '' He 
 will stick at nothino; — nothino^," but that was 
 the tendency of her thought. So far, then, 
 she was advj^aged by what she had heard, 
 for to be forewarned is to be forearmed. 
 Though her fears fell far short of what they 
 would have been had she understood the un- 
 scrupulous nature of the man with whom she 
 had to deal, they made her look forward to 
 her first meeting with her uncle with a 
 shudder. She had, it is true, been absolved 
 by her lover from all complicity in his scheme 
 for becoming the companion of her voyage. 
 But, knowing what had passed between the 
 two men, she could understand Mr. Norbury's 
 feelings towards her would be far more hostile 
 than they had hitherto been. It was a great 
 relief to her, therefore, when, in place of her 
 
 I 2
 
 116 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 uncle, whom she had expected, she presently 
 saw Aunt Sophia making her devious way 
 towards her on the arm of the doctor. 
 
 " I've persuaded your aunt to come up on 
 deck and get a breath of fresh air," explained 
 Mr. Doyle, as he led his companion to a chair 
 contiguous to Edith's ; " there's nothing like 
 trying your sea-legs early." 
 
 As in the case of the legs of childhood, it is 
 possible, however, to try them too early, and 
 poor Aunt Sophia staggered into her chair as 
 though those limbs had not only been bandy, 
 but boneless. 
 
 " Oh, my dear," she moaned complainingly, 
 " what a dreadful thing is shipboard ! If I 
 could have foreseen one-tenth of the miseries 
 it was to entail upon me, no persuasions of 
 your Uncle Ernest should have induced me 
 to accompany them. If I must have gone to 
 India I would rather have ridden on the top 
 of an omnibus the whole way, by the overland 
 route." 
 
 Wretched as she was, Edith could not but 
 smile at the alternative of travel thus presented 
 to her. ** But, my dear aunt, you will soon
 
 The Thief. 117 
 
 get over the motion, bad as the pitching and 
 tossing seems to you at first." 
 
 " It is not that," put in Aunt Sophia, with 
 unwonted irritation, " though I shall certainly 
 never get used to having my heels higher 
 than my head every other moment. It is 
 the sinking, the terrible down, down, down- 
 dropping, which is so detestable. It seems a 
 perfect miracle how we ever come up again, 
 and I almost wish we didn't." 
 
 "My poor^dear," said Edith, coaxingly. 
 " She will laugh at all that, will she not, Mr. 
 Doyle, in a few days ? " 
 
 " She'll think it one of the finest jokes that 
 ever was cracked," corroborated the gentleman 
 appealed to. 
 
 " Cracked ! " exclaimed Aunt Sophia, turn- 
 ing upon the astonished surgeon with angry 
 vehemence ; " you must be cracked yourself 
 to see any joke in such horrors. It is not 
 only physical pain that they engender, they 
 poison the whole moral system. I protest I 
 don't care sixpence what becomes, not only of 
 myself, but of all that used to be near and 
 dear to me. They have had just the same
 
 1]8 A PRmcE OF THE Blood. 
 
 eflfect upon my brother Ernest. He looks as 
 thougli he could eat one, and throws his words 
 at one as if they were bones to a dog." 
 
 The surgeon had strolled away at the 
 mention of Uncle Ernest, rightly concluding 
 that if Aunt Sophia had not been * put out ' 
 by her sufferings, she would not have been 
 so frank in his presence in alluding to her 
 respected relative. Still, though she knew 
 they were alone together, Edith shrank from 
 speaking to her companion of her guardian. 
 
 "I am afraid you have had a most un- 
 p"'easant night's rest," she said, evasively. 
 
 " Eest ? People don't rest at sea — at least, 
 
 not people who are Oh, good gracious ! 
 
 now we are going down ' again. My dear, 
 I seem hardly to have had one wink of 
 sleep." 
 
 " I should have come and seen how you 
 were this morning, had I been permitted to 
 do so, but I was told that you did not wish 
 to be disturbed." 
 
 "My dear, I never expressed any such 
 wdsh. I was not in a condition to harbour 
 a wish. I must say Eleanor was very kind,
 
 The Thief. 119 
 
 and looked in upon me more tlian once duiing 
 the night." 
 
 Aunt Sophia's tone was significant. It 
 implied some astonishment at the kind be- 
 haviour of her elder niece, and also some 
 suggestion of neglect on the part of the 
 younger. 
 
 " But your cabin door was locked, for I 
 tried the handle, though very softly so as not 
 to disturb you, before I went to bed," observed 
 Edith. 
 
 " Oh, I don't complain of you, my dear, far 
 from it ; and, moreover, you could have done 
 nothing for me, even if you had come ; but as 
 for the door being locked, our three cabins all 
 communicate with one another, you know ; 
 the panel of each partition slips back. Did 
 not the stewardess tell you that 1 " 
 
 Edith had looked up with amazement. It 
 was clear to her now how her cabin had been 
 entered during the night, and only too clear 
 whose was the hand that had deprived her 
 of her precious treasures. It must have been 
 that of her cousin Eleanor. 
 
 "No, I did not know it," she answered
 
 120 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 with effort, ''or I should have certaiuly corae 
 to you as my cousin did." 
 
 " I am sure you would ; but, as I have said, 
 it would have been no good. ' When lovely 
 woman stoops to folly ' — no, of course I don't 
 mean that, but when one is so mad as to go to 
 sea, there is no remedy for the consequences. 
 No one can help one, and one can't help one- 
 self. Nelly meant to be very careful, no 
 doubt, but, coming in and out to look after 
 me, she made so much noise that she woke me 
 out of the little sleep I had ; indeed, but that 
 she assured me to the contrary, I thought 
 that she had slid back the partition and gone 
 in to you. How pale you look, Edith ! I 
 hope you are not feeling as I do. Every- 
 thing seems to swim about except the ship ; 
 there it is, sinking again ! oh dear, oh dear ! " 
 
 Edith, who felt that Aunt Sophia's suffer- 
 ings must have been severe, indeed, to have 
 engendered this complaining and almost bitter 
 spirit in one ordinarily so full of the milk of 
 human kindness, strove her best to be sympa- 
 thetic ; but the sense of her cousin's treachery, 
 the conviction that she was playing into her
 
 The Thief. 121 
 
 fathers hands in so unworthy a manner, 
 depressed her exceedingly. If her lover had 
 not come to her rescue, how terrible would 
 have been her position between two foes who 
 should have been her nearest friends, and with 
 none but poor Aunt Sophia to lean upon. 
 AYhat a pair of unscrupulous enemies, too, 
 dear Charley had made for himself by his 
 loving scheme ! 
 
 " There are worse thing^s than sea-sickness, 
 dear Aunt ^ophia," she murmured, in the 
 anguish of her soul. 
 
 "That I deny," was the irritable rejoinder. 
 '' If you only knew what it was you wouldn't 
 say so. In my case it produces simple pros- 
 tration ; and because I'm Ljuiet and don't 
 complain, you think little of it. But wait 
 till you see your uncle. He is naturally, 
 perhaps, rather a bilious subject, and its effect 
 on him is really most deplorable. Talk of 
 temper ! There is the less cause for him, too, 
 for whereas we poor women are among 
 strangers, he has unexpectedly found an old 
 friend on board." 
 
 " A friend ? " said Edith, scarcely able to
 
 122 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 believe lier ears, for her mind at once reverted 
 to her lover. " Did he say a friend ? " 
 
 " Yes, he did ; though indeed I rather 
 wondered at it, considering the difference in 
 their positions ; the third mate, it seems, is 
 a former acquaintance of his. I came upon 
 them talking in the cuddy. * I find Mr. 
 Bates is an old friend of mine,' he said, as if 
 in explanation of their familiarity. Then he 
 said, ' We are discussing old times,' as much 
 as to say my company was not wanted, and 
 in a tone that was sharp enough to cat one's 
 nose off. If it had not been for dear Dr. 
 Doyle — though I don't see the use of a 
 doctor on board ship, unless he can cure sea- 
 sickness — I could never have climbed what 
 they call the companion-ladder, because I sup- 
 pose no one can get up it alone. It's hard," 
 added Aunt Sophia, with a little snuffle, " to 
 be so snapped at, when one feels on the 
 verge of the grave." 
 
 "Uncle Ernest is very angry," explained 
 Edith, " because he has discovered that Charley 
 is on board." 
 
 " Charley ? Mr. Layton ? Good heavens ! "
 
 The Thief. 123 
 
 The good lady's excitement was so intense 
 that for the moment she forgot her woes. 
 *' Has lie hid himself in the hold, as a stow- 
 away, or what 1 " 
 
 " Of course not," returned Edith, with 
 dignity ; "he is a passenger, which he has 
 as much right to be as you or I ! " 
 
 *' Oh, my dear, pray don't misunderstand 
 me. I'm sure I wish he had the ship to 
 himself, as far as that goes. He should 
 have my place, I'm sure, and welcome. Only, 
 how very amazing it is that he should be 
 here. I call it tremendous ! It didn't astonish 
 ?/ou so much, I suppose," she added with 
 simplicity. 
 
 " Yes, it did ; I knew nothing whatever of 
 his intention." 
 
 " Your Uncle Ernest will never believe that," 
 said Aunt Sophia gravely. '' Oh dear, oh 
 dear ! no wonder he looked black. This is 
 beyond everything I have ever apprehended. 
 It is like being taken by pirates." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you for the com- 
 pliment." 
 
 " No, no, I don't mean that it is a parallel
 
 124 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 case, of course, except in the unexpectedness 
 of the calamity — the shock." 
 
 " I don't think it is a calamity at all." 
 
 " Oh, my goodness, but what will your 
 uncle think ? Mr. Lay ton on board the 
 Ganges I Well, thank Heaven for one thing, 
 we shall now get out at the Cape." 
 
 " Then Mr. Layton will get out too." 
 
 " By all means," gasped Aunt Sophia, with 
 a sigh of relief; "then perhaps we shall all 
 return by caravan or something. I had rather 
 come back on a camel through the desert than 
 risk another voyage. Well, what you have 
 told me explains, if it does not excuse, your 
 uncle's behaviour, which is some comfort." 
 
 " I am sorry my uncle is so angry," replied 
 Edith, with more indifference perhaps than 
 she really felt ; "but, as I have said, Mr. 
 Layton has a perfect right to be here ; and 
 even if he had not I had no hand in bring- 
 ing him." 
 
 Aunt Sophia shook her head in a manner 
 to imply that it was a very serious business in 
 any case. 
 
 " There is Eleanor, too," she murmured
 
 The Thief. 125 
 
 presently as if to herself, " slie will be in a 
 pretty state." 
 
 " What has Eleanor to do with it ? What 
 right has my cousin to meddle with my 
 affairs ? " inquired Edith. The thought of 
 how she had already meddled with them, and 
 so treacherously and inexcusably, brought the 
 colour into her cheeks. 
 
 " Quite true, my dear, quite true," answered 
 the other hurriedly ; *' but you know what 
 Eleanor island how violent in her prejudices." 
 
 " And how unscrupulous in acting on them," 
 put in Edith, bitterly. " Yes, I know all 
 that." 
 
 '' For mercy's sake, my darling, hush ! " 
 cried Aunt Sophia, in terrified tones. " She 
 isn't ill a bit " (this with a grudging emphasis), 
 " and may be up-stairs, or whatever they call 
 it, at any moment." 
 
 " Let her come 1 " cried Edith, orivino' reins 
 to her passionate indignation ; '^ let her come. 
 I never was afraid of thieves."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WITH HER MASK OFF. 
 
 That last observation of Edith's, " I never 
 was afraid of thieves," was, of course, a dark 
 saying to Aunt Sophia. She knew, indeed, 
 that her niece did not suffer from those 
 nervous terrors which seized herself of nights 
 with respect to possible depredators, but she 
 did not understand her allusion to the fact on 
 the present occasion. It was obvious by her 
 look of wild surprise that she had not the 
 least reason for supposing it could have any 
 reference to Eleanor ; yet the ap^^earance of 
 her elder niece at that moment seemed to 
 suo^g;est some sort of association with it, and 
 filled her with vague alarm. 
 
 " You look very white and shivery still, 
 Aunt Sophia," remarked the new-comer as she
 
 "With her Mask off. 127 
 
 took her seat ; then, with a nod and a cold 
 smile addressed to her cousin, she added, 
 " You, Edith, on the contrary, it seems, 
 may be congratulated upon being a good 
 sailor." 
 
 Eleanor was never demonstrative, and the 
 relations between the cousins of late had been 
 such that no endearment, even of the con- 
 ventional kind, had ever passed between 
 them ; but at meeting and parting it had 
 hitherto been their custom to shake hands. 
 It seemed to Edith that, in dispensing with 
 this ceremony, Eleanor was either making a 
 declaration of war, or that, believing the other 
 suspected her of having stolen her treasured 
 letters, she was unwilling to run the risk of 
 having her advances rejected. Her tone, too, 
 had something of tentativeness in it which 
 corroborated this latter view. 
 
 " I have suffered nothing^ from the motion 
 of the ship," returned Edith dryly. There 
 was a significance in her words which im- 
 plied that she had, however, something else 
 to complain of, but Eleanor made haste to 
 ignore it.
 
 128 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 "You have not had much experieuce, how- 
 ever, as yet," she replied ; " this is nothiug to 
 what we shall meet with round the Cape and 
 afterwards." 
 
 It w^as a characteristic speech in any case, 
 but especially so if Edith's surmise was correct, 
 since the ill-nature of her cousin's disposition 
 thus showed itself notwithstandinsf it was her 
 obvious interest to be conciliatory, or at all 
 events to avoid quarrel. 
 
 *' If it's worse than this I shall die," said 
 Aunt Sophia, confidently. The remark perhaps 
 was not solely made with reference to the sea 
 voyage. The sense of being between her tw^o 
 nieces at daggers drawn, of one of wdiom at 
 least she stood in deadly fear, gave intensity 
 to her foreboding. 
 
 Eleanor laughed in her short, hard way. 
 " We get used to everything in time ; the 
 sooner we find out that our best plan is to 
 bear it the better." 
 
 To Edith's excited mind^ burning with the 
 sense of her wrong, and the presence of her 
 wrono[doer, this too seemed less of a o^eneral 
 observation than it would have appeared to
 
 With her ^Mask off. 129 
 
 an outsider. She read a menace to herself 
 between its lines. The instinct was strong 
 within her to tax her cousin with her perfidy, 
 and to defy her utmost malice, backed as it 
 was by her father's power, but she restrained 
 herself for her aunt's sake. It was not fair to 
 place that timid and inoffensive lady in such 
 a position that she must needs take sides with 
 one of her two relatives, and that in all 
 probability the side she would rather not have 
 taken. Tliere was a long and painful silence. 
 Then, as though satisfied with her victory, 
 Eleanor began to speak of ordinary matters, 
 and, among other things, to discuss with her 
 aunt — for Edith said little or nothing — matters 
 of the ship. The captain she pronounced to 
 be an impertinent sort of a person, who pre- 
 sumed on his position. She had reason to 
 believe, she said, that it was ]\Ir. Xorbury's 
 intention to make him '*' know his place."' 
 
 " Really ? " put in Aunt Sophia ; the vision 
 of the skipper in his uniform and sword was 
 before her eyes, and he seemed too tremendous 
 a personage to be thus subjugated, even by 
 her doughty brother. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 " Certainly," said Eleanor, tartly, " indeed I 
 am inclined to believe, for I just saw papa 
 take the captain into his cabin, tliat he is at 
 this moment giving him a setting down." 
 
 Edith had a shrewd idea that the interview 
 had a near connection vv^ith her own affairs, but 
 it was plain that Eleanor entertained no such 
 suspicion. " Captain Head," she added, with 
 an almost imperceptible toss of her head, " does 
 not quite seem to understand who we are." 
 She would rather have said, so as to exclude 
 her cousin from all participation in his dignity, 
 *' who papa is," but that would have been to 
 ignore her own importance. 
 
 " Mr. Marston and Mr. Redmayne are well 
 enough," she went on, " and I w^ill say for 
 Mr. Bates that he is particularly respectful, 
 and seems to appreciate our position." 
 
 " And what nice little midshipmen they 
 are," said Aunt Sophia, " at least from what 
 one saw of them last night ; though I dare say 
 it was their uniform that set them off so." 
 
 *'I did not notice them: they are hardly 
 officers at all," observed Eleanor, contemptu- 
 ously.
 
 With her Mask off. 131 
 
 ^*They are certainly officers," said Edith, 
 confidently. Her antagonism was fairly roused. 
 
 ''They can be disrated and flogged," replied 
 her cousin, as though she would have liked to 
 see it done. 
 
 " How shocking ! " murmured Aunt Sophia, 
 with a shudder. " Eather than anything of 
 that kind should take place I would get out 
 and walk — -that is, be drowned." 
 
 '' You would not be asked ; it would be 
 a matter of discipline," observed her niece 
 severely. 
 
 Here came up to them, with a polite salute, 
 one of the proposed victims to outraged mari- 
 time law, a 'midshipmite.' He was a lad of 
 fifteen, tall for his age, but rather delicate- 
 looking for a sailor boy. He had brown curly 
 hair, blue eyes, and teeth like snow. He 
 looked like a beautiful page — but not one of 
 those pages who have buttons. Though by 
 nature * cheeky ' enough and full of mischief, 
 his manners when, as at present, he was on 
 his best behaviour, were excellent. In his 
 braiding of blue and gold he looked, every 
 inch of him, '.a duodecimo gentleman. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 " Mr. Marston lias sent me to offer you tliis 
 rugr, ladies, as the morning; is somewhat cokl." 
 
 But now a difficulty arose. When he had 
 received his orders from the first mate there 
 had been but two ladies on deck ; there were 
 now three, which was one more than the rug 
 could accommodate. As Aunt Sophia and 
 Edith had thanked him instantaneously and 
 with some effusion, while Eleanor had only 
 nodded as if in acknowledgment of what was 
 her due, it was not surprising that he paid 
 his attentions to the two former, while the 
 latter was for the moment literally " left out 
 in the cold." " I will get you another rug 
 directly," he said to her poUtely, and then 
 proceeded to place the wrap round the other 
 two ladies, taking particular care and perhaps 
 unnecessary time in tucking it up round Edith, 
 who, it must be confessed, rewarded him with 
 her sweetest smile. This brought a blush into 
 his youthful cheek, which the conversation of 
 the midshipmen's mess had long since ceased 
 to evoke. It was perhaps his first essay as a 
 squire of dames. 
 
 " And what is your name, young gentle-
 
 AViTH HER Mask off. 133 
 
 man ? " inquired Eleanor, in a patronizing 
 tone. His pretence at being grown up was 
 very offensive to her ; slie felt it was her duty 
 to " sit upon him" and thereby reduce him to 
 his proper dimensions. 
 
 '' My name is Lewis Conolly." 
 
 " And how old are you ? " 
 
 The boy's face flushed crimson ; his pride 
 was wounded at being interrogated like a 
 schoolboy, and in the presence of others. At 
 the same time, there was a light in his eye 
 that told of mischief. 
 
 " I am in my sixteenth year," he answered, 
 with the simplicity and meekness of a child. 
 " How old are you '? " 
 
 Eleanor answered nothing, but the colour in 
 her cheeks became even yet more unwhole- 
 some, as though its pastiness had gone sour. 
 
 "Mr. Bates," she exclaimed. The third 
 mate, wdio was leaning on the taffrail at some 
 distance, came up at once. " This young 
 gentleman has been impertinent to me." 
 
 " Indeed." The dark forbidding face grew 
 sympathetically grave. " What did he say ? " 
 
 " I should think there was no need to go
 
 134 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 into details," she answered haughtily. '* I say- 
 again he has been impertinent." 
 
 "Go up to the masthead, sir, and stay there 
 until I call you down," cried the officer, glar- 
 ing fiercely at the boy. 
 
 Master Lewis Conolly looked him straight 
 in the face, giving him quite an angelic smile 
 in exchange for his scowl, saluted (he was full 
 of salutations, the politest little monkey on 
 board the ship), and retired in the direction 
 indicated. In a few seconds they beheld him 
 climbing the rigging, not like a cat, as mid- 
 shipmen are figured, by any means, but with 
 the utmost deliberation. 
 
 " Oh, Eleanor, how could you ? " remon- 
 strated Aunt Sophia. 
 
 " He is a very impertinent young fellow,'' 
 put in Mr. Bates, " and wants a tight hand. 
 To cool his heels up yonder for a couple of 
 hours or so will do him all the good in the 
 world." 
 
 " I call it most infamous and cowardly," cried 
 Edith suddenly, with vehement indignation. 
 
 *' Of me, madam ? " answered the officer, 
 turning upon her with a very ugly smile.
 
 With her Mask off. 135 
 
 ^' No, sir, not of you — you have been merely 
 unjust — but of the person who caused you to 
 commit such an act of tyranny." 
 
 " My cousin Edith unhappily knows nothing 
 of discipline," explained Eleanor, in apologetic 
 tones. " She forgets that her own case is an 
 exceptional one, and thinks that every one 
 else should be spoilt and have their own way." 
 
 Of this taunt Edith took no notice, and 
 contented herself with observing very reso- 
 lutely, '* I shall lay the case before the 
 captain." 
 
 Mr. Bates glanced at Eleanor inquiringly. 
 His look seemed to say, " Will she really have 
 the pluck to do that ? If so, the matter 
 will become serious, and the burthen will be 
 o-n your shoulders." 
 
 Eleanor, on her part, was entertaining some- 
 what similar reflections. She wished to have 
 the boy punished, but if the affair was to be 
 investigated his crime would have to be stated, 
 which might not only seem insignificant in 
 itself, but was calculated to make her appear 
 ridiculous. 
 
 "I have no desire to make a fuss about
 
 136 A Ppjxce of the Blood. 
 
 a trifle," slie said. Her tone was unm'acious 
 and reluctant enough, but the officer took it 
 as cancelling his sentence. 
 
 " Come down, you boy," he shouted. 
 
 Master Lewis Conolly detached one hand 
 from the shrouds, saluted, and descended, 
 with the same deliberation of movement as 
 he had gone up. 
 
 " Come here, sir," said Mr. Bates. He 
 obeyed like an angel, but one who nevertheless 
 was not provided with wings. 
 
 " Thanks to this lady, sir," continued the 
 officer, indicating Eleanor, " 3^ou are pardoned 
 this time." 
 
 Master Lewis Conolly saluted again, and, 
 turning his blue eyes gratefully on Editb, 
 replied, ''Thank you, madam," and retired. 
 
 The third mate also went his way, leaving 
 the three ladies in even a more embarrassinsr 
 position as regarded their relations to one 
 another than he had found them. If silence 
 had before been possible, to one of them at 
 least it had now become unendurable. Eleanor 
 Norbury's nature was one of those that cannot 
 accept defeat with grace, and which persists
 
 "With her Mask off. 137 
 
 in a bad cause with the same pertinacity as 
 though it were a good one. 
 
 " You are doing what you can, Edith," she said 
 in a voice trembling with passion^ ''to induce 
 others to resist authority, as you have resisted 
 it yourself. It will be bad for them, and sooner 
 or later, I warn you, it will be bad for you." 
 
 "Are you commissioned by any one to 
 threaten me ? " inquired Edith, dryly. 
 
 " Of course not to threaten you ; but it is 
 certainly my father's wish that you should 
 understand that he is getting tired of a policy 
 of conciliation." 
 
 "■ He will not succeed in his object any 
 better by a ]3olicy of theft." 
 
 " Of what ? " cried Eleanor, rising to her 
 feet with a suppressed scream of rage. 
 
 The instant the accusing words had passed 
 her lips, Edith perceived their double mean- 
 ing. She had referred to the robbery of her 
 letters only, but the recollection of her lover's 
 talk with Mr. Norbury a.t once recurred to 
 her. She beheld in her imagination an in- 
 diojnant daug;hter resentino: a charo;e of dis- 
 honesty against her father.
 
 138 A PfimcE OF THE Blood. 
 
 " I am referring," said Edith, in calmer 
 tones tlian she would have thought it possible 
 to use in such a matter, '^ to the abstraction 
 of my private letters from my cabin last night. 
 From a conversation I had with my uncle 
 yesterdav evenino; I am inclined to think that 
 they were purloined at his instigation." 
 
 *' Your suspicion is quite correct ; I took 
 them myself under his authority," replied 
 Eleanor, boldly ; " they are now in his posses- 
 sion." 
 
 " Then he is a receiver of stolen goods." 
 
 " You dare to say that ? Then 1 am a 
 thief, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Most certainly, upon your own confession." 
 
 *' Oh dear ! oh dear ! " murmured Aunt 
 Sophia, " pirates themselves could be no worse 
 than this." 
 
 The observation might well have been taken 
 in its literal sense, if theft on board ship is 
 an act of piracy, but it was evident that the 
 speaker only intended it metaphorically, and 
 as descriptive of the social imbroglio. 
 
 *' I am not sorry, Edith," continued her 
 cousin after a pause, which, to judge by the
 
 With her Mask off. 139 
 
 movement of her throat, was occupied in 
 swallowing, "that you have used this plain- 
 ness of speech ; your insolence and audacity 
 convince me that you understand your position. 
 It is just as well too that you, Aunt Sophia, 
 should understand it. My father's patience 
 with his niece and ward is exhausted. Since 
 fair means — I mean since persuasion with her 
 has utterly failed, he is fully resolved to exert 
 his authority. The day of disobedience is over, 
 as she will find." 
 
 A suspicion long existent in Edith's mind, 
 but never entertained — always loyally, up to 
 this time, put aside as groundless and un 
 worthy — suddenly became conviction. 
 
 " You have read Mr. Layton's letters, 
 Eleanor," she exclaimed. 
 
 Eleanor turned ghastly pale. '' I have 
 not," she muttered between her teeth. 
 
 " That is a falsehood ; and because they 
 were written out of the fulness of his heart 
 to me, and not to you, you are full of jealousy 
 and hatred." 
 
 '' Oh dear ! oh dear ! " moaned Aunt Sophia. 
 The gallant Ganges had made a dip more deep
 
 140 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 than usual, but it was not to that she referred, 
 but to the social wreck that w^as taking place 
 about her. Everything seemed going over- 
 board, and she without a spar to cling to. 
 
 ^'You will repent having said that, you — 
 you hussy, as long as you live," gasped Eleanor, 
 almost speechless with fury. " Do not think 
 you are going to have your way any more. 
 Since your spirit cannot be bent, it must be 
 broken, and you need look to me for neither 
 help nor mercy." 
 
 " To you ! " echoed Edith, with cold scorn. 
 *'I must be destitute of help indeed before 
 I look to such a source for succour." 
 
 '* You speak as if you were still in London, 
 with troops of friends purchased by the 
 rumour of your wealth. But you are now 
 bound for a land where legitimate authority 
 is something more than a mere sham ; and, 
 in the mean time, on board this ship, you will 
 find you are in firm hands." 
 
 The speaker suddenly grew dumb, and into 
 her face there came a look of rancorous dis- 
 appointment, such as her cousin rightly judged 
 could have been evoked by one cause only.
 
 With her Mask off. 141 
 
 Edith's back was to the companion-ladder, 
 so that she could not see who was approaching 
 them, but in her kinswoman's face she recog- 
 nized the new-comer as in a mirror. 
 
 " I am not, you see, so friendless as you 
 supposed. Cousin Eleanor," she answered 
 quietly. " Perhaps I ought to have told you 
 that Mr. Lay ton was on board."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CAPTAIN HEAD TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 Ln" the records of battle, we sometimes come 
 across the graphic line, '' The enemy broke 
 and fled." This is generally the result of 
 sudden panic. If the phi-ase can be applied 
 to a single individual, it exactly fitted the 
 behaviour of Eleanor Norbury when she 
 beheld Charles Layton standing before her. 
 He had made no hostile demonstration — quite 
 the contrary ; he had lifted his hat with great 
 politeness ; but she rose at once, and snatching 
 up her skirts in her hand, as if to avoid the 
 contamination of his touch, she rushed away, 
 as Aunt Sophia would have expressed it, 
 * down-stairs.' The latter stood her ground 
 — or rather sat where she was — from sheer 
 incapacity to do otherwise. For the last 
 quarter of an hour she had been consumed
 
 Captaix Head to the Eescue. 143 
 
 witli that emotion wliicli ladies, io the marriage 
 service, are particularly required to avoid, 
 * amazement.' It had seemed to her that 
 there was no long-er room in her soul for 
 any new surprise. But she was now fairly 
 paralyzed with astonishment. For a moment 
 it did not occur to her that Mr. Layton must 
 be a passenger on board the Ga/jf/es, like her- 
 self; he appeared to have literally dropj^ed 
 from the clouds. It was not a case of nee 
 Beits inter sit. No intervention short of this, 
 she felt, could have saved Edith, and it had 
 happened in the very nick of time. She knew 
 Eleanor well, and therefore knew what grood 
 cause Edith had to fear her. She had recog- 
 nized the fact that evil days indeed were in 
 store for her favourite niece, and now that 
 such a champion had so opportunely stepped 
 in, her whole heart was stirred with joy. But 
 it was a 'fearful joy.' AYhile she welcomed 
 the deliverer, she trembled at his audacity. 
 Though her sympathies were altogether with 
 Edith, she had by no means the courage of 
 her opinions. Now that she had got over her 
 first shock of wonder, she would, despite the
 
 144 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 perils of locomotion, have essayed to follow 
 Eleanor, quite as much from fear of her anger, 
 as from an instinct that the two lovers would 
 wish to be left alone, had not Mr. Layton, 
 with a grave smile, motioned her to remain. 
 
 " Pray do not run away from us," he said. 
 *' Edith and I have no secrets from you, Miss 
 Norbury." 
 
 A judicious remark enough, but one that 
 seemed to poor Aunt Sophia, as indeed it was, 
 not a little compromising. It would be a great 
 point gained, as Layton felt, if he could get 
 her to declare herself on Edith's side ; but 
 actual partisanship was beyond her powers ; 
 she had not, in fact, the pluck for it. The 
 consciousness of her own weakness could be 
 read in her troubled face. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Layton, how co^dd you ? " she 
 murmured reproachfully. '' And yet, though 
 I know it's very wrong, I can't help feeling 
 glad." 
 
 "Of course you are glad that Edith has 
 found a protector. None knows better than 
 yourself how much she stood in need of one." 
 
 "That is very true," said Aunt Sophia,
 
 Captain Head to the Eescue. 145 
 
 without suspecting the extent of her own 
 admission. " But what can you do even now 
 that you are here ? It is useless to attempt 
 to withstand my brother; he will stir up 
 everybody on board the ship against you, 
 even that dear old captain." 
 
 " But not that dear young midshipman," 
 put in Edith, parenthetically. Her good 
 spirits had returned to her with amazing 
 quickness now that her lover was by her side. 
 
 "My dear child, what is the good of a 
 midshipman ? How can he help you up at 
 the mast-head ? " 
 
 "I have reason to suppose that Mr. Nor- 
 bury is now speaking with the captain," said 
 Layton. 
 
 " Good heavens ! What will be done to 
 you?" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. ''He can't 
 put you in irons, can he ? " 
 
 " I don't think he can," answered the young 
 
 man, smiling. '' Mr. Norbury will suggest, 
 
 no doubt, some measure of that kind, but 
 
 it will hardly be received with favour. Your 
 
 brother's manner is a little too dictatorial, I 
 
 fancy, to suit Captain Head." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 " You do not know my brother, Mr. Layton," 
 returned Aunt Sophia, in a frightened whisper. 
 " He never forgives where he has been 
 thwarted as you have thwarted him. If the 
 poor captain ventures to take your part, he 
 will lose his ship." 
 
 At this prediction the young barrister 
 laughed aloud. '' Captain Head can take care 
 of himself, I think, even against Mr. Norbury ; 
 nor am I at all alarmed upon my own account. 
 But dear Edith stands in sore need of a friend 
 of her own sex. If you desert her, Miss 
 Norbury, she will be isolated indeed ; if you 
 go over to the enemy " 
 
 '' No, no," interrupted Aunt Sophia, clasping 
 her trembling hands; "I will never do that. 
 But pray, pray, do not ask me to take sides 
 with her openly. If I promised to do it, 
 Eleanor would make me break my promise 
 within the first five minutes. You don't 
 know what Eleanor is, Mr. Layton, when she 
 gets you alone." 
 
 " That is true," said Mr. Layton, with great 
 gravity. Not so much as a twinkle of his eye 
 betrayed that there had been a time when he
 
 Captain Head to the Eescue. 147 
 
 might have informed himself upon that point. 
 " I would not put you in a painful position 
 with respect to your own belongings for the 
 w^orld, l3ut remember that Edith also is your 
 own flesh and blood." 
 
 " I love her dearly," sighed Aunt Sophia. 
 
 " I believe you do ; but I wish to put you 
 on your guard, lest your respect for her should 
 be impaired by calumny. If I have done 
 anything amiss, w-hich I deny, in coming on 
 board this ship, the fault is w^holly mine ; nor 
 had she the least knowledge of my intention. 
 She is as innocent and simple as others whom 
 we know of are unscrupulous and designing ; 
 whenever you hear anything said against her, 
 I do not ask you to contradict it, but only to 
 say to yourself, ' This is a lie.' Give her all 
 the comfort you can, and leave her defence to 
 me. If anything should happen to me (Hush, 
 dear" — this to Edith, w^hose hand he was 
 holding in his own — '' you must let me speak 
 to your aunt now I have the chance — it may 
 never occur again) — I say, dear Miss Norbury, 
 if anything should happen to me, remember 
 that this girl, your dead brother's child, has 
 
 L 2
 
 148 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 no friend on earth but you. You must advise 
 her for the best from your own heart, and not 
 from the promptings of others." 
 
 There was a half articulate " I Avill " from 
 Aunt Sophia. She w^as sobbing. The picture 
 thus drawn of her niece's bereavement, and of 
 the responsibility thereby imposed upon her- 
 self, had been too much for her. 
 
 " I w\n.s sure that I could trust to your kind 
 heart," said the young man, gratefully. " I 
 will not detain you longer, lest your remaining 
 here should be construed into a more active 
 alliance with us." 
 
 He rose, and w^as about to offer her his 
 arm, when his eye caught that of the young 
 midshipman, who was watching the little 
 group at some distance. 
 
 '' Mr. Conolly," he said, " will you be kind 
 enough to escort this lady to the cuddy ? " 
 
 The young gentleman was at his side in a 
 moment, with an earnest " Nothing will give 
 me greater pleasure." 
 
 " No, sir, not that lady — this one." 
 
 The midshipman had offered his arm to 
 Edith, and now transferred it to Aunt Sophia,
 
 Captain Head to the Eescue. 149 
 
 quite politely, but with perhaps not the same 
 alacrity that he had originally shown. 
 
 " My dear boy, your arm is not a bit of use. 
 You must let me hold on to you as I can,'' 
 cried the unhappy lady. They staggered 
 away together to the companion ladder. She 
 had begun by taking his shoulder with one 
 hand, to steady herself; the last thing they 
 saw of her she was clasping his neck with 
 both her arms, and nothing was to be seen of 
 Master Lewis Conolly at all. 
 
 The two young people looked at one another 
 and laughed involuntarily, which was the best 
 thing they could have done, for it relieved the 
 tension of their minds. Up to this moment, 
 it must be remembered, not a word of ex- 
 planation had passed between them, and even 
 now, with the sailors passing to and fro about 
 them, they could not be said to be alone. 
 
 "You are not sorry to see me, love? You 
 are not angry that I have taken you by sur- 
 prise ? " murmured the young fellow. The 
 voice that had been so bold in defending 
 another had the accents of a dove now that 
 he was defendinof himself.
 
 150 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 " Sorry ! Oh no, not sorry, nor yet angry, 
 Charley ; but why did you not tell me yester- 
 day of what you proposed to do ? Then that 
 parting would not have been so terrible ; I 
 should have been spared twelve hours of a 
 misery that was almost despair." 
 
 " I was afraid to do so, Edie, lest your face 
 should have revealed our secret. If your 
 uncle had known of my intention to be your 
 fellow-passenger, he would have forfeited his 
 passage-money rather than have permitted it." 
 
 " That is true, indeed," acknowledged Edith ; 
 "but you have offended him past all pardon." 
 
 "I do not want his pardon." For one 
 moment he was tempted to add, '' though he 
 may want yours ; " but he resisted the im- 
 pulse. He would not pain the girl by tell- 
 ing her of her uncle's dishonesty, though the 
 revelation would have been so advantao^eous 
 to liim. Edith, on her part, had good grounds 
 for guessing what was on the tip of his tongue, 
 and the motive which prevented him from 
 giving it utterance. Thus, which rarely 
 happens in this world, he reaped the benefit 
 of his chivalry.
 
 Captain Head to the Eescue. 151 
 
 " You dear ! " ejaculated tHe young lady. 
 A tribute to his delicacy of feeliug which her 
 lover took for a mere natural outburst of 
 affection. 
 
 " I wish there were not so many people 
 about," returned her lover yearningly. " Even 
 at night I suppose they always have a watch 
 on deck, confound them ! " 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," said Edith, with an 
 affectation of ignorance of his meaning that 
 was simptjrbewitching. " You don't want to 
 be run down, I suppose." 
 
 " I don't want ^ou to run me down," he 
 replied comically, "though since I have had 
 the pleasure of your uncle's acquaintance I am 
 getting quite used to the operation. Perhaps 
 I ought to tell you, by the bye, at once, that 
 he and I have had a talk together. He has 
 given me that piece of his mind which he has 
 so long promised me. It is better that you 
 should know the facts so far — he and I are 
 now at daggers drawn." 
 
 "Do not say that," she answered, with a 
 little shiver. " It is sufficient to tell me that 
 you have quarrelled."
 
 152 A PfiiNCE OF THE Blood. 
 
 " That circumstance does not affect me in 
 tlie least. Upon the whole, I am glad that he 
 and I now thoroughly understand one another. 
 My only fear is that it may affect you. It is 
 possible that your uncle may persuade the 
 captain to allow liim to use compulsion with 
 you, to make you a prisoner in your cabin ; 
 but I don't think he will. I am not without 
 some influence at my back, and I have still 
 my own appeal to make to him. If it suc- 
 ceeds, or if the captain is the man I take him 
 to be, nothing can prevent our enjoying one 
 another's society on board the Gan(jes. AVe 
 shall have weeks and weeks of uninterrupted 
 happiness before us. That is a great gain, in 
 any case. When we get to India, our position 
 will doubtless be more difficult, but by no 
 means hopeless. In the mean time, my darling 
 love, we shall be too^ether. Hush ! That is 
 the captain's voice in your uncle's cabin, which 
 is next to mine ; they are at it together 
 hammer and tongs." 
 
 They had been at it together some time. 
 Hitherto, however, they had been prudently 
 talking in hushed tones, while the con versa-
 
 Captain Head to the Eescue. 153 
 
 tion on deck had prevented Edith's attention 
 beino; drawn to it, as on the former occasion. 
 
 *' As to shutting up your niece, sir, in her 
 cabiu, on board my ship," cried the captain, 
 anojrilv, " I should as soon think of oivino; 
 you ]3ermission to put her in the hold. To 
 be frank with you, I cannot conceive any one 
 calling himself a gentleman proposing such a 
 measure." 
 
 Mr. Xorbury's rejoinder was iDaudible, but 
 it probably took the form of a threat, for the 
 captain's voice pealed out again louder than 
 ever. 
 
 " You may make what representations of 
 my conduct you please, sir, to whom you 
 please. I know my duty, which for one thing 
 demands that I should afford protection to my 
 lady passengers, and not to play into the 
 hands of any domestic tyrant. If you want 
 to bully your women folk, then stay ashore, 
 sir." 
 
 There were some inarticulate sounds in 
 reply, words doubtless smothered in rage, 
 which acted on the other as flax on fire. 
 
 " Kepent it ! No, sir, I shall not repent it,
 
 154 A. Prince of the Blood. 
 
 whatever comes of it. And as for insolence, 
 let me tell you that as captain of this ship I 
 will brook such a term from no man. The 
 love affair between your niece and this young 
 gentleman is, it is true, none of my business, 
 but if I hear of any compulsion being used 
 towards her, there's a parson on board, and, 
 as sure as my name's Henry Head, he shall 
 marry those young people in the cuddy." 
 
 Then the cabin door was closed with a 
 bang, as it had been closed before, and Mr. 
 Norbury was left alone with such cogitations 
 as can be conjectured. 
 
 " How terrible it all is, Charley," murmured 
 Edith in a whisper. " Of what dreadful 
 scenes have I become the unhappy cause ! " 
 
 " The innocent, but not the unhappy cause, 
 my darling. Why should you be unhappy ? 
 We shall now be at liberty to do as we please, 
 which will be charming. There can be only 
 one thing better, that your uncle should try 
 compulsion, in which case we shall be married 
 in the cuddy."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LAND. 
 
 Human affairs in general can be more or 
 less calculated npon. The annuity companies 
 look forward with well-grounded philosophy 
 to the decease of their fellow-creatures wdthin 
 a reasonable time. But, in the abstract, 
 matters are wholly diflferent. The individual 
 knows not what a day may bring forth, nor 
 even one pregnant hour. To him " nothing 
 comes with certainty except the unexpected." 
 
 Within a space of time that seemed too 
 short for their occurrence, circumstances had 
 effected a complete hoideversement in the 
 fortunes of Edith Norbury. The weary voyage 
 that she had looked forward to with such 
 apprehension had been suddenly transformed 
 into a pleasure trip. The end of it, of course, 
 w^as to be proportionally dreaded ; but that
 
 156 A Peixce of the Blood. 
 
 is tlie case with all human happiness. The 
 most long-lived love contains in it from the 
 first the germs of ' parting/ but the sense of 
 it happily does not haunt us throughout our 
 lives. A few hours of her lover's society 
 had hitherto been all that fate had vouchsafed 
 her, and even those had been trammelled with 
 hindrances and prohibitions. Now^ there were 
 whole wrecks before her of unrestricted enjoy- 
 ment. ''Let us gather our roses while we 
 may," was the motto of these happy young 
 people ; and upon the whole it was a wise 
 one. If the quarrel between Edith and her 
 people had been less complete, her position 
 would have been far less enviable. The re- 
 mark of the Eastern executioner when rackinof 
 his mother-in-law, " Our relations are getting 
 a little strained," did not apply to her case, 
 for all connection between herself and them 
 w^as cut off, as it were, " at the main," and 
 for the present, at least, whatever future evil 
 might come of it, this w\as the more con- 
 venient, since she lay under no necessity to 
 conciliate them. 
 
 Her uncle and Eleanor, being unable to
 
 Laxd. 157 
 
 make a prisoner of lier, as thev would cer- 
 tainly have clone if they could, put her 'in 
 Coventry/ and a very agreeable residential 
 spot she found it. She had now and then 
 a stolen interview with Aunt Sophia, who 
 was, however, unable to tell her what was 
 going on in the enemy's camp. She was 
 herself ' suspect/ or, to borrow a golden 
 phrase, coined in the Eeign of Terror, "sus- 
 pected of being suspect," and (worse than boy- 
 cotted) was at once denied the confidence of 
 her own people, and forbidden to hold inter- 
 course with their rebellious relative. With 
 sea-sickness superadded — for she never got 
 over that from first to last — this poor lady's 
 lot was certainly a most deplorable one. It 
 may be said that she deserved it for not 
 throwing in her lot where her sympathies 
 were already enlisted, but heroism is not so 
 easy to practise as to applaud. She had 
 always been in her brother's hands, into 
 which, as Mr. Layton suspected, her property, 
 if she had had any, had already passed, and 
 was as unfitted by nature as by circumstances 
 to take a line of her own in any direction.
 
 158 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 Sucli persons deserve the pity of tlieir fellow- 
 creatures rather tlian their blame, yet they 
 seldom get it, especially, as in Aunt Sophia's 
 case, when they are of stout proportions. The 
 misleading proverb, '' Laugh and grow fat," 
 robs them of half the sympathy that is their 
 due. She therefore stood, or rather sat, apart 
 while the other inmates of the Ganges ranged 
 themselves on one side or the other in the 
 family quarrel. 
 
 The two lovers, thanks to Edith's gracious 
 manners and good looks, had a great majority 
 with them. Captain Head, as we know, had 
 early declared for them. Mr. Marston, though 
 believing he held himself straight as a poplar 
 in the calm atmosphere of duty, was swayed 
 towards them in spite of himself. Mr. Ked- 
 mayne was an open partisan of theirs, and in 
 his wild enthusiastic way suggested that Mr. 
 Norbury and his daughter should be put out 
 at the Cape and left there. Mr. Ainsworth, 
 as a man of peace, endeavoured to effect a 
 reconciliation ; but finding his efforts resented 
 by Mr. Norbury with much contempt, joined 
 Edith's banner. ^' I cannot fight for you,"
 
 Laxd. 159 
 
 lie said to Mr. Lay ton ; " my cloth forbids it ; 
 but on the shortest notice I will marry you 
 in the cuddy." 
 
 The captain's threat had got about, and, 
 like all jokes on shipboard, had been received 
 with rapture. But it was in the midshipmen's 
 berth that Edith's cause was embraced with 
 the greatest ardour. Master Lewis Conolly 
 was understood to hold himself in readiness 
 to meet Mr. Norbury in mortal combat with 
 any weapon that gentleman might choose 
 aorainst his modest dirk ; Masters Arthur 
 North and Frederic Taylor confined them- 
 selves to challenging (in imagination) the 
 tyrant to fisticuffs with one arm tied behind 
 them. The sailors, too, almost to a man, 
 were for the young lady ; they toasted her 
 charms in grog in the forecastle, and compared 
 her favourably with the figure-head of their 
 vessel, which they had hitherto believed to 
 be of unrivalled beauty. There are not many 
 things with which a lady can propitiate the 
 sailors on board the ship on which she is a 
 passenger, but, on the other hand, if she is 
 young and beautiful she is looked upon by
 
 160 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 the more impressionable among tliem as a 
 queen is on shore, and a gracious smile and 
 a kind word from her go a long way ; of these 
 Edith was naturally lavish. Moreover, when 
 it came to subscriptions for the entertainment 
 of Neptune and Company on the day when 
 they crossed the line, she gave with a free 
 hand, which no doubt contrasted favourably 
 with the conduct of her cousin, who, like Mr. 
 John Gilpin, though not indeed bent on plea- 
 sure, *' had a frugal mind." 
 
 Edith's popularity was not, however, uni- 
 versal. It was generally understood that Mr. 
 Norbury was a person of great influence with 
 "John Company," and could do a great deal 
 for a man if he had a mind that way. Even 
 the sturdy British sailor is not always blind 
 to his own private advantage, and has been 
 known to make lovely woman herself sub- 
 ordinate to it ; but the few who were opposed 
 to the young couple were for the most part 
 hangers-on of Mr. Bates, the third mate, who, 
 as we have seen, had from the first entered 
 into an alliance with his former patron. 
 What the relations between himself and Mr.
 
 Land. 161 
 
 Norbury had previously been none quite 
 understood, but it was supposed that he had 
 been in that gentleman's employment, where 
 he had committed defalcations. From this 
 charitable view it will be justly concluded 
 that this officer was not a persona grata on 
 board the Ganges^ and indeed he was very 
 thoroughly hated by almost the entire ship's 
 company. The only exception, save among 
 the commoiL sailors, among whom he had a 
 small following of his own, was Gideon 
 Ghorst, the interpreter, a Hindoo who had 
 lost his caste, and in the process acquired 
 many things unknown (let us hope) to my 
 readers, and among them a smattering of 
 some unconsidered Eastern tongues, including 
 Malay. His limited acquaintance with English 
 probably prevented him from understanding 
 the nature of the language w^hich the third 
 mate occasionally used to him in common 
 with the rest of his companions in the fore- 
 castle, while his nature was so gentle that he 
 was ready to curry favour with anybody for 
 an allowance of rum. 
 
 Notwithstanding that sense of being a 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A Pkixce of the Blood. 
 
 general favourite, which is so agreeable to us 
 all till we come to learn its real value at a 
 pinch, and the almost constant companionship 
 of her lover, Edith Norbury was by no means 
 easy in her mind. Though she had no cause to 
 love her people, but, on the contrary, greatly 
 to mistrust and fear them, their total estrange- 
 ment from her was distressing. In this respect 
 perhaps more than any other, a woman's 
 nature is unlike a man's, that home ties, even 
 when they take the form of fetters, are essen- 
 tial to her. 
 
 That Mr. Norbury and his daughter should 
 have taken to ' the sulks ' was a matter of 
 great congratulation to Charley, who hailed 
 the excommunication which they had pro- 
 nounced upon Edith and himself as though 
 it had been a " Bless you, my children ! " 
 uttered by Mr. Xorbury, as 'heavy father/ 
 with uplifted hands. Even if they had been 
 his own flesh and blood their enmity would 
 probably not have caused him the least in- 
 convenience. Nay, had Mr. Norbur}' been 
 not only his own uncle, but possessed of all 
 the cardinal virtues instead of being, as he
 
 Land. 163 
 
 shrewdly suspected, a great rogue, and had 
 yet behaved harshly and unjustly towards 
 himself, he would probably have been well 
 content to quarrel with him. "If he be not 
 fair to me," he w^ould have said to himself, 
 " what care I for his ' warmth ' and reputation 
 for integrity in the city ? " It is the privilege 
 and perquisite of a man to shake himself free 
 of the closest bonds of relationship w^hen they 
 gall him. But Edith, though innocent of its 
 existence, secretly bewailed the gulf that 
 yawned so wddely between her and her belong- 
 ings. Her disposition prompted her to live 
 at peace with all her fellow-creatures, but 
 "especially with those of her own household." 
 She more than once had confided her regrets 
 on this matter to Aunt Sophia, who had 
 sympathized with them to the uttermost. 
 That excellent woman, through long habit of 
 submission (for she had really by nature a 
 good backbone of her own), had become so 
 dependent as to absolutely demand some sort 
 of lattice-work to cling to — ("Miss Virginia 
 Creeper" Mr. Layton used to call her, with 
 reference to this parasitic tendency, though 
 
 M 2
 
 164 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 indeed slie was no parasite) — otherwise, in 
 spite of flouts and repulses, she woukl not 
 have striven as she did to eff'ect a reconcili- 
 ation between those she feared and those she 
 loved. Hitherto her endeavours had met 
 with no success, but a time came when, some- 
 what unexpectedly, her brother showed signs 
 of yielding. It was the evening before the 
 day on which it was expected that they would 
 euter Simon's Bay, where the Ganges was to 
 stop for a day or two, and every one who 
 could oret leave was mym^ on shore. 
 
 '' We shall sight land to-morrow, Sophia," 
 said Mr. Norbury, with unwonted affability, 
 " and Eleanor and I propose a little jaunt as 
 far as Cape Town. It would give us pleasure 
 to take you with us, for a day or two ashore 
 would, I am sure, be a great relief to you, 
 after all you have suffered ; but then, you see, 
 there is Edith, whom we can hardly leave 
 alone on shipboard." 
 
 It struck Aunt Sophia for the moment that 
 they had left her alone a good deal already, 
 but that rebellious idea was characteristically 
 dismissed from her mind as soon as it had
 
 Laxd. 165 
 
 entered it ; it was of course a different thing, 
 she reflected, to avoid her society, and to 
 make it impossible by their absence for her to 
 communicate with them at alL Though she 
 had been forbidden to hold converse with her 
 niece in general terms, occasional intercourse 
 with her had been winked at (the fact being 
 that Mr. Norbury had used his sister as an 
 unconscious spy on Edith's actions), and it 
 was only natjaral they should be unwilling to 
 leave her without a female companion. 
 
 " Of course, I must stay with Edith," an- 
 swered Aunt Sophia, with a little sigh, for 
 the prospect of even a day or two upon terra 
 firrna, where, save under very unexceptional 
 circumstances, there were no ' sinkings,' and 
 where when the wind blows it only affects 
 your garments, and not your legs, was very 
 tempting to her. 
 
 "Unless," put in Mr. Norbury, "Edith 
 would condescend to make one of our party." 
 
 " I am sure if you or Eleanor would ask her 
 she would be only too pleased," said Aunt 
 Sophia, eagerly. 
 
 "I shall certainly not ask her," observed
 
 166 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 Eleanor sliarply. "If my father chooses to 
 put her in possession of his wishes on the 
 subject, and to have them disregarded, is 
 another matter, which only concerns himself 
 and his self-respect." 
 
 Mr. Norbury glanced at his daughter in a 
 very unpaternal manner — indeed, much as he 
 was wont to glance at his niece when he met 
 her, as necessity compelled him to do at meals 
 and on deck, with Mr. Charles Layton in her 
 close vicinity. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, miss, and keep your 
 opinion till it's wanted," was his austere re- 
 joinder. "No, Sophia, after what has passed 
 between Edith and myself, it is impossible 
 that I could run the risk of any rejection of 
 my advances. I feel, indeed, that the present 
 state of our relations with one another is 
 deplorable, and should be glad to put an end 
 to it, though that of course is an admission 
 which it would be impossible to make to her. 
 The only manner in which it can be arranged 
 is through an intermediary. You can tell her 
 if you like that, as the ship is calling at 
 Simon's Town for fresh meat, and will stay
 
 Land. 167 
 
 there a couple of days, we propose to drive 
 over to Cape Town. If she will join us, no 
 reference will be made to the subject of Mr. 
 Lay ton, but it must be understood, of course, 
 that that person does not intrude himself on 
 our society." 
 
 This message, though couched in much more 
 gracious terms — as Mr. Norbury no doubt 
 took it for granted it would be — was duly 
 conveyed by Aunt Sophia to Edith, who in 
 her turn laid the proposition before her lover. 
 
 " You will do, my dear," he said, '' exactly 
 as you please about it ; but if your uncle 
 thinks he is going to give me the slip by 
 keeping you at Cape Town and letting the 
 Ganr/es sail without you he is greatly mis- 
 taken." 
 
 "I am quite sure he has no plan of that 
 kind in view," put in Aunt Sophia, " for we 
 are only to take luggage sufficient for a couple 
 of days. You smile as if that might be a 
 blind, Mr. Layton ; but you don't know 
 Eleanor. Nothing, I am quite sure, would 
 ever induce her to be permanently jp^rted 
 from her wardrobe."
 
 1,68 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 *' Still, if Edith goes to Cape Town, so shall 
 I," observed the young man, decisively. ^' I 
 shall not in any way interfere with your 
 family j^arty ; but I only trust Mr. Norbury 
 as far as I see him, and therefore I shall not 
 let him out of my sight." 
 
 Edith was willing enough to enter the door 
 of reconciliation thus placed, as it were, ajar 
 for her, while, upon the other hand, her 
 apprehensions were calmed by her lover's pre- 
 cautions. Peace, or rather what was after all 
 little better than an armed neutrality, was, 
 metaphorically, sealed and signed that night 
 between her and her relatives in the cuddy. 
 If it was not so good as being married there, 
 it was, she tried to feel, better than that 
 ignoring of each other's existence which they 
 had been wont to practise. To her sanguine 
 disposition it seemed of happy augury that 
 their subject of conversation — for of course 
 all personal matters were eschewed — was the 
 country they were about so soon to visit, the 
 Cape of Good Hope. Eleanor, though she 
 thought novels ' frivolous,' was a great reader 
 of travels, and discoursed of Cape Town and
 
 Laxd. 169 
 
 its climate and of the dimensions of Table 
 Mountain with accurate severity. As a Minis- 
 ter ' puts up ' some member of the House to 
 talk out an unwelcome measure, so her father 
 had enjoined on her to make conversation in 
 order to avoid the intrusion of any embarrassing 
 topic, and — like most reticent persons when 
 they do talk — she talked like a book. It was 
 not very interesting, but a time was coming, 
 though close^ hidden in the cloud that shrouds 
 our future, wherein Edith was glad to dwell 
 upon it as being at least a memory void of 
 offence. 
 
 The captain was to stay on board to super- 
 intend matters relating to the provisioning of 
 the ship, but both the first and second mates 
 were to be of Mr. Norbury's party in the Cape 
 waggon the next day. Mr. Bates, on the 
 other hand, was to stay in Simon's Town, 
 where he had English, or, as suggested by his 
 shipmates, more likely native relations. He 
 was well acquainted with the place, and in- 
 formed Mr. Layton where a horse could be 
 hired to go to Cape Town. His manner of so 
 doing w^as almost polite, and indeed the near
 
 170 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 approach of land seemed to have a more or 
 less conciliating effect on everybody. It is 
 probable that nobody but a pirate, or that 
 Teredo ncwalis, the ship's bore, from which no 
 passenger vessel can hope to be free, really 
 relishes ' blue water ' — the beino- out of sifi^ht 
 of his natural element for any length of time. 
 
 When Aunt Sophia awoke in the morning 
 she found herself for the first time for six 
 weeks in a state of equilibrium ; the Ganrjes 
 had ceased its eternal game of pitch and toss, 
 and was floating at anchor on Simon's Bay 
 like a lake cygnet which had never so much 
 as heard of ' the art of sinking.' Never, as it 
 seemed to her, had she seen such an enchant- 
 ing prospect as presented itself from the deck : 
 the waveless sea, the safe and solid hills, with 
 the sun shining full upon them from a cloud- 
 less sky; the little town, wdiich, mellow^ed by 
 distance, seemed a place to live and die in. 
 Everything on board seemed to speak of 
 holiday, and every one to be doing their level 
 best to enjoy it. Even Mr. Bates bad a grin 
 on his face as he came up to congratulate her 
 on the fair weather, and to point out the
 
 Laxd. 171 
 
 objects of interest — the fountain on the hill 
 where the clothes \Yere being washed and 
 dried, and the admiral's abode, which stood 
 out from its humbler neighbours surmounted 
 by its flag. It seemed a lifetime since she 
 had seen a house, or any hill that was not a 
 wave. 
 
 All that were bound for Cape Town, with 
 the exception of Mr. Layton, were despatched 
 in the first boat ; he would not embarrass 
 Edith by his companionship, but at the same 
 time was resolved that no trick should be 
 played him ; if he could not actually keep 
 them in sight he could follow them at a 
 sufficiently short interval A smaller boat, 
 '^ith Mr. Bates and some seamen with leave 
 of absence for the day, was to start immediately 
 afterwards with him. The former gentleman 
 had already, as he had informed him, secured 
 him a riding horse by messenger, and was 
 giving him directions as to the road — which, 
 however, it was almost impossible he could 
 miss — while the boat was grettingr readv. 
 
 " You will have the whole of to-morrow 
 in Cape Town to yourself,'' he was sayiug,
 
 172 A Ppjnce of the Blood. 
 
 *' for you can do the return journey easily in 
 two hours, and we shall not sail till evening." 
 At this moment one Brownrigg, a creature 
 of Mr. Bates, who had of late been under 
 punishment for intoxication, came up to the 
 third mate and asked permission to go on 
 shore. There was no particular privacy in 
 the application, which, indeed, was made in 
 an unnecessarily loud and somewhat imper- 
 tinent tone, but Mr. Layton mechanically 
 moved away from them a pace or two. As 
 he did so he heard in a low but distinct 
 whisper the words " Don't go ! " There was 
 such a significant hush and caution in them 
 that he repressed the exclamation of surprise 
 that rose to his lips, and only looked about 
 him. No one was very near him save Mr. 
 Bates and the sailor, but leanino; over the 
 taffrail at a little distance was Master Lewis 
 ConoUy. Layton at once assumed the same 
 position, for, though the telephone had not 
 yet been invented, he was aware of the carry- 
 ing powers which a piece of wood like the 
 tafirail of a vessel possesses as regards sound. 
 He leant over it, and looked down into the
 
 Laxd. 173 
 
 water as tlie midshipman was doing, but 
 without taking any notice of him. "^\^ell, 
 you may leave, my man," said Mr. Bates, in 
 a voice that was certainly intended to be 
 heard, '"'but if you go near the liquor store 
 understand that it will be the worse for you." 
 
 *• Don't o;o," murmured the warnino- voice 
 again, more earnestly than before, " your life 
 is in danger." 
 
 " Xow, Mr. Lay ton, the boat is ready, if 
 you are," cried the mate. 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Bates. I have for- 
 gotten to take any money," exclaimed the 
 barrister. He ran down to his cabin, appar- 
 ently to procure what is said to make the 
 mare to go, and which he would undoubtedly 
 require for his equestrian trip ; but it seemed 
 to be his custom, as amoug the natives of the 
 East, to carry two purses ; he placed one of 
 them in one pocket and one in the other, and 
 they were pretty heavy ones, considering the 
 short time he proposed to be away. The 
 men in the boat were holding on to the ship's 
 side in waiting; for him when he returned to 
 the deck, and Master Conolly, standing with
 
 174 A Ppjxce of the Blood. 
 
 his back to them, regarded him with a scared, 
 reproachful look. 
 
 " All right, Mr. Bates, I'm ready for you 
 now," said Mr. Lay ton, with a significant look 
 at the lad intended to reassure him. Though 
 he seemed to understand it, it had not, how- 
 ever, that eflfect. Leaning on the tafFrail he 
 watched Mr. Layton as he took his place in 
 the stern, with an expression of unutterable 
 woe. 
 
 " Why, is not Mr. Conolly coming with 
 us ? " exclaimed Layton, with a sudden im- 
 pulse ; "you will give him leave, Mr. Bates, 
 I'm sure?" 
 
 '' I cannot, sir ; he is the midshipman on 
 duty," returned the mate, curtly. " Shove 
 off, men," and away they went. As they did 
 so it seemed to Layton that Master Conolly's 
 eyes travelled from his face to that of the 
 sailor Brownrigg with a look of intense 
 distrust and apprehension, as though the 
 " Don't go, your life is in danger," had been 
 supplemented by that parting glance with 
 " and from that man."
 
 CHAPTEK XL 
 
 NUMBER TWO. 
 
 Brownrigg was a turbulent, sulleu -looking 
 fellow enougk, as Layton admitted to himself 
 as he watched the man stretch to his oar ; 
 but he had no cause to dread his enmity. 
 There was only one man, indeed, on board 
 the Ganges of whom he could say that ; but 
 his hostility, as he felt, was so bitter that it 
 might well have made any one to whom his 
 patronage extended his enemy. He knew, 
 indeed, of no relation of the sort existing 
 between Mr. Norbury and the man in ques- 
 tion ; but Mr. Bates was an ally of Mr. 
 Norbury's, and this fellow was one of his 
 henchmen. It had not escaped Layton's 
 observation that he had given the man leave 
 to go on shore, in spite of his recent mis- 
 behaviour ; whereas indulgence and forgiveness
 
 176 A PiiixcE OF THE Blood. 
 
 were not usually aniong Mr. Bates's weaknesses 
 in dealing with his subordinates. 
 
 The new-born civility of the tliird mate 
 towards himself was also a little suspicious. 
 lie had understood from other sources that 
 it was really difficult to obtain a mare or 
 horse in Simon's Town, and 3^et Mr. Bates 
 had secured one for him, notwithstanding that 
 no less than six had been requisitioned for 
 the waggon that conveyed the rest of the 
 party. The similarity of the case with that 
 of the horse of Troy, which the Trojans 
 omitted to " look in the mouth," or elsewhere, 
 because it was a gift horse, struck him very 
 forcibly. Perhaps this animal would turn out 
 to be a buck -jumper ; but even so, he had 
 been accustomed to ride from boyhood, and 
 feared nothing; that horse could do to him. 
 When they reached shore the boat was beached, 
 and every man partook himself to such enjoy- 
 ment as was to his taste and the little town 
 afforded for him. 
 
 At its unambitious inn, * The Clarence,' to 
 which Mr. Bates himself convoyed him, he 
 found his promised steed, already saddled and
 
 Number Two. 177 
 
 in waiting for him. It did not look at all 
 like a buck-jumper, nor in truth a jumper of 
 any kind ; but he saw no reason why it should 
 not carry him for the twenty miles or so that 
 lay between him and Cape Town. A Hottentot 
 or two, with the appearance of having break- 
 fasted a la fourchette, and very largely, were 
 hanging about the yard. One of them offered 
 to run beside Layton's horse and show him 
 the way to~C^ape Town — a feat that, for one 
 with such a paunch, seemed absolutely incred- 
 ible, though the landlord assured him it could 
 be accomplished ; but the young barrister 
 declined his services. The road indeed, as 
 he had been informed, was not a good one ; 
 but as there was no other he could hardly 
 miss it, and in a few minutes he was on his 
 way. 
 
 The first ten miles between Simon's Bay 
 and Cape Town, though no doubt they have 
 their charms for those who travel it fresh from 
 the heaving deep, are very barren and un- 
 interesting. At the date of Mr. Layton's 
 acquaintance with it the road was hardly 
 recognizable as such, especially where some 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 stream from tlie mountains intersected its 
 sandy track with its deep channel ; but as 
 its wheel-marks showed where the waggon had 
 preceded him he had no difficulty in finding 
 his way. His progress was, however, slow, 
 for it was difficult to rouse his steed to a 
 canter, and he arrived at the hotel some 
 time after his predecessors, who had already 
 lunched, and were seeing the local lions. In 
 this matter he was more fortunate than he 
 knew, since his friends had already been so 
 thoroughly put to the question as regarded 
 home news by all the English sojourners at 
 the hotel that he himself almost escaped that 
 fiery ordeal. 
 
 There are few things more pathetic — and 
 more subversive, by the way, of the idea that 
 home is wherever we ourselves happen to be 
 — than the eager inquiries put to a new 
 arrival from the old country by colonists (of 
 the first generation, at least). "Can you tell 
 me, sir," entreated an old gentleman who 
 came upon Layton — looking at Table Moun- 
 tain with an air of interest that at once con- 
 vinced him that he was a visitor, whereas he
 
 Number Two. 179 
 
 was merely wondering whether his beloved 
 Edith had been provided with a quiet and 
 sure-footed steed for that inevitable expedi- 
 tion — '' can you be so very good as to tell 
 me " — and the tears seemed near his eyes 
 as he spoke — '' what horse has won the 
 Derby ? " 
 
 On Table Mountain, Edith seemed to Layton 
 to be safe at least from abduction, which was 
 his chief apprehension on her account, nor 
 could he well follow the party, considering the 
 narrowness of the road, without at one point 
 or another meeting them point blank, which 
 would have been very embarrassing. The 
 attractions of Eondebosch and Wynberg — the 
 Eichmonds of Cape Town — and the more 
 intellectual temptations of its magnificent 
 public library, offered themselves to him in 
 vain ; his mind was too anxious to admit of 
 such distractions, and indeed he felt always 
 more or less uneasy when he was not hanging 
 about the court-yard, where the Cape waggon, 
 fitted for horses and not for oxen, in which 
 his beloved had arrived, seemed to give him a 
 solid guarantee that she had not been spirited
 
 180 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 away from him. In this yard he met, more 
 than once, another individual, who also 
 seemed upon the watch, and whose outline 
 had appeared not unfamiliar to him. On the 
 second occasion he recognized him for certain 
 as the Hottentot who had offered to accompany 
 him from Simon's Town, and who had now 
 apparently performed that trip for his own 
 pleasure. Upon claiming acquaintance with 
 him, however, this persevering native declined 
 to admit his own identity ; as he denied it in 
 Dutch indeed — a lano-uao-e of course unknown 
 to his interlocutor — this would have gone for 
 little to shake Lay ton's conviction any way ; 
 but, moreover, he was one of those persons 
 who do not forget faces, whether native or 
 foreign. It was certainly the same man, and 
 his unexpected reappearance seemed to Layton 
 to bode no good. His mind was full of appre- 
 hension, and at once jumped to the conclusion 
 that this fellow was a spy set to watch his 
 movements on behalf of Mr. Norbury. This 
 reflection did not tend to render his stay in 
 Cape Town more pleasant ; there was nothing 
 for it, however, but to remain and carry out
 
 Number Two. 181 
 
 his simple programme for the next twenty- 
 four hours. 
 
 Wherever Edith and her party went after 
 their return from Table Mountain, he fol- 
 lowed, though at a respectful distance, and 
 the next afternoon, having seen them off on 
 their return journey, he prepared to take the 
 same route. He had not ridden a hundred 
 yards, however, when he found his horse was 
 dead lame, and had to return to the inn for 
 another. How the lameness had come about 
 there was no explanation, the landlord com- 
 bating the view that it had been the work of 
 the Hottentot on the ground that he was in 
 the employment of the very man at Simon's 
 Town to whom the horse belonged — an argu- 
 ment which only corroborated the suspicion 
 Layton entertained, but which he thought it 
 wiser to keep to himself. As it happened 
 there was no horse procurable for some time, 
 and the one that was at last offered him was 
 a sorry nag even by comparison with its pre- 
 decessor. He had no choice, however, but to 
 take it, for his time was getting very short, 
 and he well knew the strictness and punctuality
 
 182 A Ppjxce of the Blood. 
 
 witli which the captain's orders were executed. 
 Though he had shown himself so well disposed 
 to him it was quite possible if he failed to 
 appear at the landing-place at the appointed 
 hour that the Gan(jes might sail without him. 
 He therefore hustled his Kosinante along as 
 well as he could. 
 
 The shades of evening were falling before 
 he liad ridden ten miles out from Cape Town, 
 and he found a difficulty in crossing the first 
 ravine or nullah. It was the only one, how- 
 ever, that was wooded on both sides, and he 
 hoped by the help of an early moon to find 
 the rest of the way easily enough. He had 
 got through the water, and was climbing the 
 dip into the road beyond, when he heard 
 something whizzing past his head, and, 
 glancing back, perceived a native in the act 
 of selecting a second spear from quite a sheaf 
 of them. What light there was was fortu- 
 nately behind his assailant, and threw out 
 the outlines of his figure clearly enough. 
 Layton, thrusting his hand into his j^ocket, 
 drew forth a pistol and took a snap shot at 
 the most prominent portion of the enemy's
 
 Number Two. 183 
 
 frame. Then tlie same thing, only worse, 
 happened that occurred to Mr. Dean, the 
 archsBologist, in the ballad — 
 
 A chimk of old retl sandstone hit him in the abdomen, 
 And he smiled a sickly smile and curled up upon the floor, 
 And the rest of the proceedings interested him no more. 
 
 The Hottentot ' curled up ' and fell, throw- 
 inor his hands into the air as men do when 
 summoned by the Bushranger Death. At the 
 same instant a man with a crape mask over 
 his features rushed out of the scrub by the 
 wayside and struck at Layton with some sharp 
 instrument. The blow fell short, and only 
 severed his rein, and before it could be re- 
 peated Layton fired his second pistol point 
 blank in the face of this new assailant, and 
 with the like result. He dropped at his feet 
 like a stone. 
 
 It was neither the time nor place to gratify 
 his curiosity as to the identity of his foe. 
 There might be more ruffians where those 
 came from in the nullah, and he had no other 
 weapon with which to repel them ; so, striking 
 his spurs into his horse, he galloped on. This, 
 however, was that poor animal's last spurt ;
 
 184 A PllINCE OF THE BlOOD. 
 
 before lie had gone a mile further he gave in, 
 and neither force nor persuasion could get 
 even a foot pace out of him ; he was foundered. 
 Then Lay ton girded up his loins to run. He 
 was by no means equipped for speed, for, 
 beside his knapsack, which he now transferred 
 from his horse to his own back, he had his 
 pistols to carry. Most persons under these 
 circumstances, since he had no more ammuni- 
 tion, would have discarded them ; but Layton 
 was a lawyer, accustomed to consider the 
 w^eight of evidence, and, on the whole, thought 
 it wiser to retain them. His mind rapidly 
 reviewed the situation. Of the identity of 
 the Hottentot he was convinced, and he had 
 a shrewd suspicion that his ally had been no 
 other than the man Brownrigg ; the instru- 
 ment with which he had l)een attacked had 
 certainly been a ship's cutlass, which seemed, 
 at all events, to point him out as a sailor ; 
 while the warning; words and s^lance of the 
 young midshipman made his susj)icions trebly 
 strong. Now if, as he believed, he had been 
 the proposed victim of a conspiracy, its object 
 — though it had failed in its immediate intent.
 
 Number Two. 185 
 
 wliich liad certaiiily been nothing less than 
 his murder — wouLl be equally obtained by 
 his detention in the colony in connection with 
 a criminal trial. He resolved, therefore, to 
 sav nothing; of what had occurred until, at 
 all events, he was well on his way with Edith 
 on board the Ganges. The silence of the other 
 two parties concerned in the adventure might 
 be relied upon, and the effect of it as regarded 
 himself wouldT only be to put him on his guard 
 against those foes who were still alive, and 
 whose iinscrupulousness was now only too 
 manifest. Upon the whole, this determina- 
 tion did credit to his good sense and discern- 
 ment. The only thing he wanted — a common 
 thing with men of his profession and too prac- 
 tical turn — was a little moonshine. The dusk 
 had now almost turned to dark, and speed 
 avails nothing, even to the swiftest, in such 
 cases ; they may even be running the wrong 
 way. He picked his way with his eyes on the 
 ground, seeking in vain for the wheel-tracks. 
 
 Suddenly on the quiet night there broke 
 the thunder of a ship's gun. On the one 
 hand, it was a bad sign, for it showed that
 
 18G A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 Captain Head was getting very impatient ; 
 on the other, it was a good sign-post, for it 
 pointed out to him the direction in which to 
 go. It seemed to him, as he started off again 
 at full speed, that he should never forget 
 that moment, nor could experience another 
 so pregnant with perils and anxieties. If he 
 did not forget it, however, it was not because 
 it was never to find its jDarallel. 
 
 Presently the hills that had limited his 
 horizon opened out ; the full moon swam 
 forth in splendour, and he l)eheld the great 
 bay, with the Gcuirjes on its bosom, and in the 
 foreground the boat's crew with their oars in 
 the water, and the coxswain standing up in 
 the stern searchinor the land for his belated 
 passenger. 
 
 There were other eyes on board the ship 
 itself, that were employed, and even more 
 anxiously, on the same C[uest. The party 
 from Cape Town had themselves arrived on 
 board somewhat behind their time, and found 
 the captain in a fume. He had been consult- 
 ing that seaman's oracle, the barometer, and 
 it had counselled flight. In spite of the quiet
 
 Number Two. 187 
 
 look of tilings, the wind was rising, and 
 promised to be no mere capful ; on the other 
 hand, it was a sou'wester, and favourable to 
 the ship's course. Under these circumstances, 
 to be kept hanging about in Simon's Bay for 
 a single j^assenger was not to be endured by a 
 commander with a keen sense of duty. Mr. 
 Layton w^as a great friend of his, but there 
 are limits even to personal friendship ; and if 
 the youngfTnun imamied that because he had 
 
 J CD O 
 
 a regard for him he w^ould keep the Ganges 
 waitino^ while he finished a game of billiards 
 in Cape Town, he would find himself dashedly 
 mistaken. 
 
 *' Hang the fellow ! wdiy don't he come ? " 
 exclaimed the captain, irascibly. 
 
 " Can't say, sir," said Mr. Bates, who had 
 himself come aboard w4th exemplary ]3unctu- 
 ality, even before his leave of absence had 
 expired. *' I suppose he is amusing himself 
 somewhere." 
 
 '' I'll amuse him, and be dashed to him ! 
 Fire a gun, Mr. Bates." 
 
 In the hour of duty (and anger) one is apt 
 to for ore t matters, save the one immediatelv in
 
 188 A Ppjxce of the Blood. 
 
 hand. The captain did not remember that 
 the third mate and Lay ton were not on very 
 good terms, or notice that the explanation he 
 had given of that gentleman's delay was not 
 exactly one that would have been offered by 
 a peacemaker. 
 
 Edith was sitting by herself in an obscure 
 corner of the deck, racked by anxiety and 
 apprehension. She had passed a wretched 
 couple of days ; for nothing is so distasteful 
 to us, when we do not relish them, as amuse- 
 ments, especially when partaken of in uncon- 
 genial company. Once or twice in Cape 
 Town she had caught sight of Layton going 
 out by himself, and designedly avoiding her. 
 She knew the reason of it, of course, but it 
 had distressed her, and she was lonoino; to 
 tell him so, j)assionately desirous to make up 
 with lovino' words for their forced estranofe- 
 ment. The companionship of her relatives 
 had brought her no comfort ; she felt that it 
 had effected no genuine reconciliation between 
 them ; it had not even been a patching up. 
 Mr. Norbury, indeed, had spoken to her with- 
 out harshness, but also, as it had seemed to
 
 Number Two. 189 
 
 her, witli a certain ill-concealed air of triumph, 
 as though her acceptance of his invitation had 
 been the acknowledgment of her defeat ; while 
 Eleanor had not troubled herself to hide the 
 confirmed dislike with Avhich she regarded 
 her ; and now, though she knew that Charley's 
 intention was to follow them from Cape Town 
 immediately, he had not yet arrived ! What 
 could have delayed him ? had he lost his way, 
 or met with: some accident in one of those 
 horrid nullahs ? How lonely and miserable 
 she felt 1 The report of the gun startled her 
 from these reflections, but filled her with new 
 alarms. In the agitation and confusion of her 
 mind, it seemed to bode ill-tidings. 
 
 " AYhat is the matter, ^Mr. Eedmayne ? " 
 she inquired hurriedly of the second mate, 
 who happened to be passing. 
 
 " It is a signal to the boat," he answered 
 gently. " The captain is getting impatient, 
 that is all" 
 
 '' But not a signal for its return, surely ? 
 He will never let it come back without — that 
 is, he would not leave any passenger behind 
 and sail without him V
 
 190 A Ppjxce of the Blood. 
 
 *' Well, you sec, Miss Norbuiy, the Ganges 
 is not a passenger ship, and indeed, if it 
 
 were But there, 1 have no doubt Mr. 
 
 Lay ton will turn up in time." 
 
 The boat could be distinctly seen a few 
 oars' length from the shore ; it was motionless 
 save fur the rise and fall of the wave, and 
 evidently in waiting for some one. With the 
 midship aian in charge and his passenger, 
 there should have been eight persons in all, 
 whereas only six could be made out through 
 the glasses. 
 
 ^* AVho is in command of that boat, Mr. 
 Bates ? " inquired the captain angrily. 
 
 '* Mr. Lewis ConoUy, sir." 
 
 '' Then why the deuce doesn't he obey 
 orders ? Fire another gun, sir." 
 
 Before the order could be obeyed a man 
 was seen running down to the shore, the boat 
 was pulled in, and he jumped into it, and it 
 was under way in a moment. 
 
 "There are only seven of them yet," mut- 
 tered the captain. There was more chagrin 
 than passion in his tone this time. 
 
 " The boat's crew are all right, sir, I can
 
 KCMBER Two. 191 
 
 make out six oars," observed Mr. Bates, com- 
 placently. 
 
 *' Yes, Ijut not Mr. Layton. I call you to 
 witness that I liave given him an hour and a 
 half to make up his lee- way, and I can do no 
 more." 
 
 Mr. Bates o'ave an assentino; salute. He 
 knew his captain well, and understood when a 
 reply was required of him and when not. Mr. 
 Norbury, who had drawn near to them, had 
 not this advantage. He interposed with the 
 praiseworthy intention of strengthening the 
 hands of authority. 
 
 " The public service must, of course, be 
 attended to, and is to be preferred to all 
 private considerations." 
 
 " I don't want to be told my duty, sir," 
 observed the captain, curtly, '"'by any dashed 
 interfering landsman that ever was littered." 
 
 Mr. Xorbury turned very red, but remained 
 silent under this wholly unexpected rebuke, 
 as the boat drew nearer and disclosed the 
 fact beyond all doubt that there was no pas- 
 senger. Then all traces of annoyance disap- 
 peared from his countenance. Mr. Batts and
 
 192 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 he intercliano'ed a meanino^ and well-satisfied 
 smile. 
 
 Presently tlie captain moved away to wliere 
 Edith was sitting. She had a pair of field- 
 glasses in her hand, with which she was re- 
 garding the approaching boat with the utmost 
 intentness. 
 
 " My dear Miss Norbury — I mean ]\Iiss 
 Edith," he said hurriedly, " I am compelled 
 with very great reluctance to set sail without 
 Mr. Layton ; he is doubtless detained by some 
 accident in Cape Town ; and rather than you 
 should be left in a state of distr:ss and doubt 
 about him, I will strain my duty, for your 
 sake, so far as to touch there, which I had not 
 intended to do." 
 
 Edith rose from her seat and involuntarily 
 held out her hand, which the old fellow gal- 
 lantly took. 
 
 " I cannot express to you. Captain Plead," 
 she murmured with tears in her voice, " the 
 obligation under which your kind intention has 
 placed me. I shall never forget it to my 
 dying day, but I am happy to say that any 
 departure from your plans is unnecessary so
 
 NuMBEn Two. 193 
 
 far as Mr. Lay ton is concerned ; lie is rowing 
 with the rest in the boat — I think you call it 
 Number Two." 
 
 "It is certain that he is not Number Two 
 in somebody's estimation," returned the cap- 
 tain, as he took the glass from her. '' By 
 gad, you're right. Miss Edith. It seems that 
 the eyes of love are sharper than those of 
 a ship's watch. . . . Mr. Bates, Mr. Layton 
 is in the boat after all, I am glad to see. 
 Who is the man that is missing ? " 
 
 The answer was a long time coming, and 
 when it did come it was delivered in a most 
 lugubrious tone. 
 
 " Well, sir, so far as I can make out, it's 
 John Brownricror who is left behind." 
 
 "A orood thingr too — the troublesome, 
 drunken dog. Now get the boat on board, 
 and be smart with it ; and pipe all hands to 
 make sail." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PEESEXTIMEXTS. 
 
 It was in accordance with tlie course of 
 conduct on which Layton had determined that 
 he had declined the seat offered to him by 
 Conolly in the stern of the boat, and volun- 
 teered to fill the place vacated by Brownrigg 
 at the oar. It was certain that the midship- 
 man would have been full of questions as to 
 the reason of his friend's delay, which would 
 have been difficult to parry in any case, and 
 the more so since the thread of the matter 
 was already in the young gentleman's hand. 
 
 Except that he had left his foundered horse 
 on the same road on which the dead bodies of 
 Brownrigg and the Hottentot would presently 
 be found, there was nothing whatever to con- 
 nect Layton with their decease, and for the
 
 Presentiments. 195 
 
 present, at all events, he felt it was the safer 
 plan to keep what had happened to himself. 
 
 Hence it was that for a few minutes the 
 hope that he had seen the last of the young 
 lawyer had, as we know, been raised in Mr. 
 Norbury's breast, and the fear of it in that 
 of the captain. To the latter no explanation 
 of his delay was necessary ; a few apologetic 
 words aboutthe breaking down of his steed 
 was taken by the good-natured but peppery 
 old sailor as an excuse in full, and in the 
 performance of his nautical duties (which were 
 soon destined to be pressing enough) he would 
 probably have forgotten all about the matter 
 had it not been recalled to his attention. 
 With Edith, on the other hand, concealment 
 was more difficult. Love is not only prover- 
 bially importunate, but '' keen to track sugges- 
 tion to its inmost cell." One reads of a " tell- 
 tale glance," but an averted look, or a want of 
 promptness in reply equally well tells a man's 
 secret, or at all events reveals that he has one, 
 to the woman who loves him. In ten minutes 
 Layton had put Edith in possession of his 
 whole story with as great completeness as 
 
 2
 
 196 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 any unwilling witness lie had himself ever 
 turned inside out in a court of justice. 
 
 " Great heavens ! they meant to murder 
 you ! " she exclaimed with horror. 
 
 *' If they didn't, they ' made believe ' in a 
 manner that would have made their fortunes 
 on any stage," returned the young man, dryly. 
 "A spear between one's ear and one's head, 
 and a cutlass aimed at one's cheek-bone " 
 
 "My father's brother — my own flesh and 
 blood ! " interrupted the girl in accents of 
 bitter loathing. Then he understood that she 
 had not been referring to the actual perpe- 
 trators of the crime in question, but to him 
 who had set them on. 
 
 "Nay, nay, we have no right, my dear, to 
 jump to any such conclusion as that," he 
 answered. "It is even possible — though I 
 confess I doubt it — that my money, and not 
 my life, may have been the object of my 
 assailant ; but at all events it is unfair to 
 conclude without proof that your uncle had 
 anything to do with the matter." 
 
 She shook her head and moaned. " He 
 had, he had. I am sure of it, Charley. I
 
 Presentiments. 197 
 
 understand now wliat that air of cruel triumph 
 meant which he wore to-day and yesterday ; 
 he thought that he had made sure that you 
 and I would never meet again." 
 
 " That is a great deal to gather 'from a look, 
 I must say, my darling," said Lay ton remon- 
 stratingly ; " much as I can read in yours." 
 
 In truth he was as fully convinced of Mr. 
 Norbury's complicity in Brownrigg's crime as 
 herself, but his professional instincts prevented 
 him from taking it for granted upon mere 
 suspicion, while he was naturally desirous to 
 spare her what after all might be an unneces- 
 sary shock to her feelings. Later on in the 
 evening, however, he had, for the first time 
 during the last six-and-twenty hours, an 
 opportunity of speaking to young Conolly, the 
 result of which settled his views upon the 
 matter. 
 
 " Pray tell me, sir, what happened to you 
 on shore % " inquired the boy, earnestly. " I 
 am sure you had some far worse adventure, 
 though you would not speak about it just now, 
 than losing your way or your horse." 
 
 " Let us take events in their order, my lad,"
 
 198 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 returned the barrister. " Tell me first liow 
 you came to give me that extraordinary warn- 
 ing yesterday morning, when ]\Ir. Bates and 
 Brownrigg were talking together : ' Don't go ; 
 your life is in danger.' " 
 
 *' Because I believed it to be so, IMr. Layton, 
 and from those very men. Of course, I don't 
 like Mr. Bates — nobody does, for that matter 
 — or I should say, perhaps, that I am well 
 aware he does not like me, which prejudices 
 a fellow. Still, I feel well convinced that the 
 third mate is a most unscrupulous scoundrel. 
 He attracts to himself all the ruffians in the 
 ship. Brownrigg, whom, I am thankful to 
 say, we seem to have now got rid of, was 
 about the worst. Do you think Mr. Bates 
 would have given him leave, just out of 
 * punishment ' too as he was, if he had not 
 been a pal of his ? The night before last it 
 w\as my duty to visit the fellow in the black- 
 hole, as you would call it. It is not a pleasant 
 place, but quite good enough for a man who 
 has made a hog of himself, as he had. My 
 impression is that Mr. Bates had given him an 
 extra allo^vance or two of rum in return for
 
 Presentiments. 109 
 
 some promise to do you an injury, for, drunk 
 as lie was, he kept muttering something about 
 the third mate and yourself which I could not 
 understand. My appearance on my rounds 
 no doubt brought you to his recollection, as 
 having been always a friend to me. *A 
 deuced fine fellow, that 'longshore friend of 
 yours,' he murmured menacingly, ' but he'll 
 never come on board the Ganges again.' 
 ' Why not ? ' I inquired, carelessly. * Why 
 not ! ' he grunted. ' Because Mr. Bates and I 
 — eh, what are you talking about \ ' He 
 meant, of course, what was he talking about, 
 and had he not better hold his tono^ue : and 
 nothinor more could I o;et out of the brute. 
 But, notwithstanding his muddled condition, 
 I could not but think that he referred to some 
 plot that was really being hatched against 
 you, and I determined to let you know of it 
 if I could. I had no chance of seeinsf vou, 
 however, till you came on deck next morning, 
 and you know^ what occurred then : how 
 Brownrigg came up to the third mate and 
 asked for leave and got it. That made me 
 more suspicious of him than ever, since, if
 
 200 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 anything had been ah^eady agreed upon be- 
 tween them, to separate from one another 
 was the very thing they would have done as 
 a blind." 
 
 " My dear lad, you have mistaken your 
 profession, which should have been the same 
 as my own," said Layton, smiling ; *' the 
 deduction was most just." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I thought it no laughing 
 matter," returned the boy, evidently a little 
 piqued at his communication being received 
 so lightly. '' I did really believe that your 
 life was in danger." 
 
 " And you did your best to save it," re- 
 turned Layton, warmly. " You have behaved 
 like a man, and deserve my fullest confidence 
 as well as gratitude." 
 
 Then he told him all that had happened. 
 
 " Mr. Bates ought to ] be hung at the 
 yard-arm," was the midshipman's indignant 
 comment. 
 
 *' No doubt that is a fate that should over- 
 take more than one of us, if all had their 
 dues/' was the dry reply. " But to accuse a 
 ruffian without proof is only to put him on his
 
 Presentiments. 201 
 
 guard. We must not bark unless we can bite, 
 my lad. I can trust you, I know, in great 
 matters. Can I trust you in comparatively 
 small ones — such as to hold your tongue, for 
 instance ? " 
 
 Layton felt that he could rely on the lad, 
 but did not think it necessary to enlighten 
 him as to the ' first causes ' of what had so 
 nearly proved a catastrophe. It was better 
 to let him suppose that personal dislike had 
 been the motive of Mr. Bates's intended crime 
 rather than that a price (as he was convinced 
 was the case) had been, as it were, put upon 
 his head by Mr. Norbury. To have hinted at 
 such an atrocity would have made it difficult 
 for the impulsive young midshipman to behave 
 with due respect to that gentleman, whereby 
 he w^ould certainly have made him his enemy. 
 Moreover, he had scruples on Edith's account 
 about disclosing; to an outsider, however 
 friendly, the full extent of her uncle's villainy. 
 On the other hand, having; received this cor- 
 roboration of it, he thought there should be 
 no such concealment of the matter from Edith 
 herself, if indeed there remained anything to
 
 202 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 conceal. After tliat expression of her own 
 convictions upon the subject there could be 
 no further pain for her in the way of revela- 
 tion, and he felt that he ought no longer to 
 aro-ue ao-ainst them. He did not forget the 
 eagerness with which she had recently caught 
 at the prospect of a reconciliation wdth her 
 unscrupulous relative, and trembled to think 
 that she should ever again commit herself to 
 his tender mercies. 
 
 Since the young barrister had returned to 
 the ship, neither Mr. Norbury nor Eleanor 
 had obtruded their attentions upon Edith. 
 In her cousin's case, indeed, this was not 
 surprising, since it had been obvious that 
 what advances had hitherto proceeded from 
 her had been made upon compulsion. Her 
 uncle's avoidance of her, on the other hand, 
 might naturally have resulted from appre- 
 hension. Supposing him to be guilty of 
 having prompted the late attempt upon 
 Layton's life, he might w^ell be alarmed lest 
 the other might have escaped from the snare 
 with some knowdedge, or at least suspicion, 
 of him who had set the springe. For all Mr.
 
 Presentiments. 203 
 
 Xorljurv knew, Brownrifror mio-lit not onlv 
 have failed in his attempt, but have been 
 captured and confessed. Ignorant of tlie 
 position in which he stood as regarded his 
 enemy, he might well have been afraid to 
 open his mouth. There was, therefore, no 
 more hindrance than before to Layton's con- 
 versing with Edith alone. 
 
 A little drawing-room opening from the 
 cuddy, intended for the use of the Ladies, but 
 rarely patronized by Eleanor, had been often 
 used by the lovers as a trysting-place in the 
 evening, and they resorted to it now. In the 
 daytime, and in bad weather, a round-house 
 on deck served the same romantic purpose, 
 but it was more subject to incursions ; on the 
 present occasion it would have been anything 
 but a spot '' for whispering lovers made," for 
 the noise on deck was terrible. The ship 
 was flying before the wind, though with much 
 less of sail than had been set a few hours 
 ago, and the storm was increasing every 
 moment. Even in the snug little drawing- 
 room the two young people found it difficult 
 to hear each other speak, which necessitated
 
 204 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 tlieir sitting close together on tlie sofa ; while 
 the frequent jolts and jars from the shock of 
 the seas made an attitude which a cliaperone 
 would have called ' imprudent,' namely, their 
 sitting; with their arms round one another's 
 waists, not only prudent but compulsory. 
 Even in this position, so admirably adapted 
 for ' soft nothings,' they had to speak at the 
 very top of their voices — a requirement which, 
 perhaps, never enters into the ideas of lovers 
 who go to sea. This was the more anomalous, 
 as the subject of their talk deeply affected 
 the character of other people ; but, on the 
 other hand, there was no fear of eaves- 
 droppers. Not a word could be heard on 
 deck save that which was uttered throusfh 
 the speaking-trumpet ; and matters were not 
 much better below. 
 
 " I have been talking; to our voung; friend 
 Conolly, my darling, and I am sorry to say 
 he corroborates your view of my adventure 
 with Brownrigg," said Lay ton. " It was a 
 plot devised between him and Mr. Bates, it 
 seems ; and as Mr. Bates has nothing to gain 
 by my departure from this world, I am com-
 
 Pkesentiments. 205 
 
 pellecl to look beliinci him for the real culprit. 
 While there was any doubt you will do me 
 the justice to say that I gave your uncle the 
 benefit of it ; but now I am afraid there is 
 none." 
 
 "I am convinced of it," said Edith sadly; 
 "all is over between that man and me. If 
 my money was necessary to him he should 
 have had it for the asking;. But that, it 
 seems, is not sufficient. Worse than a hig-h- 
 wayman, he does not say to me, *Your 
 money or your life,' but ' Your life ' only." 
 
 " Not yours, my darliag. Even he, let us 
 hope, would shrink from harming one so 
 innocent as yourself." 
 
 " And is not your life my life ? " she 
 answered, reproachfully. "If he had taken 
 you from me, what would life have left worth 
 living for ? In any case, no ties of blood 
 shall bind me any longer to one who is a 
 murderer in his heart. I say again that I 
 have done with him. Oh, would that I could 
 think that he had done with us ! " 
 
 " He has done his worst already, my pretty 
 one, and indeed it was bad enough," said
 
 206 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 Lay ton reassuringly ; '' but having missed his 
 aim, he will be very careful not to attempt 
 a second crime. For all he knows, the man 
 Brownrigg may yet be alive to witness against 
 him ; or, which would be the same thing in 
 the end, to witness against his confederate. 
 As for me, forewarned is forearmed ; and be 
 sure I am safe enough in any case. I shall 
 make it my business before we land in India 
 to collect such evidence against your imcle 
 as, though it may fail to bring his attempt 
 on my life home to him, wdll be sufficient, I 
 flatter myself, to make him glad to get rid 
 of me on my own terms — which will include 
 the possession of his niece. I have friends in 
 Calcutta who will receive you on landing ; 
 and before a month has gone over our heads 
 we shall be man and wife. That is not a 
 prospect which should terrify you, my darling. 
 Why do you tremble ? Does the storm affright 
 you ? " 
 
 " No, no ; it is not that," she answered with 
 a shudder. *' I am filled with presentiments 
 of evil." 
 
 " That is not like yourself, Edith. A
 
 Peesextimexts. 207 
 
 terrible catastrophe indeed has threatened 
 us ; but the cloud which held the bolt has 
 passed over our heads, and now all will be 
 sunshine. As soon as the captain is at 
 liberty to attend to anything but his ship, 
 I shall lay the whole case before him in 
 confidence ; he is an honest man and will 
 see justice done. Once beneath his aegis no 
 harm can atuill events happen to us on board 
 the Ganges. Of course I wish that we had 
 not been so scrupulous while we were yet in 
 England. Had we known your uncle for what 
 he is, we should have paid less heed to his 
 authority. But out of evil good has come ; 
 his wickedness has driven us into each other's 
 arms." 
 
 If the young barrister's eloquence was not 
 that of Demosthenes, he fulfilled that orator's 
 precepts of suiting the action to the word 
 and the word to the action. Cradled in his 
 embrace, and rocked by the storm, Edith lay 
 pale and silent ; her eyes regarded him with 
 the tenderest afi'ection, but were full of tears. 
 
 "I wish that I could think with you, 
 Charley," she presently said. '' I wish that
 
 208 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 I could feel that our misfortunes were ended, 
 and not, as I fear, only beginning. I dare 
 not even think of such happiness as you have 
 pictured for us, and so soon. It seems more 
 likely, somehow, that one of us should die and 
 leave the other desolate." 
 
 " Even then, my darling, we should belong 
 to one another still," answered her lover, 
 smiling. " ' Faithful and true, living or dead,' 
 as we used to sing together, you know. 
 Come ; you are tired, and your nerves are 
 overstrung to-night ; I must see you to your 
 cabin." 
 
 It would not have been easy for her to get 
 there unaided by Lay ton's stalwart arm. The 
 incidents that seem on land to happen to a 
 drunken man, such as that of the floor rising 
 up and striking him, actually do take place 
 at sea durino^ such a storm as was now rag;ino; 
 over the Indian Ocean. She lay listening to 
 it for hours ; not in terror of it like her 
 neighbour, Aunt Sophia, but oppressed with 
 the sense of a less material dano^er. It was 
 a spectre that refused to take a recognizable 
 shape, but she never lost consciousness of its
 
 Presentiments. 209 
 
 presence. To the dreadful diapason of the 
 storm, the refrain of the old song quoted by 
 her lover seemed constantly to adapt itself : 
 
 " Faithful and true, living or dead ;" 
 
 but not with the old meaning. Death was no 
 longer that improbable alternative of which 
 we speak with a light heart : its sombre and 
 wide-spread wings seemed to eclipse the sun 
 of hope. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THK GALE. 
 
 I WAS once the only layman in the company 
 of a large circle of eminent doctors, who were 
 discoursing, with that frankness which is 
 usual to members of that calling when they 
 get together, of the ills to which Hesh is heir 
 and of the little which science can do to 
 mitigate them. If Nature were but left to 
 herself, they said, all would be well, or at all 
 events ever so much better. It was the 
 nostrums of the faculty — meaning, of course, 
 those members of the faculty not present — 
 which did half the mischief. I listened with 
 amazement, reo-rettinp; the amount I had 
 disbursed, to what as it now appeared was 
 such little purpose, in doctors' fees. I thought 
 of the woman in the Scriptures who had spent
 
 The Gale. 211 
 
 half her substance in physicians without being 
 bettered by them, but rather the contrary. 
 
 When we adjourned to the smoking-room 
 I found myself by the side of one of the 
 wisest-looking of these gentlemen, whose very 
 face, had I called him in in extremis, would 
 have been a comfort to me, I'm sure, before 
 I had listened to the late general confession ; 
 and, encouraged by his afifability, I ventured 
 to ask him privately whether the talk of his 
 brethren, in which I noticed he alone had not 
 joined, was to be taken literally or with a 
 grain of salt. " A grain ! say rather with a 
 bushel," was his contemptuous reply. ''It is 
 all very well to cry ' stinking fish ' when 
 there's nobody to hear you" (I bowed in 
 mechanical acknowledgment of this compli- 
 ment to my personal importance, but he took 
 no notice) ; *' the fact is, however, Nature is by 
 no means the alma mater which she is described 
 to be. She is much more like a stepmother. 
 Suppose you are struck down by illness to- 
 morrow, there are plenty of people who will 
 be found to tell you that the best thing to 
 be done is ' to leave things to Nature,' but the 
 
 P 2
 
 212 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 simple fact is that what she's after is just this, 
 sir — Nature wants to kill you." 
 
 This gentleman's novel view astonished me 
 not less than that of his friends had done ; 
 but upon consideration it seems at least the 
 more correct of the two. It is the fashion 
 to speak of Nature as beneficent, but in her 
 sublimest aspects— and it is as fair to take 
 them as illustrative of her character as to 
 judge of man by his actions when he is most 
 deeply moved — she is very far from benignant 
 or even humane. When the elements, for 
 example, throw off the mastery of man, and 
 appear, as one might say, in their true 
 colours, these are not rose-colour, but lurid. 
 Fire becomes the devouring element and 
 w^ater the devastating flood. There is no 
 ruth nor mercy in either of them, nor is any 
 to be found in that which works with both 
 with such demoniacal and malig^nant force 
 that it has been personified in Holy Writ 
 as the Prince of the Powers of the Air. A 
 storm at sea to those exposed to its frantic 
 violence is far from being the sublime 
 spectacle which it affords to those who
 
 The Gale. 213 
 
 behold it from terra jirma : it is only wind 
 and wave, but it is wind and wave possessed 
 of devils. Shore-ofoino^ folks have a vag^ue 
 idea that a storm passes from the face of 
 the deep almost like passion from the face 
 of a man, or that at the most, it endures, 
 like a wet day on land, for twelve hours or 
 so. They have no conception of a struggle 
 between giant forces, prolonged it may be 
 for weeks — an unequal contest, during which, 
 though courage may still hold out in that 
 unyielding fort, the soul, physical strength 
 relaxes and fails as the lamp of hope grows 
 dim. It is an experience which must be 
 undergone to be understood. To those who 
 have only seen her fawning at their feet on 
 the silver sands in summer time, the tender 
 mercies of the cruel sea are unintelligible. 
 
 It was the fate of those on board the 
 Ganges to experience them to the' uttermost. 
 From the evenings when she left Simon's 
 Bay the tempest had not ceased to pour its 
 fury upon her tenants for a single hour ; 
 day and night seemed almost one to them, 
 engulfed in the green walls of sea, or only
 
 214 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 lifted out of them to meet the descending 
 clouds. 
 
 What occurred in vision to one of the most 
 poetic of poets, and one who was never more 
 at home than when at sea, had become their 
 actual experience — 
 
 " 'Tis tlie terror of tempest. The rags of the sail 
 Are flickermg in ribbons before the fierce gale ; 
 
 The good ship seems splitting : it creaks as a tree 
 While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast 
 Of the whirlwind that stripped it of branches is past. 
 
 The heavy dead hulk, 
 On the living sea rolls, an inanimate bulk." 
 
 It would have been impossible on the fifth 
 day of her troubles for a landsman to have 
 recognized the gallant Gavges in her decrepit 
 and shorn condition. On the second day it 
 had become necessary to cut away the mizzen- 
 mast, and on the third the mainmast ; and 
 yet the wreck flew before the gale more 
 swiftly far than with all her sails set before 
 a favouring wind. In what part of the 
 Indian Ocean she now was no one on board
 
 The Gale. 215 
 
 could tell with certainty. It was only known 
 that she had been driven hundreds of miles 
 out of her course, and w^as driving still ; more 
 than twenty men had been swept overboard, 
 and there was no time to mourn them ; the 
 consciousness of their loss was mainly brought 
 home to the survivors in the increased tax 
 upon their physical energies. There was little 
 sleep for -any man and little food. As for the 
 cabin passengers, they got what they could 
 in their outstretched hands from the steward, 
 regular meals being out of the question. 
 What Aunt Sophia thought of the sea now 
 might be conjectured, but she gave no ex- 
 pression to her views, and if she had they 
 would have found no auditor. The yell of 
 the wind drowned all sounds save those which 
 itself made ; the roar of the maddened sea, 
 the straining of the ship's timbers, or the 
 bursting of a sail with an explosion like the 
 crack of doom. The horseplay of a storm at 
 sea is like that of our roughs at home — 
 reckless, aimless, and malignant. There was 
 not a lucid interval in all its madness — no 
 lull wherein the watchers, who were no longer.
 
 216 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 alas ! the keepers of the storm-fiend, could 
 snatch an hour's repose. 
 
 Some days were not, however, so bad as 
 others. Then the three miserable women 
 would crawl up from their stifling cabins to 
 the round-house upon deck to look upon the 
 fate that threatened them, which seemed less 
 horrible than the imagination of it amid the 
 darkness and chaos below. As in the great 
 water-floods on land, the wildest and most 
 savag-e animals will collect with the tamest 
 upon the knolls and spurs that ofl'er a tem- 
 porary security, and forget the instincts of 
 tooth and claw in their common peril, so was 
 it with their human congeners on board the 
 Ganges. Mr. Norbury and his daughter no 
 longer kept aloof from Edith, and even met 
 Mr. Layton without a scowl. On the other 
 hand, there was no attempt at reconciliation. 
 Considering the short time which in all pro- 
 bability they had to live, it was not perhaps 
 worth their while to make any overtures 
 of friendship) ; while to confess to having 
 committed a wrong was foreign to their 
 natures. Eleanor would sometimes make
 
 The Gale. 217 
 
 room for Edith by her side as she came 
 staggering in to their common place of shelter, 
 assisted by her lover ; and Mr. Norbury would 
 welcome her with a stony smile. He was not 
 a coward, but his helplessness and want of 
 occupation compelled him to brood upon the 
 past, and perhaps the future, and it is pro- 
 bable that neither of them were cheerful 
 subjects of -contemplation. They were folks 
 upon their death-beds whom the doctors had 
 given up. Mr. Norbury had once put the 
 question to the captain, " Do you think there 
 is any hope for us ? " and he had replied with 
 significant brevity, "I do not," after which 
 the man of business had placed a padlock on 
 his lips. He had perhaps so much to repent 
 of that he knew not where to begin, or his 
 nature, less reckless than indomitable, made 
 him averse to ' hedge ' even on the brink 
 of ruin. 
 
 As for Edith, she took her fate for granted 
 without asking. Most of her time was spent 
 with Layton, and in his arms, yet not as 
 earthly lovers. The presentiment that had 
 oppressed her when they left Simon's Bay
 
 218 A PmxcE OF the Blood. 
 
 had now almost been accomplished, and was 
 shared by both of them. They might be 
 united in the w^oiid where there was no 
 giving in marriage, but not in this : their 
 faithfulness was to be proved not in life but 
 in death. It was the sense of what became 
 her as a Christian woman that caused her 
 to leave him occasionally to seek the com- 
 panionship of her relatives ; it gave them the 
 opportunity of making friends with her, and 
 at all events showed them that she, on lier 
 part, had no malice or hatred in her heart 
 towards them. At such times Layton, having 
 escorted her to the door of the round-house, 
 would make his way as best he could to some 
 part of the deck that offered comparative 
 shelter, and wait there till she required his 
 services to descend. His presence in the 
 same place would, he was well aware, be not 
 only unacceptable to tlie others, but would 
 arouse those very feelings of hostility and 
 bitterness which Edith would fain have 
 allayed. So it was on a certain day less 
 tempestuous than its predecessors, but with 
 no more sun in the sky than in their hearts.
 
 The Gale. 219 
 
 As the wreck — for the ship now hardly- 
 deserved a better name — drove before the 
 gale, a mist drove with her, through rents 
 of which could be occasionally seen the great 
 gray waves or dark green hollows which had 
 so long formed their look-out. Aunt Sophia 
 and Edith were alone in the round-house, but 
 it was understood that Mr. Norbury and his 
 daughter were about to join them. Lay ton, 
 as usual, ensconced himself as best he could 
 under the lee of the weather-bulwark and 
 near the helm. There were two men at the 
 wheel, and Mr. Bates close to them occasion- 
 ally issuing an order, or a caution, in stentorian 
 tones. 
 
 The ship still obeyed her helm, but only 
 on great compulsion and in a half-hearted 
 manner. It was all the helmsmen could do 
 to keep her running before the wind in order 
 to escape the terrific seas that were in chase 
 of her. It was terrible to look at them ; yet 
 they had a fascination for Layton which he 
 could not resist. Each was like a great wall 
 of water which was about to overtake and 
 pass through the ship. When it had gone
 
 220 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 by, sweeping all that was not fast along with 
 it, it w^as wnth a sort of dull amazement that 
 he perceived that she still floated. There was 
 a life-belt hanmng; over him — the last of some 
 dozen that had been on board. He found 
 himself w^ondering how it hung there like a 
 lonely leaf in late November which has sur- 
 vived storm and rain, and also why, for such 
 thino^s had long^ been without their use. He 
 had lost none of his physical powers, but, 
 except when Edith w^s by, had become 
 strangely apathetic, as men are wont to do 
 who have lived for days face to face with 
 death. Suddenly he heard a cry from Bates, 
 louder than usual, and beheld a mountain 
 of green water close upon them ; the next 
 moment he was drenched, breathless, and 
 blinded. When he camiC to himself he became 
 conscious that other hands beside his ow^n 
 were clinging to the same ring in the bulk- 
 head. 
 
 " What has happened, Mr. Bates ? " 
 " AVe are pooped, the round-house has been 
 swept away," gasped his companion. 
 
 *' The round-house ! " His eyes fell upon
 
 The Gale. 221 
 
 the vacant space which it had occupied a 
 moment before. " Great heavens 1 where are 
 the kdies ? " 
 
 " Overboard," was the ghastly rejoinder. 
 
 Layton snatched at the life-belt, and the 
 next instant had leapt on the taffrail and into 
 the sea. 
 
 " The man is mad," murmured the other, 
 but he leant over and soug-ht for him with 
 his eyes nevertheless, xls if satisfied for the 
 moment with the ruin it had wrought, the sea 
 had lulled a little, and it was possible to mark 
 the human speck for a moment or two in that 
 ocean of foam. Something happened in that 
 brief space known only to two human beings. 
 Theu, with a white face and a terror in his 
 eyes which the strife of the elements had 
 failed to evoke, Mr. Bates made his way 
 below. 
 
 As he did so a vision appeared painted out 
 on the mist, and beheld only by the men at 
 the wheel. A great ship without a rag of 
 sail seemed to fly by them, not parallel to the* 
 Ganges, but at an angle with her. Her masts 
 were standing, and there were men on her
 
 222 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 deck. It was incomprehensible that she should 
 not only have survived such a gale but have 
 suffered so little. The two spectators looked 
 at one another in horror. "It is the Flying 
 Dutchman'' exclaimed one, His companion 
 nodded and turned his quid in his cheek. 
 " Then that will finish us." 
 
 The prophecy was about to be fulfilled.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. BATES's IsEWS. 
 
 It was wkli some clifFiCnlty, notwitlistand- 
 ing his familiarity with the route and his 
 excellent sea-legs, that Mr. Bates found his 
 way to the cuddy. The deck, for reasons of 
 his own, quite unconnected with the state of 
 affairs there, was just now distasteful to him ; 
 and besides, he had news to tell somelody. 
 It may seem strange that under such con- 
 ditions of peril it should have been so. To 
 a landsman, under the same circumstances, the 
 state of the vessel would have been the sole 
 subject of interest, and the only news worth 
 speaking of a change in the weather. But 
 to a sailor, his ship is his home even when 
 she has become a wreck, and life, until she 
 sinks, goes on there for him with its aims and 
 motives much as usual. In times even that
 
 224 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 look desperate lie does not defer tilings of 
 importance till he gets to dry land and can 
 consider matters, but grasps the skirts of 
 happy chance as they sweep by and looks to 
 the main one. 
 
 Mr. Bates's errand was to Mr. Norbury, at 
 whose cabin door he knocked in a manner in 
 which vehemence and caution were strangely 
 mixed. It opened of course from the cuddy, 
 which was vacant. No meal had been served 
 there for many a day ; the broad bare table 
 looked dark and cheerless ; the place itself, 
 from which every article of movable furniture 
 had long; been removed, or been broken where 
 it stood, most dismal. There was little fear 
 of interruption or of eavesdroppers ; but it 
 was necessary to beat at the door with violence 
 to overcome the tumult that reigned every- 
 where, and as he did so Mr. Bates kept an eye 
 over his shoulder. The door was locked, but 
 that did not necessarily imply that the tenant 
 was within. It was Mr. Norbury's habit to 
 lock his door when he was absent. On the 
 other hand, if elsewhere, where could he be ? 
 He was certainly not on deck, and could not
 
 Mr. Bates's News. 225 
 
 therefore have been a witness to the catas- 
 trophe that had just occurred there. "Mr. 
 Norbury," shouted the third mate through 
 the keyhole ; then, " Xorbury, Xorbury." 
 
 His voice thus reiterating the other's name 
 in that solitary place had a gruesome sound, 
 like that raised by one who, half superstitious 
 and half sceptical, utters his own name in the 
 dead of night alone, with the idea of rousing 
 his familiar spirit. 
 
 " Norbury, Norbury, let me in ; I have 
 great and terrible news for you." 
 
 " What news ? '' 
 
 Mr. Bates started and turned round, then 
 uttered a shrill cry of terror and staggered 
 against the cabin door. Close behind him, 
 cling-ingr to the table with both hands and 
 peering over it, was Edith Norbury, j)ale as 
 the ghost he deemed her to be, her long hair 
 streaming down her neck, her eyes fixed on 
 his own with agonized inquiry. " You have 
 terrible news, you say. What is it ? My 
 uncle is not in his cabin : he is in the round- 
 house." 
 
 The sweat broke out upon Mr. Bates's fore- 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 tead. If this woman was really alive and 
 was speaking truth, he had been calling on 
 a dead man, and with what a purpose ! He 
 had been striving to inform a spirit already 
 in hell (for so the position occurred to him) 
 that the girl whom he hated, and the man 
 whom he feared and had tried to slay, were 
 both swept from his path. The man was 
 certainly gone, but the girl was standing 
 before his own eyes. Gradually the true state 
 of affairs began to dawn upon him, but it 
 was a very different matter to tell it to the 
 ear for which it had been first intended, and 
 to tell it to this girl. A heart that is not 
 to be touched by pity will sometimes be 
 moved by the consciousness of the commission 
 of a wrong. In Edith's presence the man 
 trembled ; his remorse for the moment gave 
 his voice the semblance of sympathy. 
 
 "If your uncle was in the round-house, 
 Miss Edith, he has perished, for it has been 
 swept away." 
 
 " Great heavens ! And Eleanor ? " 
 *' She has perished with him — I saw her 
 washed overboard with my own eyes."
 
 Mn. Bates's News. 227 
 
 " It is impossible, it is too horrible ! " 
 answered the girl, vehemently. " How could 
 you have seen them perish, when you came 
 down here to speak to my uncle ? I heard 
 you calling to him : you said you had terrible 
 news for him." 
 
 It would have been difficult even for one 
 who was more accustomed to speak the truth 
 than the tHird mate to state matters as they 
 had actually occurred. It would have been 
 embarrassing enough to have to say, " When 
 I witnessed the catastrophe which has occurred 
 to your cousin I took her for you : it was the 
 tidings of your death which I was about to 
 communicate to Mr. Norbury," not, as it had 
 seemed, with a superfluity of emotion. But 
 unhappily there was so much more to say. 
 
 " I have told you the simple fact. Miss 
 Edith : I saw the round-house swept away 
 with your cousin, but I did not know Mr. 
 Norbury was within it. No, it is useless for 
 you to go on deck." He seized her wrist as 
 she was staggering towards the companion- 
 ladder and detained her by main force. " I 
 will not permit you to do it; it would be 
 
 Q2
 
 228 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 dangerous in the last degree. There is no 
 one there save those whom duty compels 
 to be." 
 
 " Mr. Lay ton is there, I know." 
 
 "Not now:' 
 
 He uttered the words with an intentional 
 significance, yet without meaning to be brutal ; 
 it was easier to hint curtly at what had 
 happened than to explain it in set terms of 
 any kind. 
 
 " Not votv ! What, in Heaven's name, do 
 you mean?" she gasped. *' Where is he?" 
 
 Mr. Bates was silent. It w^as a question, 
 no doubt, very hard to answer ; but to the 
 girl's searching and suspicious glance there 
 seemed something more than embarrassment 
 in his face. 
 
 " What have you done with him ? " she 
 exclaimed with a fierce light in her eyes, 
 seizing the ofticer by his loose sailor necker- 
 chief. " Murderer ! murderer ! Help ! help ! " 
 
 A door opened behind them and Aunt 
 Sophia tottered out of her cabin. '' Merciful 
 Heaven!" she cried, "what has happened?" 
 Then perceiving Edith engaged in a frantic
 
 Me. Bates's News. 229 
 
 struggle with she knew not w^hom, she swelled 
 with her feeble voice the girl's cries for 
 assistance. 
 
 Mr. Ainsworth and Lewis ConoUy appeared 
 simultaneously — the former from his cabin, 
 the latter flying down the companion-ladder 
 like a ball, but alighting on his feet. At the 
 sight of them Edith released her hold of the 
 third mate. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " inquired the clergy- 
 man anxiously. 
 
 " You may well ask ! " panted Mr. Bates. 
 
 With one hand clinging to the table, Edith 
 pointed to him with the other. " That man 
 is a murderer ! " she gasped ; " he has mur- 
 dered my Charley ! " 
 
 The midshipman flew at his throat like a 
 bull-pup, while Bates struck at him furiously ; 
 the paralysis which had seemed to seize him 
 w^hile in Edith's hands disappeared in the case 
 of this new assailant. Mr. Ainsworth threw 
 himself between the two unequal combatants 
 with a vigour wholly unexpected, and separ- 
 ated them by main force. 
 
 " Shame upon you, to call yourselves
 
 230 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 Christian men," lie exclaimed reprovingly, 
 *'yet thus to fight upon the brink of the 
 grave ! — Now, Mr. Bates, explain yourself." 
 
 " I have nothing to explain — the matter 
 does not concern me at all," answered the 
 third mate sullenly, "but I had some bad 
 news to tell, and this young lady has confused 
 the bearer of it with its cause." 
 
 " That man has murdered my Charley ! " 
 reiterated Edith. Her body quivered and 
 trembled as much with excitement as with 
 the rolling and pitching of the ship, but the 
 outstretched arm with which she denounced 
 her enemy was stiff as steel. 
 
 " There must be some mistake. Miss Edith," 
 murmured the clergyman soothingly ; " Mr. 
 Layton was alive and well ten minutes ago, 
 when Mr. Conolly and I brought you tw^o 
 ladies from the round-house." 
 
 "It is true enough, however, that he is 
 dead," said the third mate curtly. " But as to 
 my having murdered him, as the young lady 
 says, it is she, if anybody, wlio has done it." 
 
 '^ What does the man mean ? he must be 
 mad ! " exclaimed Mr. Ainsworth.
 
 Mk. Bates's News. 231 
 
 '' Well, this is how it happened : Mr. Lay ton 
 and I were near the wheel when the wave 
 came that pooped us. The round-house was 
 swept away, and with it, as we both thought, 
 Miss Edith yonder. Mr. Layton seeing her 
 go overboard (though I suppose it was Miss 
 Eleanor) jumped on to the tafFrail and leapt 
 into the sea after her. That's the simple fact, 
 and I dotft^see how I could have stopped him, 
 or how it was my fault." 
 
 *' Mr. Bates is right so far, my dear young 
 lady," said the clergyman tenderly. "It 
 behoves us, no matter how heavy may be our 
 bereavement, to be just ; if our dear brother 
 has been taken from us, we may be sure if in 
 the realms of bliss his soul could be troubled 
 by anything it would be so by an accusation 
 made on his account against an innocent 
 man." 
 
 '' What need had I to hurt him," muttered 
 the third mate, " even if I had a wish to do 
 it ? I suppose such a sea as this is enough 
 to drown any one without hittiug him over 
 the head." 
 
 Mr. Ainsworth threw a searching glance on
 
 232 A Peixce of the Blood. 
 
 tlie speaker whicti seemed to say, " This man 
 doth protest too much," but his attention was 
 suddenly called to Edith, who would have 
 fallen to the ground had not the young mid- 
 shipman caught her in his arms. The blood 
 had left her face, her eyes were closed, her 
 limbs were rigid. 
 
 ''Hold her," he cried excitedly, "while I 
 run for Mr. Doyle." 
 
 "No," exclaimed Aunt Sophia in an un- 
 wonted tone of authority. " Bring her into 
 her cabin and leave her with me." 
 
 Her woman's eyes perceived that her niece 
 had only fainted, her woman's heart recognized 
 at once that the presence of any one of whose 
 sympathy the girl was not assured would on 
 her coming to herself be most painful to her ; 
 she would be in the lowest depths of distress 
 and despair in any case, and if her grief should 
 not have way it might even be fatal to her. 
 Under Aunt Sophia's guidance Mr. Ainsworth 
 and the young midshipman carried her tenderly 
 into her cabin and placed her upon the narrow 
 bed. It seemed like laying the poor girl's 
 corpse in her coffin.
 
 Mr. Bates's News. 233 
 
 The third mate remained outside, irresolute 
 and disconcerted. Nothing had turned out 
 as he had expected. There was no need for 
 his remaining in the cuddy, yet he hesitated 
 to go on deck, where his duties called him. 
 Presently the cabin door opened, and the two 
 men came out. Conollv slowly made his way 
 up the companion, without even looking at 
 Mr. Bates. His step had lost its spring, his 
 young heart was heavy within him for Edith's 
 sake. 
 
 Mr. Ainsworth addressed the third mate in 
 the tone of a judge who cross-examines a 
 witness: ''You say that Mr. Layton jumped 
 overboard ? Did you see him afterwards ? " 
 
 " How could I ? " was the sulky response. 
 
 " I mean, did you see him sink, sir ? " 
 
 "Well, no, he had a life-belt on him, but 
 I saw him drown." 
 
 " A life-belt ! How was that ? " 
 
 " I suppose he thought that it might keep 
 him up a bit. If he had been a sailor he 
 would have known better : in such a sea it 
 would only prolong his fate." 
 
 " Well, you have brought bad news to that
 
 234 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 innocent girl — news that will wreck her life, 
 if it is Heaven's will that she or any of us 
 should live to remember this day. Let me 
 ask you to make amends for it in some small 
 degree. Do not tell her that Mr. Layton had 
 a life-belt." 
 
 " Very good ; though there would have 
 been no harm, I should have thought, in her 
 believing that he jumped overboard after 
 her." 
 
 " It is not ihat, sir," answered Mr. Ainsworth 
 angrily. " Can you not understand that it 
 was for her, and not for himself, that the brave 
 fellow took that poor precaution ? What I 
 am afraid of is that in her ignorance of such 
 matters she might still think that there is 
 hope for him, and not face the miserable fact 
 at once." 
 
 " Hope ! how can there be hope for him, 
 when I saw him — at least as good as saw him 
 — drown with my own eyes ? How could a 
 man live for five minutes in such a turmoil ? " 
 
 " Of course not — it is impossible," sighed 
 Mr. Ainsworth to himself. " Heaven give her 
 strensfth to bear her burthen ! "
 
 Me. Bates's News. 235 
 
 A midshipman looking like a drowned 
 mouse came running down the companion. 
 " You are wanted on deck, Mr. Bates/' he 
 cried with more excitement than respect. 
 Then perceiving the clergyman, he added 
 cheerfully, *' The clouds are lifting and the 
 gale has abated, sir. There is hope for us 
 still, Mr. Marston thinks." 
 
 *' Thanks, my lad." Mr. Ainsworth smiled 
 and nodded gravely. '' That will be hardly 
 good news to this poor girl. It would be 
 better, perhaps, for her if she never woke to 
 life again. God alone knows, however, what 
 is the best for us."
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 THE WEECK. 
 
 Between Nature and human nature there 
 are many analogies. The seasons have in par- 
 ticular been largely drawn upon by poets and 
 divines to illustrate the vicissitudes of our 
 own existence. As the earth has its winter, 
 we are told, so has the human heart, and it 
 will, if it waits long enough, find its spring- 
 time. But Nature can always wait, which 
 man cannot do, and during the process she 
 suffers nothing. 
 
 In a drear-nighted December 
 
 Too liappy, happy tree, 
 Thy branches ne'er remember 
 
 Their green felicity. 
 The frost cannot undo them, 
 "With its sleety whistle through them, 
 JNor the cold north wind prevent them from budding at 
 their prime. 
 
 But we, alas ! in our winter-time do remember,
 
 The Wreck. 237 
 
 and " a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remember- 
 ing happier things." 
 
 If only we could be torpid till ''the cold 
 north winds " — the aching voids, the bitter 
 and fruitless regrets — had blown over, life 
 would be very diflferent from what it is. 
 AVhen some poor woman, delicate and defence- 
 less, but whom Fate, alas ! deals no more 
 mercifully w^ith on that account, is suddenly 
 struck down by its brutal hand, and after a 
 little while of unconsciousness wakes to life 
 and her new and painful burden, we call it 
 coming to herself again, whereas, in fact, she 
 is herself no long^er. Thous^h life is left to 
 her, the light of it has been taken away, and 
 henceforward she gropes her way in a world 
 that has been made dark to her. It is the 
 usual fashion of mankind to speak of the 
 greatest sorrow that can happen to a woman 
 — the loss of a lons^-loved husband — as lastincr 
 but a year and a day ; well would it be for 
 many a widow if this were true. There are 
 thousands who never survive it, and if they 
 smile, smile only for their children's sake. 
 We know infinitely less of the sorrows of our
 
 23 S A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 fellow-creatures than of their pleasures, and 
 are impelled by various motives to ignore 
 them, the meanest and most grovelling being 
 the notion that in underrating human woe 
 we are paying court to that Supreme Being 
 who, for some doubtless wise but inexjDlicable 
 reason, permits its existence. 
 
 As, however, in the administration of the 
 knout in Russia the executioner w411 some- 
 times defeat his own object and the law's, by 
 a too brutal stroke, so Fate in its blind fury 
 will sometimes kill outright, or numb, where 
 it has meant to only maim, and this latter 
 mistake it committed in Edith Norbury's case. 
 Days passed away after the fact of her lover's 
 death had been communicated to her before 
 the full capacity for pain returned to her — the 
 shock of the news fell on her like a blow from 
 a bludo'eon and stunned her. Now and then 
 she would awake from a sleep which seemed 
 akin to death, and murmur, ''Dead, dead ! " or 
 sometimes "Drowned, drowned!" and then 
 relapse into unconsciousness. 
 
 Aunt Sophia never left her side, and tended 
 her with unremitting gentleness. To her,
 
 The Wreck. 239 
 
 perhaps, this melancholy occupation was not 
 without its advantages ; it prevented her from 
 dwelling on her own troubles, or on the perils 
 which surrounded her. For neither her brother 
 nor her niece Eleanor was it possible that she 
 could have entertained a genuine affection ; 
 she had for years loyally shut her eyes to their 
 real character, but circumstances had of late 
 compelled her to behold them, not, indeed, as 
 they really were, but in a very unfavourable 
 liorht. She was oblis^ed to acknowledofe to 
 herself that the one was harsh and hard, and 
 the other malignant. There had been a time 
 when Eleanor had been disposed to regard 
 Charles Layton with something more than 
 favour, and since he had declared his love for 
 another she had done her best to thwart him, 
 and had spoken of him with the most relent- 
 less and bitter rancour. Still those she had 
 lost were her near and almost only relatives, 
 and Aunt Sophia's was one of those con- 
 ventional natures with whom the ties of blood 
 count for very much, independently of the 
 worth or merits of her belono^ino^s. The 
 shocking and sudden manner of their ' taking
 
 240 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 oflf' affected her also extremely, and but for 
 her thoughts being so much monopolized by 
 her unhappy charge, they would naturally 
 have dwelt upon it. The catastrophe which 
 had befallen Mr. Layton, who had always been 
 a favourite of hers, was also most deplorable, 
 though she felt it more deeply upon her 
 niece's account than on her own. Hence- 
 forward all the affection of her credulous but 
 honest nature was concentrated upon Edith. 
 As to the danger which threatened them, and 
 to which she had been hitherto keenly sensi- 
 tive, she lost sight of it in the spectacle of the 
 poor girl's misery. Moreover, though the out- 
 look was still very serious, the gale had at 
 length given signs of weariness, the wind had 
 greatly moderated, and the waves had shrunk 
 to little above their normal size. Such an 
 incident as that which had deprived her of 
 her relatives, and swept off the very place of 
 shelter in which they sat as with a knife, 
 could hardly be imagined as one watched 
 those hurrying but diminished crests. 
 
 Strangely enough. Aunt Sophia herself had 
 been the cause of Edith's salvation, if the
 
 The Wee ok. 241 
 
 saving of the poor girl's life could indeed be 
 set down as any benefit. After Layton had 
 left Edith and her aunt in the round-house, 
 Mr. Norbury and Eleanor, though, as it hap- 
 pened, unseen by him, had joined them. 
 Then Aunt Sophia had been seized with 
 sudden faintness, the result of many days' 
 alarm and fatigue, and Edith, wdth young 
 ConoUy's assistance, had got her down into 
 her cabin only a few minutes before the tragedy 
 on deck took place. 
 
 The recurrence of such a catastrophe was, as 
 has been said, now no longer to be feared, but 
 the condition of affairs was still full of danger. 
 The Ganges was little better than a wreck. 
 A jury-mast had been set up with a few sails, 
 and she answered wonderfully to her helm ; 
 but she laboured heavily ; while the rain con- 
 tinued in such volume that it made every one 
 almost as wet and w^retched as the seas she 
 had shipped had done before. For the first 
 time since the commencement of the storm, the 
 vessel resumed her proper course, from which 
 she had been driven at great speed for many 
 days. From the chart it appeared that she 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 A Pkince of the Blood. 
 
 was hundreds of miles from the nearest land, 
 and, of course, utterly unfit to cope with bad 
 weather. Still, as the midshipman had said, 
 there was now hope — for those to whom life 
 still offered hopes. 
 
 On Edith this cheering news had little in- 
 fluence, though she strove to be thankful for 
 the sake of others. If the highest expecta- 
 tions of her companions should be realized 
 and India should be reached in safety, what 
 would that avail her ? She would only be 
 landed in a strange country, to which she 
 had always been averse, without a friend 
 save the one that accompanied her, and to 
 whom it would be as distasteful as to her- 
 self. The best she had to look forward to — if 
 she could be said to look forward to anything, 
 for, alas, were not all her miserable thoughts 
 centred in the past? — was that her stay there 
 should be as sliort as possible. A tedious and 
 melancholy return voyage then offered itself, 
 full of wretched associations, and at the end 
 of it a home only in name. The man she 
 loved had left his country for her sake, and, 
 under a mistake that seemed something de-
 
 The Weeck. 243 
 
 si^^ned by fate in sheer malignity, had perished 
 in a vain attempt to save another whom he 
 had imagined to be herself. What a waste of 
 love and heroism it seemed ! What was the 
 use of valour, and self-sacrifice, and devotion, 
 if such rewards were meted out to them ? It 
 was worse than if blind chance had done it ; 
 it almost seemed that evil, and not good, was 
 lord of all. 
 
 Presently the rain ceased and the sun came 
 out. The white malice of the cruel sea was 
 succeeded by its " countless smile." Like 
 some treacherous tyrant who has a good- 
 natured mood and is amazed that his late 
 victims should have any remembrance of his 
 late monstrous cruelties, it seemed to say, 
 " Come, let byo;ones be bvg;ones : mv late 
 trespasses against you have left, I assure you, 
 no revengeful feelings in my mind ; let us 
 laugh and play together." Nor was the in- 
 vitation declined. Man, so suspicious of his 
 fellow-man, is credulous to the advances of 
 Nature. In a few hours death and destruction 
 — the loss of their comrades, the ruin, of their 
 floating home — were by the majority of the 
 
 R 2
 
 244 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 crew of the Ganfjes almost forgotten ; all 
 bands went busily to work to throw open the 
 ports and to dry and air tlie ship, to examine 
 the provisions and the stores, and even to 
 clean the small arms. They did this not only 
 with alacrity but cheerfulness ; they could not 
 resist the sunny smile of the sea and the warm 
 kisses of the favouring wind. Even Aunt 
 Sophia was wonderfully enlivened by them. 
 
 " Dearest Edith," said she, " the air is so 
 fresh and the sky so bright, surely it would do 
 you good to come on deck." 
 
 " On deck ! Oh, no," cried the poor girl 
 with a shudder ; "let us remain here, I en- 
 treat you." 
 
 To come on deck and gaze upon the sea 
 seemed to her like an invitation to behold her 
 lover's grave. Action, indeed, of any kind 
 had become abhorrent to her. She secretly 
 entertained a sort of hope that by remainiug 
 where she was, which she knew to be unwhole- 
 some for her, she might pine away and die 
 without the sin of suicide. Her state of mind 
 w^as not at all understood by Aunt Sophia, 
 though she thoroughly sympathized with her
 
 The AVeeck. 245 
 
 calamity — a circumstance wliicli often happens 
 to those in sorrow : it is easier to weep with 
 those that weep than to hit upon the springs 
 of consolation. It would have been wiser for 
 the present to have avoided the subject of her 
 niece's loss ; the wound was too fresh and 
 tender to be touched upon ever so lightly. 
 But Aunt Sophia thought differently : had 
 their relations been reversed she would have 
 found comfort from discoursing upon it, and 
 she judged Edith by herself. 
 
 ''He is not lost but gone before, my 
 darling," slie Avould murmur gently ; but her 
 well-meant endeavours at consolation met 
 with no response ; to the mind agonized by 
 bereavement such conventional remedies are 
 positive aggravations of calamity ; they seem 
 to wrong by their ineffectualness and insig- 
 nificance the memory which it holds so sacred, 
 and to make light of the loss which it 
 deplores. Once she even ventured to repeat 
 a phrase which had often passed Edith's lips 
 as she lay half unconscious during her first 
 hours of woe. " ' Faithful and true, living or 
 dead,' my darling, you are as much his own,
 
 246 A PRI^^CE of the Blood. 
 
 and he yours, remember, as though he were 
 still with you." 
 
 But Edith shook her head with a look 
 of pained displeasure. The saying that had 
 been wont to comfort her when there was 
 no present need for its application, was 
 no consolation now. It is doubtful whether 
 under similar circumstances there ever is much 
 consolation in it. The widower goes to his 
 wife's grave and there weeps tears of blood ; 
 for, after all, whatever hateful change may 
 have taken place in her, there she lies whom 
 his soul loved. He cannot so easily picture 
 her, under he knows not what altered con- 
 ditions, in the skies, or keep his heart up 
 with the thouojht of visiting; her there. It is 
 not that the promise is uncertain, but that 
 it is so difficult to picture its realization. 
 The truth is that in very great calamities, 
 and unless the suffering soul is permeated 
 by religious feeling, the world to come has 
 as little interest for us as the present world : 
 both alike, for a time at least, seem dull, 
 stale, and unprofitable. The voice of prayer 
 itself is stifled upon the lips by the chill
 
 The Wreck. 247 
 
 fingers of misery. To the desolate aud 
 bereaved Leart it seems that there is nothing 
 left to be prayed for ; no, not even death itself. 
 Such, in fact, was Edith Norbury's case ; and 
 it was not to be wondered at, under such 
 circumstances, that Aunt Sophia's cheering 
 news of fine weather and progress fell upon 
 deaf ears. It would have been neither good 
 nor bad tiding;s to Edith had she been even 
 told that the ship was in sight of port. This, 
 however, the Ganges was very far from being. 
 
 For the first time for many days the captain 
 had been able to get ' an observation,' by 
 which he found their latitude to be 10 deg. 
 16 min. north. He also found means to try 
 the current, which was setting^ to the E.N.E. 
 at half a mile an hour. Their rate of sailing 
 was necessarily very slow, and they were 
 entirely out of the track of ships, only one of 
 which, indeed (and that pronounced to be a 
 phantom), they had set eyes on since they left 
 Simon's Bay. On the other hand, they had a 
 good store of provisions on board, notwith- 
 standing that some of it had been spoilt by 
 the rain and sea ; and the thoughts of the
 
 248 A Pfjnce of the Blood. 
 
 sailors, which had been directed to Davey's 
 Locker with grave doubts as to the accommo- 
 dation it would be likely to afford them, were 
 turning lightly towards Calcutta. 
 
 One night, however, the wind began to 
 freshen, and though, even in the ship's 
 crippled condition, Mr. Marston did not think 
 so seriously of it as to arouse the captain, 
 taking a few hours' rest after his prolonged 
 exertions, there were signs of more trouble in 
 store for them. It was, however, far from 
 being of the same kind. A little after mid- 
 night, and wdth heavy rain falling, the man 
 on the look-out siiddenlv cried " Breakers 
 ahead ! " and the call had hardly reached the 
 officer on deck when the ship struck with 
 terrific violence. The horror and dismay 
 were universal, for such a contingency had 
 never been anticipated. It seemed almost as 
 likely that an iceberg should have loomed 
 upon them out of the murk and mist. All 
 below, save the two ladies, were on deck in 
 five minutes, and were throni:>;ino^ about the 
 captain in an unusual manner, as though 
 appealing to an authority whom they trusted
 
 The VrEECK. 249 
 
 in a misfortune of wliicli tliey had no experi- 
 ence, and in which they knew not how to 
 act. Unhappily there was no remedy for 
 their calamity but to wait for dawn, and in 
 the mean time to prepare for the worst, which 
 was only too certain to happen. The Gan()es, 
 which had survived so much, it was now plain 
 was doomed. Every shock of the sea, from 
 which she could no longer escape, caused her 
 a damage more or less vital. In less than an 
 hour the water was as high as the lower-deck 
 hatchways ; and, moreover, she was heeling 
 over to one side. The ammunition and pro- 
 visions were therefore all brought up and 
 placed under tarpaulins. The two remaining 
 boats were hoisted out, supplied with arms, 
 food, and water, and kept under the lee of the 
 ship to receive the crew when she should go 
 to pieces. When all was done that could be 
 done in such a strait the ladies were sent for, 
 as it was thought perilous for them to remain 
 any longer below. Mr. Marston assisted Aunt 
 Sophia up the companion-ladder, and Mr. 
 Ains worth took charo-e of Edith. Both ladies 
 
 o 
 
 were in deep mourning, and their appearance
 
 250 A Peince of the Blood. 
 
 excited not a little interest notwithstandinor 
 
 o 
 
 the emergency of the occasion. 
 
 The scene in which they found themselves 
 was a very strange one. Nearly one half 
 of the vessel was already submerged ; but 
 the quarter-deck, resting on the rocks, w\as 
 almost clear of w^ater, while the quarter-boards 
 afforded some shelter from the sea and rain. 
 Here the captain received them with great 
 symjoathy but perfect cheerfulness, while the 
 crew stood around him in enforced inaction. 
 Aunt Sophia was so prostrated by fatigue and 
 terror that she was only too thankful to sit 
 down and shut her eyes to such sights around 
 her as the dim liojht rendered visible : amonor 
 w^hich the most horrible were the black rocks 
 showing through the white foam of the 
 breakers. Her attitude, with clasped hands 
 and closed lips — though, as she afterwards 
 owned, she had the greatest difficulty to keep 
 herself from screaming — might well have been 
 taken for one of resio-nation. Edith, on the 
 other hand, looked around her with impassive 
 calm. That indifference of despair possessed 
 her which surpasses in its outward manifesta-
 
 The Wkeck. 251 
 
 tion the hig-hest lieroism. Death was as free 
 from terrors for her as life of hopes. 
 
 The captain hcicl feared the effect of the 
 appearance of his lady passengers upon the 
 crew, and was not slow to take advantage of 
 their unexpected calmness and courage. He 
 had intended to address his people on the 
 course of conduct he expected from them, and 
 this incident afforded him an admirable text. 
 If such courageous behaviour was seen in 
 women tenderly nurtured and unaccustomed 
 to peril, what might not be expected of men 
 and sailors like themselves ? He did not 
 attempt to make light of the calamity that 
 had befallen them : it was certain that the 
 Ganges would never float again, and it was 
 probable that in a few hours she would go to 
 pieces. Discipline and obedience to authority 
 were the virtues W'hich alone could assist them 
 in such a strait. When similar misfortunes 
 happened, he reminded them, they had been 
 often rendered irremediable by license and 
 despair. T.et them at least meet their fate 
 like men, and in their sane minds, without 
 resort to the spirit-room.
 
 252 A Peixce of the Blood. 
 
 This brief discourse was received with a 
 round of hearty cheers, which was repeated 
 with even greater enthusiasm when the cap- 
 tain announced that two glasses of wine should 
 be at once administered to every man, with a 
 bi-scuit between them. In their wet and worn 
 condition it was a refreshment greatly needed, 
 and its effect was excellent. No one, the 
 authorities upon suicide tell us, ever shufSes 
 off his mortal coil within two hours of a meal ; 
 for thouo^h thino;s are said to be *' looked at 
 through a glass darkly," exactly the reverse 
 happens when the medium is a wine-glass. 
 The poor souls on the deck of the Ganges, 
 or on what was left of it, needed all the 
 encouragement they could get as they waited 
 through those weary hours, and longed like a 
 sick man for the dawn. 
 
 At last it came, and disclosed a small island 
 some three miles away, with some larger ones 
 much further off to the eastward. The two 
 boats were immediately manned and oared 
 and sent on shore with instructions to briug 
 back an immediate report ; while in the mean 
 time, for they were Cjuite insufficient for the
 
 The AVeeck. 253 
 
 transport of the crew, and the ship might at 
 any moment go to pieces, those who were left 
 on board applied themselves to the construction 
 of a raft. The work, though very difficult by 
 reasoD of constant interruptions to it caused 
 by the shocks and inundations of the wavds, 
 was entered upon without the least confusion, 
 and with as perfect discipline as though the 
 vessel, instead of being a wreck upon rocks, 
 had been lying at anchor at Spithead. The 
 spectacle of this dutiful enthusiasm aroused 
 Edith from her lethargy. That sympathy 
 with our fellow-creatures in their physical 
 struggles against fate, which is felt even by 
 the dullest and most selfish, won her for the 
 moment from the contemplation of her own 
 misery. Her bruised heart began to beat once 
 more in unison with human endeavour. As 
 the captain stooped over her as he passed 
 by, to arrange a rug that had been thrown 
 over her shoulders, she could not forbear an 
 expression of admiration at the conduct of his 
 crew. 
 
 " That is partly your doing, Miss Edith," 
 he answered pleasantly. " Where women
 
 254 A PmxcE OF the Blood. 
 
 show themselves heroines it is impossible for 
 men to be cowards." 
 
 '' I am not brave, Captain Head," she an- 
 swered with a faint smile, " but I have coiiraofe 
 enough to hear the truth. In two words — 
 can you tell me what is our real position ? " 
 
 " That will depend upon the report from 
 the boats ; but I have little doubt that w^e 
 shall all get to land." 
 
 " And what land is it ? 1 entreat you," 
 she added, reading reluctance on his face, '' to 
 tell me the worst." 
 
 '' My dear young lady," he answered gently, 
 " you lay on me an unwelcome task. I know 
 no more of that land than you do. It is 
 not marked on the chart. No human eyes, it 
 may be, have ever seen it beside our own. 
 On the other hand, it may be inhabited by 
 some savage race ; that, of course, would be a 
 bad business for us." 
 
 '' And if not ? " 
 
 " Well, if not, I fear we must make up our 
 minds to stay there for some time, until we 
 are in our turn discovered ; perhaps even for 
 ever."
 
 The AVkeck. 255 
 
 " Our sentence is either cleatli, in fact, or 
 transportation for life ? " 
 
 " It is something like it, I fear ; but that is 
 no reason why we should lose heart, my dear 
 young lady." 
 
 " Certainly not. Thanks, captain," was 
 her cheerful reply. '' A new life in a new 
 land," she murmured to herself. It was a 
 prospect, though without attractions, which at 
 least appeared less repulsive to her than a 
 new life in the old one.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LAXD. 
 
 Max, it is said, is the creature of circum- 
 stances ; but not alwa}'s so. The martyr in 
 his flames for example is certainly independent 
 of them ; so is the intending suicide ; and, 
 generally, we may say that they have less 
 influence over us in proportion to our mis- 
 fortunes. There are cases indeed when con- 
 tinuous loss and disappointment place the 
 simplest of us in a higher position than any to 
 which philosophy can attain ; when, in other 
 words, we are so miserable that we care nut 
 what befalls us. It is an occurrence of which 
 nobody is envious, but it has a certain dignity, 
 nevertheless, such as the bastard melancholy, 
 w^hicli it is still the fashion with some of us to 
 assume, aspires to in vain. 
 
 It w^as wonderful, even to herself, with
 
 Land. 257 
 
 what equanimity Edith contemplated the 
 scene in which all those about her took so 
 keen an interest. So long as the construction 
 of the raft was in progress, occupation pre- 
 vented the intrusion of discouragement ; but 
 when all was done and nothius^ remained but 
 to await the return of the boats, without 
 which the raft was almost useless, a profound 
 depression succeeded to exertion ; the daylight 
 was fast waning; the sea was on the whole 
 less violent, but the structure on which it 
 made its assaults was growing manifestly less 
 able to resist them. At last a great cry of 
 joy arose from all. It was only the sight 
 of the boats that had parted from them a few 
 hours before, that evoked it ; but, when in 
 calamity, men are thankful for small mercies ; 
 or, rather, no mercy seems small to them ; 
 when we listen in our mute despair by the 
 death-bed of our dear ones, one word, aye even 
 a groan is music. 
 
 Aunt Sophia threw herself into Edith's 
 arms, and strong men, moved by an over- 
 powering impulse, shook hands with one 
 
 another. Then all descended into the raft — a 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 loose and sliifting mass at the best — to which 
 the ladies had to be secured by ropes. The 
 pinnace was to take it in tow, and the jolly- 
 boat, until they had passed the reef, which 
 lay behind them and the island, was to tow 
 the pinnace. When all was ready, the boat- 
 swain sounded his whistle, and Captain Head, 
 though loath to leave the ship, joined his 
 crew. It wrung his heart to quit his vessel, 
 and every one shared his sorrow in a less 
 deg-ree. Thouoh in ruins, it was still their 
 dwelling-place, and, in departing from it, they 
 seemed to be saying good-bye for ever to all 
 that made what they called home. To the very 
 last the old Ganges sheltered them by breaking 
 the shocks of the sea, but not till they had 
 got a few boat-lengths away from her did they 
 fully appreciate the service she had thus 
 afforded them. Every wave now broke over 
 them, and the blinding spray hid not only the 
 pinnace from the sight of those on the raft, 
 but those on the raft from one another. As 
 for the ladies, their relative positions of aunt 
 and niece, chaperon and charge, had become 
 reversed ; the elder lady, prostrated with
 
 Land. 259 
 
 terror, hid lier face in the younger's L^p, and 
 clung round her waist, as the raft rose and fell 
 upon the loug rollers, or was dragged through 
 the mist and foam that crested them. Edith, 
 on the other hand, gazed steadily upon them 
 with eyes that seemed not so much to defy 
 as to invite them to do their worst, which, 
 indeed, as it seemed to her, they had already 
 done. ]\Ir. Ains worth and young Conolly did 
 what they could to shield both ladies with a 
 tarpaulin, thanks to which they were the only 
 tenants on the raft who were not wetted to 
 the skin. 
 
 Notwithstanding^ that when thev had once 
 cleared the reef they found themselves in 
 smoother water, their progress was so slow 
 that in order to reach the land before nio-ht- 
 fall it became necessary to anchor the raft 
 with a grapnel, and to transfer its occupants 
 to the pinnace, by which at last, in batches, 
 they were all landed. 
 
 Their provisions had thus for the present to 
 
 be left behind them ; wet, cold, hungry, on 
 
 an unknown shore, life alone seemed left to 
 
 them, and not much even of that ; yet the 
 
 s 2
 
 260 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 first act of these unhappy people was to shake 
 hands and congratulate one another upon their 
 common safety. A cheese, some biscuits, and 
 a little water formed their supper ; and with 
 the priming of a pistol they managed to kindle 
 a fire, by which they dried their clothes, after 
 which they lay down to sleep under such 
 shelter as they could find. By the foresight 
 of the officers, a little tent had been raised for 
 the accommodation of the two ladies, into 
 which they presently crept. A ship's lantern 
 had been hung from the roof, and by its light 
 they perceived that some bedding had been 
 provided, with two chairs and a small looking- 
 glass ; this last a characteristic tribute from 
 man to woman which drew a faint smile from 
 Edith. 
 
 "What amuses you, dear?" murmured 
 Aunt Sophia, with a rueful glance at their 
 surroundings. " I should never have thought 
 you had it in you to smile." 
 
 To external matters Edith was indeed 
 wholly indifferent; they had almost ceased 
 to occupy a place in her mind. As she lay 
 down to rest by Aunt Sophia's side her mind
 
 Land. 261 
 
 was as far asunder from tliat of her companion 
 as pole from pole. The thoughts of the elder 
 lady were fixed upon the present and the 
 future ; on the woeful circumstances in which 
 she found herself placed, and on the scanty 
 hopes of deliverance. The absence of comforts, 
 of society, and of all that had hitherto con- 
 stituted existence for her appalled her ; the 
 roar of the angry waves seemed to bid her 
 despair of ever leaving that out-of-the-way 
 sea-girt prison. The thoughts of the younger 
 concerned themselves with the past only. For 
 her the cup of life seemed to contain no longer 
 joy or sorrow, and the fabric and the fashion 
 of it were therefore indifferent to her. The 
 thunder of the surf spoke to her not of the 
 loss to come, but of the loss that had already 
 befallen her — it was the volley over her dead 
 hero's grave. 
 
 Notwithstanding the agitation of their 
 minds and their adverse surroundiogs, there 
 presently fell such dreamless sleep upon 
 them both as they had not experienced for 
 weeks. 
 
 Edith woke in broad daylight and to almost
 
 262 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 unbroken silence. In the distance alone was 
 heard the whisper of the wave as it wooed the 
 unwilling sand to its embrace. Thouo^h their 
 tent had been pitched in a spot comparatively 
 retired, the bustle and movement of so many 
 persons making the best of strange quarters, 
 and the monotonous tread of the sentries who 
 had been placed about their improvised camp, 
 had been heard on all sides when they retired 
 to rest. Xot a voice, not a footstep, now gave 
 token of human presence. 
 
 " Edie, dear, are you awake ? " said Aunt 
 Sophia in tremulous tones. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " I have been awake for hours, but did 
 not like to disturb you. It is so very 
 still, I am sure something dreadful has hap- 
 pened. Is it possible that we have been 
 deserted ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Fate is very cruel, but 
 the one crime she cannot commit is to shake 
 the loyalty of a noble heart." 
 
 ''True; Captain Head, as you say, is too 
 much of a man of honour to leave two defence- 
 less women to shift for themselves because
 
 Land. 263 
 
 they were an encumbrance to him. Then, 
 Mr. Ainsworth, too — it would be very unlike 
 a clergyman, would it not ? And I am sure 
 that charming little midshipman would never 
 leave you!' 
 
 " My dear Sophy ! What nonsense I " 
 
 " Of course I know it's nonsense ; it's the 
 devotion of a child ; but still he is devoted to 
 you ; and Mr. Marston and Mr. Kedmayne, 
 though they say very little — and indeed I 
 wish I could hear them say anytUyig just now 
 — are officers and gentlemen. Still it is so 
 very quiet. I have been thinking all sorts of 
 things. Suppose they have been all murdered 
 by the savages." 
 
 " What savages ? " 
 
 ''Well, of course there are savages; who 
 ever heard of an undiscovered island — I heard 
 Mr. Doyle say it was undiscovered — without 
 savages % By the bye, there is good Mr. 
 Doyle ! Don't be alarmed ; I don't mean to 
 say I see him— I w^ish I could see anybody — 
 I was merely reckoning up our friends." 
 
 " I say again," said Edith gravely, " friends 
 do not desert us of their own free will, though
 
 264 A Prixce of the Blood. 
 
 Fate may snatch them away. Let us get up 
 and look about us." 
 
 Their toilet was not a prolonged one, they 
 had no extensive wardrobe to choose from, 
 having indeed only the clothes which, as the 
 phrase goes, " they stood up in," and in which 
 they had laid down. To men this may seem 
 a small matter, but to the two ladies to whom 
 such an experience was unknown, it was 
 significant enough of their new position. As 
 Aunt Sophia surveyed herself in the little 
 hand-glass she burst into tears. 
 
 " What has happened ? " inquired Edith 
 with anxiety. 
 
 " Nothing. I am thinking of what is going 
 to happen. If we are to stay here. Heaven 
 knows how long, what ivill become of us ? I 
 mean of our gowns. In a month they will 
 be dowdy to the last degree. In two months 
 they will be in rags." 
 
 " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof," 
 said Edith sententiously. 
 
 "Yes, but they are not sufficient for the 
 day. At least mine is not ; it is falling to 
 pieces already : and where are we to get
 
 Land. 265 
 
 needles and thread ? My dear, have you sucli 
 a thing about you as a pin ? " 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " Come, that's something," ejaculated Aunt 
 Sophia. 
 
 It is indeed a subject of satisfaction when, 
 though in extreme straits, we find that we are 
 not actually deprived of the necessaries of life. 
 For the moment the consciousness of havino^ 
 repaired her clothes put the apprehension of 
 savages out of this lady's mind ; it was a 
 proof, too, that she did not in her heart 
 believe that they had been deserted by 
 unkind man. 
 
 On issuing from the tent a most lovely view 
 presented itself. The sapphire sky was with- 
 out a cloud — the sea, though of a deeper blue, 
 glittered with endless smiles. Soft, silvery 
 sand was beneath their feet. Above them 
 towered a precipitous hill, broken with a 
 thousand crags, overgrown by flowery creepers, 
 and crested with full foliaged trees. The air 
 had a mixture of freshness and sweetness such 
 as they had never experienced before ; to 
 draw their breath was itself a luxury.
 
 266 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 '' How very, very beautiful 1 " exclaimed 
 Edith. '' See how high the sun is in the 
 heavens ; it must be midday." 
 
 *' Then where on earth are our people ? '^ 
 
 As if in answer to this appeal a human 
 figure presented itself on one of the rocks 
 above them, and took off his hat in salu- 
 tation. It was Master Lewis Conolly who, 
 the next instant, sliding down what looked 
 like a rope of flowers, presented himself 
 before them. 
 
 " You dear, good boy," cried Aunt Sophia 
 ecstatically. " I knew you would not be far 
 away from us. Where is everybody else ? 
 And why are we thus left all alone ? " 
 
 " The captain gave orders that you ladies 
 were not to be disturbed," answered the youth 
 respectfully. " I have been on sentry yonder 
 over you for the last three hours, though 
 danger could hardly have befallen you, since 
 the island is quite uninhabited." 
 
 " Then they are gone ! " ejaculated Aunt 
 Sophia, distractedly. 
 
 " What, our people 1 Well, most of them 
 arc on board the wreck. Mr. Ainsworth, how-
 
 Land. 267 
 
 ever, is preparing breakfast for us yonder." 
 He pointed to a thin line of smoke above a 
 ridge of rocks which separated the little cove 
 in which their tent was placed from the larger 
 bay where the boats had landed, and Avhich, 
 in the darkness and confusion of the previous 
 night, had seemed one with it. 
 
 " I hope he is not toasting the cheese,'^ 
 murmured Aunt Sophia, from whose mind, 
 agitated beyond its powers, all sense of pro- 
 portion had vanished, and in which the 
 apprehension of one trouble only disappeared 
 to give place to some new foreboding. '' I am 
 ver}^ hungry, but I don't think 1 could eat 
 that cheese again." 
 
 The young midshipman only replied by a 
 good-humoured laugh, as he piloted the ladies 
 to the spot in question. On their way Edith 
 could not but remark with what judgment 
 and solicitude, notwithstanding the disorder 
 that had apparently reigned the previous 
 evening, their own place of refuge had been 
 selected. ^ Ladies' Bay,'' as it was afterwards 
 called, was, indeed, admirably fitted for the
 
 268 A Pe-ince of the Blood. 
 
 purpose to whicli the captain had assigned it. 
 The reef of rocks between it and the larsfer 
 bay ran high enough to afford it perfect 
 privacy, while at the same time communica- 
 tion with it, by a passage close under the 
 open cliff, was maintained in all conditions 
 of the tide. 
 
 It was curious, while gratefully acknow- 
 ledging this kindly foresight of her fellow- 
 creatures, how bitterly she resented the cruelty 
 of fortune. Her own mind, like that of her 
 companion, was, in truth, for the time, thrown 
 off its balance, though in a different fashion. 
 The very kindness which had been shown her 
 on all hands increased that rebellious feelino* 
 which rises in the human heart — and often 
 highest in the most gentle — in the dark hour 
 of bereavement ; the sufferings to which those 
 companions to whose good offices she was 
 so much indebted were exposed, seemed only 
 another proof of the harshness and injustice 
 of Fate. The force of circumstances could 
 hardly have had a stronger illustration ; for 
 in matters of faith and feeling, Edith Norbury
 
 Land. 269 
 
 had been hitherto in no way different from 
 the majority of those of her sex and position 
 in life, who accept the decrees of Providence 
 with that facile submission which is paid to 
 a limited monarchy which no one suspects of 
 an arbitrary or unjust act. 
 
 END OF TOL. I.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 060920524