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CHAPTER VIII LUCK RIDES THE STORM,

"You are placed in the most helpless situation a woman could find herself in: at sea, locked up in a cabin, and all the crew, who might otherwise have helped you, believing that you were running away with Mr Lawrence, and that your imprisonment and your representations and your madness were part of a programme preconcerted between[Pg 411] you and your lover. You realise the horrors and peril of your position, and by virtue of the mother's genius that came to your help, you decided upon a behaviour which you magnificently conducted. So much for the better part of you: but what remains? To be wooed—shall I say won?—it is necessary for your sweetheart to act the part of a scoundrel. He must steal my ship and kidnap my only child, and heap lie upon lie, and then, to be sure, he is a very pretty gentleman, a noble, gallant rogue, at root a man of a lordly soul, of a most chivalrous and fighting spirit to be made much of—in short, to fall desperately in love with.",

"Sail away, madam, into the remotest part of the earth to be seen no more—to be heard of no more," said the Admiral, trying to master his face as he spoke. But he failed and turned his head from his companions, and would have buried his face in his hands but that he would not have them know that his love for his son was deeper than his horror at his conduct.,

"To me it is impossible to suppose," said Sir William, "that my son could have written the letter which Mr Adams saw your daughter reading. Captain Weaver told us plainly that my son was aft on the quarterdeck of the Minorca at the time that she was hauling out[Pg 187] from the wharf. It is perfectly clear therefore that no accident could have befallen him. Nor is it imaginable that, even if he had met with a disaster, he would dream of communicating with your daughter. Why your daughter, sir? If they are on bowing terms we may take it that their intimacy scarcely goes farther. Depend upon it, there is some man in connection with this business, in whom your daughter is interested—of course, sir, you will understand me to mean as a sweet and beautiful Christian sympathiser, as one to whom every sort of misfortune appeals, to whom suffering and misery are quick to make themselves known, being sure of heartfelt, womanly pity. The moment I have had a peck, after hearing whether Miss Lucy has arrived at home, I will devote the rest of the day to enquiries about this person who wrote the letter which Mr Adams saw delivered."

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"Two thousand nine hundred and forty dollars," Low announced, and Billy jumped up.,

Whatever may have been the thoughts in the Admiral's mind at that time it is certain that among the mortifications and regrets his son's conduct caused him, must be ranked the consideration that Mr Lawrence, had he governed his conduct with prudence, would have stood a very good chance of winning the hand of Lucy Acton. The Admiral knew that his son had proposed to the lady, and his partiality as a father could not blind him to the reasons of his rejection. He had cause to suppose that in his quiet, unostentatious way Captain Acton had taken a favourable view of Lawrence's suit. But the sentence of the court-martial, and his subsequent lazy, sottish life ashore had utterly extinguished the lieutenant's chances so far as Captain Acton was concerned.,

Billy's eyes strayed to those reels and he sighed to think that the washing and retarring of the nets was just another sign that the glad summer holidays would soon be over and the drab days of fall—and school—would soon be there. A low-flying flock of black ducks passed over his head in flight from the lake's bosom where they had rested through the day to the marsh feeding grounds across the point, and the shadow passed from the boy's face.,

"Talking of Nelson," said Sir William, "have you heard the yarn that is told of Tom Cooke, the actor? He came on in the part of old Barnwell, and when stabbed forgot the words, and would have died speechless. His murderer whispered with agitation, 'For heaven's sake, say something—anything,' on which Tom, throwing up his little three-cornered [Pg 8]hat, shouted in his thick lisp, 'Nelson for ever!' and died amidst louder applause than was ever provoked by the finest strokes of Garrick or Siddons."