Only the battered ship beneath
them recalled the fury of last night's stormburst. But as the memory
of those anxious hours swept over her she looked at Lady Moreham, and
wondered that she should so have opened her heart in that time of
waiting, for just now she seemed as stately and unapproachable as ever.
Then, too, it was so tantalizing that her story should have been broken
off in the middle, and left there. Would they ever hear its close? It
did not seem likely. Moved out of herself by the nearness of death,
the titled dame had reverted to childish days, speaking her thoughts
aloud. Probably nothing would induce her to speak again.
"However," thought Faith, "father knows and perhaps he'll tell us some
day, when he gets a minute's leisure--that is, if he can be convinced
that she would not care. What an honorable man he is! We would never
have known a lisp from his lips."
But it was a busy time with the captain. Only a day or so out from
Bombay, now, he was straining every nerve to restore the vessel to
something like her normal condition before they should enter port, and
it seemed to his daughters that they could scarcely get a daily
greeting from him, even, in his intense absorption. But they could
wait, for, once on shore, he would have more leisure, as the steamer
would be laid up for repairs, and the really saddening thought, now,
was that so soon these friends of a month must all separate, to go
their various ways.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202