The Old Helmet Volume II Part 40

"I wish I had taken Julia to her!" was the outburst of her penitent relentings; and Mrs. Caxton was only thankful, since they had come too late, that they were uttered too late for Eleanor to hear. _She_ went home like a person whose earthly treasure is all lodged away from her; not lost at all, indeed, but yet only to be enjoyed and watched over from a distance. Even then she reckoned herself rich beyond what she had been before Eleanor ever came to her.

For Eleanor, left on the ship's deck, at first it was hard to realize that she had any earthly treasure at all. One part of it quitted, perhaps for ever, with the home and the country of her childhood; the other, so far, so vague, so uncertainly grasped in this moment of distraction, that she felt utterly broken-hearted and alone. She had not counted upon this; she had not expected her self-command would so completely fail her; but it was so; and although without one shadow of a wish to turn back or in any wise alter her course, the first beginning of her journey was made amidst mental storms. Julia was the particular bitter thought over which her tears poured; but they flooded every image that rose of home things, and childish things and things at Pla.s.sy. Mr. Amos came to her help.

"It is nothing," Eleanor said as well as she could speak,--"it is nothing but the natural feeling which will have its way. Thank you--don't be concerned. I don't want anything--if I only could have seen my sister!"

"Mrs. Amos is about as bad," said her comforter with a sigh. "Ah well!

feeling must have its way, and better it should. You will both be better by and by, I hope."

They were worse before they were better. For in a few hours sickness took its place among present grievances; and perhaps on the whole it acted as a relief by effecting a diversion from mental to bodily concerns. It seemed to Eleanor that she felt them both together; nevertheless, when at the end of a few days the sea-sickness left her and she was able to get up again, it was with the sweet fresh quietness of convalescence in mind as well as in body. She was herself again.

Things took their place. England was behind indeed--but Fiji was forward--and Heaven was over all.

As soon as she was able to be up she went upon deck. Strength came immediately with the fresh breeze. It was a cool cloudy day; the ship speeding along under a good spread of canvas; the sea in a beautiful state of life, but not boisterous. n.o.body was on deck but some of the sailors. Eleanor took a seat by the guards, and began to drink in refreshment. It stole in fast, on mind as well as body, she hardly knew how; only both were braced up together. She felt now a curious gladness that the parting was over, the journey begun, and England fairly out of sight. The going away had been like death; a new life was rising upon her now; and Eleanor turned herself towards it with the same sweet readiness as the good ship whose head is laid upon a new course.

There is a state of mind in which the soul may be aptly called the garden of the Lord; when answering to his culture it brings forth flowers and fruits for his pleasure. In such a state, the paradise which Adam lost is half re-entered again; the moral victory is won over "the works of the devil" which Christ came to destroy. The body is dead, no doubt, because of sin; but the spirit is life, because of righteousness. The air of that garden is peace; no hurricanes blow there; the sunshine dwells therein; the odours of sweet things come forth, and make known all abroad whose garden it is.

Eleanor had sat awhile very still, very busy looking over into the sea, when she heard a step near her on the deck. She looked up, and saw a man whom she recognized as the master of the vessel. A rather hard-featured man, tall and strong set, with a pair of small eyes that did not give forth their expression readily. What there was struck her as not pleasant.

"So you've got up!" said he, in a voice which was less harsh than his looks. "Do you feel better?"

"Much better, thank you."

"Hearty, eh?"

"Pretty well," said Eleanor smiling, "since I have got this salt air into my lungs."

"Ah! you'll have enough of that. 'Tother lady is down yet, eh? She has not got up."

"No."

"Are you all going to the same place?"

"I believe so."

"Missionaries, eh?"

"Yes."

"Think you'll get those dark fellows to listen to you?"

"Why not?" said Eleanor brightly.

"It's all make-believe. They only want to get your axes and hatchets, and such things."

"Well, we want their yams and potatoes and fish and labour," said Eleanor; "so it is a fair bargain; and no make-believe on either side."

"Why don't you stay in the Colonies? there is work enough to be done; people enough that need it; and a fine country. Everything in the world that you need; and not so far from home either."

Eleanor made no answer.

"Why don't you stay in the Colonies?"

"One can only be in one place," said Eleanor lightly.

"And that must always be the place where somebody else is," said the captain maliciously. "That's the way people will congregate together, instead of scattering where they are wanted."

"Do you know the Colonies well?" said Eleanor coolly, in answer to this rude speech.

"I ought. I have spent about a third of my life in them. I have a brother at Melbourne too, as rich in flocks and herds almost as Job was. That's the place! That's a country! But you are going to Sydney?"

"Yes."

"Friends there?"

"I have one friend there who expects me."

"Who's he? Maybe I know him."

"Egbert Esthwaite is his name."

"Don't know him, though. And so you have left England to find yourself a new home in the wilderness?"

"Yes."

"Pretty tough change you'll find it. Don't you find it already?"

"No. Don't you know," said Eleanor giving him a good look, "when one's real home is in heaven, it does not make so much difference?"

The captain would have answered the words fast enough; but in the strong sweet eye that had looked into his so full, there was something that silenced him. He turned off abruptly, with the internal conviction--"_That_ girl thinks what she says, anyhow!"

Eleanor's eyes left contemplating the waters, and were busy for some time with the book which had lain in her lap until her colloquy with the captain. Somebody came and sat down beside her.

"Mr. Amos! I am glad to see you," said Eleanor.

"I am glad to see you, sister," he replied; "and glad to see you able to be here. You look well again."

"O I am."

"Mrs. Amos cannot raise her head. What are you doing?--if I may ask so blunt a question upon so short an acquaintance."

"This is the first time I have been on deck. I was studying the sea, in the first place;--and then something drove me to study the Bible."

"Ah, we are driven to that on every hand," he answered. "Now go on, and tell me the point of your studies, will you?"

There was something in the utmost genial and kind in his look and way; he was not a person from whom one would keep back anything he wanted to know; as also evidently he was not one to ask anything he should not.

The request did not even startle Eleanor. She looked thoughtfully over the heaving sea while she answered.

"I had been taking a great new view of the glory of creation--over the ship's side here. Then I had the sorrow to find--or fear--that we have an unbeliever in our captain. From that, I suppose, I took hold of Paul's reasoning--how without excuse people are in unbelief; how the invisible things of G.o.d from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; even his eternal power and G.o.dhead. And those glorious last words were what my heart fixed upon."