CHAPTER XII.
"Wave high your torches on each crag and cliff.
Let many lights blaze on our battlements;
Shout to them in the pauses of the storm,
And tell them there is hope."
—Maturings "Bertram."
The evening was cool, and our whole party were gathered in the parlor of the cottage occupied by the Dinsmores and Travillas—games, fancy-work, reading, and conversation making the time fly.
Edward and Zoe had drawn a little apart from the others, and were conversing together in an undertone.
"Suppose we go out and promenade the veranda for a little," he said, presently. "I will get you a wrap and that knit affair for your head that I think so pretty and becoming."
"Crocheted," she corrected; "yes, I'm quite in the mood for a promenade with my husband; and I'm sure the air outside must be delightful. But you won't have to go farther than that stand in the corner for my things."
He brought them, wrapped the shawl carefully about her, and they went out.
Betty, looking after them, remarked aside to her Cousin Elsie, "How lover-like they are still!"
"Yes," Elsie said, with a glad smile: "they are very fond of each other, and it rejoices my heart to see it."
"And one might say exactly the same of the captain and Violet," pursued Betty, in a lower tone, and glancing toward that couple, as they sat side by side on the opposite sofa—Violet with her babe in her arms, the captain clucking and whistling to it, while it cooed and laughed in his face—Violet's ever-beautiful face more beautiful than its wont, with its expression of exceeding love and happiness as her glance rested now upon her husband and now upon her child.
"Yes," Elsie said again, watching them, with a joyous smile still wreathing her lips and shining in her eyes; "and it is just so with my dear Elsie and Lester. I am truly blest in seeing my children so well mated and so truly happy."
"Zoe, little wife," Edward was saying, out on the veranda, "can you spare me for a day or two?"
"Spare you, Ned? How do you mean?"
"I should like to join the boys—Bob, Harold, and Herbert—in a little trip on a sailing vessel which leaves here early to-morrow morning and will return on the evening of the next day or the next but one. I should ask my little wife to go with us, but, unfortunately, the vessel has no accommodations for ladies. What do you say, love? I shall not go without your consent."
"Thank you, you dear boy, for saying that," she responded, affectionately, squeezing the arm on which she leaned; "go if you want to; I know I can't help missing the kindest and dearest husband in the world, but I shall try to be happy in looking forward to the joy of reunion on your return."
"That's a dear," he said, bending down to kiss the ruby lips. "It is a great delight to meet after a short separation, and we should miss that entirely if we never parted at all."
"But oh, Ned, if anything should happen to you!" she said, in a quivering voice.
"Hush, hush, love," he answered, soothingly; "don't borrow trouble; remember we are under the same protection on the sea as on the land, and perhaps as safe on one as on the other."
"Yes; but when I am with you I share your danger, if there is any, and that is what I wish; for oh, Ned, I couldn't live without you!"
"I hope you may never have to try it, my darling," he said, in tender tones, "or I be called to endure the trial of having to live without you; yet we can hardly hope to go together.
"But let us not vex ourselves with useless fears. We have the promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' And we know that nothing can befall us without the will of our Heavenly Father, whose love and compassion are infinite. 'We know that all things work together for good to them that love God.'"
"But if one is not at all sure of belonging to Him?" she said, in a voice so low that he barely caught the words.
"Then the way is open to come to Him. He says, 'Come unto me.' 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.' The invitation is to you, love, as truly as if addressed to you alone; as truly as if you could hear His voice speaking the sweet words and see His kind eyes looking directly at you.
"It is my ardent wish, my most earnest, constant prayer, that my beloved wife may speedily learn to know, love, and trust in Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life!"
"You are so good, Ned! I wish I were worthy of such a husband," she murmured, half sighing as she spoke.
"Quite a mistake, Zoe," he replied, with unaffected humility; "to hear you talk so makes me feel like a hypocrite. I haves no righteousness of my own to plead, but, thanks be unto God, I may rejoice in the imputed righteousness of Christ! And that may be yours, too, love, for the asking.
"'Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.'
"They are the Master's own words; and He adds: 'For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.'"
Meanwhile the contemplated trip of the young men was under discussion in the parlor. "Dear me!" said Betty, who had just heard of it, "how much fun men and boys do have! Don't you wish you were one of them, Lulu?"
"No, I don't," returned Lulu, promptly. "I'd like to be allowed to do some of the things they do that we mustn't, but I don't want to be a boy."
"That is right," said her father; "there are few things so unpleasant to me as a masculine woman, who wishes herself a man and tries to ape the stronger, coarser sex in dress and manners. I hope my girls will always be content, and more than content, to be what God has made them."
"If you meant to hit me that time, captain," remarked Betty, in a lively tone, "let me tell you it was a miserable failure, for I don't wish I was a man, and never did. Coarse creatures, as you say—present company always excepted—who would want to be one of them."
"I'd never have anything to do with one of them if I were in your place,
Bet," laughed her brother.
"Perhaps I shouldn't, only that they seem a sort of necessary evil," she retorted. "But why don't you invite some of us ladies to go along?"
"Because you are not necessary evils," returned her brother, with a twinkle of fun in his eye.
"You should, one and all, have an invitation if we could make you comfortable," said Harold, gallantly: "but the vessel has absolutely no accommodations for ladies."
"Ah, then, you are excusable," returned Betty.
The young men left the next morning, after an early breakfast. Zoe and Betty drove down to the wharf with them to see them off, and watched the departing vessel till she disappeared from sight.
Zoe went home in tears, Betty doing her best to console her.
"Come, now, be a brave little woman; it's for only two or three days at the farthest. Why, I'd never get married if I thought I shouldn't be able to live so long without the fortunate man I bestowed my hand upon."
"Oh, you don't know anything about it, Betty!" sobbed Zoe. "Ned's all I have in the world, and it's so lonesome without him! And then, how do I know that he'll ever get back? A storm may come up and the vessel be wrecked."
"That's just possible," said Betty, "and it's great folly to make ourselves miserable over bare possibilities—things which may never happen."
"Oh, you are a great deal too wise for me!" said Zoe, in disgust.
"Oh," cried Betty, "if it's a pleasure and comfort to you to be miserable—to make yourself so by anticipating the worst—do so by all means. I have heard of people who are never happy but when they are miserable."
"But I am not one of that sort," said Zoe, in an aggrieved tone. "I am as happy as a lark when Ned is with me. Yes, and I'll show you that I can be cheerful even without him."
She accordingly wiped her eyes, put on a smile, and began talking in a sprightly way about the beauty of the sea as they looked upon it, with its waves dancing and sparkling in the brilliant light of the morning sun.
"What shall we do to-day?" queried Betty.
"Take a drive," said Zoe.
"Yes; I wish there was some new route or new place to go to."
"There's a pretty drive to the South Shore, that maybe you have not tried yet," suggested the hackman.
"South Shore? That's another name for Surfside, isn't it?" asked Betty.
"It's another part of the same side of the island I refer to," he answered. "It's a nice drive through the avenue of pines—a road the lovers are fond of—and if the south wind blows, as it does this morning, you have a fine surf to look at when you get there."
"If a drive is talked of to-day, let us propose this one, Zoe," said
Betty.
"Yes; I dare say it is as pleasant as any we could take," assented Zoe.
"I wish Edward was here to go with us."
Elsie, with her usual thoughtfulness for others, had been considering what could be done to prevent Zoe from feeling lonely in Edward's absence. She saw the hack draw up at the door, and meeting the young girls on the threshold with a bright face and pleasant smile: "You have seen the boys off?" she said, half inquiringly. "The weather is so favorable, that I think they can hardly fail to enjoy themselves greatly."
"Yes, mamma, I hope they will; but ah, a storm may come and wreck them before they can get back," sighed Zoe, furtively wiping away a tear.
"Possibly; but we won't be so foolish as to make ourselves unhappy by anticipating evils that may never come," was the cheery rejoinder. "The Edna has a skilful captain, a good crew, and is doubtless entirely seaworthy—at least so Edward assured me—and for the rest we must trust in Providence.
"Come in, now, and let me give you each a cup of coffee. Your breakfast with the boys was so early and so slight, that you may find appetite for a supplement," she added, sportively, as she led the way into the cosey little dining-room of the cottage, where they found a tempting repast spread especially for them, the others having already taken their morning meal.
"How nice in you, Cousin Elsie!" exclaimed Betty. "I wasn't expecting to eat another breakfast, but I find a rapidly coming appetite; these muffins and this coffee are so delicious."
"So they are," said Zoe. "I never knew anybody else quite so kindly thoughtful as mamma."
"I think I know several," Elsie rejoined; "but it is very pleasant to be so highly appreciated. Now, my dear girls, you will confer a favor if you will tell me in what way I can make the day pass most pleasantly to you."
"Thank you, cousin. It is a delightful morning for a drive, I think," said Betty; then went on to repeat what their hackman had said of the drive to the South Shore.
"It sounds pleasant. I think we will make up a party and try it," Elsie said. "You would like it, Zoe?"
"Yes, mamma, better than anything I know of beside. The man says that just there the beach has not been so thoroughly picked over for shells and other curiosities, and we may be able to find some worth having."
No one had made any special plans for the day, so all were ready to fall into this proposed by Zoe and Betty. Hacks were ordered—enough to hold all of their party now at hand—and they started.
They found the drive all it had been represented. For some distance their way lay along the bank of a long pond, pretty to look at and interesting as connected with old times and ways of life on the island. Their hackmen told them that formerly large flocks of sheep were raised by the inhabitants, and this pond was one of the places where the sheep were brought at a certain time of year to be washed and shorn. On arriving at their destination, they found a long stretch of sandy beach, with great thundering waves dashing upon it.
"Oh," cried Zoe and Betty, in delight, "it is like a bit of 'Sconset!"
"Look away yonder," said Lulu; "isn't that a fisherman's cart?"
"Yes," replied her father. "Suppose we go nearer and see what he is doing."
"Oh, yes; do let us, papa!" cried Lulu, always ready to go everywhere and see everything.
"You may run on with Max and Grace," he said; "some of us will follow presently."
He turned and offered his arm to Violet. "It is heavy walking in this deep sand; let me help you."
"Thank you; it is wearisome, and I am glad to have my husband's strong arm to lean upon," she answered, smiling sweetly up into his eyes as she accepted the offered aid.
The young girls and the children came running back to meet them. "He's catching blue-fish," they announced; "he has a good many in his cart."
"Now, watch him, Mamma Vi; you haven't had a chance to see just such fishing before," said Max. "See, he's whirling his drail; there! now he has sent it far out into the water. Now he's hauling it in, and—oh yes, a good big fish with it."
"What is a drail?" Violet asked.
"It is a hook with a long piece of lead above it covered with eel-skin," answered her husband.
"There it goes again!" she exclaimed. "It is a really interesting sight, but rather hard work, I should think."
When tired of watching the fisherman, they wandered back and forth along the beach in search of curiosities, picking up bits of sponge, rockweed, seaweed, and a greater variety of shells than they had been able to find on other parts of the shore which they had visited.
It was only when they had barely time enough left to reach home for a late dinner that they were all willing to enter the carriages and be driven away from the spot.
As they passed through the streets of the town, the crier was out with his hand-bell.
"Oh yes! oh yes! all the windows to be taken out of the Athenaeum to-day, and the Athenaeum to be elevated to-night."
After listening intently to several repetitions of the cry, they succeeded in making it out.
"But what on earth does he mean?" exclaimed Betty.
"Ventilated, I presume," replied the captain. "There was an exhibition there last night, and complaints were made that the room was close."
Toward evening of the next day our friends in the cliff cottages began to look for the return of the Edna with the four young men of their party. But night fell, and yet they had not arrived.
Elsie began to feel anxious, but tried not to allow her disturbance to be perceived, especially by Zoe, who seemed restless and ill at ease, going often out to the edge of the cliff and gazing long and intently toward that quarter of the horizon where she had seen the Edna disappear on the morning she sailed out of Nantucket harbor.
She sought her post of observation for the twentieth time just before sunset, and remained there till it grew too dark to see much beyond the line of breakers along the shore below.
Turning to re-enter the house, she found Captain Raymond standing by her side.
"O captain," she cried, "isn't it time the Edna was in?"
"I rather supposed they would be in a little earlier than this, but am not at all surprised that they are not," he answered, in a cheery tone. "Indeed, it is quite possible that they may not get in till to-morrow. When they left it was uncertain that they would come back to-day. So, my good sister, I think we have no cause for anxiety."
"Then I shall try not to be anxious," she said; "but it seems like a month since I parted from Ned, and it's a sore disappointment not to see him to-night. I don't know how Vi stands your long absences, captain."
"Don't you suppose it's about as hard for me as for her, considering how charming she is?" he asked, lightly.
"Perhaps it is; but men don't live in their affections as women do; love is only half the world to the most loving of them, I verily believe, while it's all the world to us."
"There is some truth in that," he acknowledged; "we men are compelled to give much time and thought to business, yet many of us are ardent lovers or affectionate husbands. I, for one, am extremely fond of wife and children."
"Yes, I am sure of it, and quite as sure that Ned is very fond of me."
"There isn't a doubt of it. I think I have never seen a happier couple than you seem to be, or than Leland and his Elsie; yet Violet and I will not yield the palm to either of you."
"And was there ever such a mother-in-law as mamma?" said Zoe. "I don't remember my own mother very distinctly, but I do not believe I could have loved her much better than I do Edward's mother."
"Words would fail me in an attempt to describe all her excellences," he responded. "Well, Lulu, what is it?" as the child came running toward them.
"Tea is ready, papa, and Grandma Rose says 'please come to it.'"
Shortly after leaving the table, the captain, noticing that Zoe seemed anxious and sad, offered to go into the town and inquire if anything had been seen or heard of the Edna.
"Oh, thank you," she said, brightening; "but won't you take me along?"
"Certainly, if you think you will not find the walk too long and fatiguing."
"Not a bit," she returned, hastily donning hat and shawl.
"Have you any objection to my company, Levis?" Violet asked, with sportive look and tone.
"My love, I shall be delighted, if you feel equal to the exertion," he answered, with a look of pleasure that said more than the words.
"Quite," she said. "Max, I know you like to wait on me; will you please bring my hat and shawl from the bedroom there?"
"Yes, indeed, with pleasure, Mamma Vi," the boy answered, with alacrity, as he hastened to obey.
"Three won't make as agreeable a number for travelling the sidewalks as four, and I ought to be looking out for Bob," remarked Betty; "so if anybody will ask me to go along perhaps I may consent."
"Yes, do come," said Zoe. "I'll take you for my escort."
"And we will walk decorously behind the captain and Vi, feeling no fear because under the protection of his wing," added the lively Betty. "But do you think, sir, you have the strength and ability to protect three helpless females?" she asked, suddenly wheeling round upon him.
"I have not a doubt I can render them all the aid and protection they are at all likely to need in this peaceful, law-abiding community," he answered, with becoming gravity, as he gave his arm to his wife, and led the way from the house.
"It is a rather lonely but by no means dangerous walk, Cousin Betty," he added, holding the gate open for her and the others to pass out.
"Lonely enough for me to indulge in a moderate amount of fun and laughter, is it not, sir?" she returned, in an inquiring tone.
She seemed full of life and gayety, while Zoe was unusually quiet.
They walked into the town and all the way down to the wharf; but the Edna was not there, nor could they hear any news of her. Zoe seemed full of anxiety and distress, though the others tried to convince her there was no occasion for it.
"Come, come, cheer up, little woman," the captain said, seeing her eyes fill with tears. "If we do not see or hear from them by this time to-morrow night, we may begin to be anxious; but till then there is really no need."
"There, Zoe, you have an opinion that is worth something, the captain being an experienced sailor," remarked Betty. "So thry to be aisy, my dear, and if ye can't be aisy, be as aisy as ye can!"
Zoe laughed faintly at Betty's jest; then, with a heroic effort, put on an air of cheerfulness, and contributed her full quota to the sprightly chat on the homeward walk.
She kept up her cheerful manner till she had parted from the rest for the night, but wet her solitary pillow with tears ere her anxiety and loneliness were forgotten in sleep.
Her spirits revived with the new day, for the sun rose clear and bright, the sea was calm, and she said to herself, "Oh, surely the Edna will come in before night, and Ned and I will be together again!"
Many times that day both she and his mother scanned intently the wide waste of waters, and watched with eager eyes the approach of some distant sail, hoping it might prove the one they looked and longed for.
But their hopes were disappointed again and again; noon passed, and the
Edna was not in sight.
"Mamma, what can be keeping them?" sighed Zoe, as the two stood together on the brow of the hill, still engaged in their fruitless search.
"Not necessarily anything amiss," Elsie answered. "You remember that when they went it was quite uncertain whether they would return earlier than to-night; so let us not suffer ourselves to be uneasy because they are not yet here."
"I am ashamed of myself," Zoe said. "I wish I could learn to be as patient and cheerful as you are, mamma."
"I trust you will be more so by the time you are my age," Elsie said, putting an arm about Zoe's waist and drawing her close, with a tender caress. "I still at times feel the risings of impatience; I have not fully learned to 'let patience have her perfect work.'
"There is an old proverb, 'A watched pot never boils,'" she added, with sportive look and tone. "Suppose we seat ourselves in the veranda yonder and try to forget the Edna for awhile in an interesting story. I have a new book which looks very interesting, and has been highly commended in some of the reviews. We will get papa to read it aloud to us while we busy ourselves with our fancy-work. Shall we not?"
Zoe assented, though with rather an indifferent air, and they returned to the house.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, the only ones they found there, the others being all down on the beach, fell readily into the plan; the book and the work were brought out, and the reading began.
It was a good, well-told story, and even Zoe presently became thoroughly interested.
Down on the beach Violet and the captain sat together in the sand, he searching sea and sky with a spyglass.
She noticed a look of anxiety creeping over his face.
"What is it, Levis?" she asked.
"I fear there is a heavy storm coming," he said. "I wish with all my heart the Edna was in. But I trust they have been wise enough not to put out to sea and are safe in harbor some where."
"I hope so, indeed," she responded, fervently, "for we have much precious freight aboard of her. But the sky does not look very threatening to me, Levis."
"Does it not? I wish I could say the same. But, little wife, are you weatherwise or otherwise?" he asked, laughingly.
"Not wise in any way except as I may lay claim to the wisdom of my other half," she returned, adopting his sportive tone.
"Ah," she exclaimed the next moment, "I, too, begin to see some indications of a storm; it is growing very dark yonder in the northeast!"
Betty came hurrying up, panting and frightened. "O captain, be a dear, good man, and say you don't think we are to have a storm directly—before Bob and the rest get safe to shore!"
"I should be glad to oblige you, Betty," he said, "but I cannot say that; and what would it avail if I did? Could my opinion stay the storm?"
"Zoe will be frightened to death about Edward," she said, turning her face seaward again as she spoke, and gazing with tear-dimmed eyes at the black, threatening cloud fast spreading from horizon to zenith, "and I—oh, Bob is nearer to me than any other creature on earth!"
"Let us hope for the best, Betty," the captain said, kindly; "it is quite possible, perhaps I might say probable, that the Edna is now lying at anchor in some safe harbor, and will stay there till this storm is over."
"Oh, thank you for telling me that!" she cried. "I'll just try to believe it is so and not fret, though it would pretty nearly kill me if anything should happen to Bob. Still, it will do no good to fret."
"Prayer would do far more," said Violet, softly—"prayer to Him whom even the winds and the sea obey. But isn't it time to go in, Levis? the storm seems to be coming up so very fast."
"Yes," he said, rising and helping her to get on her feet. "Where are the children?"
"Yonder," said Betty, nodding in their direction. "I'll tell them—shall
I?"
"No, thank you; you and Violet hurry on to the house as fast as you can; I will call the children, follow with them, and probably overtake you in time to help you up the stairs."
Before they were all safely housed, the wind had come down upon them and was blowing almost a gale. It was with considerable difficulty the captain succeeded in getting them all up the long steep flights of stairs by which they must reach the top of the cliff.
About the time they started for the house the party on the veranda became aware that a storm was rising.
Zoe saw it first, and dropped her work in her lap with the cry, "Oh, I knew it would be so! I just knew it! A dreadful storm is coming, and the Edna will be wrecked, and Edward will drown. I shall never see him again!"
The others were too much startled and alarmed at the moment to notice her wild words or make any reply. They all rose and hurried into the house, and Mr. Dinsmore began closing windows and doors.
"The children, papa!" cried Elsie; "they must be down on the beach, and—"
"The captain is with them, and I will go to their assistance," he replied, before she could finish her sentence.
He rushed out as he spoke, to return the next moment with Walter in his arms and the rest closely following.
"These are all safe, and for the others I must trust the Lord," Elsie said softly to herself as her father set Walter down, and she drew the child to her side.
But her cheek was very pale, and her lips trembled as she pressed them to the little fellow's forehead.
He looked up wonderingly. "Mamma, what is the matter? You're not afraid of wind and thunder?"
"No, dear; but I fear for your brothers out on this stormy sea," she whispered in his ear. "Pray for them, darling, that if God will, they may reach home in safety."
"Yes, mamma, I will; and I believe He'll bring them. Is it 'cause Ned's in the ship Zoe's crying so?"
"Yes; I must try to comfort her." And putting him gently aside, Elsie went to her young daughter-in-law, who had thrown herself upon a couch, and with her head pillowed on its arm, her face hidden in her hands, was weeping and sobbing as if her heart would break.
"Zoe, love," Elsie said, kneeling at her side and putting her arms about her, "do not despair. 'Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened that it cannot save; neither His ear heavy that it cannot hear.'"
"No, but—He does let people drown; and oh, I can never live without my husband!"
"Dear child, there is no need to consider that question till it is forced upon you. Try, dear one, to let that alone, and rest in the promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.'"
The captain had drawn near, and was standing close beside them.
"Mother has given you the best of advice, my little sister," he said, in his kind, cheery way; "and for your further comfort let me say that it is altogether likely the Edna is safe in harbor somewhere. I think they probably perceived the approach of the storm in season to be warned not to put out to sea till it should be over."
"Do you really think so, captain?" she asked, lifting her head to wipe away her tears.
He assured her that he did; and thinking him a competent judge of what seamen would be likely to do in such an emergency, she grew calm for a time, though her face was still sad; and till darkness shut out the sight, she cast many an anxious glance from the window upon the raging waters.
"If not in harbor, they must be in great peril?" Mr. Dinsmore remarked, aside, and half inquiringly, to the captain.
"Yes, sir; yes, indeed. I am far more anxious than I should like to own to their mother, Zoe, or Violet."
It was near their tea hour when the storm burst; they gathered about the table as usual, but there was little eating done except by the children, and the meal was not enlivened, as was customary with them, by cheerful, sprightly chat, though efforts in that direction were not wanting on the part of several of their number.
The storm raged on with unabated fury, and Zoe, as she listened to the howling of the wind and the deafening thunder peals, grew wild with terror for her husband. She could not be persuaded to go to bed, even when her accustomed hour for retiring was long past, but would sit in her chair, moaning, "O Ned! Ned! my husband, my dear, dear husband! Oh, if I could only do anything to help you! My darling, my darling! you are all I have, and I can't live without you!" then spring up and pace the floor, sobbing, wringing her hands, and sometimes, as a fierce blast shook the cottage or a more deafening thunder peal crashed over-head, even shrieking out in terror and distress.
In vain Elsie tried to soothe and quiet her with reassuring, comforting words or caresses and endearments.
"Oh, I can't bear it!" she cried again and again. "Ned is all I have, and it will kill me to lose him. Nobody can know how I suffer at the very thought."
"My dear," Elsie said, with a voice trembling with emotion, "you forget that Edward is my dearly loved son, and that I have two others, who are no less dear to their mother's heart, on board that vessel."
"Forgive me, mamma," Zoe sobbed, taking Elsie's hand and dropping tears and kisses upon it. "I did forget, and it was very shameful, for you are so kind and loving to me, putting aside your own grief and anxiety to help me in bearing mine. But how is it yon can be so calm?"
"Because, dear, I am enabled to stay my heart on God, my Almighty Friend, my kind, wise, Heavenly Father. Listen, love, to these sweet words: 'O Lord God of hosts, who is a strong Lord like unto Thee? or to thy faithfulness round about Thee? Thou rulest the roaring of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou stillest them.'"
"They are beautiful," said Betty, who sat near, in a despondent attitude, her elbow on her knee, her cheek in her hand. "Oh, Cousin Elsie, I would give all the world for your faith, and to be able to find the comfort and support in Bible promises and teachings that you do!"
The outer door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore and Captain Raymond came in, their waterproof coats dripping with rain.
They had been out on the edge of the cliff taking an observation, though it was little they could see through the darkness; but occasionally the lightning's lurid flash lit up the scene for a moment, and afforded a glimpse of the storm-tossed deep.
"Be comforted, ladies," the captain said; "there are at least no signs of any vessel in distress; if any such were near, she would undoubtedly be firing signal-guns. So I think we may hope my conjecture that our boys are safe in harbor somewhere, is correct."
"And the storm is passing over," said Mr. Dinsmore; "the thunder and lightning have almost ceased."
"But the wind has not fallen, and that is what makes the great danger, grandpa, isn't it?" asked Zoe. "Oh, hark, what was that? I heard a step and voice!" And rushing to the outer door as she spoke, she threw it open, and found herself in her husband's arms.
"O Ned, Ned!" she cried, in a transport of joy, "is it really you? Oh, I thought I should never see you again, you dear, dear, dear boy!"
She clung round his neck, and he held her close, with many a caress and endearing word, drawing her a little to one side to let his brothers step past them and embrace the tender mother, who wept for joy as she received them, almost as if restored to her from the very gates of death.
"There, love, I must let you go while I take off this dripping coat," Edward said, at length, releasing Zoe. "How wet I have made you! I fear your pretty dress is quite spoiled," he added, with a tender, regretful smile.
"That's nothing," she answered, with a gay laugh; "you'll only have to buy me another, and you've plenty of money."
"Plenty to supply all the wants of my little wife, I hope."
"Ah, mother dear," as he threw aside his wet overcoat and took her in his arms, "were you alarmed for the safety of your three sons?"
"Yes, indeed I was," she said, returning his kisses; "and I feel that I have great cause for thankfulness in that you are all brought back to me unharmed. 'Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the children of men!'"
Betty had started up on the entrance of her cousins, glancing eagerly from one dripping figure to another, then staggered back and leaned, pale and trembling, against the wall. In the excitement no one had noticed her, but now she exclaimed, in tremulous accents, and catching her breath, "Bob—my brother; where is he?"
"O Betty," Harold answered, turning hastily at the sound of her voice, "forgive our thoughtlessness in not explaining that at once! Bob went to a hotel; he said we could bring the news of his safety and our own, and it wasn't worth while for him to travel all the way up here through the storm."
"No, of course not; I wouldn't have had him do so," she returned, with a sigh of relief, her face resuming its wonted gayety of expression; "but I'm mighty glad he's safe on terra firma."
"But your story, boys; let us have it," said Mr. Dinsmore.
"Yes, we have a story, grandpa," said Edward, with emphasis and excitement; "but Harold should tell it; he could do it better than I."
"No, no," Harold said; "you are as good a story-teller as I."
"There!" laughed Herbert. "I believe I'll have to do it myself, or with your extreme politeness to each other you'll keep the audience waiting all night.
"The storm came suddenly upon us when we were about half way home, or maybe something more; and it presently became evident that we were in imminent danger of wreck. The captain soon concluded that our only chance was in letting the Edna drive right before the wind, which would take us in exactly the direction we wished to pursue, but with rather startling celerity; and that was what he did.
"She flew over the water like a wild winged bird, and into the harbor with immense velocity. Safely enough, though, till we were there, almost at the wharf, when we struck against another vessel anchored near, and actually cut her in two, spilling the crew into the water."
"Don't look so horrified, mother dear," said Harold, as Herbert paused for breath; "no one was drowned, no one even hurt."
"Barring the wetting and the fright, as the Irish say," added Edward.
"But the latter was a real hurt," said Harold; "for the cry they sent up as they made the sudden, involuntary plunge from their berths, where they were probably asleep at the moment of collision, into the cold, deep water of the harbor, was something terrible to hear."
"Enough to curdle one's blood," added Herbert.
"And you are quite sure all were picked up?" asked Elsie, her sweet face full of pity for the unfortunate sufferers.
"Yes, mother, quite sure," answered Edward; "the captain of the craft said, in my hearing, that no one was missing."
"And the captain of the other will probably have pretty heavy damages to pay," remarked Mr. Dinsmore.
"I presume so," said Edward; "but even that would be far better than the loss of his vessel, with all the lives of those on board."
"Money could not pay for those last," Elsie said, low and tremulously, as she looked at her three tall sons through a mist of unshed tears; "and I will gladly help the Edna's captain to meet the damages incurred in his efforts to save them."
"Just like you, mother," Edward said, giving her a look of proud, fond affection.
"I entirely approve, and shall be ready to contribute my share," said her father. "But it is very late, or rather early—long past midnight—and we should be getting to bed. But let us first unite in a prayer of thanksgiving to our God for all His mercies, especially this—that our dear boys are restored to us unharmed."
They knelt, and led by him, all hearts united in a fervent outpouring of gratitude and praise to the Giver of all good.
CHAPTER XIII.
"Hitherto hath the Lord helped us."—1 SAMUEL 7:12.
It was a lovely Sabbath afternoon, still and bright; Elsie sat alone on the veranda, enjoying the beauty of the sea and the delicious breeze coming from it. She had been reading, and the book lay in her lap, one hand resting upon the open page; but she was deep in meditation, her eyes following the restless movements of the waves that, with the rising tide, dashed higher and higher upon the beach below.
For the last half hour she had been the solitary tenant of the veranda, while the others enjoyed their siesta or a lounge upon the beach.
Presently a noiseless step drew near her chair, some one bent down over her and softly kissed her cheek.
"Papa" she said, looking up into his face with smiling eyes, "you have come to sit with me? Let me give you this chair," and she would have risen to do so, but he laid his hand on her shoulder, saying, "No; sit still; I will take this," drawing up another and seating himself therein close at her side.
"Do you know that I have been watching you from the doorway there for the last five minutes?" he asked.
"No, sir; I deemed myself quite alone," she said. "Why did you not let me know that my dear father, whose society I prize so highly, was so near?"
"Because you seemed so deep in thought, and evidently such happy thought, that I was loath to disturb it."
"Yes," she said, "they were happy thoughts. I have seemed to myself, for the last few days, to be in the very land of Beulah, so delightful has been the sure hope—I may say certainty—that Jesus is mine and I am His; that I am His servant forever, for time and for eternity, as truly and entirely His as words can express. Is it not a sweet thought, papa? is it not untold bliss to know that we may—that we shall serve Him forever? that nothing can ever separate us from the love of Christ?"
"It is, indeed—Christ who is our life. He says, 'Because I live, ye shall live also;' thus He is our life. Is He not our life also because He is the dearest of all friends to us—His own people?"
"Yes; and how the thought of His love, His perfect sympathy, His infinite power to help and to save, gives strength and courage to face the unknown future. 'The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?' 'Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.'
"In view of the many dangers that lie around our every path, the many terrible trials that may be sent to any one of us, I often wonder how those who do not trust in this almighty Friend can have the least real, true happiness. Were it my case, I should be devoured with anxiety and fears for myself and my dear ones."
"But as it is," her father said, gazing tenderly upon her, "you are able to leave the future, for them and for yourself, in His kind, wise, all-powerful hands, knowing that nothing can befall you without His will, and that He will send no trial that shall not be for your good, and none that He will not give you strength to endure?"
"Yes, that is it, papa; and oh, what rest it is! One feels so safe and happy; so free from fear and care; like a little child whose loving earthly father is holding it by the hand or in his strong, kind arms."
"And you have loved and trusted Him since you were a very little child," he remarked, half musingly.
"Yes, papa; I cannot remember when I did not; and could there be a greater cause for gratitude?"
"No; such love and trust are worth more to the happy possessor than the wealth of the universe. But there was a time when, though my little girl had it, I was altogether ignorant of it, and marvelled greatly at her love for God's word and her joy and peace in believing. I shall never cease to bless God for giving me such a child."
"Nor I to thank Him for my dear father," she responded, putting her hand into his, with the very same loving, confiding gesture she had been wont to use in childhood's days.
His fingers closed over it, and he held it fast in a warm, loving grasp, while they continued their talk concerning the things that lay nearest their hearts—the love of the Master, His infinite perfection, the interests of His kingdom, the many great and precious promises of His word—thus renewing their strength and provoking one another to love and to good works.
"Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another; and the Lord hearkened, and heard it; and a book of remembrance was written before Him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon His name.
"And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him."
Ere another week had rolled its round, events had occurred which tested the sustaining power of their faith in God, and the joy of the Lord proved to be indeed their strength, keeping their hearts from failing in an hour of sore anxiety and distress.
The evening was bright with the radiance of a full moon and unusually warm for the season; so pleasant was it out of doors that most of our friends preferred the veranda to the cottage parlors, and some of the younger ones were strolling about the town or the beach.
Betty had gone down to the latter place, taking Lulu with her, with the captain's permission, both promising not to go out of sight of home.
"Oh, how lovely the sea is to-night, with the moon shining so brightly on all the little dancing waves!" exclaimed Lulu, as they stood side by side close to the water's edge.
"Yes," said Betty; "doesn't it make you feel like going in?"
"Do people ever bathe at night?" asked Lulu.
"I don't know why they shouldn't," returned her companion.
"It might be dangerous, perhaps," suggested Lulu.
"Why should it?" said Betty; "it's almost as light as day. Oh, Bob," perceiving her brother close at hand, "don't you want to go in? I will if you will go with me."
"I don't care if I do," he answered, after a moment's reflection: "a moonlight bath in the sea would be something out of the common; and there seems to be just surf enough to make it enjoyable."
"Yes; and my bathing-suit is in the bath-house yonder. I can be ready in five minutes."
"Can you? So can I; we'll go in if only for a few minutes. Won't you go with us, Lulu?"
"I'd like to," she said, "but I can't without leave; and I know papa wouldn't give it, for I had a bath this morning, and he says one a day is quite enough."
"I was in this morning," said Bob; "Betty, too, I think, and—I say, Bet, it strikes me I've heard that it's a little risky to go in at night."
"Not such a night as this, I'm sure, Bob; why, it's as light as day; and if there is danger it can be only about enough to give spice to the undertaking."
With the last word she started for the bath-house, and Bob, not to be outdone in courage, hurried toward another appropriated to his use.
Lulu stood waiting for their return, not at all afraid to be left alone with not another creature in sight on the beach. Yet the solitude disturbed her as the thought arose that Bob and Betty might be about to put themselves in danger, while no help was at hand for their rescue. The nearest she knew of was at the cottages on the bluff, and for her to climb those long flights of stairs and give the alarm in case anything went wrong with the venturesome bathers, would be a work of time.
"I'd better not wait for them to get into danger, for they would surely drown before help could reach them," she said to herself, after a moment's thought. "I'll only wait till I see them really in, and then hurry home to see if somebody can't come down and be ready to help if they should begin to drown."
But as they passed her, presently, on their way to the water, Bob said:
"We're trusting you to keep our secret, Lulu; don't tell tales on us."
She made no reply, but thought within herself, "That shows he doesn't think he's doing exactly right. I'm afraid it must be quite dangerous."
But while his remark and injunction increased her apprehensions for them, it also made her hesitate to carry to their friends the news of their escapade till she should see that it brought them into actual danger and need of assistance.
She watched them tremblingly as they waded slowly out beyond the surf into the smooth, swelling waves, where they began to swim.
For a few moments all seemed to be well; then came a sudden shrill cry from Betty, followed by a hoarser one from Bob, which could mean nothing else than fright and danger.
For an instant Lulu was nearly paralyzed with terror; but rousing herself by a determined effort, she shouted at the top of her voice, "Don't give up; I'll go for help as fast as ever I can," and instantly set off for home at her utmost speed.
"Help, help! they'll drown, oh, they'll drown!" she screamed as she ran.
Harold, who was in the act of descending the last flight of stairs, saw her running toward him, and heard her cry, though the noise of the surf prevented his catching all the words.
"What's the matter?" he shouted, clearing the remainder of the flight at a bound.
"Betty, Bob—drowning!" she cried, without slackening her speed, "I'm going for help."
He waited, to hear no more, but sped on toward the water; and only pausing to divest himself of his outer clothing, plunged in, and, buffeting with the waves, made his way as rapidly as possible toward the struggling forms, which, by the light of the moon, he could dimly discern at some distance from the shore.
Faint cries for help and the gleam of Betty's white arm, as for an instant she raised it above the wave, guided him to the spot.
Harold was an excellent swimmer, strong and courageous; but he had undertaken a task beyond his strength, and his young life was very near falling a sacrifice to the folly of his cousins and his own generous impulse to fly to their aid.
Both Bob and Betty were already so nearly exhausted as to be scarcely capable of doing anything to help themselves, and in their mad struggle for life caught hold of him and so impeded his movements that he was like to perish with them.
Mean while Lulu had reached the top of the cliff, then the veranda where the older members of the family party were seated, and, all out of breath with fright and the exertion of climbing and running, she faltered out, "Bob and Betty; they'll drown if they don't get help quickly."
"What, are they in the water?" cried Mr. Dinsmore and Captain Raymond, simultaneously springing to their feet; the latter adding, "I fear they'll drown before we can possibly get help to them."
"Oh, yes; they're drowning now," sobbed Lulu; "but Harold's gone to help them."
"Harold? He's lost if he tries it alone!" "The boy's mad to think of such a thing!" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore and Edward in a breath, while Elsie's cheek turned deathly pale, and her heart went up in an agonized cry that her boy's life might be spared; the others also.
The gentlemen held a hasty consultation, then scattered, Mr. Dinsmore hastening in search of other aid, while Captain Raymond and Edward hurried to the beach, the ladies following with entreaties to them to be careful.
But fortunately for the endangered ones, other aid had already reached them—a boat that had come out from Nantucket for a moonlight sail, and from the shore a noble Newfoundland dog belonging to a retired sea captain. Strolling along the beach with his master, he heard the cries for help, saw the struggling forms, and instantly plunging in among the waves, swam to the rescue.
Seizing Betty by the hair, he held her head above water till the sailboat drew near and strong arms caught hold of her and dragged her in, pale, dripping, and seemingly lifeless.
They then picked up the young men, both entirely unconscious, and made for the shore with all possible haste.
It was doubtful if the last spark of life had not been extinguished in every one of the three; but the most prompt, wise, and vigorous measures were instantly taken and continued for hours—hours of agonizing suspense to those who loved them.
At length Bob gave unmistakable signs of life; and shortly after Betty sighed, opened her eyes, and asked, feebly, "Where am I? what has happened?"
But Harold still lay as one dead, and would have been given up as such had not his mother clung to hope, and insisted that the efforts at restoration should be continued.
Through the whole trying scene she had maintained an unbroken calmness of demeanor, staying herself upon her God, lifting her heart to His throne in never-ceasing petitions, and in the midst of her bitter grief and anxiety rejoicing that if her boy were taken from her for a time, it would be but to exchange the trials and cares of earth for the joys of heaven; and the parting from him here would soon be followed by a blissful reunion in that blessed land where sin and sorrow and suffering can never enter.
But at length, when their efforts were rewarded so that he breathed and spoke, and she knew that he was restored to her, the reaction came.
She had given him a gentle, tender kiss, had seen him fall into a natural, refreshing sleep, and passing from his bedside into an adjoining room, she fainted in her father's arms.
"My darling, my dear, brave darling!" he murmured, as he laid her down upon a couch and bent over her in tenderest solicitude, while Mrs. Dinsmore hastened to apply restoratives.
It was not a long faint; she presently opened her eyes and lifted them with a bewildered look up into her father's face.
"What is it, papa?" she murmured; "have I been ill?"
"Only a short faint," he answered. "But you must be quite worn out."
"Oh, I remember!" she cried. "Harold, my dear son—"
"Is doing well, love. And now I want you to go to your bed and try to get some rest. See, day is breaking, and you have had no sleep, no rest."
"Nor have you, papa; do go and lie down; but I must watch over my poor boy," she said, trying to rise from the couch.
"Lie still," he said, gently detaining her; "lie here, if you are not willing to go to your bed. I am better able to sit up than you are, and will see to Harold."
"His brothers are with him, mamma," said Zoe, standing by; "and Edward says they will stay beside him as long as they are needed."
"Then you and I will both retire and try to take some rest, shall we not?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, bending over Elsie and softly smoothing her hair.
"Yes, papa; but I must first take one peep at the dear son so nearly lost to me."
He helped her to rise; then she perceived that Captain Raymond and
Violet were in the room.
"Dearest mamma," said the latter, coming forward to embrace her, "how glad I am that you are better, and our dear Harold spared to us!" She broke down in sobs and tears.
"Yes, my child; oh, let us thank the Lord for His great goodness! But this night has been quite too much for you. Do you go at once and try to get some rest."
"I shall see that she obeys, mother," the captain said, in a tenderly sportive tone, taking Elsie's hand and lifting it to his lips.
"I think I may trust you," she returned, with a faint smile. "You were with Bob; how is he now?"
"Doing as well as possible under the circumstances; as is Betty also; you need trouble your kind heart with no fear or care for them."
It had been a terrible night to all the family—the children the only ones who had taken any rest or sleep—and days of nursing followed before the three who had so narrowly escaped death were restored to their wonted health and strength.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Elsie devoted themselves to that work, and were often assisted in it by Zoe, Edward, and Herbert.
Harold was quite a hero with these last and with Max and Lulu; in fact, with all who knew or heard of his brave deed, though he modestly disclaimed any right to the praises heaped upon him, asserting that he had done no more than any one with common courage and humanity would have done in his place.
Bob and Betty were heartily ashamed of their escapade, and much sobered at the thought of their narrow escape from sudden death. Both dreaded the severe reproof they had reason to expect from their uncle, but he was very forbearing, and thinking the fright and suffering entailed by their folly sufficient to deter them from a repetition of it, kindly refrained from lecturing them on the subject, though, when a suitable opportunity offered, he did talk seriously and tenderly, with now one and now the other, on the guilt and danger of putting off repentance toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ, reminding them that they had had a very solemn warning of the shortness and uncertainty of life, and asking them to consider the question whether they were ready for a sudden call into the immediate presence of their Judge.
"Really now, uncle," remarked Bob on one of these occasions, "there are worse fellows in the world than I am—much worse."
"I am willing to admit that, my boy," returned Mr. Dinsmore; "but many of those fellows have not enjoyed the privileges and teachings that you have, and responsibility is largely in proportion to one's light and opportunities.
"Jesus said, 'That servant, who knew his Lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to His will, shall be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes.'"
"Yes; and you think I'm one of the first class, I suppose?"
"I do, my boy; for you have been well instructed, both in the church and in the family; also you have a Bible, and may study it for yourself as often and carefully as you will."
"But I really have never done anything very bad, uncle."
"How can you say that, Robert, when you know that you have lived all your life in utter neglect of God's appointed way of salvation? hearing the gracious invitation of Him who died that you might live, 'Come unto me,' and refusing to accept it?
"'God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life,' and having for years refused to believe, how can you assert that you have done nothing very bad? 'How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation?'"
Bob made no reply, but looked thoughtful, and his uncle went quietly from the room, thinking it well to leave the lad to his own reflections.
Passing the door of the room where Harold lay, he was about to enter, but perceiving that the boy and his mother were in earnest conversation, he moved on, leaving them undisturbed.
"Mamma," Harold was saying, "I have been thinking much of sudden death since my very narrow escape from it. You know, mamma, it comes sometimes without a moment's warning; and as we all sin continually in thought and feeling, if not in word and deed, as our very best deeds and services are so stained with sin that they need to be repented of and forgiven, how is it that even a true Christian can get to heaven if called away so suddenly?"
"Because when one comes to Jesus Christ and accepts His offered salvation, all his sins, future as well as past and present, are forgiven. 'The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.'
"Jesus said, 'He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.' 'I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.'"
"But oh, mamma, I find myself so weak and sinful, so ready to yield to temptation, that I sometimes fear I shall never be able to hold out to the end!"
"My dear boy, let that fear lead you to cling all the closer to the Master, who is able to save unto the uttermost. If our holding out depended upon ourselves, our own weak wills, we might well be in despair; but 'He will keep the feet of His saints.'
"'Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, according to His abundant mercy, hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation.' Can they be in danger who are kept by the power of God?"