Joshua Marvel

CHAPTER XVI.

CHRISTMAS-EVE AT HOME.

A happier party was never assembled within four walls than is now gathered together within the four walls of Mr. Marvel's kitchen. That it is Christmas-eve is proclaimed by the two little hoops which hang from the ceiling, circled by colored Christmas candles; and that the kindly influence of the time has fallen in full measure upon the wood-turner's house may be read in the faces of George Marvel and his family and guests. Sarah Marvel, whose place in this history is but a small one, has grown into a comely young woman; and, indeed, the four years which have elapsed since Joshua's departure have changed all his friends for the better. Those of them who were young when he left are no longer boys and girls, except in their hearts, which are as young as ever, and which are pulsing with love for the absent hero. Not to be absent for long now; for Joshua is coming home. They cannot tell the exact day of his arrival; it may be a week yet, or a month; but the sails of his ship are spread for dear home. So, as they sit round the fire, there is a happy light in their eyes, and they look at each other and smile, and laugh musical little laughs.

"It is more than four years ago," said George Marvel, "that one night as we were sitting round the fire, as it might be now, Josh said all of a sudden, 'I should like to go to sea.' Those were the very words he said 'I should like to go to sea.' And it came so sudden-like, that mother there began to cry. So you want to be a sailor, Josh? I asked. 'Yes,' he answered; 'a sailor first, and then a captain.' Do you remember, mother? And now my boy is coming home a man; and here we are this happy Christmas-eve, talking of him, and thinking of him, and hoping to see him soon after the New Year. Said mother that night, 'Suppose Josh is shipwrecked, what would you say then?' What would I say then? What did I say then? I said that Josh wasn't going to get shipwrecked, and that there's more danger on the land than on the sea. And I was right, I was; and mother wasn't."

Mrs. Marvel smiled contentedly at the reproof, and nodded in confirmation of her husband's words.

"And when Mr. Praiseworthy Meddler came to see us for the first time," continued Mr. Marvel, "he said the very same thing that I said about the dangers of the sea. And talking of Mr. Meddler, here he is, I do believe; and that makes our party complete."

The last words had been suggested by a great stamping and puffing outside in the passage; and presently the door opened, and Praiseworthy Meddler, covered with snow, stood in the entrance.

"A merry Christmas to you all!" he said, peeling off his glazed coat. "No, no my lasses, don't come near me; you'll spoil your pretty ribbons."

But the girls would not be denied, and clustered round him, assisting him to take off his coat, and to shake the snow from his cap and hair. A pleasant figure he was to look at as he stood there, his honest face beaming with health and pleasure, encircling the waists of Ellen and Minnie, who nestled to him as confidingly and lovingly as if they were his daughters. A sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door caught his sight, and he stooped and gallantly kissed the girls, who pretended resistance, and sprang laughing from his arms. Then he shook hands all round, and taking the seat that was waiting for him near the warmest part of the fire, remarked that the snow was two inches thick on the pavement, and that it was coming down heavily still. It reminded him of a great snow-storm by which he was overtaken in a cruise in the north. That, of course, led to entreaties for a snow-story, and the Old Sailor, in his homely way, told them a story Of icebergs and polar-bears, which kept them entranced for nearly an hour, and which was all the more delightful because it ended happily.

The story being concluded, they talked noisily and merrily as to what they should do next in honor of Christmas. In the midst of the conversation, Ellen, who was sitting next to Dan, felt her hand tightly clasped. Looking up, she saw upon his face a listening expression of such painful intensity that she asked him, in a whisper, what he was listening to. He put his finger to his lips and told her--with a strange abstractedness in his manner--that he was going out of the room, and that he wished her to come with him without attracting attention.

"We shall be back presently," said Ellen to Mrs. Marvel, as she assisted Dan with his crutches.

When they were in the passage, she felt that he was trembling, and she anxiously asked if he was unwell.

"Not bodily," he answered; "I want to look in the street."

They went to the street-door, and, opening it softly, looked out. The snow was falling fast, and the unpretentious houses, covered with their white mantle, looked surprisingly quaint and beautiful. A man, who passed on the opposite side of the way as they opened the door, was the only sign of life beside themselves in the street. The man slouched onwards, and dragged his feet along the pavement in a brutish kind of way, tearing a black gash in the pure white snow, out of sheer wantonness as it seemed. It looked like a desecration.

"Ellen," said Dan, when the man was out of sight, "I would not tell my fancies to any one but you. I am not happy. All last night I was dreaming of Joshua."

"That was good, dear," said Ellen.

"It was not good, Ellen. My dreams were bad ones. They were too confused and indistinct for me to remember them clearly. But the impression they left upon me was that Joshua was in danger; I cannot tell in what way or from whom. I did not hear a word of the story Mr. Meddler just told us. I was thinking of I don't know what--and all of a sudden, Ellen, I fancied that I heard Joshua's voice."

"That is because he is so near us."

"Near us? Yes. He is very near us; nearer than you imagine."

"How do you know, dear?"

"I feel that he is; and strange to say, Ellen, the feeling does not seem to bring me pleasure."

"O Dan!"

"It is so, Ellen; I cannot help it. That Joshua is near us, I am certain. See: is there anybody in the street?"

Ellen looked up and down. No; there was no person to be seen, and she said so.

"How beautiful the night is, Dan!"

"Yes, like fairyland, almost," said Dan. "It hurts me to see that black track on the other side, where the man was walking. Did you notice how he slouched along? Look at that shadow at the end of the street. Is it the same man, I wonder?"

The shadow lingered for a few moments, as if undecided which road to take, and then disappeared again.

"Dan, dear," whispered Ellen, "you said that you would not tell your fancies to any one but me."

"Well, Ellen?"

"May I whisper something, my dear?" she asked very tenderly.

"Yes."

"Would you not tell them to Minnie?"

She was supporting Dan, and his hand was round her neck; a nervous twitching of his fingers told her that her question was a momentous one.

"Dear Ellen," he answered in an agitated voice, "I do not think I would--at least just yet--because--because"--

"Because what, dear?"

"Because I am not sure, Ellen," he said, with a sob which he strove in vain to suppress. "Do not say any thing more, dear. My heart is very sad."

She obeyed him, and kissed him, and then, with a lingering look at the wondrous white outlines of eaves and roofs and at the wondrous white carpet with which the earth was clad, they closed the street-door and re-entered the kitchen. There they were greeted with the news that Basil Kindred was going to describe and read a play to them. The play which Basil had selected was Shakspeare's "Tempest," with which none of them was acquainted but Minnie and Dan. Minnie clapped her hands in delight.

"We will all have characters," she said. "You," to her father, "shall be Prospero. You," to the Old Sailor, "shall be Stephano. You," to Ellen, "shall be Miranda; and I will be Ariel. What a pity it is that Mr. Fewster is not here!--he should be Caliban. If Joshua were here, he should be Ferdinand."

"Who is Ferdinand?" asked Ellen.

"Ferdinand is a prince, and is in love with Miran--no!" Minnie exclaimed suddenly and impetuously, the blood rising into her face, "he should not play Ferdinand; he should not play at all. Look at me. I am Ariel."

With a swift motion, she unloosed her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Bewitchingly graceful and bewitchingly beautiful, she bent in obeisance to Prospero and said with a happy inspiration,--

"Do you love me, master?"

And he, partly in accordance with her pretty conceit and partly from fatherly affection, placed his hand upon her head and answered,--

"Dearly, my delicate Ariel."

Then, motioning her to be silent, Basil Kindred, book in hand, commenced to tell the story, reading passages now and again in illustration of the beautiful fancy, and giving appropriate vocal distinctness to each character; so that his hearers could understand without difficulty who it was that was supposed to be speaking. He was in his happiest humor, and he lingered lovingly upon the theme. The fooling of Trinculo, the brutishness of Caliban, the tenderness of Miranda, the majesty of Prospero, the daintiness of Ariel, were all faithfully portrayed; and his audience followed the course of the story with eager delight. When he had given utterance to that grandest of poetical images,

he paused, and a deep silence fell upon the room, a silence that was broken by Dan exclaiming,--

"Hark! a knock at the door!"

Was it the magnetism of love that caused their hearts to flutter with joy--that caused Mrs. Marvel to rise tremblingly and say that she would go and open the door? But her limbs failed her, and Minnie, crying, "I will go!" ran out of the room. They below, listening in a state of strangely-anxious expectancy, heard Minnie ask "Who is there?" and heard her open the door. Almost at the same moment they heard a cry of joy, followed immediately by a sharp cry of pain. They ran up stairs and saw Minnie kneeling in the snow, supporting on her bosom the head of a man dressed in sailor-fashion, and pressing her lips to his neck, from which the blood was flowing. The pure snow was crimson-stained; and Mrs. Marvel, in an agony of fear falling on her knees by Minnie's side, looked into the face of the wounded man, and recognized the features of her sailor-boy just returned from sea.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DOG AND HIS MASTER.

Upon that same Christmas-eve Solomon Fewster sat in his room a moody unhappy man. He was alone; but if angry thought could have found palpable shape, the room would have been thronged with ugly forms. He had refused the invitation which Mrs. Marvel had given him to join the Christmas party, simply because, when she invited him, she happened to say something in joyful tones of Joshua's expected return. The mere mention of Joshua's name was sufficient to inflame him; and he had at once refused her in a lofty manner, saying that he had another engagement for the evening. The Lascar had done his work well. There is no death for jealousy: it sleeps, but it never dies. And the Lascar had been careful that even the temporary bliss of forgetfulness should be denied to his master. Less force of cunning than he was endowed with would have served his purpose with such a man as Solomon Fewster.

The good influence of the time did not touch Solomon Fewster's heart. He was completely engrossed by two sentiments--love for Ellen, hate for Joshua. The very circumstance that upon this Christmas-eve he had wilfully deprived himself of the painful pleasure of being in Ellen's company he laid to Joshua's door. Every happy face he saw that day deepened the hate he bore to Joshua; for if it had not been for that absent enemy, he would have been as happy as the best of them. Once during the evening he went into the open space at the rear of his house, and saw his neighbors' windows lighted up, and heard sounds of merriment issue from the rooms. "Who is it that prevents me from being as happy as they are?" he muttered. "Who is the cause of my remaining here to-night, fretting my heart out, instead of sitting next to the girl that I love more than my life?" He unlocked the gate in the rear of his premises, and strolled along the narrow lane into which it opened. The houses in the lane were mere hovels, yet there was not one of them that was not brilliantly lighted, and the echoes of laughter and singing floating from their walls denoted that care had been sent to the right-about for that evening, at least. The sounds were so displeasing to him that he returned to his room and resting his face in his hands; raised up the picture of Ellen, fair and bright and beautiful. He was a calculating, unfeeling man; and if it had so happened that there had been no obstacle to the smooth course of his love, he might have remained so to the end of his days, and might never have suspected that there were points in his character which would not bear to close a scrutiny. But the means by which we are brought to a knowledge of ourselves are oftentimes very strange. The majority of us go down to our graves without suspecting that there are powerful forces hidden within us, which, had opportunity for display been allowed them, would have materially altered the tenor of our lives, whether for good or for evil. Solomon Fewster's love for Ellen was the most ennobling feeling he had ever experienced. His hatred for Joshua, and the thoughts and desires prompted by that hate were the most villainous. It is strange that the hate which disgraced him, not the love which ennobled him, should have made him conscious of his defects. It was that very hatred that brought to him the knowledge that he was not a good man; and that caused him to reflect that, if his love were returned, it would be the means of making him better. His thoughts were taking this direction now, and he was still sitting with his face resting in his hands, when he was startled by the sound of the gate being violently dashed aside. He remembered that he had forgotten to fasten it. Before he had time to rise, the latch of the door was lifted, and the Lascar glided in like a white spectre. With a strange feverishness of manner, the Lascar turned the key in the door, and at the same moment stooped and listened, holding up a warning finger as a caution for Solomon Fewster to be silent. He remained in that position for two or three minutes; then rose upright, and drew a long breath.

"What now?" demanded Mr. Fewster angrily, and yet with a consciousness that the Lascar had sufficient cause for his abrupt entrance. "What thieves' trick have you been up to to-night, you dog! that you run in here as if the police were at your heels?"

"They are not," said the Lascar, shaking the snow from his clothes, dog-like; "and that's a good thing, master, for you and for me."

"For me, you dog! You dare to say that!"

"I forgot to close the gate," said the Lascar, taking no notice of Mr. Fewster's exclamation. He went out, and having locked the gate, re-entered; and, seeing a bottle on the table, said, "What's this? Rum?" He did not wait to be invited, but helped himself freely, and spread his cold hands before the fire. "I am numbed to the bone. It's precious cold being out in the snow all day. I didn't hope to find you at home, master. I thought you would be enjoying yourself like a gentleman. I ran in here, finding the gate open, not knowing where to run. It is snowing fast--that's one comfort--and my footsteps will soon be filled up."

All the while he spoke he was busily occupied warming his fingers and blowing on his knuckles.

"Now, explain the meaning of all this," said Mr. Fewster.

"Give me something to eat first, master. I haven't tasted food since the morning."

Mr. Fewster pointed to the cupboard; and the Lascar took bread and meat, and ate swiftly and ravenously.

"My service to you, master," he said, glass in hand, "and a merry Christmas."

When he had emptied the glass, he threw a knife on the table. It was a clasp-knife, and the blade was open. There was a triumphant demonstrativeness in the action that instantly attracted Mr. Fewster's attention. He saw blood upon the blade--blood scarcely dried. Whose blood was it? A mist floated before his eyes. It was there but a moment; but in that moment a picture presented itself to him in the midst of a lurid cloud--a picture of a handsome sailor, smitten by an assassin's hand, falling to the ground. Then the figures were lost in a glare of bright blood and bright snow; and they, in their turn, were lost in black shade. Although the vision lasted but a moment, it produced the curious effect upon him of having been enveloped in darkness for a long time; and the sudden awakening to consciousness caused him to shade his eyes with his hand, as if the light in the room were too strong for him. Awake again, the Lascar's familiar action and bearing smote him with a sense of danger. The instinct of self-preservation whispered to him that his good name might be imperilled by further association with the man. It was clear that the Lascar had done a desperate deed--a deed which, although he shuddered to think of it, had perhaps removed his enemy from the scene. But if so, it was murder. The merest whisper, the faintest breath of suspicion, would be his ruin, not only with the world, but with Ellen. He would pay for services--yes; but he would take no risk. It behoved him to be wary.

"They've had a merry party down yonder," said the Lascar, with a motion of his head in the direction of Mr. Marvel's house. "I made certain you were there, master. I've been hanging about the street all night in the cold. I've been on the watch; shall I tell you for whom?"

"No; I want to know nothing," replied Mr. Fewster, measuring his words carefully. "Understand me once and for all. Whatever you do you do on your own responsibility; and I will in no way be associated with it or with you. If you presume to associate me with any acts of violence on your part, I wash my hands of you. Nay, more: I will set those upon you who will not let you escape easily."

"I understand you, master," said the Lascar, without the least show of resentment. "But go on; you have more to say. I'll wait till you've done."

"You dog, you! You break into my house as if you had a right here! You tell me, as if I were interested in knowing, that the police are at your heels, and that you are afraid of your very footsteps being tracked! You have the presumption to say that it is a good job for me that it is not so! You throw down this knife before me with blood upon it! What is it to me whose blood it is, or what crime you have committed? What if it were to be discovered that you had rendered yourself liable to the law, and then had been seen to come here? If I did my duty, I should go for a policeman, and hand you into his charge, and so be rid of you."

The Lascar listened without the slightest sign of discomposure. He even nodded approvingly as he said,--

"There's only you and me, master. You wouldn't speak so if anybody else was by. Don't fear; I know what you mean well enough. There's no chance of our misunderstanding each other, though you're a better actor than I am, and that's a fact. Rest you easy. No one saw me come here; and no one shall see me go out. As for the police, I know as well as you that it would suit your game as little to set them on me as it would suit my game for them to be set on. But you're right in threatening me with them. It belongs to your part; for you are master. And it belongs to my part to take what you say kindly; for I am a dog. I am satisfied so long as I get enough to keep me; and I'm not greedy, as you know."

Solomon Fewster was extremely disconcerted by the Lascar's coolness. It proved to him that he was in the Lascar's power, and that the Lascar knew it. He was disconcerted also by the conviction that forced itself upon him, that the Lascar measured his indignation at its proper worth. But he could not belie his nature. It was impossible for him to be straightforward; even in his villainy he was compelled to be cunning. He would take care that he committed himself as little as possible by word of mouth. He was burning to hear what the Lascar had to tell, but he would not ask. He drew his breath hard, and it was with difficulty that he restrained his impatience during the long pause that followed; for the Lascar was as determined as he not to be the first to break the silence. At length, feeling that he was being mastered, he turned wrathfully upon the Lascar, and questioned, "Well?"

"Well!" was the quiet answer.

"If you have nothing more to say, you can go."

"I have something more to say, but I am waiting for permission to speak."

There was an assumption of insolent humility in the Lascar's tone; and Mr. Fewster bit his lip as he said, "Your tongue's your own; I can't stop you."

"Thank you, master;" with a cringing expression of satisfaction for the concession. "Since I was employed in my present service--I mean, since a certain night when a kind-hearted gentleman gave me a flower, the leaves of which I have kept carefully in paper, so that I shouldn't forget what I had to do--I have been more watchful than ever in the task I had set myself to perform. I have been better able to do that than I used to be, because the same kind-hearted gentleman has generously supplied me with money, so that I have had all my time at my own disposal. He also supplied me with information. The task I had to perform was to revenge myself upon Joshua Marvel for stepping between me and my affairs, and for doing me injury. A little while ago the gentleman told me that Joshua Marvel was expected home soon; and then I determined that not a night should pass and find me lagging. Not only my hate, but my faithful duty to my master, made me determined in this. I set myself to watch for the return of the sailor Joshua; and during my watch I discovered a curious thing. I discovered that the gentleman in whose service I am appeared very often in the street I was watching, and that he was in the habit of lingering there late at night. He never did any thing else but look up at the bedroom-window of a certain pretty girl, whose shadow I have often seen on the blind; and he never went away until the light in her room was extinguished. I was careful that he should not see me, for it was no business of mine; and I know when I ought to keep in the background. Besides, I admired him for it; for I knew that he loved this girl, and that Joshua Marvel stood in his way. Regularly every day I went to the docks to see if the Merry Andrew--Joshua Marvel's ship--had arrived; and as good luck would have it, the ship came in this very morning. When I learned that, I went back to my watch in the street the gentleman is so mightily fond of. I knew that Joshua Marvel wouldn't be able to get away from his ship directly it got into port; and I guessed that it was more likely than not that he wouldn't let his people at home know of his unexpected arrival. No; he would surprise them. It would be so pleasant on Christmas-eve to break in upon them suddenly, and be petted and kissed, especially by one"--

"The devil take you!" cried Solomon Fewster fiercely, grasping the table with such force that it trembled with the trembling of his hand. "Tell your story without preaching, can't you?"

"I'll try, master. I hung about the street the whole day, eating nothing, and drinking very little. I might have been frozen, if my purpose hadn't kept me warm. I didn't grumble because I had to wait. I wanted him to come at night, and he came when I wanted. It isn't much more than an hour ago"--here he dropped his voice to a whisper--"that I saw a sailor turn the corner of the street where pretty Ellen Taylor lives. He had an accordion under his arm, and a cage in his hand covered with a blue pocket-handkerchief; and he stopped two or three times to look at the houses, and nodded to them as if he was wishing them a merry Christmas. I followed him, like a cat, and opened my knife. He was singing--I couldn't catch the words--and to judge from that and from the way he walked, I should say he was as happy a man as any in London. He never once looked behind him; if he had, I would have struck him down. He stopped before the house where his father and mother lived, and stooped to the keyhole and listened. I was close upon him--waiting! If he hadn't been so much occupied, he might have smelt me at his back. But it wouldn't have saved him if he had seen me; he would only have been struck down the sooner. While he was listening at the keyhole, he laughed quietly, enjoying the surprise he was going to give his people. When he had his laugh out, he knocked at the door. Presently I heard a woman's voice inside the house ask, 'Who's there?' 'It's Josh,' said my man. I heard a cry of pleasure; and as the door was being unfastened, I raised my knife, and stabbed him in the back."

"And killed him?" cried Solomon Fewster involuntarily.

"I don't know. He fell; and as I ran off, I caught a glimpse of a woman kneeling by him in the snow, and raising his head to her bosom."

Solomon Fewster groaned. Without another word he opened the door by which the Lascar had entered, and walked into the open air. The snow-fall had ceased, and the stars were shining. The moon, too, had risen, and clouds of light and deep shade were gliding swiftly across it, while everchanging shadows were playing on the snow. In the distance he heard the waits; they were a long way off, and the strains of music fell upon his ears chastened and mellowed. He was in danger; he had allied himself with this man, who made so light of the shedding of blood; and he had been made a confederate in perhaps a murder. Not that he had any compunction; not that he had any pity. Nothing would have rejoiced him more than to have heard that Joshua had been killed in a mutiny, had been wrecked, or had lost his life on sea or on land by any means, so that he was not implicated in it. The feelings that disturbed him now were purely selfish; he had to save himself from suspicion, supposing any discovery were made. Perhaps it would be best, after all, to speak plainly to the Lascar. There were no witnesses, and it did not matter much what he said. If Joshua were dead, the Lascar must be got rid of at any sacrifice of money. Thus resolving, he returned to the room. The Lascar was sitting patiently before the fire, and did not even raise his eyes as Mr. Fewster entered. "He did not know what I went out for," thought Mr. Fewster. "I might have gone for a policeman, and if I had brought one in, he would have declared I was his accomplice."

"Has it left off snowing, master?" asked the Lascar.

"Yes."

"Then it wouldn't be quite safe for me to go away to-night--safe for you, I mean."

"You can stop here to-night."

"Thank you, master. Have I done well?"

"It doesn't matter whether I say you have done well or ill; so, to save argument, suppose I say you have done well. Now, attend. If what you have done to-night should turn out to be"--

"Say murder, master," said the Lascar, seeing that Mr. Fewster hesitated to speak plainly. "I don't mind."

"If it should turn out to be that, have you considered that you are in danger?"

"I haven't thought of it, master, and that's a fact. But if I am in danger, so are you."

"That may or may not be. The only danger I am in is from what you might say; and, supposing I had spoken to you only once in my life, you would be free to say any thing of me, or of any one else, for that matter. What you might say wouldn't be evidence, you know."

"True, master: but, at all events, I could ruin your chances with pretty Ellen Taylor."

"What satisfaction would that be to you?"

"Every satisfaction," said the Lascar with a kindling eye. "If any one hurts me, I hurt him."

"As you have hurt Joshua Marvel, because he hurt you."

"And because I am in your service," said the Lascar doggedly. "Don't forget that, please; I don't intend to forget it. If this is to be a fair argument, let it be fair. If it is to be acting, let it be acting. What I have done to-night is half for me and half for you: equal shares."

"I told you once that I would have no partnerships," said Mr. Fewster in a steady voice, "and I will have none; but I don't mind coming to a distinct understanding. If what you have done to-night should turn out at its worst"--

"Or its best," interrupted the Lascar sneeringly.

"It will not be safe for you to remain in the country. To please you, I will say it will not be safe for you or for me."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Lascar thoughtfully. "I think I understand you. Well, in that case there are plenty of countries I shouldn't mind going to; or I might go aboard ship again. How much will you give me?"

"A hundred pounds."

"Agreed, master,--if it should turn out at its worst, as you say. But if it does not, I stay, mind you."

"That is your affair."

"As much yours as mine, master," said the Lascar with determination.

"What makes you harp upon that, you dog?" exclaimed Mr. Fewster, firing up.

"Necessity," replied the Lascar coolly. He liked the life of indolence he had been leading, and he did not intend to relinquish his hold of Solomon Fewster. "I have no money, and no means of living. You have acted fairly to me up to now, and you must continue to do so. You can afford it, that's certain. I know what it is you fear. You fear that it should be known that I am in your service. Well, no one shall know it from me; and I will never come here again. You know where I stay. What you have to give me, leave there for me; and when you want me, send for me. I am your dog, ready to do your bidding. I can't speak fairer. There's no occasion for any more palaver. I'm tired and sleepy; I can sleep here, before the fire." He stretched himself on the ground by the side of the fire. "Silence gives consent, they say. If you don't speak, I shall understand that the affair is settled. You wanted a distinct understanding, you know."

He closed his eyes, and listened for the answer. The answer came--in silence; for Solomon Fewster spoke not another word that night. The Lascar, made drowsy by the glare from the fire, courted sleep; and it came to him, as it comes to better men. And Solomon Fewster sat, looking down upon the form of the man who could blast his good name by a word, and thought--What? Once during the night the Lascar awoke with a shiver. The fire had gone out; but Solomon Fewster was still sitting at the table with a haggard look upon his face, as if he had suddenly grown old.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE RIVALRY OF LOVE.

A silence almost like the silence of the grave reigned in the house of the Marvels. If, by some chance, a blind man had found his way there, he might reasonably have wondered whether it was tenanted by ghosts or human beings. The persons in the house walked about it with such a ghostly motion that scarcely a footfall could be heard. The doors were opened and shut as tenderly as if wounds were being handled, and as if rough treatment would cause them to cry out with pain. The very voices were hushed and low, and what was said was said in whispers. The blow by which Joshua had been struck down was a severe one, and wounded many besides himself. Notwithstanding Minnie's efforts, Joshua had lost a great deal of blood, and was laid on a sick-bed for many weeks. For a long time the doctor feared for his life; but good nursing and a strong constitution were in his favor.

"But mind you, Mrs. Marvel," the doctor had said, half-a-dozen times, "nothing would have saved him--not even his constitution, and it's a good one; not even the nursing he has had, and no man ever had better--nothing would have saved him if Miss Kindred had not behaved like a heroine. You may thank that young lady for saving your son's life. If she hadn't stopped the flow of blood with her lips, all the doctors in London couldn't have kept him in the world for twenty-four hours."

When Minnie was told of this, she went to her room and locked herself in.

"I have saved him!" she said to herself, weeping tears of delicious joy. "I have saved his life! Oh, what happiness! I could die now, I am so happy!"

It might have been better for her if she had died then with those words upon her lips.

During the time that Joshua was in the greatest danger, Mrs. Marvel would allow no one but herself to sit up with him at night. She had a bed made up on the floor, and rested there, taking, indeed, but little sleep, until Joshua was out of danger. Minnie, especially, had pleaded hard to be allowed to sit up with her; but Mrs. Marvel was firm. Although she would not have confessed it even to herself, she was jealous of the girl's solicitude; and once expressed herself angrily because Minnie had offered to give Joshua his medicine. Afterwards, seeing Minnie in tears, Mrs. Marvel kissed her and begged her pardon in a gentle, motherly way, which made Minnie cry the more. Mrs. Marvel found Minnie more difficult to manage than Ellen. Ellen was wonderfully undemonstrative and wonderfully obedient. And besides, Ellen was never in the way when she was not wanted, and was always at hand the instant she was required. There was an instinctive sympathy between Mrs. Marvel and Ellen which did not exist between Mrs. Marvel and Minnie. The good mother loved both the girls, but she loved Ellen like a daughter. In the second week of Joshua's illness a circumstance occurred which, for a short time, occasioned Mrs. Marvel much anxious thought. Joshua being more feverish than usual--for three weeks he was delirious, and did not know where he was, or who were tending him--the girls hovered about the room (in their anxiety to be of some assistance) rather later than Mrs. Marvel generally allowed them.

"Go to bed, girls," said Mrs. Marvel.

Ellen rose obediently, and kissing Mrs. Marvel, and asking to be called if Mrs. Marvel wanted assistance in the night, went softly out of the room. But Minnie lingered behind, and with a yearning, wistful look at Mrs. Marvel, begged, in the softest of whispers, to be allowed to sit up with her.

"No, child," said Mrs. Marvel, "I can't think of it. You would be of no use to me to-morrow if you were to sit up to-night."

"Oh, yes, I should!" said Minnie, still pleading; "you don't know what a strong girl I am. Do let me stop with you! Do let me think that I can do something to help you!"

"You can do a great deal if you obey me, Minnie; and you do assist me very much, my dear; but I will not let you sit up to-night. Hush!" For here Joshua said something aloud, and murmured feverishly in his sleep. When he was quiet, Mrs. Marvel said, "Don't distress me, dear Minnie; go to bed, like a good girl."

Minnie, with deep sighs, went to the bedside to look at Joshua and to bid him a silent goodnight--Mrs. Marvel regarding her jealously the while--and then crept out of the room in tears. The girls being gone, Mrs. Marvel felt more contented. She sat down by her son's bedside, and, with that lightness of touch which nothing but a mother's pure love or that of a wife can impart, smoothed the bed-coverings, and brushed the hair from Joshua's eyes. At about eleven o'clock the handle of the door was gently turned, and Mr. Marvel entered. He had no boots on, and she had not heard him come up from the kitchen. Clasping his wife's hand, he leaned over the bed to catch a glimpse of Joshua's face.

"He is better to-night, George," she said; "he is getting along nicely. The doctor said to-day that he will soon be sensible."

George Marvel nodded, and put his lips to his wife's cheek.

"You must be very tired, Maggie."

She replied by a bright smile.

"Shall I sit up for an hour while you lie down?"

"Yes, father," knowing it would please him. "Have you had supper?"

A nod.

"And your beer?"

Another nod.

"And your pipe?"

"Yes; Ellen got every thing ready nicely. She is like you were when you were a girl, Maggie."

"Better than me, father."

"That's not possible, wife." Ah! how her heart fluttered as he said the word! She trembled in his arms like a girl. "Now lie down; I'll wake you in an hour."

She had but to close her eyes--being satisfied that her darling son was in good hands--and she was asleep. George Marvel watched for an hour, and perhaps a little longer, and then touched his wife, who was instantly awake. Alone again, Mrs. Marvel resumed her loving vigil. Not a sound was to be heard except the occasional prattle of Joshua, now of Dan and the birds, now of "father" and "mother," now of Ellen, now of Minnie and her shell. Mrs. Marvel had already learned, through those unconscious confessions, that her son's heart was as tender and as good as it had been before he had started in life for himself. A few minutes after the church-clock had struck two, Mrs. Marvel fancied she heard a soft breathing, outside the bedroom-door. She listened intently, thinking she must have been deceived; but no--the soft breathing, as of some one asleep, came distinctly to her ears. She went to the door and opened it, and, lying at the foot of the stairs in the narrow passage, she discovered Minnie, in her night-dress, fast asleep. The girl had evidently kept awake until Ellen and Sarah were asleep, and had then stolen down stairs, and had sat outside the door of the sick-room until she had been overpowered by fatigue. Mrs. Marvel stooped over the sleeping girl and whispered,--

"Minnie!"

The sound of her name, chiming in with some dreaming fancy, brought a happy smile to the girl's lips, and she answered,--

"Yes, Joshua!"

A look of pain passed into Mrs. Marvel's face; she knelt by Minnie's side, and gently raising the girl's head, she whispered again,--

"Minnie! You'll catch your death of cold lying here."

Minnie, still sleeping, encircled Mrs. Marvel's neck with her arms, and murmured, as she nestled close to the anxious mother's breast,--

"Joshua! Love me! Love me, Joshua!"

Mrs. Marvel trembled as she looked upon the girl's fair face, made fairer by the happy smile playing about the lips, and she felt a sudden chill at her heart.

"Oh, my poor Minnie!" she said beneath her breath. "Oh, my poor, poor Minnie!"

Then by a strong effort, she raised the girl, and so awoke her.

Before Minnie had time to recover full consciousness, her name, uttered by Joshua in his fevered sleep, fell upon her ears. With a glad cry she sprang from Mrs. Marvel's arms into the sick-room; but Mrs. Marvel stepped swiftly before her, and taking her two hands prisoner, said, in a voice which, although very low, was stern and decided, "I am seriously angry with you, Minnie."

The sudden movements, the light in the room, and, above all, Mrs. Marvel's stern voice, restored Minnie to her senses. She dropped her head, and a hot blush of shame stole over her neck and face, while the hands which Mrs. Marvel held turned cold as ice. All Mrs. Marvel's sternness was gone, and pity only remained.

"Forgive me," Minnie pleaded.

"I do, child," said Mrs. Marvel, more agitated than Minnie was. "I was obliged to speak sternly, or I should not have been able to wake you. Go to bed now, and be more obedient for the future."

Minnie walked humbly into the passage, whither Mrs. Marvel followed her.

"Ah, not like that!" sighed Minnie, as Mrs. Marvel turned to enter the room. "Not like that! Kiss me, and say again that you forgive me."

And Mrs. Marvel, distressed and pitiful, kissed Minnie, who clung to her for a few moments, sobbing quietly, and then crept to bed.

But who had struck the blow? Who was it that, waiting with malicious cunning until Joshua's foot was on the threshold of the home where so many loving hearts were eager to welcome him, had foully struck him down? Susan was the only one who had any suspicion; but she did not mention it, for she had not seen the Lascar for many months. When Minnie was questioned, she declared that she saw no one in the street. A neighbor asked why one of the men in the house did not look for footsteps in the snow and follow up the track. They could not tell why they had not done so; it would have been the right thing to do, undoubtedly, but it had not occurred to them. When Joshua was sufficiently recovered, he could not assist them. He was examined and cross-examined closely. Did he suspect any of the sailors? No; he was good friends with every person on board; was even a favorite with the captain and officers. Ah! perhaps it sprang from that, they said; one of his mates might have been jealous of him. No; he was certain not one of them was. His own opinion was that he had been stabbed by a thief who wanted to rob him. But there! what was the use of bothering about it? Here he was, getting well and strong again, when it might have been so much worse. Thank God, in a few weeks he would be as well as ever! The day that Joshua was out of danger, the doctor told him that his life had been saved by Minnie.

"In what way, sir?" asked Joshua.

"Don't you remember that, when you were struck"--commenced the doctor. But Joshua interrupted him by saying that he remembered nothing from that moment.

"I was walking along, too much occupied with the happiness of coming home to think of any thing else. I remember looking at the houses in the street, and stopping before our house. I heard voices inside, or I thought I did. Indeed, it might have been fancy. I stooped to listen, and then knocked. Some one asked--ah, now I remember! It was Minnie's voice asking who was there. Just as I answered, a dizziness came over me; I did not even know that I was struck."

"As you answered," said the doctor, taking up the narrative where Joshua dropped it, "Minnie opened the door. She saw you falling, and saw blood flowing from your neck. She threw herself by your side, and put her lips to the wound, and pressed so as to cause the blood to flow less freely. I honestly believe that if she had not done that, your life would not have been saved."

Joshua did not pursue the conversation, and the doctor did not recur to the subject again. The following afternoon Joshua said to his mother,--

"Mother, I want to speak to Minnie."

Mrs. Marvel, a little uneasily, went for Minnie, who came and sat by Joshua's bed.

"Are you better, Joshua?" asked the girl.

"Yes, dear Minnie," answered Joshua.

They spoke in whispers. Joshua put out his big hand, and Minnie clasped it.

"Your hand is quite cold, Minnie." Minnie, indeed, was very agitated. "I owe you my life, dear Minnie, and I want to thank you for it. It almost seems to me, after what I have been told, as if my life belonged to you. Thank you, dear little Minnie--you used to like me to call you that!--thank you a thousand thousand times. I shall never be able to repay you!"

"I don't want payment, Joshua," said Minnie, when the wild beating of her heart was subdued. "It brought its own payment with it. It is, and ever will be, my sweetest remembrance. O Joshua! as the greatest unhappiness that ever could occur to me would be"--(to lose you, she was about to say, but she checked the words in time)--"to know that you would not recover, so the greatest happiness that I have ever experienced is to think that I have done you some little service."

"Little service! The greatest service, the most devoted action that woman could do to man! Perhaps--who knows?--one day I may be able to repay you in my own way." As if those words were not sufficient for her, who would have given her life for his. "Stoop down Minnie!" She inclined her head to the pillow. "Little Minnie, little Minnie!" he whispered tenderly, and he placed his lips to her cheek. "Thank you for your devotion."

It was fortunate for Minnie that it was dusk, and that her back was towards Mrs. Marvel, or the good mother would have had further cause for anxiety and uneasiness in Minnie's trembling form and flushed face. As it was, there was a long silence in the room; and Mrs. Marvel, approaching softly to the bed to see if Joshua was asleep, broke the happy reverie into which Minnie had fallen.

Solomon Fewster came to the house every day to inquire after Joshua, and went away every day with content in his face and despair in his heart. If ever a man played a double part, he played it during that time. "If he would but die!" he thought many and many a time. "If mortification would set in, or erysipelas, or something that would kill him!" And "I am truly happy to hear it," he said, many and many a time, to Mrs. Marvel, as in answer to his inquiries she told him that Joshua was improving rapidly. "I have brought a little jelly for him," which Mrs. Marvel received thankfully. At other times he would bring a chicken or some other delicacy to tempt Joshua's appetite, and would walk from the house with earnest wishes that what he left would choke the invalid. "I shall never forget Mr. Fewster's kindness," said Mrs. Marvel. "I feel quite angry with myself; for I did not give him credit for so much good feeling. But it is just in such times as these that a man shows the real goodness of his heart." And Mr. Fewster met with his reward immediately; for they were all grateful to him for his attention to Joshua. Mr. Marvel always had a hearty word for him, Minnie always a bright look, Ellen always a kind welcome now. But it was both sweet and bitter to him. "Ellen looks kindly upon me," he thought, and thought truly, "because I profess myself kind to Joshua. Will it ever be otherwise? Yes; if money can make it so, it shall be. And money can do much."

Yes, money can do much; but it cannot buy love, although it is often paid for it.

The most delicious three months of Joshua's life dated from the day on which the doctor declared him to be out of danger. He lived in an atmosphere of love. Loving hearts, loving hands, loving looks, loving thoughts, surrounded him. Is it better to have those than to be great and rich and powerful? Too modest for ambition are such blessings. Yet are they the sweetest, the holiest attributes of life. Of life, which is nothing without pleasures which cost money. Of life, which is not worth the living without fine linen and rich food. Of life, which is useless without the restless striving, the absorbing ambition, which make up the sum of human progress. Of Life, the Paradox!

Something which has fallen out of its proper place may be motioned here. When Joshua was carried into the house on that memorable Christmas night, two things that had fallen from his hands were picked up from the snow and carried in after him. On of these was his accordion, the other was a white cockatoo in a cage, which Joshua had brought home from the South Seas. Whether it was that the cockatoo was overwhelmed at finding itself in a strange land, or that it deemed it necessary to be silent in the distressing circumstances of the case, it certainly behaved itself in a most exemplary manner, and gave no indication that it possessed a tongue. The cockatoo was taken to Dan's house, which was but a very few doors from Joshua's, and two or three days afterwards Dan was startled by hearing his name called in a strange loud voice. He looked up at Ellen, and asked if she had spoken. She had just time to say "No" when her name was called in the same strange loud voice.

"Why, it's the cockatoo!" exclaimed Dan.

Sure enough, it was the cockatoo, which, now that its tongue was loosened, made as much use of it as a woman could have done. Its stock of language was not large, consisting only of a shrill "Dan!" a shrill "Dan and Jo!" a shrill "Ellen!" a shrill "Minnie!" and a softer articulation of "Bread-and-cheese and kisses! and kisses! and kisses!" winding up with a volley of kisses, which it continued until it was completely out of breath. No stronger proof of Joshua's attachment could have been received by Dan and Ellen. Dan was much affected by it.

"You see how he was thinking of us all the time he was away," he said to Ellen, with tears in his eyes. "What shall I do if he dies!"

But Joshua did not die, and it was not very long afterwards that Dan was sitting in his friend's bedroom, surrounded by his birds as usual. It was like the old time come over again. Here they were, man and man, talking often as if they were boys. So much had to be told! The loss of Dan's parents, Dan entering into business, and how they all came to be living together. "Wonderful, wonderful!" said Joshua, again and again. "Like a story in a book."

"Just what I said," said Dan; "like a romance."

Who should come to the house one day but the captain of Joshua's ship. the "Merry Andrew"? The part he plays in this story is a small one, but eventful enough in all conscience. He was a shrewd man of business and a good officer. It was to his interest to have good men about him; for he was the principal owner of the ship, and he was remarkably sensible in any matter affecting his interests. He had heard of what had occurred to Joshua, and he was very sorry for it, because he had been so satisfied with Joshua's conduct on board his ship, that he had determined to make the young sailor his third mate on the next voyage. Therein he showed his eccentricity; most other captains would have chosen a man who had already filled that position satisfactorily. But Captain Liddle liked to judge for himself, and Joshua had found favor in his eyes. The young sailor was steady and attentive, and had made some progress in the study of navigation. There was one especial reason why Captain Liddle wanted steady men with him on his next voyage. He was about to get married, and he was going to take his young wife with him. There was great excitement in the house when Captain Liddle announced himself. Joshua, who was in bed, wanted to rise, but Captain Liddle would not allow him.

"Lie easy, lie easy, Marvel," he said: "you'll get better all the sooner."

"I hoped to come with you, sir, on your next voyage," said Joshua.

"Well, I had some thought of that myself," said Captain Liddle.

"Do you go out soon, sir?"

"Not for three months, Marvel; perhaps not for four. The ship's undergoing a thorough overhauling. She'll have a precious freight in her next trip."

"What loading, sir?"

Captain Liddle's eyes twinkled. "Female. Lie easy, lie easy, Marvel;" for Joshua had given another start. "Mrs. Captain Liddle. I shall be married soon, and my wife goes out with me."

Joshua murmured respectful congratulations.

"Thank you, thank you, Marvel. Now, I'll tell you what I have come especially for. First, though, how long before you are well?"

"I am well now, sir."

"Strong, I mean; able to get about and do your work like a man."

"Not for two months, I am afraid, sir."

"That will do. Now, then. You get strong in two months, and you shall go out with me in my next trip as third mate of the 'Merry Andrew.' Lie easy, lie easy, Marvel. What do you say to it, eh?"

"Say to it, sir! O"--

"Lie easy, lie easy, my lad. When you get strong come to the ship, and write a few lines soon telling me how strong you are getting. Mrs. Marvel, your son is a good sailor, and will make a good officer. And this is Dan, that you told me of once? A good head; but not so strong in the legs as Marvel, eh?"

"No, sir," said Dan with a bright smile, for he was overjoyed at Joshua's good fortune; "but it wouldn't do for all of us to be strong sir; consider the doctors."

"Why, here is a ship, ropes and sails and all! And birds!"

Obedient to Dan's signal, the sailor-birds flew up the ropes, and stood on the slender cross-trees, as proud as if they had passed their lives in the service.

"Good--good!" said Captain Liddle. "For sale, eh?"

"No; they are not mine sir; they belong to an old sailor."

"Very proper. Ah, young lady," to Minnie, who had been in the room, but in the background, during the captain's visit; "and what do you think of the sea?"

"If I had been a man, sir," said Minnie modestly and quietly, "I should like to have been a sailor."

"Very proper--very proper. Good-day, Marvel. Get strong as quickly as you can. You'll have to superintend cargo."

Mr. Marvel, coming home at night, was told the good news before he had time to take the comforter from his neck. He ran up stairs at once to his son's room. "A sailor first, and then a captain," he exclaimed, recalling Joshua's words when he first announced his wish. "Do you remember, Josh?

"Yes, father, yes," said Joshua eagerly.

"It's better than being a wood-turner, Josh," said George Marvel triumphantly.

"I should think so, indeed. You'll see!"

"There, Maggie!" observed Mr. Marvel to his wife later on in the evening. "What did I tell you? And you was against it all the while, and wanted him to be a wood-turner. He'll be a captain before he's thirty."

"He is spared, I hope, for great things." said Mrs. Marvel meekly; "and to be a blessing to us all."

That same night, Dan and Joshua and Ellen spent some very happy hours together. Minnie was with Susan attending her father, so that the three were undisturbed. Mrs. Marvel opened the door once; but seeing the group, and observing how engrossed they were, she shut it softly, and went down again into the kitchen. Once, also, George Marvel was going out of the kitchen when his wife called to to him,--

"Where are you going, father?"

"To Joshua's room."

"Don't go, George. Come and sit down; I want to speak to you."

Mr. Marvel resumed his seat, and Mrs. Marvel refilled his pipe and handed it to him, with a light, "There! smoke your pipe and don't be so restless."

He took a few whiffs, and asked who was with Joshua.

"Ellen and Dan; and they are very happy and comfortable. I peeped in once, and I wouldn't disturb them."

"Oh!" said Mr. Marvel reflectively dwelling lengthily upon that smallest of words.

"I have reasons, George," said Mrs. Marvel quietly. "I never saw Ellen look so happy and pretty as she looks tonight."

Mr. Marvel nodded two or three times with an expression of satisfaction. "Do you think, mother," he commenced; and then he paused, and repeated, "Do you think, mother, that"--and then he paused again, as if he had said enough to make his meaning clear.

"Yes, I do, George," said Mrs. Marvel. "I had my doubts, but now I really think it will be so."

"That will be a real good thing;" rubbing his hands. "Here's hoping so!" and he drank a full glass of beer to his mysterious toast.

What was going on up stairs that the wood-turner and his wife were loath to interrupt? Merely a recalling of old reminiscences and a closer drawing together of three hearts, which might have been one, for the undivided affection for each other with which they were filled.

"Thinking of then, when every thing before us was so uncertain, and of now, when every thing before us is so bright and clear," said Joshua, "makes me almost believe that our ways are shaped for us, and that, if we strive to do our duty, our reward is certain."

"It is too deep a question for us, Jo," said Dan; "so many considerations spring out of it. As to whether every good man is happy. As to whether every man who strives to do right is spared pain and misery. At all events, it is certain that the very best thing to do is to do what is right, and to be straightforward and honest. It is not too often done, I am afraid. I haven't seen any thing of the world, but it strikes me that that is not the way of it."

"If ever I am captain of a ship--and I may be, Dan--it looks promising"--

"That it does, Jo."

"You shall come with me a voyage. I will have every thing snug for you; hammock on deck the same as that day we spent with the Old Sailor--ah, what a day was that!"

"I can recall every moment of it; from the night before, when Ellen stood at the window watching the rain, and my waking up in the morning waiting for you to come--oh, so anxiously! And the flowers, and the birds--the poor birds!--and the breakfast, and the ride! I tell you what, Jo, stories could be made out of these things. But the day wouldn't have been the day it was if Ellen had not been with us."

Ellen smiled, and her eyes sparkled.

"Every thing connected with it is so vivid to my mind just now," said Joshua, "that it only wants one thing to make it complete; and that is for Ellen to sing 'Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses,' as she sang it in the Old Sailor's cabin."

Ellen, in a low voice, sang the song; and they were silent for a long while, musing happily. Then Joshua made a remark that his pillow was not nicely arranged, and Ellen smoothed it for him. Her arm necessarily was round his neck for a moment--only for a moment by her own will; for when she would have withdrawn it, Joshua held it there, and she, with impulse as pure as pure heart and mind could make it, allowed it to remain. What wonder that a silence of longer duration followed?

Ah! if a magic spell had fallen upon them then, a spell that would have transfixed them and made their happiness eternal!

Not one of them knew how long that blissful trance lasted. It was broken by the slightest sound--it might have been the opening of a door, or even the light tread of our old friend the tortoise-shell cat--but whatever the sound was, the trance was at an end, and they were all awake again. Ellen withdrew her arm, and, with downcast eyes, hurriedly left the room. Joshua turned to Dan, and holding out his hand, said, "Dan, take my hand, and say, Brother Jo."

"I do. Brother Jo!"

"That's good; isn't it, Dan?"

"Yes, Jo."

"Brothers more than in heart, Dan, as we have always been. But Brothers really and truly, if Ellen says yes."

"Ellen loves you, Jo. You have but to ask." He paused for a little while before he spoke again. "There is something in my mind that it is right you should know. It is the only thing I have ever kept from you; but now, since you have told me about yourself and Ellen"--

"Did you ever doubt it, Dan?"

"I wasn't certain, Jo. You have removed a great weight from my heart. It seems strange that now, when I see the almost certain prospect of your future being as bright as we used to hope it would be--it seems strange that I cannot say I am happy. Yet one thing would make me so perfectly."

"There is no cloud between you and me, Dan?"

"None--nor ever will be, brother of my heart. But a great hope, shadowed by a great fear, has entered into my soul--a hope which fulfilled, would make earth heaven for me. Is it too precious a thing to pray for? It seems so to me. I tremble as I think of it. But if it is not to be, I hope I shall soon die."

"Dan!" cried Joshua in alarm, for Dan's last words were like a cry of agony.

"Haven't you seen it, Jo? Haven't you suspected it? I love her so that, if I knew she were lost to me, I scarcely think I could live. I love her so that, if she were lost to me, some stronger motive, some stronger feeling than any I can now think of; would have to animate me to make my future less black than the blackest night."

"You mean Minnie, Dan?"

"Yes; she is my light. Ah, Jo! How I love her! I have never spoken of it till now; I have never dared to breathe it. And now that I speak of it for the first time, it frightens me."

"Nay, Dan, take courage. You are frightened by shadows."

"If I could think so!" mused Dan in a less agitated voice. "What can I, a cripple, offer her? Love? Yes, I can offer her that, pure and undefiled. Nothing more--nothing more! Keep my secret, Jo."

"Yes, Dan," said Joshua sadly.

"If all should come right in the end, Jo! You and Ellen, and me and Minnie!"

He trembled, and burying his face in his hands, thought of the happy night when the Old Sailor traced Joshua's course on the map, and when Minnie's arm was round his neck and her cheek had touched his. How many times had he thought of those few blissful moments, and what balm and comfort had the memory brought him!