Chapter 14

"He borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was able. — _Merchant of Venice_.

One other incident alone in the course of the voyage deserves to be mentioned; both because it served to bring out the characters of several people, and because it was not — what is? — without its lingering consequences.

Thorn and Rossitur had kept up indefatigably the game of teasing Fleda about her "English admirer," as they sometime styled him. Poor Fleda grew more and more sore on the subject. She thought it was very strange that two grown men could not find enough to do to amuse themselves without making sport of the comfort of a little child. She wondered they could take pleasure in what gave her so much pain; but so it was; and they had it up so often that, at last, others caught it from them, and, though not in malevolence, yet in thoughtless folly, many a light remark was made and question asked of her that set little Fleda's sensitive nerves a-quivering. She was only too happy that they were never said before Mr. Carleton — that would have been a thousand times worse. As it was, her gentle nature was constantly suffering from the pain or the fear of these attacks.

"Where's Mr. Carleton?" said her cousin, coming up one day.

"I don't know," said Fleda; "I don't know but he is gone up into one of the tops."

"Your humble servant leaves you to yourself a great while this morning, it seems to me. He is growing very inattentive."

"I wouldn't permit it. Miss Fleda, if I were you," said Thorn, maliciously. "You let him have his own way too much."

"I wish you wouldn't talk so, cousin Charlton!" said Fleda.

"But seriously," said Charlton, "I think you had better call him to account. He is very suspicious lately. I have observed him walking by himself, and looking very glum indeed. I am afraid he has taken some fancy into his head that would not suit you. I advise you to inquire into it."

"I wouldn't give myself any concern about it," said Thorn, lightly, enjoying the child's confusion and his own fanciful style of backbiting; "I'd let him go if he has a mind to, Miss Fleda. He's no such great catch. He's neither lord nor knight — nothing in the world but a private gentleman, with plenty of money, I dare say, but you don't care for that; and there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. I don't think much of him."

"He is wonderfully better than _you_," thought Fleda, as she looked in the young gentleman's face for a second, but she said nothing.

"Why, Fleda," said Charlton, laughing, "it wouldn't be a killing affair, would it? How has this English admirer of yours got so far in your fancy? praising your pretty eyes, eh? — eh?" he repeated, as Fleda kept a dignified silence.

"No," said Fleda, in displeasure; "he never says such things."

"No?" said Charlton. "What then! What does he say? I wouldn't let him make a fool of me, if I were you. Fleda — did he ever ask you for a kiss?"

"No!" exclaimed Fleda, half beside herself, and bursting into tears: " I wish you wouldn't talk so! How can you!"

They had carried the game pretty far that time, and thought best to leave it. Fleda stopped crying as soon as she could, lest somebody should see her; and was sitting quietly again, alone as before, when one of the sailors whom she had never spoken to, came by, and leaning over towards her with a leer as he passed, said —

"Is this the young English gentleman's little sweet-heart?"

Poor Fleda! She had got more than she could bear. She jumped up, and ran down into the cabin; and in her berth Mrs. Carleton found her some time afterwards, quietly crying, and most sorry to be discovered. She was exceeding unwilling to tell what had troubled her. Mrs. Carleton, really distressed, tried coaxing, soothing, reasoning, promising, in a way the most gentle and kind that she could use.

"Oh, it's nothing — it's nothing," Fleda said, at last, eagerly; "it's because I am foolish — it's only something they said to me."

"Who, love?"

Again was Fleda most unwilling to answer, and it was after repeated urging that she at last said —

"Cousin Charlton and Mr. Thorn."

"Charlton and Mr. Thorn! What did they say? What did they say, darling Fleda?"

"Oh, it's only that they tease me," said Fleda, trying hard to put an end to the tears which caused all this questioning, and to speak as if they were about a trifle. But Mrs. Carleton persisted.

"What do they say to tease you, love? What is it about? Guy, come in here, and help me to find out what is the matter with Fleda."

Fleda hid her face in Mrs. Carleton's neck, resolved to keep her lips sealed. Mr. Carleton came in, but to her great relief his question was directed not to her but his mother.

"Fleda has been annoyed by something those young men, her cousin and Mr. Thorn, have said to her; they tease her, she says, and she will not tell me what it is."

Mr. Carleton did not ask, and he presently left the state- room.

"Oh, I am afraid he will speak to them!" exclaimed Fleda, as soon as he was gone. "Oh, I oughtn't to have said that!"

Mrs. Carleton tried to soothe her, and asked what she was afraid of. But Fleda would not say any more. Her anxious fear that she had done mischief helped to dry her tears, and she sorrowfully resolved she would keep her griefs to herself next time.

Rossitur and Thorn were in company with a brother officer, and friend of the latter, when Mr. Carleton approached them.

"Mr. Rossitur and Mr. Thorn," said he, "you have indulged yourselves in a style of conversation extremely displeasing to the little girl under my mother's care. You will oblige me by abandoning it for the future."

There was certainly in Mr. Carleton's manner a sufficient degree of the cold haughtiness with which he usually expressed. Displeasure, though his words gave no other cause of offence. Thorn retorted rather insolently.

"I shall oblige myself in the matter, and do as I think proper."

"I have a right to speak as I please to my own cousin," said Rossitur, sulkily, "without asking anybody's leave. I don't see what you have to do with it."

"Simply that she is under my protection, and that I will not permit her to be annoyed."

"I don't see how she is under your protection," said Rossitur.

"And I do not see how the potency of it will avail in this case," said his companion.

"Neither position is to be made out in words," said Mr. Carleton, calmly. "You see that I desire there be no repetition of the offence, the rest I will endeavour to make clear, if I am compelled to it."

"Stop, Sir!" said Thorn, as the young Englishman was turning away, adding with an oath —"I wont bear this! You shall answer this to me, Sir!"

"Easily," said the other.

"And me, too," said Rossitur. "You have an account to settle with me, Carleton."

"I will answer what you please," said Carleton, carelessly; "and as soon as we get to land, provided you do not, in the meantime, induce me to refuse you the honour."

However incensed, the young men endeavoured to carry it off with the same coolness that their adversary showed. No more words passed; but Mrs. Carleton, possibly quickened by Fleda's fears, was not satisfied with the carriage of all parties, and resolved to sound her son, happy in knowing that nothing but truth was to be had from him. She found an opportunity that very afternoon, when he was sitting alone on the deck. The neighbourhood of little Fleda she hardly noticed. Fleda was curled up among her cushions, luxuriously bending over a little old black Bible, which was very often in her hand at times when she was quiet and had no observation to fear.

"Reading! always reading!" said Mrs. Carleton, as she came up and took a place by her son.

"By no means!" he said, closing his book with a smile; — "not enough to tire any one's eyes on this voyage, mother."

"I wish you liked intercourse with living society," said Mrs. Carleton, leaning her arm on his shoulder and looking at him rather wistfully.

"You need not wish that — when it suits me," he answered.

"But none suits you. Is there any on board?"

"A small proportion," he said, with the slight play of feature which always effected a diversion of his mother's thoughts, no matter in what channel they had been flowing.

"But those young men," she said, returning to the charge, "you hold yourself very much aloof from them?"

He did not answer, even by a look, but to his mother the perfectly quiet composure of his face was sufficiently expressive.

"I know what you think; but, Guy, you always had the same opinion of them?"

"I have never shown any other."

"Guy," she said, speaking low and rather anxiously, "have you got into trouble with those young men?"

"I am in no trouble, mother," he answered, somewhat haughtily; "I cannot speak for them."

Mrs. Carleton waited a moment.

"You have done something to displease them, have you not?"

"They have displeased me, which is somewhat more to the purpose."

"But their folly is nothing to you?"

"No — not their folly."

"Guy," said his mother, again pausing a minute, and pressing her hand more heavily upon his shoulder, "you will not suffer this to alter the friendly terms you have been on? — whatever it be, let it pass."

"Certainly; if they choose to apologize, and behave themselves."

"What — about Fleda?"

"Yes."

"I have no idea they meant to trouble her; I suppose they did no at all know what they were doing — thoughtless nonsense — and they could have had no design to offend you. Promise me that you will not take any further notice of this."

He shook off the beseeching hand as he rose up, and answered haughtily, and not without something like an oath, that he _would_.

Mrs. Carleton knew him better than to press the matter any further; and her fondness easily forgave the offence against herself, especially as her son almost immediately resumed his ordinary manner.

It had well nigh passed from the minds of both parties, when in the middle of the next day, Mr. Carleton asked what had become of Fleda? — he had not seen her except at the breakfast-table. Mrs. Carleton said she was not well.

"What's the matter?"

"She complained of some headache — I think she made herself sick yesterday — she was crying all the afternoon, and I could not get her to tell me what for. I tried every means I could think of, but she would not give me the least clue — she said 'No' to everything I guessed — I can't bear to see her do so — it makes it all the worse she does it so quietly — it was only by a mere chance I found she was crying at all, but I think she cried herself ill before she stopped. She could not eat a mouthful of breakfast."

Mr. Carleton said nothing, and, with a changed countenance, went directly down to the cabin. The stewardess whom he sent in to see how she was, brought back word that Fleda was not asleep, but was too ill to speak to her. Mr. Carleton went immediately into the little crib of a state-room. There he found his little charge, sitting bolt upright, her feet on the rung of a chair, and her hands grasping the top to support herself. Her eyes were closed, her face without a particle of colour, except the dark shade round the eyes which bespoke illness and pain. She made no attempt to answer his shocked questions and words of tender concern, not even by the raising of an eyelid, and he saw that the intensity of pain at the moment was such as to render breathing itself difficult. He sent off the stewardess with all despatch after iced water and vinegar and brandy, and himself went on an earnest quest of restoratives among the lady passengers in the cabin, which resulted in sundry supplies of salts and cologne, and also offers of service, in greater plenty still, which he all refused. Most tenderly and judiciously he himself applied various remedies to the suffering child, who could not direct him otherwise than by gently putting away the things which she felt would not avail her. Several were in vain. But there was one bottle of strong aromatic vinegar which was destined to immortalize its owner in Fleda's remembrance. Before she had taken three whiffs of it, her colour changed. Mr. Carleton watched the effect of a few whiffs more, and then bade the stewardess take away all the other things, and bring him a cup of fresh strong coffee. By the time it came Fleda was ready for it; and by the time Mr. Carleton had administered the coffee, he saw it would do to throw his mother's shawl round her, and carry her up on deck, which he did without asking any questions. All this while Fleda had not spoken a word, except once when he asked her if she felt better. But she had given him, on finishing the coffee, a full look and half smile of such pure affectionate gratitude, that the young gentleman's tongue was tied for some time after.

With happy skill, when he had safely bestowed Fleda among her cushions on deck, Mr. Carleton managed to keep off the crowd of busy inquirers after her well-doing, and even presently to turn his mother's attention another way, leaving Fleda to enjoy all the comfort of quiet and fresh air at once. He himself seeming occupied with other things, did no more but keep watch over her, till he saw that she was able to bear conversation again. Then he seated himself beside her, and said softly —

"Elfie, what were you crying about all yesterday afternoon?"

Fleda changed colour, for, soft and gentle as the tone was, she heard in it a determination to have the answer; and looking up beseechingly into his face, she saw in the steady full blue eye, that it was a determination she could not escape from. Her answer was an imploring request that he would not ask her. But taking one of her little hands and carrying it to his lips, he in the same tone repeated his question. Fleda snatched away her hand, and burst into very frank tears; Mr. Carleton was silent, but she knew through his silence that he was only quietly waiting for her to answer him.

"I wish you wouldn't ask me, Sir," said poor Fleda, who still could not turn her face to meet his eye — "It was only something that happened yesterday."

"What was it, Elfie? — You need not be afraid to tell me."

"It was only — what you said to Mrs. Carleton yesterday — when she was talking —"

"About my difficulty with those gentlemen!"

"Yes," said Fleda, with a new gush of tears, as if her grief stirred afresh at the thought.

Mr. Carleton was silent a moment; and when he spoke, there was no displeasure, and more tenderness than usual, in his voice.

"What troubled you in that, Elfie? tell me the whole."

"I was sorry, because it wasn't right," said Fleda, with a grave truthfulness which yet lacked none of her universal gentleness and modesty.

"What wasn't right?"

"To speak — I am afraid you wont like me to say it, Mr. Carleton."

"I will, Elfie for I ask you."

"To speak to Mrs. Carleton, so; and, besides, you know what you said, Mr. Carleton"

"It was _not_ right," said he, after a minute, "and I very seldom use such an expression, but you know one cannot always be on one's guard, Elfie."

"But," said Fleda, with gentle persistence, "one can always do what is right."

"The deuce one can!" thought Mr. Carleton to himself.

"Elfie, was this all that troubled you? that I had said what was not right?"

"It wasn't quite that only," said Fleda, hesitating.

"What else?"

She stooped her face from his sight, and he could but just understand her words.

"I was disappointed —"

"What, in me?"

Her tears gave the answer; she could add to them nothing but an assenting nod of her head.

They would have flowed in double measure if she had guessed the pain she had given. Her questioner heard her with a keen pang, which did not leave him. for days. There was some hurt pride in it, though other and more generous feelings had a far larger share. He, who had been admired, lauded, followed, cited, and envied, by all ranks of his countrymen and countrywomen; in whom nobody found a fault that could be dwelt upon, amid the lustre of his perfections and advantages — one of the first young men in England, thought so by himself, as well as by others — this little pure being had been _disappointed_ in him. He could not get over it. He reckoned the one judgment worth all the others. Those whose direct or indirect flatteries had been poured at his feet, were the proud, the worldly, the ambitious, the interested, the corrupted; their praise was given to what they esteemed, and that, his candour said, was the least estimable part of him. Beneath all that, this truth-loving, truth-discerning little spirit had found enough to weep for. She was right, and they were wrong. The sense of this was so keen upon him, that it was ten or fifteen minutes before he could recover himself to speak to his little reprover. He paced up and down the deck, while Fleda wept more and more from the fear of having offended or grieved him. But she was soon reassured on the former point. She was just wiping away her tears, with the quiet expression of patience her face often wore, when Mr. Carleton sat down beside her and took one of her hands.

"Elfie," said he, "I promise you I will never say such a thing again."

He might well call her his good angel, for it was an angelic look the child gave him; so purely humble, grateful, glad; so rosy with joyful hope; the eyes were absolutely sparkling through tears. But when she saw that his were not dry, her own overflowed. She clasped her other hand to his hand, and bending down her face affectionately upon it, she wept — if ever angels weep — such tears as they.

"Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, as soon as he could, "I want you to go down stairs with me; so dry those eyes, or my mother will be asking all sorts of difficult questions."

Happiness is a quick restorative. Elfie was soon ready to go where he would.

They found Mrs. Carleton fortunately wrapped up in a new novel, some distance apart from the other persons in the cabin. The novel was immediately laid aside to take Fleda on her lap, and praise Guy's nursing.

"But she looks more like a wax figure yet than anything else; don't she, Guy?"

"Not like any that ever I saw," said Mr. Carleton, gravely. "Hardly substantial enough. Mother, I have come to tell you I am ashamed of myself for having given you such cause of offence yesterday."

Mrs. Carleton's quick look, as she laid her hand on her son's arm, said sufficiently well that she would have excused him from making any apology, rather than have him humble himself in the presence of a third person.

"Fleda heard me yesterday," said he; "it was right she should hear me to-day."

"Then, my dear Guy," said his mother, with a secret eagerness which she did not allow to appear, "if I may make a condition for my forgiveness, which you had before you asked for it, will you grant me one favour?"

"Certainly, mother, if I can."

"You promise me?"

"As well in one word as in two."

"Promise me that you will never, by any circumstances, allow yourself to be drawn into — what is called an _affair of honour_."

Mr. Carleton's brow changed, and without making any reply, perhaps to avoid his mother's questioning gaze, he rose up and walked two or three times the length of the cabin. His mother and Fleda watched him doubtfully.

"Do you see how you have got me into trouble, Elfie?" said he, stopping before them.

Fleda looked wonderingly, and Mrs. Carleton exclaimed —

"What trouble!"

"Elfie," said he, without immediately answering his mother, "what would your conscience do with two promises, both of which cannot be kept?"

"What such promises have you made?" said Mrs. Carleton, eagerly.

"Let me hear first what Fleda says to my question."

"Why," said Fleda, looking a little bewildered, "I would keep the right one."

"Not the one first made?" said he, smiling.

"No," said Fleda; "not unless it was the right one."

"But don't you think one ought to keep one's word, in any event?"

"I don't think anything can make it right to do wrong," Fleda said, gravely, and not without a secret trembling consciousness to what point she was speaking.

He left them, and again took several turns up and down the cabin before he sat down.

"You have not given me your promise yet, Guy," said his mother, whose eye had not once quitted him. "You said you would."

"I said, if I could."

"Well, you can?"

"I have two honourable meetings of the proscribed kind now on hand, to which I stand pledged."

Fleda hid her face in an agony. Mrs. Carleton's agony was in every line of hers as she grasped her son's wrist, exclaiming, "Guy, promise me!" She had words for nothing else. He hesitated still a moment, and then meeting his mother's look, he said gravely and steadily —

"I promise you, mother, I never will."

His mother threw herself upon his breast, and hid her face there, too much excited to have any thought of her customary regard to appearances, sobbing out thanks and blessings even audibly. Fleda's gentle head was bowed in almost equal agitation; and Mr. Carleton at that moment had no doubt that he had chosen well which promise to keep.

There remained, however, a less agreeable part of the business to manage. After seeing his mother and Fleda quite happy again, though without satisfying in any degree the curiosity of the former, Guy went in search of the two young West Point officers. They were together, but without Thorn's friend Captain Beebee. Him Carleton next sought, and brought to the forward deck, where the others were enjoying their cigars; or rather, Charlton Rossitur was enjoying his with the happy self-satisfaction of a pair of epaulettes, off duty. Thorn had too busy a brain to be much of a smoker. Now, however, when it was plain that Mr. Carleton had something to say to them, Charlton's cigar gave way to his attention; it was displaced from his mouth, and held in abeyance, while Thorn puffed away more intently than ever.

"Gentlemen," Carleton began, "I gave you, yesterday, reason to expect that so soon as circumstances permitted, you should have the opportunity which offended honour desires of trying sounder arguments than those of reason upon the offender. I have to tell you to-day that I will not give it you. I have thought further of it."

"Is it a new insult that you mean by this, Sir?" exclaimed Rossitur, in astonishment. Thorn's cigar did not stir.

"Neither new nor old. I mean, simply, that I have changed my mind."

"But this is very extraordinary!" said Rossitur. "What reason do you give?"

"I give none, Sir."

"In that case," said Captain Beebee, "perhaps Mr. Carleton will not object to explain or unsay the things which gave offence yesterday."

"I apprehend there is nothing to explain, Sir — I think I must have been understood; and I never take back my words, for I am in the habit of speaking the truth."

"Then we are to consider this as a further unprovoked unmitigated insult, for which you will give neither reason nor satisfaction!" cried Rossitur.

"I have already disclaimed that, Mr. Rossitur."

"Are we, on mature deliberation, considered unworthy of the honour you so condescendingly awarded to us yesterday?"

"My reasons have nothing to do with you, Sir, nor with your friend; they are entirely personal to myself."

"Mr. Carleton must be aware," said Captain Beebee, "that his conduct, if unexplained, will bear a very strange construction."

Mr. Carleton was coldly silent.

"It never was heard of," the Captain went on, "that a gentleman declined both to explain and to give satisfaction for any part of his conduct which had called for it."

"It never was heard that a _gentleman_ did," said Thorn, removing his cigar a moment, for the purpose of supplying the emphasis, which his friend had carefully omitted to make.

"Will you say, Mr. Carleton," said Rossitur, "that you did not mean to offend us yesterday, in what you said?"

"No, Mr. Rossitur."

"You will not!" cried the Captain.

"No Sir; for your friends had given me, as I conceived, just cause of displeasure; and I was, and am, careless of offending those who have done so."

"You consider yourself aggrieved, then, in the first place?" said Beebee.

"I have said so, Sir."

"Then," said the Captain, after a puzzled look out to sea, "supposing that my friends disclaim all intention to offend you, in that case —"

"In that case I should be glad, Captain Beebee, that they had changed their line of tactics — there is nothing to change in my own."

"Then what are we to understand by this strange refusal of a meeting, Mr. Carleton? what does it mean?"

"It means one thing in my own mind, Sir, and probably another in yours; but the outward expression I choose to give it is, that I will not reward uncalled-for rudeness with an opportunity of self-vindication."

"You are," said Thorn, sneeringly, "probably careless as to the figure your own name will cut in connection with this story?"

"Entirely so," said Mr. Carleton, eyeing him steadily.

"You are aware that your character is at our mercy."

A slight bow seemed to leave at their disposal the very small portion of his character he conceived to lie in that predicament.

"You will expect to hear yourself spoken of in terms that befit a man who has cowed out of an engagement he dared not fulfil?"

"Of course," said Carleton, haughtily; "by my present refusal I give you leave to say all that, and as much more as your ingenuity can furnish in the same style; but not in my hearing, Sir."

"You can't help yourself," said Thorn, with the same sneer. "You have rid yourself of a gentleman's means of protection, — what others will you use?"

"I will leave that to the suggestion of the moment — I do not doubt it will be found fruitful."

Nobody doubted it who looked just then on his steady sparkling eye.

"I consider the championship of yesterday given up, of course," Thorn went on in a kind of aside, not looking at anybody, and striking his cigar against the guards to clear it of ashes; — "the champion has quitted the field, and the little princess but lately so walled in with defences must now listen to whatever knight and squire may please to address to her. Nothing remains to be seen of her defender but his spurs."

"They may serve for the heels of whoever is disposed to annoy her," said Mr. Carleton. "He will need them."

He left the group with the same air of imperturbable self- possession which he had maintained during the conference. But presently, Rossitur, who had his private reasons for wishing to keep friends with an acquaintance who might be of service in more ways than one, followed him, and declared himself to have been, in all his nonsense to Fleda, most undesirous of giving displeasure to her temporary guardian, and sorry that it had fallen out so. He spoke frankly, and Mr. Carleton, with the same cool gracefulness with which he had carried on the quarrel, waived his displeasure, and admitted the young gentleman apparently to stand as before in his favour. Their reconciliation was not an hour old when Captain Beebee joined them.

"I am sorry I must trouble you with a word more on this disagreeable subject, Mr. Carleton," he began, after a ceremonious salutation, "My friend, Lieutenant Thorn, considers himself greatly outraged by your determination not to meet him. He begs to ask, by me, whether it is your purpose to abide by it at all hazards?"

"Yes, Sir."

"There is some misunderstanding here, which I greatly regret. I hope you will see and excuse the disagreeable necessity I am. under of delivering the rest of my friend's message."

"Say on, Sir."

"Mr. Thorn declares that if you deny him the common courtesy which no gentleman refuses to another, he will proclaim your name with the most opprobrious adjuncts to all the world; and, in place of his former regard, he will hold you in the most unlimited contempt, which he will have no scruple about showing on all occasions."

Mr. Carleton coloured a little, but replied, coolly —

"I have not lived in Mr. Thorn's favour. As to the rest, I forgive him! — except indeed, he provoke me to measures for which I never will forgive him."

"Measures!" said the Captain.

"I hope not! for my own self-respect would be more grievously hurt than his. But there is an unruly spring somewhere about my composition, that when it gets wound up, is once in a while too much for me."

"But," said Rossitur, "pardon me, — have you no regard to the effect of his misrepresentations?"

"You are mistaken, Mr. Rossitur," said Carleton, slightly, "this is but the blast of a bellows — not the simoon."

"Then what answer shall I have the honour of carrying back to my friend?" said Captain Beebee, after a sort of astounded pause of a few minutes.

"None, of my sending, Sir."

Captain Beebee touched his cap, and went back to Mr. Thorn, to whom he reported that the young Englishman was thoroughly impracticable, and that there was nothing to be gained by dealing with him; and the vexed conclusion of Thorn's own mind, in the end, was in favour of the wisdom of letting him alone.

In a very different mood, saddened and disgusted, Mr. Carleton shook himself free of Rossitur, and went and stood alone by the guards, looking out upon the sea. He did not at all regret his promise to his mother, nor wish to take other ground than that he had taken. Both the theory and the practice of duelling he heartily despised, and he was not weak enough to fancy that he had brought any discredit upon either his sense or his honour by refusing to comply with an unwarrantable and barbarous custom. And he valued mankind too little to be at all concerned about their judgment in the matter. His own opinion was at all times enough for him. But the miserable folly and puerility of such an altercation as that in which he had just been engaged, the poor display of human character, the little, low passions which had been called up, even in himself, alike destitute of worthy cause and aim, and which had, perhaps, but just missed ending in the death of some, and the living death of others — it all wrought to bring him back to his old wearying of human nature and despondent eyeing of the every-where jarrings, confusions, and discordances in the moral world. The fresh sea-breeze that swept by the ship, roughening the play of the waves, and brushing his own cheek with its health-bearing wing, brought with. it a sad feeling of contrast. Free, and pure, and steadily directed, it sped on its way, to do its work. And, like it, all the rest of the natural world, faithful to the law of its Maker was stamped with the same signet of perfection. Only man, in all the universe, seemed to be at cross purposes with the end of his being. Only man, of all animate or inanimate things, lived an aimless, fruitless, broken life — or fruitful only in evil. How was this? and whence? and when would be the end? and would this confused mass of warring elements ever be at peace? would this disordered machinery ever work smoothly, without let or stop any more, and work out the beautiful. something for which sure it was designed? And could any hand but its first Maker mend the broken wheel, or supply the spring that was wanting?

Has not the Desire of all nations been often sought of eyes that were never taught where to look for Him?

Mr. Carleton was standing still by the guards, looking thoughtfully out to windward to meet the fresh breeze, as if the spirit of the wilderness were in it, and could teach him the truth that the spirit of the world knew not and had not to give, when he became sensible of something close beside him; and, looking down; met little Fleda's upturned face, with such a look of purity, freshness, and peace, it said as plainly as ever the dial-plate of a clock that _that_ little piece of machinery was working right. There was a sunlight upon it, too, of happy confidence and affection. Mr. Carleton's mind experienced a sudden revulsion. Fleda might see the reflection of her own light in his face as he helped her up to a stand where she could be more on a level with him, putting his arm round her to guard against any sudden roll of the ship.

"What makes you wear such a happy face?" said he, with an expression half envious, half regretful.

"I don't know!" said Fleda, innocently. "You I suppose."

He looked as bright as she did, for a minute.

"Were you ever angry, Elfie?"

"I don't know " said Fleda. " I don't know but I have."

He smiled to see that, although evidently her memory could not bring the charge, her modesty would not deny it.

"Were you not angry yesterday with your cousin and that unmannerly friend of his?"

"No," said Fleda, a shade crossing her face — "I was not _angry_ —"

And as she spoke, her hand was softly put upon Mr. Carleton's, as if partly in the fear of what might have grown out of _his_ anger, and partly in thankfulness to him that he had rendered it unnecessary. There was a singular delicate timidity and tenderness in the action.

"I wish I had your secret, Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, looking wistfully into the clear eyes that met his.

"What secret?" said Fleda, smiling.

"You say one can always do right — is that the reason you are happy? — because you follow that out?"

"No," said Fleda, seriously. "But I think it is a great deal pleasanter."

"I have no doubt at all of that — neither, I dare say, have the rest of the world; only, somehow, when it comes to the point, they find it is easier to do wrong. What's your secret, Elfie?"

"I haven't any secret," said Fleda. But presently seeming to bethink herself, she added gently and gravely —

"Aunt Miriam says —

"What?"

"She says that when we love Jesus Christ, it is easy to please him."

"And do you love him, Elfie?" Mr. Carleton asked, after a minute.

Her answer was a very quiet and sober "yes."

He doubted still whether she were not unconsciously using a form of speech, the spirit of which she did not quite realize. That one might "not see and yet believe," he could understand; but for _affection_ to go forth towards an unseen object was another matter. His question was grave and acute.

"By what do you judge that you do, Elfie?"

"Why, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with an instant look of appeal, "who else _should_ I love?"

"If not him" — her eye and her voice made sufficiently plain. Mr. Carleton was obliged to confess to himself that she spoke intelligently, with deeper intelligence than he could follow. He asked no more questions. Yet truth shines by its own light, like the sun. He had not perfectly comprehended her answers, but they struck him as something that deserved to be understood, and he resolved to make the truth of them his own.

The rest of the voyage was perfectly quiet. Following the earnest advice of his friend, Captain Beebee, Thorn had given up trying to push Mr. Carleton to extremity; who, on his part, did not seem conscious of Thorn's existence.