CHAPTER VII.

THE END OF THE VOYAGE.

There is no sadder word in the English language than "Farewell." How many quivering lips have said it with breaking hearts and scalding tears--the soldier marching away with flying banners and martial music--the emigrant sitting on deck, seeing the blue hills of the land of his birth fading away in the shadows of the night--the young man going forth into the world, and turning once more to see through tear-dimmed eyes the old house where he was born, and the lovers parting--never to meet again. Yes it is a sad word, and has caused more tears and heart-aches than any we use. Now that the voyage was coming to an end, those who had been in close companionship for nearly six weeks, knew that they must separate in a short time and, that the memory of the pleasant company on board the "Neptune" would soon be only a dream of the past. No wonder then, that as the steamer glided up the Thames, everyone was a little melancholy.

The voyage from Gibraltar had been pleasant. They had seen the famous Trafalgar Bay, where Nelson won his Waterloo--passed Cape St. Vincent in the night--caught a glimpse of the mouth of the Tagus in the early morning, and steamed safely through the Bay of Biscay, which did not act up to the reputation gained for it by the song, but was as calm as a mill-pond.

On arriving at Plymouth, some of the passengers had gone to London by rail, in preference to facing the chance of a collision in the English Channel. It was Ronald's first glimpse of England, and Chester, who was very patriotic, asked him what he thought of it?

"It's the best groomed country I've seen," said Ronald, with a smile, and, indeed, though the epithet was odd, it was very appropriate, for after all the barbaric colouring they had seen at Colombo--the arid rocks of Malta and Gibraltar, and the sandy shore of Port Said, this wonderfully, vividly green land, with fields and well-kept hedges cultivated down to the water's edge, looked, as the Australian said, "well groomed."

They anchored for about two hours at Plymouth, but there was no time to go on shore, so they gazed longingly at the quaint town so famous in English History. The Hoe--the bowling green where Sir Francis Drake played bowls when the Armada was descried "stretching out like a crescent,"--and Mount Edgecumbe, which the commander of the great fleet designed for his residence when England was conquered. Ronald stood silent, looking at all this beauty, when a remark of Pat's made him laugh.

"I say," said Pat, mindful of Colombo and Aden, to Chester, who was quite inflated with patriotic pride, "will the people here come off, and dive for pennies?"

Chester glared at him viciously, and then stalked away too indignant to speak, while all around roared at the queerness of the remark.

"Well I thought they might," explained Pat to his grinning auditors; "the natives did it at all the other places."

"There are no natives here confound you!" said Chester, who had returned.

"Oh, indade!" replied Pat innocently, "this England's inhabited by foreigners."

After this Chester concluded to leave Pat alone.

It was night when they sailed up the Channel, and they could see in the distance the twinkling lights of Folkestone, Dover, Margate, and all the other well-known places, and as it was the last night on board, there was a general jubilation in the smoking-room after the ladies had retired. Songs were sung, toasts were proposed, speeches were made, and when the electric light was put out, candles were produced, and the concert kept up far into the night, or rather morning, One gentleman said he could play musical glasses, and broke fifteen tumblers in demonstrating his ability to do so--then they had more liquor, sang "God save the Queen," and went off to bed one by one, and everything was quiet.

And what a curious appearance the deck presented next morning--everyone in his best--no more flannel suits and straw hats, but accurate frock coats and tall hats, while the ladies came out in dresses of the newest fashions. Knots of people were talking together--giving addresses, making appointments, and promising to write, until it was queer to hear the jargon like this:--

"You won't forget--the Alhambra you know--best shop in London--lace veils cheaper than----address will always find me--Piccadilly Circus, on----cheap hotel; just off--Margate's the jolliest--Oh! the devil take the--nicest girl you ever--set foot on shore," and so on, until Ronald, who stood by Carmela, could not help laughing. The Marchese was looking after his own things, and as Ronald had his luggage in perfect order, he had Carmela all to himself.

"So this is the Thames," he said, looking at the dull, leaden stream, flowing between the dingy banks.

"The Thames of commerce, not of poetry," she corrected, smiling, "you must come down to Marlow and see the real river."

"May I?" he asked, eagerly, thinking he detected an invitation in her tones.

"Of course you may," she answered, carelessly. "I don't control your movements."

"Not at present, but you might," he replied, hurriedly.

There was an awkward pause, luckily broken by Pat, who came rushing along with his usual impetuosity.

"Ah Miss Cotoner, an' is that you?" said Pat, dolefully; "the best of friends must part, and we may niver meet again."

"We might," answered Carmela, with a laugh; "the world is small."

"Begad, I wish me heart was," said Ryan, sadly; "it's large enough to hold all the girls on board--you included."

"Much obliged," retorted the young lady, with a bow, not in the least offended, for Pat was a licensed Jester; "but I'll not consent to be one of many."

"Ye'd rayther have one honest heart?" asked Pat, looking keenly at her.

She turned his remark off with a laugh.

"Depends upon the owner of the heart," she replied, gaily.

"Ah begad thin I'm out of it," said Pat, and ran off, leaving them in exactly the same awkward situation as he found them.

"What are you going to do when you reach London?" asked Carmela after a pause, during which Ronald kept his eyes on her face.

"Many things," he answered, calmly; "first I am going to set to work to find out who killed my friend Ventin."

"I'm sure I hope you will be successful," she replied, heartily; "but why in London--the crime was committed at Malta?"

"Yes, but the motive for the crime will, I think, be found in London."

"They say a woman killed him."

"I think so, but it is purely theoretical."

"I dare say; for what motive could any woman have for such a crime?"

"Do you think a woman always requires a motive?" She looked at him in surprise.

"Certainly I do; there can be no cause without an effect."

"In some cases yes," he replied, gravely; "in this case I believe the woman had no motive in committing the crime."

"Then why did she do it?" asked Carmela, looking at him.

"That is what I have to find out," he answered, and so the conversation ended.

It was one o'clock when the steamer got into St. Katherine's Docks, and on the shore crowds of people were waiting to meet their friends. No one, however, came to meet Pat and Ronald, so their mutual sense of loneliness drew them yet closer together.

"Where are you going to stop?" asked Pat, linking his arm in that of the Australian.

"The Tavistock," replied Ronald, "the Australian cricketers generally stop there, so it will feel home-like."

"I'll go there too," sail Ryan promptly, "we'll go to the Alhambra or the Empire to-night, and to-morrow call at the Langham."

"To see whom?"

"Oh a lot of passengers are going to stop there; Miss Lester among the number," said Pat, with a slight blush.

"Oh Pat, your heart is lost there," observed Ronald, smiling.

"And what about your own and the girl from Malta?" asked Pat, whereat Master Ronald also blushed, and the two friends went below to get their stewards to look after their luggage.

Among those who had come on board was a tall elderly gentleman, very straight and severe-looking, scrupulously dresses, with gold-rimmed spectacles, accompanied by a pretty, vivacious-looking brunette, who was clinging to his arm.

"I don't see her Bell," said the gentleman, looking inquiringly round.

"Perhaps she's below papa," said the young lady. "Oh!" with a little scream, "there she is--there she is--Carmela! Carmela!" and with another ejaculation, she ran forward to where Miss Cotoner was standing talking to Vassalla.

"My dear Bell," said Carmela kissing her, "how good of you to come and meet me; how do you do Sir Mark?" and she gave her hand to the elderly gentleman, who now advanced.

"I am pleased to see you looking so well my dear Carmela," he said in cold, measured tones, and then turned an inquiring glance on Vassalla.

"My cousin," said Carmela introducing him; "this is his first visit to England."

Sir Mark and the Marchese both bowed and murmured something, indistinctly.

"We are stopping at the Langham Carmela," said Bell brightly, looking up in Miss Cotoner's face; "papa doesn't like our town house you know, and we're going to stay a fortnight in town! Isn't it Jolly?"

"Bell!" reproved her father, "do not use slang I beg of you."

"I can't help it," said the vivacious Bell, "it was born with me, and--Oh my!" with another little scream, "what a good-looking boy! who is he?"

The quartette turned their heads and saw Ronald, looking handsome and high-bred in his frock coat and tall hat, advancing, evidently with the idea of saying good-bye.

"It's Mr. Monteith," said Carmela, paling a little at the thought that she might not see him again. "You are going away?" she asked, aloud, holding out her hand.

"Yes," he answered, gravely; "Mr. Ryan is with me, and I am going to explore the wilds of London."

"Let me introduce you," said Carmela, despite the black looks of Vassalla; "Sir Mark Trevor, Mr. Monteith; Miss Trevor, Mr. Monteith."

The Australian bowed in his usual grave manner, and then said good-bye to Carmela.

"I shall see you, I presume, in London?" he said, lingering a little.

"If you like to call at the Langham Hotel, I shall be there for a fortnight," she answered, and his face lit up with a happy smile as he went off.

"Why did you do that Carmela?" asked the Marchese in a vexed tone; "we don't want to see him in London."

"You may not; I do," replied Miss Cotoner, with calm contempt. "Shall we go on shore now Sir Mark?" and without another word, she went off with the Baronet and his daughter, leaving him alone.

"So he has not given up the chase yet," muttered Vassalla, as he looked after the luggage, "well, we shall see, we shall see."

Mrs. Pellypop, to her disgust, found no one to meet her, so went off to the Langham Hotel, and wrote a severe letter to the Bishop, which had the effect of bringing the prelate up to London next day.

And so they all went their different ways, and the happy family on board the "Neptune" was scattered abroad through the streets of London town.

Ronald saw the Captain before he left, and had a talk with him about Ventin's death, promising to look up his barrister friend on the morrow. Then he went with Pat to the Tavistock, where they had a capital little dinner, after which they patronised the Alhambra, followed by a supper at the Cavour. Then, though Pat was inclined to make a wet night of it--particularly as they had met several of the boys at the theatre--Ronald went to his hotel, and retired soberly to bed, first, however, posting his letter of introduction to Gerald Foster, of Middle Temple, so that he could call on him on the morrow, and speak with him about the mysterious death of his friend.

"I'll find out who killed poor Ventin," he said as he went to bed, "and then I'll marry Carmela."